#reading this post is like doing a line of coke if the line of coke was my entire personality

[wizzard890]

okay so picture this.

You're a man named Jim Steinman. You are one of the most prolific songwriters of the 80s. In your spirit, output and essence, you are eternally popping a wheelie on a motorcycle while a hot half-naked woman clings to you and bats wheel in the sky above.

You wrote a song in which Meatloaf plays a hideously disfigured hunk who steals a nubile lady back to his crumbling manor and introduces her to the pleasures of magic lesbian group sex.

You wrote a song in which Celine Dion sings as Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, dancing with Cathy's corpse on a beach in the moonlight; a scene which you, Jim Steinman, believe should have been in the book. (The moors of Wuthering Heights are landlocked, but you, Jim Steinman, are too fucking real to care about that.)

You wrote the song for the opening scene of the movie Streets of Fire, in which evil leatherdaddy Willem Dafoe leads his malefic motorcycle crew into a concert to abduct Diane Lane while she's wearing a skintight satin jumpsuit.

You wrote a song in which Bonnie Tyler wanders a haunted boarding school as literal demon twinks gyrate at her out of the fog.

There is no peak of goth camp that you, Jim Steinman, have not summited, no horny energy you have not tapped. They say that Alexander the Great wept when he saw there were no more worlds to conquer. But you, Jim Steinman, are not Alexander the Great. You, Jim Steinman, are better. You, Jim Steinman, have vision.

You take your most successful song, the song everyone knows, the most big-haired, white dress, gothic arches, doves flying, possessed choir boys chanting, bombastic song you have, and think: what if this, but with vampires.

And so you change the lyrics to be about death and infinity and a powerful bloodsucking lord seducing a girl who is ALL ABOUT IT, and then toss off a whole musical for this song to be the centerpiece to, and the musical is bad but it's also a weird hit that's been staged in fourteen countries and revived seven times, because nothing has ever whipped as campily, as ridiculously, as perfectly as this:

It never takes off in America. A prophet is without honor in his own land. But that doesn't matter. How could it matter? You are perhaps the most creatively self-actualized man who has ever lived. Look at that vampire. He's coming in hot and a hundred Venetian nuns gave their lives to make his ludicrously capacious lace sleeves. Look at that girl. She was born in a fog machine. She wore her best red velvet cape. She's down bad. She's singing Total Eclipse of the Heart the whole time.

You are Jim Steinman, and you have reached apotheosis.

#reading this post is like doing a line of coke if the line of coke was my entire personality #emily does musicals

[srvphm]

.

#3rd FUCKING TIME of getting my vent/personal sideblog nuked #I get why the two previous ones were deleted. still pissed but understandable #but this one?? I made sure to never break the tos and I don’t think I ever did #none of my posts ever got flagged #youre not allowed to be mentally ill online anymore its fucking infuriating #oh you can say pretty much anything is an adhd symptom and you can armchair diagnose anyone with NPD #but if you dare show a symptom you are out. it’s not allowed. #protect people etc etc I get it okay I don’t condone encouraging self harm #but not every post about an ugly topic is promoting it jfc some people just wanna vent or make jokes about their situation or share experien #ofc ill never get it back because they’re not gonna read my appeal #and even if they do and I havent broken tos it’ll still be considered too close to the line or whatever #I’m not here to ~encourage~ anyone and I honestly don’t see how I coukd even go about that #seeing as I DONT romanticise and sugar coat shit. #I should be allowed to have a blog that makes some people uncomfortable. they can fuck off if they don’t like it. #but noooo it’s harmful to be unwell. coke zero memes is promoting self harm apparently. having unsettling thoughts is dangerous. #and that’s over a year of posting gone in a second #and yet another good url I’m never getting back :)

[spookysteddie]

Text Me The Details

Modern!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Influencer!fem!reader

18+ MINORSDNI

cw: gossip magazines, reader being horny on a live stream, cocky!Eddie, drinking, drugs mention

a/n: I kinda want this to be a series? So expect a part two at some point. But yeah this isn't an original idea so, credit to literally everyone who's done this before me. I gave reader a last name because if I have to write y/l/n one more time I'll sob. ANYWAY I hope you all enjoy and let me know if you like this!

WC: 1.2k

...

You are never drinking again. Ever.

Your management would agree after what happened last night. You didn’t mean to spill the secret you’d been keeping. It wasn’t even that big of a deal, however, you had an image to keep up. The party girl, the kind one, the one with lots of friends, the girl who had good grades in college, the one who always donated most of her fortune to various organizations. 

Now, every tabloid was writing articles about your celebrity crush. 

Party girl and influencer drunkenly admits she’d love to sleep with lead singer of Corroded Coffin Eddie Munson. Sources have said they’ve been together for a while but decided to keep it under wraps. 

The dating portion of that article wasn’t true and you silently vow to figure out who the fuck these ‘sources’ were. However, you admitting to wanting to fuck Eddie… did happen. You have no one to blame but yourself. 

Now, there are three reasons why you’re so stressed about this. First, even though you party all the time, you were good. You know, like only went out on the weekends, did every single assignment, tutored people on the side, was probably the most unproblematic influencer out there. Second, the last thing you wanted was Eddie Munsons attention. You had this thing where you didn’t want the people you were fans of to perceive you. 

Theoretically you knew they did, most of them followed you on social media. But there was a difference between being a fan of someone, and them semi-knowing you vs your actual crush who you own a poster or two of? That makes you want to throw up and pass out at the same time. 

But, finally, the third reason this stressed you out was because Eddie and his crew were not good. You know like, partied every single day, smoked a lot of weed and snorted coke off of his groupies and fans. It was all over the tabloids and the band has even posted about it a time or two. You didn’t do that. And if the tabloids caught you doing that, you’d lose everything you worked towards.

“So this is how we’re going to fix it,” Case, your manager, says from where she’s standing next to the fireplace in your apartment. “You’re gonna go back on live and say it was an accident.” 

You look up from the article you were reading, eyes finding his. “That is the worst idea ever. I was tipsy not black out drunk. No one will ever believe that was an accident.” You huff, locking your phone, “and I have tickets to their show next week.” 

You loved your team, but sometimes they made the most insane comments on how to fix the unfixable. 

You stand, pacing the room, “he isn’t one to read gossip magazines. And-and I’m not on the same level as his band. They’re A listers and I’m C list at best.” 

Your manager and publicist look like fish after what you said. Anna, your publicist speaks first, “I swear to god if you ever say that again I am uppin your therapy appointments. You hear me?” 

You huff, sitting back down on the couch, “I’m not kidding though. I’m not giving up this ticket. It’s one of the few things I’m looking forward to.” 

Case answers after rubbing her temples, “you better pray this blows over without him seeing it. You may party but his partying is a whole other level.” 

… 

The call came two days later, an unknown number popping up on your phone. 

You knew, you knew before you even accepted the call who’d be on the other end of the line. 

It felt like it started in slow motion, first came the gossip mags with the original story. Then came Eddie following you on instagram. He’d like a few photos and stories you put up. Then came his interview. The interview where he said, “of course I know who she is. I’m flattered really. I hear she’s a sweet girl.” 

Now, your phone is buzzing in your hand and you can’t bring yourself to answer the phone. 

“Yes just a fucking person. Just like you’re a person. Answer the phone.” You look down at the phone and are thankful it’s just you in your house. You tap the answer button, a fake smile on your face, as you put the phone to your ear. 

“Hello?” you use your best interview voice, the one Anna has drilled into you. 

You can hear him breathe in before letting it out, long and slow, it’s clear he took a drag of his cigarette. Is he nervous too? There’s no way. Eddie always seemed to be this cool and calm guy, never afraid of anything or anyone. He gets into more fights in a week than you have in your entire 25 years of existence. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Asher.” You can hear the grin in his voice and it sends a shiver down your spine, your heart pounding in your chest. “It’s Eddie.” 

He didn’t have to introduce himself to you, you’d be able to pick out his voice in a crowded room. But only because you’ve listened to his music so often… only reason. 

“Oh! Hi! I’m s-surprised to hear from you.” You cringe at the stutter that came out of you. You had more than enough practice dealing with any situation thrown at you. From the funny to the uncomfortable to the scary. You were trained for this and you were fucking it up. “How can I help you?” 

“The band and I will be in town next friday, we’re playing a show.” You know where this is going and it makes your heart beat faster, so fast you’re scared it’ll burst. “I was wonderin’ if you were goin’?”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

“I am, actually. Me and a few of my friends actually.” You rub your hands down your sweatpants, nerves making them sweat. 

“Oh! Well that is fantastic,” his tone is chipper as hell and you know he’s high. On what, you have no idea. “I was thinkin’ that maybe ya friends and you’d wanna join us backstage. VIP area for the show? What cha think?” 

All of sudden you forget how the english language works, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. This is what you’ve been wanting for so long. Well, in your dreams of course. But looking at it from a business perspective, it could bring his fans to your page and your fans to his page. It was kind of a win win. Well, win win lose because then Corroded coffin knows who the actual fuck you are and you arent just some fan. And that, terrified you,  

“Heeeeeeello? Are you there?” 

His voice breaks through your clogged mind, forcing you to respond. 

“Hi, sorry. I’m here! I um I got distracted. But, yeah that sounds great, actually. We-we’d love that.” 

“Good! I will have my people call your people, yeah?” 

“O-or you can just send me the information,” you say it before thinking and now you really want to punch yourself. 

He chuckles to himself, “okay, sweetheart, I’ll text you the information. See you next friday.” 

He hangs up before you can say another fucking stupid thing. You press the phone into your hands, foot bouncing on the floor with nerves. You can think of seven different ways that conversation could’ve (and should’ve) happened. One of which was with your entire team, another being with your friends, another being with your parents. Not alone to make a fool out of yourself. Your management team was really going to kill you.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson fic #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!Eddie x fem!reader #Rockstar!Eddie x influencer!reader

[poetrysmackdown]

welcome to the 2023 tumblr poetry smackdown

tumblr has developed something of a canon of poetry over the past couple years, and i figured others might enjoy getting a chance to voice their opinions on a few of those poems! poems i chose for the poetry smackdown had to be more or less widely read on tumblr (generally 10k+ notes, most with more or spread across compilations), and relatively short so as to make voting easier. they also had to be complete—there are a lot of popular lines floating around on tumblr that are excerpted from very long poems and/or poems that are inaccessible via internet, and those aren't included here. a handful of poets are represented here twice reflecting my sense of their popularity, but i arranged the bracket in such a way that it won't be able to stay that way past round 2 at the latest. if i missed a poem that is super popular i'm sorry, that said the bracket is staying as is because this was a shit ton of work to put together and i don't want to. ty.

you can get to the polls by following the links below or going to the #round1 tag on my blog. you can also send me propaganda if you want via ask and i'll post it/add it to the next round's post if the poem wins.

happy voting!

sincerely amelia @poetriarchy :)

ROUND 1: ENDS JULY 17 at 6pm EDT

"The Two-Headed Calf" by Laura Gilpin vs. "Butter Dish" by Leonard Cohen (cow poems)

"Poem" by Langston Hughes vs. "A Meeting" by Wendell Berry

"Miss you. Would like to grab that chilled tofu we love." by Gabrielle Calvocoressi vs. "My Sister, Who Died Young, Takes Up The Task" by Jon Pineda

"Hammond B3 Organ Cistern" by Gabrielle Calvocoressi vs. "Hong Kong" by Sue Zhao

"someone will remember us" (fragment by Sappho trans. Anne Carson) vs. "Wait" by Faraj Bou al-Isha trans. Khaled Mattawa

"The Quiet World" by Jeffrey McDaniel vs "Invisible Fish" by Joy Harjo

"Want" by Joan Larkin vs. "Come, and Be My Baby" by Maya Angelou

"Swan" by Mary Oliver vs. "How I Go to the Woods" by Mary Oliver

"The Orange" by Wendy Cope vs. "The Tenor of Your Yes" by Mary Ruefle

"Here There Are Blueberries" by Mary Syzbist vs. "Instructions on Not Giving Up" by Ada Limón

"To The Young Who Want to Die" by Gwendolyn Brooks vs. "A Litany for Survival" by Audre Lorde

"Night Walk" by Franz Wright vs. "Meditations in an Emergency" by Cameron Awkward-Rich

"Summer Was Forever" by Chen Chen vs. "I'm not a religious person but" by Chen Chen

"How to Be a Dog" by Andrew Kane vs. "Scheherazade" by Richard Siken

"I'm going to Minnesota where sadness makes sense" by Danez Smith vs. "Dream Song 29" by John Berryman

"Having a Coke with You" by Frank O'Hara vs. "Having 'Having a Coke with You' with You" by Mark Leidner

ADDENDUM: at 6pm on July 17th (or possibly a day earlier if there's already a clear sweep), I will be releasing a one-day poll that will give voters the option to sub in "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver for the winner of matchup #8: "Swan" vs. "How I Go to the Woods". this is to help correct my significant oversight when I was remembering which two Oliver poems I've seen most on tumblr, and it's the only time I'm doing this kind of thing, so don't suggest it for any other poems after this please. that said, a sincere ty to @darkcomedies for first bringing its absence to my attention! and keep an eye out for this extra poll which i am calling ROUND 1.5: A HAIL MARY (OLIVER)

#poetry #poll #bracket #round1 #masterpost

[meet-the-coffee]

Tf2 McDonalds Headcanons: Coffee edition...

So, somebody posted a template thingy and I replied to that post. Here's my full thing with my own template made lmao,,

Link to inspiriational and original post here

So, my headcanons are like this:

Heavy:

I view Heavy as a pretty serious guy so I think he can go a little further up with Medic, yet not all the way still. He can once in a while "oke oke. Heavy could go for burger. Let's eat burger." And then chuckle. But he's very much born and raised with responsibility with his mom and sisters. He's responsible and nurturing. That is his nature behind that solid mountain of a man. (Read: official comics) This man starts ordering and he doesn't stop ordering /hj,, no but fr I think like, he, alone, orders for 3 people to eat for himself. The rest stares in horror and/or awe.

Medic:

Medic is peak "ve havf food at home. Quiet down nowv, QUIEEET."

Engie:

Engie should be middle between "we have food at home" and the chanting. I think he's the mom of the group a lot of the times (cooks and bakes for the team in my hc) but I think he would very much also like to bring the "kids" to mcdonalds sometimes because why not!! So mid right it is. Probably orders some burger and a coffee. Sometimes a water or sooometimes some soda.

Demoman:

Demoman is a drunk. Drunks love fat food. Him and Soldier are dumbasses and I view them as being quite child-like like this. Demo and Soldier are absolutely chanting for burgers. But also, I think Demo is just a sliiight bit more responsible (he's mama's boy!!) Demo orders a wholeass meal ok. Something with lots of meat and bacon and cheese. Drink? Bro drinks beer. He tries to order a beer. He does not get a beer. He shrugs and chugs the beer in his hand.

Soldier:

On that note, I see Soldier as a sliiight bit more possible to go HELL YEA BURGERS, drive the fking bus in via drive-through and go "FIVE CHEESEBURGERS AND A COKE. A REEAAL AMERICAN COKE... YEAHAH." And then eat all of the burgers for himself. He's not rude he's just oblivious lmao,, not many braincells scrambling around in there.

Pyro:

Scout and Pyro are absolutely screaming for mcDonk. Pyro wants happy meal. He fucking loves the toys. He collects them, even. Keeps him occupied in the car lmao... he always orders a milkshake. Maybe strawberry flavour.

Scout:

Scout orders a 20-box of chicken nuggets (like me!!) Or the big McShare-box with different stuff like chili cheese tops, nuggets and chicken clubs, (also like me. We both audhd as hell ok) and always a coke and/or a milkshake. (Sometimes he wants both!!)

Spy:

Spy doesn't give a fuck, he gets a coffee. He just needs a coffee to be able to withstand the drive home with the bunch of toddlers in the backseat. Only chance they get to order something is if Scout bounces in (after experience from first or second time) to go "AAAND AY UHHHHHH--". Spy scoffs in annoyance and tells him to sit down and shut up. Scout does neither. He wants chicken nuggets. But first few times, Spy really just sighs at the chanting, throws his finished cig out of the crack in the window, and exits the highway for mcdonalds. And then he just goes "one black coffee please." And they go "anything else?" And he just goes "Mercí, that'll be all." And start driving for the next window before they even tell him to (more to do so before anyone interrupts and protests).

Sniper:

Sniper is below middle on the left line - between . On occasion he's like "fk sake." And goes for a coffee and probably elbows Scout in his possessions before he can do what he does to Spy. And then after paying and driving off with his coffee, he just coldly goes "Like I said. We have food at home." Like Spy, he just needs a coffee to survive the drive home. And not get an impulse to drive straight off the road into the cliffside.

[Bows bows]

Thankuthanku, that'll be all !!

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 comics #tf2 memes #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #tf2 engineer #tf2 demoman #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 sniper #tf2 mercs #coffee talks shit again

[kilistina]

hiii just wanted to say i love ur posts so much. ur so good at writing pls never stop😫 i just finished reading punk 57 and the whole “tell me something true” line has me in a CHOKEHOLD. pls pls pls write about assholery being cold and distant with y/n out of nowhere even though they’re friends. can the reader be fem and have bunny as a nickname too? it’s been on my miiind and i just know you’ll write it to perfection <33

i fucking ADORE this suggestion sm. whoever you are, message me pls bc i wanna rack your brain for more lmao

lmk if you wanna be tagged in part 2 when—if—it comes out <3 i hope y’all enjoy this part though bc it’s truly one of my favourites so far.

i recommend listening to these two songs while reading: wet dream - wetleg, desire - meg myers

•••

dirty dancing. pt1

word count: 4.4k-ish

disc. nsfw content ahead. mdni. brief coke mention—in passing, includes fem! reader n harry styles, bold ass language, kinda slow burn but not really, some sexy dancing ig n aaaangst. enjoy my whores <3

•••

Things have been weird with Harry for a while now. You’re not exactly sure how or why the rift even started, but it did. And it’s only been getting worse.

You’ve been friends for what—two years now? Never too close, but close enough to be able to communicate about any issues you’ve had with each other. You and Harry don’t really argue, he’s not the confrontational type. Not with you, anyway. And not when he’s sober.

You aren’t the biggest fan of confrontation either. When things get too heated or overwhelming, you cry. It embarrasses you—being unable to handle your emotions. You know that you’re only human, and you’d never judge someone else for crying in the middle of an argument, but because it’s you, because you know yourself so well, you judge yourself over it. Weird pattern, but hey, it’s real.

Right now, you’re out at a bar with your friends—the same group you’ve been hanging around since high school. Mitch and Sarah have been highschool sweethearts for as long as you can remember, they’re like the parents of the group. The cool parents. The parents everyone secretly wishes they could have. Niall and Lewis are attached at the hip, too—platonically. Been best friends since the day they met.

You’re the closest with Niall since you’ve been living with him through college, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You have other girlfriends but they’re not as close to you as Niall and Sarah are. Sarah’s like a diamond you’ve always loved. They all are. They’ve always been by your side when you needed them—Harry included. You got lucky, sure. Not everybody has the luxury of picking the good ones before college and life gets in the way.

The bar is slowly coming to life. People who came for a meal are leaving, and people in the mood for a night of drinking and dancing are all piling in. You’re excited. It’s been way too long since you’ve let loose. You’ve been too stumped with work and college lately, you’ve barely had any time to breathe without someone breathing right there with you. And of course, you enjoy the company of others. But when you have to be sober for it all? Eh.

Harry’s similar to you in that sense. He loves socialising. Absolutely adores it. He’s an extrovert. But after weeks of constant company, he gets burnt out. The only thing that helps toughen the blow is alcohol. Or coke, but he’s stopped that for a while now.

You prop your elbows up on the edge of the bar and lean against it, looking around for the bartender. He has his back to you, mixing someone else’s drink. You clear your throat and he turns his head to the side, catching sight of you and nodding his head to let you know he’ll be a moment. You nod back and wait, turning to face your friends.

“Anyone wanna shot with me?” You arch a brow at your five friends, and they all smirk and nod their heads. Harry included. “We all good for a vodka?”

Everyone nods a second time in response, and you turn back to face the bartender.

“What can I do for you, gorgeous?” He shoots you a warm smile.

“Five shots of vodka, please.” You smile back at him and he nods.

“Straight?”

“No, gay,” You murmur a witty reply and he laughs, beginning to fill five shot glasses for you. You swear you can hear Harry coughing back a laugh from behind you too, but you don’t pay him any attention.

You double tap your phone’s off switch, activating the apple pay, and you hold it up to pay for your drinks.

“No need, beautiful,” The bartender holds his hand up, “This round’s on me.”

You shrug, exhaling dramatically, “I won’t try and convince you to let me pay.”

“I wouldn’t let you try.” The attractive bartender plays along, smirking at you.

You mouth a quick thank you to him and he gives you one final wink before turning his attention to the small group of girls next to you, catering to them now. You grab the shot glasses off the counter and hand them out to everyone, and you all hold them up and clink them together before downing them in seconds.

“Fuck,” Sarah sticks her tongue out as if that’s going to help the taste in her mouth, “Never gets easier does it?”

“Doesn’t need to,” Niall grins proudly, setting his shot glass down on the counter, “You’re just weak.”

“Yeah we fuckin’ get it, you’re an Irish heavyweight. We should all bow down at your feet, you’re a king and we’re peasants who can’t handle a measly shot.” Lewis rolls his eyes and pretends to worship him.

Niall frowns in confusion, “Who you calling a heavyweight?”

Harry snorts at the two men bickering. They’re like two peas in a pod, and typically, people who are so close tend to argue every now and then.

The group has that dynamic. Sarah and Mitch, Niall and Lewis, you and Harry? You’re not sure if you and Harry count. You’re not as close as the others. You wouldn’t call him a best friend. A friend, yes. A good friend? That’s pushing it, but still, yes. A best friend? No.

It’s not that you wouldn’t like to be closer. You’ve just never really been given the chance. Harry’s always kept a safe distance from you. You’ve hardly ever spent time alone, always speaking and engaging with each other the most when others are around to witness it. Sure, a part of you wishes that Harry would pay you more attention, but the other part of you doesn’t think he deserves it. If he wanted to, he would, right?

“And aren’t you Irish too?” Niall questions Lewis, continuing on with their unserious bickering.

“Yeah like a third,” Lewis shrugs, “From my dad’s side, but you already knew th—stop deflecting. Y/N, tell him to stop deflecting from how much of a cock he is.” He points towards you and tries to get you involved.

You giggle and shrug your shoulders, “You are a bit of a cock sometimes, Ni.”

“Both of you can suck me, honestly. I’m fuckin’ great.” Niall flicks his hair dramatically and you and Lewis snicker.

“I’m with Niall,” Harry lightly nudges Niall’s chest with his elbow, joining in on the joke, “Both of you can suck him.”

“You fucking weirdos,” Mitch shakes his head at the lot of you, not surprised in the slightest by your antics, “Miss Jones and I are gonna go dance, you lot can either keep bickering or come join us. Choice is yours.”

With that, they both head for the dance floor together, holding their hands in the air and laughing.

“I’m joining those twats,” Lewis gestures to them, looking at the rest of you, “You three game?”

Niall nods, “Course. Harry, Y/N?”

“I’ll be there in a bit,” You nod towards the bar, “I feel like some more drinks.”

Everyone’s attention shifts to Harry. He clears his throat as he thinks for a moment, “Yeah, me too. Be there in a bit.”

Lewis and Niall both nod at Harry and beeline for the dance floor, already beginning to bicker again on the way. You giggle at the sight of them and shake your head, turning to face the bar again. Harry joins you, standing by your side. Neither of you look at each other, you keep your eyes in front of you at the neat array of liquor set along the counter.

“Nice night, don’t you think?” You break the awkward silence threatening to form between the two of you.

You catch sight of Harry nodding his head, “Always a nice night with this lot.”

Dry as fuck. You might not be close with Harry, but you aren’t stupid. You know the way he speaks to people, you’ve seen it. Harry could have an hour long conversation with a tree. But with you, it seems like a fucking chore.

You want to scoff. You want to scoff at how fucking childish Harry’s acting with you. Why can’t he look at you or have a normal conversation with you?

You sigh, not wanting to overreact over such a minor reply and ruin the night for yourself. Although Harry seems to be doing a decent job of that himself.

“Can’t argue with that.” You murmur.

“Mhm.” Harry murmurs and you wait a beat for him to say something else, anything else.

He doesn’t.

That’s it.

“I feel like I don’t know you.” Your words spill out before you can stop them.

Harry’s taken by surprise. He turns to face you. Now he’s looking, at least. “Sorry?”

“I feel like I don’t know you.” You sigh, repeating yourself.

“What is there to know?” He furrows his eyebrows at you, gesturing to the bartender that he wants a glass of something.

“You tell me, Harry Styles.”

He sighs, running a hand through his curly hair, “Y/N, what are you trying to get at here?”

You shrug, “I dunno, I feel like I click with everyone else. I’ve got a connection with everyone, H. Everyone but you.” Your words come out harsher than you intended. You’d feel a little guilty if they weren’t true. But they are.

“That was unnecessary.” Harry murmurs so quietly that you almost don’t hear him.

“You asked me a question and I answered it.” You stand your ground, sick of Harry’s half-assed efforts to conversing with you. You’re a catch, your friendship is amazing, and you’re great to talk to. What the hell is Harry’s problem?

He laughs, scoffing at you in disbelief, “Fuck, you’re such a bitch sometimes.”

You almost choke on your own saliva, “Excuse me?”

“You fuckin’ heard me, Y/N. I called you a bitch. Because that’s what you are half the time when shit doesn’t go your way.” Harry doesn’t know where this is all coming from, but it’s coming.

He doesn’t mean it, obviously. He’d never mean that. He doesn’t think you’re a bitch. Again, never. But he’s angry. He’s angry and you’re angry and you’re both speaking without thinking it through properly and you’re both making an absolute mess of the situation and each other—

“What the fuck?” You stare at Harry in shock, your eyes wide with disgust.

He’s confused by your offended reaction, “What, are you surprised or something? Come on, Bunny. You know better than that.”

“You don’t have to be such an ass,” You scold him, “We used to get along. We used to be closer. We’ve never been as close as the others but at least we used to speak. At least I was able to walk into a room knowing you were there and look forward to it.”

His face relaxes at your words. He knows you mean well. You’ve both been hotheaded for a moment but now you seem to be calming down. You’re bringing your point across well and he can’t fault you for it.

“But what now? What fuckin’ now, H? You never speak to me when we’re alone, and then when you finally do, it’s this. It’s an attack on my character. Does this shit get you off or something?”

Never mind.

Harry scoffs at your sudden change in tone, feeling agitated again, “Fuck you.”

You slam your hand on the counter, “Fuck you, Harry!”

He glares at you as you continue scolding him, “What the hell are we even doing here? Go spend time with your actual friends.”

“Hey, wait a second. What?” He leans his head to the side in confusion, not knowing what you mean, “We’ve known each other for years, Bunny.”

“I don’t know a single thing about you.” You point out, making him roll his eyes. “Don’t roll your—“

“Where’s my favourite place to eat?” Harry cuts you off with a question. A question that you know the answer to.


“That’s not—”

“Where do I go when I’m upset?” Again, another question you can answer.

“Harry—”

“How did I get the scar on my chin?” That’s a special question. You gave it to him the day you met.

You sigh, knowing where he’s going with this. He’s not understanding what you’re trying to tell him and it infuriates you.

You tap the tips of your fingers on the countertop, feeling anxious, “That’s not what I—”

“You do know me, Y/N. we don’t need to speak every two seconds or braid each other’s hair to know each other well.”

Your eyes begin to prick with tears. That isn’t what you meant and he knows that.

“That’s not what I meant.” You lower your voice as it threatens to crack.

“Then what did you mean, Bunny?” He crosses his arms and stares at you, waiting on an explanation.

You groan, throwing your head in your hands.

The truth is, you can explain. You can explain everything you’re feeling well. But is that going to get you anywhere right now? Maybe. Maybe not. You have a better idea.

“Do you consider me a friend?”

Harry’s face drops. You can tell that he’s upset and borderline offended that you’re even asking that question.

Of course you’re friends. You’ve been friends for years. He adores you. Why can’t you see that he adores you?

“Bunny..” He takes a step towards you, and you take one back.

“Do you?” You insist on getting a solid answer.

“Of course I consider you a fr—”

“Don’t lie.” You cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m not—”

“Tell me something real, Harry. Please. God, please just tell me something that isn’t base level for once,” You beg, “Tell me something true.”

He raises his eyebrows slightly. He’s taken back. He wasn’t expecting that from you at all.

He stays silent.

“You can’t, can you?” You scoff at him, not knowing why you expected anything to come from this conversation. You should’ve known better than to be hopeful about how things were going to go with Harry..because it’s Harry, “I don’t know why I thought you’d—“

“I still smoke cigarettes.” Harry cuts you off, blurting out an admission. He tenses his jaw in realisation—he’s just as shocked as you are.

Oh.

Your eyes widen at his confesion. Harry’s been gloating to everyone about how he so easily quit smoking three months ago. You’re all so proud of him, considering how difficult it is to quit something cold turkey the way he did. The rest of you haven’t been able to shake the bad habit. Apparently, neither has he.

“You do?” You question.

He nods, “Less. But I do.”

“Why?”

He almost smiles at your question, “Why do I smoke?”

“Why did you lie about it?”

He sighs, looking down as he answers you, “Everyone’s got something, right? Sarah and Mitch have their relationship, Niall has his singing, Lewis has his stand-up every Friday, you have your double degree. I just wanted something that everyone could be proud of. Felt like something small like that would’ve been manageable to keep hidden from everyone.”

You frown, “Harry..”

“No,” He shakes his head, refusing to let you feel sorry for him, “No. Seriously, no. We’re not about to do pity. That’s not what we do with each other.”

“Okay,” You clear your throat and agree to let it go, grabbing a now filled shot glass and handing it over to him, “Drink?”

He smirks at you, silently thanking you as he reaches forward and takes the shot glass from you.

“Sorry for calling you a bitch.” He murmurs, offering you a small, sincere smile.

You give him one back, “Sorry for being one.”

His small smile turns into a grin.

“To the truth.” You hold your glass up to cheers his with.

“To the fuckin’ truth.”

You both down your shots and tap them down on the counter to gesture for the bartender to refill them. He complies and neither of you waste a second to down the next ones. Over and over, shot after shot, you continue to drink until you’re buzzed.

You’re both good at handling your liquor, and you know how much you can take. By the time you’re done with your shots, you’re over the moon. Buzzed and aware. Aware of what you feel, aware of where you are, aware of who you’re with. Aware.

Harry leans down, his face dangerously close to yours. He’s never been this close, you don’t think. You’ve never seen his face so clearly, you’ve never seen his chest tattoos so well, his necklace dangling, his—

“Should we go dance with the others now, you think?” He speaks into your ear and you feel your stomach beginning to erupt with nerves.

“Yeah,” You inhale sharply, nodding, “Sure.”

Harry grabs your hand and leads you through the crowd, keeping a hold of you even when you reach where your friends are. The contact is strange but you welcome it, liking the new barrier that’s being broken between the two of you.

Over the years, you’ve noticed how touchy he can get when he’s under the influence, so you have an idea of what you’re getting into. You like being on the receiving end for once. You could get used to this side of Harry. You like being his friend. His real friend.

Once you get to where the others are, you quickly gauge what they’re all doing. Mitch and Sarah are in their own little world as usual, dancing together as if it’s their wedding night. Niall’s dancing with a random girl he’s probably going home with later tonight and Lewis is making a fool of himself in the middle of them. Ah, friendship. You love to see it.

“Nice song, yeah?” Harry leans over to your ear, speaking over the music. The song playing is one of your all time favourites—Wet Dream by WetLeg.

Anyone who knows you, knows the way you feel about this song. It’s become tradition to play it everytime you carpool. A fine tradition, you think.

“Oh, the best.” You start bopping your head to the beat of the song, singing along with the lyrics you know and love.

“I was in your wet dream driving in my caaar, saw you at the side of the road, there’s no one else around you’re touching yourself, touching yourself—“ You start yelling out the words along with everyone else on the dance floor, shaking your head side to side and dramatising every word. Harry watches you and smirks, letting you have your moment.

“You said—“

You’re about to keep singing the next part when he beats you to it, “Baby do you want to come home with me? I got Buffalo ‘66 on dvd!”

You let out a surprised laugh at the fact that Harry even knows the words to the song, loving that you’re seeing this side to him. You’d never expect to have something as simple as loving a song like this in common, but here you are.

Beam me up—beam me up!

Count me in—count me in!

Three, two, one—three, two, one!

Let's begin!

The song continues and you realise that you’ve both been staring at each other for a good ten seconds in silence, just taking in the sight of each other. Harry really is beautiful. The way his hair hangs perfectly below his shoulders. The way his dimples show at the smallest hint of a smile. The way his eyes burn into yours. You never want to see anything else. Just him. Just Harry.

“I was in your wet dream, driving in my caaaar!” Harry’s voice breaks you out of your daydream, and you laugh as he grabs your hands, dancing with you to the beat of the song.

“What makes you think you're good enough to think about me when you're touching yourself?” You continue the song and he pretends to be shocked, acting out the song with you.

“You climb onto the bonnet and you’re licking the windscreen! I’ve never seen anything so obscene!” You both sing the next part together, leaning in close to each other’s faces and practically screaming with the biggest smiles on your faces, “It’s enough! To make a girl blush! It’s enough! It’s enough to make a girl blush!”

The rest of the song plays and you both continue to scream out every word, making the most of the moment you’re having and hoping it never ends. Neither of you are sure what’s going on but neither of you are complaining. You’re both witnessing a new side to each other and you’re enjoying it. Perhaps you were made to be best friends like the others. Maybe it was meant to happen like this.

The song eventually comes to an end and you both let out a deep sigh, catching your breath for a moment as another random song plays.

Harry looks down at you with parted lips, “Nice singing, Bunny.”

“Could say the same to you, H.” You smile and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. The move is natural and you don’t put too much thought into it. Neither does Harry.

His hands find their way to your waist and you both sway in time with the music, singing the lyrics into each other’s faces and having the time of your lives.

“I haven’t had sex in 5 months!” His voice is just loud enough for you to hear over the music.

Your eyebrows furrow, “What?”

He leans closer to your face, “I said—I said I haven’t had—”

“No I—I heard you H,” You chuckle, “I’m just a little—”

“Surprised? Yeah me too.” He grins at you, suddenly seeming to be completely comfortable with you in a way you never expected, “I stole that chocolate bar from you last week by the way, it wasn’t Niall.”

You laugh for a moment at his strange confessions until you process what he just told you, “Wait that was you?”


“Loud ‘n proud, bunny.” He grins proudly.

“You—you fucker!” You gasp, playfully hitting his chest with one of your hands, keeping the other where it was around his neck.


He chuckles, playing along, “Did you forget what I just—”

“Shut up!”

You both laugh, continuing to move your bodies together.

“What about you? Tell me something true.”

You purse your lips together, trying to come up with something to tell Harry. There’s a million things you could tell him, but you want to catch him off guard. You want to see an honest, raw reaction from him.

“I think you’re really pretty.” You finally say, shrugging your shoulders.

Harry raises his eyebrows at you, unsure if you’re being serious. “Pretty?”

You nod.

He tilts his head for a moment, “Weird choice of words.”

“I don’t think so,” You smile at him, “You’re a pretty boy.”

He smiles back, “You’re a pretty bunny.”

“We’re pretty.”

“We are.”

You both smile at each other and share a brief moment. A moment of what—you’re not sure. Two friends being supportive of each other? Two friends suddenly becoming closer and making the most of it? Two friends two friends two friends—

The next song begins playing and your heart begins to pace more. Desire, Meg Myers.

The two of you exchange a look, knowing that you won’t move together to this song the same way you have been for the others.

You know that you won’t be singing along with this one. You’d rather feel it. Feel Harry.

You move your hands away from around Harry’s neck, and he keeps his on your waist, holding you close. You move your hands down and place them over his, feeling electric all of a sudden.

Baby, I wanna fuck you

I wanna feel you in my bones

The song is loud and the coloured lights are flashing red. The atmosphere has changed—not only in the bar and on the dance floor, but between you and Harry. The way he’s looking at you is different. The way you’re looking at him is different. The way he’s touching you is different. The way you’re touching him is different.

I’m gonna tear into your soul

You begin to sway your hips to the beat of the song, holding your eyes over Harry’s. Neither of you dare to look away. You wouldn’t dream of it.

How do you want me?

How do you want me?

You begin to turn your body in time with the music, turning your back to Harry. He leans his head down, resting his head on your shoulder and keeping his hands by your waist as you continue to move against each other. You feel a surge of confidence—you’re not sure if it’s the song, if it’s the alcohol, if it’s Harry’s random confessions, if it’s the feelings you’ve been suppressing from him for years—but it’s here. It’s here and you’re about to make the most of it.

Yeah I gotta hurt you, I gotta hear it from your mouth

Boy, I wanna taste you, I wanna skin you with my tongue

I’m gonna kill you

You lean your ass back, moving it against Harry’s crotch. He sucks in a breath, and the only way you know it is because you feel his teeth graze the skin of your bare shoulder. Your eyes close at the feeling and you grow bolder, moving the same way a second time.

He tightens his grip on your waist. You can feel the bulge of his cock against your ass and you can only imagine how much it’s straining against the band of his jenas. You almost pity him. Almost.

I wanna feel you

I want it all

I wanna feel you

I want it all

You continue moving against Harry, enjoying his little reactions to your touch. To the way you feel. He begins trailing kisses down your neck, applying pressure and sucking on your skin. You still. You can’t focus on anything but the way his lips feel against you.

What’s going on between you both? What the fuck is happening? Why the fuck has it taken so long? Why couldn’t it happen sooner?

So many questions.

“Bunny,” Harry groans against your shoulder, placing one last kiss to your neck before moving his mouth to your ear, “Tell me something true.”

You know exactly what you want to say. Again, there’s so much you want to tell him. You want to tell him how good he feels against you, how much you love the way he moves his body against yours. You want to tell him that you feel the connection now. You want to tell him that you know he can feel it too. There’s so much to say, but you settle for the most simple thing. The most important one.

“I want you.”

•••

aaahhhh!!! i’m sososo proud of this one. idk why but this shot has a special place in my heart. the smut will be included in the second part. and believe me, it’s gonna be SMUT. i’m such a whore for angst n this friendship trope is just chef’s kiss.

anyway enough chat. i hope y'all enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 if you liked what you read then please reblog n comment. feel free to suggest ideas for new posts too.

have a good day or night wherever you are n stay safe, always <3

- k

#smut #one shot #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x y/n one shot #harry styles x y/n smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x you one shot #harry styles x you smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles x reader smut #harry styles x reader one shot #harry styles x oc #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles one shot #one direction smut #frenemies #frenemies smut #angst #harry styles angst #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles dirty imagine #kilistina #kilistina <3

[scorpiobabylon]

So I’m very autistic about music and I loved how succession made Kendall’s music taste have so much character and be so accurate to who he is and who he thinks he is, which made me start thinking about the other siblings listening to music. I just cannot imagine it. I can’t imagine Roman putting on his little AirPod and opening up a Spotify playlist or putting on posters in his room for a certain thing. The idea of shiv being into drill and grime is extremely funny to me. I think connor tells Alexa to put on slow old Spanish ballads blasting (at an appropriate volume) through every floor of his desert house and Willa wears noise cancelling headphones constantly. I just can’t decide if Roman has an obscenely normal man music taste (like what plays in gyms) or if he actually cares about music. And then I listened to horse foreplay again and I need to make a playlist for it so basically: what do you think Roman would listen to?

incredible message. oh man. for one, connor genuinely seems like a music lover because that’s in line with his situation being the only sibling to genuinely enjoy the spoils of wealth and just stuff generally. he also has that fleetwood mac line at tom’s bachelor party, and famously karaokes a fucking leonard cohen song. love him.

kendall’s music taste is central to his character, we all know what ken’s taste is (or at least i think we do, i have seen some very funny “ken listens to this” mixes. they should resemble the intern-curated obama end-of-year picks LOL). shiv i have no idea about, but i wouldn’t be surprised if she had some appreciation for whatever dad liked if dad ever bothered to point something out. i don’t think she listens to florence + the machine though be serious you guys just see a girl with red hair…………….

my personal read on roman’s whole Deal is that he has the least “life of his own” of the siblings. even his reputation / the rumors about him (that he’s a playboy who loves coke) are the least accurate to his actual behavior and preferences (esp when contrasted with ken’s public takedowns which hurt his feelings precisely Because they’re often true). it’s difficult for me to imagine roman having strong personal taste in….. pretty much anything, even when he sees his choices symbolically (“i want steak” speech in america decides). in the end, roman is most interested in cultivating an image of himself that is going to be the most protective of his true desire for authenticity and connection, but we know that he has no idea what to do with himself when he is confronted with an opportunity to actually “express himself”.

all this to say, it is very difficult for me to imagine roman sincerely enjoying music/art without a level of detachment, irony, or jokey judgement. if he likes certain sounds, i couldn’t see him singing along like kendall in the backseat. maybe a handful of songs are nostalgic for him, maybe some post-hardcore (…. fugazi….. honestly……) or even MAYBE some britpop or eurodance from the european half of his childhood. he wouldn’t allow himself true sentimentality with it though. he certainly knows all of the lyrics to a few songs bc he’s very In the World, esp culturally impactful songs, but he just seems like a guy who fucking hates bohemian raphsody. he knows who the pinball wizard is but i can viscerally feel his frown at hearing the baba o’reilly opener in a shop. he simply would never admit to loving a band, let alone buy a t-shirt! (i think i get a little annoyed generally with assumptions about roman that cast him as even a little bit twee just because he’s silly. look at how he actually dresses. this man would not paint his nails or have a charm on his phone. you’re thinking of kieran culkin!)

anyway this is my fav horse foreplay fanmix by @gotouda just bc it’s bursting with songs that are simply About Romtom. full of stuff me a young millennial gay person listens to so i play it a lot lol. there’s also an unsettled/upsetting undercurrent to some of these choices that matches the tone of the fic PRECISELY!!!! i have no idea how someone would go about building a mix based on romtom AND character taste just bc it is nigh impossible for me to picture roman roy listening to a song BECAUSE it reminds him of tom.

tom on the other hand…………….. that’s elton john, that’s ABBA, that’s broadway original cast recording, that’s george michael, that’s adele. ok

[xelmokidx]

Smiles and Cigarettes

I have a post that’s kinda sorta possibly a little bit blowing up about Matt Dillon and his smile so I’m going to write my little heart out about it bc I’m obsessed. So enjoy!!

warnings: pure cold hard fluff, no use of Y/N

Dallas winding x sunshine-y!Reader

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ 

Dallas Winston didn’t smile. It was his whole shtick. He was cold and hard and mean. He hated kids and candy. But the one thing he hated more than anything was feeling weak. And smiling showed weakness. So Dallas didn’t smile. Now you, you smiled. It was all you did. You smile basically showed rays of sunshine. You smiled so much that you had deep smile lines and still looked gorgeous. You were a ray of light. And Dallas, he was a dark stormy cloudy day. You know Dallas didn’t smile. Hell, everyone did. But you did every thing in you power to try to make him smile. It didn’t work. It never worked. No matter how hard you worked for him to even crack a smirk, it didn’t work. You never told him of this plan. You didn’t even mutter a word. But dallas knew. He knew how hard you worked for him to smile. But he wouldn’t let up.

So, that’s where this takes us. You were at the park with Dallas. You sat on the yellow-ish grass with a red blanket and a book. Dallas had brought some things. He said he would. You were really excited till you found out that some things to him was a pack of cigarettes and two cokes. So not what you had hoped for but enough.

You regularly hung out with Dallas. You had no idea why he even tolerated you, but you took what you were given and held it with pride. Everyone knew that Dallas was your friend. And even though they thought he was corrupting you, you still hung around him.

Dallas was laying on your leg sharpening his favorite knife as you sat up against a tree reading the book you brought. You laced your fingers through his dark locks as you read. Dallas, without you knowing, looked up at you occasionally. The fall sun shone against your face. It illuminated your eyes in a way that could make angels weep. Your chin was pursed as you focused on the words on the pages beneath your fingers. Dally thought you look gorgeous. Sure he had seen pretty girls before. But none like you. You were nice, and had never once turned your back on him. That is why he stuck so long. Other than the gang, you were the one constant in his life. Dallas knew what could make him smile. It was you. You had never once thought that you were the missing agent in the equation that was Dallas smiling. So you never tried it. As he watched your eyes scan the pages, his lips parted. The boys lips soon turned into the tiniest of smirks. Which turned into a grin. Which then turned into a full blown smile. As if it were magic, you looked down at Dallas just as he smiled. Your jaw was practically on the floor. Dallas had stopped smiling by now and you were at a loss for words.

“Dallas?” You questioned, “Did you just smile?”Dally smiles again and laughs.

“iunno” he mumbled back. He takes a swig of his coke before speaking again. “Wanna know why I did?” He asked. You found out that this was a game to him. You pondered your entire brain, ransacking every thought to try and figure out why he smiled. Maybe it was the sky? No he hates sunsets, he wasn’t Ponyboy. Maybe it was his knife and how sharp it got. No, he had sharped his knives before and never before had it gotten a reaction. So what on gods green earth made him smile. Dally watched you think long a hard on the reason he smiled. And when he figured out you had no avail, he folded

“you.” He blurted.

You stopped thinking and looked down at the boy on your lap.

“You made smile, doll” he said, his already big smile widening even more. You then start to smirk, then grin, then a full blown smile filled your face.

“Really?” You said in disbelief. Dallas nodded. You were surprised at his smile. It was pretty, very pretty. You wondered why he didn’t do it more. His smile lines framed his face perfectly. He even had some dimples. He was so pretty when he smiled, that you prayed that he would do it more. “Why me?” You asked the boy in your lap. Dallas shrugged. “The sun always comes out after the rain right?” He said playing with your fingers.

You felt like you were in the clouds you were so happy. You looked down at Dallas and tilted your head. “So all I had to do was,” you paused to ponder what to say. “Nothing?” You finally found the words to say. Dally nodded, lighting a cigarette, inhaling the bittersweet smoke and blowing it out. You were in shock. Jaw dropping, mind blowing, unbelievable shock. All you had to do was, be you? You wish you had found that out sooner.

Dallas had sat up and was facing you. You watched him take a few more puffs of his cancer stick, before putting it out.

Dallas was looking you in the eyes. His eyes read something you couldn’t quite put a finger on. You tore your eyes away from him in nervousness. You felt your hair brush against your cheek. Dally pushes it out of the way, his hands staying on your pretty face. “Dally,” you whisper. “Yes?” he says back, glancing at your lips. “You make me smile too,” you say, finally looking him in the eyes. You too, glanced at his lips. Dallas leaned in and your lips touched his in a kiss. You were nervous, so the kiss was gentle at first. But Dally and his rough ways changed that quickly. His hand gripped your waist, the other on your neck. His kiss was filled was so much passion, it was dizzying. Dallas tasted like the coke and cigarettes he had brought. You thought you would hate it, just as you hated cigarettes. But the taste was so Dallas, that you just had to love it. Dallas’s lips left yours slowly. You both were panting, and dally was smiling once again. “Shit” he said. “How’s you learn to do that?” He said with his grin widening. You shrug “ I dunno” you say back, still panting from the incredible kiss. “Instinct” you say back. Dally nods and leans his forehead on yours.

You stay at the park, stealing kisses from each other while you read little excerpts of your book to him. Dally listened with love and passion in his eyes. You scowred the whole world to find out what had made Dallas Winston smile. Little did you know it was you all this time. And you would do anything to keep it that way.

#dallas winston #the outsiders #matt dillon #dallas winston x reader #fan fiction writing #fanfic

[alovesreading]

Be My Mistake

Summary: Under the influence, Matty makes one of his biggest mistakes which ends up with him losing you. And now there’s nothing more to do, other than deal with the heartache and pick up the pieces. 

Word Count: 7.1k 

Warnings: cheating, use of substances, substance abuse, rehab. 

A/N: Hi!! I'm so excited to be posting this, even though is a heartbreaking one. I had been wanting to write a oneshot based on this song for so long so after watching La La Land for the millionth time one day, I finally felt in the right mood to do it. I hope I did it justice lol. Let me know what you think! Hope you enjoy! Happy reading!

Masterlist

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

You were a dream anyone would be too stubborn to let go of, refusing to let themselves wake up and pushing their heads further into the pillows in hopes to carry on with it. But just the same way everyone fails to resume said dream, Matty couldn't keep his mistakes from ruining the most precious thing he'd ever had.

The way ink can't be fully cleaned once it's spilled. The way a snowball rolling down a hill can become huge and fatal.

Matty remembered when it all went down. It had been unusually warm outside, sky clear and enough wind to deem the weather 'perfect'. But it was completely different inside your flat. He felt freezing cold as he watched you crumble in front of him. Your cheeks stained as your eyeliner ran down with endless tears, your nose red and your eyes puffy.

He hated seeing you cry, so he was crying with you. He had told you about the night before, how he had succumbed to temptation and gotten too high to even remember what had happened — he just knew he woke up beside someone else, clothes all over the floor of a hotel room that was definitely not his.

You had asked if he'd lied about going out with his mates, if it had been a regular occurrence and he had shook his head earnestly. The last thing Matty remembered was Jamie asking him if he had ordered an Uber already to get home, to which he had lied and said yes.

His only plan was to stay and drink a little more, even if it felt pathetic to do so by himself. Matty remembered a girl approaching him and making conversation, and he knew he was a tad too tipsy by then. That's why he had found it easier to say yes to sharing some lines of coke and heroin in the bathroom, but after that he couldn't remember anything.

Matty's heart sank with every word, his voice breaking as he recounted the night and blurred images of the stranger and him in bed flashed through his mind.

And you had cried, knowing the only one who could bring you comfort was the one breaking your soul apart. You were desperately trying to find answers within yourself, as if you could figure out his mind about the situation just like you had always done before.

But this time, there was no way you could read his mind. This was your worst nightmare, and nothing could've prepared you for it. You'd never imagined you would be going through all this with him, not with Matty.

Because it had been that for so long, Matty and you.

You had been one of the first talent scouts that had shown interest for the band, and even though the label you worked for hadn't finalized any agreements with them, you had kept constant contact with them.

Eventually you went from acquaintance to friend, and then to a very close friend to them all. Until one day, under the influence of several joints, Matty had told you he really wanted to kiss you. And after that kiss, it was as if your names had been welded together.

You had been there for the other, through it all. Everyone would say how you were perfect for one another, how you were meant to be. Four years you had been together, and you had really thought the same as everyone else.

And Matty thought he knew love, because he loved you, but what did he truly know then if he'd done that to you?

It had taken you half an hour to get all your important things in a suitcase that rolled beside you as you walked towards the door. Matty was still frozen, sat on a chair in the living room, and his words tangled in his throat when you sniffled and opened the door.

"Fuck you Matthew." was the last thing you said to him, and it echoed louder in his head than the door slamming behind you as you left.

Just like that you were gone.

When he managed to gather his thoughts and he made his way to your room, it hit him what he had done. The closet was half empty, the bathroom seemed deserted without all your bottles laying around, your favorite book was gone, no necklaces were spilled on your bedside table.

You were gone but remained in every single one of his belongings, pictures of you two still on the walls, the vinyl you got him still beside the turntable, your scent lingered in the air. The mirror you had picked out for the room, the walls painted your favorite color. You were engraved in everything.

Matty couldn't stay in the bedroom for longer, he felt like he was going to be sick. So he went to the kitchen and called George, praying that he would let him stay over. And he did, so with barely anything in a small bag, he got a taxi to his best friend's house.

The second George opened the door, he broke down in his arms. Panic had settled inside the drummer, as Matty kept mumbling between sobs.

George had him breathe with him, slowly and controlled until he managed to settle down enough to make out what was going on. And when the words finally slipped past Matty's lips and he could make out what he said, he'd had a hard time believing it all.

"What?! That's gotta be a joke innit? You're just taking the piss right?" his questions sounded like a beg, because he adored you both. And as much as Matty was like his brother, he would be fuming if what he had just said was true.

Matty sobbed as he shook his head, "Do I fucking look like I'm fucking joking George?!" he felt defeated as he heard the hostility of his tone and he could only sob harder as he mumbled apologies to his best friend.

George held him as he cried, feeling pity for him but anger was overcoming him at the same time.

Once Matty had passed out on the guest bedroom, George had debated within himself if it would be good to call you. Would it be too much to call and make sure you were alright? He knew the story already from his best friend so he didn't want to know more of that, he just wanted to make sure you were safe.

So George called you and it only took your weak "Hello?" to feel his heart break for you.

He had let you rant to him, and he listened as his silent tears fell. He felt so useless stuck in the middle, fuming at Matty for fucking up something so beautiful and for ruining a person who was nothing but sunshine.

"Please George, I wanna know if I deserve this? Did I do something wrong? Should I have done something different? Maybe I should've gone out with you lot, maybe I should've canceled on my cousin to go along with you. Maybe—"

"Y/N/N, sweetheart, you did nothing wrong okay? You're not the one to blame here, please don't do that to yourself."

"But then why, George? Why?!"

Your desperation ripped a sob from your throat, and it had burned to let it out. George had to bite his lip to not sob himself, he would do anything to take your pain away. He had no answers for you either, and as you kept crying, he wasn't sure what to do to try and fix anything that was in his power.

So all he could do was promise you that he'd keep Matty for as long as he could the next day, so you could finish getting all your stuff from the flat.

And the next afternoon, when the curly headed man made it back to his flat — it was just his now, not yours —, he felt his blood running cold. Your key was on top of the kitchen table, there was framed artwork missing from the walls — the ones you had gotten and were your favorites. Your silly little ceramic decorations no longer sat on top of his furniture. All of your vinyl gone, as well as your vhs film collection.

When Matty got to the bedroom, his knees failed him and he fell to the ground beside the bed. The shirt you'd been wearing the day before, which was his, freshly washed and folded on top of the duvet; and resting on top of it was the ring he'd got you for your fourth anniversary, next to it the locket necklace he'd gotten you for your birthday, the first one you celebrated as a couple.

You never took those off so that felt like a slap, a stab and a gunshot, all at the same time. He had ruined it all, that night would forever be the biggest mistake and regret of his life.

Weeks had gone by and it was like the world was completely different. Making music was the only thing that pushed Matty to wake up in the morning so in order to feel like he had a sliver of purpose, he stayed cooped up in the studio.

The lads were angry at him, they didn't ignore him but he could feel their distaste towards what he'd done. Matty knew they kept in touch with you, having caught fragments of conversations between you and them on the phone multiple times. But he didn't feel any resentment towards them, if he was in that situation, he'd choose to side with you as well.

Regardless, it stung, the way he felt like he had no one.

And that feeling of loneliness had brought him to make another insanely stupid decision: he called the girl.

Kendall was her name, and he only remembered the fact because she had texted him when he was on his way back to your flat that awful morning.

The second she picked up and greeted him with insinuation in her voice, Matty regretted the thought ever crossing his mind. It was too late to hang up though, so he kept the small talk in the most uninterested tone and ended the call right after they arranged a meeting place.

After that night, Matty had felt the guilt wash over him once more. But it was the feeling of someone actually needing him in any way for the first time in weeks, that overshadowed the disgust he had for himself.

That's why he had kept this secret agreement with the girl, because it was the loneliness getting to him. He kept telling himself that, every night.

Matty had lost count of how many times he'd taken the same steps as if this deal had a schedule. He'd go up to the receptionist and check in whatever suite they had available, he would go up to the room and lay in the bed as he cried while staring at the ceiling, and then he'd text her the room number but tell her not to wait outside — he'd always ask her to wait for him at the hotel bar.

The first few nights she had tried to make him laugh as they drank, but Matty had tuned her out and afterwards he just decided to have them drink separately. He'd felt bad for the way he was treating her, but she liked this play of mysteriousness — it somehow got her going.

So he would sit and drink alone now, in the furthest corner of the bar, slouching as he swished his drink around the glass. He wouldn't stop drinking until he'd lost count, and that's when he'd decide to go upstairs.

The singer would usually nod his head with his eyes stuck on her, a sign that meant he was going up and for her to follow after him in a few minutes.

When she knocked on the door, Matty was always smoking on the balcony. The smell of cigarettes followed him as he opened the door for her.

It didn't take them long for their clothes to end up scattered around the floor. The girl was pretty, Matty couldn't deny that, not when his body reacted like it did to her naked complexion; but it was nothing compared to the way you would make him feel.

Even with a hundred layers of clothing on, you'd leave him breathless. His knees got weak at the sight of you, from the very first moment he'd seen you and he was sure that it'd be the same until his final days.

To beat his thoughts, Matty forced his hands to be fast and his feet to take them to bed as soon as they could, so his need for release would scream louder than his subconscious shaming him for his actions. Some nights they'd even do some lines before getting to their main purpose, it helped when he was fully gone, he felt less guilty.

But for some reason that night felt the worst, a knot formed in his throat when he came back down from his second orgasm. Kendall had noticed something shift in the air so she scooted close to him and rested her chin on his chest, but he didn't look at her, his eyes were stuck on the big light burning his corneas.

"You alright?" she'd asked with a hint of worry, but when she was met with pure silence she decided to tease him to get at least a reaction from him. "Do you want a cuddle?"

He looked down with a frown, a smirk was plastered on her face and he wanted nothing but to put as much distance as he could between them.

"No, I don't want a cuddle." his voice was sharp, and she tensed at the bitterness in his tone. "Let's just sleep."

The girl chuckled awkwardly and turned to her side of the bed. He caught a whiff of her hair's scent and his heart dropped when the sensory memory of you came to the front of his mind.

Jasmine and lilies. Her hair smelled exactly the same as your feet.

Matty remembered the endless times he'd grab your lotion and give you a foot massage after a long day of work, and he sounds you'd make from the pleasure of his work on your sore limbs. And how those moments would almost always end in you two tangled up in bed, chanting each other's names as if it was a prayer, like the loudest you'd get for the other would bring you closer to the chance of seeing heaven.

In the past four years, there was not one day when he'd refuse to hold someone or let that someone hold him. But that was because it was you, Y/N. He used to hold you like a devoted christian holds a crucifix to their heart, desperately and passionately — like you were his lifeline. He'd refuse to let go of you, even if you used to stir like crazy in your sleep — he would move along with you with his arms firmly around your frame, and your legs always intertwined together.

Matty felt his tears making a path through his temples until they fell on the pillow. He turned around, his back to the girl beside him, and he forced his eyes closed.

"Can you turn out the big light?" his inquiry sounded weak, his voice was a single thread from breaking as the tears kept falling and wetting the pillow under his head.

He felt her stand up and comply, going to the bathroom and then coming back after a minute. He probably should've done the same but he couldn't be arsed, he hated himself and he had no motivation to do anything at all.

When Matty woke up and absorbed his surroundings, his hangover got worse, his heartache multiplied and he was sure he deserved the title of the worst person on earth.

Kendall was still there, sleeping peacefully like his whole world wasn't crumbling down around them. It sure felt like that to him, like the end of times.

He ran to the bathroom when he felt everything he'd consumed the night before rising up his throat. The loud noises woke up the girl who had scrunched up her nose at the gagging.

"Yikes." she mumbled, rising to her feet and getting ready to leave.

Matty had come out of the bathroom as pale as ever, and went straight for his clothes. He only wanted to leave the room as soon as he could, he couldn't keep this going anymore.

He dressed himself as he thought about which way would be best to approach the situation until her voice interrupted him.

"Where are those jeans from? I love them."

She seemed so relaxed as she watched him, leaning on her elbows on top of the messy bed sheets.

He let out a humorless chuckle, melancholic as he replied, "Dunno, Y/N got them for me."

She shrugged, not caring about who that person was and just as she was about to ask him for the date of their next rendezvous, Matty cut her off.

"Look, this has to stop." he said absentmindedly as he sat on a loveseat to tie his shoes. "You're a smart girl so, I reckon you won't be going around telling this to your mates. Don't make me have you sign an NDA."

She snorted, "Fair enough, this will be our dirty little secret then." The smirk she had on her face only made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Matty shook his head, unamused. "Don't–"

"It was fun while it lasted." she added, cutting him off and jumping to her feet.

Kendall grabbed her purse from the floor, and then walked up to him. He frowned when he saw her leaning in and froze when she pressed a kiss to his lips.

"Thanks for the shag, Matty." she winked and proceeded to leave the room.

The sound of the door closing snapped something inside him, and he went back running to the bathroom to be sick again.

When he flushed the toilet, he screamed. Like he was getting murdered.

Matty truly couldn't care less for whoever was in the rooms next to him or if they'd heard him. He felt pure rage inside of him and he had no idea about what he should do.

He yelled as he cried, tiring himself out until he got a knock on the door and was asked by the hotel staff to either stop or to leave the premises.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." he kept apologizing between sobs, "I– I was about to check out. I need to check out." he said as he walked to the lifts, the tears barely letting him see the way.

Behind a pair of sunglasses he hid as he dropped the keys to the receptionist, giving her a fake smile as she wished him a good day.

Fuck that.

When Matty got back to the flat, he made a beeline to the shower. He scrubbed his skin raw, as if that would help him feel better about himself.

And as he banged his fists against the shower walls, he continued yelling. He was sure he would lose his voice, but the ache wasn't enough to distract him from the way it felt like his heart was malfunctioning.

After changing, he had decided to open wine bottles and let the alcohol lull him to sleep. He hoped for a long deep sleep, but as he finished the second bottle and his eyes refused to close, he chose to call you.

Y/N.

Your contact picture tore his heart apart a little more. Your smile beaming at him behind the camera, you were opening presents in the morning of Christmas day and you just looked too adorable waiting for him to open his present.

Why had he been so stupid?

Matty pressed 'call' and the phone rang and rang, but you wouldn't pick up. He was filling your voicemail up slowly, his words slurred and broken, his voice so rough that he thought he might've caused some worse damage to his vocal chords than he'd anticipated.

He fell asleep eventually, his phone in his hand but out of battery. His third bottle of wine three quarters empty on the floor beside him. And the long deep sleep he had asked for was interrupted by George opening his front door and coming in at around eleven in the morning.

"Matty what the fuck?"

The singer had grumbled, his cheek pressed against his carpet. He'd fallen asleep on the floor.

"George?"

"Why don't you answer your phone?"

Matty sighed, and rubbed his right eye as he tried to turn his phone on with his other hand. "It's dead."

"Fucks sake. Well get up mate, you need to eat something. You look terrible." the tall man frowned before disappearing into the kitchen, Matty had caught a glimpse of take out bags on both his hands.

He rolled his eyes, "Thanks, G. Very lovely."

The reason George was there was because you had heard every single voice message he'd left her, and your soul had left your body from how worried you were about him. You called George as soon as you got a break from work, you sounded so shaken up that the drummer thought something had happened to you.

"I'll go check on him as soon as I'm done here Y/N/N, I promise."

"Just try and hurry please, G? I don't know if he's taken anything–" you had started to frantically breathe as you talked, you were gonna spiral so he interrupted you.

"Hey, hey. It's okay, I'll be on my way in a bit. Stop worrying about him okay? He doesn't deserve to disrupt your peace after everything he's done, that's why we're there so you don't have to deal with it."

"You know I will never not worry about him G... It's like he's cursed me."

George sighed, completely heartbroken at your state, "I'll text you when I see him, I'm sure he's alright. Just take care of yourself okay?"

You hummed but he could hear you were still agitated. "Okay..."

"Love you, Y/N/N. You're gonna be okay"

"Love you too George, thank you."

That had been about forty minutes before George had shown up, but he would not tell that to Matty. He shouldn't know that you still cared, not from him, it wouldn't be good for either him or yourself.

Matty felt like a kid, George was basically babysitting him now: making sure he was eating enough, filling up a glass with water over and over so he stayed hydrated, plugging his phone to charge, making small talk to keep him distracted.

And he felt even more like a kid when his phone buzzed alive and when he unlocked it to show the drummer some demo he had come up with, it opened on your contact. His voice had died at the sight and at the memory of him calling her tirelessly the day before.

"You shouldn't be calling her, you know?" George's voice sounded reprimanding, "You're only hurting her more when you do that."

Matty could only nod, changing apps and showing George what he had meant but his words were long gone and lost somewhere. The drummer had had to scoop things out from him after that.

When it reached seven in the evening, Matty told George he was just going to sleep. He was knackered, all his energy had drained and if he wanted to go to the studio the day after, he'd need a long rest.

So George left him with a lengthy hug and made him promise to call if anything happened before they saw each other the next day.

Matty went to his ensuite right after he closed the door behind George, washing his face and brushing his teeth slowly to then plop on top of the bed.

It felt so big without you, the room wasn't familiar anymore, the place didn't feel like home.

All the lights were out, so the reflection of his phone blinded him when he picked it up. He had ignored the device for most of the day and he would continue to do that, because he was too tempted to call you again and after what George had told him, he didn't want to keep hurting her. You deserved better than the ache he continued to cause you.

Scrolling through his notifications he found himself laughing at the memes Adam had sent him, sending one to his mum that he thought she'd enjoy.

Denise had found out about what had happened, he had called her crying and apologizing like she was the one also needing to forgive him. As any mum would do, she had consoled him, taking a coach to stay with him for a week just to keep an eye on him, but she had also been firm with him, not downplaying what he had done.

She had taken one of her days in London to visit you, at your best friend's flat where you were staying. And you had cried in Denise's arms for hours, as she rubbed your back and kept telling you it wasn't your fault.

His mum was heartbroken for the two of you, she encouraged Matty to find help in regards to his addiction. "A few lines cost you Y/N," she had said and what a tragedy that was.

When he kept scrolling down his notifications, he found a missed call from you. Just one. And that was enough to startle him like he'd just gotten shocked back to life.

He deflated thinking he had missed the ringing of his phone, meaning he had missed the one and only chance to talk to you — maybe for the last time.

But then he caught a voice message sitting on his voicemail. From you.

He played it instantly, his whole body washing in relief at the sound of your voice.

"Matty?" you had asked softly, and he sighed but then you sniffled and he heard you take a shaky breath before continuing, "Hey, erm, I don't know what's going on but I just–," you cleared your throat when your voice broke. "I hope you're doing okay, don't do anything you will regret okay? There's people who can't lose you for something like this."

'There's people.' Not her.

Matty started crying, trying to keep his sobs down so he could hear you.

"Fuck," you whispered, "That sounds like I don't care but no matter how hard I try to trick myself, the truth is I will always care about you. And I fucking hate that." his heart was shattering more and more as you spoke.

"You know... I loved you Matt. I still do." you sighed, and he could picture you so clearly picking at your cuticles like you always did when you were upset and anxious. "The worst part is that even knowing how it all ends, I'd still do it all over again." You broke down after that, your sobs making him sob and it was like you were crying to each other again in the living room as he told you what he had done.

"But I'm gonna need you to stop calling Matty. And I know how hard that is because, despite it all, the one thing I've been dying to do is call you and hear your voice. But please, I need you to stop." You were begging now and you sounded tired, "You have to let me go, so I can heal. Maybe one day we can be friends again — I hope we can."

Your voice had broken once again and it sounded like you had covered your mouth so your sobs were less audible. "Take care of yourself okay? I want you to promise that you will, make me that last promise Matty..." the line went quiet and he would've thought you were gone if it wasn't for your heavy breathing. It was like you were waiting for him to magically say 'I promise' as you recorded the message. He had started chanting it, as if you could hear him, over and over until your defeated sigh was heard and all you had left to say was, "Goodbye, Matty."

He replayed it several times, until his heart couldn't take you saying the final goodbye anymore.

That night Matty fell asleep crying, and woke up barely being able to see from how swollen his eyes were. He had woken up in the middle of the night after he'd dreamt about you getting married, he had hugged your pillow and fallen back into slumber. Until a nightmare woke him up before his alarm, the image of your body cold and covered in blood after you'd been in an accident stuck in his mind as he got ready for the day.

When he got to the studio, Matty made the decision to keep his promise to you. He felt like he owed it to you. So he made some calls and when the lads arrived, they were met with the news that he'd go to rehab.

They had engulfed him in a massive hug, which made him break down in tears. Matty wasn't sure how long he'd be gone for, or where exactly he was going but he was determined to go through it again and fully commit to getting better.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

It had been almost three months since your life had been shaken up. You had moved to your best friend's house for a little bit before finding a place of your own. It was slowly coming together but small things like getting the post always made you feel like this was actually your home.

There wasn't much, a parcel you had been waiting for and a couple bills. You found yourself surprised at a small envelope that was under everything else, it had an unfamiliar stamp on the top right corner.

Barbados, it said.

Your fingers were quick to open it, inside was only a small usb. No note with a name to give you a clue of what it was.

Curiosity was eating you inside so you almost ran back up to your flat.

You opened the door with too much force, causing it to slam against the wall. After making sure the door was intact, you went to your room and hurried to find your laptop. You cussed when you tried turning it on and realized it was out of battery.

You plugged it in and paced around the bedroom waiting for it to turn on. And when the screen lit up alive, your curiosity turned to nerves. You didn't even know why, but you had a gut feeling and those you never ignored.

When you inserted the usb, the only thing you could see inside it was a video named 'dec. 22nd, 2017'.

Your frown was set hard on your face, it was past the first week of the new year already. What could this be?

All of your questions were answered when you clicked on it and a face you missed was shown on the screen.

Matty looked so different. For a start, the curls you'd adored for years were gone — replaced by a buzzcut that he so effortlessly was pulling off —, his skin looked glowy and he'd ditched his usual vintage band shirts for a light knitted sweater. He looked healthy.

Your heart felt like it was going to burst, from happiness and relief but also from the memory of everything that had gone down.

What was he doing in Barbados? Why would he send a video on a usb through the post? Why not email it?

You were so confused, questions flooding your head. Eventually, you just decided to play the five minute clip and hear what he had to say.

Matty cleared his throat, his chest covering the lenses as he was leaning over the camera to press record.

There was a chair a few steps behind him, set in front of a massive window that allowed you to see outside the place he was at, and it looked like the definition of paradise.

"I, erm... You're probably so confused at the moment." Matty rubbed his eyes with his hands before letting them drop on his lap. "I'm in rehab. In Barbados."

You felt the oxygen leave your lungs for a few seconds before you took a deep shaky breath.

"We are doing this thing where we think back about the worst things drugs have made us do to the ones we love and, erm, apologize for them." he chuckled, it seemed in an ironic way. "They had us forgive ourselves first which, as you may imagine, was really hard for me to do. Ever since October, I haven't felt more than hatred towards myself. So that was a challenge."

Matty tried looking into the camera but his eyes didn't know where to concentrate, he just let his head fall in defeat. "This is weird. How do people manage to record themselves and not feel like an absolute idiot?" He looked up, rubbed his face and sighed in frustration.

"This rehab has been so different to the last you know? I've been bonding with this bloody horse– They have me talking to a horse, Y/N!" Matty laughed genuinely this time, and his giggles made you giggle as the start of your tears rolled down your cheeks. "Fucks sake, can you believe that?" You wiped the tears as they fell but eventually gave up when they came faster than your fingers could clean them.

Matty sighed, taking a look outside the window before looking back at the camera. "He's amazing though, you must know horses are great listeners and they are so majestic." his hands were on his lap and you noticed how he'd started fiddling with his fingers. "Gonna miss him much more than I anticipated once these seven weeks are up..." he trailed off and his smile faltered as he came back to his main point in his head. "But, erm, I digress."

He cleared his throat before continuing, "The second part of that forgiveness ordeal was to apologize to those we've hurt. We were told we could write letters, record voice messages or videos. I wanted to write a letter to you but it wasn't– I feel like it–" he paused, gathering his thoughts. His brain going faster than his mouth like always. "I couldn't hide behind words this time, you deserved better than that. I owed you a different level of vulnerable, raw me."

"I started this because of that last promise you made me make to you — thank you for leaving that voice message actually, I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't." His eyes stood stuck on the lenses so it felt like he was staring into your soul. "So, yes, I started this because of that promise and I felt like I owed this to you but they've made me realize here that I owed it to myself." You saw the way his chin wobbled and it had you letting out a sob.

"I don't like how it's always taken me fucking things up to realize what I had." Matty let his head drop as he shook it, disappointed in himself.

"This isn't some kind of plea for you to take me back, you just deserved closure from me I suppose — and to hear a proper apology." You didn't know if you could take that at the moment but you just couldn't pause it, so despite your heart begging yourself to stop for at least a minute you let it continue. "It's too late for anything else, and you definitely deserve so much better than someone who could do that to you just because he was under the influence." The memory stung like a fresh slap, causing a river of hot tears to run down your cheeks.

Matty sighed before continuing, tears falling down his cheeks as well and his voice wavering as he spoke. "I'm deeply sorry for what I did, for ruining everything we had and making you go through something you were the last person to deserve. I ruined you and I am eternally sorry for that." He kept fiddling with his fingers, "I'm sorry for letting something so mundane and stupid come between us, I'm so sorry for not being the person you deserved." Matty started listing all of his regrets, and it felt like a thousand needles to your heart. "I'm sorry for being weak and letting myself break. I've hated myself so much for saying yes to some lines and then seeing it all unfold like it did." His head shook, letting himself let out a few quiet sobs.

"You have to know I regret that night and everything else that happened afterwards, that's my biggest regret in life and I will carry that with me forever but please, Y/N, don't feel like you have to." You clutched your chest like you could somehow bring your heart some comfort that way, the way he was staring at the camera with his eyes starting to redden made you hurt so badly.

Matty let out a shaky breath before continuing, "This makes me sound like such a cunt, that I'm asking you to move on as if I have to be the one telling you to do it for you to actually do it but this is me begging to not let my mistakes pull you down because you're so fucking wonderful Y/N/N." his voice wavered at the end of that, and in unison both of you started sobbing your hearts out like you were in the same room in front of the other.

Your desperate cries bounced off the walls and you felt like your chest was being ripped open again. You watched as Matty looked up at the ceiling and harshly wiped his cheeks, taking a deep breath to keep talking. "You are easily the best thing that has ever happened to me and so I also wanted to thank you."

It was so complicated for you to understand what that caused you to feel, it was like a hug but it punctured your heart that this was the situation he was thanking you in. "You were our absolute biggest fucking fan, going through all of it with us — going through so much shit with me. I'm still having a hard time figuring out what I did to deserve you. I clearly didn't." Matty's lips twitched up in an attempt to smile, as if he was trying to make it a tiny joke but it failed.

"Now, this isn't something I'm entitled to do, I shouldn't have the neck to ask you to make me a promise but I don't think I'll ever stop caring about you, not tomorrow, not in a year, not in this lifetime nor the next. So I want you to promise me that you'll always choose yourself and take every decision that will lead you to feeling the happiness you deserve as many times as possible." his knee started bouncing up and down now, but his eyes were stuck staring straight at the camera and you could see just how pleading they were.

"You know I've never thought happiness was ever a destination but if it turns out to be, then I wish only that for you." his hands fell on his knees then and you saw through the tears his knuckles turning white as he held them.

Matty went to speak again after a few beats of silence but he stopped himself as his voice didn't come out. He let himself stare beyond the camera for a few seconds before his gaze fell once again on the lenses, "I don't think I'll ever not love you, you know? My love for you goes beyond the grasps of time and space, and maybe that's extremely selfish to say — fuck."

He wanted to kick himself when he realized how unfair he was being, just saying shit like that, like it wasn't his fault that it had all happened. "I'm sorry, I just—" Matty backtracked and he stopped himself as the knot on his throat tightened again. "Sorry. I'm still a mess, and unfortunately human."

The tears ran down Matty's face, matching the ones running down your cheeks as you stared at your laptop screen. You felt the urge to reach out for him, to touch him but he wasn't there and that broke your heart even more.

"I don't know what else to say, this introspective shit is harder when you have so much time to think about yourself. I have never been more self aware in my life... Maybe this is what I needed." He trailed off and he shifted in his seat, looking back outside for a moment and smiling slightly at the view.

Matty took some time, trying to gather his thoughts and see if he could form any more sentences that he wanted desperately to tell you but his brain was a tangled mess and he felt awful for making you waste more of your time on him when it was the last thing he deserved.

"Well, I will leave you now, I hope I didn't disrupt you with my bullshit. And, erm, I hope you had a lovely Christmas time, you truly deserve it. Hope George got you that drumming set he promised you back in May." He chuckled remembering the messy lessons George gave you and how he'd promised to give you one so you could practice with him.

Matty struggled to find the best way to finish the video, you could see how hard he was racking his brain for what he wanted to say. He ended up settling for honesty, because that's what you deserved from him.

"I miss you, as selfish as that sounds. And I love you, always, as selfish as that is. Goodbye, Y/N." He gave you a tight lip smile, before he stood up and the frame ended in the same way it had started, with him covering up the lenses as he leaned forward to press the button.

Your heart settled heavily on your chest and it was how concluding it felt that had your head dizzy. A bitter taste on your tongue as you once more looked back at it all and at how, after months, the overwhelming amount of love you felt for him was still there.

Hidden away in the back of your heart.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

A/N: I'm so sorry for that... But I hope despite the heartache you still enjoyed it! Thank you so much for taking the time to read, the fact that I'm even posting this for everyone to read is mental to me. Please let me know what you thought of it. I’ve got more things coming that I’m so very excited to share with you all!! *screeches* okay, thank you again and see you soon!

Send me a message if you want me to add you to the taglist :)

Taglist: @imagine-that-100 @red---moon @drinkurkombucha @vinylandcoffeecollection @better--oblivions @kennedy-brooke

#matty healy x reader #matty x reader #matty healy #matty #healy #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty the 1975 #the 1975 #matty 1975 #1975 matty #matty healy oneshot #matty healy drabble #matty healy blurb #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 fanfiction #ross macdonald #adam hann #george daniel

[prettyoddgarden]

Patrick Bateman Does Coke Off of Fem Readers Boobs  

gif by @/taissaifarmiga

No warnings just cocaine usage

A silly note from me - Patrick is a little less unhinged since he's married and goes to therapy 💀I've had an idea like this forever but a character I've been hyper fixated on just didn't fit and now that I'm in love with Patrick and it's canon he does coke this was my perfect chance to do this. also this is my first fanfic I've posted 💀Lol okay yeah now read 💋

"Be right back, going to pee." I say as I get off the bed heading to the bathroom after another second round with Patrick. Reaching down, picking one up of his white button downs from the floor and my underwear.

While making my way to the bathroom, Patrick went to change the song to Blue Monday by New Order. I gave him a mix of my favorites which he seemed to enjoy. I'm a little surprised he would like anything I picked due to his specific taste in music. 

As I’m walking out of the bathroom my eyes begin to focus. It’s Patrick in some silk pajama bottoms. He looks at me with his charming smile. As if he wants to sell me something. I've seen this look before in meetings with him when he's presenting a new idea. He just has a look in his eyes that makes me feel so wanted. 

"Patrick I'm done for the night." I give him a puppy eye look leaning on the bedroom door frame. 

He continues to look at me while holding a little bag of something "No (y/n). Not that. Not until after this." Winking at me.

I look down to see the contents of the bag. Blow. I'm a little taken aback he would want to do it at home. It's not like we haven't done coke together before. He just seems to prefer to do it in a small bathroom of a restaurant or club.

I smile walking towards the bed "So what idea do you have Mr. Bateman?" 

"Haha well Mrs. Bateman, I was thinking of doing some blow, but I don't want to get my tables dirty. It also seems you haven't showered yet."

I listen to him carefully and lay sideways on our shared bed with some of the softest sheets from Santa Fe. I honestly could look at his body all day. The way his muscles curve and flex with every step he takes. He just looks so unreal. 

"Mmhmm. So where should we do it? We can just get one of my cards. I do have my heart spoon necklace in my purse." As I point to my bag that was thrown in the living room.

"No, I have another idea and I need to have your full attention (y/n)."

I give him a concerned yet listening look. "You have it."

Patrick walks towards me with a devious look. He takes my sideways legs and brings them to hang off the edge of the bed. 

"Scoot back, I want a better view." 

I do so by giving him a smile, resting my head on the pillow while he straddles me. I stare at him then to his hands, still unsure of what Patrick is thinking. 

"Even though you look stunning in Tommy Hilfiger, take it off." The ending of that sentence sounds so demanding, but so sexy.

He stares at me as I start unbuttoning the shirt. We lock eyes. I unbutton the shirt slowly giving him a delicate look. He looks somewhat impatient.

"God (y/n) you're such a tease." Patrick uttered with a scoff as he pushed my hands to unbutton the shirt himself. Giving me the small bag of blow. I only giggled to lighten the mood a bit and seemed to work. Patrick started to have a little grin. Again I could stare at him forever. I watch as his hands unbutton the shirt on me exposing my boobs to him.

"Ahh now I see. You're gonna fuck me then use me as your personal table? Woah Patrick and I thought I was your wife." I asked 

He grabs my left boob to shut me up. "If you don't keep your words to a minimum we'll have round 3 right now."

I nod my head showing I'm now taking it more seriously. Patrick moves his hand from my breast and opens his palm for me to hand him the coke. I do so as he opens the bag. He comes closer to me and takes the edge of the bag. He starts to take the bag pouring it in a straight line along my right breast right above my nipple. As he does so I feel every move Patrick makes with his hand as he has his left hand on my side while his right hand continues making a line. 

"Mm perfect." Patrick says pleased with himself. "Are you ready (y/n)?"

"Mmhmm go for it."

Patrick lowers his head down making direct eye contact. As he does so time feels like it's slow down. He connects his nose with the start of the line making sure it's precise. Patrick seems to have a calm eagerness about it. I continue to track his face with my eyes. He starts to move his head from left to right as the drug goes up his nose. He lifts his head up sniffing to make sure the coke goes down his nose. Then time goes back to normal. 

"Fuck. Surprised you stayed so still" Patrick grumbles sitting back up straight straddling me still. 

"Me too. If I'm being honest. I think I was just too forced on your face" I smile stating my sentence. "I actually really liked that we should do that again. Maybe when we're out."

"You're right. Your tits are amazing to do coke on (y/n). Hmm just like I thought. " 

"OH please Patrick. Okay now get off so I can get my necklace from my purse." I say patting his chest. 

He does so and I get up walking to the living room. While walking I button up the shirt a bit.

"So Patrick, what gave you that idea? It seemed very spontaneous, especially for you." I question him.

"Well if I'm being honest whenever I see you in a push up bra I always think about putting a glass on top with the way your tits just sit so nicely. Then I thought about what it would be like if I could coke on them." Patrick answers. I'm not oblivious, I've seen the way Patrick looks at me whenever I wear a dress that would showcase my boobs when we decide to go out to dinner or the club. Never a day in my life I would think something so childish is a thought Patrick would have. 

"Now that's a different thought of yours. I like how honest you are now." I say walking through the door getting into bed with Patrick. He hands me the baggie of snow smiling. I dip my tiny gold spoon in the bag and sniff it. I sat up next to him. I look at the wall clock, "I mean it's only 11:30 and we don't have an appointment tomorrow morning till 12 in the afternoon. We could go out or-" My sentence was stopped by a heated kiss from Patrick.

He breaks from the kiss staring into my eyes. "How about you go take shower, I'll meet you there, and we’ll do round 3 there? How does that sound?" 

"It does sound better." I give him one last kiss, grinning and head to the bathroom smiling. 

#patrick bateman #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman x female reader #american psycho

[oneatlatime]

I’m curious as to how your blog works. In my mind it goes like this: you watch an episode, write down notes as you’re watching, go back to the episode to make screenshots, write down the episode summary/commentary, post it on tumblr, watch the next episode and repeat. But I wonder, do you actually only watch an episode once or do you go through multiple watches (full or partial)? And do you actually not watch the next episode until you’re completely done with the previous one? Regardless of your methods, it’s so much work and I really respect your self-control (I probably would have ended up binging the show.)

I watch, for the first time, with split screen between the show and where I type notes. With my hand hovering over the pause button like a coked out Jeopardy contestant, I pounce on places I want to make a comment, take a screenshot, and note down the time stamp and a vaguely point form, typo-riddled summary of what I want to say. Then it's back to watching. This doesn't quite work in particularly enthralling scenes, where I inevitably end up too involved in the show to remember to pause, in which case I rewind to my last timestamp and rewatch. Same applies if I can't catch a piece of dialogue. For example, in the scene in The Blind Bandit where Toph explains her earthbending, I watched that three or four times through before progressing on to the next scene because I was having difficulty understanding Toph's lines. Then after I've finished watching, I go through and translate my word vomit into something legible, clean up the screenshots if needed, throw in a 'keep reading' break and some tags, and then it's good to go. I watch, take notes, edit, and post all in one session, based on only one watch through (albeit with some scenes repeated if necessary).

This is what I've done for all episodes so far, except The Storm. I lost count of how many times during The Storm I forgot that I was supposed to be taking notes. I was far too sucked in. And then the post autosave function malfunctioned and I hit the wrong button and the whole thing disappeared. Luckily I had an archived version of the text on my hard drive, but I did have to go through and retake the screenshots, so I watched that episode twice through while blogging about it. I've also watched it once since, just for entertainment.

I figure the choppiness this approach inevitably introduces into the viewing experience mimics what it actually would have been like to view these episodes the first time they aired, since (to my knowledge) Nickelodeon had and still has commercial breaks.

And yes! I am resisting the urge to watch ahead. I watch one at a time, usually devoting my evening to it. Sometimes between posts I'll rewatch episodes I've already seen and blogged about. I've seen Bato of the Water Tribe an embarrassing number of times, and episode 1 at least 4 times. But I'm not watching ahead, and I'm doing the closest thing to liveblogging that the medium allows.

I used to do freelance transcription (and may go back), so I'm very used to making a direct line between the content on the screen and my keyboard. It's a useful skill!

It is a lot of work, and I'm sure there's a more efficient way to do it, but I enjoy it. I can spend two hours typing up a post and it will feel like 20 minutes.

#ask #atla #avatar: the last airbender #fastest fingers in the west #avatar the last airbender

[cryptophasiac]

why i think the pavlove lyric is bathroom: an unnecessary web-weaving post

to me bedroom implies sex, whereas bathroom implies drugs. i read it as “she’s back to the bathroom for one more (line)”

now what points me to drugs in the bathroom as opposed to sex in the bedroom?

1. it likely being a patrick demo

and i’m not saying this means patrick wrote all the lyrics much of it obviously comes from pete what i am saying is patrick connects lyrical phrases and adds and subtracts where he sees fit which has an impact on the meaning

and patrick has alluded to issues with substances around this time (so has pete, but the emphasis on the song on alcohol/coke over pills reads more patrick to me)

(not to mention the references to coke coming around the time of patrick’s miracle speed weight loss… but that’s another conversation)

2. other partying signifiers

the reference to four on the floor dance/party music drums in the setting of the action of the song implies it’s likely not at a place where a bedroom would be

bedrooms may have been accessible at the house parties the boys frequented earlier in the band’s career, but by the time folie was being written/recorded, they could get into bona fide hollywood parties and pete owned a bar. the settings of these events have bathrooms where people do lines, but to get to a bedroom, youd have to leave the venue, not just nip back to the bathroom as you’d do for a line

(pavlove lyric video // 2008fobstan on twitter // pavlove // confessions of a pariah // run dry // pavlove // pete in cleveland scene magazine, 2017)

#decaydance #creek burbles #fall out boy #fob #fababoi #patrick stump #pavlove #folie a deux #web weaving #tw drugs #tw drug use #angels and kings #pete wentz #fobtwt #fob lyrics #lyric analysis

[massivedrickhead]

Bechloe Week Day 6: Celebrity Scandal

Words: 1732

Notes: Is this any good? I don't know. I wasn't going to write anything for this prompt and then the idea popped into my head so I wrote it out in a couple of hours and figured I might as well post it.

Read on AO3

-

“Beca, it’s about time, I’ve been calling you all day,” Theo said, his voice the definition of frustration, when Beca finally answered her phone.

“Yeah,” Beca said, pacing her bedroom, one hand swiping at the tears that kept building in her eyes. “I’ve been a little busy.”

“I trust you’ve seen the news?”

“Of course I’ve fucking seen it,” Beca snapped, unable to keep her voice calm. “My phone has been blowing up all day and there are paparazzi camped out outside my house.”

“This is bad, Beca,” he said. 

“No fucking shit, it’s bad,” she said. “My question is what are you going to do about it?”

“I told you to be careful. I told you this would happen if you insisted on keeping this thing with Chloe going,” he said.

“Thing? Dude, it’s 2023, you can call her my girlfriend,” Beca said. 

She heard Theo sigh, and imagined him pinching the bridge of his nose - his go-to move when he thought Beca was acting deliberately childish. “Yes, it’s 2023. The world has changed. Everything is sunshine and rainbows and love is love, blah, blah blah. Welcome to the real world, Beca.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Beca said. “Christ, it’s not like I got caught doing a line of coke or something.”

“You’re a popstar with a tween-aged audience,” Theo said. “You need to set a good example.”

“And being queer isn’t a good example? Is that what you’re actually trying to say, Theo?”

“No, I’m saying getting photographed in the back of your car with a girl in your lap isn’t a good example,” he said. “Not to the parents of your audience, anyway. Have you been on Twitter? They’re calling for a boycott of your record. Of the label. You’ve… I don’t know how you could be so careless.”

Beca swallowed and clenched her jaw. “Nothing happened,” she said. “I hadn’t seen Chloe in three months because of the press tour, so we made out in my car. You know, since she isn’t allowed to be seen entering my house and has to scurry in through the back at night like she’s some kind of dirty secret? I just wanted five minutes with her before I had to go inside alone.” 

From where she was still sitting on her bed, Beca heard Chloe sniff, and she saw her turn away to wipe her eyes. 

“And it might have cost you your career,” he said. “I’m trying to fix this, Beca, but they’re asking for blood.”

“I never asked to be an example to a bunch of kids,” Beca said, unable to look away from Chloe. “I’ve… I was never ashamed of my sexuality before now. Never. I’ve always known who I was, and no matter how many people told me it was wrong, I never listened to them. And I should have never listened to you.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he said. 

“From what?” Beca said, with a hollow laugh. “You’ve turned my relationship with the woman I love into some sordid secret thing. If we’d just… dated - existed - without making it into a thing, no one would have cared. One picture snapped of us holding hands, and the headline would have been what? ‘Musician holds hands with girlfriend’? But no, we couldn’t do that. No holding hands in public, no dates, no sharing the same car. She has to sneak into my house, or I have to sneak into hers. She can’t just come and pick me up from the airport, no, she has to hide in the back of my car. Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled her into my lap the second we stopped, but if she’d been able to simply get out of the car with me, and walk the five feet to my house, we could have done that in private.”

Chloe’s eyes met hers as the room was lit up by the flash of a camera from outside. In the brief window of light, Beca saw Chloe’s eyes were still full of tears, mascara streaked down her cheeks. Their argument still hung heavily in the air, and Beca found she couldn’t look at her. She crossed the room and pulled the curtains tighter together, paranoid that the vultures lurking outside would see in.

“Are you done blaming me for this?” Theo asked, sounding bored, if not a little impatient. “We need to discuss how we fix it.”

“You said they want blood, give it to them,” Beca said.

“Who’s blood?”

“Mine,” Beca said. “I know how you want me to fix it, and I’m not willing to do it.”

“Beca-”

“No,” Beca said. “You want me to break up with her. Make a public statement that I’m sorry that I let everyone down. That I’ve seen the error of my ways and it won’t happen again, right?”

“I mean, you don’t have to use those exact words, but-”

“I’m not doing it,” Beca said. “I never wanted to be a pop star, but you pressured me into it. I never wanted to write music for tweens, but you said that’s what the label thought I should do. I never wanted to keep Chloe a secret, but you said it was for the best. I’m done letting you and the label make decisions for me.”

“Beca, think about this,” he said, sounding more panicked now than he had when had first called. “Think about what you’re saying. If you walk away from this, you’d be giving up everything you’ve worked for. The label owns your songs and, until your contract ends, you can’t make or perform music for anyone else. You have three years left on that contract. You’ll lose everything.”

“No I won’t,” Beca said. “But if I do what you’re asking me to do, I will.”

“God, use your brain for once-”

“I’m not giving up my relationship, Theo, but what happens after is up to you. In an hour, I’m going to post on Instagram that Chloe is my girlfriend. That we’ve been together since the day I was signed by the label, and that I love her. So either you’re putting out a statement that you’re cutting ties with me because of my sexual orientation, or that you’re standing by me after my privacy was violated.”

“It isn’t that simple,” he said, an edge to his voice.

“It is, actually,” Beca said. “You can frame it however you want. You can say that we’re parting ways due to a personal conflict, or creative differences. You can even say that due to ‘recent revelations’ that I am no longer being represented by the label. Whatever words you want to use is fine, because I can let the world know the truth. And you can’t sue me for slander, or libel, or whatever when every word I say will be the truth. Because I’ve got receipts, Theo. I have emails and texts and voicemails all telling me that if I’m going to date Chloe, it needs to be a secret. Then we can see who’s getting boycotted. Do you think the artists on your label who are allowed to be openly queer will be happy? Even if they don’t care, I think their fans might.”

“Don’t try and play this game, Beca,” he said.

“I’m not playing,” Beca said. “I’m done pretending and hiding. Getting to call Chloe my girlfriend, and getting to love her, has been the best thing to ever happen to me. And she has been nothing but proud and supportive, even when I was treating her like something to be ashamed of.” Beca looked at Chloe again, and although there were still tears in her eyes, she was smiling. She held out her hand and Beca crossed the room to take it. “No more hiding, Theo.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” He said.

“Nothing,” Beca said. “I put up my post, you put out your statement that the label will be standing by me, and then we all move on. The press will get bored and move on. The internet will get bored and move on. I go back to making you all money, and you stop telling me who I can and can’t be seen with.”

“The label won’t go for it,” he said.

“You don’t know unless you ask,” Beca said. “But it’s either that or you fire me. Because I won’t give her up. Call me when you’ve made a decision.” She hung up the phone without another word and dropped it onto the bed. For the first time in a long time, Beca felt like she could breathe. She felt like she was gaining just a little bit of control back.

“Bec, I can’t let you do this,” Chloe said. 

“It isn’t your decision,” Beca said. “I’m not breaking up with you. If you’ll still have me, then nothing they say will make me give you up.”

“Of course I’ll still have you,” Chloe said. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Beca said. 

“You could lose your job, your songs, everything,” Chloe said. 

“Not everything,” Beca said. “Not you.”

“Never me,” Chloe said. 

The phone on the bed began ringing, and Beca saw Theo’s name flash up on the screen.

“Well?”

“Make your stupid post,” he said. “We’ll be releasing a press statement in the morning that no action will be taken and that the label supports you. Next time you make out with your girlfriend, do it in private, will you?”

Beca grinned at Chloe. “Maybe. Thanks for finally fighting my corner, Theo.”

“Yeah, well, turns out you’re actually a pretty valuable asset.”

“Aw, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said. 

Beca hung up the phone again, and Chloe threw her arms around her neck.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Beca said, hugging Chloe back tightly. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

“I know,” Chloe said. “I forgive you.”

“I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through since we got together,” Beca said.

“I knew what I was signing up for,” Chloe said. “And, yes, it was really hard, but you were worth it. You’re still worth it.”

“I’m never going to do that to you again,” Beca said. “I promise. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Chloe replied. “Always have, always will.”

#bechloe week 2023 #bechloe week #bechloe week 23 #bechloe #pitch perfect fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #pitch perfect fanfic #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect #beca #chloe #bechloe fanfiction #bechloe fic #bechloe fanfic #pitch perfect fic #no matter the timeline

[slamminslamminmcgill]

Castigo - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW!)

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

This wasn’t happening. This didn’t feel real. You made one mistake. Granted, it was a big one, but you never would have thought the consequences would be this. You thought he loved you, that you were more than just an employee to him, but you weren’t. You weren’t even that. You were a plaything, a doll, a toy that he could throw away when it no longer did what he wanted. You didn’t do what he wanted, and that meant you were broken. You were broken, and you needed to be fixed. 

tags/warnings: cnc/noncon/dubcon, forced oral, forced penetration, forced orgasm, squirting, knifeplay, cutting, bloodplay, face slapping, degradation/humiliation, punishment, dacryphilia, physical/emotional/sexual abuse, gaslighting, homophobic slurs, dead dove: do not eat

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy, dick

words: 5,585

ao3 link

author's notes: fics to make my therapist read ♥ as always please correct me if you notice any mistakes in the spanish dialogue

Life as a street distributor was often as boring as it was illegal.

Sometimes, you’d be posted up against the wall of a building, your designated spot for the day, and told to just wait. That’s it. Just wait until someone asks you what you got. It wasn’t that bad, in all honesty. You’d definitely had worse jobs. The few weeks you’d spent as a front-line soldier of the cartel had already taught you quite a bit about patience and discipline. Plus, your supervisor Lalo seemed to like you, if the nights you spent in his bed were any indication. Nevertheless, you didn’t get any special treatment when it came to work. He knew better than to spoil you; he didn’t want you going soft on him. 

You were absentmindedly checking your phone when a regular customer approached you. You relaxed your posture and sighed in relief. Regulars were easy. As long as they had the money, and they weren’t wearing a wire, you were clear to sell. His name was Emilio and he was actually a cousin of one of your coworkers, Domingo. Everyone in the cartel trusted him, but you still had to go through the formalities. 

You gave him a fist bump and spoke with a firm but friendly voice. “Alright man, you know the drill. Shirt up.” 

Emilio groaned. “Man, I wasn’t wearing no wire when I bought from you last week!”

You weren’t budging. “‘S not my rule. C’mon. Lemme see.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” He begrudgingly lifted up his tank top and turned around, giving you a clear view of both sides. No cables. All good. He dropped his shirt and spun back around before handing you a fistful of cash. “Just need an eight ball.”

“Got it,” you replied, counting the cash. It was all there. “Okay, you’re good.” You knelt down on the pavement and reached for your backpack. 

“Damn right, I’m good. How’s Domingo been?”

You didn’t look up to answer him. “He’s been doing really well, actually,” you said as you unzipped the bag. You put away the cash and dug around for an eighth. “Rumor is he’s up for a promotion soon.” You grabbed a small bag of coke and got up from the ground, ready to hand it off when one word stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Freeze!”

Your neck snapped in the direction of the unfamiliar voice. A cop was pointing a gun at you. 

 Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

Lalo had told you what to do when this happened, but all the instructions he’d given went out the window the second you were actually staring down the barrel of a firearm. You figured going full deer in the headlights was the wrong move. With not many appealing options in front of you, your instincts were telling you to run. You dropped the coke and took off like a bat out of hell, bracing yourself for the sound of gunshots behind you. You didn’t look back. You didn’t check on Emilio. You just fucking booked it, heading wherever adrenaline would take you. 

Thankfully, you were only a few blocks from El Michoacáno. You ducked into a nearby alley and tried to listen for footsteps, but you couldn’t hear much over your own hyperventilating. You determined the coast was clear, and headed into the restaurant, swinging the door open and storming inside in a frenzy. 

Inside, Domingo and Lalo were set up at a table, and they both jumped when you flashbanged them with the door. Lalo got up from his seat and approached you, noticing the panic on your face.

“Woah! Hey, calm down, chico. Calm down. It’s over now.” He pulled you into a warm embrace and petted your hair, shushing you and rubbing your back. Lalo was always so soothing, so nurturing, you’d soon forgotten what trouble you’d just barely escaped from. You two weren’t exactly a secret, so he didn’t mind showing you tiny bits of affection in front of others, just as long as it didn’t reflect badly on him. He leaned down to kiss your forehead and spoke with a gentle voice, “Now,” he tilted your chin up so you could see him, “can you tell me what happened? Were you robbed?”

You shook your head. “N-no, I was… I was selling over by…” You swallowed some air you desperately needed, “...over by Los Pollos, where you wanted me, a-and I…” you raised a shaky hand and pointed at Domingo. “Your cousin came up and wanted to buy… so I gave him an eighth and a… cop… a cop saw us.”

“Emilio?” Domingo got up from his chair and walked over to you two. “Is he okay?” Lalo let you out of his arms so you could answer him. 

“I… I didn’t see… When the cop came up to us, he had his…” you gulped, “he had his gun out… and I didn’t know what to do so I just ran. I didn’t see what happened to him…”

Sure enough, Domingo’s phone started ringing. “That’s probably him. I’ll be right back.” He stepped outside to answer his phone, leaving you and Lalo alone together.

Lalo gripped your shoulders before he asked his next question. “So, you just ran away?”

You nodded.

Lalo sighed disappointedly, but he didn’t seem mad. He spoke like an exasperated teacher reprimanding a student. “I thought I told you, nene (baby). If that happens, you have to let them pick you up. It’s gonna make things worse if you run. I know it’s scary, but I promise we’ll come get you af-” He noticed something that stopped him mid-sentence. His brow furrowed, he let go of your shoulders, and his voice was more sinister. “Where’s your bag?”

What? What did he just ask you? You patted your shoulders, and your heart sank. You spun around to look for a backpack that wasn’t there. “Oh no… oh no no no no no… I must’ve left it there. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lalo.”

“You left it there?” Lalo asked, contempt and disbelief dripping from his words. Thankfully, Domingo came back inside before he could question you further.

“That was Emilio,” Domingo said as he flipped his phone shut, “He’s down at the station. Cop was going after him ‘cause he had a warrant. He wasn’t concerned about you,” he gestured in your direction, “He didn’t even chase after you, but he took your bag as evidence. Must’ve thought it was Emilio’s. Apparently, whatever you had in there was enough to charge him with intent to distribute, too.”

Lalo stared daggers into you. If looks could kill, you’d be lying on a medical examiner’s table before you knew it. “So you weren’t even in any trouble…” He clenched his fist and swore under his breath. “Carajo (Damn it)… What's his bail?”

“He didn’t say,” Domingo shrugged, “But a repeat offense? Gonna be around $20k, at least, if they even give it to him.”

“Pinches cerdos (Fucking pigs)…” Lalo growled as he reached in his pocket. “No se pueden tomarlo de la mochila que robaban de nosotros? Maldita cosa probablemente tiene lo suficiente dentro. (They can’t take it from the bag they stole from us? Damn thing probably has enough in it.)” He grabbed two wads of cash and tossed them at Domingo. “Acá. Usa eso para negociar con los cerdos, y cuando vuelvas, dime que te digan. (Here. Use that to negotiate with the pigs, and when you come back, let me know what they tell you.)”

Domingo caught the cash and nodded. “Sí, Don Eduardo.” The title felt a little much, but he knew better than to risk disrespecting him right now. He went back outside and headed for the station.

“¿Y tú? (And you?)” Lalo turned his attention back to you, “You are going to come with me.” He grabbed you by your wrist and led you to the back of the restaurant. He let go of you to unlock the door to a room you’d never seen before. It appeared to be a makeshift office, and it was surprisingly roomy. There was a desk covered with papers, a chair, a couch, and not much else. “Get inside,” he demanded.

You could feel your heart thumping in your chest as you crossed the threshold. This was pure terror in every sense of the word. If you had known that this was the alternative, you would have turned yourself in to that cop the moment you saw him. You could hear Lalo lock the door behind you, and you turned around to face him, only to be met with a sharp backhand.

“¡Idiota! (Idiot!)” He slapped you again. “¡Hijo de puta! (Son of a bitch!) Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You lost us thousands, all because what, some donut-eating gringo pointed a gun at you? You got scared, so you drop everything and run away like a pathetic little bunny rabbit?” He spat bile at you, breathing heavily, veins bulging in his forehead. You had never seen him so angry, and you prayed to God you’d never see it again.

You could feel the tears bubbling in your eyes as you begged for mercy, your voice threatening to crack at any second. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Lalo… It’ll never happen again, I promise…”

“Oh, it won’t, I’m going to make sure of that.” He slapped you across the face once more, and pulled you up by your hair to look at him. “You need to realize something, cabrón (asshole). Working closely with me is a privilege. Everything you do under me reflects on me. If you look weak, it makes me look weak, and I am not weak. And I am not going to give the bosses a reason to think I’m weak. I have to show them that I do not tolerate cowards. Do you understand?”

You answered instinctively, but stopped yourself from making yet another mistake, “Yes, La-, I mean… yes, sir…” You dropped your gaze to the floor, too ashamed to face him. 

“You understand that you need to be punished?”

“Yes, Don Eduardo…” You could only imagine what that meant, and you couldn’t picture anything good. You closed your eyes as your tear ducts began to overflow, your body trembling in fear. 

“Bien.” Lalo reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black object. “Take your clothes off.”

“Wh… what?”

“I said…” His thumb flicked a switch on the object’s side, and out popped a sharp blade. “Take your clothes off. You gonna disobey this order, too?”

“N-no, sir…” You wept softly as you unbuttoned your shirt with shaking fingers. He’d seen you like this before, but this time, you felt an unfamiliar shame wash over you. Your face was on fire, and the tears did nothing to quench the flames. 

Lalo was unphased. When you’d undressed in front of him previously, he was excited, almost giddy even. Now, he just looked hungry. “From now on, you’re going to do exactly what I say, when I say it. You do not say no, you do not argue with me, and you do not run. I don’t care where you are, who you’re with, or what you’re doing. If I tell you to strip, you strip. You got that?”

You sobbed as you kicked your shoes off and slid your pants down. “Yes… sniff… Yes, Don Eduardo…” Your fingers stopped at the waistband of your underwear, and you looked up at him. You weren’t sure whether to ask for approval or mercy, but your pleading eyes conveyed the message regardless. 

Lalo pointed the knife at you. “Go on. Those too.” 

You dropped your underwear around your ankles, stepping out of your clothes and kicking them to the side. The room felt much colder now that there was nothing to shield you from the draft blowing through. In the same vein, Lalo’s gaze was much more chilling now that there was nothing to protect your body from him. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for his next move.

Lalo approached you with malicious intent. He took a fistful of your hair and shoved you to the floor. “Kneel,” he said, as if you had any choice in the matter. 

Your eyes jolted open when you hit the floor. Your vision was blurry from your crying, but you saw something. There was a faint glint in the dim room, a lighthouse that guided you towards it. You blinked the teardrops away and realized what you saw; your own reflection in the steel blade. You wanted to scream; you wanted to run, but you knew that would only make things worse. With fight and flight both off the table, you froze. 

Lalo caught you staring at the knife. He could tell what you were thinking. “Oh, this? This is just…” he pressed the flat side against your cheek, the cool, lifeless metal practically sizzling your burning skin, “to keep you in line, y’know? Seems like you need a reminder. Hopefully, I won’t have to use it. Now," His fingers detangled themselves from your hair, “you,” and shifted to undo his belt, “have a debt to pay. Isn’t that right? Because of your ‘quick thinking’, you owe me a lot of money. But, I’m feeling generous. I’ll let you pay it off another way.” He had an uncanny smile on his face, as if he had somehow forgotten how angry he was just moments ago. His belt dropped to the floor, the buckle clattering as it hit the ground.

You winced at the sound of the belt clanging against the tile. Reality became too much to bear, so you just sobbed into your palms. This wasn’t happening. This didn’t feel real. You made one mistake. Granted, it was a big one, but you never would have thought the consequences would be this. You thought he loved you, that you were more than just an employee to him, but you weren’t. You weren’t even that. You were a plaything, a doll, a toy that he could throw away when it no longer did what he wanted. You didn’t do what he wanted, and that meant you were broken. You were broken, and you needed to be fixed. 

Lalo crouched down, set the knife on the floor, and pulled your hands away from your face. “Shh… shh… don’t worry. It’ll be okay. You just need to do what I ask, sí? This is what happens when you don’t listen to me. Come on, tell me you’ll listen to me. I need to know that I won’t have to do this again.”

Talking felt impossible. Your throat was raspy and chafed, tears and snot coated your face. Your whole body jerked as you cried. You were suffocating on your own misery. 

Lalo cooed to you and stroked your cheek. He was staring right into you. It was horrifying, more so than when he was yelling at you. At least then, you knew he was upset. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a gentle hug from a serial killer, a kiss from poisoned lipstick. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I don’t want to do this either,” Lie, “but I have to,” truth, “You need to know who’s in charge," two truths and a lie, “Just tell me you’ll listen to me.”

You choked the words out, or more accurately, you choked out a series of pained noises that sounded like the words he wanted you to say. “I’ll… sniff… l-listen… sniff… to… sniff… you…”

“There we go, good boy!” He ruffled your hair, an action you loved in the past, a nurturing gesture that showed he cared for you. Now, it just felt like an extra layer of mockery. He stood up straight again, though not before picking the knife up off the ground. “I’ll go easy on you, okay?” 

What sounded like a lie to you was the truth for him. This was going easy on you, as far as he was concerned. You didn’t want to think about what a second offense would entail, but no matter. After today, you would be the most docile, obedient henchman the cartel had on their payroll. 

“Alright, so, first thing I need you to do,” Lalo unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, already hard, leaking precum from his slit. You were on your knees staring down on it, so it didn’t take you long to put two and two together. The knife pressed against your cheek once more, and you flinched. The blade was a harsher command than his voice, although the latter was still pretty harsh: “Suck it.”

You didn’t hesitate to take him into your mouth, though understandably, not as enthusiastic as you’d done prior. Your motions were slow, tepid, cautious of the deadly weapon up against your face, but Lalo didn’t care. This wasn’t about sexual gratification; this was about subjugation. 

Lalo sighed, tilting his head back and relaxing himself to truly savor your mouth. “That’s a good boy,” Ironically, this was one of the best blowjobs he’d ever gotten. The blend of tears and spit made for the perfect lubricant. If only you cried every time you gave him head. I could arrange that, he thought. “Cry all you want, muñequito (little doll), you brought this upon yourself.”

The truth of his statement hit hard. As much as you didn’t want to think of it, he was right. This never would have happened if you just did what you were supposed to. You stopped sucking and merely blubbered around him, and as your body convulsed, your teeth just barely grazed his skin. 

“¡Mierda (Shit!)!” Lalo shouted and flicked his wrist, slicing your cheek with the knife. You shrieked in pain and pulled off him, your hand pressing against the wound to stop the blood. The rage was back in full swing. “¡Pinche puto inútil! ¡No puedes hacer nada correcto! (Fucking useless bitch! You can’t do anything right!) I told you to suck, not bite!”

Your heart was pounding, your chest heaving, your naked body shivering on your knees, your mind racing. You were having a panic attack, an apt name for the symptoms. The only thing you could feel was panic. Sheer. Fucking. Panic. You couldn’t even make sense of what he was saying. Bite? Did he say bite? But you didn’t bite him! If anything, you barely nicked him! You didn’t mean to anyway! Didn’t he understand?! Why was he doing this to you?! You couldn’t even think of an apology, let alone a defense. You were running on instinct and adrenaline. You were the scared, helpless little bunny he saw you as. All you could do was sit there, hang your head in shame, and let your tears, drool, and blood drip onto the floor.

“Ay, ay, mírame. Mírame, te cabrón. (Look at me. Look at me, you bitch.)” Lalo yanked your hair to pull your face up from the floor. “Explain yourself. You wanna tell me what the fuck that was?”

You couldn’t catch up to your breath. The shallow hits of oxygen you could take were not nearly enough. You were gasping for air as you tried to speak. “It… I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

Lalo cackled, “Oh, I know, conejito (little bunny). Trust me, I know. You think I’ve forgotten what a whore you are? I know you can suck cock better than that! Here, lemme see.” He pulled your hand away from your cheek so he could examine the wound. Your palm was coated in blood, but it was just a laceration. You were fine, well, fine in this regard at least. Everything else about you was pretty fucking far from fine. “Looks pretty messy, but you’ll be okay. The bleeding’s already slowing down.” He said matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t just slash your face open over a bodily function. He laughed again, warmer this time, though he still had a sinister grin on his face. “Well, I guess your mouth is out of commission, eh? Too much going on?” He looked at you like he was waiting for a response.

The way he could switch personalities in an instant gave you whiplash. He just cut you with a fucking switchblade, and now he was laughing like you just told a casual joke at a dinner party, like there was nothing out of the ordinary. This was the worst day of your life, and for him, it was just another Tuesday. Same shit as always. You just stared at him petrified. There were no words. 

Lalo didn’t mind. “Hey, hey, I get it. It’s okay. I won’t make you do that anymore. I told you I’d go easy on you,” You sighed in relief, relief that was unwarranted, you’d come to find, “We’ll just have to do something else.” You barely got a millisecond to parse the meaning of that before he slapped his hand over your mouth and pushed you onto your back.

You tried to scream, but it was no use. His hand formed a tight seal over your lips. Any noise you tried to make would just vibrate against his palm. He shushed you, climbed on top of you, and pointed the knife at your face.

“Cálmate, chiquito, cálmate. (Calm down, baby boy, calm down.) It’s gonna be better this way, I promise,” He took his hand off your mouth and brought it down to your cunt, making your whole body clench up. “You don’t have teeth down here, do you?” He chuckled, clearly very satisfied with himself, “I’d better check.” He nestled his fingers in between your lips, elated to find that you were already wet.  It was from crying, sure, but that didn’t matter to him. “Oh, wow! Look at that! You like this? I knew it!” He cackled again, “I knew you were a dirty little slut! ¡Qué lindo! (So cute!)”

You didn’t answer. You just hid your face in your hands and bawled, smearing blood and tears all over your face. You didn’t like it. He knew you didn’t like it. He just didn’t care. He was going to say anything he could to make you feel like trash. 

“Hey, c’mon, look at me,” Lalo set the knife down so he could pin your wrists above your head, exposing yourself to him. His other hand slipped two fingers inside you, dragging them along your walls. You grimaced, but he was right there to talk you through it. “No, no. Don’t make that face. It feels good, right? Dios mío (My god), you’re acting like I want to hurt you, or something.”

You couldn’t even process the irony of what he was saying. Like “You’re acting like I want to hurt you” was a perfectly reasonable thing to say to someone whose face you just cut a fucking hole in. He continued to pump and twist his fingers inside you, stretching you out for what was sure to come. His eyes were locked with yours the whole time, reminding you that there was nothing you could do. There was nowhere for you to run. This was your punishment, your penance, your redemption. Though there were no words said, his uncaring facial expression conveyed the message: This is your fault. You heard it loud and clear, and all you could do was weep. He pressed into your g-spot, causing you to arch your back and cry out.

“That’s it! Good boy!” Lalo taunted, pressing into that spot over and over again. You writhed and wailed in agony. This was humiliating. Pure, unadulterated misery. You tightened around him every time you sobbed, and it did not go unnoticed. Lalo raised an eyebrow. “Oh? ¿Qué es esto? ¿Te gusta? Te lo debe gustar. ¡Me estás apretando tan fuerte! Yo sabía que lo querías. Es porque eres un guarro sucio, cierto? (What’s this? You like it? You must like it. You’re squeezing me so hard! I knew you wanted it. It’s because you’re a dirty whore, yeah?) Right? Come on, say it. Say that you’re a whore.”

You cried even harder, which made you grip him even tighter. Saying the words felt like acid bubbling in your throat. “I’m… a… whore! I’m a whore! I’m a whore!”

Lalo smiled and praised you like a dog, “Good boy! Yes you are! Oh, you’re so smart, so obedient. Go ahead, you can cum for me. Let me feel it.”  

He ripped your orgasm from you soon after, and you squirted against his hand, much to your despair. You felt like a sloppy mess. You were covered in blood, sweat, tears, spit, snot and now, as if that wasn’t enough your own cum. You didn’t even get a second to cry before Lalo shoved his fingers into your open mouth.

“Lick it up, whore. You need to clean up your mess,” He held his fingers in your mouth and let you suck them clean. He pulled out when he was satisfied. “Now, say thank you.”

“Thank you…” You really didn’t want to, but you didn’t have a choice.

Lalo smiled. “Did that feel good?”

Physically? Maybe. Emotionally? Not even close. But you weren’t going to say that. “Y-Yes…” You lied. 

“Aw, good boy. You’re welcome.” He grabbed your legs and wrapped them around his waist before pressing his forehead against yours. “This is gonna feel even better.” He whispered, caught your lips in a kiss, and pushed inside of you.

You screamed into his mouth and wrapped your arms around him. You weren’t sure why. Maybe you were seeking comfort. Maybe you did it so you could pretend that this was normal, that this wasn’t what you thought it was. Lalo wouldn’t do this, right? Lalo would never rape you. He would never hit you. He would never put a knife up to your face. He would never cut you. He loved you. He always told you that. You were his conejito (little bunny), his cariño (sweetheart), his cielo (sky), all those cute Spanish terms of endearment that gave you butterflies in your stomach; he meant every single one, every single time he said it. This was a bad dream. It must have been. You would wake up in his bed any moment now, and he’d be there to kiss you awake and ask you how you slept. You would say bad, you had a nightmare. You dreamt that he hurt you. He would be there to comfort you, to pull you into his arms, to tell you he wouldn’t dare to do something like that. This wasn’t real. The longer you kept your eyes shut, the less real it felt… 

…but the slap across your face felt all too real.

You were thrust back into your waking nightmare. Lalo was staring you down. You tried to blink the tears away, but you must have kept your eyelids down for a second too long. He slapped you again.

“Don’t. Close. Your eyes.” He growled and picked up the switchblade. “I need you to watch. I need you to see what happens when you cross me.” He pressed the knife against your throat. 

Your crying stopped dead in its tracks. One wrong move, and you would bleed out on the floor. You stared him down, quite literally watching your life flash before your eyes.

Once he was sure he had your attention, he started to move his hips, coring you out on the cold tile in the back of the restaurant. You sobbed in time with his thrusts, squeezing around him as you did so.

Lalo loved it. He threw his head back and moaned, louder than you had ever heard him before. “¡Ay, Dios mío!” He shouted, “Te sientes tan putamente bueno. No tienes ni idea que desesperadamente yo necesitaba esto, (You feel so fucking good. You have no idea how badly  I needed this.)” he sneered, “Quédate llorando, maricón. Tu panocha se aprieta cuando lloras. (Keep crying, faggot. Your pussy tightens when you cry.)”

You did as he asked you; you kept crying. Even though your throat was burning, your voice was hoarse, and you couldn’t see or breathe through the tears and snot, you kept crying. And he kept thrusting. And moaning. And enjoying every second of this torture. 

“Bien hecho, niño (Good job, boy)” He smacked you again, just for fun this time. He noticed the blood on his hand, and you could see the evil plan hatching in his mind. He dipped his fingers in your blood, and used it as ink to write something across your chest. You couldn’t see it, but from the way he was laughing at it, maybe you didn’t want to see it. “Oh, that’s good. That’s really good. You know what? I don’t think I need this anymore.” He took the knife away from your neck and tossed it to the side. “I think you get the picture.” 

You did. You got the picture. It was a picture of brutality. It was an impressionist landscape of the ninth circle of hell. Art conveys a message, and this painting’s message was “Do as I say, or I’ll fucking cut you.” You understood.

Lalo knew you did, but he still wanted you to prove yourself. “You do understand, right? Tell me you understand.”

You nodded, gasping for air in between broken speech. “Y-Yes…”

“No,” He replied, “Say, ‘Yes, Don Eduardo, I understand.’”

“Y-Yesss… Don… Don Eduardo… I under… I understand…”

“Good boy. Now,” He started to stroke your achingly hard dick, as if you needed any more stimulation right now, “Say you’re sorry. Tell me you’re sorry for being a stupid bitch.”

You wailed, bucking your hips up into his hand. “I’m s-s-sorry… I’m sorry for being a stupid b-bitch…”

“Say it again. Apologize and say, ‘Thank you for treating me like a slut. I deserve this.’”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… Tha-ah! Thank you for… for treating me like a slu-... like a slut… I… I deserve this…”

“That’s right. You do deserve this. You know why?” He leaned in to whisper right in your ear as he violated you. “Because you’re nothing without me. You’re nothing but a tight, wet hole for me. You’re garbage. You’re a dirty whore. Say it.”

You didn’t want to say it, but you wanted this to be over, so you did, as painful as it was. You recited your lines. “I’m no-oh!... n-nothing without you… I’m nothing but a… h-hole, for you… I’m g-ah!... garbage… I’m a dirty whore…”

Lalo did not relent. He could feel you throbbing and leaking out against him. It wouldn’t be long now. He jerked you even faster. “Say it again, come on. You’re almost there. Say, ‘I’m a dirty whore, Don Eduardo. I’m sorry I disobeyed you.” 

You spat the words out through a slurry of wet cries and moans. “I’m… a-ah! A dirty… wh-whore! D-Don Edua-ah! Don Eduardo! I’m… s-sorry I- Oh, god! I’m sorry! I’m sorry I disobeyed you!”

“Are you gonna cum for me?” 

“Y-Yes! Yes! Ah! Oh, god! Fuck!”

He slapped you one last time. “Then do it, bitch.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt and you pulled him tight against you as you came. Fluid rushed out of you and bathed his cock in your suffering. He pulled himself out, hissing as the cool air hit him, and stroked himself to completion. He came with a loud groan and splattered all over your chest. Great. Now you had another bodily fluid added to the mess. You had never felt so fucking disgusting.

Lalo took in the putrid sight before him, and he started to laugh. Because of course he did. He was proud of himself. This was a game to him. The game was “So you think you can decimate a human soul?” and he had the high score.

He stopped laughing for a moment to compose himself. “Oh my god! This is perfect! Man, I did a good job with you! Hang on, you gotta see this.” 

You just stared up at the ceiling while he dug around for something. At least it was over now, right? You could go about the rest of your life. The days would stack against each other, and eventually, the memory would fade into nothing. At least, that’s what you thought before you heard a camera click.

“Here,” Lalo handed you your phone, “Look at this the next time you think about running.”

You looked at the picture. It was a time capsule of your shame. Your beaten, abused, ruined body, captured on film. Memorialized in eternity. You got to see what he drew on your chest. It was the word “WHORE”, in all capital letters, written in your own blood. No sound came out of you as you wept. He had silenced you.

Lalo’s sadism was gone. His face and his voice had softened. “Oh, pobrecito, ven aquí, (Oh, you poor thing, come here.)” He pulled you into his arms and let you cry into his chest. Your lover was back, and it was like he never left. He shushed you and rubbed your back, mirroring the compassion he had shown you earlier today. “Let it out, chiquito. Está bien. It’s okay. It’s over now. You did it. I’m so proud of you, but just remember…” He pulled your face out of his chest and tilted you up to see him.

“I won’t be as nice next time.”

#better call saul #bcs #better call saul x reader #bcs x reader #better call saul smut #lalo salamanca #lalo salamanca smut #lalo salamanca x reader #cnc tw #cnc ftm #lalo salamanca x ftm reader #bcs smut #bcs imagine #better call saul imagine #lalo salamanca imagine #dacryphilia #knifeplay #bloodplay #dead dove do not eat

[jgroffdaily]

https://ohnotheydidnt.livejournal.com/30289948.html?

A Playbill interview with Jonathan from 2008 - excerpts:

Audition song: It truly depends on the show. My favorite was singing the "Saved By the Bell" theme song at a Mamma Mia! EPA a few years ago. They didn't find it amusing.

Special skills: Belly dancing and popping my back out

Current show you have been recommending to friends: The last one I saw was 50 Words at the Lortel. It was great. Norbert Leo Butz and Elizabeth Marvel were incredible.

Favorite show tune: The one that's been in my head most recently is "Dividing Day" from Piazza

Most played song on your iPod: I don't have an iPod… don't be mad.

One CD you couldn't live without: Ray LaMontagne's "Till The Sun Turns Black"

Last book you read: "On the Road" and "The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test"

Must-see TV show: "Alias"

Last good movie you saw: "Rachel Getting Married"

Favorite board game: Clue

Performer you would drop everything to go see: Sutton Foster

Pop culture guilty pleasure: Youtube. And Beyonce. And both at the same time.

First stage kiss: Emily Fritz in our 8th grade play called Best in the West

Favorite pre-/post-show meal: I enjoy sushi before a show, and pretzels with cheese and Diet Coke after a show.

How you got your Equity card: Playing Nick Piazza in Fame at The North Shore Music Theater. I waited in line for 2 days to get seen for that show… I was so excited!

Worst flubbed line/missed cue/onstage mishap: Completely forgetting the lyrics in "Left Behind" in Spring Awakening. I just kept singing "All things… All things… All things…" over and over again. The worst was seeing the whole cast sitting on the lip of the stage, their shoulders shaking with laughter. "Totally Fucked" never rang so true…

Worst costume ever: My lederhosen that I wore as Rolf on The Sound of Music tour. They were great at first, but were never washed. By the end of the tour, I had stretched them out so much it looked like I pooped my pants.

Cats or dogs? Cats. I grew up with a lot of farm cats. As a matter of fact, I brought two Amish cats to the Chelsea Grill when I waited tables there, to prevent any rodents from coming into the basement. The cats are still happily living there.

Favorite cereal: Golden Grahams.

Who would play you in the movie? I'd love to see Christine Estabrook do it.

#jonathan groff #interview #2008 #retro

[saltbind]

happy ww will!!!

so as seen in the first episode with the ghostfacers, what the show shows us isn't necessarily entirely in line with the full "roughness" of how sam and dean are (referring to the swearing scene), what headcanons do you have for other "unacceptable" things sam and dean do that the show didn't "let us see"?

oh man. well first of all they are way, way weirder with their closeness that we see even prior to actual fucking. of course they are. sam’s wandering in to brush his teeth while deans jerking off in the shower and it’s normal. dean’s fucking someone in the backseat while sam reads on the hood. that kind of thing.

constant swearing. no crap or friggin’ here dean swears like someone raised in truck stops and shittu motels. sam is more of a precision f strike kind of guy, except during sex where he slips back into his natural dialect (that he learned from dean).

sam and dean both smoked when they were younger. dean still does, sam only smokes when stressed. they both use pot occasionally when they can get it and they have the spare cash and they like to shotgun because it’s not technically kissing.

sam did poppers, ecstasy and coke during college. he didn’t really like the coke on account of how intensely paranoid it made him.

dean has sampled pretty much everything but he largely doesn’t use after he gets back from hell because they don’t affect him much anymore on account of that Big Empty in him.

sam almost definitely self harmed either preseries or during canon and his sex is way kinkier than shown on screen. even in cw spn he was drinking blood while he fucked a demon. that man’s a freak and i love it.

the both of them occasionally (post-we-fucked-for-the-first-time and pre-talking-about-our-feelings) initiated no kissing no talking no eye contact no strings incestuous sex with each other. ala @applecrumbledore’s incredible Yesterday, Minnesota.

post-getting-together-for-reals it’s just all incest all the time with occasional party guests.

#sam winchester #dean winchester #samdean #drugs #self harm