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onlyswan · 1 year

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summary: in which jungkook is giving up on you but you have so much love left to give.

> idol!jungkook x f!reader / angst, fluff, suggestive / wc: 8.3k

> warnings: mention of infidelity (no one did u can breathe ily), mention of a classmate slipping their number in oc’s pocket and oc feeling unsafe, mention of puking, mentions & allusion to s/x, alcohol consumption, making out, boob!e fondle, gr*nding kinda? jungkook is hard™️ they’re so in love it’s sickening

> in which masterlist!

playlist! and if/or when - ruel / hate everything - jungkook cover (gsoul) / hits different - taylor swift / statue - lil’ eddie / i wouldn’t ask you - clairo (i had to get in the zone & this is so oc-coded i need u to listen i’m so srs)

next: in which you don’t want to give up jungkook (even when he gave you reasons to, even if they give you reasons to).

note: this was a journey. happened back in june 2019.!! i’m ripping off the bandaid <3 deep sigh writing this made me realize how my babies have come so far. hopefully will follow up with a fluffy fluff lowkey inspired by the underwear live soonest lols i’m excited for it 2 stay tuned 🫂 reblogs & feedback are much appreciated <3

—

you forgot the walls of the apartment building you’re living in are thin. a small portion of the white paint has been chipped off, it looks like a birth mark, you note — except it’s not, and you’re the one who caused the irregularity.

your favorite glass is scattered across the kitchen floor, reduced to shards and to sparkling pieces almost as miniscule as dust. you don’t know what came over you. you don’t know why you threw it at the wall instead of filling it with cold water to only drink three sips like you usually do.

just when you thought you’ve been faring well in holding yourself together today, a fresh wave of sorrow overwhelms you. your knees buckle as you begin weeping, the loudest you’ve been since this nightmare has started. it swallows the knocking sounds at your door, but it’s still not loud enough to quell jungkook’s quivering voice playing like a broken record on loop inside your head.

“we should end this… i think it’s for the best, before we get drained.”

the rain is coming down fiercely and you’re freezing inside his car, parked outside your apartment. after all, his balenciaga windbreaker can only do so much against the blasted airconditioner. your throat is painfully dry, and your hands and face are numb from the piercing cold. but those are the least of your concerns because you feel like your head had just been dunked in ice water. the sting in your eyes are burning warmer as the seconds fly by and the muffled sounds of the torrential raindrops drum frantically in your ears. they’re clouding the car windows, mirroring jungkook’s tear-stained cheeks.

“i’m leaving again in three weeks. and i’m leaving again next year… and i’ll be gone again soon after that for a long time. i-i don’t know when i’m coming home, ___.” he pauses. the heel of palms press against his eyes, as if that could possibly barricade the saltwater leaking from them. “i never know where my life is taking me and you have your own… there’s too much-too much going on. i think that i’m just wasting your time, that this isn’t- it’s not going anywhere.”

“open the door! hello?! ___!”

“what do you want?!” you seeth in annoyance, swinging the door open to reveal your pesky neighbor.

he scratches the top of his head awkwardly at the sight of the mess that you greeted him with, having not bothered to pretend that you weren’t wailing your heart out.

”hey, i know you’re going through something…” his lips remain parted as he struggles to find the correct word, his right eye twitching voluntarily. “soul-crushing? right now. but i heard glass breaking and i was concerned that you, uhm, might’ve hurt yourself.”

the apparent nervousness and sincerity in his actions pull you out from the isolating disassociation you’ve imprisoned yourself in. you feel humiliated, presenting yourself in your most pitiful form infront of a kid two years younger than you. you envy him for having it together after storming out of his parents’ house while you-

“i’m not hurt. it was just an accident.”

you’re shamelessly lying infront of his face because the truth makes you feel too ashamed of yourself.

he only nods, smiling in relief. “i don’t know how to help make you feel better, so i just brought honey like i used to do before.”

you sigh, the familiar jar of honey and its red checkered lid waving at you like an old friend. has it been a year?

“bro, i told you i can’t accept this anymore.”

“you and your boyfriend already broke up. what’s the big deal?”

you have never wanted to smack someone more, the genuine confusion painted on his face feels like an infuriatingly harsh slap to yours.

“he wasn’t threatened by your honey, you dipshit. we just found out my blood sugar was getting a bit high!”

“oh- i’m so-”

you angrily slam the door shut. the silence you’re left with is suffocating, and you find yourself breaking down again.

he jumps in surprise when you open the door again, yelling- “and we’re not broken up!” before ripping away the jar of honey from his sweaty palms. he’s left completely flabbergasted, an inexplicable heaviness weighing on his chest when he hears your sniffling from the other side of the hard-wood.

“does that mean i can deliver again next week? i have too much in my kitchen…”

he doesn’t receive a snarky answer, surprisingly, so he continues talking.

“and f-y-i, your left cheek is bleeding! you might want to check on that!”

—

“you didn’t even give me any signs…”

you inhale a deep, shaky breath in a fragile attempt of keeping your composure. you want to scream, rip apart this thick tension with your bare hands, and force him to admit that this is just some kind of sick joke. you finally see him in person after months and all he has for you is a gift bag filled to the brim with heartbreak. this is too casually cruel, not something you would’ve expected from your jungkook.

“do you really mean that? or is there something else you’re not saying…? look at me.” you plead, weakly tugging at the hem of his long-sleeved shirt. the horrors of long-distance relationship stories claw their way out of your skin, adding fuel to the fire of your deepest fear. “you didn’t cheat on me, right? that can’t be it. we- we always-”

after you ended your last relationship, you cried at the parking lot of your university and continued living your life the next morning as if nothing happened at all. you did it all for yourself, anyway. he was gradually tearing down your confidence and your dignity; and you didn’t want to become a person the future you would despise for not being wiser, stronger.

and here you are at present day: spending the cozy sunday night solving chemistry problems on your desk. you have a blue bandaid plastered on your face and a cheek full of fruit and honey. and you would say you’re fine, but jungkook wasn’t here to sweetly dote on you while treating your wound. he isn’t here to taste the honey from your lips with that coquettish smirk of his. he isn’t laying on your bed, fighting to stay awake because he wants to fall asleep with you as his pillow.

no matter how hard you try to shut out this thought, it keeps knocking on the door. he’s going to be doing these sweet nothings for a different person when he finally reaches a more stable place in his life. you want to kneel on the ground, beg the heavens to meddle with destiny and never let you hear about it.

because that means he will never set foot in your apartment again, and the personal belongings you left in his room will be thrown out to erase the traces you left behind.

so this is how it begins.

the ugliest parts of you are swimming to the surface, tying themselves around your ankles because jungkook took away the ground from beneath your feet after unearthing your soul and… nothing makes sense to you anymore. if you wake up every morning to tend to your garden, and you look outside the window to learn that the sun has stopped burning, what do you have left?

your lips inevitably curve into a frown, but you inhale a sharp breath, patting your eyes dry before they can smudge the black ink on your notepad. and then you dip a strawberry in honey for the third time.

—

“no, baby, no- that’s not it.”

the dread and insecurity weaved into the cracks of your voice fill him with nausea and panic. he captures your frigid hand with haste, firmly holding it to his pounding chest.

“i would never do that to you. just the thought alone fucking disgusts me… you’re the only one. you’ve ruined me for everybody else.”

“then why are you giving up on me? am i becoming a burden?”

jungkook feels painfully numb, mind floating as the buildings outside the window get left behind him as a mere, passing blur.

“yah, jungkook-ah. are you crying?”

a torturous moment of silence passes as he struggles to find his voice. his tongue is tied, and his lost eyes are betraying the nights he spent practicing how to explain himself to you. back then, the reasoning he curated made sense. but faced with the consequences of his actions, the love of his life’s brain running a thousand miles per hour, recording a tale of woe and heartache on his passenger seat — he has never felt this much loathing for himself and his weaknesses.

you release a shaky breath, patting his rosy cheeks dry with your sleeves. you smile at him kindly, and he watches you in sheer disbelief. he can’t fathom the perpetual luck he’s been blessed with that he met, who he believes to be, the purest soul to grace this corrupted world. they’re damp with your tears, so it’s practically useless, but the sweet gesture is a stray beam of sunlight in the midst of the dull gray clouds.

the comforting rubs on his shoulder extracts him from his torturous thoughts, and only then does he feel the wetness on his face.

“you’ve been holding it back for the past week. just cry it out.”

he nods wordlessly, hiding himself in the fleece blanket from his lap. yoongi can feel a lump forming in his throat as he witnesses his youngest brother breaking down, jungkook’s pain also being his pain. as a group who’s been living together for the past decade, no one will be able to empathize with them as well each other. especially during times like this.

“___ hasn’t called?”

jungkook shakes his head wistfully, wiping away the tears that slid down his nose. he is dying to send you a text message, worried sick, and still used to hearing about your day the same way he is used to sleeping on his stomach.

“hyung,” the sound of the word borders on a sob. “it’s over. this is killing me… it’s all my fault.”

“but isn’t that what you wanted?”

“exactly. so why am i crying?” his hands ball into closed fists. “i’m an asshole.”

“enough of that!” yoongi loudly whines out his scolding. ”we all know you had your reason.”

“but, hyung, i fucked up!” he tenses up, blurting out the acknowledgement that’s been haunting him day and night. “she told me the most romantic thing and i felt so… fuck, i’m so angry at myself. i ruined everything. and i’m scared that i’d end up making things worse if i try fixing it.”

“stop beating yourself up. we can’t solve things this way.” yoongi grabs a bottle of water from the cupholder between them, twisting the cap open before handing it to jungkook. “drink first.”

once he starts drinking, he realizes that his throat has been awfully dry and sore. it’s most probably best for him to rest his voice. he can already foresee the concert rehearsal being absolute hell tomorrow. if he can’t sing, he doesn’t know how else he’s supposed to keep himself sane.

“talk to me. what did she say?”

“you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, do you know that?”

and with that revelation, he loses the warmth of your touch, and he comes crashing down like a wingless aircraft.

“i also need time to think about it. that’s only fair, right? that i get to decide, too…?” you swallow thickly, lips parting as if the words are resisting to come out of your mouth.

he looks at you with an emotion you can’t name, a push and pull between longing and trepidation.

if this was a movie, he would brave the rain and somehow perfectly deliver a poetically romantic speech that would sway your heart. if this was a movie, you would take a warm bath together, make out in the bathtub, and make love on your bed. if this was a movie, the day would end with the two of you tangled up, peacefully asleep and rhythmic breathing in sync. but he knows you. apparently not as well as he thought, but to some extent, he knows you. if he pulls you closer in the heat of the moment, you would feel suffocated and defensive and you would push him away; and he would lose you for good. that much he knows. so he lets you leave and he stays in the car— heartbroken, crestfallen, and regretful, because he might’ve just recklessly thrown away the best gift the universe has ever given him.

“i was thinking about how she never would’ve made this much sacrifices and efforts for anyone else and i feel like… i- it’s all going to waste because our future is uncertain. i can’t be committed to her as much as she is committed to me. and, and i felt like the guilt was eating away at me, you know? i wasn’t thinking straight.” jungkook chews on his bottom lip, a last ditch effort to prevent himself from sobbing. “it just… consumed me? like i was drowning… and all i could smell and taste was the saltwater.”

“i see,” yoongi sighs, crossing his legs and intertwining his fingers infront of his stomach as he finds the right words to say. “that’s a normal response. our brain is a very complex friend… but you know, everything i’ve been through as myself and as a part of our team, hmmm, they taught me that there are times when a problem doesn’t necessarily need a solution per se. you just keep going until the fog clears up and then you move past it.”

fuck, jungkook needs a glass of whiskey. or two. or twelve. he listens intently despite seeming like he’s spacing out.

“this won’t last forever and time slips away from us without us even noticing. you should do what you want to do. if we’re going to deprive ourselves of good things, what will we have left after everything is over? money we can’t spend in one lifetime? there’s no happiness in that.”

yoongi frowns, wishing he could do more to alleviate the weight hanging on jungkook’s shoulders.

“you deserve love outside all the noise, too. focus on the present which you can still control and deal with the future when it arrives. if you do otherwise, you’ll just be tormenting yourself… and i know it’s easier said than done but! do you want to hear something i’ve had on my mind lately?”

with a flushed face and swollen eyes, he tilts his head to curiously spy on his hyung.

“what is it?”

“your motivation to work out after our shows is so you can stay awake and spend time with her. that’s why you fall asleep everywhere else. do you know how scary and endearing it is to watch that? is that what you call ‘not being committed enough’?”

yoongi fails to hide his gummy smile, body vibrating with silent laughter as pictures of jungkook falling asleep standing up flash before his eyes.

“seriously, you punk! you scare me! i just pass out and die straight after while you- really, you’re really unbelievable. i envy you. for being able to love with everything you have until they break your heart. i mean it!”

“but i’m the one who broke their heart this time.” jungkook somberly utters in defeat, bottom lip jutting out and chin quivering.

yoongi encouragingly pats his shoulder, shaking his body lightly. ”you can make it up to her. she’ll reach out before we leave. have some more patience.”

jungkook’s eyes turn into slits, suspiciously squinting at the man sitting beside him. “why do you sound so sure?”

“because she loves you. why else?”

—

you automatically pause from eating cup ramyeon when your phone lights up on top of the journals you’ve been reviewing for the past hour.

“ah, shit! shit!”

you abruptly cover your mouth with your hand, exhausted eyes watering because you accidentally bit your tongue after reading the name of the sender of your newest text notification. you take sips of cold water, peering at your phone as you do so. your hands itch to type out a response, but the screen dies and turns black, another of yoongi’s messages in the same pile of unanswered ones from your friends checking up on you tonight. you can’t talk to anyone right now; you need to get shit done.

after eating your dinner at the convenience store, you come home to a plastic of fried chicken hanging on the doorknob of your front door.

Eat lots and stay healthy! I’m feeding Jungkook well too. Don’t worry. — Yoongi

you peel off the blue handwritten note, sticking it on the cover of one of your books. you carefully carry the food using your free hand, and you can feel it radiating on your skin, the heat of a freshly-cooked meal. you were always worried of being a bother when you occasionally ask him how jungkook is doing on tour, but this made your heart significantly lighter. gaining a good friend after losing your lover, perhaps life can show a smidge of mercy when it wants to.

too bad you’ve always been one to be greedy.

—

“ah, seriously. why did you have to break up with ___?”

“we’ve been through this a million times!” jungkook exclaims in exasperation as he fiddles with the controller, bumping his knee with taehyung’s. “focus. you’re supposed to be helping me forget.”

“i don’t remember agreeing to that.” taehyung responds with a shrug, smirking when he picks up a booster and runs past his friend’s character. “you finally found someone who could put up with you and you let them go? i won’t let you forget.”

jungkook scoffs, eyes rolling upwards. “bro, i should be the least of your problems.”

“nuh-uh.” taehyung tuts with a grin, belly aching with laughter when jungkook’s car jumps over his to steal the lead. he didn’t even know that was possible. he plans on using the same trick against him later. “i’m making you my biggest problem so i don’t have to deal with mine.”

“they’re not married yet. you still have a chance, you know?”

“yah!” he gapes at jungkook in shock, entirely forgetting about the game. “take that back!”

“don’t act like you haven’t thought of it!”

“yeah, but i don’t say it out loud. it sounds too wrong! i still have my morals left!” he cries out, stomping his feet on the floor.

jungkook lightly punches his arm, eyebrows pinched in confusion. “i meant you have a chance if they break up. i have morals too! what do you think of me?!”

“oh…” taehyung blinks. “you know who else have probably thought of that too, though?”

“who?” jungkook boredly questions as he scrolls through the game collection, contemplating about which one to play next.

“all the other people waiting in line for ___.”

the realization renders him motionless, stirring up the possessiveness coursing through his veins. for the love of god, he doesn’t want to be petty but that struck a nerve. he wants to storm out of the house and look for you, beg on his knees for you to take him back.

“aish, hyung, you’re driving me crazy! why would you tell me that? are we torturing each other?!”

“are you crying? yah, jungkook-ah.” taehyung watches his hunched figure with a guilty wince, hesitant hands rubbing the expanse of his back. “i’m sorry- i’m sorry… do you want a hug?”

jungkook stays quiet, head hanging low to hide his face crumpling with anguish. the loose but affectionate hug that he gets pulled into prompts him to fall apart, catharsis blossoming in his ribcage and turning his bones into jelly.

he hears obnoxiously loud sniffles, and he abandons taehyung’s shoulder to look at his face. “are you crying, too?”

“stop ruining the moment.” taehyung groans, forcefully pushing down his head again.

namjoon comes out from his bedroom in search for another extension cord, still sipping on the half-empty iced americano he took from the fridge only ten minutes ago. the heartfelt scene on the couch causes him to halt on his tracks. how did they go from playing games to crying together? he silently observes the two members for a moment before deciding to approach them.

“what am i going to do with the two of you?” he grunts, ruffling his hair in frustration. “shall we go out for drinks to disinfect your wounded hearts?”

the mention of alcohol makes them perk up, jungkook’s tearful doe eyes sparkling at the prospect of temporarily erasing the pain that has uncontrollably spread throughout his system. he wants to drink until he forgets that he has hands, until he forgets what it feels like to touch you.

“thanks, monie-hyung. i’ll have my appetizer.”

and the iced americano gets snatched away from namjoon’s unsuspecting hand within the blink of an eye.

—

“this is not a barbecue restaurant.” you stare blankly at the orange neon lights spelling out the name of the night club your friends secretly conspired to bring you to.

“___, loosen up! the fastest way to move on is to find someone else. this is the best place for that.” aera turns around from the passenger seat of the taxi, her red lips painting a thrilled smile. “just forget about jungkook. we all knew this shit was going to happen. i’m surprised you even lasted that long!”

“i don’t know what you’re trying to imply but i don’t appreciate your tone.” you warn her with a sharp, threatening look. “and the ‘someone else’ that i found at a bar before turned out to be biggest fucking jerk i’ve ever met. i’m not doing this again.”

“things might be different this ti-” mi-ran aids in persuading you, but it only adds fuel to the fire.

“oh my god! fuck off!” you yell in irritation, aggressively getting off the car and slamming the door shut on their faces.

you never look back, ignoring the shouts of your name and half-assed apologies. you don’t have the slightest idea about where you’re going — your feet have a mind of their own and they chose to go the opposite way of home. this isn’t how you envisioned your night. you just wanted to listen to the sound of the meat grill and complain about life giving you a taste of true love just to cut your tongue with it until you bled. was that too much to ask?

you’re about ninety percent certain that you just lost two of whom you treated to be your closest friends. you think of ah-young, and you briefly consider crashing at your best friend’s band practice, but you’re too exhausted to travel to the other end of the city.

with eleven seconds left in the timer, you cross the street with swift and long strides alongside a crowd consisting mostly of employees wearing the same navy blue uniform. at last, you’re among the bright and lively restaurants, the inviting smell of good food making your stomach sting with hunger.

it’s only taehyung who recognizes you when you unknowingly pass by, almost choking on his glass of somaek, the combination of soju and beer. with his career on the line, he is confident that he can recognize that balenciaga windbreaker anywhere and anytime. meanwhile, instead of talking about you, the youngest is drunkenly reminiscing about the alleged ghost encounters he had in their old dorms. their leader is tragically left to tend to the grill alone. he deeply regrets not dragging any of the older members with them.

“everyone, i think i just saw __-”

a grimace of cluelessness is plastered on taehyung’s face when jungkook claps once, enthusiastically pointing at him as if he just announced something inspiring and life-changing.

“you’re right, you’re right! that’s it! what i’m kind of trying to say here is…” he pauses, facial muscles relaxing into a gloomy expression. he sniffles and rubs his nose, making it a brighter shade of red. “when we move houses again, i won’t have stories like these to bring with me. the new ghosts will be my memories with ___.”

none of the other two dares to speak after that, the oddly satisfying sound of meat being grilled and the chattering from other tables occupy the uneasy and heavy silence. instead, they begin filling their own shot glasses with pure soju. namjoon is the first one to spill it down his throat, slamming it on the table before dishing out his phone from his pocket. by this time, all of them are already drunk, double vision blurry and speech a little slurred. they gave up on counting the green bottles and cans of beer a long while ago.

“shit, that was a good metaphor. i need to write that down.”

“namjoon-hyung, he’s crying again!”

jungkook’s head slumps on the table with a thud, hot tears escaping down to his temple as he laments. “i miss her so much. why did i have to break up with her the second we got home? why…? am i so impulsive? what do i do if… if she agrees that we- h-how am i supposed to live with myself after that…? i’m never going to love again.”

they shuffle apprehensively on their seats, but still, they tell jungkook what he needs to hear since he won’t remember tonight’s events, anyway.

that’s not going happen. she just needs some more time. i’m sure she’s missing you too. everything will be okay.

but it’s been almost two weeks of radio silence. their flight is in nine days, drawing nearer and nearer as if it’s purposely taunting jungkook. everyone is thinking the same thing, and everyone is afraid to say it out loud.

—

it’s 7am when his work alarm goes off. with a disgruntled noise, a hungover jungkook drowsily drags himself out of bed, eyes still closed as he swings the bedroom door open.

“oing?” he creates a noise of confusion when his arm bumps against an object. he blinks at the brown paper bag hanging on his doorknob, removing one of the handles to peek at its contents.

he buffers for a moment, staring blankly at his belongings safely tucked inside. there’s his black mini bluetooth speaker, tinted lipbalm, wired earphones, bucket hat, facial cleanser, moisturizer, and shampoo. these are everything he left on top of your study desk and in your bathroom. neatly folded on the side is his windbreaker, which he recalls as clear as daylight, how you reveled in its comfort the last time that you were together. the fabric softener you use has replaced his perfume, the cherry scent forming a rain cloud of nostalgia and longing above his head.

if this is a nightmare, he is begging for somebody, anybody, to break into the room and to bring him someplace where hope is not desolate.

his wounded heart, as his namjoon-hyung described, is experiencing an excruciating pain he never even imagined was possible. he now understands, why the broken heart syndrome is a real thing.

he can’t read you. is this your way of ‘reaching out’? have you kicked him out of your house, out of your life? for good?

the dread of losing you forever is gnawing at his insides. nausea almost succeeds in knocking him off his feet. his brain hisses with static. he panics at the disgustingly familiar sensation brewing in his digestive system, sprinting to the bathroom to spill out his guts.

they say that you don’t realize what you have until you lose it. that early morning, jungkook realizes that he’s only a human being after all.

—

“when did i put that there?”

you’re sorting out your dirty laundry after showering when you notice a tissue paper tucked in the front pocket of your denim jeans. you huff out a sigh, ripping it apart into tiny pieces over the trash bin with raging vexation. you will never understand how men thinks that these kind of stupid tricks are supposed to compel you into seeing them anywhere near attractive and desirable in your eyes. if anything, they make you feel unsafe and if your paths cross again, you will run the other way. great. another person in the lecture room to avoid. just fucking great.

at this point, you want to mockingly laugh at your own misery. just when you thought your day couldn’t possibly get worse, it fucking does.

you tuck yourself in bed by midnight, texting a friend about your joint presentation next week, and then rereading your conversation with namjoon from this morning for the nth time. you’ve been hoping it will shine light on the right path to take, because you’re still lost and hurt.

Namjoon:

he’s been devastated since

can’t this be sorted out?

stuff’s just been overwhelming and honestly i’m as anxious as him

i'm not trying to force you into getting back together with him ofc but please talk for closure atleast..

you’re also my friend. i think you need it too..

you scroll a bit further down afterwards, and your heart drops to your stomach when you see the three dots under the contact name ‘my jungkook’. you click on it as it beckons you to, only to allow time to flow like a river with no sea to kiss, idly watching the bubble appear and disappear, appear and disappear. almost everyday, you catch a glimpse of him at the very least, typing a message and never sending it.

the same goes for tonight, it seems.

his silence is torturing you. in the car, in your inbox, in your call history. a person knocks on the door and a part of you foolishly predicts that it’s jungkook not using his copy of the key out of respect.

you succumb to the yearning, heading to your shared media and files that you’ve been actively resisting for the past three weeks… for this exact reason.

you randomly click a video sent by jungkook three months ago.

“i know you’re in class but i’m too excited to show what i got you today!” he beams at the front camera, bunny teeth cutely showing. he picks up the first item from the hotel bed with his free hand. “you already own this book but this one got a different cover, see? it’s hardback? they say it’s a limited edition.”

he eyes it fleetingly, obvious that there is something else he is dying to mention.

“i won’t show it too close. you can look at it when i go home. there’s a little surprise inside.”

he scrunches his nose before teasingly sticking his tongue out.

“and then here we haaave-”

following that, he shows you an adorable fluffy white bunny with red eyes. it occupies more than half the screen, and without a doubt, it is soft and huggable.

“cooky’s new sibling! we found it at a gift shop and hobi-hyung said it looks like me.”

he presses his cheek to the bunny’s. “i accept. we do look alike, but my eyes are so much bigger.”

in the upcoming seconds, the video is muted except for his breathing. he plops down on the bed while ruffling his dark hair, staring at the camera wordlessly, evocative of when you catch him dreamily watching you study while you’re on a videocall.

“i miss you.” he smiles sadly, deep dimples appearing on his cheeks. “don’t forget to text me when you’re on your way home.”

he drops on his back, the firm mattress breaking his fall.

“mmmwah!“ he kisses the camera, and your screen freezes on the final frame.

the silence in the aftermath is defeaning. you tear your glasses off your face, burying your face in the pillows. you arrive at your final decision then and there. you don’t care. you don’t care. you don’t care anymore. you cannot bear to spend more of your days like this. his things that used to live here might be gone, but you look for him everywhere. you look for his car in the parking lot. you look for his hair when you see flowers. you wait for his name to be called in the coffee shop. on your way home, you linger at the playground where you used to usually meet.

because if your relationship with jungkook is truly doomed to fail, you want to watch its foundation collapse on the ground, burnt down to gray and black ashes that disintegrate when you try to grasp them in your hands… with good grace, it’s the only way for you to believe that there’s no more home to come home to.

with a trembling hand, you press the call button and for the very first time, you beg someone to stay.

—

jungkook’s breathing ceases, heartbeat violently racing in his chest. the ‘chimes’ ringtone tickle his ears, his phone vibrating incessantly in his hands. the two features he specifically customized in your contact settings so he will immediately recognize that it’s you who’s calling.

it’s been four days since you dropped off his things. and here he was, laying on his bed and struggling to find the right words to say because he refuses to believe that this is how it ends. the paper bag is still hanging on the doorknob. he hasn’t touched it since the first time. he doesn’t have the courage to do so.

fuck giving you space. he wants drown himself in you and never come up for air. he’s more than willing to suffer your anger or your coldness. he’s prepared to prove himself worthy of a second chance every second of every day. he wants to occupy half of your desk and half of your closet again. he selfishly wishes to be the first and the last person you fall in love with.

but until the very end, you’re the braver one.

“love?” your voice is quiet, barely audible, but it’s there, and he hears the affectionate term of endearment distinctly. “i’m sorry. i tried, i really did, but i couldn’t do it…”

“baby,” he falters breathlessly, half of him in disbelief, convinced that he has officially lost his goddamn mind and delusion is bleeding into reality.

“i tried living without you like you wanted- but i can’t-” you hiccup in between small sobs on the other line. “i love you, jungkook. i can’t live carrying around all this love with me. it’s too heavy…”

exploding and breaking apart, jungkook’s heart is a meteor that has entered the planet’s atmosphere, and he doesn’t know where to begin digging for the fragments so he can piece himself together again.

“we are too young and we don’t know what the fuck we’re doing and i love you too much. you don’t have to protect me… i’ll take my fair share of the responsibility, so just-” he hangs on your every word, and then you pause, your following words eliciting a powerful punch to his gut. “just let me love you and let me learn my lesson the hard way… let’s do that, okay?”

the walls of him room ebbs and flows in like the sea. he rests his forearm over his eyes, his skin gradually dampening with tears. he once promised himself that he would never put you in this position. he should be the one begging for forgiveness, repenting and crawling on his knees. but rather than wasting his time with surfing through another tsunami of self-blame, he reminds himself: i want to be a better man.

“okay, baby. let’s do that, hmm? let’s do that. it’s what i want too.” he coos softly with a hoarse voice. “are you at your apartment?”

you hum in confirmation, sniffling. “come home.”

—

a half-naked jungkook abruptly opens the door to yoongi’s room, wearing gray sweatpants with his left arm awkwardly inserted in one of the black t-shirt’s armhole.

“hyung! can i borrow your car? mine’s getting a check-up.”

yoongi tears his eyes away from the computer, hanging the black headphones on the nape of his neck. he merely shrugs before throwing the car key, and jungkook catches it in one hand with ease.

he sighs in relief, politely bowing his upper body to express his gratitude. “thank you, hyung.”

“what are you doing?!” yoongi half-smiles with fondness, jokingly waving him off. “just go- go. leave!”

—

jungkook nervously stands before your front door, head woozy with anticipation and fear. what if things have changed? what if your relationship never goes back to the way it was?

“oh. you’re back together?”

he whips his head back to find your neighbor arriving home from his part-time job. huh, he just realized that he has never really learned what his name is. the only information he has on him is that his sister owns a bee farm.

“how did you even know?” he asks with knitted eyebrows. “you haven’t been giving out honey again, have you?”

“she only accepted it once.” the stranger puts his arms up in surrender with a roll of his eyes. “and don’t make her cry again, will you? she blasts sad songs late at night.”

and with an unpleasantly forceful shut of the door, jungkook is left alone in the hallway. his jaw clenches as he glares at the next apartment, but he rubs his face to release his frustration before he goes to meet you.

“we need to move in together.” he grumbles to himself as he enters your unit, relocking the door behind him. he removes his sneakers, neatly setting them down beside your pairs of shoes by the doormat.

he pads on the wooden floor with his white toe socks, looking around the dark and quiet living room. a faint orange light is seeping under the gap between the floor and the bedroom door, which he recognizes to be your favorite mode on your multi-colored nightstand lamp. he cautiously cracks the door open, and he is instantly greeted by your curled up figure, peacefully sleeping.

it’s muscle memory when he hangs his backpack on the backrest of your study chair before anything else. he also brought the paper bag you sent, putting it down on the floor.

he squats down infront of you, lightly prying away the phone you’re hugging to your chest and placing the device on the bedside table. the light is shining over your skin, and there are a thousand of photos and videos organized into the most treasured folder in his gallery, but not a single one of them will ever do you justice.

god, he missed you so much. it hasn’t been two years, but the life he had before he met you feels like an extremely distant memory.

he sighs, talking in hopes that he appears in your dreams. “how do you do this? you make it impossible not to love you.”

he unconsciously frowns at the sight of your puffy eyes. never again. never again. never again. he chants inside his head. he plants a kiss on each of your eyelids, taking his time to bask in the feeling of your weight under his lips.

he climbs on the opposite side of the bed, tucking you underneath the blanket before securely holding you from behind with his thigh hanging over yours. the warmth of your body and the scent of your shampoo cures the headache that’s been bothering him the whole day. he drifts off to sleep soon after.

—

the feather-light brushes through the silky locks of his hair pulls him out of his slumber half an hour later. he can make out your silhouette through his half-open eyes, the little-mermaid-like scene feels too vivid for a dream.

“why didn’t you wake me up?” you whine, sulking with a pout.

“i’m sorry.” he answers quietly, sitting up to engulf you in a tight embrace as endless apologies tumble from his tongue. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry that i gave up. i’m sorry that i hurt you. i’m so sorry… are you angry at me?”

“i’m upset.” you admit after a few beats, not seeing the point in sugarcoating it. “it hurts when i remember you saying that. and i understand you but… but i don’t like that you decided alone for us. if you do that again… then it will be over between us.”

he has an arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand firmly holding the back of your head. it’s a little hard to breathe, but it’s so reassuring to feel that he doesn’t want to let you out of his embrace. because you hated it — hated how it felt like letting you go was so easy.

“i regret everything. i’m sorry.” he whispers, concealing his tears by nuzzling his face on your neck. “and you’re not a burden. that’s not true.”

he knows that you mean your every word, so he lifts up his head to gaze directly into your eyes, showing that he is as sincere and true to his.

“from now on, all i’ll think about is what i can do to make you happy and safe without compromising our relationship… i’ll do better. i’ll love you better. i promise that i’ll be stronger for us. i won’t make the same mistake twice.”

you wish jungkook could be kinder to himself, treat himself with the same gentleness that comes so naturally with you. why is it that humans find loving themselves so laborious? why does being have to come with such a curse?

taking glimpses at the past, you should’ve been reminding him of these affirmations everyday.

“you don’t have to be strong all the time. i’m not asking for that.” you shake your head, voicing out yourself in a tone so soothing and illuminating. “i don’t want to go anywhere far away from you so think of yourself, too. i told you before, it’s okay to hold on to me. i’m also strong.”

jungkook feels so safe at home. he doesn’t remember what he was so worried of anymore.

“and you know what? if you really see it that way, then i’m telling you now. i want to waste my time on you. you can’t stop me.” your threatening eyes widen in conviction, provoking a sheepish smile to tug at the corners of his lips. “i always get what i want.”

“and you want me?” he innocently points at himself.

“love you.”

“i love you.” he replies, nosing at your neck before leaving a chaste kiss on your skin. “so much.”

“then put yourself in my shoes.” you hum, combing his hair with your fingers, lightly tugging to initiate eye-contact. “i want to take care of you just like how you want to take care of me. i think we have something rare and beautiful…” you pause, self-conscious about coming across as too needy now that you’re face-to-face, but an epiphany shatters your apprehension with a bow and an arrow.

this is what he needed to hear from you that day.

“so stay with me.”

jungkook’s vision becomes unfocused. he’s speechless; the only sound in the room is the humming of the airconditioner, but it’s almost as if you can hear the gears of his brain working their hardest. the pain that glossed his enchanting doe eyes has been replaced with a devotion you’ve never seen expressed so passionately in them before.

“all the time i own is yours.” he declares, cupping your face, the pad of his thumb daintily stroking your cheek. “all of it. we can do anything you want to do. let me make it up to you.”

“anything?” your face lights up with joy and mischief, and the butterflies in jungkook’s stomach come alive. he wants to make it his life’s mission to make you smile everyday; and that, he will do. “then i want you to kiss me.”

the sultriness of your enticing voice makes him go haywire. it’s been too damn long. he has forgotten what it feels like to kiss you. he slowly inches closer, his lips brushing against your lips before he pulls you in deeper, a fervent display of his yearning and apologies. he swallows the needy moan that escapes you as he slowly lays you down on the mattress, stripping off his shirt and mindlessly tossing it somewhere when you impatiently tug at it with another whimper. you cage his face in your hands, bringing back his lips on yours as if he’s the air that you breathe.

he wants to grieve for all the wasted time because everyday, he craved for this. to be honest, he forgets his name when he’s kissing you. outside, the crowds scream his name for being the best at what he does best, and he happily lives for the euphoria of it all. but in this room, there is only you and him. you communicate using the unspoken language of love with your lips. you bare the soft animal in yourselves with your teeth sinking in the other’s skin. you allow your rawest desires and truths to unravel with a slip of the tongue. he exists beyond his name, becomes an indecipherable enigma even to himself. what is the use of an explanation if there is no meaning anyway? all he knows is that he loves you despite all the reasons, against all the reasons.

he sneaks under your shirt, fingertips teasingly exploring your skin as if he’s drawing a map. he feels you quiver when he finally reaches your chest, gently kneading the soft flesh in his palm. this makes you mewl in pleasure, arching your back as your hand unconsciously curls around his wrist, the cotton fabric separating the two of you. the action electrifies jungkook, makes him lose himself a little more, which he didn’t think was still possible.

“touch me, please- jungkook. need you-” you choke out a desperate whimper, nearly sobbing as you guide his hand between your thighs. you can’t bear to spend another second untouched; the last time you made love feels like an eternity ago. he slips past the waistband of your underwear, the only article of clothing you’re wearing below. but to your disappointment, he gently caresses your hip bone instead of dipping his long fingers into your wetness.

“shh, hold on, baby-” he forces himself to break away from the kiss, swollen and red lips glistening with spit. “baby, look at me. you didn’t drink, right? i don’t want to take advantage.”

you gape at him with your chest heaving up and down, dumbfounded. “how could you even think of that right now?”

his eyes widen in panic, worried that he might’ve offended you. “no, no, no-” his palms skim your thighs, guiding them to wrap around his slim waist. you gasp when he presses up on you and his hard length rubs on your folds, sending jolts of electricity up your spine. a gush of arousal dampens the thin material covering your center.

“i want you so fucking bad that it hurts.” he gingerly wipes away the tears that you didn’t even notice streamed down to your temples. you can’t remember the last time you cried before today, they must’ve gotten tired of asking for your permission. “but you were crying when you called, baby. i had to make sure.”

“oh, my boyfriend is such a gentleman.” you muse dreamily. pepper his face with delicate kisses, lips curving upward with an adoring smile. “look at him enjoying my kisses.”

you playfully squeeze his cheeks together, making his pillowy lips pucker.

“you really wanted to break up with me in this case, huh? you wanted to live without me and my kisses? no way.”

his eyelids flutter open, and he shakes his head as he dips down to kiss you. “it was hell without you…” his teeth captures your bottom lip, nipping at the supple flesh. “going to build a life with you. i’ll build furniture, and they’re going to be ours.”

“good. you better.” your high-pitched giggles bounce off the walls as his lips trail down to your neck, licking a bold stripe over your ticklish spots. “i don’t have the patience for it, but i’ll be your trusty assistant.”

it’s ridiculous, how even the sound of your laughter turns him on even more.

—

jungkook learned that you finished your exams yesterday, having spent majority of the past two weeks pulling all-nighters to prepare for them. you seem to be confident about the results, the way you talked about it without concern. he never once doubted that you’re resolute and persevering, but acing your exams in the middle of a breakup is beyond what he can digest. it must’ve been a grueling experience, he can only imagine.

he presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, and then your lips, before dragging the blanket higher over your naked figure, a thicker one he brought out from the cabinet. poor thing, you fell asleep on his lap while he was drying your hair, incoherently murmuring about how tired you are.

he walks to your study space, fixing the loosening towel wrapped around his waist. one by one, he pulls out the items from the paper bag, returning them to their old places on your desk. he toothily grins at the windbreaker, ecstatic due to his plan on wearing it at work today. he wants to give it back to you smelling like him again.

an index card lands on the ground when he unfolds it, making him peer down in curiosity.

“what’s this?” he mumbles, bending down to pick it up.

jumbled thoughts. a letter shoved at the back of the mailbox. a hesitant confession. a bittersweet reminder that says: a wound does not magically disappear overnight. it requires the proper treatment to heal correctly, and even then, it might still leave a scar.

These are only a few of many. Why is this the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do? I’m usually the more logical one. Was it really so bad that we weren’t going anywhere?

and messily crossed out at the end,

I miss you.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask / dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

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palajae · 3 months

Text

and you?

PAIRING... niki x tutor!reader | GENRE... school!au, romance, fluff, humor | WC... 0.3k | ”i didn’t take you to be a slob."

you can’t believe this. you can’t believe your teacher forced you to tutor nishimura riki. the guy barely showed up to class, he barely attempted to do his work. he barely cared.

did he even care?

you scratch your neck. did he even know you were supposed to tutor him?

you doubted niki was going to show up. he always joked around in class, always had something to say to your remarks. you could care less about what he did. the only reason you were here, waiting in the library for him, was to get extra credit from your teacher.

you huff, he’s thirty minutes late. you don’t even know what you expected.

instead of making this effort a complete waste of time, you decided to be productive and do your own work.

yeah, that plan failed.

your hair strewn everywhere, a thunk on the table startles you awake. you subconsciously wipe a bit of drool off the side of your cheek as you come to your senses.

however, you don’t expect to see amused eyes staring at you.

“i didn’t take you to be a slob,” he remarks casually while packing up his books.

dazed, you glance around. what time was it?

and more importantly, how long has niki been here?

before you can say anything—let alone process the situation—niki leans in close to you.

instinctively, you scoot your chair back. eyes as wide as saucers, your body freezes at the close contact.

if anything, he leans in closer with a hand outstretched. your mouth opens to protest,

“what are you-“

“sorry, that was bothering me.”

his touch was surprisingly gentle as he wiped your cheek.

“excuse me?” you swallow.

“eyelash,” he says nonchalantly.

niki then smirks while you’re at a complete loss for words.

“til’ next time, y/l/n.”

as he walks off, you check the time. you gape, horrified. it’s been two hours since you were supposed to tutor niki?!

either way, that doesn’t change the fact that niki was certainly watching you. closely, as a matter of fact. the vitamin drink set next to you was also proof of that (including the note on the desk with a phone number.)

a million thoughts run through your head.

a slob? next time?

…eyelash?

who was nishimura riki and since when did he care?

a/n ▸ playing as long as you care by ruel <33 hope everyone is staying safe with all the icks spreading around!

MAIN TAGLIST ▸ @precioussoulofmine @kynrki @heesterical @jungwonize @rerequire @nvertheless @duolingofanaccount @hoeshii @love-4-keum @luvhyun3 @dimplewonie @yjjungwon @who-tf-soddhi @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @asteria-wood @noajakah236482 @enhacatalog @june-pop @ohsjy @ashtxrie

@lvyvsrk1

@kflixnet

#enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #niki x reader #niki x you #niki fluff #enhypen niki #nishimura riki x reader

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all-mirth-no-matter · 10 months

Text

Time After Time | Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: You join the Shelbys for Christmas Eve dinner.

Warning: language, alcohol, smoking, ethnic slur, heavy fluff, probably bad retelling of Greek history don’t come at me

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 11: Dazed & Confused

I bet you know just what you’re doing. You’re not the type that’s used to losing. First you build me up, then with just a touch, leave me here in ruins. Something ‘bout your eyes, I can’t even walk in a straight line, under the influence. Oh, I’ve been dazed and confused, from the day I met you. Yeah, I lost my head, and I’d do it again. Either I’ve seen the light, or I’m losing my mind. There’s something ‘bout you, that’s got me dazed and confused. — Dazed & Confused, Ruel

God you felt so stupid. It wasn’t like you were a stranger to this house — hell, even a stranger to having dinner at this house. But after meeting Tommy, it didn’t feel like just having dinner at a friend’s place anymore. Would this nervous feeling ever go away?

You’d gone all out for this special occasion, with Ada’s help after you’d expressed your nerves. She’d been far too giddy for your liking over your anxiety. But you let her take you shopping that morning and helped you tame your hair and even refrained from fighting her when she shoved a deep red lipstick into your hands after claiming that it was too dark for her to wear.

Your hair had to be re-managed after your shift at the pub that afternoon. Apparently, Harry closed the place for Christmas Eve night. You thought that was a mistake, surely men were looking for some drunken solace after the children had gone to bed, but you bit your tongue at Harry’s excitement and accepted the extra time off.

After the age of twelve, Christmases in your house had become a less-than-joyful time of year for you. It felt like a switch — one year you were a happy kid surrounded by excited parents drinking hot cocoa and waiting for Father Christmas — and then the next you were fighting over hanging tree lights, complaining about going out into the crowded malls, sitting in three separate rooms of the house to numb yourself with whatever was on the TV at the time. The littlest things would set off your mother, leaving you either raging with anger or crying in the garage waiting for your father to get home.

The magic had disappeared along with your childhood. And it only got worse after your father died. You’d been reckless those first couple years, sneaking out any chance you got to run around town with your friends. When you left for college, you selfishly dreaded coming home during the breaks. That’s when your mother’s psychosis started to get worse.

Looking back, you couldn’t help but wonder if your mother hadn’t been alone for all that time, if she’d had someone to confide in or even just to talk to, if her sanity could have been salvaged, even just a little. But deep down you always assumed it was something darker going on inside her that made her act the way she did. By the end, if she wasn’t numb, she was crying, and you just had no idea how to handle her.

After her death, you simply avoided holidays, always volunteering to work the extra shifts or treat it as if they were any other days of the week.

Since arriving in 1918, you’d been so preoccupied with surviving, with trying to figure out what was going on, the idea of Christmas or any other holiday had been nonexistent. Which is why you’d been surprised at Tommy’s (or technically Ada’s) invitation to a Christmas Eve dinner.

Fidgeting with your dress, you stood nervously at the doorstep and knocked. Behind the door, you could hear the sound of voices and pots banging, even a gramophone playing.

The door swung open to reveal Ada, shouting her hello before pulling you inside for a warm hug. You chuckled at your friend, who clearly had been enjoying some pre-dinner drinks, and walked further into the house.

The betting shop doors were open, the tables that usually hosted piles of books, papers, and money now cleared and replaced with plates, napkins, and silverware. You took a scan at the guests around, surprised at the number of people here.

You recognized a few of them — the two men who’d been with Tommy and his brothers last night at the Garrison, Benji, and the man who stood out on the streets preaching. Then there was Martha sitting near the fire with Polly at her side, looking better but still not completely on the mend. Finn ran past you, shouting as the older of John’s kids chased after him. The rest of the men in the room you didn’t recognize.

“Y/N!” Polly shouted, finally noticing your arrival as she left Martha and pulled you in for a hug. It appeared she’d also been indulging in some pre-dinner drinks, this being the most affection she’d ever shown you. “Let me get you a drink and then introduce you.”

She shoved a glass of something brown in your hands, a quick sniff indicating it as whiskey, and began to walk you around the room, starting unfortunately with the group of men Benji was with.

“Lovelock, Scudboat, and Hancock, this is Y/N. A family friend and barmaid at the Garrison. She’s under our protection, so you know what that means.”

“Aye ma’am,” Scudboat smiled, nodding his head respectfully before lifting his hand. “Nice to meet you, miss.”

You smiled genuinely at the man, already appreciating his vibe. Lovelock didn’t offer any words, but nodded and gave you a smile and handshake as well.

Hancock, or Benji as he’d introduced himself to you as, gave you a smirk. “We met last night,” he said suggestively, lingering his hand around yours longer than you thought was appropriate. “But it’s good to see you again.”

You didn’t respond, pulling your hand away and instead offering a polite smile. Luckily, Polly pulled you away to work the room.

Jeremiah was the name of the preacher, accompanied with his young son, Isaiah. You were curious how he fit in with the group, but saved your questions for another time.

Charlie and Curly worked at the Yard down by the Cut. You realized this must have been the ‘Uncle Charlie’ that Tommy mentioned the other night. They were both quiet, but nice. Curly was beginning to ask you if you liked horses, but Polly shoo’d him before pulling you along to the next man.

Danny Owens, or Whizz-Bang as he mentioned everyone called him, said he could only stay for a drink before going home to his wife and kids. He was fidgeting with his hat, muttering something about wishing Freddie or Barney could be there. Obviously you recognized Freddie’s name and wondered if you’d finally get to meet Ada’s mystery man. It wasn’t the case though as you finished the rounds of introductions.

A shout of the men behind you caused you and Polly to turn, seeing Arthur and John enter the room. They welcomed everyone around them with a loud greeting. You kept your eyes on the doorway, waiting for the one family member who had not yet arrived.

As if on cue with your thoughts, Tommy walked into the room quietly, leaning against the door edge to watch the scene. His eyes scanned the room until they fell to you. The corner of his mouth rose in that familiar resilient smirk, obviously unused to being caught doing his surveillance. He gave a subtle nod over his shoulder before pushing off and turning toward the family room.

Your heart raced a little as you took the bait, excusing yourself and grabbing your drink before walking across the betting shop floor. When you walked through the door into the family room, you heard the gentle shut of the door behind you, but your eyes were transfixed on the tree in front of you.

You’d noticed it when you first walked in, but now, the simple Christmas tree was lit with candles tied at the end of its branches.

The last time you saw a Christmas tree lit up, it’d been multicolored and flashed like a bad shop neon sign, glued to the plastic thistle of a fake tree. The sight of it at the time had made you groan at the very idea of the holiday you dreaded, thinking about all the money that was wasted during this time of year on stupid decorations like that one and worthless presents that would just end up in the garbage in a month.

But this. The real fire dancing on the wicks, sending beautiful shadows across the whole room against the lush pine leaves. It was enough to take your breath away.

“We lit it just now with the kids.” Tommy’s deep voice behind you brought you out of your trance as you felt him move to your side. “We’ll re-light it again before they go to bed.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” he replied as you finally looked over to him, his eyes already on you. The implication of his words and that look made you blush.

You bit your lip as you shook your head and the possible compliment off. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” you found yourself admitting.

Tommy’s brow creased. “Do they not have Christmas trees in America?”

“Um, they do. Just not decorated with real candles,” you replied, not exactly lying but not responding with the whole truth.

You weren’t entirely sure when electric tree lights would be invented, or common place, even. To avoid further questioning, you asked one of your own, a genuine query you couldn’t help but wonder now that the bewilderment had faded.

“Does the tree ever catch on fire?”

He chuckled softly, “Yeah it has. That’s why we only light it for a little while each night, usually before the kids go to bed. This year it hasn’t yet, surprisingly. But the year before we left, Finn was tryin’ to light it for John’s kids and lit the whole bottom row on fire. Luckily Pol was there to put it out before the house caught.”

You were watching him as he told the story before he let a short breath out his nose and a crinkle in the corner of his eyes, as if reminding himself of his own memory had been a pleasant surprise.

He cleared his throat, his smile returning back to his neutral expression as he busied himself with pulling his cigarette box out of his pocket and lifting out a stick. He ran it between his lips before lighting the end, the action causing you to lick your own lips before you remembered something.

“I, um — I got you a gift,” you said, feeling suddenly very embarrassed.

He paused at your words, his brow creased as he watched you pull a small box out of the handbag you’d been carrying.

“A gift?” He repeated, turning his body away from the tree and toward you.

You shrugged, trying to shoo away your nerves. “Yeah, ya’know, it’s Christmas. It’s not anything super fancy, but saw it this morning when Ada took me shopping and I just, I don’t know, I thought you might like it. Sorry it’s not wrapped,” you lifted the box and offered it to him.

Tommy took it tentatively, his brow hooked as he examined the plain cardboard. “You didn’t have to,” he said, not yet opening it.

“I know. It’s just — it’s a thank you,” you finally spat out, your eyes chancing a look up to meet his, “for everything.”

His brow was still creased as he looked down, and your embarrassment and stupidity reached it’s peak as you realized how much of a mistake this probably was.

Did people not get each other gifts in the 1900s? Ada hadn’t said anything when you picked it out and asked if she thought this was something Tommy might like. She had given you a shit eating grin, but hadn’t deterred you or told you you were being weird.

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself saying, turning away from him to try and hide how red your face was. “You don’t have to use it, you don’t even have to open it, I’ll just take it back and we’ll pretend this never happened—“

“Y/N,” Tommy’s voice said softly, causing you to look back over at him, the box open on the table and the cigarette case now in his hand.

It was a simple case, minimal decoration around the border, but the minute you saw it, it made you think of Tommy and his damn cigarettes. Part of you wanted to get it engraved, something snarky about killing his lungs — but you could only afford the case, so you got it on a whim. It’d definitely been more than you could afford, but it was the holidays, you reasoned. You’d start saving again next week.

Tommy tested the case, using his thumb to click the flap open, then closed it again. He did that a couple times before letting out a humored breath out of his nose, the corner of his cheek rising as he pulled out his box and moved a few sticks into the case.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely as his eyes found yours, lifting up the case to emphasize before smiling back down at it. “It’s the best Christmas gift I’ve gotten in years.”

You swallowed, dropping your head as your cheeks reddened again. The feel of his fingers against your cheek caused you to lift your head again, not realizing he’d gotten so close. Your eyes found his, serious and soulful as he peered down at you, the light from the candles dancing off the glassy orbs. God, he was beautiful.

A bang on the door caused you to jump before stepping away. Polly shouted from the other side, instructing you both that dinner was ready and to get our asses out there.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Every time.”

Tommy met your laugh with his own softer one as you turned toward the door. Before you could reach it, he grabbed your arm and spun you back toward him, pulling your body against his as his lips crashed against yours.

He wrapped the hand still holding your gift and his lit cigarette around you to curve your body against his, his other hand raking through the base of your head and neck, nearly lifting you up to meet his hunger. Without a second thought, your own hands found themselves around his shoulders as you clung to him, your kiss matching his eagerness. You tilted your head and opened your mouth just enough for him to dive in deeper, breathing in sharply through his nose as you let out a needy moan.

Fuck the dinner, screw all the people on the other side of the door. You’d let him take you right here on the couch, on the floor, you didn’t care. All you cared about was his hard body against yours, his hands gripping at you, his mouth and where else it could consume you.

When you found your feet flat on the ground again, he pulled his lips away just enough before giving you another slow kiss, then another, before pulling away completely.

He smiled as you caught your breath, still surprised and slightly disoriented from the action. You thought he was going to kiss you again as he brought his hand back to your cheek, but instead he used his thumb to rub what must have been smeared lipstick off your face. A pathetic whimper left your throat at the disappointment.

“Better not keep Pol waiting,” he said easily, adjusting his suit and sliding his new cigarette case in his jacket pocket before pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his own lips. You watched as the white fabric turned red from your lipstick and smirked, thinking of other scenarios where you could leave pieces of you with him throughout the day.

He noticed your look and rose a brow as you licked your lips, shooing those ideas away for more socially appropriate ones as he opened and held the door open for you.

Ada and Martha were helping to set the table when you joined them, grabbing two plates from Polly before adding them to the make-shift dinner table. Once every seat was served, Ada pulled you into a chair next to her. You looked at the head of the table, expecting to see Tommy but surprisingly it was Arthur who stood up and rose his glass. To his right sat Tommy, then John and Martha; to his left was Polly, then Ada and you.

Arthur cleared his throat, causing everyone to quiet and turn their attention to him.

“Um,” Arthur cleared it again, pulling down at his vest as he fidgeted. “I um, I’m not much for speeches. But um, I wanted to— wanted to thank you. This year— these years, being away, it’s been—“ his voice chocked as he looked toward Tommy.

Tommy smiled up at his brother and stood, gripping Arthur’s shoulder as he held up his own glass. “It’s been good to be back,” Tommy said simply, finishing Arthur’s prompt, possibly not in the same direction Arthur was heading, but a good detour to keep the moment light. He continued to keep his arm on his brother’s shoulder, as he addressed the rest of the room. “We all know the hardships and blessings we’ve been dealt, this year especially. And soon, it’ll be a new year. A fresh start. This is our opportunity to seize, and we’ll be damned if we’re going to let it slip.” His eyes flicked to you before rising his drink higher. “A toast, a simple toast, ya brotha’?” He pulled Arthur closer as he chuckled, rising his own glass higher with his brothers. “To good fortune, good health, good horses! Happy Christmas!”

“By order of the Peaking fuckin’ Blinders,” Arthur added, his voice strong again.

Everyone exploded with cheers as they raised their own glasses and shouted “Happy Christmas!”

The night went on as everyone ate and talked. You were enjoying the dinner, laughing as you watched the family dynamic between the core Shelbys as they enjoyed each others company. Everyone’s inhibitions and guards seemed to be set aside tonight, giving you what you assumed was a rare glimpse at what dinners pre-war must have been like for the group.

On the other side of you sat Charlie and Curly, and you were grateful that Benji had been placed at the end of the other side of the table, just far enough so that easy conversation wasn’t possible. But you felt his eyes on you, causing you to shift in your seat every now and then when you’d catch his gaze. After the second time it happened, you found yourself sighing, knowing you’d have to have an awkward conversation at some point with him to convince him you weren’t interested.

The dinner party was winding down, with most of its guests already gone. Even Ada had given you a kiss on the cheek before whispering that she was sneaking out. She wiggled her eye brows, causing you to roll you eyes and shove her away, whispering your own ‘be safe’ back at her.

Of course, Benji took the opportunity to swoop in to fill the opening.

“Your first Christmas in Small Heath?”

You nodded, taking a sip to keep your mouth busy.

“I’ve always liked winter over summer. Sure, it gets bone cold, but there’s less smoke in the air during the winter,” he mused, topping off his own glass and offering to do the same for you.

“That so?”

He shrugged, “Dunno, just feels like it, I guess. Maybe it’s more to do with the days being shorter.”

You nodded, slightly surprised at the insight. “Could be.”

“Do you have to go back to the Garrison tonight?”

You coughed at his unexpected turn in subject. “Um, no, Harry closed the pub for Christmas Eve.”

“So you’re free, then? We could go get a drink—“

“We have a drink,” you replied, holding up your glass. “And we’re guests at a party.”

“Come on, no one would miss us if we left—“

Scudboat appeared behind Benji, dropping a weighted hand to his shoulder. “Gotta go, Hancock.”

Benji’s brow creased as he scoffed. “Now?”

“Aye, it’s Russel. Just got the order.”

Benji huffed, “It’s Christmas Eve. Can’t we do this after the holiday?”

“You know the drill. It’ll hurt his family more to see that face Christmas morning. Will make him think twice next time. Tommy’s orders. Now!”

Scudboat left you both as Benji turned back toward you, blowing a big breath out of his nose as he cursed under his breath. “No rest for a Blinder.”

No rest for the wicked, you found yourself thinking, your tongue too tied to say the words aloud. Russel — you recognized the name of a copper from the family books. He’d been one of the more recent discrepancies you’d alerted. And now he was going to get beat up, or cut, on Christmas Eve.

And it was on Tommy’s orders. You swallowed down a big gulp of your drink as Benji said his farewell.

“Ready?”

Tommy’s voice behind you caused you to jump startled. You turned to face him, his own expression seemed slightly perturbed as he watched the Peaky boys leave the shop.

“Ready for what?” Your voice wasn’t as strong as it normally was, feeling both caught off guard as well as slightly uneasy about the darker side of Tommy.

It wasn’t like you were an idiot. You knew this came with the territory. Tommy Shelby was a gangster, as much as he wanted to call himself a businessman. Violence was as much a currency of this business as money. And here you were, contributing to that violence.

But you knew the world you were now a part of wasn’t that simple. Maybe this copper deserved it, maybe he didn’t. If you were going to be a part of this company, you’d have to trust the people making the calls, even if it went against your own moral code.

Did you even have a moral code anymore? Were you just making excuses?

“To talk, like I promised,” he replied, his eyes finally moving back to you. “Unless you’d rather join Hancock.”

His jealousy caused you to chuckle, despite your prior thoughts. “I told you last night I wasn’t interested in him.”

He hummed, “Maybe you ought to tell that to him then, eh? This way,” he placed his hand to your back as he directed you back toward the house.

You noticed him exchange a look with Polly before leaving the room.

“Where are we going?” You asked hesitantly as he directed you toward the stairs.

He didn’t answer you, instead taking the lead as he brought you to the top of the stairs and opened the door. “My room.”

The room was small and plain. A bed even smaller than yours in the corner, a nightstand, a chair, a dresser, and a fireplace. The decor was also minimum: a mirror hung at the head of the bed, a lit lamp on the nightstand, a crucifix on the wall by the door, and a few other photos and paintings dispersed between the walls, nightstand, and fireplace, which was also already lit.

The air smelled different in the room. There was something else, in addition to the outside air, sweat, and cigarettes that you’d grown used to. Your eyes searched for a source, but gave up when Tommy closed the door behind him.

“You’re not worried someone will hear?” You asked as Tommy chose to sit in the chair by the nightstand, leaving you to either continue standing or sit on the bed.

“This room is pretty sound proof, long as we don’t do any shouting. The other guests will leave through the betting shop doors. They won’t stay for long, Pol knows that we’re here and will clear them all out soon enough and lock up behind ‘em. I’ll walk you home when we’re done,” he said, pulling out the cigarette case.

He pulled out another stick and ran it across his lips, causing you to lick your own and making you fully aware that you were finally alone in a bedroom. God, your stupid libido. First you were questioning your own morality, and now all you wanted to do was jump his bones.

“Did you, um — did you drink the tea yet?”

Your eyes flicked back toward him, surprised at his question. “That where you want to start?”

He shrugged, lifting up the case before setting it gently on the nightstand. “I hadn’t intended, but in the spirit of gift giving, seems as good a place as any.”

You turned away from him, anxiously avoiding his question by continuing to examine the room and get your mind out of the gutter. The box in question was currently sitting in your dresser drawer, shoved in there after you’d finally unpacked so you wouldn’t have to look at it.

“And why not?” Tommy followed-up, taking your silence as a no.

You shook your head, taking a deep breath before answering, “I have to think about it. I’m convinced it’ll either give me a seizure or just end up being a really bad cup of tea — both of which I believe will happen before it lets me talk with the dead.”

“Perhaps you should talk to Pol. She’s always been more in tune with that side of things, she could offer you some guidance.”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, still unconvinced.

“We’ll revisit that another time, eh. Where is it that you want to start, then?” He asked.

Your mouth felt dry as you tried to consider your options. Honestly, you’d expected Tommy to take the lead in this debrief, almost demanding answers or explanations. You hadn’t expected him to hand you the reigns, and you found yourself struggling to get a grip.

He was watching you as you considered his question, refusing to speak first. You took a gulp of your drink before finally sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“My nightmares — the two dreams that I had in the wagon, I’ve never had dreams like those before. I’ve had realistic dreams before. Mundane or stress-induced dreams where I’m living out my normal day and then wake up and can’t believe I have to do it all again. I’ve had dreams of memories, replaying of certain events. Hell, I’ve even lucid dreamed, where I recognized a dream I’d had before and been able to change the dream. But I have never in my life had dreams like the ones I had in that wagon.”

Tommy’s eyes flicked toward the wall across from him, some recognition in your words. If you hadn’t been so lost in your own recounting, you might have picked up on it, but instead you continued on.

“It felt so real — more than a memory, like I was actually standing in that garden, feeling the wind against my face. But it wasn’t my memory. It wasn’t me. It was like I was watching and feeling the memory of another.”

“Whose?”

You swallowed before looking back up at Tommy. “I think I was dreaming about the story of Cassandra and Apollo.”

You left out the part where in your dreams Apollo just happened to look exactly like Tommy, just with golden eyes. The logical part of you knew that your brain was just inserting what it knew into the dream. Wasn’t it a known fact in your time that people only saw the faces of those they knew in their dreams? That’s all it was, you told yourself.

Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette. “You goin’ to explain who those people are, or just leave me in the dark?”

“Do you know much about Greek mythology?” you asked, trying to gauge how to approach this.

Tommy shook his head. You took a moment to collect yourself, your brain ready to jump into explanation and story telling mode. This was one of your favorite subjects, after all. You took a sip of your drink before leaning against the wall, making yourself more comfortable on the bed.

“Where I’m from—” you started, swallowing as you decided to stop trying to hide the little details of your life — if you were going to do this, you might as well dive in. “I got to learn about it in school, mostly in language arts or social studies. I asked a teacher once why we were taught Greek over other mythologies, like Norse or any Asian religion — she seemed to believe it was because of the influence the Ancient Greek, and then Roman, society had over Europe, which then influenced Western civilization. There’s written records on top of word-of-mouth story telling that has lasted tens of thousands of years. And the influence they still have on philosophy, architecture, military, governance, agriculture, medicine — hell, even the word alphabet is Greek for alpha and beta, the first two letters of the Greek alphabet. Shakespeare wrote plays based on the mythology, Renaissance artists created masterpieces in an attempt to bring it to life. She said it was close to the same reason we learned about Medieval stories even though there’s no historical truth to King Arthur and Camelot. But we all learned them. And it started with literature.”

Tommy blew a puff of smoke, seemingly unimpressed with your pretense. “Ok.”

“Two of the oldest works of literature that’s still widely referenced are Homer’s epic poems — the Iliad and the Odyssey. The stories are pretty significant because of their themes about fate, glory, heroism, pride, wrath. And there’s so many phrases that originated or were inspired by the stories: an Achilles heel, Trojan horse, a face that launched a thousand ships, stuck between a rock and a hard place—”

“You’re losin’ me, Y/N.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’m just — I’m trying to figure out how to make it make sense. The Iliad tells the story of the Trojan war, a ten-year battle between the ancient cities of Troy and Sparta, mostly focusing on the abduction of the Spartan Queen Helen, and the hero Achilles who was recruited to help save her. That’s a crazy oversimplification of the story, and honestly I’ve read so many retellings I’m not even certain on the actual story anymore. But it’s really quite interesting if you want to hear about it some time — I think you would especially find the character of Achilles interesting—”

“Y/N,” Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he waved his hand along. “Madam Despoina said you were named after a Trojan princess. That was Cassandra, ya?”

The sound of Tommy saying your middle name out loud for the first time made your chest tighten.

You nodded, avoiding the feeling. “A Trojan prince was the one who stole Helen, the Queen of Sparta, so the Spartans and the Greeks attacked Troy to get her back. Cassandra was a Trojan princess who was also a priestess.”

Tommy hummed, “And you said that God gave her the gift of prophecy, but then He wanted to fuck her and she refused.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his retelling. “Something like that. But the Greeks didn’t believe in just one God, they had a pantheon of gods, goddesses, titans, and other creatures who all had roles they played in the creation and general day-to-day motion of the world and its people. One of those gods was Apollo.”

He leaned back in his chair, “The god Madam Despoina kept going on about.”

“Exactly. He was the god of, well, a lot of things — but he’s mostly tied to references of the Sun and light. He’s also the god of music, the arts, medicine, archery, town building, and prophecy.”

“And that’s where the Delphi come in?”

“Yep. They were priestesses who spoke his word at his temple, where people would travel from all over for a consult with the oracles. The Greeks considered this temple to be the center of the world.”

“So the princess wouldn’t fuck this god Apollo, so he cursed her. Why not just take back the gift?”

“A common myth is that a god couldn’t undo the work of another god, even their own work. So when Cassandra wouldn’t sleep with him, he couldn’t take back his gift of prophecy. He cursed her instead. She had no choice but accurately predict the future, but no one would believe her. Throughout the war, she tried to warn the Trojans, her family, of the dangers of their actions, but they couldn’t believe. Eventually, the visions of disaster and frustrations of being called a liar and madwoman drove her insane.”

“Why didn’t she just lie? Say the opposite and then they’d believe her?”

You shrugged, smiling at hearing the same question you’d asked your own teacher. “I don’t think she could lie. I don’t think she could even stop herself from telling the prophecies, otherwise I don’t see why she wouldn’t have just shut up early on.”

“What happened to her?”

“She predicted the fall of Troy, and the deaths of her family, we well as her own death. Before that, during the siege, she was raped, and then given away as a concubine to one of the Greek Kings. She and the King were then killed by the Queen and her lover.”

“And what happened to Helen?” he asked, genuinely curious it seemed to the story.

“In Homer’s story, Paris, the Trojan prince who kidnapped her gets killed along with most of the rest of his family, and she’s reunited with her Spartan husband.”

“Lucky her.”

You scoffed, “Comparatively, I guess.”

“Does the story match up with your dreams?”

“Kind of. In the stories, it’s always implied that either Cassandra promised that she’d sleep with him in exchange for the gift and then refused when he came to collect, or that she didn’t promise him and he just assumed that she’d give herself to him if he gave her the gift. Madam Despoina seemed to imply that there was another side to the story.”

“Which is?”

“In my dreams so far, it seems like maybe they actually both were in love with each other. But then something shifts and he’s cursing me— her. And that’s when I wake up.”

“That explains why you kept saying you were cursed,” Tommy mused, taking another sip of his own glass before reaching for the bottle that was already on the nightstand and refilling it. He offered to refill your own glass, which you accepted. “And the main question — what does that all have to do with you?”

You took a deep breath, taking a big gulp of your drink, the warm liquid burning down your throat. “I think Madam Despoina thinks that my mother named me after the Cassandra from this story. It seemed like she was implying that I’m a descendant of Cassandra, or I don’t know, maybe a reincarnation? Both of which are ridiculous.”

Tommy’s brow creased, “Why?”

You shook your head, flopping down to lay flat on the bed, setting your glass on the nightstand. “Because it’s just a story, it isn’t even real! Homer wrote the Iliad like hundreds, maybe thousands of years after the war would have happened. If it even did at all. There’s some evidence of civilization in the area Troy is thought to have been, and even some evidence of war I think, but still. Now, the odds of Madam Despoina being a descendant of the Greek Delphi may be more likely, since there was more evidence of the temple discovered and records found. I still think it’s highly unlikely, but who am I to question her. Maybe some distant relative passed along the stories and traveled across Europe.”

“That’s the rumor,” he nodded. “Came from Balkan gypsies, they say. Would explain why their clan is so deep and connected.”

“As well as the divinity shtick.”

“And the tattoo, it connects you,” Tommy added as he stood up out of the chair and walked toward the bed, lifting up your legs and sitting at the end of the mattress, pulling your legs back to drape over his lap.

“I got this tattoo on a whim,” you said with a shrug, as of trying to shake it off your back. “I just drew it one day and decided to get it for my first tattoo.”

He chuckled, “So, what, after everything you’re just goin’ to chalk that up to a fuckin’ coincidence?”

You huffed, “I don’t know. What else am I supposed to believe? That I thought of the tattoo because something in my blood or heritage or some mythological corner of my subconscious knew that one day I’d need to meet a Balkan gypsy family of fortune tellers who’s ancestry dates back to my own?”

“Is that harder to believe than the two of us having dreams of each other before we’d ever even met?” He asked, the question feeling like a cold splash of water.

“No,” you groaned, throwing your hand over your face. “Both are just as ridiculous.”

Tommy rubbed your leg reassuringly. “Just one more question, and then I’ll drop the subject — for now at least.”

You sat up, realizing you were practically in his lap as you waited for him to continue.

“When I went to speak with Madam Despoina alone, she told me that our fates were entwined. That I shouldn’t repeat the follies of her god and that if I listened to you, if I didn’t push you, if I trusted you, we would achieve so much more together than apart. That you can predict the future, and I would be a fool to take your advice lightly.”

“Tommy, I can’t—“

“Can you predict the future?” He asked softly, running his fingers along your jawline.

“It’s not that simple, Tommy.“ You looked between his eyes, swallowing before dropping your gaze. “I know things. Not everything, I can’t predict Ada’s future or tell you what Harry’s going to have for dinner a week from now. But I know that the prohibition amendment will pass in America at the beginning of the year. I know the worker strikes will only continue to get worse. I know the Irish will continue to fight against the British government for independence, and eventually between themselves. I know that jazz music is going to be everywhere.”

“You knew when the end of the war was goin’ to be,” he added.

“And I know other things — things I can’t—“ you swallowed, lifting your eyes back to his and bringing your own hand to his face.

“Perhaps you are Cassandra,” he said, his eyes moving down to your lips, “and this time, I’m to believe you. I’m to protect you from this bloody curse.”

Your breath hitched at his words, “You— you believe? Me, all this? How?”

“Talk to Polly. Drink the tea. Who bloody knows if Madam Despoina is telling the truth or if she’s a fuckin’ nutter. But I trust my gut, and my gut has wanted you from the moment I saw you in my dreams.”

“Really?” You whispered with what little breath you seemed to have.

He smiled, humming. “And since you yelled at me down by the Cut.”

“I didn’t yell,” you chuckled, feeling the mood lighten again, your face just a breath away from his own.

He pulled you forward just enough for your lips to meet for the fourth time that night, kissing you softly. You kissed him back, the build up from tonight and two nights before making you needy.

“Tommy,” you whimpered when his mouth left your own for your neck. You swallowed thickly as an insecure thought crept through your mind. “I’m not a doll though, Tommy.”

“I know,” he said against your skin, his breath causing you to shiver.

“I don’t know how to help you,” you added, suddenly worried about whatever promises Madam Despoina seemed to be making for you.

He pulled away from your neck to meet your eyes again, running his hand through your hair. “You’ve already helped me, Y/N. I don’t care if you can tell the future — I don’t care if you can’t. I just know…” he paused, his adam’s apple bobbing as he rest his forehead against yours, “I need you, Y/N.”

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winterrrnight · 7 months

Text

wish I had you

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe made a huge mistake and lost the love of his life.

WARNINGS: angst, angst, angst! Absolutely no fluff, it's all angst, swearing, drugs, drug overdose!, heartbreaks, very small mentions of s*lf h*rm

EDITH SPEAKS: I'm back!!!! My exams were, something, but now I'm finally back and writing again 🥹 oh I'm so happy! I'll be getting onto my requests too, but for now, requests are back open! So get in any and all ideas you may have :)

This is so so so sad, and yes, Rafe is pretty much the one doing all the wrong here. No, it doesn't have a happy ending, it's pure angst. It's the reason I'm breathing right now, and also the reason I'm breaking inside. I hope this makes you feel a roller coaster of emotions :')

The fic is inspired by one of my favourite artist, Ruel makes insane music and please check his stuff out if you want to 🫶🏻 and also listen to this track while reading this so the level of sadness and heartbreak just 📈📈📈📈

Please please please like and reblog if you liked this!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💝

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I watch her on the sidewalk, her hand intertwined with his as he sways their arms, both of them laughing. I feel the same pain in my heart which I experience each time I see them together.

Each time I see her so happy with someone who isn't me.

He's the one who gets to take her to little dates, click her pictures, surprise her with flower bouquets, when it is supposed to be me. I am the one who should be taking her to little dates, clicking her pictures, and surprising her with flower bouquets.

He kisses her cheek after pulling her closer to him from her waist the same way I used to do. She giggles just the same way she used to do with me. Her eyes sparkle and the most beautiful smile pulls her lips, and my heart used to flutter each time her irises gazed into mine.

But I don't get to experience that anymore. I don't get to see her smiling at me. Instead, each time we come across each other in public, she pretends she doesn't know who I am. Like I don't exist in her world anymore. And her boyfriend makes sure to pull her even closer to him and give me a glare if I even glance at her.

And I completely deserve that. Everything we had went down the gutter because of the way I am.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

I slowly open the door to try and make as less noise as I can. I creep up the stairs, each move of mine calculated, but when I peek inside the room, i notice she's awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands.

I notice her body is moving as she is crying, the sobs escaping her silently. I feel my heart break at the sight. What have I done?

"Babe, hey..." I say softly, as I push open the door. She looks up at me, her eyes wide and red. Whenever I used to open the door after coming home from a long day, she would look at me with love in her eyes, but right now, there is nothing close to love in those eyes.

"Don't, just don't-" she whispers, her voice shaky and strained. Her cheeks are stained with her tears, and as she steps away from me, her footsteps are just as shaky as her voice.

"Just hear me out this one time, I was-"

"NO!" She yells, cutting me off. Her yell takes me by surprise, causing me to flinch slightly. "I don't have time for your excuses Rafe, I'm done with you, I'm done with this all. There's nothing you can say or do which can help defend you. Go back to your drugs, and Barry, I don't care," She moves towards her closet and gets a bag, and starts to put all her belongings in her bag.

I want to go ahead and stop her, get on my knees and beg her to not leave me, but my feet remain glued to the ground. I look at my feet, and hear the sounds of her frantically throwing stuff in her bag and trying to stuff it all in.

Suddenly, it is all silent. I look up to see her back towards me, and her arms at her sides. The bag she is stuffing is kept by her side on the ground, its contents spilling out.

"You know what today is?" She whispers.

I look at her back with my eyes wide, trying to comprehend what she is saying. What is it today? I rack my brain for answers but it turns up with nothing.

"It's our five year anniversary," she whispers, "and you promised to take me to Paris, where you and me will get on top of the Eiffel Tower to kiss just as it strikes midnight for today."

I want to jump off a 20 storey building.

This is too much.

I never knew how capable I was of fucking perfectly curated relationships up.

"But you forgot. Just the way you forgot about me. You've forgotten me completely, Rafe. All you care is about stupid shit, about your drugs, and your gold, and whatever the fuck it is. But I know you stopped caring about me a long, long time ago." She turns around now, her eyes looking everywhere but at me. "I waited, waited for as long as I could. I thought you'll come back to me. I thought you'll realise you're in the wrong and you'd want to correct it. But that moment never happened. I was just giving myself false hope." Her voice cracks towards the end and more tears stream down her face. She moves her hand to wipe them, and I have this sudden urge to hold her face in my hands and wipe her tears.

But I've lost all privileges to hold her, fuck, I shouldn't even look at her anymore.

"I'm ending this all here, I cannot hold onto this short thread of a relationship which you cut off so long ago. I need to let go, solely for me and my health." She sniffs and bends down to stuff everything in her bag messily and zip it up. She picks it up and hangs it on her shoulder.

My vision starts to get blurry as tears form in my eyes, as I watch her walk out of this room. These walls saw us share our most intimate moments together, and now they're seeing it all fall apart.

"Bye, Rafe."

Her last words echo in my ears as she leaves this house.

I've lost her forever.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

As I watch her walk away with her new boyfriend, I have this urge to rip everything apart and bang my head against a wall until it bleeds.

Since she walked out that door, I have been a mess. I don't know who I am anymore. I was so in love with her, I wanted to marry her. I loved showing everyone that I got the best girl one can ever get. She loved me beyond the human capabilities, and made sure I was doing okay at all times.

My addiction to drugs worsened as I find myself each night either in my home with my cocaine or at some party with as many alcohol cups I can down. And it all continued getting bad when I blacked out from the drug consumption at a party and woke up in a hospital bed.

I lost my entire business, I lost my entire soul. I lost who I am, and at this point, I don't know how I'll continue to live life.

Because I want her.

I want her to hold me and run her hands through my hair, and remind me all is okay.

I want her to kiss my forehead and whisper sweet little nothings in my ear.

I want her to rub her hands on my back and tell me she'll always be there for me.

But I don't deserve anything good in life. And I certainly don't deserve an angel like her.

I will always love her.

close my eyes but what's the use, cause my mind still dreams of you.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @tahliac11 @sadfury

#Spotify #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #written by edith! 🪄

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leahblackk · 1 year

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Down For You

summary: Spencer and Reader go to a party. Spencer quickly realised how much he loves her.

based on down for you by ruel

warnings: mentions of alcohol. a little bit of grumpy/mean spencer, but that’s all

couple: Spencer x fem!reader

taglist: @ssavanessa22, @all-tings-diego, @matthew-gray-gubler-lover, @nomajdetective, @cance1medaddy, @doctorspenceryeet, @hey-dw

You said we'd just drop by

But I wasn't invited

You'd already decided

That I was coming too

Y/n and Spencer had their fourth date that beautiful night. Spencer was driving, Y/n mentioned dropping something off before they headed to the doctors apartment, something about a friend of hers needing something.

Spencer didn't mind, only that he has never been invited to those kinds of parties, if it was something, Y/n was the extrovert of the relationship. She had tons of friends, which Spencer envied and was jealous about. He envied because he never had that, and was jealous because so many people knew her. He wanted to be the only one, as selfish as it sounds.

They went to a library for their fourth date, Spencer had the courage to invite her out, but hasn’t had the courage to confess his feelings to her, which makes the situation more complicated. He wants to be able to tell her how much he loves her, and how much she means to him, yet he can't.

“Are you sure I should come in too?” Spencer asked, as he parked in front of the house. Music blasting and people cheering was all he heard. It felt like one of those teenage movies he had seen.

“Completely sure. Plus we'll just drop by,” she said.

Spencer grabbed the beers from the back of the car, and Y/n a bag of something he didn't know what it was, but was 99% sure it was pads, otherwise what would've been so important for her friend?

Y/n got out of the car and walked inside, waiting for the still nervous Spencer. He looked down at his watch, it marked twelve am. He wondered why people made parties so late.

“Look, I don't wanna pressure you to go inside…”

He shook his head before she talked any further, “I don't wanna leave you alone.”

She smiled sweetly at him and walked inside. Her friend,- who Spencer supposed was the one she was talking to on the phone-, was the first one to approach her. Asking her if she had what she asked for. Y/n took a pack of condoms out of the bag and her friends took them and ran away.

Spencer tried not so hard to say something.

I can't stand all these people

All trying to please you

They don't even see you

The way I do

Spencer rolled his eyes once more when another of Y/ns friends tried to offer her all kinds of beers. Didn't they know she doesn't drink? And when she did, she didn't like the bitter kind of beer, she liked the fruit flavored one.

They tried so hard to please her yet they don't even know what she likes.

She promised they'd just drop the things and leave, but she couldn't when people were trying to talk to her all the time. Spencer stood by her side, knowing she wouldn't like it if he left.

As she talked, she looked his way from now and then, making sure he was still there.

He smiled sweetly at her, when her eyes were trying to apologize over and over again.

He sighed, he really really wanted to be in his apartment, with her.

“So Y/n would you want this beer…”

Two AM, haven't left

No one cares, just me, I guess

But I can't leave you

He looked at his watch, and sighed at the time. Two hours they've been there, two hours and he just wants to leave already. He looks at everyone, he's the only bitter one sitting on the couch while Y/n is standing talking to some more people.

He looks at the door, wanting to run away and leave, but he looks at her, and she smiles at him and he can't. He just can't.

Even though he knows he can just leave and he knows she'd get a ride from one of her friends and she wouldn't be upset cause she'd understand why he left in the first place, he knows he can just walk away but he can't, he really can't leave her.

He doesn't know what it is, it's like she has some kind of power over him. It's like he'd do things for her without her needing to ask.

He walks to her, seeing her tremble a little, and putting a his cardigan on her shoulders. She smiles back at him.

“I'm so sorry I promise I'm trying to get rid of these people but it's like they can't leave me,” she chuckles.

It's because she's that kind, it's because she isn't how he is, he'd just leave, but she can't.

“It's okay, there's no rush, Take your time, I'll wait for you,” he sincerely says.

She shakes her head, “You can leave if you want…”

“I'll wait for you.”

And I can't find the patience

For all the conversations

And all of these blank faces

I should leave, I haven't yet

But when you smile, I just forget

But I can stay a while, I guess

Spencer nods as someone is talking to him, to be honest, he doesn't even know what they're saying. He's not paying attention, and neither he wants to. He's tired of this. He knows these kinds of people, he knows they are the ones that tell you compliments and then judge you as soon as you turn your back, so why would he even take the time? He's not like her. He doesn't have patience.

“Are you even listening to me?” The guy asks.

Spencer shakes his head, “Nope.”

The guy scoffs and leaves, Spencer couldn't care less as he stares at the black painted fences in front of him.

They're not even painted well, some white in the corners showing. He doesn't know why he's so annoyed at that, or maybe he knows.

He 's jealous.

He's jealous of all these people taking her away from him, they had talked a few small words throughout the night and that annoys him.

He's jealous that everyone talks to her like they know her when they don't. They really really dont.

They don't know her like he does, and that annoys him.

The stupid loud music playing in the background annoys him and the fact that he can’t tell her that he loves her annoys him too.

I wasn't gonna say nothing

But I'm about to break something

How you gonna take all of my time

You know that I hate this place

But if you wanna stay, I do too.

Cause I'm so down for you.

Spencer sighed relieved as Y/n said her goodbyes to her friends. He awkwardly stands there, waiting for her. Y/n smiles and unconsciously holds his hand.

“Let's get out of here before they say something more,” she drags him to the car, in which they get in. Spencer starts driving, yet he doesn't speak. That little gesture made his brain suddenly stop working.

Y/n notices that, and she nervously bites her lip, debating on whether she did wrong or not. She knows Spencer isn't a big fan of physical contact, in fact, he's a germaphobe, she isn't sure if he's upset at her.

“Are you still going to my apartment?” He finally speaks.

She nods, “If you don't mind.”

And the rest of the ride is silent. Neither of them know what to say.

They go up the stairs, silence, silence and the sound of the footsteps it's all they can hear. When they reach Spencer's door, she sighs.

“Spencer, I'm sorry… I didn't mean to grab your hand. I should've asked first and maybe you're mad at me but I just…”

Spencer stops her, for the third time that night, and kisses her, cupping her face. She smiles sweetly against his lips which make him smile back, he's quickly pulling her in, as she wasn't close enough. His hands on her back and hers up in his hair, messing it up. That's all she ever wanted to do.

“I love you, and-and seeing you with all those people made me realize I want to be the only one who gets to really know you. I want to hold your hand and run away from your stupid friends, please, let me be that. I'm so down for you,” Spencer confessed, finally.

She smiles, and kisses him back.

That's her answer.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer x y/n #spencer x fem!reader #dr spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid blurb #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff

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adoristsposts · 1 year

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growing up is | quinn hughes

author's note; i love a hughes boy and i love a ruel song. also my keyboard has a wonky r key right now. pls bare with me and any spelling mistakes because of it. summary; in which quinn has a hard time coming to terms with the road your relationship has taken. inspired by growing up is ___ by ruel. word count;warnings; angst, mentions of drinking & smoking, mentions of sex. characters; quinn hughes x reader

Heard you moved out of town on the weekend. Understand, but I'm sad that you're leaving. Are you up making friends with the ceiling? Yeah, I know the feeling

Quinn wondered if his brother could hear his frown down the phone. He held it to his ear, refraining from a grimace as Jack described how he had just helped you move out of you first apartment. The one Quinn had helped you pick out.

I wasn't trying to let you down, I was just working my shit out. I'm sorry I didn't know how much I led you on

He could remember where your friendship had stuttered, becoming complicated and messy and unbearable. You had wanted so much more than he could give you. He blamed himself. Hockey was his life, and he had chosen his passion for it over any hope of a life with you.

Growin' up is weird, sleep with friends, break a heart

The two of you had first slept together on a Saturday night. Jack had friends 'round to hang about the firepit and Quinn was facing a self-imposed confinement to his room because of it. You, however, were his biggest opponent in that. He could hear you laughing, howling with delight. After an hour of sitting thee, waiting for you to start sulking that he wasn't there, he finally left his room. Only to loiter in the kitchen for a few minutes, but it was enough. Before long you were holding a quiet conversation with him. It only took an hour or two for the older boy to escort you back to his bedroom.

Question everything you thought

The one night stand had left his head spinning. He was far too infatuated with you. You lingered on his sheets and clothes, and he couldn't step foot in his bedroom or even glance at the clothes you had helped him discard without thinking of you. It wasn't long before it happened again. He never realised that his interest in you could spiral this far.

Split a pill, smoke a dart. Growin' up is weird, fall in love for a year

He lit up with Luke months later, the off season giving them a rare opportunity to partake in the regular activities of older brother corruption. And as Luke's faced twisted as he tried to hold the smoke in, he said "So, when are you two going to admit you're in love?" "Shut up." Quinn laughed. He reached over and plucked the blunt from Luke's fingers. "We're basically just fuck buddies." He clarified, taking a long draw of it and then rudely blowing the smoke back into his brother's face. "For like, a year." Luke pointed out. Quinn just shook his head, and so the younger boy laughed "Fine! Call it what you want. We all see how you two look at each other."

And then I disappear, wish that you were here

The conversation had really thrown him off. Quinn was now hyperaware of how he treated you. He was blowing you off, ignoring your texts. He wasn't in love with you. Definitely not. Probably not. The distance was affecting him. He spent practices wondering if you were thinking of him and games wondering if he would catch you in the crowd. He was distracted and it was throwing him off. He didn't miss the looks from his teammates. He knew he either had to call it off officially or go crawling back to you.

Growin' up is strange, get too close, push away, thinking you would do the same. New regrets, new mistakes

For a while, Quinn chose the second option. It was just sex. Right? That's what he told himself at the club with you, his brothers, and some of their friends. You had brought some of your own, chatting away happily. Quinn only noticed your distraction because he was playing his game on how long it lasted. He needed to show himself you weren't all he wanted anymore. One day you would find someone and decide your fuck buddy status was discardable. He needed to know he could still play when that happened, still live. So he picked a girl and before long his tongue was down her throat. He felt giddy with alcohol and guilt, especially so when he turned to see your back as your friends escorted a crying you out of the club.

Growin' up is strange when the one who's to blame is lookin' at the mirror, wish that you were here.

He needed a haircut. It was shaggy and dishevelled and he didn't have you to carefully trim the edges when it annoyed him anymore. Of course the thought only enraged him more as he looked at himself in the mirror. His jaw locked as he saw the physical proof of how far he had fallen since fucking it all up. He covered the mirror with a towel and booked an appointment at a barber's shop.

Get emotional at two in the morning, it's a habit, know I shouldn't be callin'. Then you let me in, is that what you wanted? Is this what we wanted?

A tough game finally breaks him. He should have been asleep, exhausted from the physical and mental work he had put in for his team. Instead he's dialling your number. To be safe he had deleted your contact, but those 10 digits were engrained in his head. When you picked up your voice was raspy with sleep. "Quinn?" "Hey." He breathed out happily. "Trev's sleeping, what's up?" He paused. "Trev? As in Trevor?" He questioned. Jack's friend, his friend, player on the team he had played days ago. "Yeah uh- I thought Jack had told you. Sorry." "Oh no, he did. Don't worry. I just uh..." He bit back the tears. The lie rolled off his tongue easier than it should've. He racked his brain for an excuse. "Tough game?" You filled in for him. "I watched. I'm sorry, Q." He held back a curse. "Yeah uh. Thanks. We should catch up." "Sure." And then the two of you fell silent. There were quiet snores on your side of the phone and Quinn was hit with the harsh reality 'Trev's sleeping' meant he was sleeping next to you. "Think we can plan it in the morning?" You said. He was reminded of all the times you would say that smilingly to him about breakfast, or how he was going to sneak you out of his room without his family noticing. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

Now you're back in town, no, I can't come around. Are we better without the what if's and doubts. Is this it? Are we both too far gone to forget, and try again?

"Quinn? Are you listening?" Jack asked. Quinn snapped out of his thoughts about the phone call you two had shared less than a week ago. "Yeah, sorry, go on." "Anyways," Jack began again, "the two of them are having a house warming next week. Since you're in town you should come." "I don't know, Jack." Quinn sighed. "She asked if I would ask you." Oh. You wanted him there.

Oh-oh, bet I'll just disappear. Oh, will I just disappear? Wish that you were here. Growing up is

But he was too old now, a year and a half between when your relationship had started with fiery passion and clashing teeth. "I have practice, I think." He lied. "But you can tell them I'm happy for them."

#nhl #nhl fic #vancouver canucks #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #adoristsposts #trevor zegras #jack hughes

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infernalodie · 1 year

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𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 || 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐳

“𝘖𝘩, 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦“

Inspo: Ruel - END SCENE

Pairing: Maddy Perez x Perez!Male!reader x Cassie Howard

Summary: The two of you watched it fall apart, yet one of you couldn’t stay for long...

Warnings: Angst and character death

Words: 1836

DNI IF YOU’RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

From the day you were born, you and Maddy were joined at the hip. There wasn’t a day that went by that neither of you was separated from one other. So many experiences the two of you shared had made the inseparability strong. The two of you saw destruction with your friends take place and you were there through the traumatizing experience Maddy experienced with Nate. Promising her that if things were going downhill from there, the two of you would be by one another's side. The two of you would just watch the world fall apart around you and enjoy every second of it until your guys’ last breaths.

And you? What was your traumatizing experience? Well, you had your heart shattered when finding out your girlfriend was hooking up with Nate behind your back. Not even sparing you by ending things before doing so. You didn’t know if it was the fear of what might happen. But you did know that her doing so made your mind fracture. Morals you held high now seemed to dim with you trying to understand how things turned out the way they did.

Why did she cheat? Was it you? Did you not give enough?

All these questions with not so little as an answer for any of them.

But maybe you should’ve understood and expected the worse when things first started. Because they were great for a time, but McKay did warn you of the troubles. Of the possibility of things turning out different from what you may have expected. But being lovestruck, you dismissed them.

And it ended up with you drinking a fifth bottle of Rum. Hoping that the recent events that had transcribed with you and your ex may be forgotten. Maybe you could be happy. Maybe you could just lose your mind a little and be plunged into the warmth of darkness.

It didn’t seem fair in the grander scheme of things. You had to stand there, watching the foundation the two of you built come crumbling to the ground. Levels of the structure being core memories you had of the blonde that had solidified your love for her. And now, it was rubble surrounding your fractured existence in a world that didn’t seem real to you at this point.

Maddy had to stand on the outside and watch what was left of her brother, you, slowly crack and fade. The closure you maybe expected in return for Cassie’s harsh breakup was dismissed with weed and alcohol. She watched you run. Try and escape the pain that reality had placed in your path. And it scared the shit out of her seeing you so broken. So incomplete without Cassie.

But she thought bringing you to this party might allow you to reconnect with people. Hoping that an attempt to heal might be made. She was sadly mistaken. She should’ve known that when she remembered that most parties involved the addition of alcohol. Leaving her to submit to her mistake and try and take care of your drunken state that could barely stand up on its own.

She was scared. Fearful of how long you were going to put yourself through this.

You had managed to get away from your sister. Sitting on the edge of the couch and smoking some dude’s joint that he offered. But your gaze and mind were set on Cassie, who coincidentally was standing in the kitchen with Lexi. And you should’ve stayed sat down. Kept your mouth shut and enjoy this feeling of freedom for a little longer. But the growing knowledge of the fact that she was here built until you couldn’t handle it. Standing on your two untrustworthy legs and stumbling toward the kitchen.

And when you entered, even with the pounding music, it seemed everyone around you quietened down. Not out of some romanticizing way that all these kids try to describe. But like a bad joke in a bar. An awkwardness that was physically painful to be succumbed to. That’s what you got when you entered the kitchen to grab a drink. Feeling the gaze from the sister’s eyes as you poured the Rum into a red solo cup.

Things weren’t supposed to be like this.

Glancing over your shoulder, you found that Lexi had slipped away. Cassie is left to stare down at her feet and sip from her cup. Not daring to make eye contact with you for whatever she may be feeling. Either out of respect or fear of what you might do or say if she says anything or looks at you.

“Night been good?” Your question shook her from her forced gaze. Lifting it for a moment to find you facing her now, a tired look on your face. Circles under your eyes with a casual and slow flow to what you did. If it was blinking, licking your lips, or taking a sip of your drink.

Cassie exhaled heavily. “As much as I like parties, this one is not my taste,” she said, flashing a tiny smile. One that you missed. “Hard to feel welcomed or relaxed when almost everyone hates me.”

You sighed, shrugging as you glanced around. “Yea’, that’s part of it. But half of these people aren’t even going to remember you or me when we all go on with our lives.” You hiccuped, running a hand through your hair. “We will all just be ghosts that won't be thought upon in ten years.”

Something about that made Cassie purse her lips. Tilting her head slightly to stare at you softly with a concerned look taking its place on her face.

No matter the time that may pass, you knew you belonged to her. To the time she made for you. To the way she saw you. Or to how she saw the world. Maybe it was still the pain that made you think this. But you knew that when you tried to place a different girl in her place, you could only see her in their place. Leaving you to pick apart the imperfections of the girl compared to Cassie. And it always left you in a shittier situation.

“Please, Cassie,” you drunkenly pleaded. It was a weak murmur. A pitiful one. Maybe it was the fear that you had for anyone to see you like this. But this was the girl of your dreams you were thinking about- Who was standing in front of you! You couldn’t act like none of this didn’t hurt you. “I need you. We can forget what happened. You are the only thing that makes me care about this life.”

Cassie, being sober and clearly worried about your state, sadly shook her head. “Y/n, we can’t. I’m with Nate now,” she told you. “And I can’t act like I didn’t hurt you. I’m saving you from getting together with me.”

You shook your head, hands grasping hers desperately. “I can’t do this without you-”

“Get your hands off her, Y/n!” Nate appeared, shoving you back, making you stumble back. “Get the fuck out of here before I kick your head in.”

“Fuck off, Nate,” you spat, wiping your eyes. “You being here ruined my relationship. I deserve to talk to her if you decided to take everything away from me.”

“You clearly weren’t giving enough to her, Y/n,” he said. “So, grow the fuck up and move on.”

His words were harsh and a painful reality check. Even through the drunken, wobbling haze resting over your senses, you understood and agreed to a certain extent. But it didn’t alleviate the pain in your chest, unable to restrain the shaky weep that sounded from your trembling lips.

And in an extension of that, you couldn’t stop yourself from shoving Nate back. Having enough strength that moved him back a few steps. “You are a fucking joke, Nate!” You spat. “You put a gun to my sister’s head! You blackmail people to get what you want-”

“Y/n, I suggest shutting up-”

But you interjected the warning. “Or what? Hmm? You gonna beat the shit out of me, Nate?” You barked. “I bet your father would be really proud of you-”

And no one was able to react in time when Nate punched you across the face. The pure strength knocked you on your ass, bashing your head off something in the process.

“What the fuck, Nate?” Maddy exclaimed, running to your aid. Kneeling down and holding your face that twisted and turned in agony. Looking up at her ex and yelling, “You are a real fucking piece of shit Nate, you know that? He’s too fucking drunk to even defend himself!”

“I told him to stop, Maddy. He’s too drunk to even fuckin’ listen!” The boy defended. “Keep your brother in check or I’ll fully beat his ass- What the fuck?”

Maddy frowned upon seeing Nate’s eyes flicker to you. But when she looked down, she saw you start to seize. Body shaking violently, eyes rolled to the back of your head. A pool of blood begins to build around the back of your head making everyone start to freak out.

“No. No, no, no. Y/n? Hey, Y/n! Wake up- Wake up, Y/n!” Maddy’s trembling body managed to pull yours onto her lap. Whimpers that had fallen from her lips were now evolving to uncontrolled sobs as foam pooled from the corners of your mouth. “Hey, hey, hey! You’re alright! You’re gonna be fine!” She wiped desperately, hoping you might come back to reality.

“Maddy, is there anything-” Cassie, who was just as worried as Maddy, tried to speak up. But when she looked down at you, she found you still. Far too still. At that point people

But her words were halted when she received a glare that sent a chill down her spine. The complete hatred and wrath that sat in front of her eyes scared her. “Yeah.” Maddy pulled your lifeless figure into her chest, inhaling your scent. “Save everyone the trouble and go fucking kill yourself, Cass.”

Cassie stared at her friend, unable to hide the tears and hurt that she felt. She should allow to hold you just like Maddy was. She should be allowed to mourn you. But from the way Maddy held you so protectively, so desperately, she wasn’t given the privilege.

As everyone filtered out of the house, Maddy still stayed sat on that dirty kitchen floor. Legs feeling the warm touch of your blood with her thumbs stroking over your cheeks. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she stared softly down at your lifeless features. The hollowness in your eyes. She used to wonder what rested beyond them.

She guessed she would have to continue to speculate…

Her hand softly held your face, smiling brokenly down at you. A harsh stutter of a inhale racked her chest. Her warm breath fanning your cold features. “We were supposed to lose our minds together.”

#maddy perez x perez!male!reader #maddy perez euphoria #maddy perez imagine #maddy perez angst #maddy perez x reader #maddy perez x brother!reader #maddy perez x perez male reader #alexa demie #maddy perez fanfiction #euphoria fanfiction #euphoria imagine #euphoria x perez!male!reader #euphoria angst #x male!reader #x perez!male!reader #x reader #cassie howard x perez!male!reader #cassie howard #sydney sweeney

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clov3sr · 1 year

Text

Painkiller | Jude Bellingham

♡ — pairing(s): Jude Bellingham x reader

♢ — author annotations: paqueta y bono mis amores you're not safe either,,, we ride at dawn

♤ — c/t w(s): reader is implied to be in school

♧ — synopsis: How could you ever complain about being tired when your boyfriend is a world renowned professional athlete?

♫ — music inspo.: PAINKILLER by RUEL

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ 1:38 ───ㅇ───── 3:33

Jude will never be ashamed to admit he's not the smartest. Even when his teams joke with him about it, as often as he manages to dodge Saka and his Tiktoks, he doesn't excuse himself or shy away; no, it's an invitation. The opportunity blossoms at his feet, and he takes any chance he can. Without fail, he'll retort, "I don't even need to be smart, I have y/n," and it's that same golden opportunity that, without fail, he twists into bragging — "y/n actually just passed this exam," or, "you know, y/n knows how to do that niche skill,"

No, Jude isn't the most academically predisposed, but what he does know inside out is you; so when he hears the door open and shut, the subsequent shuffling of your things, and the lack of your adorable exclamation that you're here, his instinct is to pause his Netflix show immediately.

He peeks his head out of the room with an inquisitive call of your name, but for naught as he spots you immediately. Youre in the midst of putting your bags down, and just begin taking your jacket off when he approaches you.

"Hi, love," he's gentle with his tone and volume, testing the waters and you're keen to it. You've told him before how relieving it is for you not to have to pretend around him, and he's dedicated to maintaining that dynamic, "how was your day?"

You sigh, like you're trying to expel all the negativity before you somehow breathe it unto him accidentally. He notices.

"It was fine. Like any other day."

Jude's not going to accept that answer and you know that by the way his eyebrows furrow momentarily and he moves to embrace you. His hands start at your shoulders, delivering a comforting squeeze before they slide down to hold your hands. You sigh again; it's so hard to be upset when you get to come home to Jude, a rare occurrence recently. You'll manage to, though.

"Are you sure, lovely? You know I'm here for you."

You hum, leaning to rest your head on his chest. "You're Jude Bellingham. I think I'll get over my silly little issues."

"What's that mean?"

The speed at which he replies throws you off. Genuine confusion is laced into his words, and slight offense almost accompanies. It wasn't a complete joke, you admit, but you phrased it as light-hearted as possible, you'd thought.

"I just mean," you trail off for a moment, shrugging nonchalantly to try and ease him, "You deal with the stress of the entire world watching you, and the physical strain you go through is unimaginable, Ju. I don't have to insult you by whining about my everyday shit."

His silence alarms you. For a beat too long, he's just staring, eyebrows still furrowed in deep thought. Maybe you'd already offended him? Had your uncharacteristically monotone entrance annoyed him?

You only get so far down the list of anxieties and what-ifs before your train of thought is halted. Jude removes his hands from yours, instead cupping your face and raising your head gently to face him instead of his chest.

“Y/n I'm going to marry you, do you know that?”

It takes the atmosphere a second for his earnestness to settle. He's serious, and the idea of Jude already planning a future with you makes your heart skip and your chest ache. If you even knew how to respond, you know you can't physically get any words out. Your mouth opens momentarily and closes again in defeat.

“I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life as your lover. And I know you're going to continue to support me,” he gingerly kisses your left cheek, “no matter what,” and then the right, “and I'm going to support you.” He moves up to your forehead, inhaling fondly as if savoring the moment. You are as well. Finally, he kisses it and lets his lips linger. Once more, he brings your head up to face his.

“I love you, and your problems are never going to be less important than mine, darling.”

“I don't deserve you, Ju.”

He wants to argue that, and normally he would – you know he would – but he instead chooses to take advantage of your cracked defenses.

“How was your day, lovely?”

♢ — author postnote (s): dude this is so filthy sweet I legit don't even wanna read it again to edit it like. I started this last night when I got home from work and, clov3 fun fact: clov3 is NOT an emotional person at all like. bro bye. don't even like this fr.

#jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #borussia dortmund #bvb imagine #england #pablo gavi #neymar #gender neutral reader #x reader #reader insert #football oneshot #footballer x you #football imagine #will add a cut later I’m sorry

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pikapikablog · 2 months

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(I just took someone's passion and it fueled me to this/j Anyways)

Wakfu x Cat Member Reader;

-Cat reader joins the gang and everything, Reader is a cat so no romance, Reader is a brown and white tuxedo cat with a mystery collar with a moon and sun pendent on it-

Angst

Honestly I believe Yugo originally brought you into the group randomly and you just decided to stay and no one had really mind it much making you an official member of the group.

You liked Adamai the most out of everyone at first and then when the fight happens and the group splits you were taken in with Dally and his wife Eva cue endless chaos and you becoming an unpaid baby sitter for their brats and all, practically the oldest since you were technically adopted first

You mostly nap around and don't go out much when the break in happened you tried to quickly get the kids to safety unfortunately you underestimated the enemy and your favorite of the group was a traitor it broke your heart too before they could go and kidnap their daughter Elely you quickly jumped in making a shield to protect the two of them

It broke when Adamai hit it and it flung all of you back as they took Eva and Flopin, you weren't all that injured but you did have the fall and was limping a bit coming to check in on them seeing Dally dead (technically) it was even more heart breaking and you had curled around them trying to keep them warm

After the group reunites to fight Oppro and everything you begin to find out and the devastating truth and everything but you didn't want to bring in more helping them each turn the best you can while breathing a bit heavier not that anyone noticed or anything but Ruel's pet which you shooed away for it coming too close to you at times.

It was daunting watching everyone falling apart and tension rising it became more harder not to cave in but you passed it all finally able to help aid in battle against Oppro using what little strength you had left to witness Eva and Dally last child be formally welcomed unfortunately you couldn't hold on much longer after the said war and a soft Boop to the children's head you unfortunately passed on leaving your memories and your collar behind

Yugo;

He was so guilty crying over your limp body blaming himself silently his hands clenching your fur but you weren't reacting at all it set dawn on him that you were gone and not coming back it made him deny it all this wasn't happening you'd be back and happy, you will wake up soon.

But you never did

Amelia;

She covers her mouth in horror looking over at you it was eating her up inside slowly as you laid there knowing you'd never wake up to annoy her like how you used to always do something silly along the way

How she wishes for those times again

Dally;

Losing a friend after having his son was heartbreaking just like how you were there for them and their two first you won't be there for his last one he could only chuckled sadly brushing your fur

"I hope you do well wherever your soul decides to travel, we'll miss you for sure."

Eva;

You were a companion she sought comfort and guidance many times and maybe you were that little therapist she had you were like that for her children too and she loved that, she missed you, she wished you were here now, she missed how you'd jump up on high places near her and just watch curiously as she does her thing before her children made some ruckus prompting you to go and see what's it's about

She wishes this was all a bad dream.

Adamai;

Guilt and regret came in full fold his only interaction was hitting you away when you tried to protect Elely and Dally meaning his last moments were not on good notes with you or anything he could only silently look down at you and wish you'd have a safe journey

He wished he could have said how sorry he was

Ruel;

Honestly it was a slight connection, who am I kidding you two were treasure buddies you always brought back stray karmas to him being proud when he took it and praised how you were his luck charm in becoming rich, he felt moments like that were to short, he wipes a tear from his eye

"Be safe on the road there, hope you won't miss me too much"

Elely;

You were her best friend and big sister always hitting her when she did something wrong or maybe glaring at her when she unintentionally threw a Snowball at you when you were all nice and cozy ending up with you chasing her and you both laying by the fireplace after she got the cold from her adventure

She promised she was going to be strong one day and she'll keep that promise

Flopin;

He no longer felt the same reading books without you looking over his shoulder or maybe laying close as he pets you and you purr softly, he knew that many times you'd just listen as he rants on about new things and inventions and you'd meow as if answering him back

He just wished he could talk to you again

Goultard;

Even though you both maybe didn't have much interaction he saw that you were a good warrior you earned the respect from him for you, he wished he had more interactions with you

You seemed really cool

Rublix;

Maybe in a way he'd say he *supposedly* missed you but only he knows that he felt that he was missing something when your sudden departure took place he'd only him softly

"I always knew you were a fleabag with a fancy collar, damn cat."

#its pika time #Wakfu #Wakfu x Reader #Cat Reader #Angst #Death

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wordynerdygurl · 2 years

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The Queen & The Jester

An Eddie Munson x Female Reader “Choose Your Own Adventure” Story

--------------------------------------------------------------------- Author’s Note: Like so, so, so many of us, the Eddie Munson thirst became too much to bear. After thinking it over, I decided to make this an old school “Choose Your Own Adventure” story. So, be aware: There is SMUT, there is some Angst, depending on the path YOU Choose! Language like cursing, swearing and name calling shows up regularly and... if ye be under 18, stay away! If you interacted with my question about reading an Eddie Fanfic, I’ve tagged you, shamelessly. I sincerely hope you enjoy!! Last thing- This is all terribly self indulgent! Sorry, not sorry! ------------------------------------------------------------------------

There were lots of places where you could make yourself small, insignificant, out of the way. The basement chorus room, with its pile of broken music stands and worn out carpet was one that you used on occasion, but by far the best you had found was the high school library.

Of course, there were high traffic areas in this hall of knowledge; the front, where the reference cards lived in narrow drawers, was always surrounded by someone in a crunch to finish a paper on time. Study desks, organized in long center rows, were constantly in use by the student body. Which is why, when you found what you loving referred to as your nook, you were ecstatic. Out of the way, a little alcove, just big enough for you and your back pack was created when two walls had been unable to meet in a 90 degree angle. This meant there was a little nook that was never used as it was too small for a shelf and there would be no need for a table or chairs back here where students could get up to unwitnessed shenanigans. There were no punny posters or student notices, no decorations of any kind. The rug was, miraculously, free from stains. And because there were no periodicals or encyclopedias in the vicinity, no one really roamed this far back between the towering shelves. The stacks here were filled with novels of the science fiction and fantasy variety, typically shunned by more of the kids crowding the halls. They wanted easy to digest drivel, romantic books with pictures of beefy dudes on the covers or gruesome crime thrillers, things you enjoyed but didn’t find very fulfilling. Or, worse still, was the lack of interest in reading all together, something you just couldn’t imagine. And perhaps that’s why you found the dusty vanilla-like aroma of pressed pages so relaxing. It transported you away from the frustrating reality of your actual life and into places in space and time that you would never be able to reach otherwise. Fingers tracing the laminated spines of stories from authors like LeGuin, Ruel and Lackey, Pratchett and Dick, it was hard to pick just one. Colorful covers of ancient monsters, sword wielding heroes or the collapsing cosmos called to you. Who were you to ignore the summons of such great material? So, most days around lunchtime, if someone was looking, which, let’s be honest, they weren’t, you could be found sitting on this particular piece of library floor with your back against the wall, your knees propping up one of a thousand different books that took you away to worlds where you could just be. Free of judgements and name calling and calorie counting. Free of feeling like a freak. Free to live as many fantastical lives as you possibly could all while sipping on the Slim-fast shake your mother insisted on making you drink or gnawing at an apple. It became such a habit, you taking refuge among the works of Tolkein and Bradbury, that the librarians stopped questioning your presence when the midday bell sounded. You’d just scoot past with a wave, weaving between the aisles until it was just you in your semi-sanctuary, seeking solace in the written words around you. No one paid attention one way or another which was just fine with you. On a day when you were fighting an army of Orcs at Helm’s Deep, worried about whether Gandalf would be good to his word, you found yourself pulled from Middle Earth by the brotherly bickering of two young voices, “It shouldn’t be that hard to find, Mike.” “I know it’s back here, ok Dustin? The index said 082-04, which should be-” startled, you scrambled to grab your stuff, which included the school’s copy of The Lord of the Rings and pushed to your feet quickly. It wasn’t about being caught, you weren't doing anything wrong by reading during your lunch hour; it was more about being exposed. If some underclassmen found you, then really, anyone could. Your private little book nook wasn’t as secret as you had hoped. You weren’t really paying attention as you jammed the remnants of your meager meal into the bottom of your bag, hurrying towards the front of the library. All you could see were the doors getting closer with each panicked step. Maybe that’s why you didn’t see the laughing, lean, leather wrapped body of Eddie Munson until it was entirely too late. — The library was not his scene. No fucking way. Nerds go to the school library. Dweebs, they write papers. Eddie? He smoked during class, sold drugs after lunch, rock ‘n rolled all night and partied everyday. But, if he wanted to graduate and wanted to actually put this hell hole in his rearview mirror, then Eddie “The Freak” Munson had to pass English. Miss Donahue had given him an out. Something, she said, which was typically reserved for her best students: extra credit. If he could read a book, any book he wanted and turn in a report that sounded even remotely like it explained the concept of the story, she’d pass him. Eddie was suspicious but appreciative. He also understood that the teachers here at Hawkins High were just as sick of seeing him kicking around these hallowed halls as he was of them. With this mutually beneficial arrangement in place, Eddie had thought long and hard about what book to pick. It was a daunting decision and not one to be taken lightly. He had opinions, strong, loudly vocalized opinions about the quality of the book he was willing to give his time and attention to. There were some smaller volumes, quick and easy reads, which would be a breeze for sure. Miss Donahue had suggested The Outsiders. That was a good one, Eddie reluctantly agreed, and a book he actually enjoyed. But he rejected it for this project since it sorta felt like a cheap choice as the movie had come out a couple years back. Nearly gagging, someone had suggested The Catcher in the Rye. Uh, no thanks. Not for Eddie. If he was going to pick up a book, it needed to speak to him, ya know? Really mean something. And it had to be interesting enough that he would be able to finish it so he could actually get his damn diploma. Days passed and he was starting to get desperate. He’d risked asking the Hellfire boys what they thought. Was there a novel worth tucking into that could help him pass but also be worth his time? Dustin, always the quickest, snarked, “Eddie the Banished, there’s only one tome that you need read.” “Yea? What’s that Henderson?” Rattling a D20 in his hand, digging the way it sounded when the hard plastic clicked against his rings, Eddie hadn’t bothered lifting his head.

“The Lord of the Rings.” Dustin reveled in the glory of this announcement, proud and smiling. Eddie blinked at him, his face unreadable, “So, you are suggesting that I re-read The Lord of the Rings for Miss Donahue?” With an ounce of appropriate trepidation, Dustin countered, “Is it such a bad idea? You’ve done it before. You know you like the story-” Cutting him off, Eddie slapped the die on the table with a thump, “Henderson, it’s the length of a bible.” “Ok, fair. But maybe just pick one of the volumes? I’m partial to Return of the King, myself.” Damn it. That was a good idea. And it meant that if Eddie didn’t get through the entire thing, he still had enough knowledge of the source material to write a paper decent enough for Miss Donahue. It’s just, he couldn’t let Henderson win that easily. “Hmm…” Circling the table where he held court over his loyal band of merry men, Eddie stroked his chin, contemplating the suggestion, “Ya know, it’s not a bad idea. It’s not a great one either, but-” stopping directly behind Dustin, his hands falling onto Hawaiian shirt covered shoulders, “-It’s The Fellowship of the Ring that is the right answer, Henderson.” Mike snorted, “When they meet the elves and shit?” Spinning on his high-top Reeboks, Eddie skipped to Mike’s side before squatting, “You got a problem with elves, Wheeler?” “Uh, no, no… It’s just… aren’t they a little, ya know, girlie?” “Would you call Legolas girlie? Would you call Thranduil girlie? Huh?” Nose to nose with the skinny freshman, Eddie didn’t relent, waiting him out until the kid conceded with a nod, “No. And besides Mikey-” ruffling the boy’s dark hair as he rose to standing, Eddie laughed over his shoulder, “Arwen is hot.” Gareth and the guys laughed at that, taking it in turns to high five their leader as Eddie resumed his seat at the head of their cafeteria table. Snapping his fingers, an idea came to him right then, one good enough that he announced in his sing-song voice, “Let’s go to the library.” A look passed between Mike Wheeler and Dustin that clearly questioned the sanity of their Dungeon Master. He was prone to overreaction, sarcastic comments and teasing in the loving way favored by older brothers the world over. And when Eddie wanted something, truly, madly, deeply, he was relentless in pursuing it. The boys had learned that loyalty and honoring commitments was paramount for the oldest senior in Hawkins High history. As his soldiers, the next generation of Hellfire Club was theirs to run and Eddie considered it his mission to ensure that kids stepping into his shoes were up to the task. And soldiers didn’t question their leader, not if they were hoping to avoid becoming the focus of one of Eddie’s wordy, wise-crack filled tangents. Dustin had already tossed the remains of his bologna and cheese sandwich onto the table, anticipating the direction Eddie was headed. Reluctant to cave so quickly, it was Mike who summoned the courage to ask, “Now? It’s lunch time.” “Yes, now, fellas. I need to check out my destiny!” Glumly discarding the remains of their lunch trays, the boys followed in Eddie’s wake, watching as he skirted past other members of the student body, his commentary colorful as always. Before too long they arrived at their destination, a mismatched trio with a mission. Dustin and Mike were no stranger to the knowledge center that was the Hawkins High library but this was new territory for Eddie, exotic and a bit enticing. In awe of the multitude that surrounded him, Eddie couldn’t help whispering worshipfully, “So many words.” “What was that?” Dustin had attacked the card catalog, riffling through the musty striped cards with expert precision.

“Nothing Henderson. Keep looking. If I gotta read this thing, I want to start today.” He was antsy and eager, excited for the new quest he was embarking on and keen to begin this literary campaign. Triumphantly pulling out the appropriate card, Dustin smiled widely, “Here it is!” Crestfall, Eddie’s face dropped, “That’s an index card.” “Yes, but it has the location of the book on it here, see?” Trying to show his older friend how to read the designation assigned to the piece of classical literature they were looking for was pretty pointless. He wasn’t going to search the racks for the book and he could care less about the Dewey Decimal System. “Cool, cool. Yea, so uh, what are you waiting for?” Eddie questioned, his eyebrows disappearing under the roughly cut fringe that framed his face. The question sent Dustin and Mike scurrying into the library’s inner recesses, eager to fulfill Eddie’s crusade. It made him chuckle, the way the young lads tore off, bickering brotherly while doing this errand for him. Looking around, Eddie would admit to a bit of curiosity about this particular library. He’d long enjoyed the town’s book repository; it was where he met so many of his favorite characters. Bilbo and Frodo, Arthur Dent, King Arthur and Merlin, plus a slew of others who showed Eddie a world beyond his own rusted trailer door. Drumming on the card catalog case, on the lookout for his minions, Eddie couldn’t help being distracted by the gaggle of cheerleaders gathered around a copy of People magazine, giggling about Tom Cruise. Their skirts were so short that he couldn’t be blamed for sneaking a peek, even if it didn’t really satisfy. Snorting derisively, he put his back to the scene. It seemed silly to be surrounded by so many stories and waste your time on a brag mag, but hey, to each their own. When he turned back to the row Dustin and Mike had cruised down it was too late. You slammed into him with your shoulder knocking your bag and all its contents all over the floor. “Whoa! Hey! Are you ok?” You heard his knees pop as he dropped down to help you clean up all your things. Embarrassment flooding through you took your ability to answer, so you settled instead on the hasty retrieval of your stuff, raising your eyes to Eddie’s with what you hoped was an imploring look on your face. Jamming everything back into your backpack, you pushed to your feet and left the room as fast as you possibly could, not looking back. “Hey! You forgot your-” but the rest of his statement faded as Eddie watched the library doors shut behind you. Left holding a well worn, well loved notebook, he turned it over, hoping to identify who you were so he could get it back to you. Clearly it was something you used regularly, the corners faded white and fraying, the spiral sticking out of the bottom too far. A mystery- that’s what this run-by library encounter truly was, one Eddie felt compelled to solve. What was your name? Eddie was certain he’d heard it before, maybe even been introduced to you properly, but his mind was drawing a blank. He had definitely seen you around, though. At The Hideout? No, that wasn’t right. But he knew your face, absolutely, and Eddie probably would have stayed there, crouched on the floor holding your missing college ruled notebook, until he solved the puzzle but around that time Mike and Henderson found him looking towards the library’s doors deep in thought. “What are you doing down there?” Leave it to Dustin to question everything. “Just getting a new perspective, Henderson. Did you get the book?” Reaching out a hand, Eddie was helped to standing by Mike who staggered from the effort. “Uh, no.” At least Henderson had the decency to look upset about giving him this news. Still Eddie couldn’t help pressing, “No?” “No. See our library has the entire book in one volume versus the three individual volumes, so-” Nodding now, understanding the root of the problem, Eddie rubbed the back of his neck as he talked to himself, “So, someone else is reading it?” It was Mike’s turn to interrupt. “That’s just it. It’s not checked out but it’s not on the shelf.” His eyes widened at the mystery he’d been present with. He sure as shit hadn’t taken the book, although that was exactly the kind of thing people expected of a guy like him. The boys shifted uneasily on their feet, unsure of what Eddie’s reaction would be, but, not for the first time, he surprised them both. Looking down at the notebook he was holding on to, your notebook which had flown the farthest during your collision, Eddie laughed deep in his chest, “That’s ok.” Dustin and Mike exchanged a worried look as Eddie snapped the notebook you had dropped against his open palm, his eyes on the door you’d bolted through. “But, what about your report?” Grinning now, Eddie flashed his faithful friends a wide, knowing smile, “Don’t worry about that, Henderson. I’ve got a side-quest to take on before we get to the main mission.” “Do you, uh, is there something you want us to do?” Mike was hoping the answer would be no. He had a phone date with his girl out in California planned for tonight and he hated to cancel. “No, Wheeler. This is a solo adventure. I got this one.” On cue the bell which signaled the end of lunch sounded. With appreciative handshakes to both Dustin and Mike, Eddie sent them on their way to class. He lingered in the library, opening your notebook, hopeful of finding your name out your name, at least. You hadn’t done him the favor of neatly printing your contact information on the inside cover, but you had left a clue or two. A receipt, folded at an angle gave the name of Making Tracks Record Shop. Lip pulling up at the corners, Eddie snapped his fingers. That’s it! That’s where he recognized you from! Sure, you weren’t the most outgoing sales clerk working for Keith, but you knew your stuff. In fact, glancing down at the purchase ticket, he was impressed. Iron Maiden, Metallica and Megadeth were all listed among your recent purchases. Hard core. Thumbing through the pages, it dawned on Eddie that what he had mistaken for a random set of Chemistry notes was actually more than that. Pages about characters, scenes, narrative work that went into descriptive details about things as small as the insignia emblazoned on someone’s saddle. It wasn’t just class work that you had left behind.

The second bell rang and Eddie realized he had a decision to make. He could go to class, fuck around, and goof off - or, he could cut and keep reading your story. If he did the latter he’d have the time to make a delivery or two before winding up at the record shop and hopefully running into you again.

When it was clear that no teacher was going to come looking for him, Eddie ducked back into your fictional world excitedly. From the first faintly written sentence, he was hooked. The story of a sad Queen, lonely and abandoned, who had to defend her kingdom while falling in love with foreign King. It had all the elements that got Eddie’s blood pumping: medieval knights, lovely but strong ladies and creatures of all shapes. Eddie got comfortable in one of the impossibly hard wooden seats, shielding himself with leather wrapped elbows on the table. You were a talented wordsmith and Eddie was hungry to learn about the fantastical world you were creating with sentences and commas. In his mind’s eye he could see you, the stoic, silent leader, looking for the perfect paramour and finding only monsters at your door. The King, well, you had outed yourself a bit by drawing Steve “The Hair” Harrington’s name on the once red cardboard cover and tracing a heart around it. He got it, really. The guy was a legend at Hawkins, but Eddie didn’t see what all the hype was about. Anybody could be rich and handsome. Broke and good looking, well that something that Eddie had figured out on his own!

It's just, that didn't seem right- the idea that your queen would settle for someone as boring as King Harrington. In fact, the more he read, the more Eddie saw a huge problem in your pages. There was no comedy, no funny business, no glee.

Where was the sidekick? The character with the great one liners, snarky but satirical, ready to quip the villains to death and banter playfully with the heroes? Who was responsible for breaking all your building dynamic tension? Far too fast, he heard the end of day bell sounding throughout the school, and he was genuinely sad about it. For the first time in years, Eddie Munson had stayed in school the entire day and that was solely because of you and your magical manuscript. Gently shutting the pages, he folded the notebook in half and lovingly tucked in the waistband of his jeans, under his jacket, to protect it. Smiling, he held the door open for some student stragglers, already imagining how happy you would be to see him that night. — It wasn’t until you threw your bag down on the rug of your bedroom floor that you realized what you had done. The filmy plastic wrap that covered the school’s copy of The Lord of the Rings crackled as you pulled it free, digging for your writing notebook. You knew you had it, you always did, it went with you everywhere, just in case inspiration struck.

Having left in such a rush, so embarrassed about smashing into Eddie “The Freak”, you’d cared more about getting out of the way then making sure you had all your things. Pair that with social panic at having to explain yourself to anyone, let alone the tall smart alec with tattoos, checking out the novel hadn’t crossed your mind. And now, well now, you were responsible for keeping it safe until you could return it to the library like a responsible citizen. Hopefully no one would notice it was missing. Gulping guiltily, you quickly tossed on your work uniform: black jeans and an uncomfortably tight electric green polo shirt with the words Making Tracks in thick black letters across your chest. Quite possibly the ugliest thing you had ever been forced to put on your body, you did it for the perks. Cheap music to add to your ever growing collection, first dibs on new releases and easy access to concert tickets when bands came anywhere near Hawkins. Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair in an attempt to tame some of the frizz that flared out around your face. It was no use. The mirror couldn’t lie. You were just you and that would have to do. Honestly, you didn’t care about how you looked at work- metalheads and Cure fans didn’t give one shit what you were wearing as long as you could help them get their hands on the tapes of their favorite groups. The pop princesses, though, they were the worst. Always looking for Madonna or the Top Gun soundtrack happened to be the very same people who cast skeptical glances and made rude comments. But you didn’t need to impress any of them. You just needed a paycheck. “You ready, kiddo?” Mom, trying to sound upbeat called out to you, knowing that you were due at Making Tracks Record shop downtown for your evening shift in twenty minutes. “Yea, just a sec!” During your break you planned to get a jump on your homework, so you hastily piled the needed textbooks into your bag, again noting the lack of your personal notebook. You didn’t really have the time to examine its absence, as the clock was ticking, so you let it go and headed down the stairs to your waiting mother. The hug she gave you was deep and long. Since losing your dad in the StarCourt fire last year, mom had become overly focused on you, “Gosh! Maybe we need to cut back on the sweets, huh? I can barely get my arms around you!” Your skin burned with hurt at the comment but you refused to give it voice. Instead you just agreed flatly, “Whatever you think is best.” It was easier than making her feel bad about making you feel bad and it wasn’t as if she registered your comment anyway. The ride to work was more of the same, mom prattling on and on about some new diet she’d seen on television. Exercise tapes to help tone and shape. Self improvement never hurt anyone, she said. “You’ll never find a man if you don’t have a figure! That’s how I caught your father!” “Mom! Gross! And I don’t want to catch anyone. I want-” Turning the taupe colored wheel sharply, she pulled into the parking spaces at the side of the building where you would spend the next six and a half hours, “You want something out of this world. I know. But honey, even space stations have weight limits.” With that lovely thought to keep you company, you popped open the door, not waiting for her to brake. Dipping into the backseat for your book bag, you thanked her mechanically, “Appreciate the ride mom! Thank you!” If she answered you didn’t hear it. Already tucking your chin to your chest, you made the short walk to the record store doors as fast as you could, not looking anyone in the eye. Skating past the manager, you tossed your stuff into your employee locker and punched in quickly. Throwing your name badge around your neck, you inhaled a deep breath, “Just let the music take you away.” It was your work mantra and it really did help. When you stepped back onto the floor, it was like a different person embodied your physical form. Confident, you knew where each album belonged, where each artist and genre ranked and what bands belonged together on a shelf. If someone asked you a question, the timidity of your daily existence was gone, you had the answers. You were large and in charge here, in this miniature music filled world, and no one could blow your house down. Keith, who you were pretty sure was trying to collect as many local retail name tags as possible, called you to the register as soon as he saw you pop out from the backroom. He was talking with a customer, someone he obviously knew pretty well, about Iron Maiden and when they were expected to come to Indianapolis that year. Kicking your beat up Keds against the bottom of the counter, you interrupted confidently, “They won’t be. They’re on a European tour right now, but I hear ‘87 might bring them back stateside.” With a smirk, Keith popped his chin your way, “Told you Munson. She knows everything.” Turning to face you full on, Eddie tilted his head, taking you in with an appreciative smile, “So she does!” Leaning across the shiny black counter, Eddie motioned for Keith’s ear, whispering, “Listen, Keith, is it cool if I borrow her for a minute?”

“Yea, sure, Munson.” And then Keith allowed himself to get distracted by a telephone call. “Hey, does uh… she get a say in this?” You asked defiantly, your hands finding your ample hips. Unsure of what Eddie might be after, you weren’t about to let Keith agree to anything without your input. Stepping into your space, Eddie’s taller figure leaning over yours, not imposing necessarily, but curious, “Of course she does! It’s just-” hovering now, his lips close enough to your cheek that the smell of weed and cigarettes and Big Red brushed over you, “-I found something that I think belongs to you and I… I want to return it.” His voice had dropped to a rumbling timber that the rational part of your brain knew meant bad news. Your libido though, that unsatisfied bitch, heard it and roared to life. Like a prickling sunburn every word that Eddie murmured ghosted over your skin bringing fresh heat to the surface. Somehow he’d managed to put your back to the register and was closing the narrow distance between you two. If Keith noticed anything funny happening he didn’t say anything, content to slap price tags on the new vinyl shipment that you would undoubtedly be responsible for putting out on the floor later on tonight. Swallowing thickly, you shifted your eyes, indicating the direction you planned to move and Eddie stepped back far enough that you could easily pass by. Trailing behind you, Eddie didn’t want to look at your ass, he really didn’t. But it was so round and full- juicy! That was a word he could use to describe your curvy figure. Every step you took was hypnotizing and Eddie couldn’t stop following the swing of your hips swaying from side to side as you lured him away from the front of the shop. Your thighs, encased in black denim, rubbed together just enough for him to know that he was getting to you. Eddie may not have been book smart according to the education council of Indiana, but he knew things. Oh yea, he knew when to push his advantage and when to hold out. When a girl needed a firm hand or wanted to take the lead. When a lady was into him, that was the easiest of all to identify… And you, little miss, were into him. He had no doubt. Coming to a short stop in front of the recently vacated listening booths, you faced Eddie, biting at the inside of your cheek. It was a nervous habit, and truthfully, this situation made you very very nervous. “You uh, you said you found something of mine?” The question was innocent enough, Eddie reckoned, but the way you looked up at him through your thick lashes was not innocent at all. Wide open doe eyes peered into his own, curious and questioning. Stuttering a bit, Eddie started, “Uh… yea. Yea. I think this-” pulling a folded over notebook from the back of his jeans, proud at bringing it back, “-I think this belongs to you.” Closing your eyes, you sucked in a deep breath as your fingers gripped the worn down cardboard cover littered with doodles and scribbled nonsense. You knew then that you had dumped it in the library that morning and Eddie Munson had collected it for you. Something like shame coursed through you and forced you to ask, “Did you- um, did you-” “Read it? Yea. A bit. It’s-” nervously rubbing the back of his neck, “-it’s really good.” He hadn’t relinquished the notebook yet. Maybe he wasn’t ready to let it go entirely, feeling a bit protective of the story he’d found written out on the college ruled pages. Or maybe he just really enjoyed the way you were looking at him with serious eyes and lips pouting just a tiny bit. You had never let anyone read anything that came out of your warped little mind. The judgment of others, the critiques that would come with allowing someone else access to your little story world filled you with anxiety. Yet, here was Eddie “The Freak” telling you that he liked your work. It was overwhelming. “Good?” Sputtering, you weren’t entirely sure how to respond. He didn’t seem to be kidding either. Covering your hand with his own, Eddie dropped down to your eye level, “Really good. I think your main character, well, she’s a badass, isn’t she?” “Um, well, she wants to be-” “And the King? He uh-” stepping around you now, Eddie tapped on the torn cover where a certain Hawkins High alumni’s name was scrawled in black marker, “-He’s not good enough for her.” Another bloom of humiliation broke open in your belly. The name Steve Harrington emblazoned on your writing notebook wasn’t a clue as to your inspiration so much as a direct reference. Now Eddie knew about that, too. Whipping your head around, needing to defend yourself, you emphatically whispered, “It’s not- um, see, he is just a stand in. A model for-” “You don’t have to justify it to me, sweetheart. King Harrington may be the ideal, but your queen, in my humble opinion, needs something more.” Dry as a desert, your mouth could barely form a reply, “And what’s that?” “A jester.” Side-eyeing Eddie you snorted, “A jester?” “Sure! A person who makes your queen laugh, only wants what’s best for her, and is willing to go out on a limb to make sure she gets it.” Chuckling, you shook your head. It wasn’t an idea that had ever entered into your thinking, but that didn’t mean it was bad feedback. “Eddie, my story is-” “Stuck.” He arrogantly answered for you, leaning away from you in case you decided to swing at him. “Excuse me?” The flash of anger shot through you again. The audacity. The straight frustrating nerve of Eddie Munson to tell you what your story lacked. How dare he? Tapping the notebook where your story unfolded, he added, “You haven’t written anything new in days, maybe weeks. So you’re-” shrugging his denim and leather clad shoulders knowingly, “-stuck.” And he was right, which was the worst part. It had taken Eddie Munson all of five hours to out your writer’s block and then boldly offer a solution to your story’s key problem. Jerking your notebook back, finally reclaiming ownership, you licked over your bottom lip, “Ok, Munson. Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say I have a… plotting problem. What makes you think your answer is the right one?” Stopping long enough to let the chains on his belt still, Eddie surveyed you seriously, “I don’t know if I’d say it’s the right one, doll, but I know my way around uh, let’s call it story management. Every campaign of mine starts out with an ending, a conclusion. The fun part-” he was almost nose to nose with you now, those big brown eyes peering playfully into your own, as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, “-is how you get there.” “What, uh, what is my conclusion, Mr. Storyteller?” You didn’t want to sound so weak but your voice was barely a whimper when it should have been a shout. Something about this guy, his energy, just made you soft. “Love. Sex. Romantic nonsense that chicks your age dig. Happy endings with pretty boys like King Harrington.” Ticking them off on his ring clad fingers as if it was a mundane shopping list, you watched with the wicked way his lips curled into a grin, unable to keep yourself from staring. Caging you under his outstretched arm, the heat of his body wrapping around you, you were forced to tilt your chin up in an effort to maintain eye contact. The rough collar of your uniform top parted enough that he could look down your shirt and Eddie hated that he liked looking so much. Your large breasts crammed together under the professionally embroidered polyester, rising and falling with each shallow breath, deserved better in his opinion. Your pillowy lips, parted perfectly, were made to be kissed, and he raised his hand high enough to brush the calloused pad of his thumb across the bottom one, just to see what you’d do. Croaking out a curse, you squeezed your eyes together, “Eddie…” It was an exhaled echo of the word that was swirling around your brain and the only sound you could commit to in the moment. “Yea, sweetheart? You got something you wanna say?” Fluttering open, you stared up at him, undone and overwrought. You opened your mouth, hoping to regain some traction both mentally and physically but were cut short. “Hey! Munson? You’re still here?” Keith, still safe behind the register, called out to the nearly empty space. But Eddie didn’t budge. Still using his arm to support his weight, his dark gaze set on you, he answered, “I sure am! Just be another second with our record store Queen.” And the way he emphasized your title sent a fizzing firework through your belly. “Well, hurry up man. I need some-” lowering his shout to a loud whisper, “-size eight green jeans, ya know?” “Give me a minute, man. I’ll take care of you.” At those last words, Eddie risked touching you again, pushing a thick shock of hair behind your ear so he could see your face. When you nuzzled your cheek into his hand he knew you were a goner. Hell, maybe he was too. “Come out with me tonight. There’s a battle of the bands at The Hideout. You like music as much as it looks like you do, then, you should be there.” If You Go with Eddie to The Hideout, Click Here! If You Don’t Go with Eddie, Continue Here!

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