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onetoomanyfilms · 3 years

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champagne problems (reggie peters x reader)

hi everyone! here’s my first ever imagine and my first contribution to the jatp x evermore collaboration! warning... tissues are advised, maybe? x

inspired by: champagne problems by taylor swift

word count: 2k

the jatp evermore masterlist

——————

There had always been the thought in your brain. That the relationship was too amazing, too good to be true. But you loved him anyway. You fell deeply and truly. So, as you saw Reggie’s heart break in front of you, you couldn’t help but wonder how it had ever come to this.

——————

“He’s going to propose tonight.”

“What?” you looked over at Alex. The two of you had known each other since you were little and there was no way he was going to start keeping things from you now. Especially when you were about to ditch the party you were supposed to be getting proposed to at. You were ready to get back into their pjs and snuggle down. Having never been one for parties, not even when they were hosted by Reggie. As much as you loved him, the idea of them didn’t settle right. “He came over to us last week. I’m not going to lie, I’ve never seen him so happy. I think you’d just been on a date or something?”

“Yeah, last Thursday. To that café by the beach.”

“Well, he came into the garage and said ‘I’m gonna marry them’. He’s been a stress head this past week, that’s coming from me.” You chuckled slightly but your brain was ultimately filled with Reggie. He was going to propose. Just at the thought of it, a smile wiggled its way onto your face. “And I was about to go and ditch the whole party…”

“Yeah… I’m sorry I feel like I’ve ruined it now.”

“No, no,” you wrapped your arms around Alex, “you’re the reason we are together in the first place. Nothing could ruin tonight. Not even your blabber mouth.”

—————

Alex had left you to go and help Reggie set up. Sitting on your bed, you felt every positive emotion in the world bubbling away in their stomach. The red flannel shirt Reggie had given you last November was wrapped tightly around their shoulders, the smell filling up your nostrils. Everyone had always thought you were weird, keeping their distance saying you were ‘messed in the head’. Then Reggie came along. His bass guitar, goofy smile and heart of glass came and filled every gap you felt in your life. Closing your eyes, you remembered the night it rained as you were walking home. The lack of a coat or umbrella meant you were slowly but surely getting drenched. Then a Chevy came driving up beside you. You had expected it to zoom past and splash you with the dirty drain water. But it stopped. A recognisable, brown-haired, adorable dork opened up the door. “Hop in.”

Reggie never hesitated to help, never once thought about himself over others. Even when it came to his parents, you would often find yourself climbing the tree beside his window to check on him. Or you’d hear a tap tap tap on your bedroom door and see him standing there, the pained look on his face that you hated but saw too often. But the minute the two of you would intertwine in each others arms, all the problems in the world went away. You were both each other’s escape and home.

Smiling, you gently wiped the tear that escaped down your cheek.

Now, what to wear.

—————

“Hey, Luke?”

“Yeah Y/N?”

“Can you tell Reg I’ll be a bit later please? I’m gonna take the longer way around, try and escape the midtown traffic.” You buckled up your seatbelt, double checking the mirrors and turning the lights on low beam. “Yeah, sure. Just…” Luke didn’t know you knew about the proposal so had to tiptoe carefully around his sentences, “just, drive safe but don’t be too long yeah?”

“Of course dummy. I’ll see ya later. Love ya.”

“Love ya too.” Starting the ignition, the butterflies fluttered around your body. The streets of LA had a certain romantic quality to them as the sun set. The street lamps igniting gradually, the couples walking hand in hand down the boulevards. So much possibility in this town. But as you drove down the road with love in your heart, others were driving with a little too much alcohol in their system.

One of which was driving right towards the person Reggie kept a picture of in his wallet.

—————

Everywhere ached. Nothing hurt really, just as if your body had been pulled in every direction possible. But as you turned your attention to your surroundings, you hadn’t expected you had been pulled away from their body. A couple ran over to your body, the man performing CPR on the chest. “What? What’s happening?”

“Oh, it’s rather simple my dear.” A voice spoke from behind you as tears began to stream down your face. “I’m afraid to say you’re dead.”

“No.” Shaking your head, you began to run around to the people around. “Help! I need help, please!”

“They won’t hear you. Like I said, you’re dead.”

“But I’m here, so, what am I? A ghost or?”

“Yes, you’re a ghost my dear.” No. This can’t be happening. You had just been driving, going to the party. The party.

Reggie.

You collapsed to the concrete floor below. Reggie. He’d be at the party. Talking to everyone. Smiling. Waiting for you to walk through the door. Waiting to propose. “I’m sorry. I sense you were heading somewhere important.”

“My boyfriend. He was going to…” you had to spit the word out, “propose.”

“Perhaps.” You scrambled up quickly, spinning towards the strangers direction. “Perhaps what?”

“Perhaps, I can give you a few more minutes. You know, to say goodbye.” You knew there would be a catch, but you had to say goodbye. Reggie deserved it. “How?”

“I’ll do my work, you’ll have 30 minutes to bid your farewells and then we will meet here again.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch now, darling. You’ll be able to be seen by people as well as touch them. But I can only do 30 minutes.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” You held you hand out to the stranger in front of you, shaking in agreement. “What’s your name anyway?”

“Y/N, and you?” “Caleb, Caleb Covington.”

—————

Reggie had been pacing out back for a solid 15 minutes by the time Luke and Alex came to check on him. They’d been caught up with the other guests and the expensive champagne Reggie’s sister had brought, but seeing their mate in this state was something neither of them could ignore. “Hey bud,” Luke slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer, “you ok?”

“Yeah, Reggie, it’s like you’re on a runway or something.” The anxious brunette looked between his best friends. “I’m fine, I promise. I just… I feel like Y/N should’ve been here by now.” They huddled together in a group hug, each one excited for the night ahead.

But as they spoke out the back, you arrived, waiting by the back gate with this Covington guy. “So which one is the lucky man?”

“Reggie, the one with the goofy smile in the middle.”

“Well, he’s a good looking one isn’t he?”

“Yeah, yeah he is.” You stared at the three of them. When you eventually did go, you knew Reggie would be alright because they had each other.

“So, Y/N. I’ve been thinking.” Here it was, here’s the catch. “Maybe it is best if, if you decline his proposal.”

“What?” You hadn’t even thought that was a possibility. All you wanted was to go up to him, greet all of them and then pretend you forgot your phone in the car. “I’m just saying. He’s going to see you and do it straight away. And if that happens, you should say no.”

“No, I…” but then it struck you. He’d wait for you. He’d obviously find out you were dead sooner or later but, if you said no. Perhaps, he’d move on quicker. It made your heart break even thinking about it, no matter doing it. But you had to put Reggie first. “Anyway, here we go.” Suddenly, with a click of his fingers and a push through the gate, you found yourself standing right in front of the three boys you adored so much. Their faces looking right at you.

“Y/N! You’re here.” You felt a pair of warm arms wrap around their middle, lifting them up into the air. Reggie always acted like an overexcited puppy, it seemed today was no different. As he was about to drop them to the floor, Y/N squeezed tighter. The minutes already seeming to fly by. Each one filled with kisses, hugs and affection. But as you stared into each others eyes, the world around them disappearing from existence, the other two boys looking on at them with heart eyes Reggie decided it was the right time. Little did he know, it never would be anymore.

“Y/N,” he coughed, clearing his throat a bit before he said anymore. His hand slipped to the box in his pocket, his fingers grazing the leather outside. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now. I know, I’m not the best with words but…”

“Reggie…”

Here it goes.

“I can’t be with you anymore.” The image of his face in that moment, would be engrained in your memory forever. The heartbreak, the disbelief, the sadness. You’d caused that. You’d caused his heart to shatter like glass. He was speechless. So you had to create the words instead.

“I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment we met. You stumbled into the room and the whole world seemed to light up. You made my life change completely and I wouldn��t change it for the world. But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this to you. A part of me will always love you but I can’t. You’ll find the real thing instead. Someone you can hold everyday and will follow you wherever you go.” You paused, swallowing back the words you wanted to say, opting for the ones that’d let him go. You cradled his head in your hands, wiping the tears sliding down his rosy cheeks. “You’ll find someone better, who will make you realise all of this was just the beginning. You won’t remember today, you won’t remember all of my problems. I mean, you’re playing the Orpheum next week! At 17! You’re too young for all this marriage stuff anyway,” you hesitated for a second, “we both are. You’ve got so much ahead of you. I’m just sorry I can’t be there to live it with you.”

Looking over at Alex and Luke, you nodded slightly. Hoping they got the message to look after him. And you knew they would, with their lives. But also to tell them goodbye. They weren’t Reggie but Alex had been like a brother to you since childhood, Luke filling that role later in life too. You hoped they knew how much they meant to you. Cause they meant the world. You kissed his forehead and turned in your spot. Slowly but surely heading towards the gate. Part of you wanted him to call you back, tell you none of this was happening. But it was, and as you made your way through the gate you felt it all come crashing down. You sunk down leaning against the rickety fence behind, hugging your knees in tightly.

“Y/N!!”

You heard the shout and the creak of the gate door. Reggie came sprinting through, looking every which way to see where you had gone. He couldn’t see you anymore. That was it.

“I love you, Reggie. I always will.”

And with that, you stood up. Trying to hold yourself together as you walked towards Caleb. The two of you silently walked away from the scene as two flashing blue lights zoomed past. You did the right thing, didn’t you? He was going to have a full life, a happy life. A long life in which he’d find someone else who could love him enormously.

That’s what you thought at the time. Before the gig at the Orpheum, where the boys met a fate you’d never wish on anybody.

——————

other collaborators in the series: @vanillann @pink-flame @dxestars

#jatp #evermore #jatp x evermore #jatp x reader #reggie peters #reggie peters x reader #reggie #reggie x reader #julie and the phantoms #reggie peters imagines #reggie peters imagine #julie and the fat ones #imagine

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mentalmimosa · 5 years

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none of this is righteous anger (part v)

Previous installments here: [archiveofourown.org/works/18655771/chapters/44241928]

By the time they rustle out of bed, the sun is low on the horizon, reams of red and gold reaching from behind the mountains to streak across the sodden land. Tony crawls into his trousers and heads out to feed the animals and Steve follows, scooping his wet clothes from the floor and carrying the whole mess outside. He stands at the line that hangs near the kitchen door, his bare feet sinking into the scrubby grass, the mud, his body bared to the evening air, shaking out his good suit and his best shirt and pinning them up for the wind to blow good and dry.

“Well,” he says to himself, chest filled with the cream of contentment, “can’t ride home like this, can I, naked as a jaybird. Guess I got no choice but to stay.”

He looks out over the land, the small cluster of buildings and fences that mark the heart of Tony’s property. It’s wild land, no doubt about it, the frontier barely held back; he’d wondered before why a man like Stark, one who seemed to thrive so much on the company of others, didn’t live in the heart of town. If the rumors were right, he could’ve bought up most of the place and still had half a fortune to see him through the lean years. Heck, the first night that Steve had met him, he’d bought drinks for the whole saloon with a grin and a casual flick of his wrist--but he’d stayed on the stool next to the new sheriff instead of making the rounds, rolling his eyes at Steve’s teetotalling while sipping at what the bartender’s smirk told Steve were high-dollar spirits, rose bushes blooming bright on his cheeks.

“You know who that is, right?” Bucky had said to him as they made their way back to the jail, the tiny desk and shaky chair that served as the whole sheriff’s office.

“Who?”

“That guy who was yammering at you all night.”

“He said his name was Stark.”

“Mmm. That’s his name. It doesn’t mean anything to you?”

Steve squinted over in the darkness, the easy hush of the street. “No. Should it?”

“I heard his name a lot in Texas,” Bucky said. “Around Houston, mostly. He used to be a hell of a shark. Real good at cards, even better at talking rich folks out of their money.”

“Is that was he does here? Swindle?”

Bucky chuckled and shuffled up the step from the sidewalk, reached for the door. “Nobody knows what he does out here, boss. He lives by himself, oh, five clicks or so to the west. Long as I’ve been here, never seen him near a card table, not once.”

Steve followed him in and made for the oil lamp, fumbled for a match. “So he’s not a crook? Is that what you’re saying?”

A sigh, the creak of a buckle. The gentle thud of Bucky’s gun belt on the desk. “I’m saying he’s the kind of man that everybody knows and nobody does. That’s what I don’t like. The not knowing.”

There’d been rumors over the years, little stories here and there of a funny land deal up near the Idaho territories; of Stark being seen outside a house in Helena for women of ill-repute; of money moving in and out of the man’s account like whitewater; of trouble out east in Bismarck while Tony had been down there visiting. Nothing solid, nothing so much like a crime, but it was enough to get Steve’s attention, to ensure that Stark, when he was in town, was never far from the sheriff’s eye.

“Rogers,” Tony had said to him once, idling over to his table near the end of the bar, “if I were a different sort of man, your constant presence might give me ideas.”

Steve’d felt his ears redden. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not here for you.”

Tony had raised an eyebrow, a dark, elegant arch. “Really? Then you must be waiting for one of the girls. Who’s your favorite?”

“My favorite--?”

“One of the redheads, I’ll bet. I can see you liking the exotic types. Am I right?”

The words had come out louder than he’d meant them to. “I’m not here to partake in any female company, Stark!”

Tony had eyed him, a slow, dirty blink that stopped Steve’s blood in its tracks. “Aren’t you, then?” Stark said. “Tsk. Too damn bad. You’d make a pretty picture with one of them in your lap.”

They’d crossed swords every time they’d met after that: Tony mocking and Steve trying to stay righteous and all of it building into a bundle of frustration and a deep-rooted anger that Steve couldn’t quite understand, didn’t want to--especially when it manifested itself in unsettled dreams that he crawled out of sticky, his hand on his cock and his mind in a daze and the first light of the morning worming through his window shade.

It was only when Tony had pushed him, demanded, when he’d driven Steve to the brink and opened his mouth and let him take that first, furious kiss that any of it had made any damned sense. And now here he was, less than a week later, standing naked on the man’s land as the sun went down on one chapter of his life and the moon stretched her silver arms to mark the start of another.

He’s so lost in his thoughts, on the kiss of the evening’s sweet breeze, that he didn’t hear Tony slip up behind him, that he jumped a little when cool hands palmed the lines of his ribs.

“Hi,” Tony says.

Steve leans back, reaches up to lace his fingers through Tony’s. “Hey.”

“You fixing to become part of the scenery, hmm? Not that I’m objecting. You’d make a damned pretty tree.”

“I didn’t realize how beautiful it was out here. Guess I let my mind wander.”

“Your mind can wander plenty, but I’d prefer if the rest of you didn’t.” Tony kisses the base of his shoulder, his undershirt a nice scratch against the stretch of Steve’s back. “I like having you here.”

The light is all shadows now, shadows lined in slivers of silver, and Steve can feel himself stiffening, his cock filling as Tony touches him out here in front of the sky and the land and God, those slim fingers brushing his nipples, his hips moving gently against the meat of Steve’s ass.

“Especially,” Tony says, “because you’re in a frankly criminal state of undress.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.” A quick, hard pinch, perfect. “It’s giving me all kinds of ideas.”

Which is how they end up in the kitchen, the door flung wide open, breathing the smell of the rain and the night, Steve’s muddy feet on the floor and Tony in his lap, panting, riding Steve’s cock, slow, slow, slow, revelling in every inch. Their bodies are folded in moonlight, strung together like vines, and Steve can’t take his eyes off Tony’s face.

He’s already come once, Tony has; head back and hands desperate as Steve lapped at the head and licked at his balls until Tony begged and then Steve had let him slide in tight and deep until he’d cried out, shaky, a torn ribbon caught by the wind and poured himself down the well of Steve’s throat but he’s hard again, Tony is, with Steve tucked him inside him, hard and slick with sweat and making these soft, gorgeous sounds, moving in boneless time with Steve’s hips, and Lord help him, Steve never wants this to end.

“Steve.” The word breaking, beautiful.

“Baby.”

Tony whimpers and he clamps down, his body the sweetest sort of vise. “Steve. Steve. Please.”

And then what can he do but tuck his beard against Tony’s neck and palm the plush swell of Tony’s ass and come like he’s dying, a hard punch of rapture that makes him lose everything except the feel of Tony’s skin, the soothing press of his hands, the low, murmured words that Steve can’t quite hear over the roar of his heart.

Their mouths move together, sleepy, Steve’s hands sliding up the plains of Tony’s back, Tony arching like a long, wiry cat, and they don’t have to talk anymore, do they? No, Steve thinks. Not tonight. Not tonight.

~~~

“I’m gonna pay Barton back,” Tony says in the morning, keeping his eyes on the eggs in the pan. “I’m not going to personally hand him a check or anything, but I’ll see he gets his money back.”

Steve’s arms wind around his waist and squeeze none too gently. “Good. That’s real good.”

“Yeah, well, you say that, but I have a feeling this is as much about making me eat crow in public as it is about Barton getting whole. My uncharacteristic if anonymous generosity might not persuade him to settle down.”

He feels Steve’s breath on his cheek, sweet bitter from tooth powder and coffee. “I’m sure I can contribute something to the effort if need be.”

“You don’t need to--”

“Do not,” the sheriff says in a voice like a cell slamming shut. “Do not finish that sentence, Stark.”

“Ok,” Tony says with a grin. “Ok ok ok. How about, if I need your help, I’ll ask?”

Steve hums, lets it catch as a kiss on Tony’s cheek. “Better. Much better.”

He rides off before the sun is proper up, his horse dancing eagerly at the promise of a run. His suit looks like hell. The damn thing’s not even really dry; when Tony kisses him, one last kiss before Steve hops in the saddle, his shirt comes away wet.

“You need some new clothes,” Tony says. It isn’t easy; his throat’s tight.

“Do I? Why?” Steve reaches down and brushes Tony’s hair from his forehead. Smiles. “You’ll just tear them off me anyway.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’ll tear them off for me.”

Steve’s eyes are twin sparks. Tony sees his grip go tight on the reigns. “If it gets your hands on me faster,” Steve says, sandpaper, “then you’re damn right I will. Every stitch.”

He rides off without a promise of tomorrow, without another day set when they’ll next meet because they don’t need one. It’s inevitable. As sure as the fall of the moon in the west.

“I love him, don't I?” Tony says to himself, to the sheriff’s back, to the pound of his horse’s hooves through the earth. “God help me. I do.”

#stony #western au #et fin

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coffee-obsessed-writer · 6 years

Text

The Stranger, Part 1

Dean x Reader

Summary: Reader finds a stranger wandering the road, his head and clothes bloody. He’s disorientated and doesn’t remember who he is. She takes him in and they get close until he starts having nightmares about monsters and killing people.

Then one day, a sleek black car pulls up and a tall man gets out, wearing lots of flannel and has shaggy hair. He claims that the stranger is his brother and he’s come to collect him.

Warnings: Talk of abuse, anxiety, mild violence, language, canon divergence

Everything Tags: @his-paradox @sorenmarie87 @lefthologramdeer @grace-for-sale @redm81 @becs-bunker @docharleythegeekqueen @moonchild-shoshanna @idontfuckingknowgurl

SPN Tags: @soythedemonqueen @kazosa @lucifer-in-leather @perseusandmedusa @tiquismiquis @mrsbarnes-rogers @yorkeylover @through-thesilver-lining @illysamorgan @fictionalabyss @gettinjoyful @auntsalgal @stuckupstucky @miss-spnm0mma @teller258316 @sphollis-blog @sweet-things-4-life @xxwarhawk @hobby27 @sweetlythoughtfulbird @theoriginalvicki @dreamchester67

Words: 3.7K

Based off this gif prompt:

“You better not be too long!”

Your step-brother’s voice bellowed from the stock room, making you cringe with loathing. You sighed quietly and grabbed your purse from the back of the chair in the small office. Working with him was becoming unbearable, and you needed to get out of there. Shane wasn’t your favorite person, not even near the top of the list. He was a bully when you were growing up together as kids, and even a bigger one now. The fact that you had to have him at your store to help out made you nauseous on a whole other level. And yet… here he was.

“While you’re out, grab me a sandwich, would ya? And a coffee.”

“We have coffee in the shop, Shane,” you mumbled, overwhelmed with regret for asking him to come and help you out. It was only supposed to be for a couple weeks, but that was three months ago.

“I want good coffee,” he yelled back, but you were nearly out the door, in desperate need to get to your car just to put some distance between you. “Not this sludge shit you make!”

Rolling your eyes, you were silently mocking him. But when it sounded like he was headed your way, you stopped. You didn’t want another confrontation with him. While he’d never physically harmed you (and he could, he was larger than average man), his mental abuse and intimidation were enough to frighten you and keep you on edge. The physical abuse was more his father’s style. Your step-father had been a special kind of monster, and unfortunately, Shane had inherited a good number of his bad qualities.

“Fine. Coffee and a sandwich. Anything else?” you asked, slinging your purse over your shoulder and hurrying towards the main entrance. He shouted something else, but by that time you were more than halfway to your truck.

Ten minutes into your aimless drive to town to get your brother his sandwich and coffee, you saw a man staggering down the side of the road.

“Gotta love the dedicated drunks,” you mumbled as you rolled past him, diverting your eyes from the road to the stranger. But what you saw of him made you do a double take, and quickly pull the truck to the side of the road.

Throwing the truck in park, but leaving it to idle, you jumped out and cautiously approached him.

His clothes were dirty and torn; half his face was covered in splotches of mud, the other half a mix of fresh and dried blood. You saw the cut on his head and the grimace of pain on his face, as he finally registered you standing there.

“Are—are you ok?” you asked, feeling stupid asking because he clearly was not. His eyes met yours, and he squinted as if trying to focus on you and not the stretch of road ahead of him. “Sir?”

“Huh?” he grunted and shielded his eyes against the sun above. “I…I—uh, do you know where this is?”

He was more shuffling his feet than walking, but he finally stopped; bending slightly, resting his hands on his knees and letting his head hang for a moment. When he stood, his expression was wrought with pain, and all you could think was to get him to a hospital. You considered 911 for a minute, but living as remotely as you did, it would be quicker to just take him to the ER yourself.

The man stumbled, and you rushed to his side and held him up as best you could. He wasn’t incredibly large, but tall enough and had enough solid muscle that your smaller frame nearly buckled under his weight. You did manage to steer him back towards the truck and he leaned against it gratefully as you opened the door and helped him in.

Climbing back into the driver’s side, you saw he was still conscious, but fading fast.

“Do you know your name?” you asked, hoping against hope that he remembered. But he just shook his head and grappled with the pain that coursed through him. “Ok, well, I’m gonna take you to the hospital, you don’t—”

“No!” he grunted and wrapped his arms around his ribs. “No hospitals.”

“But, you’re clearly hurt, and buddy, I’m no nurse.”

“Then leave me here,” he winced again, “just pull over. No hospitals…” with that, he passed out.

A simple ride to town had taken a very unexpected turn. Stopping to help someone was one thing, but this was more than you bargained for. However, this stranger had an aura around him that seemed alluring, yet very dangerous. This wasn’t a simple accident that he staggered away from; this man had been beaten badly by something or someone and needed medical attention. Yet, he refused it. There had to be a reason, and even though he was a stranger, you were apprehensively okay granting his request.

“Alright mister, you win. No hospitals.”

You turned the truck around on the deserted road and headed back to your house. Shane’s sandwich would have to wait.

“Look, something came up, alright? Shane, please…” you paused to endure more of his angry ranting and kept trying to squeeze in what you were trying to stay, “… just handle the store for me… just tonight. Okay? Close it up early if you must. I’ll try to get there as soon as I can in the a.m.”

Shane mumbled and cursed you under his breath, but you held the phone from your ear while he did so. He had tried calling your cell phone half a dozen times when you didn’t return with his sandwich, but you didn’t answer until the house phone began ringing non-stop.

A string of expletives and harassing remarks were hurled at you down the phone line, and you stood there listening to it all, as you had done many times in the past. Finally, he reluctantly agreed to close the store and do what you asked, allowing you to hang up and go check on the drifter in your house.

You had managed to get him to your house and to the spare bedroom downstairs. After a quick evaluation, you tended to the cut on his head as best as you could and noticed a large amount of bruising by his ribs. Assuming they were broken or at least fractured, you did your best to wrap them the way your mom had shown you when you were younger. Far too many bruises and broken bones just made it easier for her to patch you up back then, then trying to explain to the doctor how you fell, again.

The man swam in and out of consciousness for the next twelve hours. You tried to give him time to rest, but you feared finding a dead stranger in the room, which caused to you to check in on him, almost neurotically, every fifteen minutes.

Finally, sometime after midnight you checked in one last time, saw he was awake and struggling to sit up on the bed. He saw you standing there and offered a weak smile as you aided him in getting up completely.

“Thanks,” he grunted, his voice raspy and deep.

“I’ll get you some water,” you said after getting up and heading for the door. “Maybe some aspirin?”

He nodded.

It only took but a minute, but you returned with the pills and bottle of cold water. He took them gratefully, but also with great pain.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital? I really think you need stitches on your head,” you pointed towards the gash on his brow and he waved you off.

“No, I’m fine. I can’t—uh, I just don’t want to go to a hospital.”

“Fair enough. Do you at least remember your name now?”

He thought for a moment, his green eyes flickering quickly back and forth. He was searching for an answer and his expression lead you to believe it was right there… but he couldn’t grab it.

He shook his head slowly.

“Ok, no problem. It’ll come back to you. What do you remember?”

He closed his eyes; his brow furrowed in recollection, “I remember a car. A black car. I was driving. I think I was being chased—” He stopped immediately, shook his head of whatever details remained. “That’s it. I’m sorry.”

“No need for that. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed now that you’re up. A hot shower and some grub may help you feel a bit more human.”

“It’s a step in the right direction,” he joked, even chuckling a bit despite the pain it caused.

“Let me grab you some towels and clothes. My stepbrother left a bunch of stuff here before he moved out so it might be big, but at least its clean.”

“Wait, you didn’t tell me your name.”

“I’m (Y/N),” you answered with a partial smile. “Nice to meet you, stranger.”

You left the room and gathered some essentials for him. When you got back to the room and walked in, he was struggling to remove his shirt because the pain it caused in his side. Throwing the stuff on the bed, you helped him get the torn black t-shirt over his head and couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Something funny?”

“No, it's just…” you paused, realizing how inappropriate your thought was, and even more so to say out loud to this man you didn’t know, but you couldn’t help yourself. “This feels like a bad porno plot…you know, hurt stranger needs help undressing, unsuspecting heroine loses clothes too.”

“At least a dozen,” he said and laughed heartily, and you did too.

This was the most he’d said since you found him, and despite not knowing anything about him, you found him charming. You tried not to stare at him sans shirt but did notice the tattoo on his chest. It was unique, unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Thick black lines of a pentagram with a circle of something around it, again, all in black. There was no point in asking him about it, he probably wouldn’t remember it.

“Anyway, there’s clean clothes and such. I think your shirt is ruined but leave the dirty clothes out and I can wash them up for you. Come on out to the kitchen when you’re done. I can rewrap your ribs and I’ll have some leftovers I can heat up for you.”

You turned to leave, but he lightly touched your arm to stop you. “Hey, uh, thank you. For the clothes, the bandages, everything. I really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure. I mean, who are we really if we can’t help a stranger in need,” you shrugged and gave the man a friendly wink before leaving and closing the door behind you.

Once you heard the inner door close, and the shower turn on in the spare room, you went in and gathered the clothes he’d left for you. Bringing them to the washer, you fished through the pockets to be sure there wasn’t anything that could be ruined, or that would ruin your machine. Buried deep in the 5th pocket was a small, folded piece of paper. You threw the clothes into the washer and unfolded it. It simply said:

Dean,

Shifter at the Damon’s. Meet there at 3.

~ E.

“Dean…” you whispered to the empty room. “I guess your name is Dean.” Looking down at the note again, you kept going back to the first word… Shifter. “What the fuck is a shifter?”

He rejoined you an hour later; Shane’s clothes were far too big on him, but he made it work. Now that he was properly cleaned of the mud and blood, you saw how really striking he was. His green eyes were brighter now, giving way too little creases at the corners when he smiled. He drew in the scent of the kitchen, and it was the first time you saw a true grin unfold across his face. When he walked, the pain was still evident in his expression, but he seemed to take it in stride, never once grunting or complaining.

“Whatever you heated up smells great,” he said and took a seat at your small, round table.

“It’s just some Shepherd’s Pie. Hope you aren’t a vegetarian or anything.”

“Honestly, I doubt it. But if I am, maybe its time for a change. Cause that really smells good,” he licked his lips and looked past you at the pan cooling on the stove.

“Oh, I found this…” you took the paper from your pocket and handed it to him. “Sorry, for snooping. I looked through your jean pockets before washing them and that was folded up really small. I could be wrong, but I am assuming you’re Dean.”

He studied the paper, a slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe I’m ‘E’.”

“Well, I thought of that,” you said and motioned towards the pen and paper on the table. “Copy the note on that and if the handwriting matches…”

“Then I’m ‘E’,” he finished, nodding in agreement. “Smart thinking.”

You watched as he copied the note word for word. Holding them up for comparison, the answer was clear. “You are definitely not ‘E’,” you laughed holding the two papers side by side. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Dean.”

Four Days Later...

“Are you sure about this, Dean?”

“Yeah, I’m positive. Look, I feel great. I am 100% up to this.”

He had taken the last few days to rest and heal as much as possible. The cut on his head had healed well with the suture band-aids you’d found in the pharmacy a few towns over. His ribs were sore, but Dean swore to you they were no longer causing him intense pain. His memory was still vacant, but it didn’t seem to bother him. If anything, Dean was content with just resting and healing in your spare bedroom, spending most of his time watching movies or surfing through Netflix.

“You’re a liar. But, I’d rather have you in the store and not Shane. He truly does drive me crazy.”

“Then it’s settled. Just tell Shane you hired me to help and he can spend more time, somewhere else. Not nosing around here and bothering you.”

Dean raised his eyebrows at you, looking for your agreement. Nodding in return, you shut off the truck’s engine and headed towards the store. The normal early morning customers were floating in and out of the entrance, all passing greetings as they went and giving Dean a firm once over.

“Come on,” you whispered and grabbed his arm, “let’s go around back. You can hang in the office until I talk to Shane.”

Leaving Dean to wait in the back room, you made your way through the aisles of pantry essentials and knick-knacks and found your stepbrother behind the register, the usual glower of anger attached to his face. He must have sensed you there and looked up, immediately meeting your gaze. You could see even from a distance, that he had been drinking already and it was barely nine in the morning. His demeanor towards the customers was meaner than usual, and he could barely stand up without swaying back and forth or holding onto the counter.

“Well, look who decided to show up,” he yelled across the store. “The Queen Dame herself! Aren’t we peons so lucky, she’s decided—”

“Shut the fuck up, Shane,” one of the guys in line spoke up. “Stop being an ass so early in the mornin’, ‘n leave her alone.”

“You shut it, Billy. This is between me and the princess here. Get your shit and go,” Shane grunted, pushing the change roughly into his hand.

As the last customer scurried away, you approached the counter and tried to lead the conversation with a smile.

“So, listen. I appreciate all you’ve done to help me out here while I needed it, but I found someone to help out. You are free to go back home and—”

“You’re kicking me out? Of my own place?” His face was glowing bright red from the anger building up.

“Your place?”

“Might as well be! I do all the work around here while you sit in that cushy office. Who chops the wood and bundles it? Hmm? Who stocks the shelves, and does inventory, and runs the register when you disappear for hours? Huh?!” His voice was growing louder and louder, and you were just grateful there were no customers left.

“Shane, please…”

“No! This is bullshit, you can’t just kick me out!”

“Actually, buddy, she can,” Dean spoke up, making you whirl around to see him standing close behind you. His arms were crossed over his chest, his stance assured and ready.

“Dean, you don’t have too,” you whispered as he started to approach Shane.

“Y/N, its fine,” he said without giving you a passing glance, but just rested his hand on your shoulder as he walked by.

“Who the fuck are you?” Shane questioned, a drunken burp penetrating his words.

“I’m the guy who is asking you nicely to leave. I’ll be helping out around here so you can go back to whatever cave you came from.”

Shane laughed loudly, but nothing about it was jovial. You had seen the look he had in his eyes; it was the same one his dad would get before backhanding you across the face. Your body involuntarily reacted as he huffed around the corner of the register and straight towards you.

“This place is as much mine as it is hers. MY father ran it! It’s rightfully mine!”

“Yeah, after MY mother died and he took it from me,” you growled, your own pent-up rage about the past starting to surface.

Shane didn’t take your comment with any sort of cool demeanor. His anger was growing and while you chalked it up mostly to the alcohol, you knew he had it buried in him for the same reasons you did. The difference was you didn’t let it affect how you treated others; he did. Shane’s fists were balling in and out, ready to hit something. Dean placed himself squarely between the two of you; his own fists ready for the challenge.

“Move,” he growled at Dean, but it only made him laugh.

Looking up at Shane, he shook his head and crossed his arms again. “No.”

“This ain’t your fight, hoss. She wants me gone, she’s gonna have to fight me for it.”

“Dude, what are you, six? Can’t cry to mommy cause ‘lil sister took your toy? Grow the fuck up, man. But more importantly, get the fuck out. Y/N and I can run the place and we don’t need your help. As for who’s property this is, check the lease, dickhead. It clearly has her name on all the paperwork. As do all the permits saying it’s a lawfully opened business.”

“You fucking this guy or something?” he asked you with a chuckle. “Can’t believe anyone would wanna touch—”

“Alright, I’ve heard enough,” Dean mumbled just before clenching his fist and bringing it around to Shane’s jaw.

Dean’s knuckles make a sickening crack when they met Shane’s face. You could see Dean wince in pain, but it didn’t slow him down. He threw another punch almost immediately, sending Shane stumbling backward into one of the displays holding chips and candy, knocking it over and scattering the merchandise everywhere.

Shane went to get on his feet, but Dean was there before he could, placing one booted foot on his chest. “Do you need to be asked again? Or can you leave quietly now?”

Staring at him in disbelief, Shane was speechless. Dean was calm and collected, his voice never raised, nor did he escalate the fight further. He allowed your step-brother to find his footing, the alcohol and Dean’s assault causing him to sway back and forth. His red, bloodshot eyes were adjusting to the room, his head swimming in what just happened.

“I, uh… I’ll go. But this isn’t over,” he warned, though without must gusto.

“Yeah, it is,” Dean said and walked towards the main entrance. He opened the door and waited for Shane to leave. When he got close enough, Dean grabbed him by the back of the shirt and “nudged” him out, but not before Shane “accidentally” crashed into the wooden door frame.

“Oops, watch it, buddy. Maybe start drinking a bit later in the day, huh?” Dean advised him and gave him a final shove out the door, then closing it and locking it behind him.

“Wait! My keys—”

“Fat chance my friend. No way you’re driving. Walk it off and pick them up tomorrow.”

Dean pulled the shade down that covered the glass when the store was closed, finally obscuring you from having to see Shane’s face.

“You alright?” he asked, taking your shoulders beneath his hands and meeting your eyes.

“Yeah, I think so. He’s just…”

“He’s an ass. I can see why you wanted him gone.”

“Thank you. But Dean, you—you can’t stay here. I mean, you have a life somewhere. I guarantee someone is looking for you. Don’t you want to know who they are… who you are?”

“I know who I am, Y/N. I’m Dean and today, I start my new job at this here General Store. For now, that’s enough. Besides, after all, you’ve done for me, I want to help you out. Getting rid of sasquatch over there was a start, but I’m here to work, too. Point me in a direction and use me.”

His playful smirk affected you more than you cared to admit. Sure, Dean was good looking, that wasn’t up for debate, but in the last couple days he’d been around, you continually found yourself highly affected by most of what he said and did. He was kind and funny, and even while in great pain, made you feel appreciated and that he actually enjoyed your company. You didn’t want him to go, but you also felt guilty keeping him when he wasn’t yours.

“What if you have a wife… hell, a husband… a family... friends? What about them?”

“I would think if I had any of those things, I would feel it. I would feel it somewhere inside. That nagging itch that I needed to get to someone. But I don’t.”

“What about ‘E’? Maybe—”

Dean gently, but without hesitation, caressed your cheek, a twitch of a smile playing around his lips. “I’m right where I want to be. Cross my heart.”

Part 2 Published 7/27/18.

Drop me an ask if you want to be added to tags.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester #spn fan fiction #spn fan fics #supernatural fan fiction #dean winchester fan fiction #dragongirl writes

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alippy711 · 6 years

Text

Falling Away With You- Ch.25

Definitely rushed the ending because my aunts were flittering about cleaning up my grandparent house before everyone comes down. So I apologize. Oh there are a few guest appearances.

Also I think there are five more chapters left? I basically have it all written just need to break it up the right away. So enjoy

####

Chapter Twenty-Five: July 3rd

“Matt said I could find you here”

His voice brought a smile to my lips pulling me from my trance as I watched the waves crashing on the shore. I turned to my right and was met with his bright smile and those adorable cheeks as he walked closer to me. I stood brushing the sand from my shorts and greeted him.

“Well if it isn’t Chuckie Bright Lights himself” His cheeks blushed as I walked into his open arms for a hug.

Hey Ash. it’s been too long, I missed you.”I nodded into his chest giving him one last squeeze before pulling away.

“Way too long, im glad you made it, where’s Ki?” I looked around him hoping to see Kiley somewhere on the beach.

“At your house, she ran into Addie and you know how those two are” I chuckled as he rolled his eyes, knowing exactly how they are.

“How was your run?” Charlie asked eyeing my running attire.

“Exactly what I needed this morning. Perfect way to detox before the copious amounts of alcohol I plan to consume in the next few days” He let out a deep laugh before looking out at the water.

“Don’t tell Kiley this, but I think I like Marshfield better than Duxbury, so far” I smiled looking around my perfect little beach. It was definitely showing off today with the tide out low letting the sand stretch out for what seemed like miles.

“Duxbury has its perks but Marshfield, specifically where we are, is great because it’s usually quiet. It will be low tide all day which is even better.” Charlie nodded as he listened to me ramble on about my favorite place before a silence fell over us. It wasn’t awkward, more so just both of us waiting for the other to bring up the elephant in the room. I sat back down in the sand nodding up at him to join me.

“How you holdin up?” Charlie asked nudging me with his shoulder.

“At this point it changes every day. I was a fucking wreck in the beginning.” I let out a light laugh. “But now it comes in waves. The busier I am the better. It’s when I have too much time on my hands that I get lost in my head.”

“Well you have enough people in your corner to help keep you busy all summer” He smiled softly and I returned it automatically. He shifted his eyes back towards the beach scanning the shore as people walked by us.

“Have you talked to him?”

“Not really. Texted him on his birthday then that opened up communication but it became too much. Told him we had to stop. What about you?” I asked looking over at him.

“We talked a little right after we left for Worlds. How do you feel about his choice? I hope you don’t think im on his side, I mean I basically met you both at the same time so I consider you both my good friends”

Oh sweet Charlie, what did this world do to deserve you?

“Aww Charlie you’re the sweetest.” I cooed nudging him as his cheeks flushed bright red.

“I appreciate you saying that. Im still not totally clear on why he needed time but if im being honest I think I needed it too.” I had yet to read the letter, still too nervous about my reaction to pull the trigger but I knew it needed to happen soon.

“How so?” I turned my focus back to Charlie as he pulled me back to the present.

“I didn’t realize how much of myself I lost in David. I was so wrapped up in his world that I forgot about mine. This has given me the opportunity to balance my life out again”

“That’s so important, especially when you’re with someone like us. Our lifestyle is so hectic it’s easy for our significant other to get wrapped up in our world. David always talked about how independent you are and how much he loved that. Im happy you’re working to get back to you.” I smiled over at him feeling my heart swell with his words.

“Damnit Charlie can you stop being so damn sweet? Thank you, I really needed that.” Charlie threw and arm around my shoulder pulling me close to him.

“Anytime Ash. I know you two will find your way back to one another.” If only David had as much sense at 22 that Charlie did at 20.

“Hey, you two done having your heart to heart? It’s time for some day drinking!” We turned towards the source of the voice and saw Kiley standing next to Addie holding two beers a piece.

“Welcome to July 3rd in Marshfield Chuckie! Buckle up kid.”

I managed to block out all the commotion around me and become lost in my thoughts watching the steam curl up from the middle of the hot tub dissolving into the cool evening air.

“How you feelin?” His voice pulled me from the stare off I was having and I tilted my head up to find him standing on the patio inches from the sunken hot tub.

“I have a really solid buzz going right now, so im fantastic” He laughed and I was easily distracted by his body as I watched him step down into the water finding a seat across from me. He leaned back against the tile, stretching out his legs propping them on either side of the bench I sat on, essentially blocking me in.

“Yet you’ve been sitting in the hot tub alone for a good 15 minutes” He eyed me trying to see through the smile I wore.

“Evan, im fine. Just taking a little break from the drinking games before I dive back in to achieve my end of the night drunk status.” The laugh he let out had me curling my toes beneath the water and I had to shift my body out of the water to alleviate some of the heat which was suddenly stifling.

“Just checking. Didn’t know if Charlie being here would stir anything up.” He pulled his arms from beneath the water draping them around the out outside tile of the pool patio and I was quickly lost in the muscles along his biceps. Fuck, I needed to get laid.

“Nah, im glad Chuckie is here. We had a really good talk earlier. Im in a good place when it comes to David, which means I don’t need you keeping an eye on me” I teased and he threw his hands up in mock surrender while he laughed.

“Hey im just tryin to help. You did tell me to help distract you because all the drinking would make the temptation to hit up David even stronger.” I pushed out a frustrated groan, knowing how right he was.

“Well then keep me distracted!” He laughed at the high pitch of my voice and I let out a laugh.

“Play beer pong with me, you’ve had enough of a break” He stood from the water, holding his hand out for to grab and my eyes fell to his chest as the water dripped down his body. I sucked in a breath and looked away, hoping he didn’t catch my reaction. Drinking and the hot tub were not a good mix for my overly turned on nerves. I was glad Evan showed up today I had a feeling he would be a good distraction for me.

I knew once Evan joined us all for Rose’s birthday a few weeks ago he would be back within my circle shortly. After that he started hanging out at our place more and we found ourselves in a familiar pattern, I enjoyed spending time with him again. I was dreading the first time we would see each other post break-up figuring he was waiting for an opportunity to say, I told you so, but he never did and I was thankful for that.

Two hours and a few beer pong wins later I was sufficiently drunk and about to do something kind of stupid. I successfully snuck out of Rose’s house without being noticed so here I was pulling up his contact hitting send on the call. It was late there and took a good three rings before he answered.

“Hello?” His voice was groggy with sleep and if it weren’t for the alcohol I probably would have felt bad for calling him at two in the morning.

“Willy!!” I called out loudly with a giggle.

“Ash? Are you ok?” The concern in his voice warmed me.

“Of course im ok! Im talking to my favorite Swede” He chuckled on the other end and I heard some shuffling before he finally spoke.

“Well I think someone is drunk” I giggled again.

“Yup. Been drinking for hours” I spoke dragging out each syllable in hours.

“Glad you’re enjoying your summer. To what do I owe this drunk dial?”

“Don’t be silly Willy, you know why im calling. Hey that rhymed!” He let out a deep laugh and I smiled wide picturing that beautiful smile of his.

“I mean word on the street is you’re single now, but I figured you would have called sooner rather than later to let me know.” The mock hurt behind his words had me rolling my eyes.

“Had to keep you waiting” I smiled as I continued to pace around my yard ignoring the sounds of my friends partying across the street.

“Ash, why did you call?” The seriousness in his tone had me sobering up and let out a sigh before answering.

“To keep myself from calling him. I miss him Willy. Charlie gave me no insight and I just-I just...need to know how he is? Fuck” I stumbled over my words as my throat tightened and I felt myself losing control of my emotions.

“Aw Ash, I hate hearing you like this.” I heard him push out a frustrated breath and I could picture him running a hand through his blonde hair. “And I hate that it was David who hurt you. I was shocked when he told me...” His words seemed to fade off and I pulled the phone away from my ear sucking in a deep breath to compose myself as I wandered across the street to the sea wall.

“You and me both” I let out a sarcastic laugh as I leaned against the cement staircase looking out at the dark ocean.

“We talked about everything when he was here a few weeks ago. He said he wrote you a letter not sure if you read it but that should help you understand where he’s coming from. He tries to be his usual fun loving self, but I can see through it. He’s struggling too Ash, but if im being honest he still needs more time. He needs to learn how to be a better person for you.”

I could feel the hot tears rolling down my cheek by the time Will finished talking. His words should have made me feel better, and they did, to a point. But it still hurt to hear one of his best friends say he still needs time.

“Thanks Willy, I think that’s exactly what I needed to hear. The longer we aren’t together the more I realize we both have to work on ourselves.” I heard someone clear their throat behind me and I turned to see Evan eyeing me suspiciously thinking I was talking to David. I shook my head no and turned away from him.

“See, you’ve always been the more mature one. I really think he will find his way back to you. He’s an idiot but he’s not that dumb” We both laughed and it warmed my heart to hear Willy’s laugh again.

“I mean you did say if he broke my heart you would fight him so I expect to see that next season”

“I can take him. I saw his fight with Girardi so I know his moves” I smiled at his words and turned back to Evan who was watching me intently.

“I guess I’ll let you get back to sleep now. Im glad I called you Willy. You may just turn into my go to when I have the urge to call David.”

“Im always here for you Ash. Im happy you called. I miss you”

“Miss you too Willy, sleep well”

“Thanks, go drink some more and have fun”

“Thought you could sneak away and I wouldn’t notice?” Evan raised an eyebrow as he attempted to scold me.

“Dude, I was out here a good ten minutes before you even found me” I smirked, leaning against the cool cement at the top of the stairs. He rolled his eyes taking a few steps towards me placing a hand on either side of me pinning me in the corner of the staircase.

“I assume that was William Nylander?” The proximity of his body to mine had my heart racing and my head going foggy making it difficult to speak so I simply nodded.

“You wanna talk about it?” His gaze was intense which only added to my heightened awareness of his presence and I shook my head again.

“What can I do to help?” I took in a deep breath and watched as his eyes fell to the rise and fall of my chest before looking back up at me as he took in the small smirk on my lips.

“Distract me” I flicked my tongue out wetting my lips smiling as his gaze dropped again and I felt his body press against mine.

“That I can definitely do” Before I was able to make a remark his lips were on mine in a fevered kiss. My body was so desperate for physical contact I felt my knees go weak, Evan caught on quickly slipping a thigh between me to hold me up. I sank my fingers into his hair as my tongue parted his lips as a moan escaped me. I was breathless when we pulled away as Evan ran a hand over my flushed cheeks and down my chest.

“Go grab a towel and meet me on the beach.” His eyes went wide with my words and I tilted my head up waiting for him to do something.

“Is that- I mean-are you sure?” I laughed as he stumbled over his words shaking my head.

“Yes Evan im sure. Im not that drunk I know what im doing, now hurry up before I change my mind.”

“Ok, yup be right back” He smirked before turning away, bolting down the street to follow my instructions.

I thought over my choice while Evan was gone and while I was still very much wrapped up in David I knew I needed to make the most of this break-up and one night stands were not my thing and I really wanted to know what Evan was working with.

#david pastrnak #david pastrnak imagine #david pastrnak fic #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey rpf #nhl imagine #nhl fic #guest appearances #charlie mcavoy #william nylander #falling away with you fic #I wanna be drunk like Ash

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hermoanie · 5 years

Photo

tw: addiction/mental illness

hello welcome back to yet another garbage req by urs truly buckle up.

meredith lockhart is, simply put, a big old mess. she’s the type of person who has naturally, always been bright. could of made something of herself if she wasnt so jacked up (a literal quote from an old therapist). had all the potential in the world, and semi decent circumstances but bad habits and a constantly cycle of mess in her head kept her from achieving really anything.

really she’s got a whole laundry list of problems. diagnosis's that are constantly coming and going as she gets older and new shrinks think that they know something the last one didnt. the two big ones that have always seemed to stick are add and varying avenues of an addictive personality (aka semi-clean pill addict and totally okay now and recovered sex addict). shes been in and out of treatment facilities. has tried and failed at too many group whatevers to count. she’s big on telling herself shes fine and convincing others around her that -insert treatment here- has done wonders and wow shes cured. until a month later when she’s gone back on a week long bender. whoops

so heres where meredith’s newest boy comes in. hes her ex therapist which is already a big yikes!! they met almost a year ago after another uncomfortable sit down with meredith’s mom and dad in which they did the same thing they always did after a big fuck up. so back to start up therapy she went but this time her shrink was a hottie so that was another yikes for meredith.

it took a solid month for them to hook up for the first time which is like Bold for meredith because she’s got problems with taking things slow (see: sex addict). but she was Working Through Shit or whatever with him. until that seemed boring and unimportant to her so instead she made her move.

after the first time meredith made a big show of apologizing and promising it wouldnt happen again and blah blah blah so she could keep seeing him as her shrink which is 100% unethical or w/e on the shrinks part but he bought into it (is this man good at his job or blinded by the potential of a bj the world may never know). but then they hooked up again 2 sessions later and he finally came to his senses and realized that what they were doing was royally fucked up so he stopped seeing her.

which should have been the end of everything. until they ran into each other a few weeks later, hooked up again in the bathroom of a coffee house and swore that was it for them. but it wasnt.

a few more run ins like that later and meredith finally convinced the shrink to take her out on a Real date like the Real lady she was. its been half a year ish now and theyve been together ever since.

and he’s mostly good for meredith?? in the way that he’s mature and put together but he also knows too much about her and her past from the 2 months that he was her therapist and he’s constantly undermining her about shit and “““shrinking”““ her as meredith likes to say and its genuinely probably not a great relationship but meredith swears shes in love?!?!

but she’s also still got a mountain of problems thats she sort of dealing with. so he keeps way higher tabs on her shit then a normal boyfriend would and it would be nice if the origin of it wasnt so unhealthy. she’s also cheated on him at least once (probably really early on into their relationship) but she sobbed about how sorry she was until he forgave her.

im going to stop rambling bc this got way too long and if u made it to here then bravo im impressed. basically i just need this dumb mess bc theyre probably going to crash and burn soon but meredith needs the mess in her life to survive. plz.

he should be old enough to have been a therapist for a few years so like 28 or older id say (idk??!/ help) and the face is super open i just ask that u run it by me but ill more then likely ok anyone. plz just give me someone to ruin meredith with ty.

#yall this was a mess and a rollercoaster to write #plz #breathlessrp

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thesinglesjukebox · 6 years

Video

youtube

CHILDISH GAMBINO - THIS IS AMERICA

[6.33]

And this is your #1 single, America.

Jibril Yassin: Listening to this without the video makes you realize just how much praise we've thrown at Donald Glover for essentially remaking Mother. It's just a shame the song feels like a patchwork of different moods: the capable and effortless singing and the passable rap schemes clashing at each possible moment. It's chaos supplanted by a million Atlanta rapper adlibs featured here -- notable because his past work revelled in his outsiderdom status. Now he relishes in being a medium. What the fuck does Childish Gambino wants us to think about him? The Billboard #1 means that once again somehow Young Thug wins so I'll take that. [5]

Ryo Miyauchi: Hearing that clatter of noise ripping the seams of the Coloring Book gospel felt viscerally thrilling at first. Yet the momentum of it soon died down as Donald Glover muttered ad libs in placement of real lyrics. If this excitement and then immediate bore from violence was the point, then it relies way too much on its visuals to get that across. As pure audio, it's fragments of unfinished ideas coalesced into what barely passes as a song, and those fragments depend upon too much subtext for it to hopefully bear some meaning. [5]

Tim de Reuse: Every word of the lyrics and every frame of the music video begs to be picked apart; that's Charleston, that's Parkland, that's the way white Americans revere gun culture. It's an assault on all fronts, and despite the pull of its main sonic gimmick, an assault on all fronts cannot be incisive. So it contains no arguments or calls to action, working mainly as a mood piece for anxiety, instability, dehumanization, and dread, writhing into itself, and young Thug's haunting outro is the only place where the horrors alluded to are felt rather than just referenced or replicated. Is it effective? Well, it certainly leaves an impression, but it's not as focused as it could be, and to get any kind of solid message out of it you've got to put in just as much as you're going to get out. [6]

Alfred Soto: A compelling statement of protest that doesn't mind flirting with the exploitative and why not -- the video, that is. A fitfully compelling protest whose tonal variety compensates for its lyrical shortcomings -- that's "This is America." Like many #1s, it's a vessel for listeners. Few hits in the twenty-first century benefit from a cultural moment like Donald Glover's. This is America? No -- this is America. [7]

Will Rivitz: There isn't much I can say about "This Is America" that Doreen St. Félix hasn't already said, so let me talk about its place as an "ambiguous document" on terms in which I feel slightly more authoritative: As a nuanced, complicated, and enigmatic dissection of Black existence -- which is about as specifically as one can describe the song and its accompanying visuals, since any narrower portrayal risks an uneasily reductive summary of its purpose -- Gambino's newest is excellent, aesthetically compelling and subtly difficult in all the right ways. As a pop song that's raced to number one on the charts with the force of a "God's Plan," it's less successful, so instrumentally and allusionally dense that, aside from Gambino's chorus and ad-libs, even a dozen listens in I still have trouble tracking its structure -- and a pop song that isn't easily accessible tends to fail at providing the populist unification that the best of that ilk inflict on a club at 1 AM. As a song, period, it's also a little weak: for all its bassy bluster, its aggression is pallid compared to the distortion of a Clipping or a Death Grips, and its Yeezus-cum-TLOP blend of gospel and snarl doesn't quite reach what made both of those albums so excellent. This, as much as I do love it at times, is what makes the single-number rating system we have on this site a smidge simplistic: we're rating songs based on a singular scale with which we try to summarize all of its qualities into a one- or two-character final word. On "This is America," the ambiguity that St. Félix characterizes so well can't properly be reduced to a score, because the song succeeds and half-succeeds and half-fails on so many disparate levels that it doesn't really do the song justice. That said, I've listened to this one the past two weeks about as much as I listened to "Plug Walk" last month, and I gave that one a [7], so here we are. [7]

Stephen Eisermann: There've been more than enough think pieces and Twitter threads about on this song that I won't try analysis. Instead, I want to highlight how impotent the song is without the accompanying video: how it's a great addition to the accompanying video. This song is good, sure, but the video makes it great. [7]

Julian Axelrod: "This is America" feels like an anomaly in so many ways: It's a song that meets Donald Glover's outsize ambitions, which have previously made him feel like an auteur in search of a masterpiece. Its popularity is partly due to an eye-catching viral video that justifies the hype and amplifies its song's message rather than overshadowing it. And most impressively, it's a cultural and political statement that actually feels suited to how we live now. The song builds and buckles under its oppressively sunny tension, like a powder keg with a smiley face plastered on the front. But check that title again: While "This is America" is clearly a product of our current climate, its anger is nothing new. As long as you live in a country that refuses to let you breathe, the only true rebellion will be dancing on its feet. [8]

Jonathan Bradley: Who is Childish Gambino? This is what I ask from "This is America." Because we know Donald Glover: he's Troy from Community, he's a trash punchline rapper, he's a shockingly impressive nu-funk singer, he's Atlanta's dramedy auteur of the late 2010s. And now he's the ghost of Kendrick Lamar (because Kendrick invented political raps for the '10s the way Chuck D did for the '80s), he's Earn Marks, he's this shuckin' and jivin' shooter playing callous with life. Or has he surpassed performance; is "This is America" any black man playing the best role a white society can ask of him? "Have you seen 'This is America'," people ask of me, and I say, "no, I still have some episodes of Atlanta left to watch." As protest, aren't they as meaningful? As video, "This is America" doesn't resolve. Is this America? Well, song as shareable content is not new; pop history is articulated through tunes that capture an audience's spirit for their times. As song: the choir is lovely. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Remember when a bunch of white people thought it was OK to roll their eyes at Donald Glover for feeling "too white for Blacks, too Black for whites" on Camp? Some people dished out laundry lists of other Black people who were, in their minds, definitive proof of Glover being a fraud. Invalidating his experiences was a sure way to make him -- and other Blacks who felt similarly -- even more insecure about their identity. Here we are, seven years later, and Donald Glover's finally "made it" according to the standards set by white gatekeepers and lay internet folk (one and the same?), and it seems as if people consider the vivid depictions here as being astronomically different -- more artful, more profound -- than what was present in his earlier discography. It's been stated that "This is America" is not the lead single to the upcoming Childish Gambino album, indicating that this is a standalone product meant to be engaged with both aurally and visually. Glover knows: a video is going to be far more affecting simply because of how people approach one. Music is far more susceptible to passivity; people can hear, but they don't listen. Still, it's impossible to ignore the prevailing pernicious attitudes that lead to uniform declarations of "This is America" as a powerful political statement. Does everything need to be so painfully explicit and overt in its intentions to qualify as such? There's a sort of dysconscious racism underpinning how writers and fans are content with categorizing "This is America" and Donald Glover as political while denying such a label to the various rappers who provide ad-libs here. So let's break it down: Young Thug provided one of last year's most heartbreaking verses while mourning the murder of Keith Troup. BlocBoy JB dedicated his recent mixtape to Simi, a friend who died by gunfire. On "Work Hard," Quavo proudly declares that despite dropping out of school, he's rich enough now that his mom doesn't need to work. Slim Jxmmi says essentially the same thing on "Brxnks Truck" and unabashedly celebrates his affluence on "Growed Up." Kodak Black, who's namedropped here, explains how people don't see potential in him because he's "a project baby" on "Misunderstood," and spends another song later on Project Baby 2 sounding absolutely suicidal. And 21 Savage's "Bank Account," one of the most popular rap songs of last year, saw the rapper elegantly illustrating how being a successful Black man doesn't mean you can suddenly present yourself as vulnerable. It's funny: that everyone here is relegated to ancillary elements in the instrumentation ensures that people won't decry the presence of a less "conscious" (i.e. less "worthy," less "real") rapper. Glover understands this, and this decision is an effective middle ground between making significant impact and allowing all these other rappers to have a voice. It's moving because Glover's doing the exact opposite of what his Camp detractors did: unifying, validating, and empowering. The result is a beautiful tapestry that seems to be delivering a message hidden underneath a more obvious one. Every Black rapper is making political music. Every Black rapper is showing what it means to be Black in America. Every Black rapper deserves the attention to detail that has been poured upon this song and video. To think otherwise -- to discredit and disparage the truths of these Black people's lives -- is to disagree with the more obvious realities presented in the video. It's happening, and that is America too. [5]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#Childish Gambino

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thebabrs · 5 years

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Babr Part Deux

At 37 weeks and 1 day pregnant with my second child, a white Jeep full of teenage boys made a left turn into the setting sun and crashed into our car innocently going through a green light on the way to Target. Neither car was going that fast so no one was really hurt, but the front of our GTI was totaled, airbags had deployed, Paolo was scared and crying and I had some gnarly bruises forming on my safely buckled belly.

The ambulance came and I had to be taken to a trauma ER because of how far along I was and the bruising. Ultrasounds and blood tests showed that both baby and I were ok, but we still had to stay overnight for observation. I barely had fallen asleep by 1am and was abruptly awakened by beeping and nurses rushing in with oxygen masks because the baby’s blood pressure had suddenly dropped. Things normalized quickly but I didn’t really fall back to sleep after that, just counted down the minutes until PJ could come back with Paolo and bring me home.

Fast forward to 38 weeks and I woke up feeling like I either had severe night sweats... in just my lower half, or I had just peed myself. But I didn’t smell like pee and I didn’t really feel sweaty. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on, so I cancelled my 9am Best Butt Ever class at the gym (even preggos gotta work that booty) and begged PJ to take me in to the hospital to check before he left for work. I never made any false labor runs with my first pregnancy so I felt like I had a free pass to be over-cautious this time. I was full prepared to be called out for wetting my pants and sent right back home.

I explained the situation to the nurse in Triage as I put on the hospital gown and she took my vitals. She kind of nodded her head and said it’s always ok to come check but yeah, most likely I’m just another pregnant lady peeing herself. There was a test that resembled an at-home pregnancy test pee stick that would show if infact there was amniotic fluid leaking and we waited a minute before the nurse glanced at the stick and started to say something. Then she stopped and looked again. Then she walked over by the window, where the light was better, and asked PJ, “Does that look like a line to you?” Yep, it was positive. “Well, nevermind, you’re not going anywhere!” She laughed and PJ and I just stared wide eyed at each other.

My water had technically “broken” but I wasn’t in any kind of labor yet. I had zero contractions and was still pretty much the 2 cm dilated and 50% effaced I was at my ob/gyn appointment the day before. My doctor had predicted it would happen in the coming week, and I had written in my journal that I was wondering about April 2nd. Well, April fools on me - this baby was coming now. We waited a few hours for my body to start contracting on its own, but since I couldn’t remember exactly when I first felt the leaking we didn’t want to wait too long. Eventually, I had to get Pitocin and while I was totally freaked out by the horror stories I’d been told about the pain of “induced” labor, the nurse assured me that it was no more painful than unassisted labor. It’s just when you start to have contractions at home they usually start slow and build up and you’re in the comfort of your own space and a little distracted. With induced labor you’re just waiting focusing on those contractions to just ramp right up from the getgo. And they did. PJ has taken Paolo home to pack up some stuff for us. We had no one lined up to watch him, so armed with an iPad and lots of snacks, the little guy was in it for the long haul with us.

While they were gone, I’m not sure if it was home or just wandering around the hospital getting lunch, I got an epidural. The contractions were getting serious and as the nurse helped me sit sideways on the hospital bed and the anesthesiologist worked on my spine I felt a whoosh of water and that dang slow leak seemed to burst like a south swell hitting the HB pier. I remember apologizing profusely and laughing but also crying and then just being very grateful for the drugs.

When the boys came back, PJ was pleased to see I had the epidural (insert eye roll) and Paolo was wary of all the things I was hooked up to. He was loving the hospital and the snacks and the attention from adoring nurses but was noticeably distant from me. He was still nursing to sleep and sometimes for comfort at this point, but had zero interest in me or my boob. It was nice to see him so happy and having fun, but I was kind of sad he didn’t seem to need me.

PJ worked on his laptop, Paolo watched the iPad and napped, I think the nurse gave me a plain turkey sandwich at one point which I thought wasn’t allowed but I ate it because I was STARVING. There was nothing good on the staticky TV. (I remembered the television being much nicer with Paolo.) Some dumb movie, maybe with Melissa McCarthy, was on and I recall thinking I don’t want my baby being born to “Tammy” (or whatever it was) and then being relieved when reruns of the Office came on.

It felt like it took forever for my cervix to kick into action. Hours between 3cm and 5cm dilated. I think I had been hovering around 6-7 cm for a while when I started to suddenly feel pretty ready to go. The nurse came in to check again but was in the process of telling me just relax and it’ll happen eventually when her eyebrows popped up in surprise and she told me that wow, yeah I was basically at 10. The doctor rushed in, having been out at some event for her own kid (definitely not expecting to see me so soon) and PJ came to my side. Paolo was back on the iPad in ignorant bliss as I started to push and at 19:08 he had a beautiful, tiny, 6lb 11oz baby brother.

This was Good Friday (and truly it was great) but while every one was trying to rush us out by Easter Sunday, we were worried about leaving too soon. We’d barely stayed one night with Paolo and once we were home we realized he had jaundice and ended up having to go to a different, much less nice hospital for his 24 hour blue light treatment. We also hadn’t exactly decided on a name yet, much to the dismay of the intern, volunteer, assistant(?) who kept coming in every hour trying to get us to complete the birth certificate. Paolo had already been telling people for weeks that his brother’s name was “Enzo” so we were kind of stuck with that, but the middle name had eluded us. We texted friends and family members, frantically googled name meanings and combinations. Finally we decided on “Philippe,” (“fill-eep”) it was a beautiful French name, (like my own, Celeste) it started with the strong “Ff” sound I had been drawn to (I had considered Frank, after my great-grandfather, or Fisher, an ode to my surname which means “fisherman”), but when it comes down to it, we named him after a sandwich. Philippe’s is one of the oldest restaurants in Los Angeles and most likely originated the French Dip. It’s a really cool spot and the food is solid. Coincidentally, Philippe emigrated from France to the US via Buffalo, NY (PJ’s hometown) before moving to LA. Regardless, it was Enzo Philippe. We brought him home and everytime I think I know anything, he still surprises me, just like we surprised all those nurses along the way that day. Motherhood is just the best, hardest, wildest ride.

#mommyblogger #motherhood #mamasboy #boymom #birthdaybabr #birthstory #igavebirth #empoweredbirth #secondchild #birthday #philippe

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