#anyway its here and it is still sunday where i live so i wasnt lying about keeping to my schedule lmao

[jemwritesstuff]

Jeffrey "Jeff" Johansen x reader

this was supposed to be "i broke your nose at a moshpit" AU but this mixed with a dream i had so i had to edit it cause it seemed to fit so much better lol also can you tell im missing live music? cant wait to get stabbed in the arm. anyway for once im mostly on time, i hope you’ll enjoy this <3

cw: no social distancing, swearing, blood mention

word count: 1 333

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For whatever reason, you had already lost your friends in the crowd and the band had barely started playing. Since you had pushed your way to the front through literal blood, sweat and tears, you were definitely not going to give that up just to find them. They’d have to survive without you now. 

The band was one you had just recently started listening to. When you learned it was also playing the festival with some other bands you and your friends listened to, you knew you had to get there. Nothing beats live music anyway - the bands contact with the crowd, the rhythm thumping in your chest, the feral feeling of just existing freely, easily beat the ringing in your ears for hours afterwards and the drunken idiots. Regardless, it was a metal festival; if there’s one festival you don’t have to worry about getting assaulted, it’s gonna be a metal festival. You remember one time when your female friend was getting felt up in the crowd, she barely had time to react when another guy from the crowd - possibly the meanest looking motherfucker there - had already struck him in the ear and thrown him over the railing straight in the arms of a bouncer. He even made sure that she wasn’t too shaken up and asked to walk her to her car after the gig was over.

You’d be fine.

Just when the crowd was getting a little bit too impatient, the band stepped on stage. The cheering was deafening, yet you couldn’t help but shout along. The whole performance was magical. The low sounds of bass you could feel deep in your bones, the squeaking of a guitar up-close, even the drum solo that shook the entire area. Hell, you barely felt heat from the pyrotechnics that were situated right in front of you. The crowd was under a spell and you with it; screaming and shouting the lyrics, cheering after every song, headbanging in sync with the members. You knew the moshpit was close - someone had lifted a short girl out of the way next to you. The ground was trembling from strain, you from excitement.

The few hours went by in a whim. It had barely been a moment when you were wondering where you'd lost your friends. The singer of the band was thanking the crowd for being amazing. You cheered again. You'd find your friends later, nevermind the fact that your phone had run out of battery. 

The crowd started humming the melody of one of the bands biggest hits that hadn't been played yet. The band was halfway off the stage when one the drummer rushed back to his place. The rest of the band couldn't resist either and the hungry crowd got one more song.

"I've got one more thing for y'all!" The singer exclaimed, still huffing from screaming for the duration of the song.

"To celebrate the upcoming album, we ordered a bunch of custom guitar picks. We thought that 'okay, maybe like 10 will be enough', because we all know I always misplace my stuff. And it would've been if Tommy here" - they all pointed at poor Tommy, who just sheepishly laughed - "hadn't accidentally put too many zeros in the order. So now we've got a thousand picks with the unofficial album art that's just Riley throwing up in the tour bus." Laughter echoed throughout the area.

"Coincidentally, we got the picks in sacks right there next to the stage and we might as well give them to you as a little thank you!" 

It wasn't raining men, but the sentiment was still there. You were at the front so you had a good chance at grabbing something off the air but it wasn't easy. With so many people after the same thing, pushing at you from the back it was a handful to just keep upright and not get trampled in the ground.

You're not sure how exactly it happened; you just knew that when you were reaching up, the guy behind you did so too, and you ended up knocking him right in the nose.

He shouted a curse and you whipped your head around to see a tall man, rocking an admirably long and dark beard with hair to match, holding a hand under his nose.

"Oh fuck, I'm so sorry!" You frantically yelled. "Shit, I'm so sorry, here-" You offered him a tissue from your pocket which he gladly took.

"Ah, it's fine, don't worry about it." He chuckled. You noticed how the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, even if he was a little pained. "It's just a little nosebleed."

"No, that's definitely a big nosebleed." You deadpanned, seeing your tissue already get colored crimson.

He laughed heartily again. "It's fine. You've got a good punch on you, wouldn't wanna get on your bad side." He complimented? You'd rather take it as a compliment anyway. 

"That's gonna need more than one tissue. Shit, I'm so sorry- the least I can do is take you to the medical tent." 

"Ah, I wouldn't wanna take up your time like that. I think I can find it myself, now that the crowd's dispersed a little too." He smiled and turned the last clean side of the tissue. 

"I'm the reason you're in this shit and I don't wanna get haunted by my nana again, so you are coming with me." You frowned and started making your way towards the tent you had visited earlier when one of your friends had almost fainted. 

He did follow you. Whether to humour you or not, you never found out. You were glad he did, though, your nana would've surely hit you over the head with the wooden spoon again if you'd have left him in distress like that.

The nurse at the tent was much more efficient at suppressing the bleeding. You'd stuck there just to get some peace of mind that the man would be okay, spewing apologies every few sentences which he always waved off. 

He was given the okay to leave soon and just in time, since you could hear the next band start playing some distance away. 

"I really am sorry." You started, not daring to raise your eyes to meet his. "My brain got overridden by corvid syndrome, I didn't think to pay attention to the people around me." 

"Don't worry about it. I mean, it certainly wasn't the first time I've gotten punched at a festival. I'll be fine, anyway." He laughed. The warmth of his voice hardly left space for doubting.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do to pay you back? Sorry, again." You asked again and nervously fiddled with the sleeves of your jacket.

"Well, there's one thing but that's only if you're absolutely sure about it." He offered. You raised you gaze at him and noticed the shy smile he was sporting. 

"And what's that?" 

"You could let me take you on a date tomorrow." 

Admittedly, it wasn't what you were expecting. The tall, hairy man was rugged but definitely handsome too. Even if you didn't think that, his smile for sure was one of the Earth's wonders.

You agreed with a bright smile and introduced yourself. His name was Jeffrey, but he told you to just call him Jeff. You'd given him your phone number when you realized that your phone was out of battery. Thankfully, you had a pocket full of guitar picks and a pen, so you did get his number too. 

He refused when you offered to give him a part of your hoard, so of course the only logical course of action was to hug him and discreetly drop a few in the pocket of his leather jacket.

You knew you'd get a stern talking to from your friends when you'd finally find them but it all seemed worth it when you looked over your shoulder to see Jeff smiling and waving at you.

[footbaliimagines]

New Years Kiss (a Jesse Lingard imagine)

Hello!!!!!! It is me, returned from the dead (I can’t find the gif but insert the bitch thought u saw the last of me gif from American horror story gif here)

Idk what this is really these bits and bobs are NOT chronological they are just like fragments if that makes sense?? So even though the 3 words bit is when they were together its like a ***flashback*** but I wasnt sure how to make that v clear also the chapters are like numbers counting down from ten like at midnight ygm??? Okay I am rambling so will shut up hope u guys like it and hope you have a wonderful nye <3 I hope and am sure 2019 will be wonderful for all of you <3

TEN minutes after you meet him, you realise that you’re kind of fucked.

(And by kind of, you mean completely, overwhelmingly, catastrophically fucked.)

It happens quickly, in a way that you’ve never experienced before.

So quickly, as a matter of fact, that when he locks eyes with you for the first time, and when he grazes your arm when brushing past you to grab his drink, it’s like a switch has been flicked inside of you that you were never sure even really existed.

You put it down to the bubbles from your prosecco that you’d downed just before chatting to him, and that the tipsiness and the buzz of alcohol is the only reason you could be feeling the way you do right now.

Now he’s a face that you can put a name to, instead of just viewing him as Marcus’ other footballer friend, that familiar grinning face you’d spotted at gatherings who always offered you a shy, awkward smile whenever you shared eye contact but someone who you’d never actually found the balls to speak to.

(Sure, as a regular human being with functioning eyes you knew that he was attractive, but he was way out of your league.)

(The constantly grinning, elusive, life of the party Jesse Lingard, who Marcus had raved about to you pretty much since the day they’d met, with his 5 million Instagram followers, ridiculous dance moves that no self-respecting 26 year old man should let the world see, and that smile- God, that stupid, infectious shit eating grin, when his eyes crinkled and made everyone else look mediocre in comparison to him.)

(He wouldn’t look in your direction even if the world was about to end.)

It’s New Years’ Eve, and his Christmas jumper smells like Baileys and cinnamon, lasting remnants of the festive period. “Nice to meet you.” You practically have to shout over the music. “I know Marcus.”

“You what Marcus?”

“I know Marcus.”

“You know who?”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, dismissing his question. “Doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

“I said.” You shout. “It doesn’t matter.”

He nods and smiles again, leaning in, “I don’t want to be weird or anything, considering we just met,” his gaze is hazy and clouded with the effects of the beer he’s clutching in his right hand, “but you’re really fucking pretty.”

You can feel your face flush, a blush superior to the one your red wine had already given you, and the next thing you know it’s nearly midnight, and you’re drunk and giggling and he’s flirting and tracing between the gap between your jeans and jumper with his fingers, and you’re both leaning in and your friends are counting down from ten, and he kisses you, amidst cheers and shouts and fireworks.

And you tell yourself, what’s the worst that could really happen?

“Only NINE stops.” 

You trace your finger over the plastic Metrolink sign, running it up and down the line connecting the two tram stations, marking your place and his. “Nine stops to get from me to you.”

He snakes his hands around your waist, pressing his chin into your shoulder and kissing the exposed skin of your neck. “Stop.” You laugh, voice breathy. “We’re in public.”

“We’re in Manchester city centre on a Thursday night.” He pulls away, leading you towards the platform and laughing loudly, his voice booming throughout the cold night. “There’s no one fuckin’ here!”

He’s had a few pints, and he’s tipsy, handsy, flirty, silly Jesse, one of your favourite versions of him, kissing you breathlessly and grinning, hands running up and down your tight jeans and hooking into your belt loops and murmuring in your ear about how excited he is to pull them off of you later.

“Nine stops, you know,” He hums as the tram pulls away and you lean into him, watching the city pass you by, “is pretty far.”

“You’re such a city boy now.” You roll your eyes. “It’s like, 20 minutes. If we went back to my hometown, you’d be lucky to see a bus more than once every half an hour.”

“You wouldn’t have to do the whole 9 stops if you moved in with me.”

You crinkle up your nose and quirk an eyebrow at him. “What are you suggesting?”

“What do you think I’m suggesting?”

Laughing, you prop your feet up on the empty seat opposite and lean into his side, as he flops an arm around your shoulder. There’s no one else with you two and your voices and shared laughter echo throughout the empty carriage. “I’m serious!” He holds his hands up and looks at you with wide eyes. “Do it. Move in with me. You can cook me breakfast every morning, and make me my tea for when I get back, make me a brew whenever I want one… you’ll make the perfect little housewife.”

“Now that you’ve said that, you can fuck off.”

And you both brush it off and don’t speak of the topic again, but when he leaves for training the next morning, there’s a spare key for his flat lying on a post-it, with a hastily scribbled note.

You don’t have to properly move in – no pressure or anything like that. But I had a spare key lying around and wanted you to have it. Jess x

(When the breakup comes, you don’t work up the courage to give it him back, and it’s still lying in your bedside table draw, post-it long gone, gathering dust and eventually added to the pile of his things you swear you’ll get around to giving him back one day.)

(There’s a strange feeling in your stomach every time you pass by his stop.)

It’s EIGHT in the morning.

You’re sat in the coffee shop equidistant to your flat, Marcus’s house and United’s training ground, where every Sunday without fail, the three of you would meet up for breakfast.

(Well, where you used to meet up every Sunday.)

(Minus that one time you were too hungover to leave the house without projectile vomiting on your own feet.)

For the first time since the breakup, Jesse had appeared, the sleepiness still drooping over his eyes and his hair mussed by his pillowcase. Your mind flashes to the image of him sleeping face down in his pillow, a position that made you nearly piss yourself laughing every time you saw him, but you suppress the memory quickly.

“Everyone can see it except the two of you, you know.”

Marcus tips his chin upwards and nods matter-of-factly. You roll your eyes and huff. “You’re a prick. And not just for saying that. But for inviting him out for our thing, our tradition, again, when you know it’s just going to be fucking awkward. He didn’t have to be here.”

“I’m only saying.” He raises his eyebrows and holds up two hands, as if to say, not my fault, I’m not interfering in the slightest, I’m just telling you that I know you’re still in love with your ex, and I know he still feels the same, and that even though there’s a very high chance things could still go catastrophically, terrifically, hugely wrong, I’m going to tell you and mess with your head anyway?

You reply snappily, huffing and folding your arms across your chest, “You’re messing with me, and it’s pissing me off. Fuck off. Tell him to fuck off too while you’re at it.”

He barks out a laugh and you roll your eyes. “I’m trying to reunite my two best friends, that’s all. Get the gang back together and all that!” He whines and shuffles closer to you, flinging an arm around your shoulders loosely. “Let me live. You both know you’re both being stubborn. Just talk to each other. It’ll all work out.”

“I don’t even like him anyway. Not like that. Not anymore.”

It’s a lie, a stupid, threadbare, slap you in the face lie. Marcus knows it too, and snorts. “Yeah, sure. I believe you. It’s not like you’ve been pining over each other for the past 3 months and you’re giving the girl he’s talking to at the moment daggers.”

You pull away your gaze sharply. Jesse’s in the queue- well, he was in the queue, now he’s loitering by the serviettes - and he’s been pulled to the side by a beautiful girl. They’ve been chatting amiably for the better part of the last ten minutes and you can feel your blood temperature rising steadily. “I’m staring,” You begin, and your head starts whizzing at a million miles an hour to come up with a decent excuse. “Because Jesse has our coffees and I don’t want them to get cold just because he’s in the middle of a stupid conversation.”

“’Stupid conversation’,” Marcus air quotes your words and smirks. “Jealousy isn’t a very attractive trait, you know.”

“I’m not jealous.” You scoff. “I’m just thirsty, that’s all.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“Fuck you.”

A few minutes, and plenty of glares and continuous teaching jabs from Marcus later, Jesse approaches and smiles apologetically. “Sorry about that.” he chuckles, and hands you your mug.

Your fingers bump and it’s so meaningless and tiny but you kick yourself for still flinching when your skin made contact. “Careful. It’s still hot.”

(See, he cares about you. Maybe it’s not all just in your head!)

It’s an instinct to smile back at him, a repressed reflex to not pat the empty space next to you and rest your hand on his thigh, but you gulp as he sits opposite instead, far away from the table, from you. “Make conversation.” Marcus hisses.

You can feel your face blossoming cherry red, feel the discomfort in the air rise, feel your palms grow sweaty, and you shoot him a dirty look, mouthing, “Stop making it obvious.”

“You’re the one making it obvious.” He hisses back.

“Hm?” Jesse looks up from his phone to across the table.

He’s wearing that stupidly adorable, confused look on his face again, and you want to kiss him, you want to throw your boiling hot coffee in his face, you want to slap him, do something, do anything that would be less unbearably awkward than the three of you making small talk about the new Kenyan variety of coffee beans Marcus was trying out.

“Hm what?” You gargle.

“I was just asking what you guys were mumbling about.” He leans back, hands gripping his mug.

“Nothing.” You interject, before Marcus can start up again. “Marcus’s just being a dick, that’s all.”

You kick yourself for acting like such a lovesick, pathetic idiot, because you’ve never been like this before, you’ve constantly sworn to yourself that you’d never going be like this, but now he’s in the picture and it’s like everything that you ever held dearly to you has gone straight out of the window. Marcus pipes up, “So, who was that girl?”

(Now he decides to fucking speak.)

“Which girl?”

This time, you’re not quick enough to interrupt Marcus from piping up. “The girl you were flirting with before, Jesse, who you might go out with, who seems really nice and wasn’t a baby by actually talking to you about her feelings instead of hiding behind her emotions because she’s so scared of rejection and open communication, that she’d be willing to sacrifice the possibility of something really great?”

(You’re this close to chucking your cappuccino over his head.)

Jesse side eyes Marcus, opening his mouth to reply but then shaking his head and exhaling instead. “She’s right, you are being fucking weird today.” He shakes his head, tipping his chin upwards slightly and shrugging. “Besides, she’s not really my type anyway.”

(She was beautiful.)

(She’d be anyone’s type.)

He’s looking at you dead in the eye this time, ignoring Marcus’s eyes darting back and forth between the two of you, and you venture, “What is your type, then?”

He pulls a face, like come on, are you really asking that, you know what my fucking type is and you know it’s not that girl I was talking to strategically 2 foot in front of you so you’d see and get jealous, and when he doesn’t answer, you take it as a silent victory for #TeamYouWereRight, not #TeamJesse.

“That’s for me to know, isn’t it?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

You let Marcus fill the silence of the rest of your breakfast, and when you leave you’re too much of a coward to even look Jesse in the eye.

It only takes him SEVEN days to move on

When the cover of Ok! on your best friend’s coffee table catches your eyes, you can almost feel your wine and the tequila shots you had knocked back rising back up your throat. Your vision is hazy and the bitterness, the anger, the hurt surges through your veins as you pick it up and throw it to the floor, out of sight and out of mind. You were right, the featurette screamed out at you, he wasn’t, isn’t worth it, isn’t worth you crying over. 

It only took him a week to find someone else to fuck and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to go out tonight with the same intentions.

Deep down you know you’re being childish and if you were sober you’d probably never have sunk to such a level, but the tequila is buzzing in your blood and you can’t stop thinking about that fucking photograph.

(A photograph of Jesse revelling in a post-Boxing Day victory glow, crowded with Paul and Marcus in some swanky inner city bar, with his hand on the thigh of a beautiful woman whose Instagram account you made a mental note of to stalk when you were in a soberer state.)

There’s a tranquil voice somewhere in the back of your head telling you to step back and be rational. You’d been friends with Marcus and the boys for far too long to trust the split-second capture of a loitering paparazzi over his word.

It was probably just a one-night stand, that rational voice piped up again. Plus, he’s single now. Give him a break. The boy is gonna need to get laid eventually.

(But he’d told you he didn’t want to be with anyone else, that he’d rather have quiet nights in with his teammates to celebrate, probably just PS4 and takeaway, that he wouldn’t enjoy going out if it wasn’t with you.)

(That rational voice in your head could go fuck itself.)

You shrug off the worry at the back of your mind and post the picture to your Instagram story regardless.  

Your phone buzzes 2 minutes later.

Who is he?

You hate yourself for revelling in his jealousy, but the sense of satisfaction you gain overrides any rationale that sober you would have considered.

?

Who the fuck is that guy?

Can you reply?

I can see you’ve read these messages, you know.

Are you fucking him? Is he your new boyfriend?

Fuck you.

Happy SIX months, babe. Love yaaaaaaaa!!! 

is what the balloon reads, as the delivery man comes by Jesse’s house with a bunch of flowers almost the size of him and a handful of personalised helium balloons.

“Delivery for Mr J Lingard?” The postman reads off his phone, before handing Jesse the assortment of romantic gifts and offering up a screen for Jesse to sign.

He smiles tiredly and nods.

(He swore he had remembered to cancel this order after you’d broken up.)

“Ta mate,” He replies, taking the flowers inside and dumping the balloons behind him in his hallway.

“Anniversary, eh?” The delivery man smiles. “She’ll love the presents.”

(He’s going to throw up.)

Jesse attempts to smile and brush it off with a laugh, but it’s not convincing. “Fingers crossed, yeah.”

“Best of luck.” He walks back down his drive. “Have a nice day.”

“And you.”

He’s alone again in his hallway, the gifts surrounding him, a flurry of red and pink bows and yellow roses, your favourite, your name written onto the balloons.

He imagines you in the kitchen with him, you, being your typical over-emotional, dramatic self probably welling up at the card he’d written, tactfully arranging the balloons for an Instagram photo, talking about inhaling the helium and taking a video for his Snapchat speaking in funny voices, getting stressed out about doing your eyeshadow for your dinner later that evening.

He can imagine looking at you from across his kitchen table like you just hung the moon in the sky, the thought of being with you, eating breakfast with you, talking to you all making his stomach churn. Because the breakup hadn’t been formal nor had it been official, and it was only after you blocked most (well, all) of his social media accounts, and your face no longer appeared, grinning and slightly flushed, in the stands of Old Trafford, that he had realised the severity of what had happened between the two of you.

And Jesse kicks himself over it every day, he could have done more, could have turned up to your house or your office and demanded an answer or at least a conversation, but his stubbornness and obstinacy had prevented him from doing so, and your unwillingness to communicate had landed you both at a stalemate.

(If he could go back in time, he would.)

He leaves the anniversary gifts in his spare room upstairs and doesn’t even open the door.

05:02 – Are you up?

05:14 – Lol of course you won’t be

05:14 – Soz for texting. I can’t sleep and I think I’m just getting a bit caught up in own head

05:16 – I just

05:16 – I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind

05:16 – I just don’t know why this is still so fucking difficult. It’s been like 3 months and I still can’t sleep because I’m thinking about you and how everything went wrong

05:19 – I’m sorry if I pressured you when I told you I loved you and I’m sorry for not fighting more

05:20 – Didn’t meant to rush you. Just wanted to be honest.

05:20 – And now I’ve fucked everything up. And I’ve fucked it with Marcus too, jt’s always awkward and I know he’s taken your side and everything is just shite

05:26 – Fucking hell

05:26 – I can’t do being just friends and I can’t do platonic. Maybe we just should just cut if off completely

05:27 – Please come and see me so we can talk it over

05:27 – I just can’t do this, this in between

05:28 – I love you and I know you still love me

05:28 – Is that not enough???

It’s FOUR in the morning and Jesse’s regretting even leaving the house in the first place.

His head is pounding with the deep bass coming from the speakers behind him, as he gingerly sips at his lime soda, thoughts of his alarm ringing at 7:30am tomorrow morning looming in the back of his mind, thoughts of what his Mum would say if she knew he wasn’t getting a healthy 8 hours of sleep before a game, thoughts of you in that little black dress, swaying to the beat, standing far too close to that short-back-and-sides-probably-a-fuckboy idiot whispering something that Jesse doesn’t want to imagine down your ear.

(Thoughts of what he’d like to do to you in a dress like that.)

You eventually shrug the other guy off when he gets a little too eager, a little too handsy, and pull your hair loose from its ponytail, eyes scanning around the club and pausing when the land on Jesse.

He’s stood in the corner, not speaking to anybody and hardly moving, and that’s when you know he must be in a bad mood, because the DJ’s just started playing Sicko Mode and he’s not even flinched. Then one of his mates appears by his side, hollering down his eardrum, and Jesse doesn’t even respond with a smile or a laugh, he just shrugs him off and walks towards the doors.

You’re not sure why, but you follow him as he heads towards the smoking area.  You lose him eventually in a sea of drunk people, and exhale, the wind suddenly sobering you up. 

Fucking typical, you think, lighting a fag and leaning back against the brick wall, eyes closed.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

You open one eye and there he is, stood there in front of you, looking at you with a mixture of fondness, annoyance and disapproval. Looking at him dead in the eyes, you lift it to your lips and inhale. “I must have a tendency for going back to things that I know are bad for me.”

He looks at you, and you can tell he wants to bite, to start another fight, but then he bites his tongue and exhales. “How have you been?”

“I’m alright.”

“Good.”

“And you?”

“Good.”

“Jess?”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to get out of here?”

(The next thing you know, you’re in a taxi togetther and he’s telling the driver his address and your hands are all over him and his are all over you.)

(And you fall into bed with him again, like always, like you know deep down happens every time, as if its a habit, and when you wake up the next morning in his shirt you tell yourself that this time really will be the last time.)

You hadn’t anticipated saying those THREE words to Jesse so soon.

God, you hadn’t even considered the possibility of things lasting between the two of you for longer than a few weeks, but now here you were nearly 6 months later, lying on his sofa with his head in your lap and your fingers running through his hair. “Hey,” Jesse speaks and sits up, switching the volume of the telly down to zero.

“Hm?”

He looks away, before turning almost as red as the United shorts he was still yet to change out of, then gulping and shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” He cuddles back into you and though your heart melts, you wiggle him off and jab him with your elbow.

“Talk to me.” You whine. “You’re no fun when you’re being weird like this. What’s up?”

Jesse heaves a sigh, and for the first time during your conversation, looks you in the eye before burning bright red again and glancing away. It’s like he can’t bear the sight of you, and his determined avoidance of both a proper conversation and sharing eye contact with you makes you feel slightly nauseous.

A few moments of silence pass before he looks at you again. “I, well- I feel weird right now.” He stumbles. “Because, um, I-“

“Jesse, what is it?”

Your pulse begins to race as your mind inevitably wanders, and the pessimist in you instantly leaps to the worst possible thing. Was he breaking up with you? Things had been going so well, and surely Marcus would have called to give you a heads up if he knew something weird was going on with Jesse.

(Then again, you had cancelled on date night for the past 3 weeks to binge the Great British Bake Off.)

(Still, would that really have warranted a breakup?)

(And plus, Jesse was the Bake Off’s second biggest fan, after yourself, naturally.)

It could be something smaller, something to do with his family, or his career. But he never felt uncomfortable discussing football with you, despite your feelings towards his club, and his relatives treated you like one of their own.

(Your mind does eventually wander to the possibility of him cheating, or him finding someone else, but due to your own stubbornness and for the sake of your sanity, you’re quick to expel any ideas like that straight out of your head.)

“I love you.”

His voice is soft and cracks at the end, and it’s so, so far from what you had been expecting, and so unlike the usual confident, grinning Jesse that you were used to that a lump forms in your throat. “Oh, Jess-“

“I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to scare you off.” He mumbles. “But I’m finding it way too hard to not have those stupid fucking three words replaying in my mind every time I look at you. Because that’s what’s happening, I swear. I’m trying to play it cool and casual but all I can think about every time you smile, or speak, or laugh is the fact that I’m in love with you.”

A smile pulls on your lips and you immediately scramble forward to wrap your arms around him. He laughs and you feel his chest rumble underneath you. “You don’t have to be scared.” You comfort. “Trust me, I was shitting myself way imagining the worst just now.”

Jesse laughs. “Cos like, it terrifies me, it fucking scares the living daylights out of me, because I’ve never felt like this about, well- anyone before. And I was petrified that you didn’t feel the same way.”

You grin, before leaning in and pressing your lips to his with force. It’s a hasty, reassuring kiss, and your teeth clash and you murmur in between kisses, “I love you.”

(Months had passed since that night now and those three words hadn’t lost any meaning.)

(And you just wish you could say them to him again.)

“I know we said it the last TWO times, but we really need to stop doing this.”

His voice is soft, breaking the silence you were lying in.

(You’re grateful that he was the one to speak first, but you’re not so grateful for him bringing up that wretched conversation yet again.)

He looks across at you, the dim light from your lamp illuminating the side of your face, your knotted hair and smudged lipstick, and then at your bedside clock, reading 01:23. Jesse sighs and you can feel your heart sinking into your stomach, as he reaches for his boxers and pulls them on. Your bedroom is a mess, cushions and throws tossed to the floor, and he speaks up again, “I mean it, this time.”

“Okay.”

He continues, though he really doesn’t need to. You’ve got the message loud and clear. “I think it’s just good for our, er, healing. Isn’t like, not sleeping with your ex like the number 1 thing not to do after a breakup?”

“Probably, yeah.”

You hug your duvet up around your body protectively, before reaching for your bra and t-shirt that had been tossed to floor just two hours earlier, when the expected texts had come, the are-you-awake, the got-plans-tonight?, the I’m-horny-and-I-miss-you-let’s-not-waste-any-more-time texts.

(Leading to the exact opposite of what was good for you after the breakup.)

(For fucks sake, you tell yourself.)

(Dua Lipa did not write New Rules for you to be this pathetic, this needy, this easy.)

“Fine, then.” You say, blasé, casual, giving off an air of nonchalance and indifference that couldn’t be further from the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind. “You don’t have to spend the night. Can you see yourself out or do you want me to get up?”

The way he looks back at you after you speak is enough to break your heart all over again. It’s a pleading look, and he’s willing you with his eyes to try and communicate for once, for the first time, but you refuse to meet his eyeline.

“I can see myself out.”

“Right.”

He dresses in silence, grabs his stuff and stalks out your flat, slamming your door on his way out. You scramble out of bed to watch him walk down your street, the way you used to when you started dating, when he used to blow you kisses as he ambled off your drive, or when you used to watch him run to a taxi on mornings when he was late for training.

This time, for the first time, he doesn’t look back at your window.

It’s been ONE year to the day since you met him, and you hate yourself for noticing the parallels as you walk into the living room at Marcus’s NYE party and he’s the first face you can recognise.

It’s like a scene straight out of a romantic comedy and it makes you want to die.

(Fortunately, he doesn’t quite spot you yet, and you’re free to make a beeline to the kitchen, in peace and quiet with an unopened bottle of Chardonnay as your company.)

(It lasts about 15 minutes.)

“Hey.”

You turn around and you see him, smiling at you in that same, stupid, garish, adorable Christmas jumper, holding out a Quality Street chocolate. It’s a peace offering, an olive branch, and you take it with a nod. “You alright?”

Jesse nods and takes a seat on the sofa behind you. “So, what are your New Year's resolutions, hey?”

You settle on the sofa next to him, knocking your knee against his accidentally, cursing and looking at him from over the rim of your glass of wine.

Jesse chuckles then shrugs sarcastically. “Can’t improve perfection.”

Your instinct is to let out a cackle, and you do, you burst out laughing so dramatically your drink nearly projects out of your nostrils, because he’s not even wrong and there’s not much about him that could really do with changing.

(Scrap that, he should learn to cook.)

(And definitely how to use a tumble dryer.)

(And call time of death on those dances he insisted on doing every time he scored a goal.)

“You’re the fucking worst.”

“What are your resolutions then, hey?” He knocks his knees with yours.

“Eat more fruit.” You fib.

Stop being so stubborn and accept that sometimes you’re in the wrong. Stop bottling up your emotions. Don’t be afraid to let people know how you feel. Stop being such a fucking coward all the time.

(Resolutions that Jesse of all people didn’t need to know about.)

“Boring.” He hums.

“Drink more water.” You add, nodding. “Start going to yoga again.”

“That’s so generic.”

“Fuck off. It’s called self improvement.”

“It sounds like every basic 23 year old girl I’ve ever met.”

You peek at your phone when he looks away: 23:58.

Fuck. How the fuck had it got so late already?

Your friends begin to gather in hordes in the kitchen, the TV broadcasting the fireworks in London has been switched on and drinks are poured and held aloft. Jesse jumps to his feet and offers you his hand as you do the same; his hand feels warm and familiar and when he lets go it suddenly feels like there’s acres of space between you again.

10

“I think I’m getting déjà vu.”

9

You roll your eyes, resisting the urge to smile. “Déjà vu to when?”

8

“That night. The first time we met.”

7

Jesse tips his chin backwards, and someone behind him trips, bumps him forward, and he stumbles into you, by reflex finding your waist and your free hand pressing up against his chest.

6

He’s inches in front of you, and you can feel your pulse in your eyeballs and his breath across your face.

5

You splutter out, “I’m really, really fucking sorry.”

4

Jesse laughs. “What the fuck are you on about now, mad woman?”

3

“I’m sorry. About it all. About everything.”

2

He shakes his head, as if to say it’s okay, stop apologising, we haven’t been this close without wanting to kill each other since the break up and I don’t think we should even tempt the possibility of us arguing again.

1

And he’s leaning in, and you can smell his cologne and it’s comforting and reassuring and confusing, and makes your head spin but grounds your feet, and you’re closing your eyes as your friends begin to shout.

Happy new year!

And he’s kissing you and you’re kissing him and you can feel his hand gripping your waist, holding and squeezing you and you can feel your stomach fizzing. When he pulls away he’s looking at you softly, gaze mellowed by tequila and the closeness between you two. “Happy new years, Jess.” is all you can muster, as he leans in and smiles again.

“Happy new year.”

[survivor-guyana]

Episode 9 - "I have a bad idea......" - Tim

ummmmmmmmmmmmmm okay. so yk how i said I had a bad feeling? my bad feeling came TRUE klajdflskfajsdfa APPARENTLY when I thought everyone was on board for the Dani thing, all of my closest allies (Except for Tim, love that bitch) wanted to blindside SAMMY!!! in the process,,, blindsiding ME!!! so lets backtrack a lil,,, the dog emoji alliance (consisting of myself, Sammy, Tim, Chelsea and Devon) got exposed by Devon to Alyssa and Jess, and suddenly everyone knew about it lmao. AND Devon exposes the plan to get Alyssa and Jess out to alyssa and jess, and APPARENTLY there was a plan to get Maynor out??? no bueno for me. not at all. Alyssa/TJ/Maynor/Jess all explained why they did what they did,, and honestly? I totally get it lmao. as long as I'm included and I know about why they did it, I totally get it. I MEAN I may or may not have cried,,, but i'm at peace. ALSO,, i'm gonna try and give alyssa the benefit of the doubt and say she's on my side? it might not,,, seem smart sklafjdslfk BUT but but BUT,, I know I have the numbers and will keep having the numbers if Jones's Angels continue to thrive, yk? we just have to make sure that we're all on the same page from now on,,, then we'll be good!! Knowing that Jess and Alyssa were able to explain everything to me,,,, i really appreciate that yk? I appreciate when people are open with me, and I try to be as open as I can be too. so knowing that they did that made me feel a lot better about it :) but devon,,, oh devon. he's being super sketchy?? like he's trying to make it seem like he's the innocent one that DIDN'T flip on me when I know full well that he's the one who snitched on the alliance? like,, he doesn't know I know, but I can't get a good read on him, and that's p sketchy to me. I think I handled the exposure well though,,, I can't just blow up at people and cry, yk? which I didn't (except to alyssa but she understand why I cried skaldkjf) so yeah!! F11 baby!! guess i'll die!!

Samuel leaving was honestly amazing for my game. His goodbye message not so much. However, if people will strike I just hope it's not this round. I do see people trying to take me out over Alyssa. She's way more connected and people love her.

Devon put himself into such a hole right now and I'm kind of living for it? I think him being the one to make this move happen will put a giant target on his back or at least put some seeds of doubt into others about him. I don't think I'd use my idol on him though.

Jones not telling Alyssa or myself about knowing Sammy was coming for us is her official first strike. It has put her on "Jess's Watchlist" officially. I don't CARE if she was "waiting" to tell us or if it "Wasn't that serious" you fucking tell us. That just proved to me I can't trust Jones and she's acting in her own self interest.

The MOST concerning thing about this current Jones situation is.... how easy Alyssa is dismissing the current situation and all of its red flags. Am I missing something? Because someone who we thought we trusted and have an ALLIANCE WITH.... knew about a plot to get us out, didn't either of us tell us, and is now mad at us for leaving her out of a vote to get out Sammy? LIKE WHAT? This just fucking proved to me that those two are mega-close and I'll be dropped the INSTANT I become useless. As soon as I threw a little bit of Jones doubt Alyssa's way she wanted to call with Jones? LIKE GIRL. I WASN'T BORN YESTERDAY.  RED FLAGS EVERYWHERE. THESE HOES AIN'T LOYAL.

Tisk Tisk Tisk. I come back to the game and I see to my genuine surprise that Sammy has been eliminated from the game. I am genuinely shook. To my knowledge, Jones, Devon, Sammy, and I are the only 4 that voted for Dani. Someone who I have no idea is, voted for Chelsea as a security plan. The other 7 votes went to Sammy.

To my knowledge, Chelsea flipped on the group?? Which to me is super dumb and no benefit at all??? But then again it could be Devon who is lying to me.

UPDATE: DEVON IS LYING TO ME AND CHELSEA IS INNOCENT. 

Devon you lying mothertrucker lmaooo. I am so disappointed in Maynor and TJ especially for not informing me or Jones about the plan. Now we look like Boo Boo the fool. I am pissseddddd lmaoooo and I wasnt even that close to Sammy its just the principle behind it all. Aidan disappointed me too because I had told him that the vote was Dani ahead of time in order to gain some trust with him and this mothertrucker didn't even tell me what was going on.

What is even more funny to me is the pathetic damage control that these people call themselves doing. I am.... disgusted. But DEVON is literally lying to my face and I am on the verge of confronting himmmmmmmmm.

That was HUGE for my game! Sammy was playing a huge role, but I dealt with the circumstance poorly afterwards.

I am afraid that Tim, Jones, and Chelsea may lead a strike against me next round. If TJ and Maynor were smart, they would join that strike and knock me out.

My gameplay has been aggressive, but to the point where I may be losing jury votes. Hopefully I can lay low and keep the target off my back....who knows.

I want to win this immunity because everything is still up in the air. It may not be me leaving but at the same time it can be. Im just nervous from last tribal.

Well, this should be a fun round; not only for rebuilding but for strategizing the next move. How do I position myself correctly.

General groups that I have: Me, Alyssa, Jess, Devon, Jones, Maynor Me, Jones, Maynor, Tim Me, Dani, Aidan (with the help that came with last round)

So obviously my target should be Chelsea or JD because those connections are as easily there, but I feel as if there are divisions I need to make in other groups like Jones, Maynor, Alyssa (even though Maynor just told me he would go for Alyssa). So is this the round to cut those ties, or is there a different plan... I'm glad I'm not the center of attention right now, but damn.

I am so sad that i messed up this challenge, I have full faith that I would have been able to do it too lol all well, shit happens. I feel like my name will be tossed around cus it would be an easy one I think. We'll see if I decided to play my idol or not :) 

Also, im not sure if I brought it up here or not but I am playing the game different then i ever have before. Rather then  ... Caring about the game I am just doing what I want. Telling people what they want to know, or basically if they ask me a questions I am gonna tell them the answer to the best of my knowledge. Including, who said what :3

This round one of the angels will go home. I promise you that. I feel like it could be either me or Jones but Maynor and TJ are also on the table. Me and Jones had a talk about what we think we should do this round and we mentioned blindsiding Devon. All we need is 6 votes and we think we can get them. TJ, Maynor, Chelsea, JD, Jones, and myself would be that 6. All we have to do is try and get Chelsea and JD on board which is gonna be the hard part.

Jones wants to hold out on the Devon plan but I reallly dont want to. The time is NOW.

I am pushing for JD to go. She called me a threat in comps and i dont need that to be in anyone’s ear right now. I hope this works cuz need her gone.

JD or Chelsea?!?! Idek.

This round is so messy....JD is the biggest nut case in the history of Orgs....Let's pray for tonight

Damn, Maynor really got over 2000 on his counting score. He did THAT. I swore my 1200 was going to beat everyone but he killed it. Anyway, I'm pretty sure Devon, Alyssa, and Jess want me out because we have not talked in the alliance chat since Sunday, when Sammy got voted out. Alyssa has reached out, but Jess and Devon had not, which leads me to think that they want me out. I am incredibly disappointed if this ends up being true. Tim brought up voting Jess and at this point I am not against it. I would like to work with JD, Jones, Tim, Aidan, and TJ, even Maynor if possible. Even though we haven't talked much, none of them give me any vibes of being total sneaks. *shrugs* idk, im probably gonna go home tonight so oh well. This has not been the best game for me but since I just got voted out of my other game, I'm willing to be more focused and make alliances if I do happen to stay another round.

If I could describe this round in one word it'd be: MESS My name is being thrown out so in the words of Devon "Uhhhhhk". I'm not too sure if I'm in trouble. I don't even know. I want soooo many people out at this point.

Omg. All chaos broke loose. JD finally coming out to play huh. It looked like Chelsea was leaving this round but JD may have caused her own downfall. I hope because i want JD to go.

So listen up here's a lot of Tea on this messy round:

I have a bad idea... If the two inactive people came online I swear I could make something shake sjdhs but Chelsea and JD are in and out like they're doing the twin twist.

(Tim approaches JD about voting out Dani by using her vote along with Chelsea, Jones, TJ, Maynor, and Tim ofc to get her out. JD then decides to say "fuck all that lmaooo" and runs back to Dani.)

Like JD are you DUMB why would you run back to Dani and tell her I said her name when IM making an effort to play the game with YOU especially considering that you're on the chopping block???

So I came to JD about maybe voting out Dani instead of her and Chels and she went back and TOLD Dani. Now Dani thinks Im pushing her name. She then runs back and tells TJ and TJ tells the Angels and then the Angels do damage control ajdhdbs.

Chelsea made a group chat of Me, Jones, Aidan and TJ with JD IN ITTTTT to talk about the vote tonight after I've told her that the vote is JD. Sis..... She then REMOVES JD and creates a big ole mess lmaoooo. I expose Devon to her and warn her about where Aidan's loyalties lie. The angels DIE of laughter and insanity. JD aka Justgonna Digmyowngrave is hopefully going home and thats tea.

This vote is a fucking MESS and so many things happened and changed but I think Tim might be going home? or JD? But I don't want Tim to go home but I guess I have to learn how to be a good ally and not always get my way.

Honesty I'm just taking the game a few rounds at a time and really trying to situate myself comfortably.

okay,,,, JD is cracked right now. lemme see if I can list what she did in the past 4 hours? hmmmm okay: - she told Tim that she wanted to vote Jess - told Dani that Tim, TJ, and myself are voting for Dani - called Chelsea and TJ a final two - according to Dani she's still being shady skskksks

AND JUST SO YOU ALL KNOW,,, I haven't talked to JD this entire day??? so like??? IDK WHERE SHE'S GETTING THIS INFO,, BUT clearly there's at a printer or something bc these aren't fax. likee,,,,, you really can't just show up to the game 10 rounds late JUST BECAUSE your name's getting thrown out. like,,, play the game or don't sign up for it, ok? it's not fair for the other people who actually came to play ig. idk. she's really making this easier for everyone else tho,,,,

ALSO okay, so i love Chelsea. but she made an alliance and added me (without asking me btw) AND LIKE,,, ahhhhhhh!! she also added aidan,,,, like,,, I love aidan,,, but of all the people to add to that groupchat,,, she chooses aidan? isn't he like, not trusted?? idk??? um but yeah now i'm in a new alliance with chelsea and aidan so that's nice :) more coverage on my entire ass. TJ and Tim are also in the alliance so that's cool too, and Maynor knows it exists this time, which is gucci. so yay :) hopefully everything works out? who knows, time to cry!!

Please tell me something isn't going on... I'm shaking in my fucking boots... or socks at the current moment.