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ash5monster01 · 4 days ago

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Empty Without You

Summary: Cameron returns to his dorm after Neil's death and Charlie's expulsion, feeling the weight of what he had done.

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist

The room is dark when Cameron enters it, shutting the door behind him. Welton’s walls had always been cold but now they were somehow colder. He thinks of all the times he prayed for a single dorm, for some God damn peace and quiet. Now the empty space across from his feels as big as the hole in his heart. He thought what he did was right, it felt right, so why did he suddenly feel so guilty? He had been raised his whole life to respect elders, follow the rules, and be honest. That’s what he did. That’s what he has always known.

Wincing at the lack of warmth and the bare bed on the now empty side of the room, he rushes to his closet to remove his uniform. His head hurts as he loosens his tie and hangs up the blazer so it doesn’t crease. His side of the room had always been neat, organized, and now he wanted to tear it apart. The earth felt off its axis, the room so uneven that it might tip over. There was no disaster to match his cleanliness. He wasn’t tripping over strewn pants and rolling his eyes at the way the sheets would hang off the side of the empty bed.

Once he was in a T-shirt and some pajama pants he pulled off his covers more forcefully than he ever has before, tugging the fabric from under the mattress where it was perfectly tucked. When he had made his bed this morning he hadn’t expected to go to sleep like this. His heart ached and for the first time in his life he had felt incomplete. Tears well in his eyes when the reminder of the day comes back to him.

“You told Nolan everything about the club is what I'm talking about. “

“He's a rat! He's in it up to his eyes, so he ratted to save himself.”

He hadn’t expected to be seen so clearly. To be so noticed by his peers and known so well that they could predict his actions before he even did them. A part of him knew he would lose his friends for the things he did but he had hoped, wished they could see that he did what he thought was right. Now he couldn't erase the image of the way his friends' faces looked, forget the way blood spilled from his nose that felt burning hot from how hard he was hit. Their words rung in his ears over and over again, especially Todd's.

“That is not true, Cameron. You know that. He didn't put us up to anything. Neil loved acting.”

He had never seen him so passionate, so loud, so confident. It occurred to him at that moment that maybe they had all been changed for the better. He thinks of Neil who had beamed brighter in the last few months than he had ever seen him. Replays the play in his head and how happy Neil looked before that curtain closed. He can still vividly remember the way they cheered and clapped, a team, a family as they all shared a sense of pride over their friend. Then he thinks of Charlie.

Loud, overbearing, obnoxious Charlie. Torturous years of being his roommate and putting up with his shit. Every snarky comment and rude glance, never picking up after himself or being patient when Cameron helped him with his homework. Cameron had rued his very existence and had never considered until now how integrated Charlie was into his everyday life. All those annoyances and nitpicking just to discover he had been fond of it all along. The dorm no longer felt like home and a part of him wonders when Charlie went from an enemy to a friend. A friend he had now wronged. A friend who had every right to hit him as hard as he did.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the bed across from his, the sheets stripped away, the desk no longer cluttered with papers, the closet bare of shirts half hanging off their hangers. There was no saxophone melody interrupting his studying, or lamp light left on when Charlie fell asleep and Cameron had to get out of bed to turn it off. Charlie had always been noise and without him there was too much quiet. A quiet Cameron once enjoyed and now felt trapped in.

Closing his eyes he can hear the knock that sounds on the dorm door at 3am, the way he answered it half asleep just to find Dr. Hager who asks him to wake Charlie. He can feel the wood of the door against his ear as he tries to listen to their hushed conversation in the hall. The image of Charlie crying when he steps back into the dorm burned into his mind. The swoosh of panic that rushed through his entire body at the sight because he loved Charlie too. He always had even if he didn't know it.

“Neils gone. He shot himself.”

Cameron squeezes his eyes shut, forcing the awful memory away, not wanting to recall how his own tears flooded and the way he and Charlie hugged so tightly like one of them would somehow disappear too. For just a moment it was only the two of them who knew and they had been there to comfort each other. For a single moment they were on the same side of the war. Two lost kids mourning their friend.

Flicking off the light of his own lamp he lets the darkness surround him, draping him in a blanket of loneliness he knows he may never escape for the next year and a half. Two of his friends were gone and the rest wouldn’t even look at him. This morning he had woken up a part of something and now he was going to bed the way he always feared. It was too late to make new friends and the only ones he wanted would probably never forgive him. The worst part is that he still knew he was right for telling the truth, but now he might've done it differently.

Keating hadn't deserved blame, Charlie had lost the one person who always loved him along with all his other friends, and Cameron never got to tell him how much he had appreciated him. The last words shared between them were vicious and hateful, and the biggest regret he had was not saying goodbye. Hiding like a coward as he packed up his things and left the dorm and Welton for good. Letting Charlie's last memory of him be exactly as he always accused him, a fink and a bad friend. Instead of telling him how he would always regret what he did and how much he would miss him. How empty things were without him.

Now Cameron would live in the darkness of his actions, all alone, being misunderstood by the world around him. Nothing else to live for but the path his parents had set him up for. He would become a lawyer, or a businessman, maybe even a banker. No one ever knowing that poetry and art had once given him something he never thought he would have.

Friends.

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ash5monster01 · 4 days ago

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Can I get a taco for here with onion rings and a margarita ? 🤭

Order #12

Now Serving!

Main Course: Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd x FemReader

Ingredients: 18+, MDNI, smut, semi public sex, language, teasing, use of alcohol/drugs, dirty talk, no use of protection, fluff

Meal: Pink smut, enemies to lovers, and semi public sex.

Total: $27.46 = 2.7k words

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Nothing could seem to fix your attitude, not even the drink in your hand or the weed buzzing through your system. Pickford had tried his hardest to get the smile to return to your face but none of it was working for you. For one of the first times in your life, you didn’t care to be at any party, especially a Moon Tower one where all your classmates seemed to stumble over themselves drunk, happy, and oblivious to your own problems. Then again, was it even really a problem?

“Oh shit, sorry,” an all too familiar voice says, loud enough to be close from the distant party. Behind where all of the party goers' cars were parked was an open field, long grass surrounding you like a cushion as you lay staring up at the stars. When you turn your head, you discover the one and only Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd was the intruder of your momentary bliss.

“Oh, it’s you,” he says with a slight sneer that would normally make you scoff and roll your eyes. Yet when you turn back away, uninterested in his attempts to bother you, you gain his curiosity instead.

“Is-is everything okay?” he asks, coughing into his fist almost like it pains him to be nice to you. The rivalry with Pink never stunted from a single moment. You couldn’t quite recall when your distaste with each other started. The earliest you could remember was him pulling your hair when he sat behind you in the 2nd grade. After that it seemed you both would always bicker no matter what.

“Not really, it’s stupid,” you say, arms crossing over your chest without looking back at him. Pink dares a glance over his shoulder, the two of you still hidden by the shield of cars and voices drowned out by the loud party music. Mentally cursing himself, he treads into the heavy brush and settles on the ground beside you.

“Considering most of your concerns are stupid, care to share?” he asks and that earns him a harsh glare. As much as you despised him though, a part of you was comforted he chose to stay by your side instead of returning to the party.

“Coach Conrad is threatening to fail me. I haven’t made a single goal for all of the soccer unit. He claims I’m purposely not trying but the truth is I can barely walk let alone kick a ball,” you mutter and of all things you didn’t expect was the irritated scoff that falls from Pink's lips. You expected a laugh or even a joke or two. Yet his shared annoyance makes you feel more like a team.

“Coach Conrad is an asshole who thinks he knows everything,” he tells you and the statement makes you feel better, just slightly. Not enough to erase the knowledge of the power Coach had over your grade. The fact looming like a storm cloud over your entire evening.

“Yeah, he thinks because Kevin, Michele, and I hang out that I'm too ‘burnt out’ to be capable of kicking a ball,” you repeat the Coach’s words back to him and Pink shakes his head, understanding your frustration with the man all too well. It’s the first common ground you both have shared in years.

“The irony is that I excelled at every other sport this whole year and yet the second I struggle, instead of taking all that work into consideration, he judges me for my friends,” you say, eyes cast over the big dipper that seems extra bright next to the Moon Tower in the night sky. Torn between the need of wanting to excel in school and also defending your friends.

“You just have to stick up to him, Coach Conrad is a dick but he usually backs off when you prove him wrong. When he caught me partying on the football field last year, I had to remind him that no matter the circumstance I was a good player on the field,” he tells you and it’s news to your ears. You always assumed the football players got it easy with the coaches because they didn’t want to risk losing them. Not that the coaches were just as hard on them, if not harder.

“And if that doesn't work and I still don't make a goal?” you question, playing out every way this conversation could go in your head. Pink turns to look at you and you force yourself not to look back.

“Well then I’ll help you. I’m not the best at soccer either but between us both I think we could manage one goal,” he says, shrugging like it's the most obvious answer to the predicament you were in. You want to be grateful but you can’t help the way your eyebrows draw together and you turn to him with a confused look.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you ask, voice accusatory like he’s up to something. You can see the surprise that flashes in his eyes, mouth parting in shock, and you internally scream when you find yourself wondering what his lips feel like.

“Beleive it or not, I forgot we didn't like each other there for a moment. I guess our shared distaste for Coach Conrad distracted me,” he claims but the real truth is he was distracted by how beautiful you looked sprawled out in the grass. Hair spread out like a crown above you, sundress tight and loose in all the right places, smooth skin on display. He hated how much he liked you.

“Wow, I mean it's definitely a step up from you pulling my hair,” you joke but you both freeze, the double innuendo heavy in the air between you. You could blame it on the weed and alcohol buzzing through both of your systems but even you couldn't convince yourself how true it was considering how alert you were at this very moment.

“I always thought you liked that,” he teases, long fingers grabbing a strand and twirling it. You freeze while anticipating his touch, something that shocks you to your very core. You had never yearned for him before. It was terrifying discovering the power he might hold.

“Isn’t there a lively party that’s calling your name?” you question, still aware the two of you were in this little bubble you created, far away from the chaos of your friends. Pink was popular amongst the crowd, girls most likely hunting for him just to fawn over, and his buddies waiting to light the next joint.

“Surprisingly I’m having more fun here with you than I was with them,” he admits, hair still tangled in his fingers and you almost shiver from his words. Your whole body betrays you as you realize you like being here with him and that you wanted more.

“I always figured you couldn’t stand being in my presence,” you whisper, unsure why the words leave you so quietly. Yet it must have something to do with how close his face suddenly is.

“No you’ve got that all wrong,” he whispers back and neither of you miss the way you suck in a short breath, surprised by the words and how intimate he sounded.

“Yeah, how so?” you ask, certain you were probably better off not knowing the answer. Yet you’re under a spell, entranced by him and the world around you fading to nothing.

“I couldn’t stand being in your presence and not having you to myself,” he admits and a heavy silence hangs in the air. Your head spinning as you replay every interaction you’d ever had with him. Every teasing comment and snarky glance had been a defensive mechanism the whole time. A part of you knows there are no words to tell him exactly how this makes you feel.

Instead, in an insane bout of courage, your body ends up right next to his, lips crashing against his own. You’re nervous for only a second, until he meets you just as eagerly, rolling over you and pressing you deeper into the soft grass. The beaming moon tower, stars, and fireflies all mixed together bring the fireworks in your stomach to life. A shocking surge of fondness rushes through you. Randall ‘Pink’ Floyd was kissing you and it felt good.

It was dizzying how easy it was, like the two of you had been doing this forever. All that hate and distaste for each other spiraling into something else. A hunger as he starts kissing you deeper and his torso settles between your legs. The hem of your dress rising enough that if he broke away he would see your panties. The idea turns you on more than expected and suddenly you're rolling your heat against him, searching for any sort of friction to ease the growing need inside of you.

“Careful baby,” he warns, heavy breaths leaving his lips, eyes still closed like he’s lost in the feel of you. He is so fucking pretty and your desperation for him becomes crystal clear. Two hours ago he may have been your sworn enemy but right now he was everything you ever wanted.

“I’m never careful,” you tell him, hands dragging down his chest, only one button of his blue shirt holding it together, It draped over you both like a blanket and you pop the button with no hesitation, shoving the fabric off his shoulders. Inviting him into your space before fingers catch in the hem of his jeans.

“God, I’m in trouble,” he says mostly to himself, seemingly aware of the fact that he would become addicted to you very fast. It was so much easier pretending to resent you and now he was falling hard and fast into the taste of something he never thought he would get.

You ignore his desperation to keep calm and instead begin to lift the hem of your dress, higher and higher until all he can see is your white panties, naval, and the bottom of your ribs. You visibly do not have a bra on and before you pull the fabric off your chest completely, his eyes meet yours with a sweetness you've never seen before.

“Are you sure?” he asks and you can only smile, no need to answer him with words as you lift to remove the dress from your form entirely. Pink glances up, suddenly aware you were still right on the outskirts of the thriving party behind you both. When the coast is clear his full attention returns to you.

He doesn't say anything else, instead his lips peck your own before trailing their way down, kissing your collar bone and sternum before sealing against your right nipple. You squirm underneath him, tugging him by his pants closer so you can feel his length grind against you. He’s hard in his pants and when his tongue swirls around the bud of your nipple, your palm grasps over him. The whine he lets out vibrates into your skin and nothing in the world can stop you from unbuttoning his pants and beginning to tug them down.

“Someone’s eager,” he teases but you just roll your eyes, watching the way he reacts when you pull him free and wrap your palm around his shaft. He tenses, holding back a moan as you brush your thumb gently over his tip before giving him a few good pumps.

“You know how to use this thing?” you jokingly ask. The question earns you a growl and forceful kiss in response. His own hands toying with the fabric of your panties. His tongue swirls against your own when finally one of his fingers dips under the fabric and between your folds.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles against your lips, teasing your bundle of nerves and your eyes squeeze shut as you fight the waterfall of whines trying to escape your lips.

“That’s what mixing weed and alcohol will do to you,” you tell him, getting lost in the way he touches you at the same pace you pump his cock. Suddenly he stops, stealing your pleasure, and forcing your eyes open. Looking in his eyes you realize he’s looking for the truth, not a joking comment.

“Fine, some of it had to do with you too,” you admit and he grins, fingers going back to work before he slides one into you. A sharp gasp falls from your lips, your forehead meeting his shoulder as he pumps it in and out of you.

“God, this is better than I ever imagined,” he mutters when he feels the way you flutter around his digit. You kiss his shoulder in a response. Sucking, licking, and biting until purple marks trail his collar bone.

“Please Pink, I need you inside of me,” you whisper into his ear and suddenly you’re lying flat against the ground. His hand leaves your heat just to tug your panties to the side. He groans at the sight of you before lining up his length with your entrance, lubricating himself with the wetness that has begun to drip to your thighs.

“Ready?” he asks and you nod eagerly, hands gripping his arms and leaving crescent moon marks from your nails. He pushes in slowly, torturously, and you are almost shocked by how much more of him there is the deeper he goes. He watches you with lust heavy eyes and your chest heaves at how good he feels and all the spots he hits just right. Something close to fondness flashes across his features before he kisses you, the both of you flush together as one.

He breaks apart from the kiss only a moment after before pulling halfway out and pumping back into you. The sensation nearly makes your eyes roll back into your head as he finds a rhythm, moving in and out of you at the perfect pace. You scrape nails down his arms and back, trying to cling onto anything that would steady you on earth. You can feel the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten, his breathy and soft moans turning you on more and more. You whine and call out his name in response, shocked no one from the party has heard you yet.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, hand groping over one of your breasts as he tries not to finish before you. You somehow manage a smile past all the sounds you can’t stop from leaving your mouth.

“I’m close,” you tell him and he wastes no time in using his free hand to rub fast circles onto your clit. You’re so wet that he barely needs to touch you. Your legs quiver as you fight the release, wanting the moment to last a second longer. Yet when his lips gently kiss your neck, your orgasm hits you hard and fast, your whole body jolting as the pleasure pulses through you. You hear and feel his sharp breath against your neck from the way you clamp down around him, squeezing him for all he’s worth.

As soon as you ride your orgasm out, slumping into the soft grass, he slides out with expert speed, aiming for the grass beside you. The action makes your heart soften, how he didn’t finish in you or on you while knowing the inconvenient predicament you were in. It was genuinely sweet for an enemy you let fuck you in a field. One who didn’t really seem like an enemy anymore.

“So, is that how you expected your night to go?” you ask him with a soft giggle as he pulls your panties back to the side, reaching for your dress wherever you tossed it above you. He smiles as he tucks himself back into his pants and buttons them.

“No, it was better,” he tells you, lifting your head to pull the dress over it. You bite your lip as he covers you with such gentleness you don’t even remember what it was like to hate him.

“Does that mean it’s more than a one time thing?” you inquire, a boost of confidence rushing through you. It’s surprising how much you want this.

“As long as you want it to be,” he tells you, rolling back to lay beside you once he’s content with how covered you are. The idea of being something more with Pink expands your heart. Especially when he cuddles up beside you like he always belonged there.

“I do.”

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