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mypoisonedvine · 2 months

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𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 | angus tully x reader (series finale)

read 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 and 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 first!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | angus has been waiting to see you again, but the more feelings get involved, the more complicated your affair becomes.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), mega angst but also fluff too, infidelity, boring old people parties, reader is still emotionally constipated and angus still has a breeding kink, but that's honestly it it's just a bunch of emotions so strap in folks!

Angus was pretty sure he broke some kind of record, with how quickly he ran back to his room after talking to you on the payphone.

He was sure that was exactly what you were picturing him doing— he’d made it pretty clear what he’d do once you hung up, and you’d made it pretty difficult to do anything else with the way you were talking. You’d been winding him up on purpose, of course; so yes, you could easily imagine him making a mad dash to his room and slamming the door— if you really ever thought about him outside of those phone calls.

That was the thing Angus couldn’t figure out about you. Well, there were probably a lot of other things than that, but it was the quandary he spent the most time pondering: does she think about me?

Whenever he mustered the courage to ask you something to that effect, you would either change the subject or give a half-answer. Something about how you had a dream about him the other night or how your parents asked about him— never what he was really asking.

But, frankly, at that moment as he shut his dorm room door and jumped into bed, whether or not you thought about him much was not as pertinent an issue. Right then, all he could think about was getting his hand around his raging boner; his mind was just playing everything you’d said to him over the phone on repeat.

I’m touching myself right now, you’d whispered in a sultry voice, I’m so wet, Angus— fuck, I’m so wet…

He’d never had to work so hard to keep a straight face on the phone before… he figured if anyone was really looking, they’d notice how red he was turning or how he kept shifting uncomfortably. And he told you just as much, which of course only encouraged you. Don’t want them to know, huh? you’d taunted. Don’t want the other boys to find out you’re listening to me get off?

And no, he didn’t— you were such a precious thing, the boys here didn’t even deserve to imagine you— but when you offered to stop if it was too distracting, he only found himself shakily begging for more.

As he quickly opened his khaki pants and gripping his cock, he hissed through his teeth; his ego could barely take all you’d said about that cock, about how thick and ‘perfect’ (you used that exact word, perfect, and he thought he might float) it was, about how you wished you could come around it right then instead of your fingers.

“It’s all yours,” he mumbled to himself, under his breath, not even really noticing he was saying it aloud. “You want it, baby? It’s all fucking yours.”

He groaned as he stroked himself, the precum that had been leaking from his tip for a while making everything even easier. Shutting his eyes tight, he pictured you, like he always did: all of you, everything, anything he could remember.

You ever think about me? you’d asked him over the phone— and he’d blurted out his always before he even realized you meant while he was getting off. It was still true, but more specific than necessary. He craved to hear you say it: I think about you too. But he didn’t ask, and you just went back to moaning while you rubbed your clit— which, apparently, was already swollen and throbbing— and, well, he wasn’t strong enough to interrupt that.

“Fuck,” he grunted, deep in the back of his throat, finally letting his pace pick up until his hand was a blur: after all that anticipation and all that waiting, there was no use trying to hold back now. It wasn’t like you were here to worry about him coming too fast, even though you’d still maintained you found it endearing when it happened.

He repeated your voice in his head, the moment that had made him worry he would blow his load in his trousers before he could even get off the phone and back to his room: I’m gonna come for you, you’d warned him in the most beautiful moaning voice, Angus— I want you so bad, oh god— I’m gonna come for you, fuck…

His lip caught between his teeth, his hips rocked up into his own palm. “Yes, fuck, baby,” he panted, “I— fuck!”

He tried to conjure in his mind how it had felt to come inside you, but he knew even his vivid imagination could never really capture the feeling; nothing could even come close. Still, remembering it and letting himself indulge in his strangest fantasies for just a moment sent him over the edge. His face flushed suddenly as he came in long, heavy pulses, the back of his free hand falling over his open mouth yet doing little to suppress his moans.

It was intense— it was certainly better than his orgasms usually were when brought on by himself— but it only satisfied him for a moment. The moment he was finished, with a deep breath in and his hips relaxing back down onto the mattress, he wanted more— he wanted you.

His heavy eyes glanced to the side, trying to remember what it felt like to lie next to you. He’d never felt lonely after jerking off before he met you; now getting off seemed to bring a new wave of heartbreak each time.

When he shook off the thought and looked down at himself, he frowned as he realized he’d ruined his own shirt doing that— not that he could fully bring himself to regret it.

No, his regrets only really began a few weeks later, when the nagging loneliness in the back of his mind finally got the better of him.

It was the middle of the night when he wrote it, after he woke up from a dream of you that he just couldn’t shake from his mind. After checking that his roommate was fast asleep, Angus carefully slipped out of bed and tip-toed to the desk, and pulling out a box of cards and envelopes from one of the drawers. (He thought he’d never use them when his mom sent them with him at the beginning of the year, but a lot had changed since then.)

Something about the ungodly hour made him more honest— or maybe just more shameless. He wrote a frantic ramble, everything he’d wanted to say to you that he’d never had the courage to blurt out over the phone; all the feelings he’d felt since that incredible night in the backseat of your car, which he’d assumed would fade… which he’d tried to convince himself would fade.

Unfortunately, even the adrenaline of writing down the thoughts of you he’d been poring over for over a month wasn’t enough to overpower exhaustion: he awoke the next morning slumped over the desk, the pen still uncapped and fallen a few inches from his hand, the letter left folded open.

He awoke to the sound of someone’s door shutting down the hall, specifically; jumping and blinking quickly, he looked at the window— it was morning, though still quite early— and then at his roommate who was, thank god, still asleep.

Angus looked back at the letter in front of him, only making out a few words in his brief glance, before his cheeks began to heat up and he quickly folded it shut. As more footsteps moved through the hall, the boy in the bed nearby stirred and grumbled to himself, and Angus quickly snatched up the letter and shoved it in his book bag before he was caught red-handed.

Ironically, that little commotion was what actually got the other boy’s attention. “What are you doing at the desk?” he asked groggily, rubbing one of his eyes with the back of his palm.

“Oh, I, uh— I had to do some late night cramming,” Angus explained nervously, “that big Geography test coming up and all…”

The half-awake boy seemed to notice for a moment that the story didn’t really make sense, on account of the empty desk, but he simply shrugged and tossed his blanket aside to get up as well.

For the rest of the day, Angus couldn’t think straight— and not just because of his mediocre rest and achy back from the absolutely terrible sleep posture he’d had. He couldn’t stop thinking about the letter, even if he honestly couldn’t remember for certain everything he’d said… he couldn’t stop wondering if he should send it to you. He almost didn’t want to read it again first— he wanted you to read it in its most authentic state, he wanted to mail it before he chickened out just like he had when you said you two could just stay casual. Even if it made his heart race and his palms especially clammy, Angus decided in the middle of that goddamned Geography test that he was going to mail that letter tonight after dinner: he was finally just going to man up and tell you.

Of course, something went horribly wrong along the way: he made a fatal mistake. Looking back on it, he couldn’t tell for certain if his mistake was falling for you in the first place, or writing the infamous letter, or shoulder-checking Kountze without holding on tight enough to his bag.

The argument that happened beforehand was petty and forgettable, even if it gathered a small crowd of Kountze’s friends, but it ended with Angus trying to walk away a tad… aggressively, and with Kountze grabbing him by the strap of his bag which not only knocked Angus off-balance but spilled the contents onto the floor of the dorm’s shared room.

Everyone saw the books and papers hit the ground; everyone saw the off-white cardstock land right on top. Angus reached for the letter quickly, but Kountze beat him there, and held it back with a snicker.

“Well, well,” Kountze tutted proudly, “what’s this?”

“H-hey, don’t read that,” Angus warned, hoping the seriousness of his tone would somehow affect the other boy— but, obviously, it did not. Kountze started to open it and Angus instantly made a dive for it, only to be stopped by three other students who apparently were curious as well about the letter. “Don’t fucking read that!” Angus demanded.

“Oh god, it’s to a girl!” he realized. “Do you have a girlfriend, Tully?”

“I swear to god, Kountze, if you fucking read that—”

“I miss you,” Kountze began to read aloud as Angus thrashed around to try to stop him, “I miss you so much I don’t even know what to say.”

The boys holding Angus back were enraptured as Kountze read the letter; “Do you guys pay this much attention in class?” he mocked them, though they were ignoring him completely as they waited for the other boy to keep reading.

“I feel like I can’t breathe without you— aw, Tully, you’re a poet,” Kountze mocked with a smile. Angus’ heart raced as he remembered what part of the letter came next. “Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you and your smile— Jesus, this is some really sappy shit— or what it’s like talking with you for hours, or how it feels—”

He stopped, and Angus froze, and after a moment the group of boys started demanding the conclusion. “What— what does it say?!” “Read it, Kountze!”

“How it feels to be inside you,” Kountze continued with wide eyes, staring at Angus’ bright red face as the other boys began to react loudly.

Angus renewed his struggle against the kids holding him back, but even though he was taller than them, he was severely outnumbered. “Stop— that’s personal!” Angus demanded to no avail.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to my hand after having you,” Kountze continued with a laugh. “From what I hear from your roommate, Tully, your hand is treating you just fine.”

“Shut up,” Angus hissed, but his words had lost their bite as his humiliation grew.

“I should’ve told you before I left—” he started, but finally Angus found some new strength within himself to shake off the boys holding him back: he dove at Kountze and took him down, scrambling to snatch the card away. He was going to be satisfied with just that, but of course Kountze still had to open his mouth, even when Angus had him pinned. “Jesus, Tully,” he scoffed, “how ugly is this chick that you got her to sleep with you?”

Angus brought a fist swiftly down to Kountze’s nose, who groaned in pain and held his face as Angus got up and ran away. The other boys let him pass, thankfully, and Angus wasted no time getting to his room and slamming the door behind him.

Defiantly wiping a tear from his cheek, Angus took a quick look at the letter— wrinkled, stained and scuffed from the fight with Kountze— and crumpled it up, tossing it into his wastebasket before throwing himself onto his bed and hiding his head under the pillow.

He was stupid to even write it, let alone consider sending it; it was no use, you obviously didn’t feel the same way about him that he did about you. You were the one who said it should just be what it was— a fling. But Angus felt like he’d been flung directly into hell, the way it tore into his chest to imagine you didn’t really want him.

Even if he never read the letter again that day, he remembered how it ended— and it was the part he couldn’t get out of his mind even when he wanted more than anything to forget it all.

Is this what love feels like?

It reminded you a lot of that dinner over Christmas break, except somehow, it seemed like he was staring at you even more. Shouldn’t he have gotten that out of his system a bit by now?

But then again, maybe you should’ve been more used to it, since it had been over an hour of picking away at this quail dinner, and he’d barely taken his eyes off of you. Something about him looked different; it was basically impossible that he could’ve visibly aged in just a couple months, and yet he seemed like he was carrying just a bit more age on those thin shoulders. Maybe it was just the slight five-o-clock shadow over his jaw— but, no, there was a different look in his eyes, too—

Realizing you were, in fact, staring back at him, you quickly snapped your gaze back down to your plate.

You’d been wanting a chance to talk to him before this dinner, to hopefully prevent exactly this issue, but once the dinner ended you found yourself avoiding him. Of course you weren’t ready to talk to him— of course you had a million thoughts in your head and half of them didn’t even make sense.

For once, you actually tried to talk to all of your parents’ snooty friends, repeating the same answers over and over about how you were going to graduate school in the fall and how you were looking forward to your family’s Paris trip in the summer and all that jazz. It was worth it to keep Angus off your back for a moment, even if you could still feel his eyes boring into said back from time to time.

Midway through a mind-numbingly boring conversation (if something so one-sided could be called a conversation) with the Gordons about renovations they’d done on their summer house, you glanced around the room over your shoulder and noticed that Angus was apparently absent. His parents were still there, sitting on a couch— that is, his mom and stepdad— so he couldn’t be far, but out of view he was far enough. Figuring he’d gone to the kitchen or the restroom, you figured it was the perfect time to disappear into the downstairs bedroom and, hopefully, hide out for the rest of the party. Excusing yourself quickly, you made a polite dash for the other end of the room.

And yet, somehow, he appeared out of thin air; as you turned down the hallway, only a dim lamp on an antique credenza lighting your way, you heard Angus’ hushed voice behind you. He laid his hand on your shoulder, and the moment you turned to face him, he was on you— his weight pressed you into the wall and you felt trapped in a way that was annoyingly pleasant.

“God, I missed you,” he breathed, kissing you hard and sudden; you whimpered a little, nearly melting into it, before you pushed him back at his shoulders.

“A-Angus, wait,” you sighed. “You, um… you didn’t call for a while.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, “um, I’m sorry— I just got busy with midterms and stuff— but I really wanted to!”

He moved like he was about to kiss you again, but you kept your hand on his chest to keep him away. “I wanted to tell you…” you trailed off.

“Tell me what?”

“You remember Brian Stevenson?”

“Oh— um, yeah, I guess so,” Angus frowned a little, clearly confused by what seemed like a non sequitur. “I used to go over to his house when I was little, although it was just to play with his little brother, but… yeah, I remember him.”

“I’ve been sorta, y’know… going with him,” you explained, hesitantly meeting Angus’ gaze just in time to see the most terrible sadness cover his face.

“O-oh,” he choked out, quickly stepping back from you and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah…” you mumbled, twisting your loafer-clad foot on the carpet nervously. “It’s just, you know, he asked me out a couple weeks ago, and ever since then—”

“So is he, like, your boyfriend?” Angus pressed. You nodded. He looked away. “Right— that’s… cool. That’s cool.”

You bit your lip slightly, hating that he wouldn’t look at you all of a sudden. “Angus, it’s just that, you know, we said—”

“Right,” he interrupted sharply. “Right, I remember what we said— what you said, that we weren’t— you know. That it wasn’t anything.”

“I didn’t say that—” you tried to correct him.

“You said you were mine,” he added suddenly, making your eyes widen. “Did you even mean that?”

“I— Angus, come on,” you laughed nervously. “That’s… that’s just something people say…”

He scoffed, and looked to the side as he pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek; contempt looked sort of good on him, you thought, except that it was directed at you. He was trying to hide it, but his eyes were watering.

“I’m sorry,” you began but he cut you off right away.

“No, don’t do that,” he shook his head quickly, crossing his arms and staring down at the floor. “Don’t lie to me anymore.”

“No— I really am,” you tried to assure.

“Hey, it’s fine,” he insisted sharply. “It’s— you know, it is what it is. It was just one of those things.”

“If it’s fine, then look at me,” you pleaded. He didn’t. And for a long moment, the two of you stood there, still and silent.

“It’s fine,” he repeated softly, turning on his heel.

“Angus, wait,” you hissed, not wanting to raise your voice with all the guests not too far away— of course, it was fruitless, and he briskly blended back in with the crowd.

Sighing, you dropped your head into your hands. That wasn’t how you ever wanted this to go, you never wanted to hurt him; honestly, you’d assumed he’d be irritated, but not… sad. Not devastated. Of course he would prefer to be getting laid, but you figured he wouldn’t have too much trouble finding some other girl to screw around with— sometimes, you’d wondered if he already had.

It was supposed to be easy, it was supposed to be casual, it was supposed to be fun. You couldn’t think of anything you’d ever done, or anything you’d ever felt, that was less fun than this.

It made a strange sort of sense that the next time you saw him was at another party. Of course, this party was entirely different from the last one: for one, it was hosted by your boyfriend, and there sure as hell wasn’t any quail. There was a lot more alcohol, though.

You were hanging off to the side, not feeling quite up for mixing in with the crowd as they danced to the record Brian had put on. Even if they spared you from the same boring questions that your parents’ friends bombarded you with, they were uninteresting in their own way as every conversation seemed to come back to politics or pot.

Brian startled you a bit by coming up beside you, resting his hand on the small of your back. “Hey,” he greeted, and you smiled up at him. Your eyes lingered on his face— he looked… grown up. It was probably just because he had a beard; he certainly didn’t always act grown up, but overall, Brian was perfectly acceptable. He’d asked you out, he’d actually had the bravery for that, so that was a great head start.

You tried to shake the thought out of your mind, looking away from him; it wasn’t a head start because this wasn’t a race. Who, after all, would he be racing against?

For some reason, your eyes turned to the front door— and you bit your lip as you saw Angus coming inside, slipping off his coat and looking around the room (for you, presumably). He looked even more haggard than before: a little pale, eyes sunken and dark, and he definitely hadn’t shaved since you saw him.

Brian looked to find where you were staring, and frowned slightly. “Who’s that?” he asked.

“Oh, um— Angus Tully, his parents are friends with mine, I used to babysit him when he was a kid.”

You knew that wasn’t really what he was asking, so you weren’t surprised when he got to the point more directly: “What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, hoping Brian wouldn’t somehow figure out that your heart was racing.

Brian’s hand moved up to your shoulder and gave it a squeeze, just as Angus noticed you and hurriedly shoved his way through the crowd to come face-to-face with you.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his voice raspy and hurried as he took a quick glance at Brian in his peripheral.

“Um— sure,” you agreed awkwardly, not sure which answer would be less suspicious. Of course, when you glanced at Brian, he just looked mildly annoyed— bored, even. You realized in that moment that you didn’t need to worry about him suspecting you and Angus of anything, because he barely registered Angus’ existence: he certainly wouldn’t acknowledge him as some kind of sexual threat.

“Privately,” Angus added— and that actually got Brian’s attention, though he seemed more aware of your discomfort than anything.

“Anything you wanna say to her, you can say in front of me,” Brian assured firmly, and Angus swallowed anxiously— it was obvious from the bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Actually, uh, somebody was looking for you out front,” Angus told him. “Something about a keg getting delivered to the wrong house?”

“Shit,” Brian hissed, dropping his hand from your shoulder and looking towards the door again. “Fucking idiots…”

Having made quick work of Brian, Angus put his attention back on you. “Let’s go outside,” he suggested.

“W-we can just talk here,” you tried to say, but he was already grabbing your wrist and guiding you out; why did your heart still skip when he touched you?

Once he’d taken you through the kitchen and out to the back porch— where you could still hear the music and chatter, but it was much quieter— you spoke.

“Angus, I really am sorry about— you know— but you can’t just—” you started.

“It’s not over yet,” he insisted, surprising you with his intensity; you leaned back against the wooden railing, and he stood just a little too close with those dark brown eyes piercing through you.

“If you tell me you’re happy with Brian, I’ll leave you alone,” Angus decided, puffing up his chest a bit.

“I’m happy with Brian,” you said sternly.

A brief moment passed. “Okay, I lied,” Angus admitted.

“Jesus,” you hissed.

“But only because I don’t believe you!” he explained. “We were so good together.”

“Yeah, we were,” you admitted, “but… it’s over now.”

“No— it’s not. It can’t be!” he insisted with a whine, and you scoffed as you shook your head.

“Angus, you’re being childish,” you scolded.

“Oh, don’t say that,” he grimaced. “Don’t hold that against me— I’m not stupid, you know.”

“Of course you’re not— but you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Damn right I’m not!” he spat. “You’re all I could think about, for months! Months, I couldn’t fucking get you out of my head! And not just the, you know, the dirty stuff— everything. Every moment I spent with you, every dumb thing we talked about for hours, every time you laughed at one of my shitty jokes—”

“Angus, please,” you breathed, glancing down; you could only take so much of this, and you worried he was figuring that out.

“Does he make you laugh?” Angus pressed, stepping a bit closer to you. “Does he make you feel special? Does he make you come?”

“Yes,” you said sharply, “he’s great, okay? I’m happy— so please just stop fucking this up for me.”

“Okay, fine,” he conceded, “you’re happy, I believe you. But… but what about me, y’know? He doesn’t need you like I do.”

Your face warmed up and you crossed your arms tighter, staring down at the ground.

“Of course he likes you— who wouldn’t? But he couldn’t even imagine how I feel about you— how long I’ve been thinking about you. I mean, I’ve wanted you since I was a kid! You’re my dream girl!”

“That’s— that has nothing to do with me,” you tried to explain. “That’s a fantasy!”

“But it’s real, baby,” he sighed, bringing his hands up to gently hold your arms at either side. “It’s so real, you know it is.”

You didn’t even have the heart to deny it— or to tell him not to call you that. You knew if you looked up at him, you wouldn’t be able to fight him anymore; he must’ve known that, too, because he delicately lifted your chin until you met his gaze.

And then he kissed you: tender, sweet, and shameless. He didn’t care if anyone saw, if anyone knew— even Brian. You, on the other hand, still cared enough to try to stop him; but even you couldn’t resist a kiss like this, and you found your hands pulling him closer as quickly as they’d tried to push him away.

He took you home, without another word about what this meant or where you stood with each other. You snuck him into your room and he climbed into bed with you and he touched you like he’d been waiting a lot longer than just a few months for this moment. Frankly, you were beginning to realize that you’d been waiting a lot longer for this, too.

Before, Angus had always been talkative during sex— sometimes annoyingly so. But this time, he didn’t say a damn thing; neither of you did. And yet, somehow, just by the way he looked at you, just by the way he held you, just by the way he moved inside you... you felt like you heard more than you ever had.

You sat next to each other on the bench, staring forward into the dark treeline ahead— there was still a layer of frost around their roots, and a new snow had begun to fall even if it wasn’t cold enough for it to stick on the pavement. You tried not to look at him too long, in case it made this any harder, but you did appreciate that he seemed a bit more put together than he had the last time you went a few days without seeing him. He was clean-shaven, too… is it wrong that you kinda missed the stubble?

“Thanks for, you know… giving me a couple days to think about it,” you mumbled, and he nodded.

“I thought you might have somewhere better to be on a Friday night,” he said— trying to lighten the mood a bit, you could tell; trying to make you comfortable.

“Well, even if I did, I think this needs to be done,” you explained, and he pressed his lips together a bit.

He waited patiently, though, for you to break the silence and explain yourself, even if he didn’t seem too surprised when you did it.

“It was a mistake,” you decided. “It was great, but it was a mistake— and I’d really appreciate if we could just… let it go. And if you didn’t tell Brian.”

“Okay,” he nodded slowly. “I wasn’t gonna tell him. But I still think you should dump him.”

“Well, that’s my decision,” you reminded him, crossing your arms.

“I know,” he breathed.

You could already tell, just by the way the next silence began, that he was going to interrupt it with something stupid… you just never expected how stupid.

“The thing is— I love you,” he blurted out suddenly, turning to look at you again as your eyes widened. “I fucking love you.”

“Angus, I— you can’t—!” you choked out, but he continued before you could try to think of a response.

“I know I do— don’t say I don’t know what that is, or that I’m too young or something stupid like that,” he pleaded. “I know how I feel, okay? When you miss somebody this much, when you think about somebody this much— what else could love be, but that?”

You sighed, looking away, and he moved closer to you on the bench. Even if you knew it was preposterous that someone else would be in the park at the end of the street at this time of night, you still fought the urge to look over your shoulder.

“Don’t tell me I’m crazy,” he breathed. “You love me too, don’t you? I mean— I thought you basically forgot I existed, but last night… that sort of thing doesn’t just happen, does it? It’s not… it’s not usually like that.”

“No, it’s not,” you admitted, “that was different.”

He perked up, smiling wide when you looked at him again. “Just say it,” he begged, “say you love me too— ‘cause I know you do.”

“I— Angus, it’s more complicated than that,” you explained. “We’re still— there’s Brian, for one thing… we can’t really go on like this, you know that.”

“I know— I don’t want to keep doing this. I want to really be together,” he replied. You tried to turn your body away from his slightly, but he grabbed your hands and held them tight until you looked at him again. “I’m almost done with high school— I’ll go to college where you’re going for grad school!”

You shook your head. “No, you can’t do that.”

“Just think about it: us, together— we could actually go on real dates, and go to college parties together, and, like, study out at the library— or, you know, whatever you college kids do,” he fantasized. You smiled, but shook your head again.

“We… we can’t do that,” you denied.

He frowned, and turned away from you, staring darkly at the ground. “I knew it,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “You’re embarrassed— you’re ashamed of me.”

“What?!” you blurted out. “Angus, no—”

“It’s okay,” he said in a terribly unconvincing way, crossing his arms. “I don’t blame you: I’m just some dumb kid from your hometown. You want a guy your age— not some random freshman… you want something better.”

“That’s bullshit,” you replied instantly, “you can do so much better.”

“C’mon, I’ll never do better than you,” he insisted.

Even though he’d misunderstood you, your heart still swelled a bit at the compliment. “I meant for college, Angus,” you explained, and he deflated a little. “You can do a lot better than a state school.”

“Well, I, um… I don’t know if I can,” he admitted nervously. “My grades are kinda… inconsistent. And I went to so many different high schools—”

“Who gives a shit?” you scoffed. “You’re fucking smart— way smarter than anybody else here. You act like an idiot sometimes, but you’re eighteen, it kinda comes with the territory.”

He frowned, but couldn’t exactly deny it.

“You deserve to go somewhere amazing,” you told him. “You need to go somewhere amazing— and do something amazing.”

For a long moment, he just stared out into the dark; until, suddenly, he whipped his head back around at you with a quizzical look on his face. “Wait— is that what this is all about?”

“What?”

“Do you not want to be with me because you think you’d, like, hold me back or something?” he accused.

You blinked quickly; something about the way he said be with me caught you off-guard— like it was a term much more mature than you had expected from him. Instead of answering directly, you just stammered. “Well, y-you’re young, and—”

He cut you off quickly with a laugh. “Oh my god! You think I give a shit about that?”

“No,” you shot back, “but you should. You realize how fucking dumb it would be to change your whole life for the first person you ever slept with?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds dumb,” he admitted, looking down at his feet swinging over the edge. “But what if it’s somebody that, you know, you think you really have a shot with? What if it’s somebody that you feel like you can’t live without? Somebody that makes you finally get all those songs you hear on the radio—”

“It only feels like this to you because you’ve never felt anything else,” you explained gently. “It’s your first love. It fades.”

“But I don’t want it to,” he said instantly, looking at you with the most heartbreaking eyes you’d ever seen. “God, I don’t want it to.”

You looked up at him as his hand brushed over your face, and felt tears welling before you could fight them off; he kissed you, in a way that you thought he might have never really kissed you before. In a way nobody had kissed you before, in fact. It wasn’t very long, but it felt like it might as well have gone on forever.

When he broke away, he kept his eyes shut, and he pressed his forehead to yours as his thumb stroked your cheek. “Tell me it doesn’t have to end,” he breathed, “please. Tell me it’s not going to end.”

“It has to,” you whispered back, watching his shoulders sink and bringing your hand up to clutch at his chest. “It has to end, someday.”

You took a shaky breath, watching a tear fall from his jaw onto your arm, feeling everything you’d held back finally breaking through as your grip on shirt tightened and your lip began to quiver.

“But it doesn’t have to be tonight,” you sighed.

Gasping with relief and joy simultaneously, he kissed you again, and pulled you closer at your waist, and wrapped you up in his arms tightly.

There was, of course, this nagging voice at the back of your mind— that maybe it didn’t have to end. And god, you wanted to silence that thought permanently if you could, because it had never done you any good. That hope had only ever led to pain before. But, without it, nothing would ever really have a chance: if you weren’t willing to risk the heartache, you’d never let yourself love Angus the way that he deserved and the way that you knew, deep down, you already did.

So, as he kissed you that way you thought people only kissed in movies, and whispered to you those words you thought people only said because they were poets and dreamers, you realized that maybe it didn’t have to end someday. Maybe he would spend the next several years of your lives convincing you that you didn’t need to protect yourself from your own feelings. Maybe he would actually have the patience to break down walls he never built, to fix wounds he didn’t leave. Maybe he was ready to give you something to believe in, something worth taking risks for while you were still young and reckless. Maybe he, like the oncoming equinox, would melt your ice so new life could grow.

Or, maybe, this feeling he had really would fade once he gained a little more life experience; maybe you would make too many mistakes for him to forgive. Maybe you would always be friends, or maybe you would have too much history to be able to see each other again. Maybe you would grow apart— maybe you would have to brace yourself for that, to sit next to him on a cold dorm room mattress as you both realized it just wasn’t working anymore.

The most important thing that you realized in that moment— that eternal moment in his arms, in the dark, in the last snow of Spring— was that it didn’t matter. It didn’t have to be forever to be perfect; it didn’t have to be the ending to be beautiful. He loved you. Even if you were still trying to figure out why, he loved you; and that was true, and real, and special. His love couldn’t fix you, but it made you feel fixable, and you hadn’t seen yourself that way in a long time— you could only dream that you might see yourself the way he saw you.

When you pulled back from the kiss for a moment, you smiled wide— you laughed, actually— and sniffled as he wiped your tears away. “I love you,” you told him, and even though he kissed you again, you didn’t stop saying it. You wanted to keep it on your lips until it didn’t scare you anymore; you wanted to keep your heart open, even if it made you vulnerable, maybe because it made you vulnerable. After all, you couldn’t ever be sure it wouldn’t come back to bite you… if you could, it wouldn’t mean anything.

Even though all you said to him was I love you, each one meant something a bit different. I trust you. I’m not sure I’m ready, but I’m going to try. I’m sorry. I’m so glad I met you. I’ll never forget you. Please don’t let me go.

Somehow, you felt like he heard each one. Each time he told you that he loved you, though, you heard the same thing: I won’t let you go, ever.

Easter Mass was relatively pleasant, if a little too long. You did notice Angus sitting with his family, across the aisle and a few rows back, but you only gave him a quick wave before the service started and managed to resist glancing back at him after that.

The best part of Easter was always afterwards, though: you stood at the furthest end of the lawn, in front of the ivy-covered exterior wall of the chapel, as children ran around snatching up colorful eggs to collect for their baskets. Even if it was totally stupid, and irrelevant to the actual message of the holiday that the priest had just spent the whole service hammering in, you got a kick out of the fancy clothes and tiny dress shoes, the squeals of delight, the candy and toys in bright pastels. You were just thankful the weather had warmed up in the nick of time for all the festivities— indoor egg hunts never have quite the same effect.

Angus sauntered up beside you, sipping on a styrofoam cup of complimentary coffee, and you didn’t even look at each other, but you both smiled.

“They’re cute,” he stated after a little while.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“Do you wanna have a kid?” he asked, and you gave him a hesitant glance only to find him looking right back at you— his expression was friendly, but neutral enough that you couldn’t read if he meant having a kid with him or just, you know, in general.

Deciding it must be the second one, you let out a soft, nervous laugh. “Uh, I dunno… maybe someday,” you offered, as non-committal as possible.

“How about right now?” he challenged, lowering his voice slightly, but not enough to stop you from glancing around to make sure nobody heard.

“Angus, fucking Christ,” you coughed. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not,” he shrugged. “I mean, maybe I’m not being literal, but that doesn’t mean I’m not being serious.”

“Well… we can’t,” you mumbled, looking out at the lawn again, hoping not to stand out too much. “Not here.”

“I know, I know,” he agreed, and the two of you fell back into a silence— an oddly comfortable one, even. You crossed your arms as you watched the kids run around and he kept sipping on his coffee. After a few moments, though, you spoke again.

“Meet you in the Sunday school room in the West wing in five minutes?”

“Yup,” he said, already turning to leave. You smiled slightly to yourself, glancing down at your white shoes planted in the grass. Even on such a delicately-manicured lawn, wildflowers were already springing up— little periwinkle diamonds scattered here and there.

When what felt like a reasonable amount of time passed, you made your careful and casual exit from the egg hunt to slip back inside. Once you were away from the crowds and on your way to meet Angus, you couldn’t stop yourself from running… and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, either.

#angus tully x reader #angus tully smut

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yrluvjane · 4 months

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L.O.V.E — Regulus Black

Regulus realizes just how much of a light you've become in his life.

It was a curious sight indeed, to see Regulus Black, the son of a pureblood line as ancient as they came and one of the greatest wizards of his age, standing in the middle of the Hogwarts kitchen. He had always hated the color red, associated with Gryffindors and Muggle holidays and he had never been particularly fond of Muggle celebrations. Yet here he was, seemingly out of place and uncomfortable.

Regulus's expression was rigid and unsmiling, and his gaze was fixed on the floor as he stood apart from the bustling House-elves that worked the kitchens. Regulus had learned early on that showing emotion was a weakness, and he had always strived to keep his face blank, devoid of any expression, believing that if he could learn to control his emotions, he might someday be able to block them out altogether.

It was a strange contrast to the lively kitchen around him, with its colorful decor and joyful noise, and Regulus felt like a stranger in a strange land. Nonetheless, he was determined to see this through, despite his discomfort. He knew that he must learn to understand his emotions, and if he could master that, perhaps he would be able to find some balance in his life, amidst the darkness that he had been surrounded by since birth.

L is for the way you look at me

And as he crawled out of the Black Lake, wet and muddy, Regulus felt the familiar warmth of anger flare in his chest. The humiliation of having slipped on the stones and landed in the water was overwhelming, but what irritated him the most was hearing the sound of your laughter as he struggled to remove his soaking wet robes.

"Amused?" he snapped, his voice filled with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

"Very," you purred, the corners of your mouth turning up in an infuriating smile as you watched him try to get his shoes off.

Regulus felt his face turn red with fury, and he glared back at you with a mixture of indignation and frustration. The feeling of being so utterly humiliated was too much to bear, and he felt the urge to lash out in retaliation. But he knew that showing such emotions would be a sign of weakness, and he tried to rein in his anger, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

"Do you find it amusing to mock someone who has fallen?" he asked, his voice cold and hard.

"Only when that someone is you."

O is for the only one I see

Regulus watched you excitedly from his spot on the pitch, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The sound of your commentary was like music to his ears, and he found the way you were able to keep up a constant stream of entertaining remarks while also providing helpful analysis of the game to be truly impressive.

"Oh come on!" You yelled through the mega phone, "Ravens! Ravens! Ravens!" You chanted. He lazily rolled his eyes at you.

As he began to wander around the pitch, his eyes scanning for the Snitch, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for you. You were a force to be reckoned with, and he was starting to realize just how much he enjoyed spending time with you, even if it was often - or mostly - spent arguing.

He grinned at the sight of Professor McGonagall trying to fight you for the mic for you had began making inappropriate comments about his team, especially him. "Come on you pussy-bats!"

V is very, very extraordinary

Regulus watched in amazement as you comfortably settled into the room, surrounded by his companions. The ease with which you spoke with them, making jokes and teasing, was almost uncanny, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy.

As Evan threw the chocolate frog towards you, Regulus's reflexes kicked in, and he quickly caught it midair, saving you from any potential embarrassment. He couldn't help but admire the way you didn't even miss a beat, continuing to flip through your book like nothing had happened. And when you stuck your tongue out at Evan, he felt his heart beat a little faster.

As you continued to banter with the others, Regulus couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration for you. He'd never met someone quite like you, so comfortable in their own skin, seemingly immune to the cruelty and judgment of the world.

But when Barty made the comment about you being a mudblood, Regulus's face contorted into a scowl. He knew that word all too well, having been calling it to others himself multiple times throughout his life. He couldn't believe that Barty would use such a uncivil term so carelessly, and it made him appreciate you all the more for your calm and casual response.

"Oh, Is the little mudblood sad?" Piped Barty from his bed, "I don't take cheek from anyone not even rich inbreeds." You drawled as you flipped the page of your book. Evan snickered and Barty's mouth dropped in shock.

Regulus smiled.

E is even more than anyone that you adore can

Regulus couldn't believe the sight before him. The castle was covered in hearts, roses, and all manner of red and pink decorations. He snorted under his breath as he watched you busy yourself with jams and dough's in the kitchen, not even trying to contain his distaste for the entire scene.

"It's in the holiday spirit, Reg." You sang, pushing the flour-covered strands of your hair back with your arm and flashing him a bright smile. Regulus leaned over the table and gently pushed your hair behind your ears, his fingers caressing the skin of your nape. He felt a strange warmth spread through his body as you looked back at him. "It's about love."

"Love?" The word felt foreign in his mouth, and Regulus furrowed his brows, showing his clear disdain for the concept. "What does any of this have to do with love?" he muttered under his breath.

"C'mere" You said motioning over. "No!" Exclaimed Regulus taking a step back. "I'm not going to bite you! Regulus, come here!" You whined, rubbing your arms on your forehead, trying to push your, once again, fallen strands back.

"I'm not going anywhere near that thing!" He said pointing towards the talking doll your muggle-related friends bought you. "This?! Seriously?!" You asked huffing, grabbing the teddy bear. "I love you forever and ever!" It sang.

"It's horrifying and unnatural!" He defended taking a step back as you took a step forward. "It's a red teddy bear, Regulus." You sighed and before he could react you grabbed his hand and pulled him toward you.

"Here! You can decorate the cookies any way you like." You said as you handed him a bag of red icing. He sneered at the color before grabbing his wand and charming it green. "Regulus!" You chastised, hitting him with a dirty cloth. Regulus gasped, grabbing the one on the floor and throwing it at you.

Regulus's face twisted into a mix of embarrassment and annoyance as you pulled him closer, pinning him against the table. His cheeks flushed a deep red as he tried to pull himself from your grip, almost tripping over the discarded cloth in his haste.

"What was that for?" he demanded, his fists balled at his sides.

"I wanted to show you that the holiday spirit isn't just about hearts and roses, it's also about love," you replied, your tone sweet and gentle. "But I guess that's something you don't understand."

Regulus's eyes narrowed at your words, a flicker of anger flashing through them. "Of course I understand," he spat back, his voice tight. "But love has no place in my life. It's a weakness that will only hold me back."

He glared at you for a moment longer before turning away, grabbing the bag of green icing and muttering under his breath. "I'll decorate the cookies," he muttered, his tone cold. "but it won't be because of some foolish holiday spirit."

Love is all that I can give to you

He's done it.

He's gotten the mark.

Regulus couldn't believe it. It had been three months since the beginning of term, and despite his best efforts, he had somehow managed to avoid you at every turn. Not even a glimpse of your hair, or your cheerful laugh, or your mischievous grin, nothing.

He tried to tell himself that it was for the best, that he was better off without you. But the truth was, the absence of your presence in his life left a gaping hole. A hole that couldn't be filled with anything but the sound of your voice, the light of your laughter, the sparkle in your eyes.

Regulus sighed as he stared out the window, his thoughts running wild. How had it come to this? How had he allowed himself to be so consumed by the need for your presence in his life? It didn't matter now, not when your absence was leaving him empty and hollow and lost. He needed to find a way to see you, talk to you, make you understand how important you were to him.

The question was, how?

Love is more than just a game for two

Regulus's eyes snapped open with a start, the nightmare still fresh in his mind. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his chest heaving as he tried to calm his breathing. It had been a long time since he'd had such a vivid and unsettling dream, and he couldn't shake the feeling that it meant something more. What was even worse for the first time in a very long time, you weren't there.

He rolled over, the movement making his joints ache as he pushed himself into a sitting position, he looked to his side, praying to see you or even a ghost of you next to him but it was empty and Regulus's heart sank. He knew he should try to get back to sleep, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the dream had been a warning.

Regulus felt a sense of foreboding as he remembered the nightmare. It was a clear warning that he was on the wrong path, that his obsession with power and pride was leading him down a path of destruction.

He knew what he had to do. It would be a difficult task, and he could face a lot of pushback, but he was determined to make a change.

He would join the Order of the Phoenix and fight against Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. This was the only way he could make a real difference in the world and ensure that you would be safe. It was time to take a stand and fight for what was right.

Regulus lay back down on his mat, taking slow, deep breaths as he tried to clear his mind of all the worries and fears that had been plaguing him. He would make his brother proud, and he would make you proud.

Two in love can make it

The realization hit Regulus like a ton of metal bricks, the force of it shocking him beyond his own comprehension. He couldn't believe it, how could he possibly have missed it for so long? The feeling: so overwhelming, so powerful, so obvious that it made him want to laugh and cry and scream and drown all at once.

But in that moment, the weight of the realization was like a crushing force, a responsibility that he felt like he would never be able to live up to. How could he ever possibly hope to love you as deeply, as truly, as completely as you deserved? It was a feeling that filled him with a sense of both joy and terror, the fear that he would never be able to live up to the love that he felt for you.

But still, in that moment, he knew that he had to try. He had to put his heart, soul, and everything he had into loving you, into being with you, because the love he felt for you was the only thing in the world that mattered, the only thing that made any kind of sense to him.

Take my heart and please don't break it

Regulus felt a wave of dread wash over him as he began to confess his love to you. His heart was thumping in his chest, his breath coming in short bursts. He didn't know if he had the words, if he could say what he needed to say. But he knew he had to try.

"I love you," he said, his voice catching in his throat.

The words hung in the air between you, the weight of them almost overwhelming.

There was nothing like the feeling of having your feelings reciprocated. You felt a warmth spreading throughout your body as Regulus's words hit your ears, his admission of his feelings filling your heart with a sense of happiness and joy that you hadn't known before.

Your smile was as bright as the sun as you looked at Regulus, taking in every detail of his face as he sat across from you, his eyes fixed on yours. For a moment, time seemed to stop, and all you could feel was the electricity between the two of you, the tension in the air.

"I love you too," you said softly, the words feeling like the most natural thing in the world. And in that moment, Regulus knew that he would do anything for you, that he would follow you to the ends of the universe and back. Because where you were was where he belonged, and he couldn't imagine a life without you.

And then, with a soft gasp, Regulus reached across the table and took your hand, his touch gentle yet firm, his gaze never faltering from yours. And you felt your heart swell with love. "I love you," Regulus whispered again, and the words seemed to echo in the room; a smile adorning his lips.

And all you could do was nod, the word "I love you" catching in your throat, the feeling so perfect that you couldn't describe it in words. All you could do was stare at him, your heart swelling with love, your mind filled with the thought that he was your everything, now and forever.

Love was made for me and you

#marauders era #regulus black angst #regulus black x reader #regulus arcturus black #regulus black #regulus black fluff #regulus black blurb #regulus black imagine #regulus black x female reader #regulus black x y/n #regulus black x you #regulus fanfiction #regulus x reader #harry potter #harry potter x reader

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adobe-outdesign · 1 month

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Could you review woobat? For some reason until like a few years ago I thought it was a moshi monster

Surprisingly, we don't have too many heart-themed Pokemon out there, all things considered (outside of Luvdisc and Enamorus). Woobat is a particularly delightful example of this; bats sometimes get a bad rep, so it's nice to see a bat that's adorable and has love as a theme instead of your standard "scary" bat. This also helps it stand apart from the Zubat line.

The titular heart is almost certainly a reference to the heart-nosed bat, but the overall design seems to be more based off of the Honduran white bat, which are absolutely silly creatures that I need everyone to acknowledge.

It's hard to go wrong with the classic "circle with wings and a face" design, and indeed, Woobat's pretty perfect as is. I like how the black is carried through for both the nose and the wings, as is the pink color, while the light blue serves as a good base color. Lack of eyes and a single tooth give it a lot of personality as well.

Also, the 'dex mentions that they stick to cave walls using their noses, which is fun.

Swoobat forsakes the puffball look in favor of having an actual head and body. Sometimes changing a design this drastically can be a risk, but I think it works here. The super fluffy mane connects it back to Woobat, as does the nose and the black wings, so it still looks like the two belong together despite the different body types.

Swoobat keeps most everything from Woobat, just adding a darker blue color for the body, a set of ears that look conjoined but aren't, and a tail. It also has eyes, which make it even cuter due to the overly happy expression and additional highlights.

The only thing I don't really like about Swoobat's design is that tail. I want to like it, because A) it uses it to grasp onto trees instead of its feet and that's neat, and B) it helps with the heart motif and carries the color through the design more. However, it's just really weird looking; the pink makes it look uncomfortably like flesh, and the entwined look really doesn't match anything else in the design. I honestly think the design might've been stronger without the tail at all. You could integrate the hearts into other areas of the design, like the wings or the ear shape. Other than that, though, I really like it.

One thing I will say about this line is that it would be good for a mega. It feels good as a two-stager to me, but Swoobat's design is plain enough that it feels like there's a ton to play around with and expand upon. Increase the amount of pink accents, make the mane a heart, play around with the wing shape—there's plenty of interesting things you could do.

Anyway, overall, some good bats with a fun theme. Woobat's got the better design overall, but Swoobat gets points for having a super cute face.

#woobat #swoobat #pokemon #pokemon reviews

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smytherines · 2 months

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There are so many little moments in Spies Are Forever that make me lose my mind, but today the big one is when the Informant says "no tardies, no infractions, no mysterious partner fatalities"

And Agent Mega was annoyed during the scene, but his body language was just sort of mildly uncomfortable. As soon as the Informant says that, reminds him of Owen's death, you can see his eyes go wide and his breathing starting to get rapid. He's having a panic attack, which just kinda flows into Spy Again.

Its little details like that that make this show so rewarding to watch multiple times. That adds so much to Spy Again (which is also full of tiny gestures that crack me like an egg)

And it's amazing to me, because when I watch A1P1 I spend the whole time grumbling about how Curt is a reckless asshole who is gonna get my guy Owen killed, like I get so mad at him, and then five minutes into the next scene it's like "oh sweetie, I'm so sorry"

#spies are forever #agent curt mega #tin can bros

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months

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AITA for having an alter come out around my friend and making him uncomfortable?

This is going to require some context, so bear with me. I (23M) am diagnosed with DID. My family has been aware of it since I was around 6-7, we figured out exactly what it was around age 13, but I only began being open about it at age 20/21 due to a bad experience the first time I told a friend in my mid teens. This openness has been pretty gradual - I told my partner first, then my college, my counsellors, then some of my closest friends both IRL and online. This included my friend K (28M).

K and I have been friends since I was 14 and he was 19 after meeting via online RP, so a full decade, and we’ve talked pretty much every day since. We’ve met in person a couple of times over the years, though we’re both pretty busy and we live different countries so no more than that. He’s been super supportive of me since I told him, making sure to individually accommodate alters when he encounters them, and gets along in particular with one alter I’ll call E. E is probably the most ‘active’ alter (behind myself if I count), and is usually the one people first meet and speak to most often once they know. He’s very friendly and outgoing, the worst trait he has is that he’s been a little too blunt/unfiltered at times and hurt feelings which is always resolved quickly.

Also relevant to this is another alter, P. He is what’s called a persecutor - essentially an alter that harms the body and/or system in general for whatever reasons they may have. One way he has always done this is by trying to sabotage our friendships/relationships by telling them things I feel or think that I don’t, arguing with them/insulting them, playing on their worries, etc. It’s obviously unacceptable and something we’ve been trying to work on in therapy, but he’s very resistant to changing so it’s not always helpful.

K knows about P and has interacted with him a fair amount.

A while back, I asked K if we could meet up as it had been a while and I missed hanging out. We ended up arranging for us to travel to London together, stay at a hotel for a few days, and watch a musical while we were there. I was a little worried about another alter coming out while I was with him, because we’ve never been together longer than a day and a night, and I wasn’t sure how well he’d take it if a switch happened in person rather than online. I brought it up to him as a concern and he said it was completely fine, that he was prepared for it and wouldn’t be freaked out, etc.

I figured that the most likely alter to appear would be E, which wouldn’t be a big deal because they get along, so I accepted this. P is the only alter who’d potentially cause problems, and he hadn’t been active in several months, minus a couple of brief stints out, and while he was aware of the trip he had expressed zero interest in being part of it.

So cut to London trip. Everything’s going super well, we’re having a lot of fun, musical is great. The night after the musical, we decide to drink together in our hotel room. I have a mega high tolerance, but I know my limits pretty damn well, and I know exactly how much it takes me to get tipsy, Drunk, and black-out gone. I drank no more than usual and distinctly recall feeling completely fine, just a little buzzed and giggly like I usually am.

Flashcut to next morning. Can’t remember shit. Basically feels like I blacked out. I think this is weird because the amount I drank should not have been enough to cause that, but I DID drink and maybe nerves made me overdo it, so although I question it I end up writing it off. I notice K is a little quiet and doesn’t mention going out that day like we were sort of planning to, but I put it down to him being hungover and tired.

For the rest of the trip, everything’s fine. We’re hanging out as usual, he doesn’t act differently, he’s initiating hugs and affection, etc. I go home and see it all as a fun, successful time. We continue to message as normal from there.

Then weeks later, I wake up to a long message from him. The message basically said that while we were drinking on the trip, P had come out and had made him extremely uncomfortable. I asked him if anything had been done or said, and he said nothing in particular, but that knowing it was P made him feel unsafe and that it wasn’t a fun environment anymore. He told me that for the rest of the trip after that he’d been dissociating and feeing unsafe and that he didn’t know if he’s comfortable being my friend at all anymore, let alone meeting me again in person.

I was so caught off-guard that I couldn’t really process it because it felt so sudden to me and I hadn’t picked up on ANYTHING. I apologised Profusely, have been very very guarded around him since to ensure it doesn’t happen again even online as best I can, and I’ve been trying my best to work through it all and try to get more control over things with my psychiatrist.

At the same time however this has really thrown me off-kilter. I feel like I can’t be trusted to go out and do things, maintain friendships, meet people, without being unsafe to be around or having P ruin it. This is a decade-long friendship almost wrecked (and likely irreparably changed) by ONE NIGHT. I’m kicking myself for all the things I could have done differently - avoided the trip, gotten a separate hotel room, not drank - and I feel incredibly guilty and irresponsible, but I also feel so run-down and frustrated and depressed, because I can’t do basic human shit without this ruining it. Part of me is lost because he knew about this being a possibility, and explicitly told me it was fine. But I can’t blame him for reacting badly the first time he’s there for it in person either, especially because it wasn’t someone either of us expected. But am I going to need to go the rest of my life always watching myself around people and never letting my guard down and never letting myself relax or have fun in case a switch happens? I just don’t know. It was the first time in so long I’d just had fun and it resulted in this. It’s basically made me feel like a ticking time bomb and like every relationship I have is at risk of being ruined overnight if I relax at all.

AITA for agreeing to a trip and sharing a room when I knew a switch was a possibility and not taking into account that it could be someone who’d cause issues? Should I have taken more precautions?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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balloonboyismyson · 2 months

Text

One Kiss is All it Takes (Monty Gator x Reader oneshot)

You work as a nightguard at Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex. One night, Monty sends you a message asking for help. Concerned, you make your way to his room to see if he's okay.

(926 words)

The sound of your boots clunking against the tile echoes throughout the foyer. You lightly hum as you walk, flicking on and off your flashlight just to do something with your hands. Rockstar Row is probably your favourite part of the whole Pizzaplex. With all the beautiful neon signs, you get depressed that most people coming in during the day don’t really get to see them.

You scan the left wall and observe the greenrooms. It must be frustrating being them- having one of your room’s walls be a pane of glass so that everyone around can look inside like they’re zoo animals. It’s at least… something…that Management gives them a curtain to block outside viewers.

You pass Freddy and Roxy’s rooms. They thankfully seem too preoccupied with other things to notice. You know you’ll see them later tonight, so you don’t feel that guilty about it.

As soon as you had entered the ‘plex you got a message from Monty. He said he had an “issue” without really explaining what that meant. You placed your bets that he broke his glasses and needs a new pair. It’s happened a few times, but the only difference tonight is that you feel like he could’ve asked dayshift to get them for him.

Upon walking up to his room you notice an eerie silence. Usually he’s either practicing or breaking things, so the lack of movement makes you a bit nervous. Knock knock “Monty? It’s me, I got your message.” There’s a small shuffle before you can hear the thud of his footsteps getting closer to the door.

When you see him, an aura of nervousness seems to permiate from him. He always tries to act as confident as possible around you, so the shift is concerning. “Hey, Cher.” You note he still has his glasses which are perfectly intact. Even through their opacity, you can tell he’s not actually looking at you. “Is everything okay?” Your voice goes soft.

He pauses for a moment before lifting up his right arm, showing you a large hole on his inner forearm. The perimeter of it has a lot of sharp pieces with a bunch of cracks. His hand, too, has been damaged. His thumb barely has casing. “Oh my god, Monty!” Your hands move quickly to the damaged arm and carefully hold it, “What happened!?”

Monty lets out a small, uncomfortable huff. “ ‘T’s not a big deal,” He mumbles, looking as far away from you as he can. “Can you fix it?”

Your eyebrows furrow at the question. “I-I’m sorry, I’m just a nightguard, I’ve never worked with machinery.” He seems to deflate a bit at this. “I can put in a maintenance request, though.” Quickly, you use your watch to send an email to the people down in Parts ‘n’ Service so they can fix him as soon as they get here in the morning. You feel helpless and like total shit.

Briefly looking past him, you see his room’s in shambles. You’re surprised, usually he waits until closer to closing before breaking things. He notices and goes to pull his arm away. “Right, well, thanks for-”

“Hang on-” you cut him off as an idea suddenly comes to mind, “come with me.” Monty looks at you with a confused expression. “..Alright.”

Hand in hand, you walk him through Rockstar Row and take him down to the utility tunnels. Eventually the two of you come across a First-Aid Station and usher him inside and tell him to sit. “Why’d’ya take me here?”

“I don’t know anything about machinery, but I’ve patched myself up quite a few times.” You quickly scan for and find a first-aid kit. When searching inside, you see some expired alcohol wipes, a syringe with a numbing agent, and bandage wrap. You shake your head at how awful this would be in case of a human child being injured and grab the bandage wrap. You take the end off of the body and start wrapping his arm with it. “...Cher?” He cocks his head at you. “You know ’m not human, right? I can’t heal.”

“I know, but I don’t wanna just leave you hurt.” You concentrate on your task, each wrap specifically calculated to ensure there’s enough to cover the wound. Even then there’s barely enough, so unfortunately, his hand remains unbandaged.

“Does it hurt?” Your voice is quiet as you follow along the layers of bandage with the side of your thumb, barely even grazing him. Your eyes meet his.

Monty holds your gaze for a beat too long before responding. “O-Only when it first happens. Can’t feel it after that.” You squint your eyes; he’s squirming a bit. You take his bandaged arm again and gently place a kiss where the now-covered hole is. If there was a roof on the First-Aid Station, he’d have gone through it.

“Did I hurt you!?” You yelp as your hands quickly clench and retreat back to your sides. “No, no! I jus’... I didn’t expect that.” He readjusts his glasses and places his hand back down on his leg. Even for a robot his body looks stiff.

“It’s what people tend to do when they patch someone up. I’ve heard when you kiss someone’s wound, it’s much easier for your love to make its way to their heart.” He just stares at you- his jaw repeatedly opening and closing just a smidge each time. His hands begin to slightly tremble as he looks down at the bandage. “Thanks… this’ll tide me over ‘till maintenance comes.”

#Monty Gator #Montgomery Gator #Monty Gator x Reader #Oneshot #writing #FNaF Security Breach #FNaF #FNaF SB #Five Nights at Freddy's

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ilove-masked-men · 28 days

Text

”How much do her parents make?”

a y/n x Johnny (Soap) Mactavish forbidden love based fanfic

Y/N POV

Arguing about money again, ofcourse they were, my dad loves to start arguments about money when he can’t afford his whiskey because mom payed for the rent instead of cigerettes. It was horrible, you asked him to go to rehab again but he said it “only made him worse” we all knew he was lying. I needed out and immediately. I didn’t want to go into the living room through front door though, they would drag me into the argument. I only had one other way out - my window. Right outside my window was a skip we had hired to clear out the house but we had barely used it, the only thing inside of it were some pillows and old blankets, creating the perfect soft landing.

I jumped out and down onto it, it hurt, but not as much as it would if there wasn’t any cushoning. I got up and started walking, it was cold, even with my thickest coat on. It was so late too, almost tweleve and i was out walking. I’m asking to be kidnapped.

I was too busy lost in thought to see the man i had bumped into, almost knocking both of our balance. I mindlessly grabbed onto him for stabilty with my eyes squeezing shut in shock.

“What’s somet gorgeous la’hk yo’ou doin’ all about this late at ni’ht?” A heavy Scottish accent asked me, he didn’t seem to mega uncomfortable, but i let go of him without hesitance to make sure.

I realised i still had my eyes closed and opened them up, to be blessed in my vision… i think. He had an uneven smirk on his lips as he looked at me, with an extremely noticable mowhawk and peircing blue eyes. His face was imperfect but in all the right ways that made him something amazing to look at. He had the perfect build, his whole body being perfectly proportioned in his skin tight black shirt and slightly baggy blue jeans, only tight in the right places.

“Still waitin’ for me answer pretty.” He said with a slight scoff, he was so full of himself i couldn’t help but be flattered.

“Uhm, sorry i was just going for a walk.” I answered directly, looking down.

“At twelve o’clock at ni’ht? Are you sure tha’s it?” He asked, his voice rung with a slight concern in it.

“Oh.. i mean, you know how it is.. rough night..” I explained to him, becoming more and more nervous, which he clearly picked up on.

“Hey, i ain’ abou’ to try and kidnap yo’ou or other stuff. How old are yous? And what’s your name? I’m 18 and me name is Johnny, but yous can call me Soap.” He asked me the questions so gently and he sounded so sincere i fell undee his spell, i made eye contact with him and smiled slightly.

“I’m y/n and i’m 16.” I told him, i felt more comfortable with him now that i had felt used to him.

“What time have yous gotta be home lovie? You wanna walk n’ talk?” He asked me with a kind smile.

I nod and begin talking to him, walking down the road next to him. He bought us coffee at the 24 hour cafê and we got phone numbers, i hope we can keep in touch alot, tonight was amazing - i met him at 12:00 and i got back home at 2:00. He even walked me home, i was writing about him in my diary for ages, filling up 3 pages just describing and drawing him. I slept like a baby after hetting everything off my chest too.

#cod #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #john soap mactavish #cod mwf2 #cod fanfic #sergeant johnny mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish

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mbrainspaz · 1 year

Text

this isn't meant to be @ anyone. I've wanted to rant about this for a minute.

In defense of Harry Dresden, a kinda toxic hero—

I've had several instances where I recommended the Dresden Files and got replies like 'oh I tried that but the main character seemed kinda chauvinistic' or 'those are guy books.' I'm not gonna argue with that assessment. I agree that Harry has some prevalent issues of the toxic masculinity variety. He admits as much. He doesn't do much about it in the first 17 books but he admits it.

I do get annoyed when I interact with guy friends who read him as a perfect role model. There is a toxic fandom element out there, not unlike with Star Wars or Harry Potter. People who got the wrong message from a complicated piece of media. I was actually dating the guy who introduced me to the series as way of excusing some of his toxic behavior, which he had directly based on Harry. I started reading the series to try to understand why he thought that was a good idea, and after reading it we had a talk about why it probably wasn't. He's living his best life with his soon-to-be husband now but we've stayed in touch just to chat about new Dresden books when they come out.

It's not only okay to read and enjoy books with problematic characters, I think it helps people develop a greater appreciation for nuance. Even when the actions of those characters aren't immediately and unequivocally condemned by the narrative, enjoying a 'problematic' book isn't an inherently bad thing. But Harry usually does get kicked in the pants for his bad takes and that is a reason I enjoy the series. Yes, he has chauvinistic views, but those almost always come back to bite him. In fact it's hilarious to me how many times the scenario: 'Hitting on a hot dame? Whoops she's a fae queen who just stabbed you.' plays out. It's not hilarious to Harry but unlike the Supernatural bros at least he learns from his mistakes and starts to get suspicious of supernaturally hot women pretty quickly.

As far as female rep goes, it does go borderline on the 'strong yet sexy female character' tropes at times but ultimately it's leagues better on that front than adjacent media like Supernatural, Libriomancer, or any series I've read about Druids where every dame in the book is apologizing for being an inhuman supermodel while still being an inhuman supermodel. Women in Dresden Files have a huge amount of depth and agency, and only about 7 out of 10 are supernaturally hot. Their narratives are rarely centered but oh well, some stories are allowed to be about guys being dudes. Dudes and their supernaturally sexy male model besties.

Harry is very much meant to be a hero character in the story but we mainly get that from the way other characters interact with him. Usually when he's confronted with the fact that other characters see him as a hero it makes him uncomfortable. Internally he's hugely critical of himself. He's also deeply introspective and empathetic, which would be good things for men to model. Anyone reading Dresden Files and going 'aha, see—toxic masculinity is based actually' is thoroughly failing at media analysis. Which is the norm, granted, but don't blame that on Harry. Heck, one of the central themes is him being at war with himself and his baser nature, both in a relatable real-world sense and as a guy with the potential to be a mega powerful dark wizard.

Personally Harry's struggles helped me to unpack a lot of the feelings I was having about religion as I tried to distance myself from evangelicalism, but maybe that's just me. These thoughts aren't perfectly refined and I wanted to go into the cop worship issue to but I can't waste another hour on this.

#harry dresden #dresden files #jim butcher #books I like to re-read #feminism #toxic masculinity

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peony-flowerking7 · 25 days

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What are misao's power?

My powers work by pulling my cells or my skin to make weapons. It's a complicated and painful process. I also have self healing but only for me and I can't heal others.

I have to pinch my skin to get the weapon of my choosing. The thing is I must know how that weapons work and if it's possible for me to make. It also can't be made up from imagination or if it's newly made. My quirk requires my cells to form the weapon but it comes with the cost of my skin feeling pain which mega sucks. The only good thing about my stupid Quirk is that it has self healing or whatevs. The process makes me uncomfortable. It's also pretty useless since like, I can't make bullets like my Momma can. I have to make my own.

So basically this thing doesn't even work if I don't put any bullets in this bad boy. I dislike this Quirk because of it, I wished I only had my Papa's Quirk then life would be much easier.

I actually wanted to give Misao a different Quirk but this is a better Quirk since it will be good for character development like I said I actually want to make a fanfic for her. Maaan if only things didn't look so packed. I feel stressed even though I shouldn't be feeling it. Also I am hoping I don't change much from the quirk idea.

I LIED I WANT TO CHANGE HER QUIRK I GOT INSPIRED AND I HAVE AN IDEA!

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #peony art #peony ask #bnha oc #oc ask #mha oc #my hero academia oc #my hero academia #Quirk Explanation #ask

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tiredbonbon · 1 year

Text

...Affairs

Pairing: William Afton x reader

Summary: (sort of a pt. 2 to my first post) After your initial encounter with Mr. Afton fate just has to leave you alone once again, and things only escalate from there.

Warnings!: age gap (reader is an adult), innappropriate relationships, making out, afab reader with gn! Prns, light mr. Kink (??)

Picture creds: Noisx

____________________________________________

Your first ‚real’ encounter with the aftons was... an interesting one at the least, events of it plaguing you for days over days. And worst was from it now even your harmless crush on their father, William, that was more something you'd giggle at occasionally than actually have on your mind, just had to blossom into something much worse on your psych...

God, the way he had called you 'luv' had replayed in your mind at least 1000 times, always making you touch your face in embarrassment, remembering how your name rolled off his tongue just a tad too smoothly made your chest ache every time it crossed your mind and worst was you couldn't even stop yourself from thinking about it, it had some kind of spell on your mind.

But who were you truly kidding here? Not only was the man divorced, but he was as old as your father, you really, really doubted he'd ever feel any kind of attraction towards you. No matter how honey smooth his british accent made your name sound. Still it could’nt forbid you from dreaming, right?

You made your best effort focusing on things that were not dilfy friends of your parents, which kinda resulted in a lot of productivity because well, you needed a lot of distraction to take your mind off of shit.

Most days you sat in the corner of your soldering hot room that the AC never reached, uncomfortably crooked over your desk as you scribbled down words in your notebook or listened to whatever angsty music you found in the best seller section of your local mega store. You found yourself avoiding going outside as well, maybe it was the horrible heat, laziness or the hidden anxiety you might accidentally run into your guilty pleasure firsthand.

*Drrrng, Drrrrrrng*

Your head perked up as you heard the muffled sound of your doorbell that was always just barely loud enough to hear when you didn’t have music on, you got up from your desk, sighing, you didn’t know who it was but it may just be some mail, and with how many teenagers were around the block you knew your dad would be pissed if any packages were stolen by some filthy porch pirates.

You went and walked downstairs, lazily making your way over to the door, only to nearly have your soul leave your body when you opened it.

Towering well over you a good 6‘1, you were jumpscared by the exact figure circulating your mind for the past week. „Ah, nice seeing you luv. Excuse me for the disturbance is your fatha‘ home?“

Fuck, there it was again, that god damn pet name. He leaned himself against the doorframe as you quickly remembered that you did in fact have to talk.

„O-OH- Mr. Afton- im so sorry, my dad isn’t at home right now, is there anything I can help you with.?“ you fixed your stance, crossing your hands in front of your lap.

„Ah, I actually just needed some tools I didn’t have at my place, didn’t want to fuss Henry about it.” He replied, “Oh well I can take you to the garage if you wanna take a look for it, why don’t you come inside?” You laughed awkwardly, gesturing behind you.

“That’d be very sweet of you hon, thank you.” He stepped past you inside as you felt your stomach twist, trying to hide your awkwardly curled face and quickly closing the door behind him. “Uh I quickly got to get the keys to the garage, make yourself comfortable.” You gestured to the kitchen table. He obliged, pulling out one of the chairs, “Can I get you anything?” You offered, fidgeting your fingers.

He chuckled, “Your too good to me luv, theres no need.” You laughed along with him, nervously, you felt so awkward and embarrassed at once, you sure as hell still couldn’t handle being alone with him in a room.

You turned back to the cabinets and fished out the key that opened the garage, turning back around to William, he was very obviously eyeing the original chica plushy placed at the side of the stovetop. He probably thought of it as unusual, chica plushies never really seemed popular, with the animatronic herself always standing in the shadow of the others, it always felt a bit sexist to you for some reason but at the same time chica probably also looked the creepiest out of the bunch.

“Hm, you got one of the plushes?” He met your eyes, “Uh yeah, Henry gave me one of those for my birthday.”

“Heh, you like em? I always thought they looked kinda dodgy.” He smirked, picking it up from the counter, “ts, the eyes are way too far apart, is this the kinda stuff kids are into these days?”

He snickered, still looking at the simple toy, “god these are hideous.”

You felt a bit shocked at his nonchalant attitude towards talking down to his own brand, sure he didn’t seem like the guy to actually be interested in the children’s entertainment genre, but that was unexpected.

He looked up to meet your eyes again, “Forgive me, I’m not insulting your taste luv.” He handed you back the plush, “no, no of course not-“ you laughed putting it back onto the counter, “they do look a bit derpy I suppose…”

You pulled the garage keys out, fondling them between your hands, “well I got the keys, right this way.” You gestured towards the hallway where the door to the garage was, you weren’t exactly sure why your dad kept it locked, but it was probably so you couldn’t get in when you were younger and now it was just force of habit.

You unlocked the door, letting him step down the small staircase to the inside before following behind, “what tools do you need either way?” You asked, trying to avoid any awkward silence. He leaned over the workbench, “just a kind of oil, I ran out at home.”

“Oil? I thought the animatronics fur covers could be worn as costumes, wouldn’t that soak in?” You asked, feeling a bit of genuine intrigue. “Costumes? No, that was a long time ago, back at Fredbears Family Diner. Its only a myth nowadays, the animatronics are there to be robots and robots only.”

“Well, if they were functional as both robots and costumes why not do that again nowadays? Seems useful if they ever go defect.” You followed up.

He snickered to himself, “Well, first off, me and Henry are too busy nowadays to entertain guests ourselves, its better to rely on technology to fill that job.”

He suddenly stood back up straight, walking over to you …uncomfortably close, so close you even had to stumble back a bit yourself to keep a little personal space, “Secondly,” You almost choked on the air in your lungs as he popped open a few buttons at the top of his shirt, making you think in all kinds of wrong directions for a moment, before pulling the fabric to the side, revealing an assortment or strangely shaped, noticeable scars. “Springlocks aren’t the safest thing out there.”

Internally, you slapped yourself, but also wondered if …that kind of demonstration was really necessary, “I can tell you, springlock failures ain’t pretty, I’d know it.” He pulled his shirt back into place, you meet his eyes for a moment, then looked away feeling how he loomed over you.

It took you a moment of complete silence to realize that you were indeed blushing, and that William was observing all of that.

“Heh.” His lips twitched up before he turned back to the workbench, looking around the tools messily scattered around.

‘Heh?’ FUCKING ‘HEH’??

WHAT DOES ‘HEH’ MEAN?

"Since those costumes served as both costumes and animatronics with minimal prep' time, even if a human was in it there would still be a lot of metal round' the body." He explained carefreely, scanning across the objects around, "Its supposed to be held back by the springlocks but, if those things came loose at any point the metal springs right back into place and it'd be lights out."

You felt yourself heat up all around your body, staying frozen not knowing what to do, you weren't truly listening in to his explanation anymore, your mind too fixed on previous events. “Shame, seems like you don’t have it here…” he sighed standing back up, “hm? Y/n?”

You pulled yourself back to reality, “oh apologies I uh..." you fingernails scratched the side of your neck, trying to find some way to either end your sentence. “Hm, are you okay luv?” He raised an eyebrow at you, resting his hands on his sides, “you have been looking a little dazed for a while now…” he inched closer.

You stepped back, not stopping him from approaching you further , like a wild animal inching at its prey. Now it was getting strange, seriously strange. Yet you still didn’t know what to say or do in the slightest.

You pressed air into your lungs, trying to build confidence to speak, though right as your lips parted, you felt the stone wall slam into your back, knocking all air from your chest.

He cornered you.

You flickered your eyes up, his face now dangerously close to you. The entire feeling of his aura washed down on your body, making you shrink together. His breath barely brushed your skin as his eyes wandered up and down your face.

What was he doing, what the fuck was even happening right now.

“Your too adorable…” he breathed, the chairs on your neck standing up at his tone of voice, “M- Mr. Afton you-“

He cut you off, “whats the low voice for hon? You don’t think I’d hurt you, right?” You shivered, feeling his fingers brush up your neck, as if they were imitating a blade, “Would I?”

You felt dizzy, he was touching you, even if it was so slight, it was like you fell into euphoria. “Please…” your voice whined quietly, even if you didn’t fully see it, you knew he was grinning, it was unspoken, but he saw right trough you, he, a man twice your age, and an entire head taller than you, had you cornered and pressed up against a wall, and you were loving it.

“Your too sweet for me…” he sighed, his lips barely speaking above yours as a high squirms escaped you , his hand making its way around your waist, “Knew it, you dirty dog…” his eyes narrowed, before he closed the near to desperate gap between you, his lips pressing down against yours.

Your eyes widened, as it took a moment for you to realize what was happening wasn't just your fantasy.

Your hand clung to the side of his shirt, trying to keep up with the sudden, extreme friction he forced on your lips without warning. God fuck, he was close, he was fucking kissing you, it felt unreal. He ripped your hand from his side, pinning it above your head before subtly pulling his lips from yours, only to slam them right back into each other, this time forcing your mouth open along with it.

“Mh-“ you moaned, his hand gripping yours as you let him fully push you back against the wall. You struggled back against his hand keeping you pinned for a moment, just to test it, but were quickly humbled feeling how firm his grip on you was.

He finally parted from you, leaving only a small string of your own saliva hanging from your lips. You let your head hang, knowing he was staring right ahead at you.

"Look at me luv." He commanded low toned, his hand moving from your waist and grabbing your face.

He pulled you up to face him, leaning in so close you could feel the bridge of your nose lean against his. "Yes, thats it." He smirked, "look at me with those eyes."

He rucked you against the wall again, this time pushing his body right into yours.

Oh.

'holy shit...' you thought you imagined it for a second, but there was no mistaken, you were actually getting him hard.

You inhaled sharply feeling kisses pressed to your neck, okay so, this was now gradually evolving into full on making out… „ah…“ you moaned under your breath, feeling his lips run along your skin.

„You should get something to remember me by luv, here let me help…“ he cooed in an obvious teasing fashion, his hands suddenly let go of your arm and face before tightly grabbing your waist, pulling you in.

„Mr. Aft- AH-„ you moaned probably a decibel too highly as his teeth pressed down into the soft flesh of your neck. Your latched onto his back as your head slowly let your head fall into his neck, it felt like a bit of an overstep in terms of body contact but damn, he had kissed you so what else could there be?

You felt an obvious, sore hickey forming on your neck, just low enough so it could be covered with a loose fitting shirt, but still placed in a way you knew it was there if you looked in the mirror, in a way that would probably make him stick in your mind for a lot longer.

„Mr. Afton..~“ his name rolled of your tongue as you basically whispered right against his ear, his grip on you tightened for a moment before he slammed you back into the wall behind you, almost a little too roughly.

His hand wrapped around your thigh, nearly pushing it up far enough to almost reach his shoulder, „keep calling me by that and I might just have to fuck you right here and now…“ he huffed, looking straight into your eyes. You face reddened dramatically, and you couldn’t help but fall into instant lust thinking about him pounding you raw, not leaving room for breath…

His lips twitched up, „would you want that?“

You felt like your breath got caught in your throat, no you couldn’t just say that, but you did… you bit your lip.

God how you wished to feel him, at this point, you had forgotten your morals, you wanted him to loom over you and to rip every slither of innocence from your body, no matter how harsh. He chuckled as you felt his body grind against yours, breathing heavily from the feeling.

„Fuck… please-„

„Y/n?! Are you around?“

You froze. That was undoubtedly your dearest mother‘s voice. Your eyes hesitantly met William‘s, who seemed equally confused, having stopped all movement as well.

„Oh, shit“

#william afton x reader #william afton #reader insert #self insert #x reader #fnaf #fnaf x reader #dave miller #dave miller x reader #gender neutral y/n #smut #lemon #lime #making out

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petalouda85 · 3 months

Text

Promise

Fandom: Blades of Light and Shadow 2

Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Kassandra)

Word count: 3.4k

AO3 link: x

Concept: victory over the Ash Empress quickly turns to tragedy. Tw: character death, use of alcohol to cope with grief, s**cidal thoughts

Tags: @choicesficwriterscreations, @liviusofpella, @starlight-starfury, @megas-choices

A/N: not the fic I thought I’d finish first after Book 2 ended but I also wouldn’t be me if I didn’t write something absolutely heart wrenching once in a while. Rest assured, next fic will be a lot happier.

In case it was missed: TW for character death, alcohol use to cope with grief and s**cidal thoughts. If these make you uncomfortable, feel free to skip; I understand that these can be difficult topics for people.

When Tyril opened his eyes, he winced, the bright sky and sun causing the ache in his head to pulse more strongly. He covered his eyes but smiled ever so slightly; he had not not expected to see those beacons of hope above him. Throughout the battle, the Ash Empress had cast a dark cloud overhead, frightening the warriors of Morella and spurring on the Ashen army. It had flickered in and out of existence as she was attacked and retaliated but with one burst of power, the darkness seemed permanent. But the dark blanket was now gone without a trace.

Upon adjusting, he sat up, looking out over the wide expanse of the battle field, a small smile quirking at his lips.

The Ashen soldiers were scattering, running through the portal back to the Shadow Realm while the Elves, Goblins and Dwarves spurred them on.

As the last of the Ashen disappeared, a deafening silence fell over the battlefield, only the screeches and caws of the ravens and crows above breaking the silence.

He spotted a figure dressed in priestly robes lying in the grass nearby, slowly getting up and clasping at her head, blood streaming down her face.

“Nia.” He whispered, quickly dashing to her and dropping to his knees, examining the wound, a deep gash above her eyebrow. Nia looked at him with weary and dazed eyes.

“I’m alright, Tyril.” She said assuringly. “I just bumped my head.” He quickly held his hand over her cut, the skin closing underneath his magic.

“That’s better.” Nia gave a faint smile.

“Thank you. Where are the others?” She quickly asked.

“Alright, up you get.” Tyril turned his head in the direction of Imtura’s voice. She was not too far away, sporting many cuts on her arms and a few on her face. She had swung Mal’s arm over her shoulder and helped him stand up, which is when the elf spied the rogue’s broken leg. Slowly, the two made their way over to the elf and priestess, relieved smiles on their faces.

“Hey elf boy, priestess. Glad to see you still among the land of the living.” Mal smirked but his jovial expression immediately fell. “Where’s Kassandra?”

Tyril’s head snapped to attention, turning to the last spot he had seen her, the images he saw before being knocked out flashing before his eyes. The golden armor dulled, hands grasped onto the Empress’ face, an impossible stream of Light emanating from them, face twisted in pain and determination as the Empress’ hand smashed past the armor and into her chest before an explosion of Light had blinded and thrown him and the others back, his vision going black moments later.

In the same space was now a spot of black charred grass, a pile of ash gradually blowing away with the wind, and laying nearby, face down in the grass, was a body encased in gold armor, unmoving.

“No.” He muttered desperately, struggling to remain on his feet as he ran to the body, his chest filling with dread. “No. Please. Not like this.” He fell to his knees adjacent to it and turned it over, the sight making him gasp.

Kassandra’s face was marred with cuts and bruises, a trail of blood trickling out the corner of her mouth. Her hair was matted with blood and dirt. The runes on her armor had faded, the enchantment gone with them, and a hole where the Ash Empress had dug her claws in was left behind, blood and Shadow rot dripping out from the gaping wound on her chest.

“NIA!” He cried, finding the Priestess already running towards them, the others in tow. Nia dropped to her knees and immediately, her hands began to glow with healing light. But the blood didn’t stop flowing, the Shadow still permeating. Tears formed in the Priestess’ eyes.

“It’s not working.”

Tyril placed his hand over the wound, concentrating and willing the wounds to be healed but they remained.

“No. Why is it not working?” He whispered.

“It must be the Empress’ doing. It must be.” Nia wept, holding her hand desperately over the wound once more. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated, Tyril sensing a magical but invisible energy surround them. She concentrated and concentrated, her jaw tight, her teeth grinding but the wound remained unchanged. She released the magic, a tear running down her face.

“No.” She whispered, shakily placing her hand to Kassandra’s throat. Immediately, Nia’s eyes widened. “Kassandra?” She gasped. Ever so slowly, Kassandra’s eyes opened, her gaze soft but unfocused.

“Kassandra?” Tyril whispered, cupping her cheek with his own bloodied hand.

“Tyril?” Kassandra’s voice was soft and weak. She turned her head to face him, though her gaze remained unfocused. “Is that you?” He nodded fervently.

“Yes. I’m here. We all are.” Gently, he lifted her up, supporting her head in the crook of his elbow so she could see their companions stand by her. Injured but alive. She smiled weakly at them.

“Hi.”

“Hey, Kit.” Mal teased, leaning heavily on Imtura. “How you holding up?" Kassandra looked down at the hole in her chest.

"I've had worse." She joked, a few snickers emanating through the group. She looked up at the sky, seemingly surprised to see the blue color. “Is it over?” Tyril nodded.

“It’s over. You did it, Kassandra. You won.” She looked at him and smiled.

“No. We won.” The elation on her face quickly faded. “The barrier… I can’t close it. And Valax can’t close it alone. The world will stay as it is.” She lifted her bloodied hand, gazing at it before looking once more at the hole in her chest. She let out a breath, leaning her head into his chest before letting out a small sob. “I wish I was in Undermount.” She wept softly. “I would’ve loved to have seen it one last time.” Tears forming in his eyes, Tyril gently turned her face so she looked at him again, forcing a calm face for her sake.

“Then let’s imagine it. Let’s imagine our return to Undermount.” She looked up to the blue sky, briefly closing her eyes as the sun’s warm beams shined down on her wan face.

“I think it would be a warmer welcome this time. No trouble at the gate and the streets flocked with elves wanting to see the heroes of Morella. We’d push through the crowd to your home. It’s restored and renewed, shining in the light. Beautiful.” She smiled faintly at the image as she struggled to take a deep breath. “Your father and sister at the door. Adrina would hug us and she’d tease you so much.” The thought made Tyril chuckle.

“Relentlessly.” He caressed her cheek, her skin cold and clammy. “I’d take you to the Masquerade and I’d dance all night with you.”

“And kiss me on the floor?” He nodded.

“And declare you my Dinvalir and Kilvalir. The scandal we’d cause.” She giggled at the thought, her smile still so beautiful.

“And drink honey wine?”

“So much that we’d make Threep jealous.”

“Not that difficult to do.” She chuckled though a tear ran down her cheek. The light mood quickly became heavy once more. “You have to keep going. You all do.” He shook his head, tears finally rolling out of his eyes.

“I can’t do it without you.” He said, his voice shaking. The year she had been gone was torture for him. There had been days where he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, her absence having left a dark void in his heart and mind. Hope that she was still alive had kept him going. Now, such hope was not possible. She was slipping away from him and he couldn’t stop it, no more than he could stop water from slipping through his fingers. Slowly, she reached up, briefly cupping his cheek.

“Yes, you can. You’re so strong, Tyril. So much stronger than you realize. You still have so much to give to this incredible world we live in. Travel, learn, protect those who can’t protect themselves.” She dropped her hand to her chest, clasping his hand weakly and bringing it over to rest over her heart. “Promise me, Tyril.” She whispered. “Promise me. Promise me, Uluvalir.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, a few of his tears dripping onto her cheeks when she barely returned the gesture. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, letting out a shaking breath.

“I promise.” He whispered before pulling back. She tried to reach up her hand again but it soon fell back to rest on her chest, her strength waning.

“Take care of the others for me. And take care of Kade. Tell him that I’m sorry.” She took a deep, quivering breath, looking at Nia when the priestess took her hand. “Live.” She said, forcing herself to speak louder. She took in another breath, shallow and quick, before looking to Imtura and Mal. “Live for me.”

“Of course, Kassandra.” Nia nodded.

“Always.” Mal responded, nudging Imtura. The two hobbled closer, getting down on their knees next to their companions.

“It’s been an honor fighting with you.” Imtura said with a quivering voice, laying her hand over Nia’s. Soon, Mal’s hand joined as did Tyril’s. Kassandra’s eyes seemed to gaze through them but her smile remained warm.

“What a beautiful family.” She whispered before a faint gasp escaped her lips, her eyes losing focus, her chest becoming still.

For a moment, all was silent, the friends unmoving. With a shaking hand, Tyril reached up and closed Kassandra’s eyes, letting out a strangled sob; she looked so peaceful, he could almost convince himself she was only sleeping. He felt a hand on his shoulder, finding Nia’s eyes red, her composure cracking. She opened her mouth, likely to try to say something comforting but nothing came out and she bowed her head in grief. Mal’s face was stoic but it too was breaking, a tear forcing itself out while Imtura seemed to shake, her fists clenched, her jaw tight.

“Kassandra!” A familiar voice cried.

The four friends turned their heads to the noise, finding Aerin bounding up the hill, Valax on his heels. They skidded to a stop, staring at the scene, horror clouding Aerin’s face.

“Is she…?” His voice shook. Tyril found himself staring at the former prince’s face, finding traces of the love and affection he’d sent in Kassandra’s direction when he thought no one was looking. Another rush of tears flowed from the elf’s eyes as he shook his head; he could hear the prince’s gasp just barely over the sound of his own shattering heart.

As Adrina and the rest of their allies climbed the hill, Tyril watched as Valax turned briskly on her heels and ran towards the portal, the elf spying sorrow and hurt in her eyes in the brief moment he saw her face.

As the Ash princess disappeared through the portal, Adrina had reached the top of the hill, gasping at the sight that greeted her. The siblings exchanged a look; nothing needed to be said, the heavy air conveying the tragic news to her.

Tears in her eyes, Adrina lowered herself to one knee, laying her weapon down and bowed her head reverently to Kassandra. She was soon joined by Cherta and Willow and Aerin and slowly, one by one, the entire army kneeled before them; the sight would’ve been beautiful in any other circumstance, Tyril told himself bitterly as he tightly embraced the body of his lost love.

The days passed in a blur. Seconds became hours, and hours felt like weeks.

A funeral occurred only days later. It was an elaborate ceremony, no expense being too great for the noble hero who sacrificed herself for the realm. The king and many others spoke eloquently and gratefully about her, exalting her virtues and praising her bravery and sacrifice.

“They could never do her justice.” Tyril thought bitterly after the king finished speaking. “She was divine, celestial. She outshone the stars and now, the stars will bow to her for she is greater than them all.”

He forced his way through the ceremony, keeping his jaw tight, fists clenched and shaking slightly; his friends remained close to him, placing supportive hands on his shoulder and whispering words to spur him through the remainder of the ceremony.

After the funeral, he shut himself in his room and he finally let the overwhelming, raging anger out. Smashed vases, broken mirrors, ripped sheets, chipped and charred wood. When there was nothing left to receive his anger, he had collapsed onto the floor, clawing at his head and hair, tears soaking the carpet. He must’ve been loud because shortly after, Adrina had found him in his pathetic state. He didn’t remember much of what happened after. He had a vague recollection of being guided to the chair by the fireplace, a crackling of a spell in the air, restoring the room to its correct state, and a blanket being placed over his shoulders. There had been a muffled voice and a warm hand holding his but he had not reacted, staring at the flames in the hearth.

He remained there, still as a statue, ruminating, not moving even after his sister had given up on pleading with him. After an eternity, she had left, a whisper of a promise to return on her lips as she shut the door.

Somehow, he snapped out of his catatonic state enough to summon a servant to his room. In a monotone voice, he requested wine to be brought to him, a deep craving for alcohol forming in him. The servant returned with the requested item soon enough, Tyril glad that the human had enough sense to bring the bottle too.

It didn’t last the night.

Another bottle was brought the next night and it too was soon empty, the liquor bringing him the numbness he desired. With every drink, another tear fell, his mind repeating the same thought over and over.

First his mother, then Kaya, and now Kassandra. Why were they the cost for all he’d done?

The empty bottle was placed on the table next to his chair, it quickly removed by the servant when they brought more of the requested drink. He didn’t move much from the chair, not that he had the energy to do much else. The days had become a blur, night turning into day and back to night in a matter of seconds. His sister and his friends came by at times, bringing food and water and taking away the untouched plates and cups. They spoke to him, though he never listened to them enough to hear what was said. One word answers in the same monotonous tone were all he could manage.

For days, he remained in the chair, the cycle of friends visiting and servants bringing him his requests continuing. Briefly, he thought that he must’ve been a sight to behold in this stupor. Hair disheveled, clothing wrinkled, eyes red with large bags underneath, wine never far. It was a far cry from the proper lord he once was.

He downed the glass of wine he had in his hand - he wasn’t certain how many he had had already that evening; he stopped counting after the third glass. The liquor went down with ease, adding another delicious layer of numbness. Once the final drops were out of the cup, he placed it down on the table next to him and turned his gaze to the ornate box adjacent to the glass.

He had discovered it on top of one of the dressers many moons ago but it had not crossed his mind until more recent times; in a brief moment out of his catatonia, he had retrieved it and placed it near him. Slowly, he undid the clasp and lifted the lid.

Inside was an ornately decorated knife, it lying beautifully on top a pillow of velvet; another display of the king’s wealth, meant to be admired, not used.

Gently, he took the blade out of the box, it staying loosely in his hand. He turned it in his hand, examining the details on the hilt and the blade itself. It was very beautiful, he had to admit. He continued to stare at it, the firelight reflecting in the blade, the sharpness looking rather inviting.

You have to keep going. Promise me, Tyril. Promise me.

“Why would you make me promise something like that?” He muttered, no tears coming out; he had run out hours ago. Memories flashed across his mind, the happiness in them mocking him. That fateful first meeting in Port Parnassus, the conversation by the railing on the Sun Maiden, their first kiss in the Deadwood, dancing in Undermount, the balcony in Whitetower, the wonderful moment he held her again after that long and lonely year.

His grip on the knife tightened as the memory of the final fight against the Shadow Court flashed before him. That one final moment before opening the door to the ritual chamber. He had kissed her, convinced that it would be the last one.

“I want to live, Kassandra. I want to live for you.” He had told her in that moment. “What is there to live for now?” He mumbled, his grip loosening.

Another memory came to him as he continued to stare at the knife, the flame reminding him of the heat of the moment and the desert they had been in. He replayed it a few times in his mind, every whisper of Dinvalir causing yet more aches. He clawed through the memory once more when a moment within gave him pause.

Sometimes I hate my sense of duty.

I love your sense of duty.

He froze, the knife slipping from his grasp, the tip embedding itself into the floor. His lips began to crack as a smirk made its way to his face, a realization hitting him.

“Clever Kassandra.” He whispered. “Clever, clever Kassandra.” She had known him so well. Even as she lay dying, she thought of his well-being and his future, appealing to his sense of duty in her final moments. He would’ve given her anything, she had known that; ask for a star and he would’ve gifted her the night sky. She had asked for him to keep going, had him promise to keep going and in doing so, she had made it his duty to keep going.

He retrieved the knife from the floor, the sharpness no longer as inviting as before. He stared at it for a few more moments before placing it back on the pillow, slamming the lid shut and placing the latch back in place. He felt discomfort in his knees as he stood up, taking the box off the table and slowly walking to the nearest dresser, opening the top compartment and shoving the box in, slamming the compartment shut once more.

He shuffled to the table and turned the cup upside down. He stared at the chair for a moment but he turned away, going to stand before the fireplace, leaning one hand on the mantle. He stared into the fire, an unexpected tear forming in his eye.

Promise me, Tyril.

Her voice sounded clear in his mind and his imagination played a beautiful trick as he felt a ghostly touch on his shoulder, the sensation eventually moving and embracing him from behind, the phantom ethereal touch beaming with reassurance. It made him smile so slightly, imagining that the touch was her. He let out a long breath, imagining the ethereal hand being placed over his heart as a lightness he hadn’t felt in some time rushed through him.

“The path ahead won’t be easy.” He whispered like a prayer. “The road was much clearer with you beside me. I don’t know what’s next for me. I don’t know what the future holds. It’s all obscured in a thick mist and traversing it without your guiding light terrifies me.” He paused, the imagined hands embracing him more tightly. “I will traverse it and I hope that you stand by me when I do, even when I can’t see you or feel your touch. I know it won’t be easy. But for you? I will try.” He placed his own hand over his heart.

“I promise.”

#tyril x mc #tyril starfury #blades of light and shadow #bolas 2 #playchoices #my writing #petal writes #tw character death #tw alcohol #Tyril x Kassandra

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ask-the-royal-absol · 3 months

Note

Hope, the Guardian's necklace sure is interesting! Weird that she hasn't told you much about it. I do have to ask: do the words "mega" or "mega evolution" ring any bells to you? Is this a concept you're familiar with?

Hope: Mega evolution?

*Hope sat, thinking hard about the term, trying to scrape into the very corners of her mind for some sort of recognition over this term. She’d heard of regular evolution. But mega evolution? Nothing rang a bell for the concept.*

Hope: No, sorry. No idea what you’re talking about. Felix, you got anything?

Felix: Nah. That ain’t somethin’ I’ve ever heard of. Perhaps describe this stone she wears; I may have seen it before, livin’ in the Underdark and all where it’s full of ores and stones.

Hope: It’s a spherical stone which looks like it’s been polished? Maybe? Off white in colour with a swirl of colours on the inside. Mainly purples and blues from what I remember. Anything coming to you?

Felix: Yeah, we don’t have that kinda stone down there. Which is suprisin’ since, from what ya said, the Underdark is the main export of evolution stones and all that.

Hope: It’s a mystery then. But yeah, I suppose it is kinda weird that she hasn’t said much about it before. Of course, don’t want to ask her too much about something that makes her uncomfortable but it still plagues my mind with questions.

Hope: The thing is, when I approach her while she’s feeling blue, she just puts it away and acts like nothing is wrong. Even when I try asking her about it, she just tells me not to worry and tries to talk about something else. It’s one of the many things that she doesn’t talk about. There been a couple of times where she’s let that facade slip, but not often.

Hope: As I said, I don’t really want to make her uncomfortable or anything. Considering how lovely she is to me and everyone, it’s difficult seeing her upset. If she ever cried, oh boy, I think it’d make me cry too. And I’m not someone who cries often.

Felix: Yeah, ya seem like the type.

#pokemon ask blog #pokemon #pokemon askblog #pokemon oc #ask blog #ask the royal absol #pokeask #ask #hope the Blaziken #Felix the gengar

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yrluvjane · 11 months

Text

L.O.V.E — Regulus Black

[Regulus realizes just how much of a light you've become in his life.]

L is for the way you look at me

"Amused?" he snapped, his voice filled with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

"Very," you purred, the corners of your mouth turning up in an infuriating smile as you watched him try to get his shoes off.

"Do you find it amusing to mock someone who has fallen?" he asked, his voice cold and hard.

"Only when that someone is you."

O is for the only one I see

"Oh come on!" You yelled through the mega phone, "Ravens! Ravens! Ravens!" You chanted. He lazily rolled his eyes at you.

He grinned at the sight of Professor McGonagall trying to fight you for the mic for you had began making inappropriate comments about his team, especially him. "Come on you pussy-bats!"

V is very, very extraordinary

"Oh, Is the little mudblood sad?" Piped Barty from his bed, "I don't take cheek from anyone not even rich inbreds." You drawled as you flipped the page of your book. Evan snickered and Barty's mouth dropped in shock.

Regulus smiled.

E is even more than anyone that you adore can

"Love?" The word felt foreign in his mouth, and Regulus furrowed his brows, showing his clear disdain for the concept. "What does any of this have to do with love?" he muttered under his breath.

"What was that for?" he demanded, his fists balled at his sides.

"I wanted to show you that the holiday spirit isn't just about hearts and roses, it's also about love," you replied, your tone sweet and gentle. "But I guess that's something you don't understand."

Love is all that I can give to you

He's done it.

He's gotten the mark.

The question was, how?

Love is more than just a game for two

He knew what he had to do. It would be a difficult task, and he could face a lot of pushback, but he was determined to make a change.

Two in love can make it

Take my heart and please don't break it

"I love you," he said, his voice catching in his throat.

The words hung in the air between you, the weight of them almost overwhelming.

Love was made for me and you

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lovebillyhargrove · 5 months

Text

Wake me up when July is around

Chapter 18/?

***

Hands down.

Hands fucking down,

Billy Hargrove has never been so horny, in all of the years since puberty hit him. Like a train. It didn't hit him gently. Does it ever though?

Anyways.

On the verge of turning 18, frequent involuntary erections and wet dreams are making a surprise comeback to his everyday life. Like he needs them back, right the fuck now.

It's as if he's a 12-year old again, examining his pimply chin in front of the mirror. Waking up to a shameful wet spot in his underwear after having yet another arousing sex dream.

Billy's already had such dreams about Harrington, it's not like he's gonna

Oh my god!

freak out about the fact itself, but if he thought they happened often, haha. Look at him now, after he actually

physically

touched King Steve's smooth dick.

Billy's right palm remembers the feeling of its silky texture, remembers how the hot cum erupted over the fingers

He can still chase it.

The dreams vary in their depravity. Some are just a faint whisper, a brush of a hand, or of lips. Sometimes they are bolder, Billy's gripping Harrington's cock in his pants, over and over again, making the pretty boy writhe and gasp under his brazen touch. At times Billy gets lucky to watch especially explicit night fantasies, way better than any porn he's ever seen or imagined,

Turning him into a glob of sweet sweet honey, sticky and fuzzy and not wanting to get out of bed in the morning.

Harrington is living rent free in all of these dreams. No-one else. Not even a single gorgeous playboy babe makes a five-second appearance.

Motherfucker.

And alright, while spilling cum on your sheet is not a big deal, trying to hide your erect dick in public? That's a bit tricky.

Cause Billy is not a 12-year old with a small pecker anymore.

And don't even start Hargrove on goddamn basketball practices. It's been absolute torment for the last couple of weeks. Even though accidental - very often intentional - touches, pushes and collisions with Steve provide new food for Billy's horned up imagination, it's embarrassing and plain suspicious how many times he has to leave the gym for a sudden break. The fucking tiny shorts aren't helping him at all. They don't offer much of a disguise, fucking none.

Damn frigging shorts. At least when he's fully dressed, covering up his hard-on is not such a big problem.

One time Billy ended up poking the Hawkins Tigers' ex-captain with his upright cock, right there on the basketball court, in the middle of the game. Harrington didn't say a word, he just fucking looked at Billy funny and licked his lips

Why did he lick 'em

Hargrove had to run off to the locker room, smashing the doors on the way out with such force they almost flew off their hinges

Just like Billy.

He is off.

Other guys must've seen it, the tent in his shorts. Fucking stupid.

So puberty seems to be making a very unnecessary intrusion into his life, and Billy is taken hostage.

It’s as though he’s been slammed by a freight train again, only now he’s not just smeared all over the rails, but is being choo-chooed along, counting every railway tie with his hard insufferable dick

That pops up like a jack-in-the-box, at any time around the clock, and in most unfitting places and situations, whenever and wherever it fucking feels like it.

On Sunday morning Billy's washing the dishes after breakfast, with Susan fussing around in the kitchen, Max still sleepily sipping her cocoa at the table and Neil reading his morning newspaper, and

He is getting a mega-fucking-ass boner, doing goddamn dishes, in this good-morning-respectable-family-paradise, dick pushing into the edge of the sink, straining his sweatpants, it's fucking uncomfortable and awkward, and it's as if his stupid cock is completely out of control. Like it has a life of its own. Or, more like, a part of Billy's brain and his dick have this special connection, which Billy is totally left out of. It only takes a blink of memories from those heated five minutes in the backseat of Steve's car - Harrington's Adam's apple bobbing in front of Billy's eyes under that white-thin, insanely delicate skin and yeah .. it's enough for

Weigh anchor, hoist the sails!

Fuck this shit times a million.

Hargrove almost breaks the plate he's holding, in half.

Good thing, the sink is still full, the dick can calm itself down. Hopefully. Otherwise, Billy wil have to come up with a way to retreat to his room not dangling this thing around in front of everyone.

He'll have to fucking moonwalk backwards. Dear family is gonna be too perplexed to notice the protruding situation in his sweatpants, and it'll lead to the much needed distraction.

That's all it takes these last February days - a fleeting memory, and Hargrove's getting a raging hard-on.

Feels like a curse.

Also, it's not like he's in charge of his thoughts as well. They run free and wild, various images or recollections of smells or sounds - all connected with the preppy sweater-wearing piece of Indiana cowshit - spring to mind, and there goes Billy's tireless dick again. Up and defiant. Hurting but relentless.

No-one can tell it what to do. It does what it wants.

Billy can't fucking function like that !!

Hargrove keeps circling that sponge, and glancing sideways at the phone on the kitchen wall

He could uh .. just

FUCKING CALL HIM

Just like it says in the note.

"Harrington residence."

"Hey, shithead."

"Hargrove ..?"

"No, it's your mom, dumbass."

Harrington will chuckle in the receiver and say, light and breezy

"So .. whatcha doing?"

Thinking of you

"Nothing much."

Oh yeah? .. What exactly are you thinking about?

"My parents aren't home. Wanna drop by? We could .. drink a couple of beers maybe?"

Sounds good

Perfect

"Sure."

No. Billy, NO.

He is not going to call Harrington.

Why not, you might ask? Make it happen already, whatever it is. Steve has slipped his number in his pocket fucking twice.

Nope. He's not gonna call.

Cause it's weak.

And, if you still haven't figured it out, Billy Hargrove is anything

but weak. Secondly, he just doesn't want to give Harrington the satisfaction in this particular case.

Billy recalls the expression on Steve's face while he was coming down from the high of nutting into Hargrove's fist in the beamer.

Steve was royalty, having collected tribute from his liegeman.

Billy's not calling the arrogant prick, period. He's not gonna feed the asshole's pride.

He doesn't want to seem needy for the king's favour.

Because he's not.

And like .. Hargrove doesn't mind making his hands work. He can give himself a quickie in bed, or in the shower, or .. in the fucking locker room, where one day he burst into during another basketball game, hot and angry and achingly hard, his balls about to explode right there on the court, causing his sperm to splatter all over Harrington's pale hairy legs

So fucking annoying

Oh, Billy was furious then.

The helplessness. Like, what ?? What on earth should he do? Go see a doctor? Please help me manage my erections at almost fucking 18 ?? Cut off his stupid dumb penis that keeps embarrassing him?

He had to jack off right there in the empty locker room, it was bordering on impossible to go on with the day otherwise. It only took a couple of minutes, so.

Billy wants to see what's underneath those tight dark green shorts, and not just take a peek, like in the showers, no, he wants to see everything and take his time watching

Take them off, Harrington. Or better yet, let me .. slide them down, show me what you are packing

In broad daylight, he wants to look long and hard, take it all in, the size, the details, the colour .. compare it with the image he has created in his head after all those feverish night dreams

Why? Why is he so fixated on seeing Harrington's dick?

Stop asking stupid questions, alright?

Billy doesn't have answers to any of them. If someone could explain it to him, he'd gladly listen.

Fuck off, just leave him alone.

See, what's even worse, it's not only the physical aspect of feeling like he's in puberty again. Billy starts getting angry and even more aggressive than he usually is. He's always cursing, he's always banging something loud, barking or plain yelling mad at Max for no good reason, and he absolutely needs to find more powerful speakers to put in his car.

There's no adequate outlet for his pent-up frustration. The days when a push and a couple of harsh words seemed sufficient, are over. Shoving Harrington around has stopped providing the relief. It's simply not enough, and only razzes Billy even more.

People in school hallways are steering clear of him, especially after that episode when he violently bulldozed some junior through a wall for bumping into Hargrove on pure accident.

The guy has probably developed a stutter after.

Sometimes Billy turns into a complete nutcase and starts feeling disgustingly emotional, sad or even fucking depressed.

He's never been a ray of sunshine, neither has he ever looked at this world through rose-coloured glasses, this is true, but it's just that everything seems to be hellishly getting out of hand lately.

This feeling is new and unwelcome. The only thing that he always had a grip on in this world - himself - is spinning out of control.

It's revolting.

Billy can't stand hovering over a ridge like that. He needs sustainability, he has always found support in himself - because where else? All these years - since she left him - he's been his own rock. His friends and the ocean were there for him back in San Diego, but here, in this fucking Hawkins he has no one at all, and therefore all this confusingly loud hullabaloo in his head, the mood swings and the constantly erect dick in his pants - all these things can go fuck themselves

Deep in the ass.

Honestly.

Four months till the beginning of July.

Billy turns the water off, wipes the kitchen counter. The cock has cooled itself down a bit, and while he was getting lost in thoughts, the precious family seems to have left the kitchen. Billy doesn't have to moonwalk back to his room hiding his erection.

Well, at least a grain of good news amid the disaster.

***

It's a usual break between periods, and Billy's passing Steve in the hallway.

Heart is springing up to his throat, beating somewhere right in there, not letting him breathe evenly

Look at me, look at me, look at me

Steve doesn't.

Mood swings, yeah? Here you go. Billy's feeling disappointed and .. fucking saddened ?? Because of this crap?

Owie .. he didn't notice me, life's in shambles. Call fucking emergency services, maybe they'll know what to do.

Hargrove wants Harrington to always look at him.

To be fair, the pretty boy is busy having some lovers' quarrel with the red-haired girl, Nicole. She's still unhappy about Valentine's Day, she sure didn't expect to see drunk King Steve shamelessly flirt with other girls. Namely, with that ugly bitch Tammy Thompson, who's always eyeing him in classes and her boobs are always about to fall out of her blouse. Slut.

Steve's trying to laugh it off, Nicole's not laughing.

D-rama !!

"Hi, Billy."

A sweet kiss is planted on the corner of his lips, and Jennifer attaches herself to Hargrove's arm on the way to class. She is still acting like she's his girlfriend.

Why shouldn't she. She doesn't know.

Pecking his brain about useless things. Telling him how some junior hit on her after Billy had ditched the party on Valentine's. Jennifer's even telling him his name - Troy or something, she's trying so hard to make him jealous

Sweetheart. Save the effort. There's like .. nothing stirring inside.

It's lunch break now, and the only thing that's stirring, is Hargrove's dick in his jeans cause Harrington looks so good today. There he is, picking at his food, smiling at Tommy, laid-back. All easy-breezy, the confident fucking arrogant curve of lips. He looks good every day, the dickwad. Almost every day a new outfit, how many fucking sweaters and shirts and dumb polos does he own?

Billy's got a sudden itch to set all of Steve's clothes on fire.

Also, Harrington looked sexy today when he was writing something in the previous class they shared. Staring at the blackboard all pensive and shit. Like he actually understood what the teacher was talking about. Like he was interested. Yeah, right. He got a C- for his last test in Literature. His daddy's definitely gonna pay his way through college, no need to worry that pretty little head about stuff like that.

Billy hates him for looking so attractive. So worry-free. Self-entitled. Like life's at his service, and he's just taking it for what it is - for granted.

So when Jennifer is droning on about some shit Hargrove even remotely pays no attention to,

He's like god I'm so sick and tired of it all, jesus.

Nevertheless, Billy has to keep up lame appearances.

"That him?" He asks the girl who believes they're dating.

She has no idea what's going on inside his brain, who and what he sees when the nights come.

"Yeah, that's him. Oh, Billy, no, what are you ..?"

Hargrove leaves the table he's sitting at, comes up to the dude, pats his shoulder. Leaves his hand there, presses down a bit, leaning on the guy, arm as heavy as an iron beam, weighing a ton

Looming over him like a thundercloud

"Heard you've been hitting on that girl over there?"

The guy is fearfully shaking his head

Dude's a pussy. Should've told Billy

"Yeah if you're not fucking her on valentine's, someone should do you both a favour."

Should've started a scene, a fight.

Instead, he's just sitting there, hunching his shoulders and pulling in his neck like a small defenseless turtle.

Billy sees a teacher, monitoring the lunch hall, looking at them with a question in her eyes.

Alright.

"Keep your hands to yourself, buddy. You know. To avoid uhm .."

Billy makes a little pause for a bigger dramatic effect

".. injuries."

Smiles all friendly. Like he means the dude no harm whatsoever.

The what's-his-name looks relieved he did avoid the promised injuries this time, and

Jennifer is delighted. She is the queen of Hawkins High. She is the reason Billy Hargrove almost started a brawl with another boy right now, in front of every student. Looked so big, so hot, doing it. Vicky can stuff her prom dress down her throat. There she is, totally, devastatingly jealous, ready to burst into tears or throw hands at Jennifer once again. She is still not over Hargrove, but it's Jennifer who will be going to prom with him. She'll be prom Queen, proudly wear the crown, frame the picture and put it on the wall. Probably tell their kids how mommy and daddy danced at prom and looked fantastic doing it.

Oh girls girls girls, why is that you fall so easily for someone who doesn't give a fuck about you. What is your problem. Can't you like the good ones, the ones who are going to stick around. When are you going to understand that ninety-nine per cent of all times that piece of hot badass means inevitable heartbreak?

Billy thinks that he needs to take Jennifer out or something, to maintain the reputation, but

He's so over this shit.

Come March, he'll be breaking up with her.

He's catching that sweet junior Alison's stare and throws her a smile, just in case, for possible future purposes. Jennifer is too busy gloating to notice it.

Billy's not even sure what he's doing anymore. Like, there are chicks, that have stopped attracting him fucking collectively and individually, and there is Harrington, that's been stuck like a bone in Billy's throat since day one, but especially lately.

Billy wasn't planning on touching anyone's dick in fucking Hawkins, Indiana.

Most importantly, Billy still definitely doesn't need any kind of attachment.

Don't forget about that, Hargrove.

Soon it's gonna be the time to call it quits with the Hawkins girls, and with its idiot king. It'll be the time to get out of this swamp.

Only four months left.

You've already made it through six. It's gonna be okay.

Maybe it's more reasonable to leave this place the moment he gets the high school diploma, not wait till July. Billy will be 18 already. He can pack everything in advance, put it in the car, stop by the school to pick up the documents and then just drive west straight from there, not even going back to Cherry Lane.

Aren't you even gonna say goodbye to your father who raised you?

Sure, he wants to work his ass off in June, probably find another part-time job, save up as much as he can, but won't it be more sensible to just get the fuck out of here as soon as possible, nevermind the extra cash?

It's something to consider.

***

Okay, listen up, kids, Hargrove is not in charge of his

A) penis

B) thoughts

C) mood

All answers are correct (mind it, the option under D) feelings has been deleted from the original list)

But what irritates Billy most, makes him extra boiling mad is that the moment he gets some sort of a grip on the situation, and he's like alright, just need to fucking take it day by day, screw it all, especially everything that's Harrington-related, and he might still be reeling, but at least he understands what's happening and has it in check

At this very fucking moment Steve resurfaces and reminds Billy about himself, and it pulls the surf board from under his feet. He's back to zero again, having lost control once more

Just wanting to commit a fucking crime. Breaking and entering, burn the rich-ass dude's clothes, key his car, poison his current girlfriend

Hargrove would never key the beamer. He spent too much time making it look perfect.

Like right the fuck now, when Billy's just standing in the parking lot, thighs on his baby's hood, finishing his morning smoke in peace, minding his business, a minute till the first period, and

Bam!

He gets a snowball in the back.

The fuck!??

He turns around - there's just Harrington in the almost empty lot, grinning like a dumbass and a new girl by his side hiding a giggle - Sammy, Tammy ..?

Playing fucking games? What grade are you in? Planting notes, throwing frigging snowballs?

Okay shithead.

Billy looks as if he's not bothered, like he's ignoring the asshole, but his eyes are already looking for patches of snow, still lying around - it's the beginning of spring, February has no choice but to slowly start stepping away, taking all winter paraphernalia with it. He's planning revenge, but unfortunately, upon starting to walk towards the school, slips on the ice and lands on his ass.

Motherfucker!

During all three months of winter Hargrove managed to stay on his feet somehow, but at the fucking end of February he absolutely has to fall down, in front of Harrington, of course.

There's a very distinct Hahaaha that he hears behind his back

You goddamn son of a bitch

Billy quickly jumps to his feet, ducks down, and while Steve's still laughing with the girl, a massive snowball hits the king in the fucking ear. Good shot. He's not looking so playful anymore, he looks really hurt. Hargrove seldom misses, and he strikes hard.

You asked for it, Indiana.

Hargrove flips Steve off for good measure and keeps walking to school, honour defended, dignity restored.

Kinda.

Stop fucking fucking with me.

***

At the beginning of March seniors' yearbook pictures are being taken in Hawkins High. Well, they were already taken in the fall, was it October? .. but some kids were sick or absent, so it's the last call for those who haven't had it done. The yearbook layout is almost ready and in April or May it's supposed to be printed out.

Billy doesn't give a fuck. He skipped the first photo session and

How many dollars should he spend on the stupid book?

He's not getting himself one here, in the lamest school of all. He doesn't know half of these people, and he doesn't really care about anyone in particular, even the basketball team, Hawkins Losers, makes him only want to forget about its existence. Back in San Diego it wouldn't even be a question, but here?

What the fuck for?

Billy still goes to the photo shoot this time though. He wants to skip Spanish, and also

Because Harrington is there too, hanging around the entrance to the school drama hall, that's where it'll be held. King Steve actually had his picture taken the first time, in October, but

Oh, you need to hear this one -

The bitch didn't like it.

So he's actually asking for his photo to be retaken now. Jesus Christ. Since Byers aka Harrington's ex-girlfriend's current boyfriend, is responsible for today's event, the King

slash

Fastidious Queen

Is going to get another chance.

There are some other seniors in the hall as well, no-one's in a hurry, no-one's eager to get back to class early, so they take their time, girls brushing their hair in front of the mirror and applying lipstick, guys just fooling around. King Steve gets an extra couple of shots, just in case, to make him happy. The faces Harrington makes when he's being photographed are to die for, Billy wants to roll on the floor with laughter.

When the period and the photo thing finish, the kids are on their way out of the hall, and it just so happens that Harrington and Hargrove are the last ones to actually walk out of the door. The responsible Byers is in a hurry to take the school photo camera back to the photo lab. Steve's not feeling bad about breaking Jonathan's camera in September, monsters or no monsters, the dude still shouldn't have taken pictures of him and his friends, hiding and watching them from the woods. Steve apologized for saying some nasty stuff about his family in the heat of the fight, but that's as far as the apologies will go. It's a bit weird to have Byers take pictures of him, given their history, if he remembers it right, back in the fall the shoot was done by someone else but, honestly, it feels like so much stuff has happened after that, it's all water under the bridge.

The boys look at each other before leaving the hall, stalling. Steve's lips curl in a mischievous smile and Hargrove's eyes mirror it with the similar naughty twinkle

Steve takes Billy's hand.

And it's like everything around him disappears for a split second.

The warmth of it.

What the fuck, why the fuck

Helplessness.

Billy's blood knows the route, flowing fast.

With some brain cells still functioning. Hargrove peeks out of the hall, everyone is minding their own business, in a hurry to get to the bathroom, to a locker, to the next class. Byers is gone.

Hargrove closes the door. Steve's hasn't let go of his hand

Making the electricity run through his body.

Billy glances down at their hands, then up at Harrington's pretty face again, the dude is devouring him - Hargrove can't be imagining that, it's real - with his big beautiful fucking deer eyes, lips slightly parted

Inviting.

Luring.

They understand each other without a single spoken word

Billy almost knocks Steve down with a kiss, there's so much uncontrollable force

How many times have they kissed already? It feels like it’s so new, like they've never done it before.

Harrington is dragging Billy behind the stage, they climb up the small staircase there

Holding each other.

Billy's hands are clutching onto Steve's clothes, Harrington is gripping the other boy's back of the neck with one hand and tugging his jeans jacket with the other

They are behind the curtain. It smells funny here, of dust and paint, fear of public speaking, forgotten lines and improvisation.

Fear and improvisation - that can actually be applied to what the boys are doing right now.

Harrington's ass ends up being slammed against some kind of a table.

They are kissing, kissing, kissing, fuck, why does Billy want to kiss this idiot so much, he’s ready to suck his lips for a whole hour, play catch with their tongues

Running wild

And touch, touch, touch

Steve's shoulders, his arms, back, chest, belly ..

Everything, everything, all of his lean body, Billy's hands are not big enough

What would it feel like if they were naked now?

Harrington isn't so shy either, he is groping Billy everywhere, his hands go down to his ass, he fucking kneads his ass so much it hurts

Fuck.

Billy is so turned on, he wants to fucking weep because he can't cope

With the heat. With the lust. With the need.

He goes for Steve's fly, pops the button, opens it, his fingers fucking trembling

Like of a junkie.

He can actually .. he's been dying to see Harrington's dick like that, in day light

Oh god god god is it happening

He pulls the pants down together with the underwear, and Steve's cock springs up in all its splendor

Red, swollen, meaty

Big. The head is purplish and shiny, with a little pool of precum in its tip

It feels like a reflex already, Billy's hand moving to grab it.

But before, he slides his palm over the dark pubic hair

It's so coarse. Harrington's got a full fucking bush down there, and Billy wants to find himself lying in bed together with Steve, stroke his groin, teasingly, wrapping rings of wiry hair on his index finger.

Hargrove's hand on the lower belly makes the other boy moan and Billy mutters

"Shut up, Harrington. Or someone will hear us."

Steve looks like he doesn't care, but of course he does. They don't want to get caught. They can't.

Billy runs his fingers up the cock. Steve hisses

Hargrove doesn't want to appear too gentle, that's why he stops with the caressing and takes the dick in his palm, just like he's been dreaming of

Fucking velvet, fucking tender, skin like the softest down

And flesh stiff as a rock.

Billy's gone. He is so completely gone on the sensations.

Why has he never felt like that before? Like a live wire.

For a fraction of a second he considers ditching Steve, leaving him here with his dick out in the open because

Don't do it don't do it don't do it

Is at the back of his mind.

You can't handle this.

Of course he doesn't listen to reason. Not this time. Not when King Steve is whining so sweetly under his touch

"I told you to shut up, or you'll get us in trouble."

Steve's rasping out

"You shut up. Come on, make me cum."

Excuse me?

That rubs Billy the wrong way and he scoffs because

The royal fucking attitude.

He's not gonna put up with it.

"Make me cum too, asshole," - with a mean chuckle.

Harrington is looking at him in disbelief, like how dares he, but Billy is letting go of his erect dick and Steve says quickly

"Okay. Let's make each other cum."

Hargrove's waiting. The king doesn't seem to be catching on.

"Unzip."

There's a flash of something dark in the pretty boy's brown eyes like he isn't used to being told what to do.

"Fuck you."

Yet, he obeys.

Hargrove's dick falls heavily out of the black boxers and

Steve's hesitating. Looking.

Billy can wait again. He's not moving his hand up and down the other boy's cock, he's not gonna do it unless ..

Harrington takes him, cautiously, clumsily.

Tentatively.

Billy's gonna pass out right this second.

Fuck .. fuck, it looks so fucking hot, Steve's fingers wrapped around his dick.

Billy is trying to memorize every little detail of what's going on here, for later.

It drives Billy fucking wild. The sight of them holding each other by the dicks turns him savage

Like he wants to .. he wants to

Eat Harrington alive.

They start jerking each other off, copying each other's pace, gradually falling into the same rhythm, slower strokes becoming faster.

Eyes darting between faces and dicks, searching for some confirmation that what each one is doing here, is good, feels good.

Feels amazing.

Harrington's cock is cut clean and neat

Billy's uncut, and the feeling is so different. Steve doesn't have all the extra skin to be worked with, but Billy does, and

Hargrove doesn't understand why but it makes it even more exciting, the difference.

In all of the commotion Billy's right hand falls from Steve's back on the table and

It's touching an object

Billy absentmindedly pulls it from behind Steve ready to throw it on the floor so it doesn't get in the way

It's a crown. A fucking papier-mache fake crown made for a performance

Billy doesn't toss it on the floor, he's grinning at Harrington instead, trying to put it on his head

"A crown for your majesty."

It's getting knocked out of Hargrove's hand

"Jesus, you are so dumb."

"No, you're fucking dumb."

Both boys are snickering like complete idiots.

They go on pumping their hard cocks.

Harrington's slit is gushing precome.

A couple of times Billy breaks the rhythm and gives attention to the head of Steve's dick, using that slow twisting motion, spreading all the moisture with his thumb

It makes the pretty boy close his eyes and bite his lower lip

"Nuuugh .."

"Shuuuudup."

He looks so fucking hot.

And like .. Billy wants to say something, how much he likes it, how sexy Steve looks, but

They have to keep quiet not to get caught.

It's unlikely someone's gonna come to the hall now, and especially backstage, still, you never know.

Also, Hargrove is not gonna be the talkative bitch who can't contain his excitement

So Billy keeps everything that he wants to say to himself, only occasional gasps and suppressed moans escaping their lips. Something tells him, in other circumstances Harrington would be much much louder.

Billy can hear Harrington's breath hitching and he starts thrusting his hips erratically

He's close.

Billy is close too.

***

When they are finished, there's this moment again, when you're coming down from the high and you still have to look at each other and .. talk?

Like .. it's awkward as balls.

Speaking of. He has seen the imperial scepter, but he hasn't seen the crown jewels. He'd certainly like to take a peek. They might be fun to play with

Fffffuck

He just had an orgasm. Sex thoughts, fucking already ??

They both take their hands off of each other,

Steve's fingers linger on Billy's t-shirt, crumpling it

Wha ..

"The fuck you're doing?"

"Well, I can't wipe it on my sweater. It costs like .. a lot."

Fucking asshole!

"Your t-shirt's easier to wash."

They've got sperm all over their clothes.

What a despicable douche. Billy crowds Harrington against the table again and pointedly slides his hand, covered in cum, over the expensive fabric

"The fuck you did that for?"

"Just wiping off your mess, assface."

That's the pillow talk, that's it, that's how you do it in the town of Hawkins.

The assface in question is pouting

He slightly pushes Hargrove away, zips up and Billy does the same.

"I don't want to get to class."

Yeah, back to reality.

The pictures were taken during Foreign Language - the teachers have been notified, that certain students are going to be absent from class. Hargrove takes Spanish. Harrington takes French. Would be funny to actually see the jerk speak French

Bonjour, crétin

The boys yielding to the urge to touch each other's dicks led to their skipping more than half of History class. There's no point in going there now, so it'll be great if they manage to make it to their cars without running into a teacher.

"Let's try and get out of here."

When they carefully go out of the school hall and start moving towards the exit, already thinking they are in the clear

Too soon.

"Mr. Hargrove! Mr. Harrington! Why aren't you in class?"

Shit.

That's Mrs. Donovan, the vice principal.

"We uh .."

Apparently, cumming so hard has left Billy's brain empty and unable to produce any kind of a viable excuse

Harrington seems to have the same problem because he's coming up with the genius

"I uh .. I had to use the bathroom."

"And Mr. Hargrove was helping you?"

"Uh .. we're actually .. no. We got sidetracked."

What ??

Mrs. Donovan decides not to delve into the idiocy.

"I believe you should be in History right now."

"And we are on our way to class, Mrs. Donovan." Billy pipes up.

The vice principal is watching them walk to the classroom. To the door.

Jesus.

Their History teacher is not happy to see them crash her lesson in the middle of it.

Hagan is looking at them all strange. Damn it. They should probably agree on a sensible lie, not to get him all suspicious and shit.

When the period is finished, Mrs. Jenkins calls the slackers' names and expresses her dissatisfaction with their behaviour

The boys are standing there trying to look remorseful as fuck.

It doesn't help.

Mrs. Jenkins is a tough nut to crack. She's close to a hundred, so biologically immune to Hargrove's charm. And he can't woo her intellectually cause that's not the case right now.

Billy's not even trying anything, he knows it's hopeless. She's also super strange about students skipping her lessons, she takes it like a deep personal offence.

"I will accompany you to your detention, young men. Right now. And I will also be the one monitoring you today. Please. After you."

Detention .. ??

Fuck.

"Mrs. Jenkins, is that really necessary .."

"You do the crime, you do the punishment. Be thankful I am not going to call your parents to let them know about your lack of discipline."

"Can I at least let my .."

"No you cannot, Mr. Hargrove."

Old bitch.

Billy knows, he's not there to pick Max up equals problems with Neil. If only he could warn her to wait for him at school, hang out at her AV club or something.

The witch Jenkins said no, and he's not gonna beg.

***

I did google the percentage of circumcised/uncircumcised males in the states of Indiana and California in the 1970s-1980s. The rate of circumcised males in Indiana was very high, while California was literally at the bottom of the US states list

#harringrove #harringrove fic #s1steve x billy #harringrove slow burn #harringrove high school shenanigans

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