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carolmunson · 10 months ago

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i'm the best thing at this party | e.m.

up and coming rockstar!eddie munson x girlfriend!reader (is that a picture of slash? sure, but we can pretend it isn't.) aka the first time carol ever wrote a fic based off a taylor song. but in my defense, it was a chase petra cover of 'you're losing me' that inspired it. this is not connected to my rockstar!eddie x actress!reader storyline, this is it's own oneshot in a separate story.

in the early 90s, when your boyfriend's band starts to make it in the big leagues, you start to come to terms with the fact that he might not want or need a small town player anymore. eighteen plus. established relationship. angst. hurt/no comfort-ish. open ending.

"and i'm fading, thinkin': 'do something, babe. say somethin'. lose somethin' babe, risk something. choose somethin' babe. i got nothin' to believe, unless you're choosing me.'"

The Hideout was hot with all the bodies packed in like sardines; stark contrast to the icy chill of winter outside. Glowing on the screen was The Tonight Show, everyone’s eyes glued to it while Corroded Coffin made their first national televised debut.

No one’s totally sure how their manager Richie was able to finesse this slot – but they went to New York to film earlier in the week and didn’t ask any questions. With Richie, it's better to not ask questions and just let it happen. Eddie came home with an adrenaline rush so intense that he barely slept for three days. No matter how much you tried to keep him in bed and tire him out.

And sure, it was hard to have him be gone while you drove out to Indy and took a friend to see the new graffiti art exhibit that came in from LA when it was supposed to be with him. It was hard to have him miss a lot of things. His return from the city only started another big talk about it, one you've been having every few months the last two years. Even so, you couldn’t help but be proud of him, proud of all of them. Remembering that just four years ago they were barely getting fifteen people in here to see them play when you first started dating.

The crowd erupts when the camera comes off of the band on the stage and back to Leno at his desk, the boys in real life all standing on the bar. You look up at Ed and smile, he finally did it, he’s doing it. The contracts are signed, the people saw him, he’s gonna make it. He’s making it.

You duck out of the way when they start to spray champagne over everyone by the bar, “Not my hair, babe!”

The two bartenders pour shots of Jameson and flutes of Prosecco while the show cuts to commercial and it’s not long before you feel the sticky chest of your boyfriend up against your shoulder, “It was good? I did good?”

“Ed you’re…you’re fuckin’ famous,” you grin, “You’re fuckin’ famous!”

You follow while he leads you through the crowd, settled in near the back where the stage doors lead to the dressing room and out into the parking lot. He looks over his shoulder twice before he sneaks you both behind the amps; heart pounding when he leans you up against the painted cinder block walls, noses mashing when he takes your lips in his. It’s feverish, desperate when he pulls at your hips, one arm wrapped around your mid back to keep you steady up against him.

“Lemme – mmm – lemme take you to the green room,” he breathes between kisses, moving your hand toward the bulge in his jeans, “C’mon I wan–”

“The interview’s up!” Jeff calls from on top of the bar.

“Where’s Ed? ED? Come on! The interview’s up!” Gareth calls, the crowd erupting in a cheer of ‘Edd-ie, Edd-ie, Edd-ie!’

“Come on, come on!” you squeal, pulling away to pull him toward the front of the bar again, “You said they were gonna cut it!”

“It’s stupid, babe,” he assures, “It’s so dumb.”

“Ed, you’re being interviewed by Leno, this isn’t stupid,” you urge, “This is like – this is it.”

“It’s literally like two minutes, it’s not special,” he doesn’t move when you pull him along with you, a frown pulling on your lips.

“Eddie,” your voice raises an octave, tugging on his hand – he lets go.

“I’m gonna take a leak,” he shrugs, heading toward the green room while you watch him disappear behind the door. Your brows furrow slightly, but it doesn’t stop you from making your way back to the edge of the bar where everyone’s eyes are glued to the medium sized screen in the corner.

The crowd cheers again while the band is re-introduced, Eddie and Jeff sitting on the chairs with Gareth and Grant standing behind them. You admire the way your boyfriend looks post performance, nearly glittering with sweat but glowing with pride – with accomplishment. You look over your shoulder to see if he’s back from the bathroom yet, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“So we got a group of some – what looks like – nice, respectable hard core guys,” Jay smiles.

“I don’t know about respectable,” Eddie scrunches his nose back at the host.

“I don’t know about nice, either,” Jeff jokes. You marvel at how relaxed and natural they all look on camera, cracking wise and getting laughs from the audience. They talk about the album briefly, and the front cover which has all four boys in caskets with a red kiss print on their cheeks.

“So, the debut is self titled, Corroded Coffin – but it looks like you all got a coffin kiss here,” he points out, “These from anyone special? You got the girls going crazy.” The audience erupts in cheers and screams, a bra finding its way flung into the sound stage. You giggle when Gareth and Grant hold it up, making them both blush pink on the screen.

“Well I got a girl at home, so, I don’t hear any screamin’ if it’s not her cheering for me,” Jeff’s smile is bright when the camera focuses on him and he winks into the lens. Sasha, Jeff’s girlfriend, screeches in the crowd of The Hideout.

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna do that!” she beams, and your heart thunders while you watch them kiss on the bar. The promise ring that he gave her back in ‘88 shines on her ring finger, awaiting something much more flashy when that first big rockstar payday hits.

“It’s definitely a change of pace,” Grant nods on the screen, “Definitely wasn’t getting a lot of girls in high school.”

“It’s wild,” Gare laughs.

“And what about you, Munson,” Jay asks, “Frontman like you’s gotta be beating them off with a stick.”

The camera focuses on him, his pink lips and smart grin, a flash of teeth before he starts talking. He’s so handsome, you feel your fingers and toes start to tingle when he opens his mouth.You weren’t expecting to hear your name on national television, or be alluded to. You’d never really prepared yourself for something like this. To be declared to thousands, maybe millions, as a rockstar girlfriend.

You swallow the nervous spit pooling in your mouth, heart pattering while you run through all of the scenarios of the outcome of being ‘announced’ in your head.

“I don’t kiss and tell, Jay,” he smirks.

Oh.

Your hearing clouds and your vision blurs – unsure of what you just heard. If maybe you imagined it, but that proves to be untrue when you feel a few sets of eyes on you. A moment of silent confusion lulls on the crowd at the bar.

You swallow the lump in your throat, fingers and toes cold now while the blood rushes to your heart and head, to your lungs which suddenly forgot how to work. Through teary eyes you look around, drowned out by the cheers of the bar when Jay announces when the album will release. You sniffle, trying to hold it back – but there he is in the back of the crowd now, eyes rounded; pleading, looking straight at you.

The tears spill over and you try to catch your breath as you make your way through the bodies on your way to the front door. You hear Gareth call after you, hearing him stumble over the barstools while he hops off the counter. Another ragged intake of breath shakes through you while you get closer to the sticker covered door, pushing through the first set and then the other into the dark blue night. Your breath puffs white in front of you, coat abandoned somewhere back inside The Hideout while you walk across the street to your car.

You fumble with the keys, blubbering while you get the engine started and the radio blares Al Green’s Let’s Stay Together part way through the song. In the rear view you see him hustle out of the bar to search for you, catching the start of your car and getting to the passenger window before you can pull away.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he strains, his fingers hanging on the edge of the half open glass, “I promise it’s not what you think. Richie asked me to answer like that, it wasn’t on purpose.”

You press slightly on the gas, making the car lurch forward and inch.

“Wait! Please don’t – don’t just go,” he begs, voice breaking with desperation, “We can talk about it.”

You look at him through wet eyes, the street lights haloing behind his head to feign his innocence. He can talk himself out of anything.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you rasp out quietly, “We’ve done enough talking.”

“I can…please don’t go,” he says again, “Not with you crying like this, c’mon. Don’t leave.”

“I’m gonna go home, Ed,” you sniffle, “J-just go h-have fun inside. S’too cold to be out here.”

“You don’t have your coat,” he states, “Come back in and get it. We can talk in the back, please.”

“I don’t need my coat,” you garble out, “I’m going h-home.”

“Well I’ll – I’ll bring it to you tomorrow morning,” he nods needily, “Okay? Is that okay?”

You let out a shaky breath, fogging again against your windshield, “F-fine.”

Eddie cracks a weak but winning smile, “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“I love you,” he adds. It tastes like ash in your mouth. You pull away before you feel compelled to say it back.

Eddie show’s up in the morning with coffee and your coat, a small carton of donut holes for you both to share. He’s all smiles, seeing you in the kitchenette cleaning out the coffee pot that you now no longer have to fill.

“Morning, baby,” he grins, “I brought your coat.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the droplets of water that race down the side of the glass pout, “You can just hang it on the hook.”

“Are you…are you still upset with me?” his voice is airy, surprised while he makes his way behind you. Calloused hands reach around to pull your back in his chest, nose nuzzling against your cheek. Your stomach rolls, bile inching up the base of your throat.

“Enough, Ed,” you sigh, pulling out of his hold.

“Sweetheart, c’mon,” he huffs, “I told you already. I didn’t want to say that. But you know how Richie is! He just wants what’s best for the band and so do I! Don’t you? I thought you’d understand.”

“Jeff had no problem talking about Sasha,” you do your best to measure your tone, too early to start yelling.

“Jeff has the wholesome thing going for him; plus – you know his family isn’t for him being considered like, a rogue or whatever. He’s already in a metal band,” Eddie explains, like this is a totally normal conversation, “Richie even said this morning that he was getting a lot of calls.” “Okay,” you nod, sitting down at the small table in your kitchen where your coffee sits.

“And like, a lot of people wanna do interviews with us and get hype up for the release,” he half smiles, sitting down across from you, “I told you, it was…it was a good thing. They were saying y’know like, mysterious bad boy front man is a good angle.”

“Great.”

“It doesn’t…babe, it doesn’t mean we can’t be together,” he leans forward, hand reaching out to touch yours. His shoulders sulk when you put them both under the table.

“Ed I –” you let out a breath, eyes tracing a pattern on the waxed canvas tablecloth, “I can’t even look at you right now. And you wanna tell me we can still be together?”

“What like it’s…some consolation prize?” you choke out, “You made a fool out of me. The looks I got?”

“I know, I know, but it was for the band. You know how I feel abo—“

“How you feel about me?” you hold back a bitter laugh.

“Ed, the last year or so we have kept having the same conversation over and over again. You are so, so caught up in Corroded and making it and getting there and trust me I am so proud of you. If there is anyone on the planet who is more proud than me maybe it’s Wayne, but – this is just like, this is kind of it. We have nowhere to go from here.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his brown eyes rounding and brows tilting slightly when he realizes what you’re really saying, “What do you mean no where to go? Are you not listening? I said we can still be together, just like befo–”

“Before? Before when?” you get up and pace back to the kitchen where he can still see you, “Before when you would cancel dates to go practice? When you missed my awards night for work because you wanted to fill in guitar for a gig in Ohio? When you didn’t come to my poetry reading with the guys like you said you would and instead got plastered at The Hideout after rehearsal?”

“Well I apologized for all that, that was all in the past couple years and I – look, I said I was sorry and you accepted that,” his voice raises slightly, he stands up to full height with defense evident in his stance, “You can’t just throw it back in my face.”

“When you were gone weeks at a time for mini tours, for opening for bands on the East Coast – god, all the work I took off to make sure I was there for you? When you canceled our three year anniversary dinner, without my knowledge, because you got a call for discounted studio time on the same night,” you manage to get out, the tears inching toward the edge of your lash line, “And I sat there at the table in my new dress and everyone looked at me the same way they looked at me last night. Poor girl. Must’ve got stood up. What an idiot.”

“Yeah well that studio time is why we were on fuckin’ LENO, babe!” he pleads, “Don’t you get that? It’s for us!”

“It’s for you!” you break, the shrill frustration coming out with your voice, “It’s always just been for you. It’s always about Eddie and the guys. I have done nothing but make sacrifice after sacrifice, excuse after excuse to play the part of perfect, understanding, cool, laidback girlfriend but like fuck Ed, when is it gonna be about me, huh?” He stands there, unsure, cheeks sucking in between his teeth.

“And what’s on the docket for you on Friday? Have any plans?” you ask, your voice softening while you cross your arms over your chest. You lean the small of your back against the counter while you watch him. He clears his throat, hands finding their way into the back pockets of his jeans.

“Um, we have some meetings in the morning in Indy. And then um, we’re gonna take a late flight out to LA. The label’s excited – they’re really excited,” he breathes out, eyes finding the floor and your sock covered feet.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” you nod, voice still measured, “Since we’ve had the tickets for my niece’s winter school concert on the fridge for over a month. I guess I’ll have to tell her that her favorite bonus teacher couldn’t make it.”

“Fuck,” Eddie’s eyes shut, pulling his lips in to run his tongue across them while he thinks of what to say next. Your heart thrums in your chest, throat getting tighter and tighter while you hold back a cry – this was just another thing to add to the list.

“I can make it up to her, I promise,” his raspy nicotine voice becoming garbled with desperation, “I can make this all up to you, too. I swear. I wish you had just told me about all of this.”

“I have, Ed. We are always having the same conversation. I’m tired of having it. I’m so tired of this. Make it up to me? How do you make up for it?”

“I…” he chokes on his words, ringed fingers running over his face and reaching to pull his hair back off his neck.

“Go ahead,” you encourage angrily, “What’re you gonna do? Say something. Fucking, do something, Ed!”

“Baby, I don’t know what to…” he swallows, tears pooling in shiny wells over his eyes, “What do you want me to do? I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

You take a breath through your nose and let it out through your mouth, taking the three steps it takes to get to him. Your hands fall from being crossed, reaching up to cup each of his cheeks. Your thumbs run over the apples and drag softly over the stubble left over from the night before.

His eyes shut while he keens into your touch, his rough hands covering yours. Calloused fingertips coasting delicately over your knuckles. You know what you have to do, even if his touch makes you want to do the opposite.

“Go be famous,” you shrug, smiling weakly, “Go be the big rockstar I know you are. Like how you wanted. Go play The Garden and live in LA.”

Your hands slide down his face, tears falling after them, “Go do all that, and just, um – just leave me alone. Please.”

“But I don’t–” he starts, pulling in a sharp breath while a cry leaks out of him, “I don’t wanna lose you.”

“Oh, Ed,” you shake your head while the ache spills over into your own leveled sob, “I’m already lost.”

“No, please,” he begs, trying to catch your hands as they make it back to your sides, “Please, baby, I’ll fix it. I pro-promise.”

“There’s nothing left to fix,” you whisper in finality, “You should go.”

“I don’t want to,” Eddie’s soft pink lips quiver while he speaks, “Please. Please. I can fix it, the next interview, anything, it’ll be all you. I swear I can…I can…”

When your face doesn’t change he knows there’s no way to pull you from your stance, voice trailing off in defeat. You watch as he rips open your storm door and goes to his van, his chest and back shaking with sobs that make the hardware on his jacket cry with him.

A year passes and you are not surprised when you find out that Corroded Coffin has made the cover of Rolling Stone. Wayne bought every copy from the gas station at the end of the road and put them in every mailbox early that morning. You don’t think there’s been a day in the last year that Wayne wasn’t seen beaming ear to ear; his boy finally getting everything he wanted.

Life had gotten easier now that you weren’t regularly expecting disappointment. You went on few dates here and there, just trying to navigate your life after spending four years sharing it with someone else. Some nights were colder than others, but it was better than the frigidness you felt that night at the bar.

You did your best to avoid the tabloids – Eddie was certainly doing just fine navigating his life as a bachelor; some new model or actress on his arm every other month it seemed. Hardrock’s Resident Playboy. It stung the first time you saw it, and a little less each time after – heart breaker to the core; you would know, you were the blueprint.

In the same cold that matched the night at The Hideout a year prior; you sat on your steps wrapped in a robe – morning cigarette between your fingers.

“Morning,” Wayne’s voice is gravelly when it sounds over you, still soaked with left over sleep.

“Mornin’ Wayne,” you smile, taking a sip of the steaming cup of coffee in your other hand.

“Wanted to uh, to let you know that the guys are playin’ a show in the city tonight. I could uh – I could get you a ticket if y–”

“That’s sweet of you Wayne,” you smile tightly, “But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“He might like to see you,” he shrugs. He hadn’t quite gotten over the break up the way you and Eddie had, convinced that this was the real deal – that he was watching young love flourish into something bigger.

“He’s seeing someone, Wayne,” you take a drag of your cigarette, “Why would he want to see his ex-girlfriend who still lives in Hawkins? He’s got some actress girl now, right?”

Wayne shrugs again, scratching at the back of his neck, “I never know what that boy’s got goin’ on in California outside of shows and gettin’ into trouble. Maybe he is seeing some girl but, y’know, seein’ an old friend could be good for him.”

“He’s still got plenty of friends here he can see,” you let the smoke out to drift off in the gentle wind rustling through the line of trailers and mobile homes, “I don’t think I need to be one of them.”

“Well, they’re gonna have a small after party at The Hideout tomorrow,” he offers, “Even if you just wanna do somethin’ fun. I never see you goin’ out anymore.”

You laugh, “You work at night, what do you mean you don’t see me goin’ out anymore? I go out plenty.”

His eyes linger on you, enough to encourage a thoughtful sigh – you might as well humor him.

“I’ll think about it, okay?” you toss your half finished cigarette onto the browned grass before looking back up at him.

“Okay,” he smiles, eyes sparkling as he makes his way back inside.

You spend the next day deliberating between making it to the bar or not, putting in the effort to get ready and showing up. Why bother? Just to sit awkwardly in the corner while everyone flocks to the boys and tells them how great they are? They already know they’re great, they’re crawling higher and higher up the ladder.

You haven’t even talked to Eddie since the morning he left your trailer, and Wayne knows that. He knows how bad you hurt his nephew because he came over to talk to you a week after Eddie went to California and stayed for good. ‘So why should I show my face there? So I can relive the moment he made a fool of me over again?’ You think while the hot water of the shower glides over your shoulders and down your chest.

‘Maybe it’ll be good to make amends or something, I at least owe it to the guys,’ you figure silently while you slather on some moisturizer at the bathroom sink. And you did – not seeing Eddie meant not seeing the rest of the band. Gareth, Jeff, and Grant were your friends too, and you sort of broke up with them in the same instance. Sasha moved out to California with them soon after – it would be nice to catch up at least. You hadn’t seen her since that night.

‘But why would I want to bother? So I can see that engagement ring on her finger and hear her talk about her wedding plans?’ you swallow sourly while you use a touch of your lipstick as blush on the apples of your cheeks. ‘Remember all the times you thought you and Ed were gonna get married? Hilarious.’

Before you know it, it’s 11:30 and you’re standing outside of the sticky and stickered covered door of The Hideout. Even from where you’re standing the bar is a buzz like a hive, energy inside like a livewire when you get into the entryway, showing your ID to the bouncer at the inside door.

‘Small after party my ass, Wayne,’ you think to yourself when you get in, shrugging off your coat. There was barely room to move and most of the lights were off or dimmed aside from the small stage in the back. By the looks of it, they must’ve played a small set – an intimate ‘home base’ concert for the real hometown fans. You push through some of the crowd, acrid smoke haze hovering over the room. A single bar stool sits empty at the end of the counter close to the wall and before you can think about it, you beeline straight there before someone else can grab it. Not that anyone would be able to see it through the six couples making out to Slayer blasting through the speakers.

The bar tender notices you soon after, coming over to get your order while his two cohorts speedily pour shots and mix drinks. You almost don’t want to get anything just to make the night easier, but opt for a beer instead.

“How much?” you ask over the music.

“WHAT?” the bartender shouts, holding a hand to his ear.

“HOW MUCH?” you yell back.

“ON THE HOUSE. BAND IS COVERING DRINKS,” he shouts back. You take a few dollars out while he pours your beer anyway, sliding it across the bar with a smile. He smiles back, pocketing the ones with a wink before helping another person leaning over the bar.

The TV takes your attention, a tape of their recent interviews and music videos playing on a loop with no sound. The beer is almost comforting as it passes over your tongue, it’s been some time since you just sat in a busy bar – and for the most part, no one here even knows you. For the most part.

A call of your name snaps you back to reality, looking around to see exactly who you thought you would. Sasha. And low and behold a ring sparkles bright on her finger, a breathtakingly big diamond glittering in the neon lights behind the bar.

“Hey!” you call back with a smile, sick crawling up your throat. You watch as she fights the crowd to get over to you, wrapping you in a tight hug while you stay seated on the stool.

“How have you been? You look gorgeous,” Sasha’s tan skin glows back orange in green while the lights change, tight dark curls bouncing prettily around her face.

“I’ve been good!” you nod, your voice hardly sounds like your own, “Y’know just – hanging around Hawkins. How’s LA? How’ that ring?!”

She holds her hand out so you can really see it, her skin is warm in yours while you take her fingers. It’s more beautiful up close, the marquise diamond flanked by two smaller triangles in perfect harmony.

“He did so good, Sash,” you giggle.

“I slapped his arm so hard when I saw it,” she laughs, “I said, ‘Jeff we could’ve bought a freakin’ house!’ but you know how he is.”

“I do, I do,” you nod, “Did you set a date?”

“Probably not for another year or so if we do a big wedding,” she shrugs, “Maybe a little longer? We think it’s smart to actually buy a house first – with this kind of money coming in. And y’know, the industry is, uh, well, it can be wishy washy. What’s in today could be out tomorrow. We wanna be smart.”

“Well thank god he’s marrying someone like you then,” you tease.

“That’s true,” she beams, “Do the guys know you’re here? I can go grab J–”

“No, no, they don’t,” you interrupt, taking her arm gently while she turns to leave, “You don’t have to tell them I’m here. I’ll go find them, I promise.”

Sasha gives you a half hearted smile, “Okay. Well – We’re sitting over by the stage if you wanna come say hi to the guys. Gareth would lose his mind, and Grant brought his new girl with him, she’s so cool. They met in LA and she’s like, got the sickest punky-goth type of thing about her.”

“I love that he’s in love,” you gush.

“Me too,” she nods, “The girls are obsessed with him out there.”

There’s a silence, but it’s knowing – still one person yet to have been mentioned but you both seem to understand it’s not worth bringing it up. Sasha reminds you that they’re by the stage, giving her a wave while she disappears in the throngs of people in the crowd.

Half way through your second beer and a couple of random conversations with people later, you see him in glimpses while people pass by. You can tell by the smirk on his face that he’s flirting, and when more people move and re-disperse, settling, you see glimpses of her, too. Some cute young looking thing, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was her twenty-first birthday. All doe eyed and giggly while he leans over her against the wall near the booths. I guess whoever he’s seeing in California isn’t too important.

He looks good, healthy, you can tell his clothes are tailored now – sort of comical that a tailor would fit and adjust ripped jeans and an old leather jacket. Not that he has to know you think it’s funny.

Eddie leans forward and lets his finger tap her on the nose, a tell-tale sign of his that they’ll kiss later. He’s used that move on you more times than you can count. He did it the night you met, tipsy at a party at Gareth’s – tapped you on the nose, making you scrunch it.

‘Aw, if I knew you’d make a face like that I would’ve booped you way earlier.’

‘What do you mean? What face?’ You scrunch again.

‘That face,’ he bites his lower lip, blush on his cheeks, ‘It’s a cute face.’

You expected it to hurt more, to watch him active in his element; but it doesn’t. You know the motions, you know his tells, he next move. You can see it in the way he leans into her and then leans away – almost kissing her, but leaving her wanting more. You smirk into your next sip, counting down the moments until he puts their conversation on pause to do their rounds and finding her again later. Gotta keep her yearning, you guess. He certainly was always good at things like that.

You don’t see their reunion, you assume it was somewhere near the stage where the band and Sasha were. At the end of the night, the boys play a goodnight mini-set, just three songs. You’d never seen Ed so in his zone in your life, fully basking in the glow of upcoming stardom. Every chord and every lyric punching out of him like the sweat pouring from his hairline and chest. This was what you wanted, what you told him to do.

Go be famous. And here he was. Famous. Just like you said he would be.

Water takes the place of your beer while they play; and you know better than to get up and join the crowd. Much happier sitting at the end of the now more empty bar just listening instead of getting potentially punched or tussled with amongst the bodies.

People take their time leaving when the set is over, shrugging on their coats to brave the cold weather.

‘Thanks for comin’ out to celebrate with us – now get the fuck out so our buddies at the bar can go home before four!’

You savor the conversations and music settling down to a much quieter murmur while you sketch on a napkin. A few people you shared niceties with tap your shoulder to say goodbye, new friends you’ll never see again. On the other end of the bar you hear Grant and his girl order a round of shots. Your head almost pops up at the sound of his voice, but that might bring attention to you that you don’t think you really want. Now that the night is over, you’re glad you came. If anything, just to see that they were making it just fine – and they would have with or without you.

With less people in the bar you can hear Sasha’s laugh in the back where the stage is, and you laugh into your napkin turned sketchpad. Her laugh was always infectious, enough to make the crowd follow suit. You grab a fresh napkin from the pile next to you and start to doodle again while you figure out how to best leave without anyone catching wise that you’re here. Out of the last twenty people left at the bar, a little more than half knew who you were.

The tap of the pen on the bar top while you think blends in with the tinkling of hardware that gets a little louder the closer it gets to you. A squish of leather and drag of a barstool later makes you privy that someone’s next to you. Spiced cologne and sweat sheened skin.

“You come here often?”

Slowly, you turn your head – level with brown eyes you haven’t looked in for a year, just in the glossy pages of magazines you’d leave behind at the grocery store or Melvald’s.

“I used to,” you offer a quiet tired smile, leaning your chin on your hand on the bar, “It’s been a while.”

Eddie smiles back, soft, cautious, “Yeah, same for me.”

You both don’t speak for a moment, adjusting yourselves on the barstools while a few more people head out to leave. The jingle of the door fades out, crunches of the parting patrons’ sneakers and boots in the snow sound outside.

He clears his throat, bringing your attention back to him – the curls of his hair, the slight stubble on his jaw and cheeks. His bottom lip tucks between his teeth for a moment before he turns his chest toward you.

“Can I uh, can I get you a drink?”

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obaex · 5 months ago

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four - hockey player!ex!rafe cameron (pt. 2)

summary: with the stakes of your relationship on the line, can rafe pull off the impossible to win you back?

word count: 6k 🫣

a/n: i love you all for the love on this lil' series!! ♡ toxic hockey rafe has me in a chokehold, so i promise this will not be the last you see of him!! apologies in advance, you will basically be attending a full hockey game here, i tried my best to explain all the lingo!

(part one)

The arena was packed even though you were there early, arriving alone because the other girlfriends and wives were always late, which simply wasn't in your DNA.

Your dad was a coach growing up, so you spent countless hours in empty rinks, arenas and stands; his rule for games was that you were in your seat early enough to see the starting lineup and the national anthem, no exceptions. Truth be told you liked being there when the lights went down, when the music amped up, you loved the anticipation of a new game.

You didn't mind sitting in the cold seat, hands wrapped around a cup of hot chocolate that you got from the same concession stand every time. Hockey players were notoriously superstitious and by extension now you were too; just like they had their pregame rituals, so did you: same parking spot in the VIP lot, same hot chocolate from the same concession stand, same seat in section 106. You were in the lower bowl of the arena, a few rows back from the ice, facing the bench, nearly eye-level with the team.

You let your mind wander and tried not to think about Rafe but it was impossible, this place was Rafe to you; from the feeling of the cold air on your cheeks and fingers, to the damp and crisp smell of the ice and the sounds of the fans and ambient pregame music, all of it was a part of your love story, all of it was him. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt like you thought it would, rather it felt like coming home after a semester at college, foreign but familiar.

You swiped at your phone, a nervous tick, even though you knew there wouldn't be anything there, which was a good thing, Rafe needed to be focused on the game, so you slid your phone into the cupholder next to you and resorted to tapping your heeled foot nervously.

The seats around you filled quickly and sure enough the other girlfriends and wives arrived just as the lights were dimming, offering cheek kisses and sympathetic hugs, well aware of your situation. Your best friend Morgan slid in next to you, pulling you into her side.

"It's selfish, but I'm glad you're here" she said, loud enough to be heard over the music and the announcer as her brown eyes traced your face sympathetically.

"I'm fine" you lied with a forced smile. Totally fine you thought. Not the love of my life who broke my heart then skated over it trying to win me back in the middle of the semifinals.

You decided to keep all of that to yourself, because truthfully it was ridiculous. It was juvenile. And it was never going to happen. And you didn't want it to happen anyway, you reassured yourself. Right?

You shook your head as you turned your attention to the starting lineup as Rafe's name boomed over the loudspeaker, the cheering noticeably louder from the crowd. He was a fan favorite, beloved for his fast and aggressive style of play. He wasn't afraid to two-hand someone when the referee wasn't looking, to stand up for his team, to battle for the puck. He was chippy, gritty, and he's on the first line tonight you thought to yourself, a spot reserved for the very best players, putting them in the best scoring position. But surely that's not in any way related to our deal... you mused.

You stood on your tiptoes to see him over the crowd in front of you. He was standing at center ice under the spotlight, his helmet tucked under his arm as he shuffled side to side on his skates, face unsmiling, focused as he looked between his feet and the empty ice in front of him. Your heart leapt uncontrollably at the sight of him; God he's beautiful you thought as your body hummed in recognition and longing, completely betraying you.

The tension and animosity in the arena were thick. You had faced the opposing team a few times in the regular season and it did not end well.

As in, you'd lost every time.

As in, Rafe left the last game with a five-minute major penalty and a black eye after an all-out brawl.

Now the fans were itching for a rematch and you were simply hoping for everyone to leave in one piece. That was the difference between being a fan and being someone who cared deeply for the boys on the ice, it wasn't a spectacle to you anymore. You watched as Rafe's wingers Nick and Andrew stood beside him, followed by two defensemen and your goalie as the national anthem wrapped up.

Everyone took their seats as the lights came back on and the music came on again too, urging the fans around you to cheer, and for you to resume the incessant tapping of your foot as you leaned forward in your seat, laser focused on the guys lining up for the faceoff.

"Girl, you good?" Morgan asked, taking in your nervous energy.

"Hmm?" you responded distractedly, barely glancing at her. "Yeah, yeah m'fine" you said.

You were always more into the game than the other girls, but that didn't account for the clear tension and anxiety rolling off of you in waves, nor the way you were immaculately dressed, which didn't go unnoticed either.

Rafe skated to center ice, equally sized with the opponent at faceoff as the referee dropped the puck. It had barely clattered to the ice before Rafe had gained possession, shouldering his opponent out of the way and barreling towards the offensive zone with a burst of energy like a gunshot that had the crowd almost immediately back on their feet, pulling you along with them.

"OK, I'm sorry, what is happening here?" Morgan said as she watched him.

He was a man possessed, head down, focused, ignoring his teammates as they called for the puck to set up a play, like he was trying to do it all himself. Like he was trying to score. He flipped the puck towards the goalie, who blocked it and possession shifted as he skated backwards on defense, your heart settling in your chest.

Rafe always played with intensity, but with the way he was playing now, he wouldn't make it through the first period. You thought there would be a reprieve on defense, but he was diving for the puck, playing to steal rather than defending his zone. He looked like a maniac.

Until it worked.

The crowd was back on their feet as he and Nick had a breakaway two-on-one, both of them racing towards the net together with only one defender standing between them and the goalie, the rest of their teammates striding to catch up with them. Nick called for the puck, slapping his stick on the ice, but Rafe deked the defender, faking him out before approaching the goalie and tipping the puck into the small pocket over his shoulder, swishing it effortlessly into the net.

The arena erupted as the goal horn blared and you found yourself jumping up and down, overcome with excitement and emotion. You could physically feel your heart beating. This is totally normal you thought. It's totally fine to score a goal in the first two minutes of the game, on his first shift, against the toughest team in the league.

You watched players pile on him in celebration before they all skated back to the bench, bumping fists with their team before taking a seat on the bench. Your eyes were glued to him, and his were on the jumbotron above center ice, watching his own replay before the coach approached him, grasping his shoulder angrily, and you could imagine why. He had been reckless, he had been lucky. Rafe nodded, but ultimately shook him off and refocused on the resumed play. Players zoomed in front of you and your eyes zipped to follow them before you glanced ever so briefly back at Rafe, who was unmistakably looking at you and smiling.

You swallowed to hide the emotions on your face, not giving him a single inch as you focused on the play.

You loved watching hockey, but it felt different when Rafe was on the ice, like he was a magnet, the only thing you could focus on, and his next shift was no different. He was playing like a madman and within seconds you could hear the coach shouting. Rafe turned up emptyhanded this time and the coach was visibly angry as Rafe skated to the bench, going so far as to yell back at him, which had you holding your breath; you had never seen him do that before.

Nick reached for Rafe's shoulder to calm him down and then they started bickering back and forth. Your attention was now split between the two of them and the action on the ice when you saw Nick physically rear back at something Rafe had said, the motion grabbing your full focus. Nick covered his face with his gloved hands, looking back at Rafe and then repeating the motion before he glanced up at the stands, at you, and shook his head, resigned. Were they talking about you!?! you thought. Had Rafe just told him what's going on?

You were so caught up that you missed the play as the other team scored. The game was tied 1-1. The arena echoed with boos as their bench erupted in cheers. You looked up at the clock: 2 minutes left in the first period.

Rafe and Nick got onto the ice for their last shift and the second the puck dropped, they were off as a duo, Nick's intensity now matching Rafe's own; they were bodying guys, tag-teaming as they raced into the offensive zone. Nick had the puck and passed to Rafe, and almost immediately Rafe was cornered by two extremely large defensemen who pinned him to the boards as they tried to steal the puck. But he wouldn't relent, throwing his elbows and trying to wiggle free, desperate and angry as the buzzer sounded for the end of the period.

And yet they didn't let him go. The crowd started shouting and everyone was on their feet as Rafe dropped his stick, turned and grabbed them both by the front of their jerseys, shoving them as the benches emptied and other players joined in, piling on top of one another until you lost sight of Rafe in a mess of limbs, equipment and jerseys. You were craning to see over the ecstatic fans, egging on the fight as the referees raced to break it up, pulling bodies off of one another until they reached Rafe.

His helmet had come off and as the referees skated him towards the locker room, he was shouting at the opposing team who skated after him, riling each other up before he yanked himself out of the ref's grasp and marched off the ice through the tunnel.

Period 1: Game Tied. 1-1.

You let out a deep sigh before collapsing back in your seat. You took a shaky inhale before exhaling and you felt a set of eyes on you.

You turned to see Morgan looking at you with an eyebrow arched.

"You're really going to sit here and act like you don't know what's going on? I know that boy texts you his every thought."

You opened your mouth, an excuse, a lie ready before she interrupted you.

"-- And I KNOW you didn't block him like you said you were going to, so don't try me. What the hell is going on?"

You bit your lip at that, glancing between her and the ice where the zamboni was running clean lines across the cold surface.

You gave a halfhearted shrug, "You know how much he wants to win, how much this means to him."

She doubled down her glare.

You sighed, avoiding her gaze before looking back to her.

"I made a deal with him" you nearly whispered.

A few of the other girls snuck by you both, causing you to shift in your seats as she leaned in and whisper-shouted at you:

"I'm sorry what!"

"If he scores four goals tonight, I said I'd get back together with him."

"You're joking" she said flatly. "Please tell me you're joking."

You pursed your lips with a small shake of your head.

"The two of you" she said as she let out an exasperated laugh. "Unbelievable. You can't stay away from each other and yet you’re willing to bet the stakes of your relationship on a game. I can't" she said, throwing her hands up in defeat.

She paused, getting serious for a moment.

"Are you sure you even want to get back with him, is that really such a good idea hun?"

"Morgan, he's never going to score four goals, it's like, impossible."

"Are you watching the same game I am?" she said emphatically. "Cause your mans sure is gonna try and you better ask yourself what you're going to do if he does."

There was a whisper of truth to what she was saying. It was probably impossible, but not completely out of reach. And what would you do? Your heart trilled. You would be ecstatic the devil on your shoulder said. You would be screwed said the angel.

Your phone buzzed in the cupholder next to you and swiped it open.

You grasped at your phone. Rafe never had his phone between periods, none of the players did, it was basically sacrilegious. They had just enough time to get treatment, catch their breath, hydrate and listen to their coach and he was on his phone!? You put yours down and tried to rearrange the smile creeping onto your face as you saw the teams rejoining the ice for the second period.

Just like before, Rafe was off like a rocket, but the other team was on to him this time, doubling his defensive coverage, making it nearly impossible for him to skate, let alone make a play. He had put a target on his back with the fight at the end of the first period, so even when he didn't have the puck, you could see the other players go after him, a stick in his skates, a slash at his side, heads turning to chirp at him as they lined up for faceoffs. But he didn't slow down for a moment, battling twice as hard now, coming back to the bench after each shift uncharacteristically exhausted, heaving with his elbows on his knees.

You watched him and felt overcome with emotions as the realization hit you: Rafe wasn't good at expressing himself, he wasn't a 'feelings' person, he didn't always know what to say, which is why sometimes words came better to him over texts when he had more time to think about it. But hockey? Hockey was his language. He couldn't tell you how sorry he was, how much he wanted to fight for this, but he could show you. He could play for you, he was playing for you, putting his body on the line, trying his all-out hardest, not a single person in the arena could deny that as they watched him tonight. He wanted this. Badly. Which meant he wanted you, badly. You felt a flush of warmth in your cheeks that had nothing to do with your lukewarm hot chocolate as you watched him slide up the bench for his next shift.

You looked up at the jumbotron. There were only 12 minutes left in the second period, and the game was still tied at 1-1.

What were you going to do if he scored four goals?

What were you going to do if he didn't? felt like the more pressing question. He was running out of time. If something didn't happen now, he would have one period left to score 3 goals, and that was simply not going to happen. I shouldn't have made the number so high you thought guiltily.

Your eyes glanced back to the ice as he clambered over the boards in the midst of a shift change. He was skating methodically, not slower, but maybe more strategically and you were sure his energy was waning even if it didn't look like it.

Suddenly, Nick picked the puck off an opponent and Rafe raced to skate with him, crossing into the offensive zone with several of their teammates. Nick had a wide open shot, and he brought his stick back for a slapshot before turning at the very last moment and passing to Rafe who had positioned himself near the goalie. The puck banked off his stick and ricocheted into the goal.

You were on your feet again, jumping up and down in Morgan's arms as the boys piled onto each other. The crowd was alive again as the team took a 2-1 lead, 5 minutes left now in the second period.

Morgan looked at you, shaking her head before shouting something you couldn't hear over the crowd. You shook your head back before she leaned in closer.

"Is Nick in on this shit?" she yelled.

You looked at her, confused.

"Why else wouldn't he take that shot? It was wide open."

The idea of Rafe recruiting his best friend and linemate into this made you lightheaded and giddy. As you looked back at the bench, the two of them were shoulder to shoulder, looking right at you and Nick waved, a goofy little smile on his face for the briefest of seconds before his attention returned to the game.

Period 2: Eagles winning. 2-1.

The period ended and you spent the last intermission glued to your seat as everyone around you got up to get food and drinks, your mind spinning.

One period. Twenty minutes left for Rafe to score 2 goals. It was still nearly impossible, but didn't feel as insurmountable as before and you still weren't sure what you wanted the outcome to be. You were staring into middle space, questioning your entire relationship when your phone buzzed again in your cupholder. You swiped it open.

Two hearts.

Two goals.

You smiled widely, rolling your eyes before giggling like a little girl. You wanted to respond, and your fingers lingered over your screen, but he still had no business being on his phone, and what could you possibly say anyway?? "Nevermind!! Let's get back together despite all the shit you put me through!"

Ugh.

The third period was simultaneously the slowest and quickest 20 minutes of your life.

Rafe was battling, and the other team battled back, getting chippier and chippier as the teams exchanged penalties and breakaways, but the score stayed the same. You could feel the crowd's excitement at the prospect of scraping through this game with a one-goal lead; a good enough result to make them happy, but you couldn't deny the disappointment you felt as you were playing an entirely different game.

As time whittled down you felt yourself getting emotional as the odds were stacked against Rafe, stacked against both of you. Ten minutes. Eight. Five. Three. You could feel the familiar burn of tears behind your eyes as your foot continued to tap, eyes glancing anxiously between Rafe, the bench, the players and the jumbotron that counted down the time unceasingly.

Morgan reached for you, winding her arm around yours and grabbing your hand, a sad smile on her lips. You both knew this wasn't going to happen. There was just no way. You could sense that Rafe could feel it too, he was getting more and more desperate, scrambling after the puck, making sloppy mistakes that made you feel guilty, the most so when the other team scored… tying the game.

And then what felt like the final twist of the knife: with less than 1 minute left, they scored again, capitalizing on the dashed morale of the Eagles to take the lead 3-2. It was like someone sucked the air out of the arena. Rafe was on the ice, on his knees and all of the players looked so defeated.

Fuck fuck fuck was all you could think as they regrouped with their coach to come up with their last play, their last chance to tie the game. You leaned forward, desperately trying to read lips as if you could somehow decipher the plan. The ref blew the whistle and the coach sent guys on the ice, leaving Rafe behind, and your stomach dropped: he wasn't even going to get a chance.

Rafe argued and you could see him yelling and gesturing wildly as the coach yelled back. The ref blew the whistle again and you knew they were dangerously close to getting a delay of game penalty. A ripple of confusion went through the crowd as they watched the argument unfold and you wished you could sink into your seat and disappear.

The coach shouted something that seemed final before Rafe took one look at him, ignored him and skated onto the ice, swapping with Nick who slid onto the bench, head bowed, ashamed, as the coach berated him.

At this point, Rafe had been on the ice way longer than he should have, he was making mistakes, and now he was putting his career, his contract on the line as he stepped up to take the faceoff.

The puck dropped and the battle ensued as the teams fought back and forth. Their team took a shot on goal that had you holding your breath as the time ticked down.

There were less than 20 seconds left as the puck rebounded towards Rafe and he guided it with his stick, taking off down the ice faster than you'd ever seen him skate; in just three strides he had nearly covered the length of the rink, leaving all of the other players trailing behind him as he squared off with the goalie.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!" the crowd shouted.

You were on your feet, grasping Morgan's arm for dear life, certain you were leaving a mark as you continued to hold your breath.

Rafe shot the puck and it hit the goalie's leg pad, but bounded right back to him.

"Three! Two!"

He shot again and the goalie fell forward, but the crowd behind the goalie erupted and the official lit the lamp behind the goal - he had scored.

The puck had slid between the goalie's legs and Rafe exploded with energy, ripping down the ice and jumping into the glass in front of you as his team piled on top of him and the crowd went ballistic as fans threw their hats onto the ice to celebrate his hat trick - three goals scored.

You were jumping and screaming with the other girls, a few tears escaping your eyes in relief and excitement, overwhelmed at the entire situation.

Three goals.

He'd scored three damn goals, a new career record for him. And now they were in overtime.

Period 3: Game tied 3-3. End of regulation play.

"Wait! Wait! What the hell happens now!?" Morgan asked breathless, looking to you as the only girl that knew a thing about the rules.

"Overtime" you huffed, trying to calm yourself. "Another 20 minutes, first team to score wins."

"Was that part of the deal?" she asked.

"It wasn't not part of the deal?" you said. "We didn't really get into specifics" you laughed, rolling your eyes.

You glanced at the bench as both teams hydrated and listened to the coaches. Rafe's teammates were still all over him, smacking his helmet, arms slung around him. The coach said something to him and he put his hands up in surrender as he sat on the bench and his teammates took the ice.

Your eyes were glued to Rafe but unlike before his didn't meet yours and for a second, you didn't know how to take that. You craved that acknowledgement from him, but you also recognized the look on his face; he was totally 100% focused, eyes fixed on the action on the ice. He wants to win you thought. Or maybe his focus was for something else.

Within a few minutes, his line was up and they jumped on the ice. He was playing smart now, conservative, concentrated and gathered, a stark difference from before. He was strong on defense, backing his team up as they played perfectly off of each other, which paid off when Nick stole the puck and shouted as he passed the puck up the boards to Rafe who sprinted after it, just a stride in front of a defender.

"Oh my god" you heard Morgan mutter as everyone stood to their feet and even though the roar of the crowd was deafening, you swore you could hear every scrape of Rafe's skate against the ice, the clatter of the puck as the play moved in slow motion to the beat of your heart.

Another stride and Rafe was alone in the offensive zone, the defender just a hair behind him.

Was this really happening? Was he about to end the game, to score a fourth goal?

Another stride and he was eyeing the goalie, lining up his shot.

He maneuvered his stick and just as he was about to shoot, the defender dove, thrusting his stick in Rafe's path, causing them both to tumble onto the ice and into the goalie, the puck sliding away, abandoned as the refs blew their whistles. No goal.

Rafe was down for only a second before he stood up, grabbed his stick and swung it with full force, snapping it in half over the boards in front of him in rage and frustration, causing the fans behind the glass to jump and spill their beer on each other.

Two of the refs were frantically skating towards him, waving their arms and blowing their whistles, but your eyes drifted to the head referee who was standing next to the officials box, watching a small computer screen, a replay. Almost immediately he nodded, handed back the screen and raised his fisted hands over his head and crossed them and you let out an uncontrollable shout of excitement as you grabbed for Morgan.

"What! Oh my god! What is going on!!?" she shouted back, and all you could do was laugh and shout as you jumped up and down and pointed to the referee.

"You are the ONLY ONE HERE who knows what that means!" she shouted. "What does it mean!!!?"

"A PENALTY SHOT!" you shouted back.

Your eyes shot back to Rafe who had clocked the same thing and was skating back to the bench. The equipment manager handed him a new stick and now the arena was abuzz with the same information as the announcer explained that Rafe would have the chance to score one on one against the goalie, with all of the other players off the ice. A golden opportunity.

The fans were ballistic. You could barely hear yourself think, could barely process your emotions as you struggled onto your tiptoes again to see over the raised hands and jumping fans as Rafe skated methodically to center ice, alone.

He skated back and forth, side to side with crisp turns like a predatory shark before he stopped at center ice, hands on his stick on his knees, eyeing the goalie before his head turned slowly and he looked right at you. Even amidst the chaos, you could see his signature smirk before he refocused and gathered the puck in his stick.

He was going to score.

You just knew it. You knew by the look on his face, by the stride of his skates, by the confidence in his gait.

"He's going to score" you said out loud, quietly, to yourself, a revelation before you turned to Morgan who was solely focused on the scene unfolding on the ice. You tugged on her sleeve, desperate for her to understand the weight of what you had just said.

"He's going to score, Morgan" you said, louder, matter-of-factly.

"Well SHIT I hope so!!!!" she shouted back without looking at you, now completely wrapped up in the game.

She didn't understand.

He was going to score.

And that meant he was going to be yours again.

Your eyes found the ice and you watched as he approached the goalie, goading him out of the goal, faking him out before wrapping the puck around his leg and tipping it upward.

The goalie dove backwards at the last minute and 15,000 fans held their breath as his gloved hand extended, brushing the edge of the puck, causing it to wobble, but without enough force to change the course of fate as the puck swooshed into the net.

The goal lamp lit up.

The goal horn sounded.

And if you thought the arena was loud before, it reached a new level as fans screamed, shouted, jumped up and down and embraced each other.

You felt realization ripple over you, your gaze stuck on the ice. Stuck on the image of the goalie flat on his back, defeated. Stuck to Rafe who had ripped his helmet off, discarded as he let out a roar of victory before getting bombarded by his teammates who piled on him in celebration.

End of OT. Eagles win 4-3.

Morgan yanked you into her by your shoulders, hugging you and jumping up and down, but an unexplainable calm had settled over you, gluing your feet to the ground.

You should be excited, you were, but instead you felt like you were having an out-of-body experience. What the hell had just happened? Rafe had scored four goals, had led his team to the finals. Had he done it for himself? Of course. But wasn't a part of it for you too?

You turned and looked back at the ice, desperate to catch his eye, to talk to him, to figure this out as chaos rained around you. The players skated to center ice with their sticks raised to salute the fans before skating away, Rafe leading them quickly into the tunnel without so much as a look at you. Not even a cheeky smile or a blown kiss, which you used to get after every game. What the fuck.

Morgan shook your shoulder.

"Babes, now what?!" she asked, excited, curious, anxious.

You looked at her, lost. You had no idea. Did you text him? Were you just back together again? How did this work?

The lights dimmed as the announcer drew the crowd back in to introduce the three stars of the game - recognizing the three standout players of the night. The third star was your goalie, who stopped an unimaginable number of shots and you cheered for him as he skated solo onto the ice in a spotlight, taking a spin around the ice before tossing a t-shirt into the crowd to an excited fan.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, your mind incapable of thinking of anything but Rafe. You grabbed your phone. No new texts. The players were all in the locker room by now. Sure, they were partying and celebrating, but if he had time to text you in the middle of the game, couldn't he text you now??

Nick was the second star of the game and you glanced up from your phone to see him doing the familiar skate around the ice, waving to Morgan who blew him a kiss back, but you glanced back at your phone, willing a text to appear, opening and closing your texts, refreshing the app, messing with your wifi. Surely it was the internet connection you thought, now desperate to hear from him.

"Come on Cameron" you murmured to yourself.

"Okay, what is he doing?" you heard Morgan laugh and you looked down to the ice to see Nick still circling around, backwards, forwards, pumping up the crowd who roared around him as he gathered a t-shirt to throw. You were thrilled for him, really, but you resumed your focus on your phone. Should I turn it off and turn it back on again? you thought.

The lights dimmed further and the deep voice of the announcer reverberated, "Ladies and gentlemen, your first star of the game, with an unprecedented four goals, including your game winner--"

"Uhhh YN" you heard Morgan say.

But you were too distracted, too afraid to look away from your phone in case you missed a text coming through.

"--Rafe Cameron!!!" the announcer said, the spotlight shining on the tunnel, and your eyes shot up at the sound of his name, only to find the ice empty.

You felt Morgan tug harshly on your sleeve and when you finally looked back to her your stomach barrel-rolled and your heart shot into your throat.

Standing unmistakably next to her in the aisle was Rafe, still fully suited in his gear and pads, towering over everyone like a giant, his skates traded for his training shoes. Pieces of his hair were clinging to his forehead and his face was rosy with exertion, sweat dripping down his temple in rivulets.

He was smiling confidently at you, and unlike the last time you had seen him in your car, his eyes were unwavering and transfixed on yours, even when the fans around you turned around and noticed he was there, even when phones were whipped out and shouts and cheers went up, he ignored them; he only had eyes for you.

"How--" you started to say, your phone completely forgotten as he started to nudge his way past the people at the end of your row to walk fully into the seats next to you.

"Ohmygod, ohymgod" Morgan was saying as she clambered out of the way of his bulky frame and suddenly he was towering in front of you.

He was breathing heavily; with how quickly he made it up here it was no wonder he had been sprinting off the ice and into the tunnel. His face searched yours, eyes twinkling, flitting over your lips, searching for a sign, a signal, a hint of how you were feeling. And you weren't sure you could have expressed it even if you could form words.

He leaned down next to your ear and you could feel the sweat and the heat radiating off of him.

"That was four" he said, breathless and husky before pulling back, but not as far as before, his nose brushing yours.

The spotlight was sweeping the empty ice, looking for him as the announcer tried awkwardly to fill the air time, wondering where he was.

All you could do was meet his gaze, staring into his crystal blue eyes.

And all you could see was your Rafe.

Sure, he had his issues, but you knew he was sincere, you knew he was trying and you acknowledged that despite everything he was probably the love of your life.

"We didn't agree on overtime goals" you said loudly back at him to be heard over the crowd.

For a moment you could see fear, panic and a hint of hurt cross his face; if you didn't know him as well as you did you wouldn't have seen it, it was nearly indetectable. But he took one look at your sly smile, your blushing cheeks, your eyes rimmed with tears.

"C'mere" he said roughly, ignoring you as his warm and sweaty hands that smelled unmistakably like his gloves grabbed your face and pulled you towards him as his lips enveloped yours, engulfing you, bold, brazen and completely unabashed as he full on made out with you, chaotically, his tongue slipping into your mouth, even when you tried to wiggle away, more out of a sense of decorum than anything as a feeling seeped through every inch of you like he was mending every wound in your body.

He was sweating all over you at this point, but you didn't care. You could feel it dripping on you. You could taste it in his kiss, mixed with the tang of yellow gatorade and your fingers grasped for purchase on his jersey as you tried to balance yourself against the force of him pressing into you.

The crowd around you erupted, as the flash of pictures being taken lit the two of you. He was unrelenting and you could feel yourself flushing as much from his attention as from the heat radiating off of him. It definitely went on longer than it should have, longer than any right-minded couple would have made out in front of thousands of fans before he paused just long enough, his lips still hovering on yours and said through a growl, "You're mine, baby."

taglist: @gillybear17, @palmwinemami, @moremaybank, @one-sweet-gubler, @m-indkiller, @ihe4rttwd, @diary-of-jj, @crlsummer, @jjsbank444, @rafescurtainbangz, @romiiq, @dkjndfnmdfmdmnd, @warriorblu, @ietss, @tiaamberxx, @zyafics, @maybankslover, @saintchxx4, @akirkland, @cameronspecial, @f4ll-for-you, @diduzzula, @user123453226780536, @zizuras, @imabigback, @rowans-posts, @mymultiveres, @drewsphswife, @fangirlwithlou

#rafe cameron #obx rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #hockey rafe

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punikyukyu · 5 months ago

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PMDHazbin AU: Main Cast (pt. 1, old art)

An old au of mine that's currently on hold, but I plan to get back into it soon. I've been into pokemon since I was little, I decided to mix pmd (my fav pkmn spin-off) with Hazbin (my current fixation) to create this au.

This au has a ton more world building to create a more proper pmd story, so maybe one day I'll get back into drawing it, cus I really wanna show this au of mine off

(the cut below is just the list of what Hazbin characters will be as pokemon in this au)

Charlie: Ninetales

Vaggie: Absol

Angel Dust: Lopunny

Alastor: Sawsbuck (Autumn)

Husk: Meowscarada

Niffty: Minccino

Sir Pentious: Arbok

Cherri Bomb: Morgrem

Lucifer: Mew/Delphox (disguise)

Lilith: Ninetales

Razzle and Dazzle: Skiddos

Keekee: Litten

Sera and Emily: Alolan Ninetales

Adam: Toxtricity (Amped)

Lute: Iron Valiant (shiny)

Vox: Rotom

Valentino: Scolipede

Velvette: Furfrou (Heart-trim)

Carmilla: Hisuian Zoroark

Odette: Unovian Zorua/Gardevior (disguise)

Clara: Hisuian Zorua/Hisuian Liligant (disguise)

Zestial: Araquanid

Rosie: Lurantis

Mimzy: Aromatisse

#hazbin hotel #hazbin art #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #charlie morningstar #vaggie #hazbin husk #angel dust #chaggie #huskerdust #fanart #my art #pmdhazbin au

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wheneverfeasible · 3 months ago

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A random plot idea that came to me suddenly. Please feel free to use this idea, just credit me if it inspires you and send a link with any story written!

I’ve read a few fics with the premise but it’s like a She’s All That AU where King Steve is bet to make The Freak, Eddie Munson, fall in love with him, or make him popular, or get him to prom so that they can Carrie him. And of course Steve goes along with it because he’s still trying to be what people want him to be or whatever and he doesn’t like it but he does it, only to end up catching feelings for Eddie.

And okay yeah. Cue that heartbreak angst when Eddie finds out. But…BUT…

Imagine that AU but Eddie knows about the bet. They don’t know he knows, but he discovers it quickly. He’s King Freak after all; the gossip gets back to him before the popular jocks even get to putting the plan in motion, or he overhears it himself, or whatever. But he knows.

He knows and he plays along. He lets Steve woo him, acts first like he’s wary and annoyed about the guy, makes him work for it, but he lets himself pretend to fold and accept the dates. Accepts the kissing. Accepts the more.

Because yeah, he knows it’s fake, knows Steve could never actually want him, but he still has King Steve’s mouth around his dick, and he honestly has to congratulate the guy for going so far for a bet. And hell, he’s not going to pass up the chance to see just how good the fabled King is with his dick either.

Eddie figures he’ll have some fantastic sex, eat good food and get some dope gifts like a new amp for his sweetheart all courtesy of Harrington money, and…yeah, okay, even if it’s fake, Steve’s actually pretty good company. And Eddie even makes friends with one of the cheerleaders and isn’t that fucking bizarre but she’s sweet even if her boyfriend is an ass.

And Steve is still friends with his ex and through that he knows some dweeb kids, and damn is Harrington actually kind of good with kids, kind of…nice? And he’s funny in a bitchy kind of way, and his family life actually kind of (a lot of) sucks. And he helps this band geek who was being bullied by one of his teammates, and…and maybe, in another life, Eddie might have thought King Steve was actually a good dude instead of the douchebag he knew he was.

Because this was fake. It’s all just a bet. And Eddie is going to laugh when, after all of this, he gets to pull the final prank on Harrington and all his court. Because he knows it’s fake. He knows Steve doesn’t actually like him. He knows that, even when he laughs in all their faces at the end because he got to fuck King Steve in the ass, he’s going to be leaving it all alone and…and without Steve.

And that’s fine. It’s fake. It’s fine. Steve could and would never actually like him. The King and The Freak. And it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

And the truth is revealed, and Eddie laughs at them because he’s known all along, and Eddie pretends his heart isn’t breaking while Steve does the same. And it’s okay and it’s fine.

Except it isn’t.

But it is fine, because Steve’s ex? That band geeked he helped? Eddie’s cheerleader friend?

By god they’re going to get these two idiots to realize what’s been right in front of their eyes this whole time.

And this is only the beginning of the royal love story of King Hair and King Freak and how they turned Hawkins High upside down.

I guess you could say they really are all that.

Tagged: @derythcorvinus

#she’s all that au #she’s all that au adjacent at least #no upside down au #king steve #king freak eddie #eddie the freak munson #steve the hair harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie au #stranger things #modern au #if you squint #plot thots

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paradiseprincesss · 6 months ago

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OMG OMG OMG. now i KNOW you aren’t taking requests. but im helping you out with your cillian story. reader is having an affair with cillian, they meet either on set or at an awards show and she’s whipped for him. but he just won’t leave his toxic wife. all to the song fantasize by ariana 🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️

fantasize - cillian murphy x reader

masterlist

notes: thank you to my pookie @ilovetoxicfictionalmen for helping me with the idea of this entire thing she served and she did not come to play i love her - okay so this is my first actual cillian fic and lowkey i was nervous to post it but slay? this is lowkey based off the ariana grande scandal lol and also completely based off fantasize by ariana grande (unreleased). also sorry if theres any mistakes i edited it but i got lazy like halfway through lmaoo

summary: cillian falls for a young, talented singer who finds out he's married, and she gives him an ultimatum; either get a divorce and then she'll give him a chance, or don't ever talk to her again because she's not that kind of girl. after nearly a year of not speaking, news breaks that he's divorced his wife - and suddenly, he shows up to her home in los angeles begging for her love because he can't seem to forget about her.

word count: 9.1k

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, cheating/affair, divorce, age gap (unspecified but reader is early 20's and cillian is 47), fingering, p in v, general smut obviously, pining (a tad bit), pathetic desperate cillian, cillian doesn't have kids in this au

"over here!"

"one more, just look here for a second, gorgeous!"

"are you going to be performing tonight?"

"when is the album dropping?"

the cameras flashed in your pretty face, and the reporters and paparazzi continued to yell out questions and take pictures of you as you walked down the carpet in a rush to get inside.

tonight was the oscars - it was a pretty big deal in hollywood, and as an a-list singer, you were invited to attend of course. yes, you were fresh onto the scene, so young you had barely finished high school by the time your name was being plastered in the tabloids, but now a few years later, you were a household name. your voice captured the hearts of many, and you were ever so grateful for your adoring fans.

after the release of your debut album, your fame skyrocketed. barely entering into your twenties, you already had multiple musical awards ranging from ama's to grammy's. there wasn't a person alive who didn't know your name. not only were you a talented singer who's voice hit octaves that could shatter glass, but you were a beauty icon.

with your iconic sense of style and that gorgeous face of yours, you weren't hard to miss. everything down to the last detail about you had many swooning, including some of the biggest names in hollywood. tonight, you wore a stunning, black, sultry gown custom made by vera wang herself, and matching black pumps that were from valentino. your stylist absolutely delivered on your hair and makeup so tonight - all eyes were on you.

you were rumoured to be performing at the oscars this year. the rumours had started to circulate a few weeks prior with fans getting all amped up about a possible performance from you. however, tonight you were just there to attend and look stunning on the carpet, as well as maybe catch up with some of your fellow celebrity friends. you weren't the type to step out onto every red carpet, so when you did, you made headlines.

as you stepped away from the flashing lights and the buzzing reporters, you finally made your way into the venue where the oscars were being held. this year, they had set things up a little differently than they usually did. most of the time, it was like a theatre of some kind. rows and rows of seating like you would see in the movie theatres, but this year, they switched it up. instead of the normal seating arrangements, they had cloth covered round tables with name plates.

your team got you seated at a table quite close to the front; the venue was already pretty much fully packed once you got inside, actors and singers alike were all mingling with each other. tonight, you were seated at a table with a few other young singers and talented individuals - billie eilish and olivia rodrigo being two of them.

"you look amazing." billie said to you as soon as she noticed you, and olivia looked up from her phone with a smile. "you totally do, i love this dress on you!" olivia agreed sweetly.

"oh my gosh, look at you two, though!" you say, excitedly catching up with two of your closest friends in the business. the three of you continued chatting for a while amongst yourselves, and billie pointed to the table diagonally across from yours.

"dude, cillian murphy is sitting over there - holy shit." she laughs, and you and olivia peek over at the table billie gestured to.

there at a table sat the cast of oppenheimer, and even for someone as famous as yourself - you were starstruck at the sight of him. he was undeniably gorgeous...and definitely way too old for you. you were aware that cillian was a very private guy, never really stepping out into the public eye other than to act or do a quick interview every now and then, but seeing him in person had your head spinning. he was even better looking in person than any photos that you'd ever seen of him.

as you, billie, and olivia stared at the seasoned actors and actresses seated across from you, cillian glanced over - and all three of you looked away, feeling like silly, teenage school girls. "shit," you giggle, "that's embarrassing."

"awkward." billie laughed, and olivia laughed along with the two of you. the topic of conversation switched quickly, and the three of you continued to talk about everything under the sun. eventually, the lights started to dim and the room started to go quiet as the host stepped out on stage. you'd never been to the oscars before, only other award shows, so you were watching in awe as this was your first year attending.

throughout the award show, you stole little glances at cillian; he was mesmerizing, and his blue eyes were truly breathtaking. halfway through the award show, cillians name was announced and he accepted an oscar for his performance in oppenheimer. you applauded along with the rest of the crowd, and he did his little acceptance speech before joining the rest of the cast back at his table.

while he stood up there, you couldn't help but notice how perfect he was - not a flaw existed on this man. as you watched him with hearts in your eyes, you almost felt your heart leap out of your throat as the two of you made eye contact for just a second. however, he quickly returned his gaze to something else, almost looking flustered to have looked your way.

afterwards, cillian and the rest of the cast all did a little cheers to his award. they put their champagne glasses down and continued to watch the host on stage. whilst many talented actors and actresses went up to claim their oscars, your eyes were focused on something else - rather, someone else.

you couldn't help but keep looking over at the older man across from you; nobody in hollywood had truly captured your attention the way he did. love at first sight, perhaps. sure, your sweet personality and jaw-dropping beauty had many a-list men and women swooning, but you never felt inclined to date someone in the same industry as you - they usually had a reputation. there was always something wrong with them, whether they were substance addicts or a serial cheater; you didn't want to stick around and find out.

your heart rate spiked when those stunningly blue eyes you'd been staring at all evening suddenly locked with yours once more, and you looked away hastily, out of both sheer embarrassment and awkwardness from being caught staring. you immediately started to pay attention to the award show, not daring to glance back over at his table. after the host wrapped up the show, everyone got ready to head to the oscars afterparty.

you made your way to the venue with billie and olivia, along with some other young women your own age, and headed straight to the bar. you ordered a cosmopolitan, then another, and then one more. after socializing and drinking, you went to one of the many tables scattered across the room. sitting down, you sigh and sip on your third cosmo of the night.

"excuse me," an smooth, irish accent came from beside you, "d'you mind if i join you?"

looking up in awe, you see none other than cillian murphy himself - looking handsome as ever in his suit - standing with a glass of whiskey in his hands. you felt at a loss for words, but nodded and swallowed. "not at all." you say, gesturing for him to sit.

"i'm sorry," he laughs softly, "i had to come over and say hi. i'm actually a bit of a fan. i watched your performance at the grammy's a few months ago - you're incredibly talented. you have a beautiful voice."

as he tells you this, you felt your jaw drop. cillian murphy, the man himself, thought you were talented? you look at him with an adoring smile, and nod as you took everything that he said in. if you were being honest; you didn't think he even knew who you were.

"that means, like, so much coming from you. i saw oppenheimer and your portrayal of him was amazing. everything you do is...amazing." you gush, and he smiles bashfully. honestly - you found it quite endearing that he was even approaching you and talking to you like this; wasn't he well known for being so reserved and frankly, a little shy or even awkward?

"ah, i appreciate that." he smiles softly, "it's admirable how successful you are - especially for someone so young."

you bit your lip as he mentioned your youthfulness, feeling both mentally and physically weak in the presence of this man. you felt your head spinning; was this really happening right now?

you shrug, trying to play it off as cool as possible. "i appreciate that, truly." you say softly, looking at him with the same starstruck expression as before.

he was quiet for a good minute, taking in your every detail. you noticed his eyes lingered to the dip in your dresses neckline, before speaking again in his gorgeous irish accent.

"m'sorry, you must get this all the time, but you're absolutely stunning." he says casually.

you thought you'd misheard him at first when he said those words. this was cillian murphy of all people - and he was casually throwing out compliments to you. not to mention he was more than twice your age; it was almost morally wrong. almost, but it seemed that neither of you seemed to care about that. not that you really should, anyway.

"t-thank you! i think that, um, you're..." you stammer out, but trail off. you were three drinks in, a little past tipsy, and so utterly starstruck by him that you couldn't muster up the courage to tell him how attractive you found him.

he seemed to understand your nervousness, and gently, he placed one of his hands on your upper thigh with a soft laugh. "nerves?" he asks sympathetically, and you nod your head, laughing along with him. "it's your first time at the oscars, right?"

"yeah," you confess with a smile, "sometimes, i feel like i'm still not used to the whole 'celebrity' thing."

"understandable, you're s'young. it only makes sense." he tells you, once again reminding you of how young you were in comparison to him, whilst his hand was literally resting on your thigh. "if you want, we could go back to my hotel room to chat. you know, to ease your nerves if crowded rooms aren't your thing."

you almost had to stop yourself from fangirling out loud, and with a small nod and a soft smile, you take him up on his offer. "y-yeah, okay. sure."

you were almost certain that he wasn't taking you back to his hotel room for the sake of rescuing you from your social anxiety, but you let it slide. i mean, he's cillian murphy - you'd let just about anything he did slide.

he softly took your hand in his, walking you out to the exit with him, and a few people glanced over in surprise. you tried to pay them no mind, but you knew how it must've looked to others. cillian and you got into his car with his driver, and the both of you headed back to his hotel. once the two of you got to his room, he closed the door behind him and threw his suit jacket over the back of the couch.

you stood there a little awkwardly, mostly because you were so nervous, but also because you'd never been this close with a man so much older than you before. cillian made his way over to you, and softly put his hand on your waist, his thumb trailing little circles over the fabric of your dress.

"is this okay?" he asked softly, and you nodded.

"mhm." you answer, looking up into those striking blue eyes of his.

his other hand trails up your spine, and then to the back of your neck, running his hands through your hair gently. softly, he pulled you closer, closing the gap between the two of you. you were in shock; but you kissed back. it was electrifying. here you were, standing in cillian murphy's hotel room, kissing him. you thought that surely you were dreaming.

the two of you continued to share a few more kisses which then turned into making out, and suddenly you were laying back on his bed with him on top of you. he continued to kiss you deeply, hands roaming all over your body until something seemingly got stuck in a loose thread on your dress. as you both pulled away hesitantly, you noticed something on his hand gotten stuck on that loose thread - a ring.

and no, it wasn't just some regular old ring, and surely not one just to accessorize. the gold band shone on his ring finger, and you saw it for what it was - a wedding ring. you looked down at the ring, and then back at him. how could you have not seen it before?

it seemed in this moment, he knew he'd fucked up as he cleared his throat and started to stumble over his words.

"i-it's not-" he tried to explain, "i'm leaving her."

you looked at him in shock, and in the heat of the moment, you pushed him off of you with a scoff. "you're married?" you ask angrily, "are you fucking kidding me?"

"yes, but-" he tried to interject, but you weren't having it.

"that's disgusting," you spat, "have some respect, jesus christ."

you were already getting up from the bed, grabbing your purse from the kitchen counter as your designer heels clicked against the wooden floors. everything went south so quickly; from when you met to how you ended up in his bed, making out - it was all just one big blurry mess to you now. you didn't know he was married, and if you did, you never would have accepted his offer to come back to his hotel room - let alone let him put his hand on your thigh.

"wait, please-" he begged, following you as you collected your things, "i can explain."

"really?" you asked sarcastically, "you can explain how you're married, yet you decided to take a woman less than half your age to your hotel room?"

"yes," he exasperated, "i'm leaving her, i swear. we're getting a divorce."

you scoffed, this wasn't the first time you'd heard this excuse. hollywood men were sleazy. this was a known fact, and you'd lost count of the amount of men who had slid into your dms telling you that they were getting a divorce or leaving their woman for you. it's not like you ever replied or cared to give in, but still - you knew what they were like.

cillian knew what he was saying was wrong on so many levels - but he couldn't stop himself when it came to you. within seconds of seeing you, you drove him wild. you were a type of beauty he'd never seen before, someone you just feel instantly drawn to.

"well," you say, after a riviting moment of silence, "we'll see about that." you turned to grab the door handle with your purse thrown over your shoulder.

cillian suddenly reached out to grab your arm out of instinct, not willing nor ready to let you go just yet. "please," he sighed, "please - just give me a chance." he said, feeling extremely pathetic for begging like this.

you stayed silent and shot him a stern look, and he took this as his opportunity to continue whatever tangent he was already on. "i'm trying to divorce her as quick as i can but it's just so complicated" he explained, "you're just so gorgeous, fuck, and you're- you're everything i want- no, need."

you stayed quiet for another few seconds, once again trying to process what was coming out of this mans mouth.

"listen," you sigh, "i don't mess with married men, i'm not that kind of girl - but if you actually go through with that divorce - if you're genuinely serious about that, then maybe we can talk."

and with that, you pushed his arm off of you, stepping out of his hotel room and slamming the door behind you. as much as you wanted him to be yours - you knew it was wrong. you were meant to be on your own, not with a man who was married to another woman. what kind of woman would that make you if you were to let something happen between the two of you? you could never do anything like that. i mean, you would but, you were just too nice - and too hot.

you found his driver outside of the hotel, and you told him to drive you back to your hotel. that night, you took a steamy shower to try and clear your mind - but you couldn't shake the thought of him. usually, you paid no mind to any men, married or not, but if you were being honest; you couldn't stop fantasizing about cillian.

you couldn't help but think of him in all the wrong ways while you were laying in bed. you didn't even know why. that night, you had trouble falling asleep, your mind was far too occupied by fantasies of what it would be like to be his. this was only the beginning of such fantasies that would play out in your head for many months to come, but you didn't stop yourself from imagining them.

you'd fantasize about him all the time. if he was yours, you'd give him every part of you, nine to five and five to nine. your life hadn't been the same since you met him. sure, you hated it at first but soon, those little fantasies started to fuel you. you knew he was crazy about you, too. he'd even create little burner accounts to stalk your social media to see what you were doing - but you never wanted to give off the impression that you felt the same. at least, not yet you didn't.

it had been a hectic last few months with all the award shoes and red carpets that came after the oscars, but now you had some downtime. award season was over, and that meant you had more free time to stay out of the public eye and work on your second album, which you were excited to share. however, there was another small reason why you chose to stay out of the public eye.

photos of you and cillian, hands intertwined, had leaked to the media. apparently, the two of you in your inebriated states didn't notice some fans lingering around the area hoping to catch a glimpse of some celebrities. those people snapped some photos of the two of you, and then sold them to multiple media outlets.

the backlash was what you expected - sort of. the media had painted you to be the innocent one in this scandal, and rather cillian the one in the wrong. to be fair, that's what the truth was anyways, but you were glad that in this day and age, you had the internet backing you up and not ripping you to shreds. there were multiple articles talking about how "cillian murphy, 47, tried to take advantage" of you and how he was straying from his wife for "someone who was more than two decades younger."

you were pretty silent on social media for a while, and you only got around to updating and posting like you normally did just last week. the comments scared you as you weren't sure what people would have to say, but everyone was surprisingly supportive of you. there were minimal to no comments about the whole cillian murphy scandal, and things seemed to have died down just as quickly as they started.

now, a few months later after those pictures head leaked - cillian was still with his wife who he claimed he was "divorcing." you knew that it was most likely a front, but deep down; a part of you wished he had gone through with it, and even worse - you wished you had gone through with throwing caution to the wind and having your way with him that night. as wrong as it was, you felt your heart aching at the thought of him. sure, you were young and you didn't really know what love was, but you were pretty certain that this. was. it.

you wanted to know so badly why he was still with her, he was clearly not happy and had wandering eyes, so why was he still staying? it was a puzzle to you, and you felt yourself overthinking the simple question constantly, often letting it consume your daily thoughts. cillian wished he could tell you why, but he knew it would sound shallow. if he was being honest - he didn't love his wife. maybe at first when they got married when he was your age he did, but definitely not anymore.

their love had grown stale, and it's not like he really had a reason to stay faithful anymore besides his morals, but those morals didn't do him any good whenever he thought of you or better yet, saw pictures of you. him and his wife didn't share any kids together thankfully, and he often found himself zoning out every time they spent time with one another; his thoughts going to you instead. his wife had indeed seen the pictures of the two of you, but she was determined to let it go. apparently, the two of them were going to marriage counselling for it.

you scoffed at the idea when you read an article about it because you thought it was ridiculous. there was no point saving a man who didn't want to be saved, it would never work. but of course, you kept this all to yourself - you didn't want to give off the impression that you were okay with being the other woman because you weren't. shamelessly, you would constantly search his name up on social media or online to see any articles with updates about his marriage - and yeah, you were aware how bad that habit had gotten.

your fantasies were vivid, the memory of his hands trailing up and down your body on repeat in your mind all the time. the feeling of his lips pressed up against yours on that one, fateful night - you couldn't forget it. but that's the thing, as much as you wanted him and so desperately craved him - if he wouldn't leave her, you knew you couldn't force him to. you weren't going to wait forever, especially for a married man, and cillian knew that if he let you go, he'd come to regret it for the rest of his life.

his wife could tell. she knew that his mind was always going back to the thought of you - she could see it in the way he was acting towards her now, the way he touched her, the way he spoke to her - it almost seemed like he would try and pretend that she was you.

"honey, i don't know why you're so upset." cillian calmly explained to his wife, who was currently shouting at him in their shared home in dublin.

"you aren't even trying, cillian! it's like you don't care anymore - after over two decades of marriage you're just done?!" she screeched at him, and he rolled his eyes in frustration.

"oh, come on," he groaned, "don't be like that."

"oh, really? like i'm the one who had an affair with someone less than half my age." she sneered, and he knew that technically, she was right. she hadn't cheated on him, but he did cheat on her.

"were going to marriage counselling for it, i don't understand why you're so mad at me! i told you, we didn't even go past kissing." he huffed, and his wife was seconds away from losing it.

"how does that make it any better?" she yelled, "i know you still think about her, cillian. i went through your god damn phone! i saw the accounts you made to see what shes been posting. i know you wish that it was her in bed with you at night, sleeping by you. i saw the way you were looking at her in those pictures!"

cillian went silent at the bomb that his wife just dropped - and he couldn't even deny it anymore. of course he wished it was you in bed with him at night, and yes; if he had it his way, you'd be in her place instead. he imagined what a life with you could be like; the two of you living in a quiet, little suburban house with a few pets, and a beautiful garden - and you with a wedding ring on your finger, not his wife who he stopped loving years ago.

"you're thinking of her again, aren't you?" his wifes voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked at her as she had tears in her eyes.

"don't cry, please-"

"do you even love me anymore?" his wife sobbed quietly, interjecting. he sighed, staying silent, and she continued to speak to him through her tears. "i think it's best if you get it out in the open - maybe you hoped i wouldn't notice, but i've been married to you for over twenty years. i know you, cillian."

with a sigh, he looked down in shame. he couldn't bring himself to say anything, it seemed that his words got stuck in his throat at this very moment.

"your silence is enough of an answer," she said quietly, "but tell me cillian, you owe it to me after all you've put me through - do you love her?"

"i-i don't know i-" he stammered, knowing full well what the truth was; he did love you. he fell in love the moment he laid eyes on you. he fell in love with your youth, your radiance, your beauty, everything about you made this man weak. he'd barely known you for an hour and yet, he could confidently say that he loved you.

"you do know," his wife murmured, "you and i both know."

"well maybe i do," he whispered, "i can't change how i feel."

"twenty years, cillian! does that mean nothing to you?" she yelled, her rage apparent now.

"what do you want me to fucking say?" he spat back, knowing full well he was in the wrong here; but all his morals went out the window at this point, "i can't undo what i've done, and i'm sorry, okay? i'm sorry, but i also can't change the way i feel about her!"

"what's wrong with you? i don't even know who you are anymore!" she screamed at him, and now both of them were going back and forth, the argument escalating at an alarming rate.

"i don't care!" he shouted back, making his wife angrier.

"so, what now?" she screamed, "d'you want to get a divorce? is that what you want?"

"you know what? yes! in fact, i've wanted one since before i even met-"

"don't say her name." his wife spat, and that pushed cillian over the egde.

"i'm getting the divorce papers by the end of the week, and you're going to fucking sign them, i'll tell you that much." he seethed, and his wife started to throw whatever she could at him in a blind rage. as cillian ducked away from a dish being hurled at him, he decided to get one last dig in. "oh, by the way - i knew from the moment i met her, i'd much rather that she have my last name instead of you."

when you read the article titles and news headlines, you felt your heart drop.

"oppenheimer star cillian murphy and his wife have seemingly split - here's what we know."

you quickly wash down your glass of wine, and put your phone down in disbelief. you felt the guilt sink in slowly, and it made you want to cry; you couldn't help but feel like this was your fault. that you destroyed a marriage, and you had taken a man from another woman. you knew if that even if you weren't a hundred precent of the reason they divorced, you were at least a part of it. you were sure of that.

when you found out about his apparent divorce, you were shocked to say the least; you had finally come to terms with how he was probably never going to have the guts to leave her, and that was okay with you now. you didn't want to get dragged into a messy scandal, you were okay with letting him do what he wanted - he wasn't yours to keep, anyway.

up until now, he just didn't have the heart to leave her, as the media would think he'd only left her because he got the fame, and now he wanted some young, hollywood beauty. sure, it was partially true that he had left her for a younger woman that he so desperately wanted, but they didn't know how much he loved you. the media didn't know how badly he needed to have you.

and now that you were in the picture, those rumours would look like they were true - and it would be an absolute mess. the media would eat it up. so now, to force yourself to try and move on, you were talking to a bunch of other guys, but they just weren't him.

today, you were at another event where you were currently sitting at the bar, waiting for your favourite cocktail; a cosmopolitan after your second glass of wine. tonight, you needed it more than ever. this was a huge event, as you were one of the biggest stars attending, along with some other big names in hollywood. you heard about who else was going to be there, and cillian's name was included in that conversation. you felt stupid for thinking he wasn't going to be there, his fame had skyrocketed after oppenheimer - of course he'd be there.

tonight, you made waves as you walked the red carpet in your stunning, custom made gown by none other than donatella versace herself with the perfect mix of accessories and matching heels. you looked dolled up.

oh, and you also came with another man. that's right; you walked the carpet with your rumoured new boyfriend, evan peters.

when people saw the two of you step out onto the carpet together, they lost their minds. evan was quite a bit older than you, but still - he was a little over ten years younger than cillian. once the two of you were posing for pictures as the flashing lights consumed your vision, he wrapped his arm around your waist and kissed your cheek softly. the photographers were eating this up; and they were shouting your name left and right, along with various questions.

"over here, look over here!"

"how long have the two of you been together?"

"did you have an affair with cillian?"

"what happened with cillian murphy?"

"did you hear about cillians divorce?"

the questions were progressively getting more invasive, and the two of you stepped into the venue of the event, wanting a break from the cameras and flashing lights. evan headed to the bar with you, but excused himself for a moment.

of course, the moment you were alone, you saw cillian, along with some other cast members from oppenheimer, walk in. you recognize pretty much all of them right away, and you do your best to look unengaged and pretend that you didn't even notice him.

cillian saw you instantly, but before he could even say anything or go over to you - he saw your new man return to the bar, wrapping his arms around you from behind and placing a soft kiss on your cheek. in that moment, he thought he could actually feel his heart being ripped into two, but he kept his composure and smiled at his cast-mates happily.

"another drink already?" evan teased, a smile on his face, "everything alright?"

"mm, yeah. everything is fine." you say cheerfully, even though deep down your heart was hurting at the fact that the man now sitting in front of you wasn't the man that you were in love with. "i just get a little overwhelmed at these events, you know that."

"right, i'm sorry." he says softly, taking your hand into his. "you look gorgeous tonight, sweetie."

the way he complimented you and the environment you were in felt all too familiar, and flashbacks of your night with cillian came flooding back into your mind. you mentally shook them right out of your head for the night. you didn't want to hurt your own feelings again, so for the remainder of the night, you avoided him and stuck by evans side.

cillian on the other hand thought he was going crazy. did you see the news articles about his divorce? were you in love with someone else? did you even think about him?

the following weeks had gone by in a blur as you were currently promoting the anticipated release of your upcoming album, and things were going so well for you - but you felt empty inside. you thought you were losing it, driving yourself insane over a married (well, no longer) man who you'd kissed for a few minutes in a hotel room.

two weeks ago, you broke it off with evan. you were certain it wasn't going to work, he was such a sweet guy and you knew he deserved someone else because your heart didn't belong to him. it belonged to cillian as much as you didn't want it to.

what was it with you and this man?

after breaking it off with evan, you debated texting cillian. perhaps it was just bad timing and now that he was divorced, things could work. maybe you just needed a little time apart just so that you could make your way back to each other. as you picked up your phone to try and muster up a text, you opened your social media to see that tmz had a new article up:

"cillian murphy and estranged ex-wife seen out together in dublin - what does this mean for the former couple?"

and below, there were pictures of him and his ex-wife walking side by side on the streets of ireland, and a few pictures of them in a little cafe together, seemingly just talking - but this was enough to drive you up the wall. you were done; you were out the door, and he was out of chances.

bye.

if he couldn't make up his mind, you would make up yours. opening your text messages, you scroll down to his contact. it had been months since the whole oscars incident, and neither of you had ever talked after that - he didn't even reach out to you after his divorce. so, you figured that this was just a waste of time; maybe it was best to move on from the fantasies in your head.

and with that, you blocked his number and tried not to let your anxiety consume you. to be honest, you were sort of hoping that maybe things would've worked out between the two of you; it felt like it was meant to be - but now you weren't too convinced.

currently, cillian was cooped up inside of a hotel room down in los angeles and he knew that you'd most likely seen the pictures, everyone had at this point. he tried to message you for the first time since the hotel room fiasco, but as he tried to explain it to you, his texts kept going green - you'd blocked his number. he tried calling, but the line just went dead each time.

the pictures were taken so out of context, but how would you know that? you wouldn't. in reality, cillian had agreed to meet up with his ex-wife as they were supposed to talk about divorce settlements. that was all. the two of them walked around, enjoying the sun as they tried to talk about it civilly. his estranged, and now ex-wife, took the whole situation surprisingly well.

sighing, he grabbed his car keys and his jacket, and got into his car while speeding recklessly down the freeway; his heart beating exhilaratingly. as he sped down the freeways of los angeles, he took a moment to appreciate the beauty of it all. the palm trees and the pink sunset - it reminded him of you. vibrant and beautiful. so young, so reckless, and so carefree.

as you were winding down for bed, you heard the doorbell of your beachfront property being rang repeatedly. in a state of confusion, you make your way downstairs and started wandering towards the front door. who the hell would be on your doorstep ringing your bell at such an hour? swinging the door open, you find cillian standing there like a pathetic, love-drunk fool.

"are you fucking kidding me?" you deadpan, looking at him with an expression that said the same thing as your words. after nine months he decided to show up at your doorstep? how did he know where you lived?

"i know," he began, "i know i look insane but i'm- jesus, i'm fucking crazy about you."

you stare at him wide-eyed, as this was not what you were expecting to see this evening. "cillian," you sigh, "i saw the pictures-"

"i can explain," he interjects, his voice laced with desperation, "please."

there he was; standing outside your house in the middle of the night, begging for you because he couldn't let you go. begging after he'd left his wife of twenty years for you.

"fine, just come inside. i don't want any more leaked pictures online." you grumble, opening the door fully so he could come in.

once he got inside, you closed the door behind the both of you, walking to your living room together. this was the first time in months that you'd actually talked - and even though you tried to deny it, your heart was racing at just the sight of him stood there, desperate for you. as you sat across from him on your couch, you looked at him silently, letting him say what he needed to.

"i'm so sorry for the mess that i've created." he said quietly.

"you should be." you respond cooly, trying not to let his words effect you in any way. you knew better.

"i know the last nine months have been insane," he says, looking at you with remorse, "but i mean, you can't deny what we have. i've never felt this way about anyone - i wouldn't have divorced my wife if i didn't think this was something worth fighting for."

you rub your temples, "cillian," you groan, "you can't be saying shit like that."

"why not?" he retaliated, making you scoff. "you told me to reach out to you once i was divorced and you'd maybe give me a chance. i'm doing what you asked me to, baby please-"

"don't baby me," you scoff, "you didn't tell me from the beginning that you were married. let's say i do forgive you, and we do this for real - how can i trust you?"

"i-i don't know, but i'll do anything i can to make this work." he pleaded, "i haven't stopped thinking about you since the day i met you."

"jesus, you're crazy." you groan, and to that he agreed.

"yeah, i know," he agreed, "m'fucking crazy about you."

you threw your hands up in defeat as if to say "well?" and he just looked at you in awe, his salt and pepper hair complimenting his gorgeous blue eyes. he continued to stared at you. he certainly wasn't trying to hide hide how attracted to you he was.

"the pictures of you and your ex-wife..." you said quietly, looking away from him, "i can't trust you, cillian."

"we were just talking about settlements," he said, "you know better than anyone how the media is; they blow shit out of proportion and take everything out of context. i swear that's all it was."

"you can't just show up like this..." you trail off, a frustrated sigh leaving your lips.

"is this because of your new guy or somethin'?" he huffs, and you roll your eyes at him. "no," you explain, "i'm not even seeing him anymore, we broke it off weeks ago."

"oh," he says, his eyes lighting up, "well, that's good to know."

it was silent for a moment, the two of you sitting there in each other's company, both lost in thought.

"why?" you ask suddenly, the question lingering in the tension filled air.

cillian looks at you confused, "what?"

"why does it have to be like this?" you ask, feeling the weight of your emotions bring you down. "why does it all have to be so complicated? why did you have to make it so complicated?"

"if this is about my marriage-"

"of course it's about your marriage!" you exclaim, your emotions getting the better of you, "i've spent the last nine months driving myself insane over you - god, i don't even know why. i feel this overwhelming guilt because of your divorce and-"

you pause, getting choked up as every last feeling from the last nine months decided to reign it's terror on you in that very moment with cillian sitting right across from you on your couch. every ounce of guilt that was compiled up inside of you, every bit of anger and resentment, and every negative emotion poured out from the depths of your slightly broken heart.

with teary eyes, you finally look at him again. "i feel like i wrecked your marriage, and i-i don't want to be that type of woman."

"you didn't wreck anything." cillian says, moving close to you as he placed a hand on you, rubbing your back soothingly. "i was in the wrong - i should have told you the truth. i should have done a lot of things differently. if i could go back in time, i would."

"but you can't!" you say as the tears start flowing, covering your face with your hands.

"i can't, no," he agrees, "but i'll change, i'll do anything for you."

"are you insane?" you shout at him with tears pooling in your eyes, "i don't know why you-"

"because i fucking love you, that's why." he said suddenly, looking you dead in the eyes as you both went silent.

"i'm sorry?" you ask in shock, meeting his gaze.

"because," he sighs, "i've fallen in love with you."

"you barely know me-"

"but i want to," he insists, moving closer to you. "just one chance, please."

looking up into his gorgeous blue eyes once more, you felt yourself go weak. he chased you down for months, left his wife for you, showed up at your doorstep - what more could he do to prove he was all in for you? with a trembling breath, he reaches his hand to softly cup your face, wiping your tears away with his thumb. his eyes search yours for any trace of a mutual feeling, for any indication that you might've wanted him as badly as he wanted you.

as he was leaning in, the gap between his lips and yours was getting smaller and smaller by the second. despite everything that was said in the last ten minutes, you didn't stop him. you didn't back away because deep down, you knew you needed him as much as he needed you. the pull between the two of you was unexplainable.

softly, he kissed you for the first time in nine months, and instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his neck. as you tangled your hands in his greying hair, he pulled you closer by your waist. while his tongue was exploring your mouth, you boldly get on top of his lap. straddling him, you run your hands in his hair once more and deepen the kiss.

"tell me you feel the same way, i know you do." he whispered against your lips, pulling away just enough so that he could get the words out.

"i feel the same, cillian." you confess in a breathless whisper, and he starts to pepper kisses down your neck, trailing them along to your collarbone.

"thought about you every fuckin' night," he murmured against your skin, "m'gonna cherish you, my love."

"i fantasized about you all the time." you admit out loud, grinding your hips down onto him.

you could already feel how hard he was underneath you, and you bit your lip at the feeling of his clothed cock pressing up against your cunt.

"mm, yeah?" he groaned, "tell me, sweet girl."

his hands took hold of your waist, helping you grind down on his lap. "i thought about y-you..." you whimpered, feeling yourself soak through your panties already.

"well, don't get shy on me now." he said lowly, his hands reaching up to squeeze your breasts, rolling your clothed nipples between his fingers softly. since you weren't wearing a bra, he had easy access.

with a soft moan, you try your best to answer him as his bulge rubbed against your cunt and his fingers tweaked your nipples, causing you to lose all inhibitions. "t-thought about your cock stretching me open," you confess, "and- f-fuck, i thought about you bending me over, making me scream all night."

"how about i help you live out those fantasies of yours, hm?" he growled, pulling you into a sloppy kiss.

as you melted into the kiss, he reached his hand down and slipped them past the waistband of your pyjama pants. he pushed your panties to the slide and let his fingers swipe through your soaked folds, making you moan into the kiss. the feeling of his fingers just simply brushing against you was heavenly, and you knew you needed more.

"you're fucking soaked, baby." he groaned, biting your lip softly between his teeth.

in an instant, he was pushing you down onto your couch. you shimmied your way out of your pyjama pants with his help of course, and he also assisted in pulling your panties down, too. as he tossed them to the side, you felt your heart palpitate at what was about to happen.

he gently inserted his middle finger into you at a slow pace, your slick walls clenching down on him from sheer neediness.

"that's a good fucking girl," he praised softly, "feels good, baby?"

"m-mmhm," you moaned, looking up at him as he hovered over you.

with one hand, he continued to play with your tits, tweaking the nipple between his fingers and with the other hand, he was fingering you gently. the act was so intimate yet sinful at the same time, it had your head spinning. the way he kept eye contact was driving you insane as you looked into his icy blue eyes.

slowly, he inserted a second digit into your drooling hole, your back arching at the intrusion and slight stretch. you let out a quiet moan, and he started to curl his fingers, fucking you with them faster and faster.

"let me hear those pretty moans, sweetheart," he cooed, "i wanna watch you as you cum on my fingers."

"f-fuck, right there-!" you whined, arching your back even further.

as he fucked you on his fingers rapidly, you could feel the coil in your stomach about to snap. as your slick walls clenched down on cillian's fingers, you moaned his name out over and over, feeling yourself drenching his hand.

"fuck, you're so pretty." he complimented, watching your reaction as you came undone on his fingers for him.

after your chest was heaving and you were left a panting mess, he pulled his fingers out gently. he helped you slip your pyjama top off, and you assisted him in undoing his belt buckle.

as he pushed his pants down, his cock sprung out. your mouth watered at the sight of it, needing nothing more than for him to be balls deep inside of your aching, needy cunt right now. he got on top of you hastily, stroking himself a few times before he lined himself up with you.

he teasingly brushed his pale, pink tip through your sticky folds as his pre-cum leaked out, and you whined with desperation.

"i fantasized about stretching you open on my cock." he admitted suddenly, biting down on his plush lips. "i thought about how you'd look with it buried deep inside, begging me to let you cum."

his vulgar words went straight to your core, and you looked up at him with a rosy hue covering the apples of your cheeks.

"show me," you whimpered, "make me beg to cum on your cock."

it didn't take much convincing before he suddenly pushed into your warm hole, stretching you out beyond belief. you could feel him fill you fully, and you almost choked on air at the sensation of his cock actually splitting you open like he promised. even though your cunt was dripping, he was still met with some resistance just from how tight you were around him.

"jesus, baby," he groaned, "what a tight fucking pussy."

"uh-huh, y-you're so big-" you squeak, and he started to move in and out at a fast pace, barely giving you time to adjust.

as his cock filled you fully, you swore you could feel him bulging in your stomach. his fat, veiny cock was reaching places you didn't even think were possible to reach, and places that his fingers certainly couldn't. he continued to push deeper inside of you with harsh thrusts, knocking the wind out of you each time his cock brushed up against that spongy spot inside of you.

you closed your eyes as your slick started to drip down onto the couch. you'd never been so soaked in your life. he tapped your cheek a few times, causing your eyes to flutter open. softly, he cupped your face with one hand while the other held an unwavering grip on your leg, lifting it up over his shoulder so he could fuck you even deeper.

"look at me, sweetheart," he commanded softly, making you clench on his cock. "oh," he noticed, "you like it when i talk to you like that, huh?"

you indeed liked when he talked like that - scratch that, you fucking loved it. he could feel you squeeze his cock with your dripping cunt each time he just spoke, his voice bringing you closer and closer to the edge once more.

"cill, i-i...fuck!" you screamed as his cock brushed up against that sensitive spot inside of you, causing you to suddenly lose all ability to speak properly.

"hm, sweetheart?" he cooed lovingly, but continued ramming into you ruthlessly.

your pussy was soaked and stretched, and as you kept your eyes on his - you watched him in awe. the way his pink lips were slightly parted, his salt and pepper hair disheveled, and his brow furrowed. it was driving you into a permanent state of euphoria.

"i love you," you gasped between breathless moans and incoherent begging, "so much."

your pupils were blown, staring up at him with such intensity he thought he was going to break right then and there.

"fuck, sweetie," he groaned, "i love you, too."

"i-i'm gonna cum, r-right there-" you begged him, "please, can i?"

"cum on my cock, cum right fucking now." he almost growled, pounding your tight, sopping cunt mercilessly. his pace never wavered, and he continued to fuck you into euphoria, studying you as you tipped over the edge from his thrusts.

with a groan, he came with you. he filled you with everything he had, fucking his cum so deep into your cunt you could almost feel him bruise your cervix. after his cock spurted the last bits of his cum into you, he was a panting, love-drunk mess propped up above you.

you were just as fucked out, smiling at him dopily while his cock remained buried inside of your warm walls. cillian brought his hand back up to your face, brushing a strand or two out of your face before placing a gentle kiss on your swollen lips.

"my love," he whispered, voice saccharine, "you are everything to me. everything."

"i adore you." you say softly, letting a heavy breath out.

"we'll make this work, i know we will. i just can't live a life without you in it." he tells you.

the crowd cheered, giving you a standing ovation as you finished your performance. you smiled bashfully and yelled "thank you new york!" into the microphone as the final show of your tour ended, and you waved goodbye to the thousands of fans in the arena.

rushing backstage after your show, you run into cillians arms and he hugs you tightly. he places a soft kiss on your head as you smile up at him sweetly, and looks at you with a proud expression on his face.

"you were amazing, love," he says softly, pulling you into his side as the two of you walk into your dressing room, "m'so glad i could join you for the last half of your tour. love watching you perform, s'amazing."

"oh, cill," you smile bashfully, "shush, you're too sweet."

"my lovely wife," he sighed, kissing you softly, "i'm just so proud of everything you've done."

you sigh blissfully as he holds your hands in his, and you head back to the hotel your staying at before your flight tomorrow morning. as your head hits the pillow, you feel exhausted and like you haven't slept in ages. cillian wraps his arms around you, spooning you as you turn off the light.

"goodnight, mrs. murphy." he whispers softly, holding you in his arms.

now you didn't have to fantasize about what it was like to be his anymore - he was all yours now, and you were all his. last name and all.

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