#Luscious Lads

[drowninintipp]

Ma chérie 🐒 fuck off with backgrounds I’ll just get a low quality picture of Google 😏

#Waka #Okami #fanart #digital art #Waka Okami #moon tribe #Waka fanart #art #sorta #erm #Man idk what else #Waka the great lad #long luscious locks hidden away 😭

[all-pacas]

You have a VERY good boy. Very handsome. A gentleman. His fur is luscious. Thank you for sharing the absolute lad.

thank you you are absolutely right he is the Absolute Boy 😌 i am very lucky

he even looks handsome when he’s sitting on my bladder at 6 am 😌😌

#edit in the tags since people are reading this #he weighs 20 pounds so just #pray for me in the mornings when i gotta pee

[adore-healy]

Talk!

Introducing my next piece — my biggest ever baby — just short of 18K of pure angst so buckle up! Please read the warnings below very carefully — I think I have everything covered but if there's anything else triggering which I've overlooked, please let me know!

Please be kind! Your lovely comments always mean the world to me! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings? Please read at your own risk! Brief mentions of body confidence (insecure reader); alcohol (mentions of vomit); drugs (mentions of rehab); very descriptive illegal drug use and overdose (injecting/needles, vomit, seizures, and mentions of death), sexual scenes and references; and bad language.

Talk!

Swaying ever so slightly, thanks to the glass of wine you’d downed upon your arrival at the party for some liquid confidence, you cross your legs and pray that whoever is taking so long in the bathroom will speed things along because you’re not sure how much longer your bladder can hold out for. 

Leaning against the wall for support, you find yourself immersed in people watching as a form of distraction. It seems as though the landing area of the house was the most ideal make out spot for couples tonight — and you assume that the bedrooms are already taken; so you dare not risk using any of the en suites attached in fear of disturbing someone’s mid-fuck.

A group of lads are sat in a circle on the other side of the landing, engrossed in a card game which heavily involves alcohol as you hear them egg each other on with chants galore. One girl sits on the carpeted stairs, only two down from where you’re standing, and she drunkenly sobs into her phone, desperately apologising to whoever is on the other end — presumably an ex partner — as she begs them to take her back.

Your eyes wander observantly over to a group of girls huddled in a corner and despite your innocence in the drug scene at parties, you know that they are abusing a substance as they take turns to dramatically snort white powder off a car key. You’re instantly drawn to them; each of them dressed in clothing that accentuates their stunning figures, paired with high heels that you’d surely break an ankle in. 

Self-consciousness suddenly becomes your most prominent feeling as you look down at the loose-fitting floral playsuit you’d chosen to wear this evening, along with your white low top converse. Wrapping your arms protectively around yourself, you wait as patiently as you possibly can.

As though your silent prayers had been answered, the lock of the door clicks, indicating that somebody is finally exiting the bathroom — although you’re hardly surprised when a girl stumbles out of the doorway and balances herself against the doorframe, a slight giggle escaping her lips.

“Steady, love,” a voice sounds from behind her.

Even in your tipsy haze, you’d know that northern accent anywhere — and as his hand comes to rest on the girls’ hip to support her in her drunken state, there’s no mistaking the recognisable box tattoo inked on the inside of his forearm.

Tears pool in your eyes and cloud your vision as you drink in the girls demeanour. Despite having full awareness that it’s not her fault, you can’t help but feel incredibly bitter towards her.

She’s hot.

Her brunette hair frames her face and the luscious curls fall to halfway down her back; fake tan and make up seemed to have been applied in excess but she was able to pull it off with ease; her lips — clearly injected with filler — were ruby red (although the smeared lipstick across her face doesn’t go unnoticed by you); and her waist is adorned by a matching black leather co-ord, her knee high boots giving prominence to her stature. 

She’s really hot. Something that you’re not.

And …

… Matty.

The amount of times you’d spoken his name aloud; shouted it during an argument; whispered it in your sleep; whined it each time he would bring you close to the edge with his fingers, or tongue, or sometimes both, only to deny you of the orgasm you desperately craved; moaned it when he did finally let you come around him.

You wonder if his name would roll off your tongue so easily now.

He looks, dare you jinx it, healthy; adorned in a simplistic but dressy pair of black slacks paired with a plain white shirt (because he thinks it makes him appear ethereal — note: it does) and the outfit is completed with black patent shoes. He looks every inch the award winning successful pop star — and you liked it — until you remembered the girl he was keeping company with.

You hadn’t expected this situation to arise tonight; hadn’t prepared yourself for an awkward encounter with your ex-boyfriend; let alone seeing him clinging to a girl — a girl who isn’t you.

Upon handing out her birthday party invites this summer, Charli had confidently assured you that Matty wouldn’t be attending. You’re now realising it had perhaps been a ploy to get you here in the first place. Charli knew you wouldn’t miss her birthday, you’d promised her that yourself; but you would have preferred to have done something different between the two of you — or your group of shared girlfriends — to celebrate; a spa day; a bottomless brunch; a trip to the theatre; anything that didn’t require much social interaction (such as the disorderly house party currently taking place).

Dazed and slightly unsteady, you’re at a loss for words as you look up at Matty and the brunette — but your heart need not race with anxiety, your body need not shake with trepidation, your mind need not be perplexed — as the pair wade past you, not bothering to acknowledge your existence.

Narrowing your eyes, you watch the couple shuffle down the stairs and dodge past the sea of people loitering. Matty keeps the girl close to him, her back pressed against his chest, as his fingertips dance on her skin, his nails biting into her flesh as though he fears letting her go. 

The urge to vomit overwhelms you — and you don’t think it’s tonight’s consumption of alcohol. Stumbling into the bathroom, you’re sure to lock the door behind you, before grabbing the porcelain basin for stability. Steadying your breaths and grounding yourself with a few ‘you’re okay’s,’you’re able to calm yourself down enough to remember why you’re in here in the first place; your bladder is about to explode.

Seating yourself on the toilet, your body slightly swaying in your intoxicated state, you close your eyes to ground yourself, drifting off in a daydream where times were different.

You were never Matty’s type — not typically. Fans often reminded you of that across various social media platforms, although not all comments were nasty. Some simply stated that you were far too innocent to be dragged into Matty’s world of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll; whilst other opinions were cruel, leaving you to question your existence in Matty’s life altogether.

Their bitterness was laughable — until it wasn’t. Your rockstar boyfriend would often come home to you - a shell of your former self - locked away in the bathroom; tearfully obsessing over your looks (although not narcissistically); picking yourself apart; and somehow managing to find non-existent faults.

But ever the charming boyfriend, Matty loved on you every day of your relationship. You were continually reminded of his affection towards you with lavish bouquets of flowers, luxurious gifts, romantic picnics, candlelit dinners, and general expressive gestures — often intimate.

However, in spite of Matty’s adoration of you, it was his weakness that had come between you and ultimately resulted in the end of your relationship. 

Although grateful for Matty overcoming his heroin addiction, his reliance on drugs had acted as a permanent barrier to a potential future together. You wanted forever with Matty; yearned for him to get down on one knee during an idyllic getaway to pop the question; desired to raise a family with him and experience the highs and lows of parenthood; and eventually grow old together (the only argument being who would be the first to go, because neither of you could live without the other).

It was an unrealistic scenario; you were unable to bring a child; Matty’s child; into a world where his substance abuse was coming first again; and before you. You didn’t condone it but you had accepted his use of recreational drugs — your boyfriend was in a band, after all, and smoking marijuana, snorting lines and popping pills was normalised in his world where creativity was key.

But Matty getting high once a month had soon turned into once a week, and coming home from a writing session in the studio with red eyes which rolled into the back of his head soon became once a day; and spending your evenings alone in your shared apartment whilst you awaited his arrival was proving difficult as you succumbed to the loneliness. Along with the lack of intimacy and the diminished romance, it felt as though you were living separate lives, passing ships in the night.

Late nights, drug dependencies and an obvious lack of appreciation often resulted in slanging matches between the two of you; harsh words thrown around and reverberating off the walls, both viciously biting back and mocking insecurities just to one up each other and instantly regretting it but both too stubborn to apologise. Arguments between you would conclude with slamming doors and estranged sleeping arrangements. 

You’d remain in the apartment, clutching the teddy bear he’d won you at a Christmas fair one year — one that held a photo frame which housed a nostalgic photograph of the two of you together after the band had performed their self-titled album in full ten years after it’s release. You’d eventually sob yourself to sleep. 

Matty would be cursing to himself and running a frustrated hand through his hair as he’d roam the streets, angrily kicking the ground and scuffing his shoes all whilst contemplating who to call at ungodly hours — before ultimately heading off to find his next fix to alleviate the pain he was causing to himself and everyone around him. 

You were both hurting.

“Please y/n, let me come in,” a female voice begs.

You frown, adjusting your eyes as you rewire your drunken brain to return to Planet Earth. You wonder how long you had disassociated for; how long someone was calling your name from outside the bathroom before you finally noticed their presence.

It takes a minute to sort yourself out before you open the door to reveal Charli on the other side. She gives you a solemn but albeit reassuring smile before pulling you in for a hug.

“You said he wouldn’t be here,” you whisper into her neck as you rest your head on her shoulder.

Charli sighs sadly as she draws back from you to close the door behind her, locking it securely and leaving you both with some privacy. 

“I wasn’t lying when I told you that y/n, please believe me,” she urges. “George …” she trails off, before explaining how the misunderstanding had occurred. 

She doesn’t mean to throw her own boyfriend under the bus and shift the blame. It had been an accidental slip of the tongue during a recording session between the two band members, which resulted in Matty assuming he was already invited — and George didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

“’s fine, ’s not your fault,” you mumble in an attempt to reassure your friend. “Just wasn’t expecting to see him,” you add with a shrug as you sit yourself on the edge of bath.

Charli kneels in front of you, taking your hands in her own. It’s a silent comfort, a gesture to say that she’s here for you, one that you’re grateful for.

“Is he —” you begin, sighing heavily as your eyes find the ceiling, struggling to vocalise the words. Charli understands and gives you time to figure out what it is that you want to express. A tear rolls down your cheek and you finally whimper, “Is he clean?”

Charli sighs heavily, the pads of her thumbs gently rubbing reassuring circles on your knuckles.

“He’ll always have a problem with drugs, y/n,” integrity is laced in her voice. “But it’s mostly weed nowadays. He hasn’t touched heroin since rehab, you know that,” she reminds you. “He occasionally does coke, but it’s for creativity, and he’s never alone.”

You nod in understanding. You’re fully aware of the demands of his rockstar lifestyle and how the use of substances heavily influence his song writing and record producing; and using it in the company of the other band members wasn’t really the issue; it was when Matty used it alone and vowed to himself to keep it a secret that it became a problem, lying becoming a huge factor in the breakdown of your relationship. 

“He realised,” she pauses, taking an in-breath before revealing, “after losing you, he needed to get his act together. He knew he couldn’t build a life with someone if he was always off his face.”

“Looks like he’s building a life with someone else just fine,” you sigh sadly, your eyes averting towards the bathroom door. 

The thought of Matty’s arms around another girl especially in front of you makes you feel incredibly uneasy; your heart physically hurting as though somebody was continuously puncturing it and putting you through consistent pain; your stomach turning at the idea of their hands roaming each other’s bodies.

“Oh babe,” she whispers sadly.

“It’s ok,” you tell her with a small nod. Wiping the tears away from your face, you take a deep breath and compose yourself. “I’m ok,” you say, a little more convincingly paired with a smile. “I’ll be fine; it was just a bit of a shock, you know.”

Charli nods in understanding. “You were together for a long time, babe. You’re bound to be upset at seeing him move on with someone else … although,” her speech becomes slurred slightly due to her alcohol consumption and she’s suddenly whispering as though she’s about to reveal a sacred secret, “between you and me, I think he’s just looking for a quick shag.”

Her words, surprisingly, don’t cut deep, and you realise it’s perhaps because she’s drunk and she doesn’t really know she’s saying; or maybe it’s because you know it’s true. There had been no sign of another girl after you; no dating rumours maliciously spread online or in the media, no mention of a female name whenever you met with the rest of the band members and their other halves. Perhaps Matty was in need a good shag — and this girl was the first person willing to provide it for him.

“C’mon,” Charli gives you an encouraging nudge, breaking you out of your own drunken trance. “There’s more vodka and tequila and wine downstairs,” she lists the various alcohol options begging to be consumed. “Let’s get wrecked,” she finishes with a smirk.

*

It’s a mystery to you how both yourself and Charli have made it to the bottom of the stairs in one piece; not once stumbling or losing your balance despite your intoxicated state. Although, you weren’t complaining. Nobody needed to end up in hospital with a sprained ankle or broken leg, especially on Charli’s birthday.

“There’s my girl,” a male voice can barely be heard over the deafening beat of music that pulsates throughout the house. Emerging through the sea of people and heading towards you both is George, his arms outstretched as he makes a beeline for his girlfriend. 

“Baby!” Charli yells dramatically as she stumbles into his open arms, nuzzling into his broad chest. She takes a few moments to regain her composure, inhaling his scent; the strong cologne smothering his plain white t-shirt.

“Someone’s having fun!” George exclaims over the music that reverberates around the house. He glances down and presses a kiss to Charli’s head, running a hand comfortingly across her back as they look ever the disgustingly in love couple.

“We are!” she slurs, smirking up at her fiancé, before loudly declaring, “I’m going … that way!” She points theatrically towards the kitchen as she suddenly steps out from George’s embrace to meet his gaze.

“And why’s that, baby?” he asks, pressing his hands gently to her cheeks, cupping her face.

“Because … that’s where the vodka is, silly!” she giggles, rolling her eyes at her boyfriend, as she feels as though she’s stating the most obvious thing in the world before she starts swaying on the spot.

“Whoa,” George murmurs softly, wrapping an arm protectively around her waist. “‘m not sure you need anymore vodka, babe,” he sniggers at his girlfriend’s drunkenness, although already dreading the raging hangover she’ll experience in the morning. “I best get this one some water,” he tells you, when Charli once again drunkenly collapses against his chest. “Will you be alright?” he asks, peering over her head to meet your gaze, genuine concern laced in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah … go on, you look after her. I’ll be fine,” you nod in reply, waving him off.

Taking a step down the corridor, Charli flings her arms around George’s neck, causing them both to stumble down the hallway and out of sight into the kitchen, leaving you alone. You watch them for a while, noting the interaction between them — physical touch clearly their love language as they can’t keep they hands off of each other — and despite your happiness for them in their relationship, you can’t help but feel immensely jealous of the love they have for each other.

Taking in your surroundings, you’re indecisiveness would normally kick in around now, unsure of where to go and who to spend your time with, but thanks to the many shots you’d manage to knock back this evening, your anxiety is currently kept at bay as you head into the lounge.

Drunken revellers are scattered all around the room — some making out with each other on the sofas, hips grinding against each other and moans of pleasure filling the air; others are in large gatherings and engaged in booming conversations about anything and everything; party goers sit on the floor playing drinking games; whilst a couple of guests are sprawled, uncomfortably looking, across the sofa clearly sleeping off the early hangover that’s already kicked in.

Panic threatens to rear it’s ugly head as you suddenly become hyperaware of the scenario you now find yourself in currently playing out — and you mentally scold yourself for ever thinking that the alcohol you'd consumed this evening could ever give you enough liquid confidence to mingle at such a social event.   

You’re in a room full of people; yet you’re alone. None of these people are your friends, and you’re not looking for a quick fuck, either. You don’t have anyone to talk to; anyone to interact with. Desperately seeking a solution, your eyes dart around the room, yet in only a matter of seconds they seem to find a problem in a darkened corner, and you’re forced to watch an intense interaction unfold.

How was it possible to feel everything and nothing at the same time? 

Your heart stops beating within your chest, whilst simultaneously shattering into a million pieces. Dizziness consumes your entire body as though you could collapse at any given moment, but your feet are planted firmly to the ground. Your palms start to sweat and your cheeks glow red, your body’s way of telling you you’re overheating, yet your blood runs cold within your veins. 

The scene in front of you burns into your eyes, as though it’s a movie that you must involuntarily watch repeatedly; experiencing the trauma over and over again; because you’re adamant that even when you close your eyes, the image will be etched in your brain, one that you’ll see in your nightmares every night from now on.

Matty’s hands are snaked around the brunette’s waist, his fingertips digging into the fleshiest part of her as his larger, overpowering frame keeps her in place against the magnolia wall. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned three from the top, his inked skin exposed as the woman’s palms rest atop his chest, her digits occasionally finding themselves dancing upon the artwork that adorns his body.

You can’t help your eyes wandering below as it becomes increasingly apparent that Matty’s erection is straining within his trousers, his well-endowed manhood threatening to break free of the material. As he becomes progressively turned on, he thrusts his hips towards her body, and one of his hands comes to rest on her inner thigh. 

Based on your previous experiences in make out sessions with Matty, you know his fingers will soon find their way up the leather skirt that clings to the girl’s body, before they seek out her sweet spot and have her coming all over them.

You watch his tongue battle against hers for dominance; and you’re surprised at how easily you play into your own imagination as you’re plagued with thoughts about his mouth; because you know you would have submitted by now, granting Matty permission to take full control of the situation. 

The affectionate act would be reassuring, your comfort absolutely paramount to him. With your arms around his neck and your bodies desperately pressing together as though intertwining, Matty would trail sloppy wet kisses along your jawline. One hand resting upon your hip and the other placed on the wall of the darkened corner behind you, you would be trapped, pleasantly, in his company.

As his head lowers towards your neck, he’d pull the strap of your playsuit down, exposing your clavicle. He would greedily eye up your collarbone, before allowing his lips to linger for longer than necessary as he gently sucked at your skin, surely leaving a bruise as a reminder. Expressing your pleasure through a small moan would have his lips crashing against yours instantly, the taste of cigarette smoke still on his breath, his lungs full of tar as you inhaled the tobacco second hand.

However, it wouldn’t be long before your insecurities during intimate acts would rear their ugly heads, getting the better of you, and a small whimper against Matty’s plump lips, as you desperately seek solace, has his hands cupping your face, his confidence blooming as he guides you throughout.

“Doin’ so well for me, love,” he would murmur against your lips. The conviction in his voice soothed you, the passionate kisses made you feel secure, and the tenderness of his touches made you feel safe; as though you have a place, with him, in this world.

“Matty,” is all you’d manage to whimper against him, your body quivering at the slightest touch, his words of praise turning you on.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he’d encourage more moans to escape you, desperate to hear how good he makes you feel. “Gonna let me touch you?” he always had the gentlemanly habit of asking for your consent, despite you both already knowing the answer. 

With his hot breath fanning over your blush cheeks, you’d nod against him, responding with a mumbled, “mmhmm,” and granting him permission to do so, unable to form a coherent response.

Wasting no time, his fingers would brush past you intimately, and he’d be so grateful that the playsuit you chose to wear tonight was loose fitting around your thighs, giving him the easiest access to the ever growing wet patch on your underwear.

“So fuckin’ wet for me, darling,” he would express his approval at the dampness between your legs. “Good girl,” came the praise as he’d edge you, his digits rubbing hard against you. 

You would flinch as his thumb circles your sensitivity in repetitive motions. His kisses become wetter and sloppier as you moan into his mouth, his lips smirking at the hushed moans leaving your lips. 

Bucking his hips towards you and pushing you further into the corner, ensuring to maintain your dignity and leaving no space between you, would have him breathless against your body. 

“Can you feel that, darling? That’s what you do to me.” He’d be hard; only for you.

His thumb and forefinger work in tandem against your bundle of nerves, and with the increased pressure to the circular motion he inflicts upon you, you would be so responsive for him, whimpering and quivering against him, desperate for release.

“Come on darling, you gonna come for me?” he’d ask, rhetorically, because he knows you will. “That’s it, love, give me a good one,” he talks you through it, and you don’t take much more coaxing before you come undone around him, soaking his fingers and coming over the cotton material.

He’d gaze intently, the sight of you post-orgasm incredibly mesmerising to him. He’d allow you a few moments to regain your composure; you regulate your breathing simultaneously with his whispers of encouragement, words of praise, and affectionate touches guaranteed to soothe you.

“That’s it, darlin’. Come back to me,” he would press a kiss to your cheek, bringing you down from your high and back to reality, his admiration for you soaring. Despite being surrounded by hundreds of people at the house party, Matty somehow had the ability to make you feel as though you were the only person in the room.

He anchored you.

But you drowned anyway.

“Come on, darling,” a soft voice from behind you whispers. 

A tentative pair of hands come to rest on your hips, fearful of startling you. Normally, despite your timid personality, you would react to unwanted male attention, uninvited hands touching your body, but it’s Ross, and you know you’re safe with him. 

“Come on,” he repeats. “You don’t need to see this.”

He manages to guide you out of the lounge and into the hallway; although you’re not quite sure how your brain and limbs are working in tandem. It’s as though your feet won’t move; stuck to the spot and unable to drag yourself away from the torment unfolding before your eyes; yet you can’t move quick enough, your body urging you to leave the horror behind.

Alcohol courses through your veins and you wish the depressant had acted as a sedative but instead it’s dramatically heightened your feelings. Your stomach is turning at the sight of Matty passionately making out with the brunette as though they were a couple of horny teenagers, desperate to get their end away. 

Music thumps around you, drum and bass bouncing off the walls and reverberating around the room and you’re pretty sure that your pounding heart is simultaneous with the fast breakbeats, both working in unison. 

Your knees begin to buckle beneath you, unable to support yourself as adrenaline pulses through your body. Desperately trying to swallow air into your lungs, your breath hitches around the tears that flow freely down your blush cheeks.

The oxymoron of your emotions is terrifying and there’s too much to contend with; it’s as though you’re in a dream like state — a nightmare — and a passing thought of, “Is this the equivalent to being high?” crosses your mind.

“Breathe, y/n,” Ross gently encourages as he steadies your body against his own. “Just breathe.”

You can feel people staring, eyes watching intently as they nosily observe your demeanour. They probably assume you're drunk or high; you don’t really care; you’re unable to concentrate on anything other than Matty at the moment.

“’s loud,” you whimper.

Cigarette smoke and marijuana fills the air, hustle and bustle continuing around you as Ross comes to stand in front of you, blocking your view of the party guests loitering in the hallway, as he attempts to protect you, maintaining your dignity in your vulnerable state.

“What was that, love?” he asks, lowering his ear to your mouth in an attempt to hear you around the electronic dance music that blares through the speakers.

“It’s loud!” you cry out again, shaking your head vigorously as though to rid the noise around you; the chatter amongst friends, the laughter between guests; the deafening music; your own thoughts. At the risk of looking as if having a breakdown, your place your hands over your ears, covering them. 

Your eyes dart towards two figures fast approaching and even through your tears you instantly recognise them to be Carly and Adam. 

“What’s happened?” Carly asks, obvious concern lacing her voice.

You squeeze your eyes shut and fiercely shake your head once more. “It’s too loud!” you sob this time because why does nobody understand?! Why is everybody talking so loud?

“Hey, it’s ok, I’ve got you,” Carly reassures you, gently placing a supportive hand on the small of your back.

You’re too in your own head to realise that the other two men in your presence exchange a glance, Ross pulling Adam aside to fill him in on Matty’s antics tonight.

Pulling you close, Carly attempts to protect you from the continuous stares of the other party goers, and upon overhearing the conversation taking place behind you between her husband and his friend, simultaneous with her reassuring words of, “It’s ok, darling, just breathe,” she makes an efficient decision to take you into the kitchen.

Carly understands, completely, and takes control of the situation. Leading you towards the corner counter, she encourages you to rest your swaying body against the unit for some sort of stability. The kitchen, filled with pop-stars, is almost like a safe haven for you — these people were important, and you weren’t, so they had no time to focus on you and your breakdown. They didn’t care.

“Here,” a voice murmurs softly, a glass of water offered to you in an outstretched hand. It takes you a few seconds for your blurry eyes to focus, your body swaying slightly, before you realise that it’s Adam.

You reach forward, tentatively taking the glass of liquid between both of your hands, attempting to steady your hold on the object which proves to be difficult with your shaking frame. You bring the water to your lips and start to sip it, before increasing the pace in which you drink and taking larger gulps.

“Slowly,” Carly whispers, placing her hand over yours on the glass and encouraging you to take your time. “That’s it, y/n. Nice and slowly,” she praises you as you take smaller sips once again.

You finally regain yourself, tears no longer freely flowing — but your cheeks are stained with track marks where you’d previously been crying. The reverberating music doesn’t seem quite as harsh against the walls in the kitchen; and it’s perhaps the most peaceful room in the house, despite there being plenty of celebrities surrounded by cigarette smoke and noisy chatter amongst friends. 

Placing the glass down on the kitchen counter, you turn to Carly and Adam. “He … there was …” you attempt to explain yourself but you’re unable to vocalise the horror that you had witnessed — Matty making out with another girl.

“’s ok,” Carly intervenes, recognising your struggle.

Your bottom lip trembles again and it shatters Carly’s heart that you feel this way, your emotions heightened and running away with you — upset; angry; distressed; inferior; betrayed. She gives Adam a knowing look, and he too is burning with rage.

“Just … wait here,” Carly tells you softly, her hands coming to brush your hair out of your face. “I’ll be right back, ok?” she assures you, softly cupping your face in her hands as she wipes away the remnants of salty tears.

You don’t really comprehend what she’s saying to you; everything is a surreal blur — but you nod anyway. As you stare into space, you hear Adam whisper hiss, “I’ll kill him,” under his breath, as he and Carly head off, presumably back to the lounge.

And just like that, you’re alone, again.

With alcohol increasing your sensitivity to everything, the lingering taste of tequila is still prominent on your lips and the smell of cigarette smoke — once a comforting scent when it came to Matty — and marijuana fills the air, making you feel lightheaded, and you know it will take at least three hair wash routines before you get the smell out.

Your eyes avert around the room as though you’re in a dream-like state. In body, you’re here, but your mind is elsewhere. You observe the other pop-stars who are loitering and talking, not giving a fuck about you — and you also note the amount of bottles that clutter the countertops; some beverages opened and half drank, the sides inundated with empty ones, and a few completely untouched. 

“You need to lighten up, sweetheart.”

In your dazed state, you’re not sure who is talking to who right now. You lazily turn your head in the direction of where the voice had come from, to see a young man sitting on the kitchen island opposite you. It takes you a few seconds to realise that he’d aimed his comment at you. 

He was alone, too.

He’s cute, you note. Dressed in a moth-bitten black knitted jumper and a pair of black skinny jeans, he mirrors Matty’s iconic grunge look and it’s enough to make you want to fuck him on the kitchen counter in front of everyone; and vomit at the sight of him; at exactly the same time.

His dangling legs are swinging beneath him as he fidgets atop of the counter to get comfortable, his fingers drumming against the granite surface.

Ignoring your initial liking to him looking every inch the boyfriend, you reach forward, opting for the bottle of wine sat next to the him, shrugging off his comment and not once acknowledging his existence. You didn’t have the time of day for any man right now. 

Taking a swig from the half-full bottle of Pinot Grigio in your hand, you close your eyes, still trying to rid yourself of the image of Matty embracing another girl.

“Seriously, babe,” he tries again, “You look upset … and wine definitely won’t help you,” he tries again.

You lower the bottle, although it’s still close enough to your lips that it’s practically dancing against them, as you get ready to down another mouthful of the alcohol once this conversation concludes.

“And what will?” you scoff, rolling your eyes at him.

“Something stronger … if you get my drift,” he raises an eyebrow.

You know what he’s implying, but you choose to ignore him. You raise the bottle back to your lips, but something stops you — the guy before you wraps his hand around your wrist, preventing you from drowning your sorrows further.

“Drugs?” you ask rhetorically, mirroring his raised eyebrow at his obviousness.

He shrugs at you although you can tell he becomes slightly shifty, his eyes wandering to make sure nobody had heard you. Delving into his pocket, he pulls out a small packet containing a white powdery substance and throws it down onto the island in front of you.

“’s your call,” he murmurs with a nod. “You can have this one on the house,” his eyes flit between the package and you.

Anxiousness is your forefront emotion as you gaze down at the illegal substance. You weren’t naive to the reality of drug-dealing. The first batch this guy had just offered to you for free was a ploy to get you hooked; to keep you coming back for more as a regular client. 

But in turn, it meant addiction; an illness. Being with Matty had shown you an ugly side of drugs that you could have only ever imagined. At the time of being your boyfriend, Matty had fallen into a world of lies and deceit, ultimately resulting in a failed relationship.

You shake your head, “No, thank you though.”

The man opposite you furrows his brows.

“Are you sure? I have plenty and … well, it’s just you seem pretty upset and it will make you feel better. I’m going to hazard a guess that it’s boy trouble?” he asks, almost knowingly. 

You don’t respond; you didn’t want this man — a complete stranger who you'd known less than five minutes — psychoanalysing you.

“You know, everyone here is doing drugs,” he informs you in a whisper, stating it matter of factly. “These people; they might seem like they’re put together and better than everyone else, but the truth is, they need to take their pain away, too. Trust me, I can help you.”

Registering his words, your eyes avert back to the package.

“What … what is it?” you ask him, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Smack,” he answers without hesitation. “Looks like you need it to work pretty quick as well,” he adds, before taking another object out of his pocket and placing it on the counter beside the drug. “The quickest way to get your high is by cooking it, and then injecting it, preferably into a vein,” he tells you as you look down at the syringe now on the kitchen side.

It would be plain to anyone watching this interaction that you’re unknowledgeable; possessed by innocence in this life. Sure, you’d experimented with the socially accepted substances; alcohol (many of nights had ended with you retching into a toilet bowl and nursing a hangover into the next day), and smoking tobacco cigarettes; but otherwise, you’d lead a pretty sheltered life, for which you were grateful for.

“How?” you ask, before clarifying, “How do I cook it?”

The attractive guy smirks back at you. Perhaps he thought you were cute? Or maybe he was lonely and wanted the company? Then again, it could be because he was grooming a young, vulnerable girl into taking an illegal substance which would hopefully have her hooked and coming back for more.

You shake your head at the intrusive thoughts that begin to plague your mind, your anxiety levels peaking as you realise just how unsure you are of this; and how alone you are at the moment. 

Matty was too busy trying to get fucked by a pretty model; Ross, Adam and Carly had all left you to go God knows where; and knowing them, George and Charli were probably shagging in the flowerbed at the end of the garden. 

But ultimately, you were alone.

“’s easy,” he mumbles, jumping down from the side and walking over to the kitchen counter where you were stood, cornering you between the units. 

He’s confident, but not cocky or threatening, and right now you feel seen; heard; and maybe even safe in this man’s presence right now. He reaches towards the cutlery drawer next to you, pulling out a silver spoon. 

“Firstly, we need a cooker and a heat source,” he shows you the cutlery in his hand, although you already know it’s a slightly amateur move when he hasn’t provided his own equipment in his drug sharing ritual — but you’ll let him off since you’re no expert either.

With his back turned towards everyone else in the kitchen, he’s left to secretly pour the contents of the plastic bag onto the spoon. He steadies his hand, before delving into his pocket with the other and reaching for a lighter. Placing it underneath the spoon, he begins to melt the heroin, and you watch on, fascinated as the powder gradually turns into a liquid.

“Take it for me,” he gestures towards the spoon.

You do as he says, trying your best to steady your grip on the handle of the cutlery.

The man turns to discretely observe the other party goers in the kitchen and he’s satisfied when some of the guests had filtered out of the room — a few of them having decided to go into the garden — and those who were remaining were still just as uninterested in you both.

“We can put it in this now,” he tells you, and he draws the liquidated substance into the syringe, filling it with the drug. “I need your shoe lace,” he nods down to your fresh white converse.

“Why?” you ask.

He smirks — although you’re not sure if it’s his way of flirting or if he’s amused by your lack of knowledge and obvious inexperience. It’s probably the latter, you think.

“Because …” he begins, placing the needle on the kitchen counter top before kneeling down in front of you and continuing, “We need a tie off.” 

His words don’t make much sense to you as he makes light work of untying your shoe, removing the lace through the eyelets with ease. It seems almost affectionate; but then again, you were able to romanticise most things in your life. Perhaps it’s fate that you and the guy who’s teaching you to inject heroin had met this evening. Everything happens for a reason.

He stands up again, towering over your frame, the shoe lace held loose within his hand.

“I need to tie this around your arm,” he tells you, brushing the material across your skin. 

Tying the shoe lace tightly around your arm, he then uses his two forefingers to tap against your skin a few times, encouraging the blood flow to make a vein become more prominent.

“If you inject into a vein, you’ll feel the effects quicker,” he whispers to you, as he runs his fingers across a protruding blue blood vessel. “You’ll get high before you even realise it.” Taking the needle from the kitchen counter, he holds it towards you.

“Are you ready?” he asks gently, an eyebrow slightly raised as he observes your nervous features.

Were you ready? 

You think back to the series of events that had occurred throughout the course of the night. Seeing Matty with another girl — a hot brunette that was totally his type — had destroyed you. It made your heart physically ache; shattering into millions of tiny pieces; and he just didn’t seem to care. He hadn’t even noticed you all evening. 

Despite his friends rallying around you, you knew it was perhaps out of guilt and pity. Did they really love you, or did they see you as a weak and vulnerable ex-girlfriend who needs babysitting because she can’t control her emotions? 

Heroin had been a welcomed escape for Matty throughout his time of using — it distracted his brain from everything bad that was happening around him — the drug was there, begging for him to use it to ease his pain and make life more bearable. 

What had only ever meant to start off as experimenting, part and parcel of being a rockstar, soon turned into a severe dependence on the drug; an addiction; resulting in constantly lying to those he loved, relationship breakdowns, arguments between family and friends and ultimately, losing you.

But heroin relieved Matty of his emotional pain and torment, even if only temporary and perhaps you needed a distraction tonight, something to take away your pain — even if only temporary.

One time wouldn’t hurt you.

“I’m ready.”

*

Matty���s moans are soft and delicate as his back arches into the fabric sofa, the hot woman’s lips nipping at his neck as she straddles his thighs, clearly turning him on. She grinds her hips against him and he bucks himself towards her, cursing the clothing that gets in the way of his ever growing erection.  

“Fuck,” he groans softly. 

He doesn’t care who hears him, other drunken revellers finding themselves in similar positions around the house, and for those who aren’t looking for a quick fuck tonight are too drunk or high to get laid anyway. He seems to be the least important pop star in the room — and for once, he thinks he likes it.

“Fuck,” he moans again, when she sucks at his neck. “Fuck, yeah,” he bucks his hips towards her again as her tequila tasting lips no doubt leave a harsh love bite on his pale skin, a bruise already forming with the intensity of her actions.

“Can’t,” she suddenly groans against him.

Matty understands, immediately.

“Upstairs?” he questions. 

He’s sure — so certain — that she wants to take this further but can’t because they’re in the living room — able to be gawked at by others; which is odd, he thinks, because she hasn’t been shy about where their make out sessions have been taking place so far. She hasn’t cared who has been watching.

“Stop,” she whisper hisses, before making her voice more firm. “Stop, Matty. Need … need t’ … stop,” she tells him, before pulling herself away. She can barely look him in the eye as she runs a hand through her tangled hair.

“‘s wrong?” he asks.

She shrugs before removing herself from his lap. There’s not much dignity for Matty as his erection strains against the black tailored trousers he’d chosen for this evening — and there’s no cushion or throw to cover his embarrassing situation.

“You ok?” he asks, genuine concern laced in his voice.

“I … I need to get home … to … my …” she stutters, almost embarrassed as reality hits hard. 

“To your what?” he asks breathlessly, giving a deathly stare as his patience is beginning to wear thin and his nostrils flare because he has a horrible feeling where this conversation is heading.

“To my … partner,” she adds, finally allowing the words to leave her lips. She smooths the black leather skirt down her legs properly, the material having ridden up her thighs to expose her hips during the steamy session.

“You … you have … have a boyfriend?” Matty splutters, as they make eye contact with each other; the first time since the woman had pulled away from his embrace.

“Husband,” the younger girl corrects him, the disco lights suddenly reflecting off the wedding band that adorned her ring finger — a harsh reminder to him that he was being used. Biting her lip mischievously, she cruelly tells him, “Just because you’re a rockstar, doesn’t mean I was going to let you take me home. It was just a few kisses here and a few touches there. ’s no big deal. I … we had an argument and I did … things … this … in the heat of the moment.”

“No big deal?” he repeats her words, shaking his head and furrowing his brows in disbelief. 

“You’ll get over it,” she shrugs unapologetically, pulling her bra strap back over her shoulder before standing up from her position on the sofa and heading towards the doorway of the lounge. She doesn’t even turn back as she leaves and Matty emits a breathy laugh, almost shocked that he, Matty Healy, would be leaving the party tonight without a girl to fuck. 

It’s humiliating for him — and his dick is still relatively hard, the tip surely leaking with his salty pre-come. He sighs heavily, throwing an arm over his face as he tries to ignore the twitching in his pants. 

He takes a few deep breaths, composing himself, before reaching towards his jacket pocket and pulling out a packet of cigarettes and lighter. Taking a drag, he leans back against the sofa again, finally satisfied as his erection eventually begins to soften.

“No less than you deserve,” George suddenly mutters as he pushes himself away from the wall where he had watched the scene unfold. He draws in a deep breath from his own cigarette as he approaches Matty.

“Fuck sake,” Matty groans, embarrassed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair before taking another drag. It had been degrading enough for Matty to experience being mugged off by the younger girl, let alone one of his best friends having watched the interaction.

“Dick,” George murmurs under his breath, shaking his head, before flicking some ash from the cigarette still held loosely between his first and middle fingers.

Raising an eyebrow, Matty looks puzzled at his friend. 

“What did you call me?” he asks breathily, in disbelief. 

“I said,” George inhales, stepping closer, standing over his friend, and giving him a sarcastic smile, “You’re a dick.”

“Oh fuck off,” Matty quickly brushes it off as banter.

“’s a dick move,” George repeats once again with a shrug, although his tone is serious and filled with sincerity. He backs away slightly, standing upright once again as he drinks in Matty’s pathetic demeanour, shaking his head once again.

With the attitude and lack of humour, Matty realises that George is being serious. He’s upset about something, clearly pissed off — and now he’s worried.

“You knew she’d be here,” George tells him, pointing his forefinger towards Matty. “You fucking knew!” he grits his teeth, angrily, before turning around and running a hand over his face.

Matty stands up, prepared to square up to his best friend. Despite the fact that the boys never really argued much — and nothing was ever too serious between them — alcohol consumption and the fact that Matty’s really pissed off would be motive enough for them to have a few harsh words between each other.

“She saw you, Matty!” George yells, turning to face the other man again before grabbing at the collar of his white shirt. There’s no opportunity for Matty to react or defend himself as George shouts at him once again, pushing him against the wall and backing him into the corner. 

The feeble one sided brawl earns a few concerned looks from the other party-goers as some guests slyly watch the commotion between the two men unfold, whilst others are more obvious, eager in their observations as they gossip amongst each other.

“She fucking saw you with another girl and it’s breaking her heart! Everything she ever did for you … she stood by you when everyone else fucked off and left you!” George shouts into Matty’s face, harshly reminding him who was there for him during his time of need.

“Who?” Matty asks, aghast. “Who saw me?”

George shakes his head in disbelief, loosening the grip on the collar of Matty’s shirt. 

Inhaling another drag from his cigarette, George looks Matty up and down, regaining his composure.

“Who, George?” Matty repeats his question. “Who saw me?”

“She saw everything; y/n saw everything,” George closes his eyes as he speaks, almost pained on your behalf.

“She … she saw …” Matty stutters, releasing an in-breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The mere mention of your name has his heart pounding within his chest, his palms sweating from anxiousness, his knees almost buckling beneath him. 

So many questions were whizzing around his head right now.

He didn’t even know you’d be here; was none the wiser that you’d been invited.

Were you here alone or did you have company? 

Why hadn’t you made it clear to him that you were here?

He hadn’t already seen you — had he?

Matty knew you — he fucking knew you. A party like this — this wasn’t your scene. Or had he just lacked so much attention this evening that you were able to bypass him at any given opportunity? 

Because if he had have seen you, he would have made it his priority to have had you straddling his hips; your mouth suckling his prominent collarbones and leaving a permanent reminder, your cunt he’d be edging with his fingers, before your pretty lips would be begging to be wrapped around his cock.

Not the woman he can’t even remember the name of.

Guilt is his forefront emotion; a horrific feeling of shame overcoming him as he can only sympathise with how you must be feeling — you’d seen him in the company of another girl — a girl that wasn't you. Granted; it was a terrible context but it was still one that he could not excuse or condone — but the only reason he’d had a sleazy make out session was to distract himself from you. He had to find you and tell you.

Arriving at the party tonight, Matty had felt lonely — all of his friends were coupled up.

Ross and Chloe.

George and Charli.

Adam and Carly. 

Matty and … nobody.

“She … she’s … here?” Matty finally chokes out.

George nods slowly, finally having calmed himself down as he seeks out the ash tray that stands on the coffee table behind him.

“Where … where is she?” Matty asks urgently, mirroring George’s actions and following suit as he too, stubs out his own cigarette.

“I don’t think she’ll want to see you, mate,” George tells him regrettably. 

“I need to talk to her! I need to …” he shouts desperately, making a beeline for the door of the lounge, but George’s broad frame comes to stand in front of him and is able to stop him from going any further.

“You need to calm down first, yeah,” he begins, placing a hand on his chest, but Matty quickly interrupts.

“I am calm!” his tone contradicts him — although George knows his raised voice isn’t from a place of anger at you — but more so frustration towards himself.

“You’re angry,” George clarifies; it’s a statement, not a question.

Matty nods in agreement, knowing there’s no denying his emotions, before reassuring his friend, “Not at her, though.”

“I know,” George sighs, his eyes finding the ceiling as he contemplates allowing Matty to find you — but he’s really not sure that’s a good idea right now considering you had been having a breakdown no less than fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m not … don’t want t’ churn out any drama,” Matty runs his hand frustratedly through his hair, clearly at a loss. His eyes wander intensely around the room, unsure of how to approach the situation. “I just … want to make it right, ’s all,” he adds, desperation evident in his voice.

Matty knows — he fucking knows — he has to make this right. He doesn’t want to be finding a meaningless fuck at a party. It’s you — and only you — that he wants — and despite the breakdown of your relationship that was his fault, the history between you, the chemistry; it’s always you.

“Ok,” George sighs, defeated. He steps aside, allowing Matty the freedom he desires to find you, but he’s stopped instantly when Carly appears at the door frame, her cheeks blush and her features panicked as she catches her breath.

“Carly?” George questions, mirroring the concern etched on her face.

“What?” Matty’s husky voice asks. “What’s happened?” he repeats, urgency evident in his tone when he drinks in Carly’s solemn expression.

Time stands still for a few moments — George’s expression is full of confusion, his brows furrowed, and Matty’s stomach drops, his palms beginning to sweat and he’s worried — because he knows whatever she’s about to reveal isn’t good news.

Carly sighs heavily, her tongue running across her bottom lip before she finally utters the words, “It’s y/n.”

*

“Get out the fuckin’ way!” Matty’s voice can be heard as he forces his way through the sea of onlookers before he’s eventually pushed himself to stand at the forefront of the crowd, George and Carly hot on his heels as they both come to stand behind him. 

The sight that greets Matty is one that he never, ever, thought he would see; and he wishes, so desperately, that this is a nightmare and he’s about to wake up any second now; but not all things were possible. 

He’s certain, one hundred percent, that his heart stops beating once he claps eyes on you; fear and anxiety consuming his entire being as he suddenly feels nauseous, his mouth as dry as sandpaper and his legs wobbling like jelly. 

Your body is passed out on the kitchen floor; limp and lifeless.

“No,” a strangled cry leaves Matty’s lips, as George’s hand comes to firmly rest on his shoulder. 

It takes a moment before his brain can signal for his legs to move, shock taking over him as he looks down towards your unconscious body placed in the recovery position against the cold tiles.

“No, no, no, no,” he continues breathlessly as he lowers himself beside you. “She … is she …” he chokes on a sob, grabbing for your wrist. Placing two fingers on your pulse point, he sobs frantically once again, “I can’t … she hasn’t …”

“She has a pulse,” a voice sounds from the other side of your body. 

Ross. 

“She …” Matty stutters.

“It’s faint but that ambulance needs to hurry up,” Ross speaks more to himself — but it’s a hint to Adam as well — who Matty now realises is on the phone to a call handler. Adam rests a palm on the kitchen countertop, remaining calm as he passes on the crucial information to whoever is on the other end of his mobile, to ensure help arrives as soon as possible for you.

“What’s happened?” Matty cries out, not even attempting to compose himself in front of the onlookers as his eyes scan your features for any sign of visible injury. 

There’s nothing upon his initial inspection; his eyes wandering briefly over your body — no bruises or bleeding; nothing that would indicate any valid reason as to why you’re passed out on the kitchen floor and unresponsive to everything going on around you.

“She’s …” Ross begins, “She collapsed. She’s taken …” he gulps nervously, unable to continue.

“What? What has she …” Matty begins, but he’s unable to vocalise the rest of his question as his eyes avert around the room, looking for any clues as to what substance you had abused. 

Much to his horror, he notices the needle, spoon and empty packet that lays only a meter away from your unconscious body. The last straw for Matty is seeing the tie-off around your arm, and quickly recognising it as a shoe lace, he confirms his suspicions as his gaze wanders over your converse with the missing lace.

He shakes his head, attempting to rid himself of the thought of you injecting an illegal substance to numb the pain that he caused tonight. George was right; this was his fault. 

“Fuck,” he whimpers, running an agitated hand through his hair.

It’s Ross who takes the lead on trying to stir you as he gently rolls you onto your back and applies a harsh stimulus, rubbing his knuckles along your sternum. “Come on, y/n,” he encourages. Adrenaline coursing through his own veins, he increasingly adds more pressure, no doubt leaving bruises along your chest. 

“Come on, darling,” Matty whimpers, focusing his attention entirely on you as he instead runs a hand through your hair. It’s a reassuring gesture, one to let you know that you’re not alone, despite Matty knowing you’re completely unaware of your surroundings and the situation you’re currently in.

“Do you have any Naloxone?” Ross is confident he already knows the answer now that Matty himself is clean of heroin, but he clutches at straws anyway in any attempt to revive you, not once stopping applying the stimulus to your chest.

Matty shakes his head. 

“No,” he swallows, his hand still stroking your hair affectionately.

If only it had been that simple. For once, he curses himself for no longer possessing the cruel and life changing heroin addiction he’d once been a victim to; maybe then he could provide an antidote that would reverse the opioid overdose.

“Alright everyone, out!” a voice suddenly yells. 

Carly. 

Despite her smaller frame and her sobriety, she’s forceful in her words. 

“Come on, we don’t need an audience!” she speaks again, encouraging the guests to leave — although not giving them much of a choice as Charli and George come to her aid to create a barrier, ushering them away from the kitchen.

“We’ll keep them away and … entertained,” George murmurs, considering a choice of words, although he’s not sure either Matty or Ross are taking on board what he’s saying, understandably preoccupied with helping you. Together, the three of them ensure they maintain your dignity as much as possible.

There’s a few groans, some of the party goers wishing to be nosy at the scene unfolding. If Matty wasn’t so consumed by your unconscious state, terrified of your fate, he thinks he would have been physically violent towards some of these people, prepared to start a brawl with anyone who was revelling at your position and the drama unfolding.

“s ok, love,” Matty whispers softly, although he’s not sure if he’s attempting to reassure you or himself when there’s still no inkling of you coming round just yet. 

“Fuck sake,” Ross mutters, as he observes the equipment sprawled across the floor nearby. His eyes averting to the shoe lace around your arm, he shakes his head, before saying, “Someone’s helped her to do this. She wouldn’t know where to start.” He gestures towards the equipment before returning to rubbing your sternum once again.

Matty whimpers, knowingly. 

It was true; respectfully, you had no idea how to administer any form of illegal drug or how to even get hold of any such substance. Even when Matty himself was actively using, he made sure you were nowhere near heroin — or any other drug for that matter. The fact that the equipment littered around your unconscious body had indicated that you’d cooked a drug before injecting it made both Matty and Ross feel uneasy — another person had played a part in this.

“C’mon y/n,” Ross repeats.

It feels as though it takes a lifetime before any success comes of the stimulus Ross applies but a sudden choked splutter indicates your regain of consciousness.

However, there’s no time to waste as the two men kneeling at your frame quickly realise they need to roll you into the recovery position again. You emit a small whinge at the action, taking a dislike to being moved so suddenly before you vomit violently on the cold tiles beneath you.

“’s it darling, there we go,” Matty comforts you, reaching for your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

He shuffles himself as close to you as he can possibly be, as though his presence alone could make you better, and not once fazed by the sick that you eject.

“That’s it baby, let it all out,” he encourages, brushing your hair away from your face as Ross rests his hand gently atop of your back as you uncontrollably empty the contents of your stomach.

“Ambulance will be another twenty minutes or so,” Adam murmurs softly as he comes to kneel beside you as well. 

Keeping the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, he looks between Ross and Matty as they try to deal with the copious amount of vomit. Adam shakes his head, knowing just how touch and go this situation could be for you now, and swooping in with one hand full of kitchen roll, he wordlessly begins cleaning up around you.

Your bout of sickness seems never ending and it’s obvious that the alcohol you’d consumed in high volume has also played a huge part in why your reaction to the heroin you’d injected was so severe, your body rejecting the liquids you’d downed that night.

“That’s it, good girl,” Matty praises you softly, once you finally stop being sick, gently resting his palm on your face, skimming your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sweetheart, how much have you taken?” Ross speaks next, hoping for some sort of response from you, although as he’d expected; nothing.

Instead, you let out a whimper, softly beginning to cry.

“’s alright darlin’,” Matty assures you, continuing to stroke your hair. “I’m here, we’re all here.”

“Did you take all of it, y/n?” Ross tries a different approach, reaching out for the empty syringe that had previously contained the contents of the illegal drug. There was no knowing just how much you had taken but Ross realised he had to consider the worst case scenario — that the syringe had been full.

There’s no answer once again. Unbeknown to what is happening to you at the moment, all you can do is express your dislike at the situation you’re in through a cry and an agitated moan; but at least you’re conscious. You’re alive.

“Hey, ’s ok,” Ross attempts to calm you down. “We’re gonna help you.”

The relief that both the men had felt over you being awake — although not alert — is short lived, however, when your cold and pale body goes limp once more, your breathing shallow as you fade back into unconsciousness against the tiles.

“No,” Matty raises his voice slightly in an attempt to keep you awake. “No, no. Stay with me y/n,” he encourages, gently shaking your frame.

Adam stands from his kneeling position on the floor, talking to the call handler with urgency to make them aware you’d once again slipped into a state of unconsciousness, leaving only the other two men towering over you.

Your lifeless body suddenly goes stiff before your limbs starting jerking and your eyes begin rolling into the back of your head and it takes Matty a few seconds to realise you’re having a seizure. Understanding completely, both Matty and Ross allow your body to move freely, not once restricting your uncontrollable movements.

‘Hann!” Matty shouts.

With Adam acutely aware of the severity of the situation, he passes on the vital information to the call handler once more, explaining that you’re experiencing a seizure. Ross’s eyes flit between everyone in the room; panic being the forefront emotion as your body continues to shake; compassion for Matty as he watches this nightmare unfold; all whilst wishing he could intercept the phone call mid-air to hear what is being said.

“That’s it darling, ride it out,” Matty reassures you. “‘m here, sweetheart, ‘m right here.”

“Fuck,” Ross mutters underneath his breath. 

He removes the jacket he had been wearing throughout the course of the evening and places it carefully beneath your head, supporting you against the cold, hard tiles. 

“Where’s that bloody ambulance?!” he shouts to Adam, as he checks his watch.

“ETA of ten minutes,” Adam responds without a beat.

“Ten minutes?” Ross questions rhetorically, shaking his head in disbelief, as he notes the time of your continuing seizure by tapping away aggressively on his phone.

“She needs them now!” Matty yells, a sob escaping his lips.

After three minutes, your body begins to regulate itself, your flailing limbs slowing as your previously tense body begins to relax, indicating your seizure had finally come to an end. 

“That’s it darling, good girl,” Matty encourages once again. He tentatively reaches out his hand to comb through your hair once again, soothing you as you shiver and whimper against the cold tiles. “‘m right here, darling, ‘m not going anywhere.”

It feels like a lifetime, but after another seven minutes and true to their word, the distant sound of sirens can be heard — but Matty still can’t bring himself to breathe a sigh of relief just yet.

*

Since arriving at the hospital, you’d been cruelly snatched away from Matty, wheeled to your own private room where you received the treatment needed for a heroin overdose, leaving Matty, Ross and Adam in the family waiting area, none of them able to seek solace amongst the lacklustre slate walls, or the strong smell of disinfectant in the air.

The scene continues to play in Matty’s mind, all too easy to remember. When the paramedics had arrived, they quickly tended to your lifeless body, as the other three men watched on. 

The hushed begs of, “Please help her,” and whispered prayers of, “Please please please,” had escaped Matty’s lips as the older female paramedic placed an oxygen mask over your mouth and nose to help your breathing. 

She was a seemingly maternal lady, no judgement passed despite it being quickly obvious that you’d taken an illegal substance tonight, and she kindly told Matty, “We’re going to do everything we can to help your girlfriend.” 

He didn’t correct her — although if it were different circumstances, he would have taken pride in people assuming you were a couple; as though it was obvious to the outside world that you both have an unbreakable connection to each other.

The younger male paramedic calmly asked questions — some unanswerable — as he began injecting your body with a substance — which Matty assumes is Naloxone; to reverse the effects of the opioid overdose. 

What was your name? Which drug had you taken? How much of the drug had you taken? How much alcohol had you had to drink over the course of the evening? Did you have any allergies? How long did your seizure last? How much had you vomited? 

Matty could barely think straight as he was being quizzed by the ambulance crew, although it almost felt as though it was an interrogation. The finger of suspicion would probably be pointed at him as to where you’d acquired an illegal drug, but he didn’t care about that right now; his priority was you.

When the paramedics were able to move you to the ambulance, they did, and Matty accompanied you all the way to the the nearest Accident and Emergency Department who would be more equipped to help you, whilst Adam drove himself and Ross to the hospital, following closely behind.

It had been agreed that Charli, George and Carly would stay at home on the understanding that they would be contacted if there was any change to your condition — and having ushered the guests away from the party, sending them elsewhere to continue their celebrations, the three of them were on hand if they were needed at short notice.

“Matty, just … just calm down, yeah?” Ross murmurs.

Matty emits a sarcastic, breathy laugh, continuing to pace aimlessly around the room, having done so since arriving. Running a hand through his curls, something that signals his distress, he repeats the words in a murmur. 

“Calm down?” he scoffs, scuffing his shoes against the light grey flooring. “Calm down?!” he raises his voice, turning on his heel to see the other two men sat on the blue cushioned chairs.

“She’s strong, mate,” Adam reassures him, his knee bouncing and indicating his own nervousness at the situation. “She’ll be ok,” he adds, although even he’s having difficulty at being optimistic at this given moment.

“She overdosed,” Matty��s voice cracks, the image of your unconscious body sprawled across the kitchen floor, vomit surrounding you, your body seizing, cruelly plaguing his mind. “She … I thought she was …” he can’t vocalise the word, unable to finish his sentence in fear of it ringing true. “Fuck!” he swears angrily, his bawled fist making contact with the wall.

“Come ‘ere!” Ross yells, using all of his strength to pull Matty away, preventing him from punching the wall a second time. Despite Matty’s pathetic attempt to fight against his friend, fists hammering into his chest, Ross’s large hands come to rest on his face, forcing eye contact between them. “Listen … listen to me!” he encourages in a raised tone. “You need to be strong for her, Matty, y’hear me?” Ross’s own voice is thick with emotion.

Ross embraces Matty as another sob escapes his lips, and not once does he attempt to hide the intense emotions he was battling tonight — fear, worry, and anxiety all at the forefront.

“I shouldn’t …” he breaks off. “She shouldn’t … shouldn’t even … be here,” he chokes out, his obvious distress preventing him from forming a coherent sentence. “’s my fault, ’s all my fault,” he cries into Ross’s shoulder. “All the times I’ve used and I’m still here and she …” but he’s stopped when Ross pulls away from him, resting his hands on Matty’s shoulders.

“Don’t!” he warns, unwilling to comprehend the turn in conversation. “Don’t you fucking dare! This is not your fault! She was … unlucky,” he sighs, closing his eyes briefly, trying to shake the thought. “She went to the wrong person … people …” he furrows his brows, realisation suddenly dawning on him that someone at Charli’s party had taken full advantage of you — your distressed state having seen Matty’s make out session; praying on you and your vulnerability, providing you with an illegal substance you’d never even seen before, let alone experimented with. 

It makes him — all of them — feel uneasy that someone had targeted you.

“s not your fault, Matty,” Adam softly pipes up with his reassurances. “Come on, mate. There’s no point in blaming yourself or getting angry, it’s not going to help anyone,” he speaks matter of factly, the voice of reason amongst them, as he anxiously drums his fingertips against his thigh.

“Come on,” Ross encourages him, nodding towards the cushioned chairs and coaxing him to take a seat. Matty does so before Ross offers, “Do you want a coffee?” as he sits beside him.

Matty shakes his head and whisper breathes a quiet, “No.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees before placing his head in his hands. His quiet sobs begin to subside as he finally regains his composure and regulates his breathing. “Fucking hate hospital coffee,” he murmurs in addition, and it’s the first lighthearted comment he’s made all evening.

“She’s gonna be fine,” Ross tells him again, placing a supportive arm around him.

“Thank you,” Matty breathes softly as he looks up and  averts his gaze towards Ross next to him, sincerity laced in his tone. “To both of you,” he clarifies, looking between both Ross and Adam.

“What for?” Ross frowns.

“You were there … already helping her,” Matty shrugs, placing his palms against his thighs. “What happened?” he dares to ask, against his better judgement. 

Licking his lips, Ross begins, “I’d gone to check on her. She’d been upset and … well, I know George told you,” he tells him, nervously shuffling in his chair. Ross knew better than anyone that Matty would be feeling incredibly guilty right now and to soften the blow, he’d decided to choose his words wisely.

“She saw me,” Matty confirms.

Ross nods his reply.

“She’d seen you in the lounge with … well, whoever it was,” he acknowledges the existence of the brunette woman. “I managed to get y/n out of there. Carly and Adam took her to the kitchen to calm her down. I caught up with George and Charli. The next thing I knew, I went to kitchen to find her again but she was alone.” 

Ross shakes his head, and runs an agitated hand over his face, a feeble attempt at ridding himself of the horrific memory that vividly replays in his mind.

“She was stumbling around, trying to steady her balance against the kitchen side. She was muttering away, talking to herself … she didn’t make any sense,” Ross takes an in-breath before continuing. “I asked her if she was alright. I thought maybe she’d been drinking more, you know? She kept saying your name, said she needed to find you. That’s when she collapsed,” he clarifies. “I couldn’t wake her. At first I thought it was the alcohol that had affected her; made her paralytic. Everyone was looking so I wanted to move her to somewhere more comfortable. That’s when you came in,” he nods towards Adam.

“I saw it straight away,” Adam sighs regrettably, before clarifying his statement and briefly describing the events that had occurred. “The needle was on the kitchen side, the bag was empty, and there was a spoon and lighter next to it. We realised then what she’d done, so I phoned the ambulance. They said it was safer to keep her on the ground where she was, put her in the recovery position and not to move her. We made her as comfortable as we could … and that’s when Carly came and got you.”

Matty’s eyes begin to pool with tears again, his vision clouded as he can only imagine all too easily how the scene had played out. He feels sick with worry over you; guilty and ashamed at his own actions which had acted as a catalyst; and intense rage at whoever dealt the drug to you tonight.

“If she’d injected, it meant she’d cooked it …” Adam speaks aloud.

“I’ve never shown her how …” Matty trails off as he defends himself. “I never had that stuff around her.” 

“We know, mate,” Ross reassures him. “You would never do anything to put her in harms way.”

“What if she gets addicted now?” Matty asks in a whisper, fear evident in his voice.

“She won’t,” Ross replies confidently.

“How can you be so sure?” he asks.

“You know her, mate. Just this once would have terrified her enough to never touch it again. She never used anything before and tonight would have been a one off. She probably met the wrong bastard tonight who took advantage. She probably thought that one time wouldn’t hurt her; that she’d be lucky,” he bases his assumption on how well he knows you. 

Leaning back in his chair and resting his head against the wall, Matty closes his eyes. Bouncing his knee nervously, he draws a deep in-breath before murmuring, “I don’t want her going through the same thing as me. All I ever wanted to do was protect her from it. It was … different for me, I guess. It’s like I fell down a rabbit hole — the first time I took it and could disassociate from life — it was like a release. And I know it put a lot of pressure on us as a band, but …”

“Mate, you had an addiction. You were ill,” Adam intervenes, comforting his friend as whole new can of worms is about to be exposed about one of the worst times they’d experienced in their career as a band; but first and foremost, within their friendship.

“Didn’t mean I had to push her away, though,” Matty whispers. “I was so lucky when I went to rehab. Some people in that place had nothing; they’d lost their family and friends, their homes, their jobs, their money. I had everything; my family, you guys, I had her. But I still left rehab and scored other drugs and fucked everything up anyway,” he sighs deeply, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, mate,” Ross pipes up, resting a hand on Matty’s knee.

“She was always there for me,” Matty continues. “I just couldn’t be the boyfriend she needed me to be, but if I could go back and do it all again, I would do things so differently,” he whispers. “I should never have let her go.”

“Sounds like we’re not the ones you should be saying this to,” Adam half smiles.

Matty bites his lip, his thoughts running away with him as a comfortable silence fills the room. 

He notes that his white dress shirt is still unbuttoned three from the top and the memory of the sordid make out session he had encountered earlier that night makes him feel queasy, a harsh reminder of the tragedy.

“How … how did you know what to do anyway?” Matty stutters as he clears his throat, breaking the quietness that had temporarily engulfed them.

Ross shrugs, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair before replying. 

“I guess … well … we all kind of wanted to learn how to respond in that … situation … incase it was ever … you,” he’s careful with his words. Whilst Matty’s addiction had never been an attempt on his own life, the idea of an accidental overdose had spurred the rest of the band on recognising the signs, as well as the basics in how to respond to any such situation.

Although honesty was a crucial part of their friendship, talking about Matty’s heroin addiction had always been a difficult subject to approach. The illness had taken a toll on his physical and mental health, had destructed his relationships, and had negatively impacted his song writing. Rehab helped him get back to the person he once was before the addiction.

“I fucking love you guys,” Matty manages to choke out around the lump that formed in his throat at the turn in conversation, and for the first time this evening, he smiles a genuine smile.

With the small distance between the two of them sitting opposite each other, Adam, with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, gently taps his foot against Matty’s — and it’s a minor physical touch that would usually result in a game of footsies between the pair — only this time, it’s a reassuring nudge that would normally be a wordless indication of their feelings; but Adam finds it within him to vocalise an emotional, “We love you too, mate.”

As quickly as the three men succumb to another comfortable silence, it’s broken once again, with Ross not wanting to give Matty the opportunity to get too into his head with the lack of conversation between them, understanding his friend well enough to know he’d be imagining all sorts of scenarios — none of which likely to be positive. 

“Do you need to go for a cig?” Ross asks.

“No,” Matty shakes his head — and it’s a shock to both the other men in the room. Someone who seemingly can’t go five minutes without a cigarette during a live performance actively turning down the vice he uses each day. “Don’t want t’ leave her,” he adds.

Almost as if on cue, a doctor donning a white coat and firmly gripping a clipboard with important documents attached in his large hands, enters the family room and introduces himself to all three men.

He shakes hands with Matty, who is the first to approach him.

Matty quickly fires questions at the medical professional, not once missing a beat as he barely catches his breath in between the queries about your health.

“How is she? Is she ok? Can I see her?”

Ross comes to stand behind him and rests a supportive hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze, to remind him of his friends’ presence — and that he’s not alone.

The doctor gives a reassuring smile, the first giveaway that your outcome is a positive one.

“I am sorry to tell you that y/n did in fact overdose on heroin; we’re yet to determine if that was intentional or accidental. The paramedics on scene administered Naloxone to reverse the effect of the opioid but another dose was required since fentanyl was also present. That combined with the level of alcohol in her system caused the severe reaction tonight, making it much easier to overdose, which is why it took her longer to respond to treatment.”

Matty groans at the information. The thought of you having mixed three substances together, although likely unknowingly, has him feeling physically sick at your vulnerability; and someone else’s cruelty. 

“Fuck,” he shakily mutters under his breath, knowing just how severe this is. Shaking his head, he murmurs a quiet, “Sorry,” before allowing the doctor to continue with his medical findings.

“Since there’s no medical history of y/n experiencing seizures, it’s more than likely that it was brought on by the drug itself. Taking that into account, there doesn’t seem to be any reason as to why y/n won’t make a full recovery so overall I’d say she’s very lucky,” he pauses, before looking between the three men. “She’s awake, but is still a little drowsy, which is to be expected. I’d still like to keep her in for observation overnight, just as a precaution,” he says.

Whilst Matty understands the importance and necessity of this monologue, it seems to take forever for the doctor to spiel medical jargon, before he finally speaks aloud the words that Matty longs to hear.

“You can go and see her.”

*

It takes a few minutes for Matty to pluck up the courage to enter your hospital room to see you, his palms beginning to sweat out of anxiousness and his heart occasionally skipping a beat. He’d been desperate to remain by your side since arriving at the hospital, a strong desire to interfere with the doctors and nurses that had tended to your lifeless body, almost as though he could be the one to cure you.

Questions plague his mind as he runs through several scenarios.

Would you even want to see him after the events that had built up to your accidental overdose tonight? After all, if he hadn’t been so concerned with getting his end away with a random, then you wouldn’t have felt the need to find a vice to cope with your feelings. He was the reason you were here — and he’s probably the last person you want to see.

What would he say to you? No words in the English language could be vocalised to condone his behaviour this evening. Sadly, your latest memory of him was a sordid, dirty, not-so-secret make out session in the corner of a room — not very classy, and not in the least bit romantic. Sorry seemed false; even though he was undeniably apologetic, but no amount of regret could rewind the clock, no matter how much he wished for it.

Running a hand over his face, he rids himself of any negative thoughts, composing himself. He had to stop being selfish; to remove any egotistical notion of himself. This wasn't about him anymore. This was about you.

He takes a deep breath before placing his hand on the doorknob. He pushes it gently so that the door is fractionally ajar, so as not to startle you, and then, almost impatiently, he extends his arm, opening the door fully to reveal you to him.

His eyes find you immediately. Your fragile figure lays still in the hospital bed, looking almost helpless and it saddens Matty to see because he knows how much you would hate that. He avoids reacting to your demeanour, not wishing to alarm you.

Still, you were conscious.

“Hey,” he whisper breathes a sigh of relief, giving you a small smile. “You look better than when I last saw you,” Matty tells you softly, as he comes to stand at the end of your hospital bed, his patent shoes clicking against the tiles when he halts. 

Hands in his pockets, he looks rough; you note; as though he hasn’t slept in weeks. The stubble around his jawline denotes he hasn't shaved in the last couple of weeks at least, most likely due to tour commitments. His dishevelled hair is a solid indicator that he’s run his hand through it many times — or someone else has — and perhaps it's because you haven’t seen him in a while — or maybe it’s because he’s mid-thirties — but the grey strands are becoming more prominent atop of his head.

He drags his bottom lip between his teeth, anxiously, although attentively, observing your surroundings. Monitors bleep around you, screens recording your vitals — numbers that mean absolutely nothing to him — but the consistency that the machines offer indicates that you must be within healthy ranges. Bags of liquid are hanging on a drip stand and IV’s are inserted into your veins pumping unknown substances into your body.

Removing a hand from his pocket, he nervously clears his throat as he slowly makes his way around the bed and towards you, before finally stopping beside you. Tentatively, he lowers himself and perches on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly beneath his weight.

Even in your drowsy state, lethargy consuming your entire body, you roll your eyes at his comment and Matty’s never been happier to hear a breathy laugh escape your lips. Reaching for the oxygen mask, you attempt to remove it, but Matty’s hand is quickly placed over yours, stopping you from doing so.

“No, no, keep it on darling,” he whispers delicately.

Your lack of energy, consumed by tiredness, as well as the the throbbing pain across your forehead ensures you don’t fight him on this one, instantly giving up, your hand going slack underneath his. Satisfied that you won’t oppose his actions any further, he rests his hand against his thigh.

Matty’s eyes avert to your other hand which rests atop of the hospital blanket. He’s somewhat hesitant before deciding to reach towards you, his fingertips brushing against your skin, careful not to dislodge the drip inserted into a prominent vein. When you don’t flinch at the physical contact, he encloses your hand within his own.

Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes, as though his admission will be more bearable to speak aloud if he can’t see your reaction.

“I was so scared,” he whispers. 

He opens his eyes again, drinking in your exhausted demeanour.

“I was so fucking scared,” he repeats, with equally as much conviction as the first time.

“Matty,” you whisper tearfully at his words, your tone apologetic.

“Never wan’ to see you like that ever again, you hear me? You … you don’t get to do that,” his words are a firm warning but he lacks any threat with a soft tone, an oxymoron of emotions engulfing him as his voice wavers, his thumb skimming the upside of your hand. “You don’t get to do that to me. Can’t lose you darling.”

He swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat. Metaphorically, he’d already lost you in the midst of a relationship breakdown — but the mere thought of you losing your life to the same substance he had battled an addiction with for several years would literally break him.

You reach for your oxygen mask once again, and when Matty attempts to prevent you from doing so a second time, you swat his hand away — albeit pathetically — removing it from your face.

“I didn’t mean to,” you desperately try to convince him. “It was an accident,” you tell him, tears pooling in your eyes.

One of the machines begins to beep harshly, the numbers displayed on the screen increasing rapidly, and Matty immediately realises that your heart rate has spiked.

Determined to soothe you, Matty reassuringly squeezes your hand.

“I know, darling. I know. Just calm down for me, yeah?” he encourages, leaning forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You offer a small nod in response although his words seem to have no positive effect as the bleeping continues with the same level of consistency, numbers incessantly and hastily increasing.

“Listen to me, y/n,” his tone is firmer this time, obvious desperation laced in his words. “I need you to calm down for me. Take a deep breath,” he models it himself, inhaling air deeply into his lungs through his nose and exhaling through his parted lips. 

You copy him, mirroring his actions a few times.

“If you need this again,” he gestures towards the oxygen mask but you shake your head as your breathing begins to regulate a little and the numbers on the heart rate monitor gradually decrease once more.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you assure him.

He nods, understanding, but encourages you to continue, “Deep breaths, love.” 

You compose yourself relatively quickly, almost surprised at your own resilience as you inhale and exhale a few more times, steadying your breaths and repeating the action until you’re fully calm.

“That’s it,” he praises, stroking your hand with his own, whilst his other hand finds its fingers twirling through your hair, stroking loose strands out of your face. 

He takes a few moments, allowing you to succumb to the peace that surrounds you both — but he has questions and he yearns for answers.

“Do you think you can tell me what happened tonight?” he practically dares to ask.

You shift uncomfortably beneath the thin blanket that covers you, barely keeping you warm. Taking a deep breath, you nod, nervousness consuming you as you brace yourself, preparing to inform Matty about the events that had occurred earlier that evening.

“I saw you,” you state matter of factly, although it’s not news to him. “You were with someone … another girl,” you clarify.

Your gaze subconsciously averts away from Matty’s but out of the corner of your eye, you’re hyperaware that he also follows suit, unable to make eye contact with each other at the harsh admission. Your cheeks redden slightly in embarrassment, whilst his features are full of guilt.

“I saw you coming out of the bathroom together at first. I didn’t realise it was serious, not until … well, I came down to the lounge and you were … the two of you were …” you trail off, fiddling with the hospital admission band around your wrist that suddenly becomes interesting.

The pads of Matty’s thumbs gently massage your skin, encouraging you to continue. Raising his head and meeting your gaze, you’re able to find the strength to carry on.

“I was upset and didn’t want to feel anything. I’d had a lot to drink but that wasn’t numbing the pain. So when I was offered heroin,” you shrug. “It never affected you that way so I thought … I thought I’d be ok,” you whimper, your bottom lip trembling.

“Darling,” Matty whispers, his thumb gently soothing your skin as your hand remains enveloped in his. “It affects everyone differently. There’s so many factors that affect someone’s reaction to drugs — the amount you’ve taken, it’s purity, what it’s cut with, the method of using …” he begins to list.

“I know, I know,” you shake your head, cutting him off. 

You already felt foolish enough for ever trusting the guy you’d met tonight in the kitchen — felt embarrassed that many people had seen you unconscious against the cold tiles, vomiting and experiencing a seizure. Whilst you know it’s not Matty’s intention, the last thing you want — or need — is a lecture.

Instantly understanding, Matty drops the topic as quick as he'd raised it, and instead, decides to pass on the good news.

“The doctor says you’re lucky; reckons you’ll make a full recovery. You just need to rest,” he breathes a sigh of relief himself as his sentence rolls effortlessly off of his tongue.

Your ears prick up at his words and you give him a hopeful smile.

“Does that mean I can go home?” you ask, suddenly sitting yourself upright, ignoring the pounding in your head accompanied by the dizziness, in turn making you feel a little nauseous.

Home. 

Matty wonders where home is for you now.

In an ideal world, Matty would want you living with him again — reliving your favourite memories that you experienced as the couple you once were when you were unconditionally in love with each other, as well as making new ones together.

You’d be waking up in his bed each morning; sometimes to sex, always to coffee, with mundane household chores threatening to be completed as adulthood entailed cooking, cleaning, tag teaming washing the dishes, and starting petty arguments over whose turn it was to dispose of the rubbish on bin day (it was his turn every week).

He would give the world and more to have you telling him that you don’t mind what film you watched together — even though you did — only for you to fall asleep within minutes of putting it on. He would ensure that you have warm, fluffy towels for after your bubble bath, and you’d be welcomed into the kitchen with the inviting aromas of your favourite dishes that he’d cook for you.

Matty would keep you safe — always — keeping a watchful eye over you so as something like this could never occur again, giving not one single soul the opportunity to hurt his girl — and the realisation dawns on him that perhaps one of his downfalls was that no matter how hard he tried in this lifetime, he couldn’t protect you from everything.

“They want to keep you in overnight,” he breaks the bad news to you, regrettably.

“No,” you whine, emitting a groan as you roll your eyes to the ceiling. 

“‘m sorry, love,” his tone is apologetic, “But they want to monitor you.” 

“Please, Matty. I’m fine! Please see if they will discharge me tonight,” you beg, your doe-eyes pleading with him.

“Darling,” he murmurs softly, stroking your hand reassuringly once again. “You overdosed on heroin, which was cut with fentanyl, by the way,” he informs you, before continuing matter of factly, “Your alcohol levels were through the roof, you had a seizure and you were sick. You’re in the best place right now.”

There was truth behind Matty’s words and you know it. Admitting defeat, you know there’s no arguing against the doctor’s decision to monitor you overnight.

Instead, you ask, “Stay?” your tone nervous, as you softly plead with Matty. “Will you stay with me?”

Matty exhales a shaky breath, offering a small smile as relief washes over him that you want him; need him. 

“Of course I’ll stay, ‘m not going anywhere.”

There’s not much time to succumb to the silence that threatens to engulf the two of you as a hesitant knock, accompanied by a throat-clearing cough, can be heard against the grey door to your hospital room. Straining your neck and peering towards the entrance, you notice two figures lingering in the doorway, one of which is leaning against the doorframe. 

Matty whips his head around to see who the disruption is, before turning back to meet your gaze and announcing with a small smile, “I think someone want to say hello.”

As if on cue, Ross and Adam enter your hospital bay and approach you. Coming to stand beside you, Ross acknowledges you with a small kiss to your temple and Adam rests a hand atop of your hospital blanket, reassuringly squeezing your leg.

“How’re doing?” Adam is the first to ask, as they each take a seat in the grey plastic chairs beside your bed.

You give a small nod and shrug in tandem.

“I’m ok,” you tell them — although even you know that they know that you’re not being entirely truthful so you decide to elaborate on your answer further, providing them with some honesty at least. “I’m tired and have a headache, but other than that I’m alright.”

“You scared us back there,” Ross pipes up, worry evident in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” your eyes avert to your hand enveloped in Matty’s.

“Don’t be,” Ross softly murmurs, shaking his head and resting a hand atop of your arm. 

You shake your head in protest.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” you tell them apologetically, sincerely adding, “I’m sorry that you had to deal with me like that.” You shake your head slightly, closing your eyes for a brief second as embarrassment consumes you.

“’s not your fault,” Ross tells you. “We’re just glad you’re ok.” 

“Thank you,” your eyes flit between the three of them this time, acutely aware of the vital role they had all played tonight in getting you the help you needed from the emergency services. You can only imagine how terrifying and surreal the ordeal must have been for them as well.

“Don’t need to thank us,” Matty furrows his brows.

“If you hadn’t …” you begin. “I’d be dead,” you state it so matter of factly, that Matty feels physically ill.

“Don’t, y/n,” he gently warns, unable to fathom any other outcome.

Silence fills the room, further accentuating the bleeping sounds of the machines that whir around you. For the first time, it’s an awkward quietness, seemingly uncomfortable between the four of you once the discussion had taken a darker turn. 

However, there’s still one more topic of conversation dancing on the lips of the three men amongst you but nobody has seemed willing to take the lead in voicing their thoughts just yet — that is until Ross clears his throat, less confident than he actually appears as he delivers his question.

“Who gave it to you?” he asks, a strong desire to know who dealt you the drug.

“I don’t know,” you shrug.

“Please, y/n,” Matty begs breathlessly, his eyes finding the ceiling. “Please don’t protect anyone,” he pleads, the pad of his thumb continuously circling itself against your hand.

“I don’t know,” you repeat. “Honestly. It was a random guy who got talking to me. I didn’t even ask his name.” 

Your earnest tone is all that’s needed for them to know you’re telling the truth; you’d just been unfortunate enough for your vulnerable self to fall victim to the dealer this evening, him cruelly having taken full advantage of your distressed state.

"If I ever find out who it was," Matty begins, using his free hand to clench his fist out of anger.

“Don’t,” you practically beg, shaking your head. “Please don’t. It was my own fault. I should never have listened to him or trusted him in the first place. It was a bad idea and I knew it. I just went against my own judgement in the heat of the moment and acted on impulse.”

Whilst you knew how it appeared, you really weren’t defending the dealer who had provided you with the substance and tools that could have resulted in you ending your life tonight — but the last thing you wanted was violence. Neither Matty, Ross or Adam had fighting tendencies and that wasn’t about to change because of you and your one mistake.

Ross sniggers slightly, before raising an eyebrow as he looks between you and Matty.

“Impulse? You two really are perfect for each other,” he laughs.

You roll your eyes at the humour implied in his light hearted comment. It was public knowledge that Matty would often find himself in hot water due to acting on impulse, often through the portrayal of an online persona, or through expressing controversies during live performance and interviews.

You had often scolded him during your relationship, heavily reminded him of his role model status to many young and impressionable fans, because his words had consequences, often resulting in him being ‘cancelled.’

Before you can respond, another small knock at the door indicates an interruption for the second time — saddened when the nurse on call entered the room and informed you that only one person could be at your bedside for the remainder of the night.

Adam emits a groan, admitting defeat once the nurse bids you farewell for the night, although not before reminding both you and Matty that she’s on duty throughout the course of the early hours and until sunrise, so if you needed anything, she was your go-to.

“Suppose we best be off then,” Adam rolls his eyes.

“You take care,” Ross offers you a smile and presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “See you soon, mate,” he reaches forwards and offers Matty a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You look after her,” he finishes his goodbyes.

Once the hustle and bustle of them leaving your hospital room subsides, you and Matty are left only in each other's company, surrounded by a comfortable silence once more. 

Your eyes avert to the window of your hospital room as you observe the outside world, nothing but darkness consuming everything at this ungodly hour, with the exception of the few street lamps that light up the hospital car park that your room overlooks.

With your hand still enveloped within Matty’s, you can feel his eyes focussing on you — and you alone.

“I’m ok,” you whisper softly, turning to Matty, distracting him from his own thoughts.

“Hmm?” he hums, indicating that he had been out of touch with reality. Your statement had grounded him, bringing him mentally back into the room with you as he looks up to meet your gaze.

“I said I’m ok,” you repeat, and it’s your turn to massage the palm of his hand with your thumb, reassuring him you are physically well — and alive.

He nods in acknowledgement but it’s clear he has a lot plaguing his mind. You decide not to push him just yet, knowing him well enough that he’ll communicate his thoughts and feelings on his terms, although you're surprised when his response comes almost immediately.

“I thought …,” Matty exhales a shaky breath, tears pooling in his eyes, “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologise, your bottom lip trembles, the heightened emotions you’re both feeling needing to be addressed with each other properly. There was still so much to say, so many things you had to discuss, questions that had to be asked, answers that needed clarifying.

Matty shakes his head vigorously, stopping you from continuing your apology.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” his tone is full of sincerity. “I just need you to know that … if I’d lost you … I don’t know what I’d do.” 

He chokes on a sob, the memory of your unconscious body sprawled across the kitchen floor still haunting him — and he fears that your lifeless frame will appear in his nightmares every time he closes his eyes. Bringing your hand up to his lips, he presses a soft and tender kiss against your skin.

“I love you,” he murmurs. 

“Matty,” you breathe, comprehending his words immediately.

“I love you so much, darling,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” you reply, barely missing a beat. 

He knew it were true; you didn’t say things you didn’t mean.

“I’m sorry if I ever … that I let you down,” he adds — and it’s not a comment out of guilt or pity for himself. It’s an apology to you — an earnest admission, honest and sincere, as he recalls the times when he hadn’t been the boyfriend he should have been for you.

“You haven’t,” you whimper, choking on a sob, emotion overcoming you at the sudden change in dynamic of the conversation. “Matty, you never let me down. You had an addiction! I know that you came off the heroin after rehab but you were still battling a drug addiction. You still needed something to get through life, a vice to help you cope. If anything, I’m sorry that I didn’t recognise the signs sooner and get you help.” 

“Darling,” Matty gently warns.

Whilst he understands the importance of this much needed conversation between the two of you, it’s a topic he doesn’t want to explore too deeply just yet — there’s plenty of time to discuss everything that had contributed to the breakdown of your relationship but right now, you needed to focus on your own recovery from tonight.

“Not now, eh?” it’s a rhetorical comment.

Before he can stop himself, he leans forward, resting his forehead gently against your own. It’s the closest he’s been all night and you can still smell the smoke that lingers on his clothes; the warmth of his breath fanning your cheeks each time he softly exhales. He feels like home. His eyes avert downwards towards his hand intertwined with your own in his lap — and it feels right.

“We have a lot to talk about,” you whisper, breaking the silence, your lips a hairs breadth from his. 

Nervously gulping, as though an in love, giddy teenager, Matty agrees. 

“Yeah, we do. But it can wait, darling. You need to rest.” 

You shake your head, a feeble attempt at protesting against his suggestion.

“Rest, sweetheart,” he reiterates. “We can talk about everything tomorrow, yeah?”

You both know you won’t. Matty will still want to give you time to recover, waiting on you hand and foot, treating you as though you’re made of glass for at least the next month — but you don’t actually think you’d mind.

“I’ll still be here. I’m not going anywhere,” he reaches forwards, resting his palm gently against your cheek.

Muscle memory, instinct, and habit amalgamate and you tilt your head towards his hand, leaning into his soft touch on your face. The welcomed familiarity makes your heart swell as he cradles your cheek. Inching forwards ever so slightly, Matty presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his soft, plush lips lingering against your skin for longer than necessary — but you weren't complaining.

“‘m not going anywhere,” he repeats quietly, emotion thick in his voice as he swallows the small lump that has formed in his throat, his brain in overdrive as he contemplates the magnitude of events that had occurred tonight.

“You promise?” you question, as you raise your hand to cover his own, your fingers intertwining with his against your blush cheeks.

“I promise.”

#the 1975 #the 1975 imagines #the 1975 imagine #the 1975 preference #the 1975 preferences #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 fanfiction #matty healy #matty healy imagine #matty healy imagines #matty healy preference #matty healy preferences #matty healy one shot #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 one shot #ross macdonald #ross macdonald fanfic #ross macdonald fanfiction #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald imagines #ross macdonald preference #ross macdonald preferences #adam hann #ross macdonald one shot #adam hann one shot #adam hann preference #adam hann preferences #adam hann imagine #adam hann imagines

[v1x3n]

concert findings noncon!

kyle 'gaz' garrick x reader masterlist

the lights were blaring the music was loud as you swiftly dance your hips across the dancefloor, the loud sounds vibrate from the stage to across the floor to create a small hurt in your heel. or it could be the amount of hours you had spent swaying your body to the everlasting music - but anyway you had decided you were tired. slumping down to a table with a few others, your eye catches this guy's figure.

The man was strong and his shirt was well fitted - clinging onto his body while he moved to see you staring at him. “I like your makeup,” he screams over the music, trying to get you to hear his compliment.

“oh! thank you!” you shout back as he shuffled closer to you. the first thing you noticed was his smile, fuck it was beautiful. or the first thing you had noticed was his pretty ass doe eyes, either way you had already gotten interested. “what you drinkin?” asking as you peer down to his cup, trying to just make conversation. He had simply passed the drink along to you as if to say ‘guess yourself’. beer, he was drinking beer.

“oh shite yeh, what's your name?” almost panic blasting through his voice, he grabs his drink back to take a strong swig. “y/n, you?”

“Kyle.”

the conversation starts flowing more and more as you sit down together interested in what each others saying. getting to know each other more as he asks, “so you here with anyone?boyfriend perhaps?”

it's been a long time since anyone had asked anything of the sorts, out of pure shock you had just stared at him - almost confused at his question. “uh no.” you reply with a high amount of confusion. “how come?”

you sound out a small confused sound, a small hum. it's almost ss if he gets off of confusing you with the way this conversation was going, “just haven't met anyone good i guess” a small chuckles follows the sentence. looking over at him as he chuckles along with you a hoarse but sweet laugh - you couldnt tell if he was laughing with you or at you but nonetheless his laugh had just cheered you up. it was sweet the same sweetness candy floss is,luscious and soft almost. “well your a beautiful lass, hard to believe you dont got a lad.” the british accent forming through his words. you giggle at his Flirtatious message as he takes a strong sip from his beer. blush revolves around your cheeks, you push your hair behind your esr - signalling that you were interested.

“let me get you a drink, hm?” without even replying he had already patted your shoulder to say he was going and he had set off.

you haven't felt the way your stomach was twirling in ages, almost too long. sure you had been in relationships but nothing felt like this, noone had really flirted like this with you and it was almost too good to be true to be honest. The music halts while the next song is preparing, the audience cheers and fires up with an uproar as you see Kyle emerge through the group.

“im back luv.” talking with you as if you had been married for years, embarrassing to admit but it had made you blush. “you really didn't need too” you reply as he gives you the cocktail he had just ordered for you.

he smiles softly at you as he encouraged you to take a sip, god he was so kind. you could just fall in love right then. taking a small sip as he almost cheers you on you look over to the crowd, who was currently jumping and dancing around at the start of the new song. “it's good!” half laughing through your words and he takes a seat back down next to you.

“Are you here with anyone?” reciprocating the question he had asked earlier back at him.

“no im not, think i'd buy you a drink if i was tied down?” he jokingly scoffs as you giggle at your silliness, “so how long you liked em for?” you glared at him confused -yet again, then you had realised what he was talking about. the band. ofc.

“a year? perhaps, you?” you babbled as he looked at you, no into your soul almost. his pretty ass eyes were just breathtaking, it was like they could sense all your fears from how vibrantly they looked at you. “you dont look like you're into this type of music if i'm honest” a breathless laugh followed from you and him.

“what music would you think i listen to then?country music maybe?” you giggle at that shitty joke, fully engaged in him. “no its just, i wouldn't expect someone like you here.”

“increasingly handsome?” he jokes and once more you giggle. the type if laugh you expect a girl who is madly in love with you to make. taking a small chug of the cocktail he had previously bought you ad you look down into the colourful splash of alcohol. “what's in this?” your head feels… heavier, looking down into the drink then glossing your eyes back up at him to see him chuckling breathlessly and grinning at you. “its- hah, quite strong!” gulping and exclaiming at the same time, you had took another sip as he does the same with his beer. A dizzy rash persits around your eyes, a deep haze. maybe it was just… oh idk dehydration? you take another sip then you…

“fuck!” waking up to a familiar voice in front of you, groaning out in pain. No, not pain. pleasure?

the fizz around your mind slowly clears as you dot your eyes around the place to see kyle in front of you. “k-kyle?” you grunt as you figure out the predicament you had gotten yourself into. “shit your awake” calm panic setting into his voice has your sensations come back to you, peering down at a thrusting feel to see kyle. thrust in, thrust out and again, then again and on going. your mewls getting more high pitched the longer he goes on. “god your so good love.” the praise as he piledrives into you, acting as you were his personal fleshlight, he bangs his cock into you over and over again. “s-stop..!” a small whine hardly fumbles from your mouth, tears dragging down your face from the rough abuse you were getting. kyle had pinned you to the wall, your legs folded up against your body. your gags from the amount of tears you had cried was overbearing.

“your so so good , being such a- fuck! such a good girl.” grunting through the constantly painfully pleasurable thrusts. “god your amazing baby.'' His groans turn into low whines as he gets closer to the edge. He soon twists positions and somehow reaches his girthy cock further into your cunt. reaching the right spot which made you gasp and tighten around his length. you mewl once again and moan out in pleasure, the sensation of him using you as a toy could almost make you cum just from that. your wetness squirts around his cock as he thrusts harder, making your pussy turn into a messy, sensitive mess. each touch to it makes you whimper.

between him muttering ‘god,god,god’ and your moans there wasn't much of a chance to say anything else, he then reaches to touch your clit. tightening up once again and trying to squirm away he holds down onto your clit. “Come on dont run away, you're a good lil plaything for me.” groaning to himself as he slowly pets your clit, his cock stopping inside of you and cockwarming you. a knot forming inside your stomach as his digits enter you, filled with his cock and now 2 of his fingers. “n-no!” whimpering yet again as he moves his fingers inside of you. He moves forward and grits his teeth onto your neck, folding you completely in half as he does so, the dizziness that formed in your head had fully cleared by now. Now you are awake and fully well knowing of the situation. “im-” you cry out as you reach your high as he fingers the tight space you have left in your cunt. Then there it was , the sweet juice spilling out around his cock and fingers as he takes both of them out - creating a white stringy mess following it. “well done baby, you- shit your pussy so good.” he mutters again as he shoves himself back inside of you harder and deeper than before .

creating a ‘mmhh!!’ sound as he pounds into you as fast as he could, “the-there please!” you moan as he hits your sweet, sensitive spot. he whines roughly as he grinds harder and harder in the place he wanted. crying out louder and louder as he bites down onto your neck, creating a small bite mark and a bruise just coming in, a small amount of blood pouring from the spots he had bitten. “im guna fill you up love.” he warns as he takes one final thrust into you and finishes, his hot liquid spilling from out of you and creating a small pool underneath you, it had filled you up so much there wasn't anywhere else for it to go. the heat of everything created another blur- cock drunk from him as he pets your hair and shoves your face down to the floor - just underneath his cock.

“clean your slutty mess up then hm?”

#cod x reader #mw2 headcannons #mw2 x reader #cod mwii #modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty mwii #call of duty mw2 #warfare 2 #call of duty x reader #cod mw22 #cod mw2 #cod headcanons #cod imagine #x reader #modern warfare 2 #character x reader #reader insert #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz headcanons #gaz x reader #gaz mw2 #gaz garrick #gaz cod #kyle gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x you #v1x3n!writes

[charactersmashorpass]

"He caused my bisexual awakening. The most handsome of lads. Luscious golden hair. Hell yeag."

#link #tears of the kingdom #tumblr poll #smash or pass

[vizzyturlough]

Hair growth in Fiveys team

So here we’ve got our usual long hair for our fifth Doctor and same short hair for Turlough and Tegan, same as normal so it suits the characters

Then we’ve got the fifth Doctor with way short hair, poor lad had all his locks taken away. Turloughs hair has casually stayed the same just a slight less combing

The whole gang with their luscious hair, Tegan is absolutely rocking that hair style

Then we’ve got fivel with his hair the usual length and Turloughs is slightly overgrown, it needs trimming

#doctor who #classicwho #classic who #doctorwho #vislor turlough #doctor who 60th anniversary #turlough #fifth doctor #doctorxturlough #tegan jovanka #long hair #ginger #mark strickson #janet fielding #peter davison

[hopelessromantic5]

This is heavily based on a grumpy/sunshine skit that I’m obsessed with on tiktok. She deserves the credit for all of it, I just plugged our two favorite idiots into the empty spots.

Link to the video:

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8Wdm2VH/

“Your car is outside but you can’t text me back?” Arthur yells out before his feet are over the threshold of the front door. “So how was it? You have to tell me, is that his real hair or a wig to persuade cheap losers into buying ten pound shots?”

He froze as soon as he lifted his head and saw a face in the kitchen that was certainly not Merlin.

“Oh…” is what he gets out in response. “Sorry.”

The man, Gwaine, he’s assuming, simply grins back and shakes his luscious head of hair.

“No worries.” He chuckles. “It’s all natural, I’m afraid.” Then he tugs on one of the strands as if to demonstrate that it won’t come off.

Arthur is trying to find an excuse to walk back out the door he just entered but Gwaine stops him with

“Wait, I know you.” Smiling in good nature.

Arthur just looks at him.

“You come in with Merls sometimes,” the pieces seem to be clicking for him as he continues. Arthur was stuck on ‘Merls’?

“Oh! You work the corporate joint, that’s why we don’t see you much.”

Arthur can barely shrug.

“Yeah, it keeps me on the clock pretty late, don’t always get to join lads night.”

“Shame.” Gwaine mirrors his shrug. “You want a drink?”

“Nah, it’s a little late for me, mate.” Awkwardly he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and begged desperately for an out.

Thankfully, Merlin reappeared from the hallway at that second.

“I’ll take one!”

“There he is.” Gwaine smiled as he set about making the drink.

“I see you’ve met my flatmate.” Merlin smiles softly at him for a split second before turning his attention back to his date.

Arthur is suddenly very warm. And feeling asphyxiated by his tie.

“Yeah, we’ve seen each other around.”

Arthur is discovering that Gwaine probably doesn’t have a conniving bone in his body, which only makes him that much more irritated at how…irritated he is. Gwaine isn’t even an asshole. He’s just himself, and Arthur doesn’t know why he’s so angry.

Or maybe he does.

“That was fast.” Merlin said peering down at the martini glass Gwaine placed in front of him.

“Is this one mine?”

“Of course, go for it.” Gwaine encourages him.

As soon as Merlin takes a sip, Arthur knows by the look on his face, that he doesn’t like it.

The Pendragon heir scans the counter and finds exactly why.

Before he can catch his mouth, he blurts out

“You hate gin.”

“What?” Merlin turns impossibly innocent. “No, I don’t.”

“Hey, it’s not everyone’s drink of choice. I will not be offended in the slightest if you-“

“I don’t, though. I like it.” Merlin cuts him off.

“You’re a terrible liar, too. I always try to get him to taste a Negroni or something with a little more flavor and he always says ‘I can’t drink this shit, it tastes like rubbing alcohol.’”

“Well, that’s when you make it. When he makes it, it’s actually good.” Merlin tips his head back and downs the rest of the martini.

When he’s finished, still holding Arthur’s gaze, unwavering, he sets the glass down on the marble countertop and requests,

“Another, please.”

Gwaine, still smiling as ever, is happy to oblige.

“Comin right up.”

Arthur is a little lost, Merlin’s eyes on him and Gwaine standing there looking at him like he knows, but he doesn’t know, he can’t know.

There’s nothing to know.

In a panic, he pretends his phone is ringing, still unable to tear his eyes away from Merlin’s unmerciful face until the last second.

“I’m…um..getting a call. So I’m just gonna…” and then without grabbing his keys or his coat, he leaves out the front door.

Cold, September air knocking the awareness back into him.

What the hell is going on with him today?

#merthur #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin and arthur #merthur fic #merthur drabble #scribbles basically #and they were roommates #gwaine #Gwaine the bartender #corporate Arthur #grumpy x sunshine

[giantsorcowboys]

Guy Friday 💪🏻🧔🏻‍♂️💪🏻

From Rugby To The NFL...🏉🏈

Cannot Wait To See Louis Rees-Zammit In A Skintight NFL Uniform.🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿🇺🇸🍑🙌🔥😍🔥😍🔥😍

Woof, Baby!🌶🌶🌶🌶

#Louis Rees-Zammit #Wales #WRU #Rugby #Rugby Union #NFL #Gods of Rugby #Muse of the NFL #Muse of the Grid Iron #Beautiful Men #Cute Guys #Handsome Lads #Mr. Power Glutes #Muscular Hindquarters #Men in Tight Uniforms #Guy Fridays #Luscious Lads #Woof Baby! #Men in Tights #Men in Lycra #Nice Arse Stud! #Nice Slab Stud!

[elen-benfelen]

welsh remus guide pt.4

Fourth Part

Welcome back, lads. It’s time for slang, swearing, exclamations and terms of endearment. Buckle up, this is a long one.

Just to get it out of the way, I will begin by stating that, whilst a very romantic and poetic language, Welsh is not what I would personally rely on for dirty talk.

I’m sure there’s folks out there using Welsh for such purposes, most of us however will cringe because it just doesn’t land in the same way as English dirty talk.

This might genuinely in part be because a huge part of the language’s preservation came from people learning Welsh at their local chapels and churches because you weren’t allowed to speak it in most schools at that point in time. But this is just me guessing.

On the flip side of this, if the goal is romance or a beautiful proclamation of love, Welsh is absolutely your best friend. It’s a very loving language, and not just platonically.

It is very common for older people to call you “bach” or “cariad”. Anyone can use these for anyone. Especially when comforting someone or being polite.

Bach - Small

Cariad - Love

This is done in both Welsh and English.

“Ti’n iawn, bach?” (Are you alright, bach?)

“Dere ‘mlaen*, cariad.” (C’mon, cariad)

*slang for ymlaen meaning “forward” and in a Carmarthenshire accent sounds like “mlân”

Many folks will also use “cariad” to refer to their partner.

“Fy nghariad.” (My love/My partner/etc)

South Walians (especially south west) might say:

Wajen/Wejen - Girlfriend

Sboner - Boyfriend

Your married partner can be more specifically called:

Priod - Marriage partner

With a wedding being a “priodas”.

Gwraig - Wife

Gŵr - Husband

Conclusion here is: Everyone is “cariad” and your romantic partner is “my cariad”.

The word “calon” meaning “heart” can be used in the same way.

“Shwd i ti, calon?” (How are you, calon?)

Personally, with “fy nghalon” (my heart) I would use that directly with my partner but not when talking about them with others.

So again, everyone is “calon”.

Now we get to the real funky bit of exclamations/swearing.

We don’t have a word for “fuck” we literally just say the English one and then spell it phonetically so that it’s “ffyc”.

It’s my favourite thing ever.

Cachu - Shit

Buwch - Cow

Ceri i grafu - Fuck off / Go to scratch

(Apologies for those who aren’t comfortable with what is considered blasphemy in some communities but these are common exclamations here)

Iesu Grist - Jesus Christ

Iesu Mawredd - Christ Almighty

Both “Iesu”and “Mawredd” can be said by themselves as well and are generally what I personally say when I’m tired, facing a problem or have hit my foor against something.

Alternatively, a little less Jesus focused is:

Bois bach

Mam fach

I uh….don’t know how to explain these ones. I really don’t, lads. Because the literal translations just don’t make sense.

“Little boys” and “Little mother”

We just, say them.

I say them a Lot. Again, same concept of being fed up, tired enough or in enough pain to just exclaim. It’s like saying “gosh” or “dear me” and such. Very common.

Now to return again to the more blasphemous ones. We reach one of my Mamgu’s favourites:

Jiw jiw nefi blw

Again….I don’t know where nefi blw comes from or if this is even the right spelling. My Mamgu (grandma) says it so often but she also doesn’t know what it means.

The “jiw jiw” can be said alone without the second part and sounds a bit like “jew jew” but is just a evolution of the phrase “duw duw” which means “god god”.

The first time I said this in front of a very English friend they were very confused and concerned that it was some kind of antisemitic phrase - fortunately it is not!

Duwedd annwyl - Dear God

On the more positive side of exclamations is the word “lush” which is more popular in the South and is used a lot in the English language within Wales. I believe it’s short for “luscious”.

“That coat’s lush!”

“Ti’n edrych yn lush!” (You look lush!)

This is common amongst non-Welsh speakers as well as Welsh speakers.

Some very common Northern / Gog slang is “champiwn” and “eidial”.

Which are basically “champion” and “ideal” with heavy North Walian accents.

It’s like, a confirmation in a way. For anyone who’s familiar with the word “slay” and how that’s used, it’s similar to that.

Like instead of saying “okay” sometimes someone will just say “champiwn” or “eidial”. With the “ch” being the English “ch” in “change”.

Which brings us to the greatest criminal of the language but also one of my favourite words:

Cwtch

The only official word in the Welsh language that has that “change” ch sound spelt as a “ch”.

Would I go back in time and stop them from spelling it that way if I could? Absolutely.

Cwtsh is how it should phonetically be spelt. Alas. There is no reversing the insane amount of merch across Wales with Cwtch spread across them.

It’s particularly warm hug or cuddle but it can also be like a nook.

In my area we refer to the cupboard under the stairs as the:

“cwtch dan star” - (cwtch under the stairs)

but also:

“Put that in the dog’s cwtch.” Is a perfectly acceptable phrase.

or:

“This is my cwtch, go get your own.”

Like “lush”, this word is used by many non-Welsh speakers in their English and is a very common term (at least it is in the South)

So a cosy reading nook would be Remus’ cwtch and Sirius would be his cariad.

I think that about covers swearing and endearment? Of course there’s probably ones I’ve missed or aren’t familiar with but these are what came to mind for me.

For the next part I’ll go into terms for family members before moving on to culture/history with a focus on events that would influence the marauders era. Which, oh boy, things were a bit rocky in Wales then. Lots of protests for the working class and for the language.

Note: I am not the collective consciousness of every Welsh person. My experience is not universal - especially when it comes to North Walian things. This is just meant to serve as a general guide. Hope this helps and good luck with your writing!

#welsh remus lupin #welsh remus #marauders era #cymraeg #lily evans #james potter #sirius black #the marauders #wales #welsh #welsh language #wolfstar

[violetvvitchwitchery]

I have a theory… WHAT IF Crowley starts experimenting with his hair simply because he started to sleep from time to time?

Let me explain: in The Beginning Crawley doesn’t exactly go far from a typical look that any angel would serve, he only seems to be more demon-like because of the colours than the actual hair style. He was not consciously making choices about his hairstyle - he didn’t need to adjust them, he probably didn’t know that he can sleep even.

Later we see his hair get progressively messier (Noah and book of Job) - with more untangled curls and then the Bildadian catastrophe in need of some emollients.

We don’t see this happen with Aziraphale’s hair (and I know, he likes it short and easy BUT we see other angels who had long hair and never had problems with messy hair) so let’s just ask ourselves what Crowley does that Azi is not so fond of? He sleeps. And we are not talking about few minutes naps - we are talking days, months, eventually years of sleep. You can’t convince me that any entity would wake up and be all dolled up, not even God herself.

So imagine this: Crowley wakes up after a looooong nap and the first surface he encounters that reflects his appearance shows him something absolutely horrifying. Imagine your hair (I’m talking especially to my curly-hair gals, lads and they thems) after this amount of sleep - it’s probably looking like you just have been resurrected.

Crowley is probably already an anxiety-driven queen that we know and love and can’t stand the thought of Azi seeing him like this. So at first he cuts them short (Rome) but then, one beautiful day, he encounters some hair styling products - probably some hair rollers made of bones at something like this (I’m sorry I possess an absolute zero of knowledge about ancient hair styling techniques and/or products). But that’s how his love for hairstyles, hair products and hair in general begins. Just look at those luscious perfect curls!!!

So yeah, I think that it started as an annoying thing for Crowley - an unpleasant necessity which comes with taking a hibernation nap, but after a while became a fun hobby of his. Maybe he was even excited to go for a quick sleep and then wake up after few months and see what was a hair trend then.

I’m sorry this post was so long but I can’t stop thinking about Crowley making a joyful squeak every time his new hair treatment would work or when he discovers that he can watch hair tutorials on YouTube :3

Oh an Crowley is also representing each and every one of us who wishes for their hair to

#aziracrow #crowly x aziraphale #crowley #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #curly hair #good omens theory #crowley hair #im not even done #but this post is too long anyway #Crowley is a hair loving queen

[upsidedownlurker]

Crazed Byler ramblings from 1:54 am

If Mike Wazowski actually end up together I will laugh so hard

YOU’RE TELLING ME THIS WAS THE MAIN COUPLE’S FIRST KISS???

YOU’RE TELLINJG ME THIS WAS THE MAIN COUPLE’S ACTUAL LOVD CONFESSION??? (eyes stay open to view that luscious forehead ig)

YOU’RE TELLING ME THIS WAS A BEAUTIFUL AND FACTUALLY ACCURATE ROMANTIC SPEECH THAT ENDED A QUARREL BETWEEN TWO FATED LOVERS???

YOU’RE TELLING ME MIKE IS JUST LIKE THAT?????

Imagine accidentally writing one of the most enticing queer stories in your genre, amassing an audience who are incredibly enthusiastic about it, and ignoring that because… uh… because… ummm…

Hey man, I won’t deny that Mickey Mouse and Earache have an important bond. But they truly have some of the most awkward, wack, fall-flat face-planting “romantic” chemistry of any couple on the show, and if their relationship succeeds it will just be so funny

The people working on this show are capable of creating genuinely beautiful scenes that have brought me to tears multiple times. I have been utterly enraptured in their worlds, their characters and their stories

So if they wrote Medicine Cabinet and thought, “Another enticing romance story well done”?

If they wrote Byler and thought, “CLASSIC BFF MOMENT LADS LADS LADS”?

I would laugh so hard that I travel back in time to save myself from this nightmare

Us silly queer people don’t know shit about shit dude

Ok bye time to escape this hell

And by hell I mean a fun and wholesome time

and by a fun and wholesome time I mean HELL🔥🔥🔥🔥🥩😏

#mileven bones #byler endgame #byler st5 #stranger things is a show about people being average and normal #while fighting evil monsters that represent nothing #milkvan #anti milkvan #but in a haha way not a fuck you way #elmike supremacy #it is 1:59 am now and i am writhing #should i post this awful creation #I can just delete it #POSTING TIME #mmmmmm m m mmmmmm m #I am frightening

[allwaswell16]

Hii! Love all of your recommendations so much! I had a bit of a shit week and was wondering if you have any where you laughed a lot? Just funny ones?:) cheers!!

Hi, anon! Sorry about your shit week :( This rec has a lot of funny ones on them!

🌸 Crack Fics

And here are a few more that I've read more recently that made me laugh...

Set the Sky Alight, Oh Holy Night by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

“It’s a starter home,” Niall says. He looks ridiculously proud. Louis does not think he should look that proud.

“That bathtub’s fallen through the ceiling,” Louis points out.

“Starter home,” Niall emphasises.

One house, five almost-strangers (plus Niall), six new beginnings.

Charm Your Pants Off by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

When Harry hurt himself in front of all of his coworkers, he thought his Christmas Eve couldn’t get any worse. That was, until he ended up in an actual ambulance.

Perhaps the gentle and ridiculously attractive doctor he meets at the hospital can make his trip (pun absolutely intended) worth it?

Just Your Jinx by larryatendoftheday / @larryatendoftheday

Harry Styles may or may not have accidentally jinxed his extremely fit new neighbor, and it's not so easy to make things right.

For a day by bluegreenish / @greenblueish

“While I appreciate that compliment - you’re right -, it’s not a prank. I swear. I tried calling Harry and Liam, but they aren’t picking up. And like, I don’t know what to do? I just woke up in Liam’s freaking body, and like, he’s a nice lad and everything, but I don’t want to be him?!”

Once again, tense silence fills the line for a second and Louis almost expects Zayn to hang up on him, but his friend speaks up again, voice urgent this time. 

“You’re serious?”

“One hundred percent. I swear.”

or, the one where Harry wakes up in Louis' body, Louis in Liam's, Liam in Niall's, Niall in Harry's and no one picked Zayn.

And here's a few of my own silly fics that were written more recently so they aren't on the crack rec list...

Fakes (Streaming Live)

Alpha camboy Henry Steel has a rather unfortunate crush on omega camboy Luscious Lucas. He also has a rather unfortunate secret that's about to be revealed.

Attention

When Louis is sent to buy more candy for the Halloween party, he finds the perfect costume, one that's sure to get under his nemesis' skin.

Roll the Dice

Louis has been in love with Harry since they were eighteen. It isn't until Harry's thirtieth birthday in Las Vegas that Louis must finally decide to either tell Harry how he feels or let him marry someone else.

Whisk me off my feet 

When Louis locks himself out of his apartment in just a pair of novelty underwear, he hopes his new neighbor can come to his rescue.

Okay, I'll stop there...why have I written so many silly things? Anyway, hope these help, anon!

#ask #anon #ficrec

[bananarose]

FFXIV Write - #12 "Dowdy"

adjective not stylish; drab; old-fashioned:

*gestures excitedly* My boy! Here's a peek into Lav's adventures in self-expression through clothing. *squishes him gently* I love him

Stormblood zones mentioned, no major spoilers though

Masterlist

Lavandin had never dressed himself in any particularly thoughtful way, fashion not being at the forefront of his priorities as a wood-warder in training; still not a priority after he had left home and found himself living on the Azim Steppe, wearing what he had kept from home and any old hand-me-downs from Cirina and the Mol. He hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest, what options were out there for adorning oneself in fabrics. The purpose of his clothing was for protection, and comfort, he didn’t see much sense in fretting over the colors and styles.

Upon arriving in Kugane, Lav was taken aback at some of the beautiful clothing and adornments he saw while wandering the markets. Luscious silks, long garments he would later discover are referred to as kimonos, and pieces of clothing in the most gorgeous colors he had laid eyes on. 

He had not been in Kugane long when he started making a habit of visiting the markets. Lav walked down the now somewhat familiar path, scanning the displays of each stall as he passed. He stopped abruptly, causing a minor disruption to foot traffic, when he laid eyes upon the most beautiful garment he had yet seen. It was long, a dress, the bottom of the fabric nearly brushing the ground; and it was a most stunning shade of light purple. A spread of embroidered flowers stood out against the fabric, starting near one hip and fanning out towards the bottom hem, as if the flowers were falling, carried aloft on a light spring breeze. Other patrons of the market pushed past him, muttering in annoyance, as he stared overlong at the dress. The proprietor of that particular stall noticed his gaze, coming over with an incredibly fake, salesman smile plastered on his face.

“Ah, I see I’ve got another customer with exquisite taste!” he schmoozed, obviously going for the sale. “Perhaps a dear one’s nameday is coming up? Must be quite the lucky lady to have a keen-eyed lad like you shopping for her.” Lav’s lips twisted into a frown as his brows furrowed. A dear one… What had he meant by that? Lucky Lady…

Lavandin had not been contemplating purchasing the dress as a gift, he had been wondering what it might feel like to be the one wearing it; to have the soft fabrics drift around his legs, twirling as he spun. 

It turned out he didn’t have enough money for the dress anyway - he barely had any coin at all. 

Lavandin picked up odd jobs during his time in Kugane. He trotted across the city, delivering things for various merchants, even once retrieving an order from the markets for the Sekiseigumi. He spent some time apprenticing for a kindly merchant, who took pity on him as a confused newcomer to the city, teaching him the ways of the city and its markets. He worked endlessly, saving up coin. He earned enough to buy nice treats from the market, reveling in the sweet desserts and rich meals. Eventually, he earned enough.

He went back and bought the dress. He lied, when the merchant asked again if it was for a woman he was courting, he lied and handed over his hard-earned coin, and the dress was finally his.

He rushed back to his room at the Bokairo Inn, immediately placing the box down onto the bed, tearing aside the fine paper it had been wrapped in. He stared at it, uncertain for only a heartbeat before a smile spread across his face. He reached down, feeling the fabric underneath quivering fingertips. Pulling it out of the box reverently, admiring the way the fabric moved as he held it up, Lav felt giddy. 

Lavandin tried on his new dress, and in a flurry of emotions, found it to be a perfect fit. 

divider credit - @cafekitsune

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv writing prompts #writing prompts #writing #ffxiv oc #ffxiv non-wol oc #oc writing #original character - Lavandin Fi'el #viera #ffxiv viera #my writing

[tryingtowritestuff24]

WIP - A Grand Performance

Eldevain was a world filled with magic and wonder. There were heroes, villains, and morally dubious sorts that made people suspicious. There were dragons and fey, and pirates, and kings and queens. Grand cities, lush forests, thriving coastal towns, desolate landscapes. It was full of things that made being a bard a very profitable occupation indeed.

Thomas Evendur was such a bard, a handsome young man with only twenty years under his belt. What a plethora of adventures he had been privy to in such a short time! He’d helped save many a maiden (and manden) from a villainous lord, found treasures beyond belief, and versed them all in song and fable as they’d occurred. Of course, there were always adventures that were less than pleasant, mostly involving pirates. Who needed another tale of pirates, though? Thom was quite certain there were already more than enough.

The sun was beating down, the coolness of spring long departed now that summer had taken the reins. It was abysmally hot and was fouling Lidda’s, his wonderful halfling companion’s, already sour mood.

“I’m hoping you’re nearly done wi’ making a spectacle of yourself, Thomas.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Water droplets glistened as he flicked his long and luscious locks over his head, his bare chest beautifully tanned with just the right amount of perfectly groomed hair. Despite his feigned nonchalance, Thom flashed his most charming smile at a gaggle of girls, their giggles like music to his ears as they scurried off.

The whole moment, however was ruined by Lidda tossing his shirt at him, Thom slipping on the edge of the fountain and falling flat on his back.

“Well, the illusion is shattered, thank you very much, dearest friend!” Thom huffed as he stared at the dirt cleaning to his freshly cleaned hair. “How you every expect me to get work in this town!”

“You’ll find it,” Lidda smiled, amused as she wathed the bard drag a comb roughly through his ruined locks. “You’ve never had trouble before, lad.”

Evidently, Thom was very much in disagreement, constantly muttering the word pointless over and over as he dressed himself. He buttoned up his blue velvet waistcoat, the sleeves of his damp shirt attempting to billow at his sides as he tugged the lace around the deep line of his collar; it had to be perfectly draped over the top of his waistcoat, or else he’d never stop complaining. It was too hot for the matching doublet so he draped it over his arm and took his lyre case by the handle. As he made his way towards The Rolling Fields inn, he glanced over his shoulder at Lidda.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

The halfling raised a brow at his tone, pushing her sleeves up to her elbows.

“Oh, I’m coming, boyo. Coming to smack you within an inch o’ your life, you cheeky little sod!”

Thom grinned, quickening his pace at the threat, Lidda muttering angrily under her breath as she retrieved her backpack and followed him.

#wip #current wip #my wip #writer #writeblr #writers on tumblr #my writing #writeblr community #writing #fantasy #high fantasy #im allowed to make up words im a writer

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia

Has Augus's prey ever escaped him? And how?

Hi anon!

Yes, actually, because it's in the actual folklore for the Each Uisge.

The very first story I read about the Each Uisge goes something like this:

A young, beautiful maiden lives alone in a small farmhouse, with a small number of farm animals, including a striking white cow with red eyes that gives her the best milk around.

One day, it is late at night and storming very badly, blowing a gale, the farmhouse shuddering in the wind. She has the fire burning in the hearth, and is beginning to doze in her chair when she hears a great knock at the door. Startled, and frightened - who would be on her property at this time of night, during this storm? - she opens the door and sees the most handsome young man she's ever seen.

He has luscious, drenched, straight black hair. Shimmering green eyes. He leans against her doorway.

'Pray tell, will you offer some shelter to a man who got caught in this dreadful storm? I see you have a lovely warm hearth, and I only wish to warm myself by your fire a little, and then I'll be on my way.'

She's reluctant to let a strange man in, but he seems down on his luck, and he's in handsome clothes, so he doesn't seem like a person who will take advantage of her. Still, she feels a shiver go down her spine as she lets him in.

The man goes to the rug before the fire and sits before the fireside, staring into the flames. She goes back to her chair. They make almost no conversation, and he seems almost peaceful. Time goes by, and she relaxes.

But an hour goes by, and she realises that even though his clothes are nearly dry, and his arms, his long black hair is just as wet as ever, drip, drip, dripping onto the rug. As she watches, a curling horror unfolds within her. She has heard stories of a vicious monster - the each uisge - that eats young lads and maidens that lives in the idyllic lake nearby, that is often a malevolent waterhorse, but occasionally the most handsome and polite of men. But when he goes about as a man, his hair remains wet.

Another hour passes and she realises he means to eat her. Heart racing, she pretends at calm - his hair has never gotten closer to drying - and reaches for the hairbrush she keeps on the mantle. She knows one thing about the each uisge, he desires to be dry, despite never being able to be dry, and he desires the creature comforts of a home - including an open fireplace, despite living underwater.

'My lord,' she says, 'let me brush your hair for you. It is so very comely.'

He looks aside at her, and then smirks. 'Why, that would be lovely.'

So she takes a brush to his hair, in slow, soothing strokes. It fills her with dread to be so close to him, for this close she realises that he has not fingernails, but black claws at the tips of his fingers. His hair feels not like a human's in her hands, but a horse's mane. It takes every effort to pretend at calm. She is all alone, and no one will save her.

Eventually the each uisge's eyelids begin to droop, and he sags a little. She takes her chance:

'My lord, if you are feeling tired, perhaps just lie back here against the wooden armchair and rest. Would that suit you?'

'Yes. For you have a lovely fire here.'

He sighs, and she continues to brush and stroke his hair, and over time that green glimmer of his eyes disappears as he falls asleep. She stares down at him, trembling overtaking her, and then she springs up and darts out of the house as fast as she can into the storm.

At once, she hears a terrible, unearthly roar of rage. She's almost paralysed, but she flees as her legs burn and her heart pounds. She can hear horse hooves rapidly approaching, thundering closer, closer, closer-

Then, the sound of a white cow lowing, and she cannot turn and look behind her, because she is maddened by fear, and can only run.

The next morning she returns with the villagers to her farmhouse, telling them of her encounter. There is blood everywhere, and her beautiful white cow with red eyes - a good proper faerie cow - is nowhere to be seen.

They all go down to the lake and see nothing more than a perfect cow's liver resting on the shore.

The maiden weeps in gratitude and pain, for her perfect faerie cow saved her life, and gave hers in turn. The each uisge never returned to her home, and the maiden considered herself lucky to have the protection of the Seelie on her side.

---

Since I've included a lot of the each uisge's actual lore into Augus' character, I've definitely kept this experience in his history!

#asks and answers #augus each uisge #folklore #fairy tales #each uisge #waterhorse #kelpie #fae tales verse #fae tales #this is a much longer telling #the original is like idk 2 paragraphs lmao

[pudgy-planets]

@readyplayerziggy

"Both of us? Can your jaw even-?" "Sounds great! Come on Mordy, not gonna get a chance like this often~" Astolfo grabbed the short blond right by the flap of his pants, fishing his clumsily packed away cock out and giving it a few rubs to let the pre lube it up. The paladin's own was prepped and ready to sink past the lips, he was just waiting on Minako.

“Take notes fellas, this is how a professional performs fellatio~”

Confidence oozing from every syllable of his words, the titanic blonde positioned himself on his knees. Properly meeting on eye level with the two frankly adorable lads Minako’s had the fortune of encountering.

Licking his lips in a flirtatious, enthralling manner, he didn’t give either of them the slightest forewarning before those plump, luscious lips unhinged and displayed the seemingly internals of his mouth and throat. Tongue flopped onto their chins as a drop of a saliva pooled from the top.

And within seconds?

GULP~

Both of the servants equally magnificent and eye-catching rods vanished into the depths of Minako’s gullet. Kegs included. Wasting no time in sucking, slurping, and using the unmatched dexterity of his tongue to stimulate everything~

“Mmh~ SLUUURRP~!”

#muse: male!minako #readyplayerziggy