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getitoutofmymindwrites · 5 months

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The landing | joel miller x f!reader, 13.2k

Summary: You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you. Or The one where your orbits finally collide for the final showdown.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, NO SPOILER (read A/N), ANGST, cheater!joel, discussions of infidelity, mention of food consumption, yelling, crying, the briefest mention of smut thoughts, sprinkle of fluff (blink and you'll miss it), as always let me know if I missed anything 👀

A/N: Ok, *deep breath* I know I can't make everyone happy unless I write alternate endings 😅 and I understand that infidelity can be a very triggering concept. I gave them the ending I felt they both deserved, but if you're looking for a story where they are at each other's throats for 13k words, maybe this is not for you and you are more than welcome to kindly move on. I won't spoil the ending in the Warnings, so proceed with caution, you know what the main theme is all about. All I can tell you is that this part of the story is divided into two main scenes because I didn't want to drag it out with one little scene after another. *she says after spilling 13k words🙄sorry about that👀* As always, I would love to read your thoughts on the last part and please keep in mind that writing is almost always self-indulgent.

P.S. I want to thank each and every one of you for the love I received for this mini-series, I never thought it would engage so many people. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You've all been so kind and sweet to me, so this journey filled my heart with joy! I love you all, take care of yourselves and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! Oh! My asks are always open if you want to know more about their story. I could even write drabbles or one-shots about anything you'd like to know in particular. Ily, bye 😘

P.S. I deliberately left the last two lines without clarification of who says what, I leave that up to you. 🤍

Dividers by @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics @plum98

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FOUR YEARS AFTER THE FALL

Are you still falling?

You’re not sure anymore. Maybe you’re just used to it. Or maybe you just learned how to fly. It certainly feels like everything has slowed down. Sometimes it feels like floating. As if you’re a feather, so lightweight, swirling around aimlessly. But you can never touch the ground. Gravity can’t quite pull you down. Every time you feel like you’re finally landing, a force of nature pulls you back up.

Maybe it is a soft, warm, summer breeze, a memory of Joel.

Maybe it is a whirlwind, a contact from the lawyers.

Maybe it is a snowstorm, sign the papers, please.

Maybe it is the whispering of a gentle wind, the possibilities of what might have been, or the lack of real closure.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

You never thought you’d enjoy leaving the big city and making a home for yourself on a ranch. But you loved it. You loved the peace and quiet, you loved this new community of people, you loved taking care of the horses, riding them, being around them. And then there was the house. A place you could almost call home. It was beautiful, rustic, warm, inviting, lacking none of the comforts a modern house needs, because you can’t quite get the big city girl out of you. The entire land had a soft, yellow-golden light enveloping every tree and every rock, everywhere your eyes reached, as if the sun shone differently here.

The days are easy. The chores are more than enough to keep you focused, there’s always something to do around here. It feels good to be busy, to keep your mind from dwelling on the past. You welcome the exhaustion of a full day’s work that accompanies your body when night comes.

Evenings are mostly good. You shower the day off, you cook, you chill on the couch with a good book or a film and more often than not, as the time passes and you feel more comfortable sharing the privacy of your home, you have friends over for dinner and drinks.

Nights though, nights are hard. At night, you pray that you are tired to the point of exhaustion so that you can sleep through it peacefully. Sometimes it works, but most of the time, not so much.

Time has intensified and lessened your emotional burden simultaneously.

The sharp pain that feels like thick acid being poured into you mellows in an inexplicable way. It still hurts, the pain oozing out of your every single pore even in a physical way. Only now, it has transformed into a sweet, slow poison conquering every hollow of your body, every vein leading from your heart to the ends of your limbs.

It’s almost a welcoming feeling, this pain, reminding you that you’re still alive, that he was real, that everything that happened was real. Because sometimes, sometimes, when you let yourself relax, when you let your guard down, all of this feels like a dream. Sometimes, you wake up in the middle of the night, confused, reaching with your hand for the other side of the bed and finding it empty. And for a split second you get that feeling. The feeling of how it used to be with him next to you.

Then you remember.

You know why this is happening and who’s responsible for it. This is a mix-up. This is what your treacherous brain does to mess with your resolve. It blends the bad stuff into the good, creating the strangest of concoctions. The clear image of black and white, neatly and perfectly hung in the center of the walls of your mind is now splashed with colorful memories from your life together, like a Pollock painting. You do your best to resist, to bring back scenes from all the vivid recollections of the night your life changed forever but your uncooperative brain pops another memory up, a good fuckin’ memory, like a projector, illuminating those bare imaginary walls with laughter and touches and whispers and scents and warmth. It’s relentless.

This dichotomy creates an uneasiness inside you, you choose to reject and pretend not to notice. Which in turn leads to self-contempt because, as always you can’t lie to yourself. You may lie to others but deep in your core you have to be honest with yourself. That is something you’re owed. To be aware, present in the reality of your life. So, you know, you know, you just sweep things under the carpet as a copy mechanism. You know what you should do.

You should confront him. You should demand answers and then finally say what you need to say to him. Not for him, not for his sake, but for yours. But you can’t. You've lost count of how many times you've picked up the phone and your thumb hovered over his contact to call him but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. And every time you tried to text him, to start a conversation, it felt too awkward. The only acceptable subject of discussion initiated by you was the progress of the divorce papers. You were unable to even remotely insinuate a more meaningful encounter. And he didn’t make any advances either. Not that you gave him any room to try and talk to you, but still, he seemed more settled with that, rather than not.

Maybe that fact itself was your cue to let it all go. He’s probably moved on. You don’t cheat on someone so blatantly and then want them back. Obviously, this whole delaying of the divorce is a power play, like everything else, it seems.

Good, yeah, that’s it. That’s it.

Now, let go. Move on. You solved it. Let go.

But this annoying little voice is scratching the walls of your weary brain, nudging the limits of the carefully made up serenity that’s hanging by a thread.

You should confront him. For your peace of mind, for your equilibrium.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

It’s early in the evening and you’re in the garden in front of the house near the porch, on your knees, plucking a few weeds from the ground. The fatigue of the day’s work has begun to take its toll on you, your shoulder is slightly trembling as you rest your weight on one palm to dig around with the other. Sweat covers your torso, rolling down between the valley of your breasts and the hollow between your spine, leaving your t-shirt clinging to your skin, your hair sticking to your forehead, which is lightly covered in a thin layer of dirt at some places as you keep wiping your forearm over the little beads of salty water that concentrate over your brows.

You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you.

There's an overload of sensations before you shift your body around to confirm what you already know in your bones. You can smell him, taste him, feel him on your suddenly tingling skin, all at the same time.

You turn slowly and your breath hitches on your throat. You just stay in place, frozen, time infinitely stretching as you take him in from where you kneel on the ground. He stops abruptly the second his eyes meet yours and you could swear he’s holding his breath, his face completely unreadable.

He looks.. he looks like your Joel and nothing like him simultaneously. Soft yet imposing. Handsome yet battered. Determined yet lost. His clothing is simpler, dark jeans, green flannel over a black t-shirt and laced boots, as if he just returned from a working site. His curls are longer, framing his handsome face in a ridiculously good way, more white hairs nestle in his beard that is not that trimmed. Neither of you speak quite yet, taking each other in.

Your mind, your bizarre, ridiculous mind is working on figuring out what day it is. Why does it matter? Did you have an appointment? This is unexpected and a long time coming all at once, regardless of the day of the week. What comes next? Do you draw up an astrological map to determine if it's a compatible date for you to meet? Get it together.

Your facial expression must be pretty funny because Joel smiles awkwardly while scratching one side of his bearded cheek; hey, it’s me.

No, shit, you mentally respond, as if you could ever forget him. Furious is the word that best describes you because these are his first words? Hey, it’s me? And that feeling escalates into an explosive retort because you now realize that you had expectations. His first words? Who cares what his first words are? Were you expecting a tearful reunion, masterfully staged and executed like a romantic film? The guy betrayed you in your own house, sorry, his house. Wake the fuck up.

“Did you sign the papers?” you spit as you rise from your spot and he reacts as if you have punched him in the stomach. His face falls; you see a series of micro-expressions pass over his features before he settles on the last one. Has he been hurt? Did you hurt his feelings? Did he also have expectations?

“Uh-”, Joel raises his brows in genuine surprise, things probably not going the way he expected or hoped.

“It’s nice to see you, too.”, he replies with mild mockery.

Your eyes snap shut and you laugh in anger, lowering your chin to your chest and then looking back up at him, your eyes blazing, your brows mimicking his previously surprised expression, “Are you serious right now?” you cross your hands defensively over your chest.

You stare at each other for a good minute, both of you taking a moment to compose yourselves and regain your balance.

You break first, dropping your head back to your chest, looking down at the heel of your shoe scraping the ground beneath you, exhaling audibly.

“Hey,” Joel tries again, after speaking your name tenderly, your name on his lips, his head dipping down and to the side to try and get your attention back to him, his gaze filled with a mixture of warmth, regret and fear, “hi.”

You shake your head from side to side in repentance, what a great start this is, you keep thinking, “Hi.” is all you give him, still not looking at him.

“Hi,” he repeats, “it’s really nice to see you, bab-, shit, sorry.”, he winces, covering his mouth with his palm, embarrassment creeping into his features. You let out a quiet laugh, exhaling through your nose. You don’t comment on the slip of endearment that leaves his mouth, you don’t correct him, accepting privately that you liked it, you missed it, you longed for it.

Joel studies your face, but makes no comment on your silence. “You look...” he pauses for a split second before deciding to continue, “you look really good.” He hesitates, he doesn't want his compliment to come across as a feeble attempt to patronize you, because he really means it. You do look good, all sweaty and muddy and human and real. You are real. If he took a few steps forward, he could actually reach out and touch you, feel your skin under his fingertips, smell your heady scent, perhaps discreetly lick the remnants of your sweat from his thumb after carefully removing the strands of hair sticking on your forehead. But he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t do any of that.

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, any answer crossing your mind seems stupid or cheesy or dismissive. How do you respond to a compliment from the man who made you worship in his altar, only to have your faith ripped out of your heart?

His eyes keep roaming over your face, your figure, memorizing everything he can, like a blind man who has finally found his light, while he fidgets with an envelope in his hand which reminds you-

“Did you sign the papers, Joel?”, is what escapes your lips before you can think twice.

“No.” and now it’s his turn to lower his head, his eyes avoiding your gaze, as he looks down at his feet.

“Joel!”, you exclaim infuriated, rolling your eyes at him, knitting your brows together in a sign of frustration.

“No, no, it’s not like that. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want.”, Joel raises a hand in your direction to stop you from what seems to be a fair assumption, his palm up, facing you in an unspoken surrender. “I thought that- me, not signing, was a way of showing you how deeply sorry I am, how much I wanted to fix our marriage, but I understand now,” his voice wavers slightly, “that I need to respect your wishes. It’s the right thing to do. If this is still what you want, I’m gonna sign it.”

You don’t reply to that last part, only pointing out that “You didn’t have to come all this way to tell me that.”

“No, I didn’t.” Joel agrees.

“Then why are you here?” you insist, reluctant to entertain the idea that he has actually come all this way to apologize.

“Because I owe you an explanation.” is his honest and direct answer, sending little jolts of electricity through your nerves.

“Joel..” you sigh in exasperation. Not in warning or frustration, not really, but in something else. A feeling you can’t really put a name to, the closest you can come to describing it is that of a burden, woven deep into your heart, blossoming rapidly with each beat. There are so many things left unsaid; it makes you feel helpless, like you’re drowning. You want the dam you’ve built around your soul over the years to break so everything you've been holding back can finally pour out of you, but there’s just so much of it, of everything, that you’re terrified. Will the overflowing tank of emotions be completely empty? Will there be anything left unsaid? Untouched? What if the remnants left behind keep licking around your wounds, their waves pushing, shaping what’s left of you into something new, unrecognizable?

And what if, the tank will indeed be completely empty? What you’ll be left with, then? Nothing? Just.. empty? Will you remain empty? What, if anything, will take its place? Will you recognize your new self? Will you like yourself? Will you be able to live in harmony with this shell of a person? This you; you know. You hated and pitied and caressed and comforted and forgave and nurtured you into some version of a new you. But this? Everything will be torn apart, the wounds will be freshly opened, accessible to be examined in detail, plucked and bled and bruised in an all-too-familiar way.

Joel’s voice snaps you out of your trance, “No, I do. I owe you more than that, actually, but that’s the least I can do. And I wanna do that while I’m still your husband. I want to explain myself as your husband. Apologize to my wife, as her husband. Then I’m gonna sign anything you want me to.”

“And if I don’t wanna hear what you have to say?”

“Then I’ll just sign the papers and leave you in peace.” Joel confesses in all his honesty.

You just nod, looking down on the ground. You take a deep breath to ground yourself. You can do this. You want to do this. You need to do this.

You walk towards the house and sit down on the steps of the porch, as he looks at you awkwardly, not knowing where to stand. You gesture with a tilt of your head for him to come sit next to you. You can do this. You realize that you didn’t invite him into the house and you feel a bit rude for that, but it's beyond your empathetic capacity to deal with him being here and to let him into the house as well. “I just like it out here, it’s calm and-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, whatever makes you feel comfortable; I know you don’t want me here any longer than I have to be..” he interrupts you as he sits down next to you, his one side pressing against the end of the stairs, where the railing begins. He places the contract between your bodies, on the wooden floor.

It makes you uncomfortable, his statement, you always want people to feel welcome and relaxed around you. You internally chastise yourself for worrying about his feelings instead of yours, but you can’t help it, it’s embedded in your DNA. “It’s OK, Joel, I don’t mind, we can talk.”

Joel nods, but he remains silent. You don’t break the silence, giving him time to collect his thoughts. He chuckles defeated, shaking his head while rubbing his hand over his face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, you don’t look that mighty to me anymore.” you blurt out before you can stop yourself and you immediately regret it. It didn’t sound so insulting in your head. You only meant to say that he doesn’t intimidate you anymore. Which is sort of a lie and a truth at the same time. You used to find him imposing, even his mere presence had the ability to make your skin crawl, your heart flutter and your words get catch in your dry throat, you were in awe of him. Every time you laid your eyes at him, even when you were straddling his lap or gazing at his profile as he slept beside you, you always felt as if you were looking up. You admired him.

His heart loses several beats to that. He can read between your lines now. He has lost your respect. Your admiration. The time when you looked up to him in awe is long gone.

“You know, my therapist warned me about this.”, he chuckles bitterly.

“Your-” you can’t hide your shocked expression from him as you search his eyes for any sign of him joking around, but you find none. “You’ve been in therapy?”

“Yeah, I-, I spent two years hating myself,” he chuckles deprecatingly, “and then I realized it was time for me to stop being an arrogant prick, so I spent another two doing it all over again with the help of my therapist.”

You laugh wholeheartedly at that and it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen in his entire life. “OK, somebody’s off to a good start. Go on.”

“You mean about the therapy?”

“I mean about you admitting you are an arrogant prick”, you say playfully.

He really laughs now, his eyes crinkle up at the sides. You used to love that. You feel your heart warming up. “You can thank Maria for that.”

“For what?”

“For kicking my ass and pushing me to help myself.” Joel admits. “She’s a good friend.”

“Yeah, she is.” you agree through your laughter, the image of Maria actually kicking Joel’s ass is priceless.

“I missed that sound.” Joel is looking at you softly, as if his gaze could break you.

“Hm.” you simply smile at him, not finding it in you to respond with a snide remark. The time for that feels like it has passed, like it’s irrelevant at this point. All you really want is to have an honest conversation, irony be damned.

You both look at your feet in silent consideration for a minute or two. “I thought you’d be mad at me.” Joel reveals.

You exhale through your nose, the edges of your mouth turning up in a gentle smile. “Four years is a long time to be mad at anyone, Joel. Even you don’t have that kind of power over me.”

“Good. I have enough burden on my shoulders as it is..”, he mumbles and you decide to change the subject.

How do you admit that you are still mad at him but in a different way? How do you describe the deep scar his existence has carved into your soul making it almost unbearable to even exist without him? How do you explain that you’ll always carry him with you, no matter what? How do you instill in him that you still believe in the best version of him, the best version you know he can be, the best version of him you once lived with. Yes, you’re not mad at him for the reasons he thinks you are. You’re mad at him because the way he made you love him is stronger than any hurt he’s ever caused you.

“So, what did your therapist warn you about?”

“She, uh- she tried to prepare me for this.”

“Oh? What did she say?”

“That I should not be prepared.”, he laughs in earnest. “That I should not obsess about what I want to say and just be open and have an honest interaction.”

“I like her, already.” you say with a straight face.

He smiles softly, looking down at his boots, while he rests his elbows on his knees, one palm encircling the other. “Yeah… I had some digging to do; I still do for that matter and will be for a long time it seems.”

“Anything you wanna share?” you reply, raising an eyebrow as if you had no idea why he was here.

“Oh, boy-” he squirms in his seat, already overwhelmed by the turn of the conversation, his chest almost vibrating with anxiety, he can barely swallow, small beads of sweat starting to form around his temples. You reluctantly reach for his forearm, trying to calm him down. “Hey, Joel?”

His whole body stiffens at your touch and he wishes his clothes would evaporate so he could feel your skin against his. He fixes his eyes on your delicate fingers lightly squeezing his tight muscles underneath the fabric. “The worst part has already happened four years ago, so-” you shrug, “just breathe.” Joel keeps his eyes on your hand, his heart rate dropping slightly; you ground him. You retract your arm and keep your hands to yourself in an effort to maintain a respectable distance between you. You shouldn’t have touched him at all.

“I think- I think I understand now.” he begins, still feeling the ghost of your touch on his forearm. “How I made you feel, what your words meant. You always did that, you know. And I found it so fascinating and so exhausting at the same time.”

You look at him, confused. Joel continues, “You always chose your words carefully. You had a reason for every single thing you said. In retrospect, I realized that you were handing me everything on a silver platter, but I was too self-absorbed to see it at the time.”

You nod in agreement, gesturing with your head for him to keep going.

Joel takes a deep breath, holding it inside his lungs for a while. His exhalation is controlled, measured. “Fuck. Okay. It was not just the fact itself. It was not just the cheatin’.”

Your stomach clenches violently at his words. The time has finally come and although you know what happened, you where there, when the words come out of Joel’s mouth it's as if you're pulled back to that threshold all over again. It really happened. You feel your hands sweating. “Go on.”, you pronounce carefully, already anxious your voice is going to betray you. You can do this.

“I don’t want to sound all full of myself-” Joel hesitates.

“You won’t.” you interrupt him with conviction. The truth has never frightened you. You welcome it. It feels like a form of catharsis, it feels like you’re finally being seen. Every nerve in your body is on fire. You’re ready for this, for the truth, if only he gives it to you. Please, set me free.

“I was your everything.” he whispers, almost embarrassed, his eyes not meeting yours. You don’t respond to that, not until he looks at you, although the admission shoots straight through your heart. You stare at the side of his face, almost forcing him to turn to you. He does.

“You were.” Simple. True. Clear as the light of day.

“And I ripped that from you.”

“You did.”

“In the worst possible way.”

“Hmhm.”, you don’t trust the stability of your voice.

“And no matter what I say, I can never take back what I did. I humiliated you, our home, our relationship, everything. I-” his brows furrow in an expression of disgust, “I disrespected myself. I burned everything down. I left nothing for you to hold on to, nothing for me to hope for, nothing.”

His chin trembles and his voice wavers as he continues. “The words to describe how sorry I am have not yet been invented. And even if they had, they still couldn’t take the pain away; what’s done, is done.”

He closes his eyes and rests his head on the railing. “I don’t know what I wish for anymore. That you had never met me, so you could be spared all this pain? But I can’t. I can’t wish that, because I’m so grateful to have met you. I married you, I had you. That is what has comforted me all these years, what has got me through all those sleepless nights.” He looks absolutely devastated, desperate.

It feels genuine, because he’s not directing it at you, he’s not trying to convince you, he’s not trying at all. “I have not thought about my pain or what I want from all this for a long time. All I pray for is-” his glistening eyes are searching frantically on the ground, his brows knitted together in a painful grimace. You rest your head on the palm of your hand, your elbow on your knee. Watching this moment like an outside observer, you realize that he's trying to live up to your standards, reminding you of a child trying to impress his parents, only to fail regardless of the outcome.

“Look, Joel, couples break up, divorce, all over the world, all the time. And I guess, they all thought their partners were their everything until they finally weren’t.”, you rationalize, putting everything that has happened into some kind of perspective. It is not the end of the world. It is the end of your world. He doesn’t have to carry this burden on his shoulders for eternity. All you need from him is to understand, to acknowledge what he's done to you, how broken you’ve been.

But if he acknowledges that, if he truly comprehends the tremendous pain he’s put you through, won’t all that anguish be transferred to him? Isn't it unbearable for a truly repentant man to know that he has deliberately caused so much pain?

“But, you see; I wanted that, I needed to be your everything.”

“It certainly fed your ego..” you grin at him.

“No, no- I craved that- that look on your face when your eyes were on me, like there was nothing else, no one else around you, but me. You drove me to be better, to move forward; I felt I had a purpose. You were my purpose.”

“Well I didn’t do much of a job then, did I?” you smile defeated.

“No, honey, this-” he’s determined to make you understand that it wasn't your fault, even if it is the last thing he is going to do. He licks his lips trying to formulate his thoughts, “-what happened, had nothing to do with you, I- I was just- I got in my head..”

You shake your head dismissively, “It’s a terrible burden to put people on a pedestal and expect them to-”

“But you see, baby, that’s the thing. You didn’t.”Joel dismisses your comment and if a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown over your head you wouldn’t feel so frozen. You search his eyes for meaning, because deep down it stings to hear that you could give more. Is that what he’s saying? You didn’t love him enough? Joel catches on and rushes to explain. “You-” god this is so hard, he’s struggling, can’t he just rip his heart open and let you examine it? “You loved me so much, baby and you never asked for anything in return. You let me be who I was. You accepted me completely. You set me free.” His eyes are blown wide, burning into yours with intensity. You look so lost, how does all this fit in with what he did then?

“Darlin’,” he expands further, “we live in a competitive world. Everyone aims to control each other, from business partners to lovers and spouses; everyone manipulates, everyone tries to tell you where to look, what to do, how to act, how to fuck, how to love. Except for you. You let me be. You put your heart in my hands and you set me free. And I took advantage of that and I am truly sorry. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know. That’s how fucked up I am.” you look at him dumbfounded.

“I can’t connect the dots; I don’t get it, Joel, I’m sorry, I-” you run your fingers through your hair, scratching your scalp in frustration. What does he mean?

Joel winces mid-sentence because he can’t escape what’s coming. This is his last resort. And he knows it is going to sound cruel and he doesn’t even mean the first part the way you're going to perceive it, but for lack of better words, for lack of the better person he could have been, a person who should have never put you in this position in the first place, here goes.

“She made me feel wanted; you made me feel free.”,

he spits out in a hurry, praying to whatever god is listening, that you won’t even catch it, knowing full well that these may be the last words you'll ever let him speak to you.

You are utterly, completely, perfectly shocked.

Then you feel it for the first time in what feels like ages. That old friend consuming you. Rage. It burns your lungs, twists your guts and pierces your heart like a thousand needles. Everything becomes crystal clear. You’re so infuriated, that your mind goes blank. A million words and nothing at all come to your mind simultaneously.

“Let me- let me rephrase that, because actually it was never even about her, I just-” Joel begins, in a vain attempt to stop the tide from crushing you both.

Your palms become clenched fists in front of your mouth, pressing against it, crushing the velvety skin of the inside of your lips against your teeth until you draw blood, in an effort to control yourself. You inhale sharply, keeping your eyes fixed on the land in front of you, blurred by the tears gathering in your waterline.

“She- what?” are the only words you manage to choke out.

“Baby, it doesn’t matter, it was never about her, she was a means to an end and-” your eyes bulge out of your sockets at the statement, “I know- I know how that sounds- just-” his palms come together in a prayerful gesture, begging you to give him a chance to explain.

“A means to an- what the fuck are you talking about, Joel?” the veins on your forehead swell under your skin, creating a map of the river of wrath flowing aggressively through your body.

“It was never an affair sweetheart, but a transaction; one I initiated. She was only a boost to my ego.”

..she made me feel wanted..

..a boost to my ego..

It's all starting to make sense now, and it's the last thing you expect to be confronted with. You've always imagined either a heated affair, a secret love story, him realizing he had found his soul mate in someone else, or him getting bored with you, finding you too much or too emotional or too unlovable. It turns out that you were accused of the one thing you never were.

“Are you-, oh god,” you can hear your heart pounding in your ears now and it takes every ounce of strength not to vomit, “are you saying that you fucked someone else; you fucked your secretary for fuck’s sake, you fuckin’ cliché of a man, because I wasn’t jealous of you?”. Your throat is so swollen, you try to scream your words at him but they only come out in wrenched whispers.

You stand up abruptly, dizziness causing you to close your eyes tightly as you see a million white dots behind the blackness of your eyelids. Your whole body vibrates with rage. You steady yourself on the railing and then begin to pace back and forth, your hands unable to stay motionless, but moving over your face, through your hair, lowering and squeezing the sides of your waist as you lean slightly forward in a subconscious way to soothe yourself.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god,” you laugh hysterically now, as angry tears run down your cheeks, as if you've been let in on an inside joke. “It’s my fault, everything is my fault-”

Joel is frozen in place, he’s not sure if he should get up and try to reason with you or stay where he is.. or run for the hills. He’s witnessing the unleashing of a caged animal. His tongue feels heavy and numb in the cavern of his mouth but he dares to speak again, “That’s the exact opposite of what I said, sweetheart,” he tries to explain in vain, “I’m sorry if that’s what I-” but you’re not listening to a single word he utters.

“People kept telling me, urging me on, all my life;” and you slap your palms on the sides of your thighs, looking at his direction, but not really looking, “I should be more controlling, more pushy, more..” your voice begins to fade, muttering to yourself through your teeth. “They warned me, you know, that the lack of pressure in any kind of relationship would be perceived as a lack of interest.”

Don't trust completely; hold something back; men like the illusion of power; show them you need them; make them jealous; be jealous, like a manual to a pre-installed setting.

Do you agree to the Terms & Conditions?

Press ‘Enter.’

“But I didn’t listen. I never listened. Because in what world do we choose a leash over freedom?” You turn to look at him now, addressing him as if you were talking to a third party, an outsider, asking for advise or affirmation.

Maria’s words come back to Joel’s mind, words that he had long forgotten about, finally fitting like missing pieces of a puzzle to the bigger picture.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”

“I was really stupid, was I not? What on earth made me think that this time would be any different, what made me think that you’d be any different? You’re just- you’re just another man-” you spit your vile angrily as your eyes sweep over him. The look in his eyes is devastated, he feels shuttered, reduced to nothing.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid little girl. When the fuck will I learn? When the fuck am I going to accept that I don't really belong? When?”

Joel is staring at you bewildered, he never felt more helpless in his life. A thousand new thoughts and questions form in your head, things you didn’t even begin to imagine would cross your mind.

“Did you use her?” you ask with renewed vigor, a surge of energy running through your body.

Joel’s cheeks burn with humiliation but he has already admitted it once, what will it do to him to say it one more time? “Yes, I never had any feelings f-”

“No,” you interrupt impatiently, you don't care about his feelings right fuckin' now, “that night, did you use her? On purpose?”

Joel looks lost for a second but the cogs in his head finally turn and “NO! No baby, I wasn’t even aware of you coming home earlier than expected, no. Don’t even entertain this idea; it wasn’t intentional, I swear to god.”

Oh. There’s a new question for Joel. Why did you leave your business trip early? He had never thought about it before, solely focused on everything else that had happened, which now made him wonder, “Did you- did you know?”

“What?” you frown, lost in your own thoughts, not following his line of logic.

“Did you know? Is that why you came back early from your trip?”

You’re still a bit too far gone in your head to think clearly and try to prevent the next question from coming, “Of course I didn’t know, Joel, did it look like I did?” is all you say with a bite, annoyed.

“Then why-” Joel insists, pressuring you for an answer, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“I- fuck- I need a minute.” you declare and start to walk towards the house.

Joel waited on that porch for almost an hour, watching the sun set behind the mountain, afraid to move, barely breathing in case you stormed out and threw him back where he came from as if him standing still would somehow make him part of the landscape; as if he belonged.

And you certainly delivered.

He hears the screen door open, his back still to the house. You are standing behind him, your arms crossed stiffly over your chest, your face tilted down, to avoid his gaze. He could see the red-rimmed and swollen eyes of yours, despite your efforts to hide them.

“I can’t do this-”

“Please,” his whole face contorts in agony, “please, hear me-” you both speak at the same time.

“-tonight.”

“What?” his voice matching the look of confusion on his face.

“Maybe another time, but not tonight.”

“I-” he doesn’t know how to articulate his thoughts without sounding like an idiot. He drove all this way, four hours straight, to finally get things straight. His brain has short-circuited, unable to put a plan into action. Should he check into a hotel or a motel or whatever the fuck is around here in the middle of nowhere? Should he go back to his place? Do you really want to talk again? You sort of said you did. You said maybe. Fuck. What does he do?

But honestly, what did he expect? That this would be over in the course of one evening? Of course he would have to come back. His eyes are fixed on yours like a deer caught in the headlights. “I came all this way-” he mumbles, choking on the last part, already regretting the words that came out of his mouth.

“Well, too bad.” you spit emotionless as you turn and head for the safety of your house, leaving him stunned on the goddamn porch.

Joel returned the next evening, but you weren't there. He made the four hour journey and came back empty-handed. And you weren't there the next evening, or the evening after that. But he kept on driving the miles, hot wheels under the Texas sun. He didn’t check in anywhere near your small town. He went back home and then back to you again.

The last time he found nothing but a closed door, he finally got the message, so the next time he left the house, before he turned on the ignition, he texted you, as a sign of respect for your boundaries.

Is it all right if I come and see you?

Backspacebackspacebackspace

Is it OK if I come and talk?

And the answer was

Not today.

So, every day he texted you. He didn’t mean to be intrusive, he just wanted to remind you that you were never far from his thoughts, that he was always ready and eager to finish what he started.

You denied him for quite some time. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him again. The confessions he made have knocked you off your axis. Just when you finally felt like everything was falling into place, he dropped this bombshell, making you rethink everything you thought you knew and had sorted out in your mind. You just couldn’t wrap your head around what you’d heard coming out of his mouth. How could he think like that? Why couldn’t he just talk to you? You used to talk about everything; what the fuck happened? How did you not see that coming?

You were sure that he would give up, that he would stop bothering to contact you at all. Was it the monster of self-deprecation? Was it a deep disappointment in human beings and their general lack of persistence in trying to nurture and repair a relationship, or at least trying to give it a proper closure? You didn’t give it much thought afraid of the answer you might get. But you kept saying Not today, until one day, for some reason-

Can we talk?

Yes.

Joel’s heart is beating through his chest so rapidly, he has to cough to regain some of his composure. He almost drops his phone, trying to confirm the most convenient time for you before you change your mind.

That was the first Yes after the day you saw him again. You weren’t sure what you wanted to talk about; if you could pick up exactly where you left off. You weren’t even sure you could look him in the eye again, but you had to see this through.

When you hear the sound of his engine and tires on the dirt road, you take a deep breath and walk out of the house to wait for him on the porch.

“Come on in, I’m cooking dinner.” you announce as you open the screen door for him to enter the house.

“Are you sure?”, Joel is taken aback, he thought the inside of your house was strictly off-limits to him. You were also cooking dinner as if he was an old friend visiting you. He couldn’t help but wonder if he should lower his defenses or not but with the way you looked tonight you didn’t give him much of a choice.

You’re wearing a pair of warm cream jeans, paired with a white front tie shirt, the first few buttons left open, giving him a glimpse of your tanned sternum. It almost looks like a man’s shirt, just messily tied up over your soft skin, revealing bits of your stomach. Could it be another man’s shirt?

You are barefoot. The nails of your toes are painted in a fresh glossy black color. Your hair is casually tied up in a messy bun, loose strands falling around your beaming face. Joel has to restrain himself from pushing you against the wall and fucking you on the spot, by clenching and unclenching his fists. His mouth is salivating at the sight of you, excitement building in his groin. It's been so long since he's felt this way, a different kind of hunger is growing in him at a rapid pace, as if something buried deep inside his masculinity has just awakened from hibernation.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you quirk back at him, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, what you’re both doing. “I’m starving. Coming?” you leave him at the entrance and go back into the house.

“You have a beautiful home.”, Joel admits as he takes in his surroundings, thinking that this is going better than he expected. He also can't help but prepare himself for the fact that this might not end the same way.

“Thank you.” you laugh nervously.

“What?”, he catches the note of disbelief in your voice. “I'm serious, the light is just right, it’s open and warm; it actually reminds me of you.” he says matter-of-factly.

“No, no, I know you mean it, it’s just- I guess it’s high praise, coming from you.” you admit. You always admired what he did for a living and how good he was at it and him seeing your place for the first time gave you another reason to feel kind of nervous.

“Oh, come on, none of that now.” he dismisses the compliment, his voice wavering slightly at the praise.

“Well it’s true, you are excellent at what you do, I mean, the house you built is a work of art and that’s a fact.”

“Which one?”, although he knows exactly which one, he presses on.

“The one we used to live in, together.” You can’t call it your house. You cannot. The mere thought of it makes your tongue feel like it’s on fire.

“Oh.”, Joel smiles as he presses his lips together in a thin line, “You mean our house. It was built out of love, that's why. It's the one I'm most proud of.”

“Hm.”, is all you give him. Déjà vu brings back memories out of the closet -pun intended- for both of you.

“Ok, now you really have to tell me. What is it?”, Joel crosses his forearms over his chest. He has to know.

“What do you mean?”, you try to buy some more time, cause you’re not so sure you want to go in there.

“You had the exact same reaction when I mentioned that, four years ago.”

“Ah, that.”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s just- it always felt like it reflected your personality rather than mine. Or at least ours.”

Joel looks at you perplexed.

“I’m not complaining, I mean, how many people can claim that their husband built them a house the size of a small hotel as a wedding present?” you chuckle while you continue as nonchalantly as you can muster, “I would have lived in a cave with you, Joel, you didn’t have to go to these lengths to house two people. If you want my honest opinion, this was an ego project. I let it slide because it made you happy. And I liked you happy.” Joel looks stunned, his eyes darting back and forth between yours.

“Baby, I- I wanted to make you happy, to give you the best I could-”

“Joel, I’m not judging you. I am not. But you didn’t show me a single blueprint while you were designing the damn thing. You didn’t ask me what I wanted or how I imagined it. Sure, you equipped it with all the best stuff money could buy, but you never asked me what I thought about it. Not really.”, you see the hurt in his eyes and it unsettles you, but now the rabbit is out of the hat. “Again, I’m not judging you and I’m not being ungrateful, all I’m saying is that for some reason you needed your shinny new wife to live in a shinny new castle. It was a prestige thing. Just think about it.”

“Jesus..” Joel mutters, pinching the sides of his forehead with one hand, feeling defeated.

“Hey,” you give him a wry look, “I tried to avoid answering that question for four years. You were the one who insisted.” you defend yourself, clearly amused by his reaction.

“What else do I need to know?”, Joel wonders in a desperate manner.

“Well.. for how long can you keep coming back?” you joke absentmindedly.

“For the rest of my life..” Joel answers a little too quickly, not a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Your heart tightens at his eagerness, forcing you to admit a consideration that you have had more than a few times before. “You know,” you look over at him, lost in thought, almost like reminiscing, “sometimes I wish I had met you before your company took off.” You snap out of your daydream and consciously look at him and he looks pained as if some kind of realization has hit him. You change the subject for the sake of both of you. “Anyway, speaking of which, how is work? I heard you closed that deal, after all.” you grin mischievously.

“Yeah, I did.”, his voice takes on a strange timbre, almost like regret. But you’re not so sure about anything these days, so you let it pass. He puts the envelope with the contract on the counter in the kitchen and sits down in the chair next to the table already set for dinner.

“Good, that’s good. Let me guess, you’re all over it? First in, last out? Is it almost done?” you word vomit to cover your nervousness.

“Uh,” Joel rubs the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t know.” is all he gives you, clearly trying to avoid getting involved in the discussion.

“Um, you don’t know?”, you laugh lightly in confusion. “How is that possible?”, you ask stirring the vegetables in the pan.

“I’m not involved in the project and I have no idea about the status of the construction;” Joel answers your question and continues, revealing, “I quit. Sold my shares and got out.”

“Yeah,” you draw the vowels, still not looking in his direction, “right. Big, mighty Joel Miller left his enterprise-” you laugh mockingly, but you are met with silence. “You’re joking, right?” You turn to look at him, not believing what you have just heard. You feel your blood freeze in your veins.

Joel shakes his head in denial, “I’ve actually left the city and the only reason I haven’t sold every asset in my name is in case you want to claim any of them. They’re all yours if you want ‘em.” Your mouth is slightly agape, as you try to process what has just been delivered to you.

You open your mouth to protest but he beats you to it, by raising his hand to stop you. “I know you don’t want anything from me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want them either. Not without you. Just take them. Burn them for all I care, liquidate them and use the money as you see fit.”, Joel insists, trying to find ways to convince you.

“You can do that yourself, Joel.” is all you say; you don’t give a damn about his money. Joel nods and leaves it at that, he knows better than to talk about money right now.

You’re curious where he lives now, but you’re not sure it’s appropriate to ask, so you don’t. You prepare dinner and make small talk about simple things like your lives over the past four years. Joel asks you about the ranch, the horses, the chores; you ask him about Tommy and Maria, their newborn son, whom you haven't had a chance to meet yet. None of you dare to break the bubble of normality in which you have effortlessly found yourselves.

It feels like coming home after a long day, the way you both fall into a comfortable silence. Joel speaks your name softly, drawing your attention and your gaze back to him. “What are we doing here?”

“We’re eating?” Just a little longer, let me have it just a little longer.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “no, I mean, what are we doing?” he gestures with his fingers between him and you.

You look at him and then at your plate, playing around with your food, lost in thought. How do you acknowledge that? How do you confess that you’re trying to stretch time? How do you admit that you’re scared out of your mind of how it's all going to end? How do you even come to terms with the fact that you’re not sure you want any of this to end? How do you accept how natural it feels to have him back in your life? How do you admit that after four years the pain has never stopped, but the force, the roughness of it has changed into something softer, yet persistent; never quite going away, lingering.

How do you admit that all the good memories are emerging, because that’s what the mind does, that’s how it protects you, that’s how it helps you survive another day, that’s how it tricks you into falling back into a comfortable routine with him. Even if what binds you together now is his betrayal. How do you admit that you’re afraid of what will become of you once you've finished confessing your truths?

Will he cease to exist for you? Will you cease to exist for him? Will he ever bother to contact you again? Do you really want him to? Will you matter to him or will he move on, start again and shake off the last vestiges of your life together?

Or maybe- maybe he has moved on with his life and that's why he's doing all this, putting all this effort into it. Maybe he is preparing a new, clear path for himself and whoever is in his life right now. Is it her? Is it still, her?

You’re spiraling, lost in your thoughts, biting your lower lip anxiously, like a snake eating its own tail. “Baby?” his baritone voice snaps you out of it, he must have called you several times before you heard him, suddenly aware of hot, fat tears streaming down your face, his thumbs gently brushing them from your cheeks.

You let out a shuddering breath; it’s the first time he’s touched you, in so, so long. And here he is again. The familiar, old friend. He’s pounding on your door now, relentless as he is, screaming for you to let him in, lead the way, take charge, take care of you. You can almost feel his maniacal banging, vibrating through your chest, let me in, let me in, let me in.

Let me in, better angry than scared.

Better angry than scared.

Your shoulders slump, your head feels unbearably heavy. The world has stopped moving. The world is moving too fast. You savor his features as he leans further in, his intoxicating scent filling your nostrils, his eyes pleading, the brown of his irises inviting you to let him in. Joel’s face is that of a man still in love as he continues to caress your skin and you let him.

You let him, because you are a weak person.

You let him because you have been deprived of his touch, of any touch really, for far too long.

You let him because you want to have something for yourself, selfishly.

You let him, because for once you just want to take. Take, take, take.

You let him because you just want to be held and touched and loved.

And even though your mind knows that you shouldn’t want all that from him, your heart allows you that little moment.

“Joel, I’m tired.” you begin, your voice breaking as fresh tears run down your face and onto his thumbs. “Tired to my bones. All I want is to be honest with each other. Do you think we can do that? Can we talk like two adults with nothing left to lose? Can we just be truthful to each other? I know there’s too much history between us, too much hurt and resentment but we both have to try and put it all behind us. I can’t go on like this.”

There’s a stillness in him, realization and clarity dawning on him. He thinks he understands now and it shocks him somehow, as a fact, that there are still things to uncover, to revel in, to acknowledge. Every time he thinks he’s reached the end of this journey, a new sun rises over the horizon.

You don’t need the specifics of his action, at least not right now, or not anymore. What you need is closure. True, honest closure. And that can only come from him baring himself to you. “Yeah, yeah, we can do that. We can do anything you want, baby.”, he squeezes his eyes shut, knowing where to begin, but resisting the thought. He leans back in his seat, dropping his hands from your face as he lets out the breath he seems to be holding in and begins.

“Remember that night before your business trip when you came to my office?”

“Uh, yeah? I guess.”, what a strange thing to mention, you think confused. “What about it?”

“You came to me for sex.”, Joel says bluntly, no need to beat around the bush. This is it. This is how he loses you. Once again.

You stare at him and then, for some reason, look down in embarrassment. You’ve fucked him in almost every way you can think of and now the very admission of that fact makes you feel like an exposed nerve. It dawns on you, how far away this era has slipped away. You feel vulnerable as if you’re talking to a total stranger about your most intimate moments. At the same time, you still know exactly how to touch him, how to please him and a light warmth begins to shimmer inside you.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it, but- yeah..”, you admit, still nervously picking at your food with your fork.

Joel sees your apprehension but he presses on. This is what you asked for. “And I refused you.” The look on your face betrays your confusion. Where is he going with this? Only now, he sees more. He can finally see more. The hurt. The disappointment. “What happened next?” is his next question and does he really think that you can remember all these years later? Does he honestly believe that you can recall yourself leaving his office defeated and crying yourself to sleep? “I don’t remember.” you lie, shrugging your shoulders as convincingly as you can muster.

“You said you loved me and then you left.”, Joel reminds you.

“You- you remember all that?”, your eyes are wide and the look on your face vulnerable, Joel wants to pause it all and hold you in his arms.

“I can’t seem to forget anything about you,” he reveals, “believe me, I’ve tried.”

“What’s your point?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Uh.. why did I do what?”, you narrow your eyes in confusion.

His eyes are piercing yours, provoking you to figure it out on your own.

“Loved you?” He shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

Your eyes widen again, in surprise this time, as you finally see what he means.

“Walked away?” You’re fucking shocked to the core, your voice choked, you’re not sure you spoke out loud.

“Why didn’t you insist?”

Your mouth is wide open, you’re speechless, you flatter your eyelids in search of the right words. This is your second encounter and once again he says what you least expect him to say.

“You refused” you remind him now, “and I respected that.”, your hand moves to rest on your chest, palm open, to calm your racing heart.

“I didn’t want you to.”

“You know how that sounds, don’t you?”, you mock with a nervous laugh.

“Oh, please,” Joel is quick to respond, his brows knitted in a dismissive frown, “like you could ever force yourself on me.”

You genuinely are at a loss for words, your gaze unable to stay in one place, your mind running a million miles an hour.

Apparently you both are, because Joel is no better at explaining how he feels. “I wanted you to-”, he stops, his eyes still searching yours for the right words, pleading with you to feel him.

Oh my god. Oh. My. God.

It dawns on you. All at once. You see it all playing out. You know exactly how this conversation is going to go. “-claim you? You wanted me to claim you?”, your voice rises, as does your tone. You feel the presence of your abandoned friend again. You don’t want him here. But he creeps in through your veins, nonetheless. He is not giving up. If the pounding doesn’t work then he’ll poison you, slowly and persistently.

“From who? You were supposed to be mine!”, you exclaim exasperated, immediately correcting yourself “-not that I owned you, you know what-”

“That! That’s what I’m talking about!” Joel points his finger at you, “That’s what I needed. To be yours!”

“But you were! Are we really haggling over semantics? Of course you were mine! I just never wanted you to feel suffocated by me. You were not my possession Joel, you were my partner!”

“I swear to you, I would die a happy man, baby.”

“I- I tried so hard to control myself-” you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes back to your head as you shake it in denial, “-all that hunger inside of me, eating me up-”

“What?” is Joel’s turn to look like a lost puppy. What the fuck is going on here?

“You,” you point a finger at him, “you were my first and last thought every passing day, it wasn’t even healthy anymore, Joel. But- I saw that look in your eyes sometimes, a hunger, one I thought mirrored mine and then it was gone in the blink of an eye and I thought that something was holding you back; I- I was holding you back. I thought- maybe I was undeserving..” you divert your eyes from him, embarrassed at your feeling of inadequacy, “So, I accepted what you gave me if it meant I could have any part of you.”

“Oh, baby..” Joel’s hiding his face in his palms and his heart breaks as he realizes where you both stand. How did the two of you get to this point? How could his judgment be so clouded, how could he be so blind to what was happening under his own roof? How could he be so arrogant as to seek validation, one he didn't even need, from someone else? Someone whose validation he didn't even care about. It didn't matter to him. She didn’t matter to him. How could he not sense the insecurity tantalizing your very core to the point of feeling inadequate? If only you had told him sooner.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you mirror his thoughts with your voice.

“What should I say to you? I couldn’t put it into words, even now I'm not sure I can. It was an all-consuming feeling, an absolute necessity, an overwhelming need that was impossible to handle. I wasn’t mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with it. I loved you with such force that it became an obsession. I couldn’t even entertain the idea that you might not want me back in the same way. I felt helpless, vulnerable. How could I come to terms with this? With the realization that I had fucked someone else just to get a rise out of you or to prove to myself that I didn't need you that much after all?”

Joel’s palms are clenched into fists on his thighs, trying to keep himself from pressing his lips against yours. Feelings and desires that had been buried in his subconscious for too long came back as he tried to make you understand.

“A r- so, you did fuck her on our bed on purpose.”

“You asked me that before, darlin’, I promise you I did not.”

“Then how would you provoke me if you didn’t mean for me to find out?” you look at him incredulously.

“I-” Joel winces, “it wasn’t a conscious thought, I just kept fantasizing about you finding out and burning the house down for me and that single image made me so h-” Joel shuts his mouth abruptly, not the best idea to describe to you how fuckin’ hard he got, fantasizing about you while fucking someone else. You, bursting into the bedroom all raging and furious, turning the whole place upside down reclaiming what was rightfully yours.

Him.

What a sick fuck he was. “I swear to you, no. I’m not that fucked up. It was a gigantic lack of judgment, I was fuckin’ drunk, my mind was a mess at that point. That whole week was-” he’s biting his tongue hard to stop himself while rubbing his forehead with his fingers, “I was just being an idiot.”

“The week I was gone?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“Nothing, ‘snothing.” and he doesn’t elaborate. “Just a bad fuckin’ week.”

The atmosphere suddenly feels suffocating, as if all the words that have spilled out of both your mouths are hovering over your heads like a black cloud. You need some air to clear your mind, so you make your way out of the kitchen without looking back and walk slowly to the porch, sitting on the steps at the bottom of the stairs. You know he will follow. Your bare feet touch the soft soil beneath you and you try to ground yourself through the little patch of earth you call your own. It doesn’t quite work. There’s a beautiful golden glow, a last gift from the parting sun, warming your soul. Everything is going to be all right.

“Strange fantasies we both had.” you say as Joel seats down next to you, the contract once again a barrier between you. “You kept fantasizing about me finding out about your affair-”.

“It wasn’t an affair-” Joel corrects you. “Fine, fine. You imagined that, while I kept fantasizing me holding you so tightly while we fucked that our flesh became one; that’s how deep I needed you inside me, that’s how obsessively I wanted to carry you with me all the time, isn’t that totally fucked up?” you laugh dejectedly.

“I guess we are the same kind of fucked up. If only we could admit it to each other..”

“Did you really feel that I didn’t love you enough?” you whisper, almost too scared to be heard and to get an answer.

“I think we loved each other too much. I think we were both too afraid of losing each other. I think,” Joel pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts and calm his voice, “in our efforts to keep each other we did the exact opposite. More me than you, for sure. I have handled things badly and badly is an understatement.”

“You were always so patient with me. You’d always wait for me to come to you, to take my time. I needed the savage in you, or I thought I did at the time. That desperate thing I felt creeping out of you in stolen glances or bitten lips between your teeth, or when we fucked; no one has ever fucked me like you did. I did see all of you then, you know. And I think you saw all of me. If I made you feel confident or safe enough, you would have talked to me. And if I wasn’t so self-absorbed I would have asked.”

You never thought you’d hear these words from Joel, but all this time of self-reflection has changed him in a way that reminds you of the Joel you fell in love with. The one you could see behind all those layers of self-protection, the one you’d always hoped would emerge for you. And then he goes on, and you wish you knew what was coming so you could protect your heart from being torn to shreds.

“Maybe-” he closes his eyes looking pained, “maybe I was a narcissist. Maybe you gave me all you had and I kept wanting more, maybe I needed every part of you for myself. Maybe I needed you on your knees, on a leash, at my mercy, just to have the illusion of the certainty that you would never leave me. Maybe freedom is for those who can bear it, after all. Hell, maybe I was the one who needed the leash in the end. Maybe you gave me too much credit, my love, when you deemed me worthy of freedom.”

His words are earth-shuttering, obliterating, final. There’s nothing left to be said, at least nothing of substance. Final. The fucking word plays over and over in your head. Final. This is final. You could swear that you have felt every possible kind of pain during these four long years but new depths of agony are being discovered right now. The acid in your stomach makes your throat constrict. You feel petrified.

Joel can sense your distress, his words have been of no comfort to you. Your skin looks pale, covered with a thin layer of cold sweat; you look physically ill. Your forearms rest on your knees and he gently cups your elbow to check in on you. Are you OK? You smile weakly at him, the expression not reaching the corners of your eyes.

“You know I would give anything to take it all back, right?”

Your laughter is more lively now, not with malice or sarcasm, but with a sense of humor.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I do.”, you shake your head in twisted amusement, tilting your head up, to let the last rays of the sun warm your face, maybe bring back some of your lost color. It's getting dark now, the day is coming to an end, the curtains of the last sunlight are almost closed. Your eyes are closed too, your head still tilted back as you laugh to yourself, “You did that backwards, too, you know.”

“What?”

“You have burned everything to the ground, only to realize that you want to get it all back in one piece. I mean it’s- it’s-” you struggle to find the right words but Joel offers one of his own.

“Ridiculous..”

“I was gonna say pointless.. But that’s the thing, Joel. Choosing to be with someone is like faith. You believe because you just know. You don't have to find evidence to prove your choice at every turn, otherwise it’s just exhausting. You choose to trust yourself.”

“Trust me as your partner, you mean, not yourself.”

“Joel, it was never about trusting you..”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand..”

“I’m not sure how to explain it- uh..”, you raise your shoulders and your brows in unison as you shake your head slightly, searching for the words. “Trust is a personal journey. ‘Trust’ doesn't mean ‘trust in you’, I’m not trusting you. No one can be sure of anyone. ‘Trust’ means that I have faith in myself, that even if you hurt me, even if you abandon me, I will not fall apart. And..” you shrug your shoulders, hugging yourself with your hands, “look at me, Joel..”, you finish, suggesting that you’re still here, still standing.

“I am, baby; I am..” Joel replies, taking in the sight of you as if it were the last time he’ll ever have the chance to, utterly compelled by your inner glow.

“I’m not mad at you Joel, not anymore. And I believe you, I really do. But I can’t get that scene out of my head. I just can’t. I can still hear the sounds, I can even recall the way you smelled when you were standing next to me.”

His hands are shaking.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, really.”

“I know.”, his voice is barely audible.

“I think you’ve done enough of that yourself. Maybe it’s time to forgive yourself?”

“Do you?” Do you, really? Do you forgive him after all that has been said? Do all these confessions illuminate the facts from a different perspective? Does it change what he did and what you went through? And if so, does that mean you're letting him go? Are you leaving him behind? Is he leaving you behind? Why is it so hard to let go? Why do you choose the safety of the known, even when it hurts you?

You choose not to answer and instead firmly insist, “You have to forgive yourself, Joel, it’s okay.” Be the better person. If not for him, then for yourself. Let him go.

“I can’t do that.”, Joel is adamant, shaking his head while he rejects your request.

“Yes, you can.” you urge him again. “As I can and do.” Let him go.

Joel never thought he would listen to those words coming out of your mouth. He doesn’t deserve them. He hasn’t earned them. “You forgive me?”, he repeats in utter shock and disbelief.

“Yes.” Loud and clear as daylight.

“I- You can’t- I don’t- I don’t deserve that.” Joel feels like he’s drowning in your so graciously offered Holy Grail, desperately trying to keep his head above the waters of your absolution.

“I can’t be the judge of that, Joel, hell, I can’t be the judge of anyone. The way I see it, you chose your actions and I chose mine. You chose to hurt me and I chose to walk away. We both lost something. Have we not suffered enough, Joel?” you ask him honestly.

“I don’t want to presume, but- isn’t it a great burden to carry on your shoulders when you try to move on? All this anger, all that bitterness?” you search his eyes for an answer but he doesn’t give you one.

You continue, hoping to get through to him. “Your feelings are your burden Joel and it doesn’t matter if I forgive you. That’s why it is you who needs to forgive yourself.”

His eyes still refuse to meet yours, stubbornly glued to the ground. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for me. We need to move forward, both of us.” is the last thing you say to him, not knowing if he even listened to half of what you just said.

You both fall into a thoughtful silence, but something you said is bugging him. He can’t quite figure it out, so he turns to look at you, to savor you while he still has the chance. He knows that his time is limited.

You’re just sitting there with him, trying to comfort him, you of all people. You seem lighter now, fidgeting absentmindedly with your fingers as if some of your burden has already been lifted. And as his gaze sweeps over you, he sees it again. He sees the white shirt hugging your body and he knows what’s troubling him.

I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume.

His heart beats rapidly in his chest, panic rising inside him.

“I’ve been with you for the last four years.”

“Excuse me?” your hands freeze as you turn to face him, clearly confused.

“You said you didn’t want to presume anything and I need to set the record straight. There was and is no other woman in my life except you.”

“Joel,” you blush shyly, “this is none of my business, you are free-”

“No. No. I need you to know this, it’s important to me. I meant everything I said. You have done nothing wrong. My feelings for you have never changed-”

“Joel, please..” you beg him to stop, you can’t have this conversation now, it’s too soon. No, you’re wrong. It’s too late; too soon means there’s a future ahead of you. A future where you both fit in the same universe.

“I don’t want you to think that I came all the way out here just to tie up some loose ends and move on. That is not what this is about.”

“If you expect me to tell you about my personal life..” your what now?

“No, I don’t. And I don’t think I could handle it, anyway. You are a free woman and you deserve the world. Unlike me; I don’t deserve anything and I’ll never be free of you.”

Your chin is now trembling and you bite your lower lip to stop the involuntary muscle contraction. You can’t decipher if it’s from anger for the way things came to be or from deep, excruciating sadness for how Joel feels. For how he makes you feel.

“Free woman, huh?”, you whisper bitterly, looking down at your feet, willing yourself not to cry.

“Yes, free, as you should always have been and I’m sorry I couldn’t see it sooner.”

Joel then picks up the divorce papers from the floor next to him as he’s fishing a pen out of his pocket. He stares at you and then at the blank space where his signature should be, next to yours. He splays his palm over the last page as if to straighten it out, but it almost looks like he’s caressing it. He brings the ball of the pen to the white surface and for a moment his hand lingers over it. He doesn’t dare look at you again, his resolve is not that strong. Finally, finally he signs, filling the empty spot and he hands you the contract. It’s a strange moment, the one before the signature and the one after it.

Everything seems to be the same; it is just a signature.

Everything feels completely different; it is not just a signature.

Your fingertips brush his as you reach out to take it, the touch sending shivers down your spine. Your slightly trembling hands hold the papers gently, not sure you wanna hold on to them or scatter them on the ground. Your thumb swipes softly over his signature.

You feel it, now. You feel the ground beneath your bare feet, the warmth of the earth, the weight of your footing. The falling has stopped. The feather finally rests. You have landed.

Joel moves to stand on his feet, as you keep staring at the drying ink, when you feel something fall from above onto your thumb; but you can’t see anything as it is immediately absorbed by the hungry pores of the paper, slightly smudging his signature. You look up to catch him as he dries his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“Free as a bird, baby, ready to fly over the world.”, Joel smiles at you with a look of reverence and devotion in his eyes.

You picture the floating feather in your head and smile back at him with a serenity he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“I think I just want to walk for a while. One step at a time.”

He nods, his eyes still full of emotion and you watch as he begins to walk slowly towards his truck, when suddenly he turns his body to face you but continues to walk backward in the same direction.

“Hey!” he calls to you with a mischievous smile, raising his chin to you.

“Yeah?” you answer, your voice wavering slightly as you try to hide your smile.

“Can I take you to dinner sometime?” he asks as he reaches for his driver’s door and opens it, waiting for your answer, which never comes because you think he’s joking. But he continues to stare at you, with no expectations, quietly, earnestly, sincerely, with a soft, shy smile on his lips. Oh.

Oh.

“Joel..” is all you breathe out, closing your eyes for a moment before you look at him again, because his name is all that is left in your very being right now. Joel.

He seems lighter, too.

“Maybe, one day..?”

“Yeah.. Maybe, one day..”

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Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre @leggtostandon @sarahhxx03

@zliteraturehoe @msmorningstaarr @gossipgirl-03 @vabeachazn @joeldjarin

@sofiparallel

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sofiahchan · 6 months

Note

How would Deepspace boys act when their wife (MC) is in labour? ( ͡° ʖ̯ ͡°)

— 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

Rafayel was letting you hold his hand tight as he was sweating, he simply doesn't know what to do. He is nervous, offering you anything you want, even if it's a small piece of napkin or water. He would always give you a lot of praise while you gave birth. How come your journey together ends here, yet you have a new start? He feels so happy and so nervous right now in this moment that he will be a dad.

Rafayel doesn't know much about childbirth, just the basics. It's hard for him to see you in so much pain, and he wishes he could help and take all your pain away. He wants to give you strong support and he whisper compliments to you.

Looking at you, he could notice how you’re panicking inside. He tried his best to comfort you, making sure you were comfortable and knowing how much he’s proud of you. He’s grateful to have you as his wife and now the mother of his child. When the sound of a baby crying can be heard, Rafayel can feel his eyes getting teary as he stares at his newborn baby. He can't stop praising how strong you are, he is fully overjoyed. He lets you hold the baby in your arms. Performing the skin-to-skin contact as he looks down on such a memorable sight. I was thinking how adorable it is that now he has a baby that is a mixture of you and him together in your arms. evidence of how you both love each other and are willing to raise a child together. Finally, he gives you a comforting kiss on your forehead while keeping an eye out for you and his new little sunshine.

— 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

Zayne knows what you need most during pregnancy. Heating pads, pillows, even your favorite food? You named it. He got everything prepared for you, ensuring that your pregnancy would go smoothly as he tried his best to help you out. Even if he’s busy, he always answers your texts and calls quickly, making permission letters to the higher-ups so he can take care of you without neglecting his work too. In your final moments, he would still ensure that you have all the stuff that’s needed. He offers you a glass of water with a straw and even a handkerchief to wipe your sweat. Giving you a gentle squeeze as he holds onto your hand.

In his free time, he tries to learn more about your pregnancy, including which month you will be able to identify its gender, in which month you will need more supplies, and about the last trimester of your pregnancy. He convinced himself that everything would go well, so he had to be ready to deal with whatever challenges might appear. This way, he would always reassure you that everything would go well for the baby and yourself.

Once he sees the baby inside the hospital bassinet, a warm smile appears on his face. He was pleased to see the blessings that are now given to both of you. A warm hand suddenly lingers on your head, and you can feel how he is caressing your hair. He gave you a soft kiss on your forehead as he looked down at you. Looking down at you and the baby inside the hospital bassinet next to her hospital bed, “How lucky I am to be blessed with such a strong wife,” he whispers as he holds onto one of your hands.

— 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

Xavier’s gentle nature shines through as he conceals his inner nervousness with a tender smile reflecting in his eyes. Not wanting his emotions to overshadow the moment, he soothingly murmurs words of encouragement not only to you but to the little life growing within your womb. With a caring touch, he delicately sweeps strands of your hair behind your ears, a gesture filled with affection and tenderness. Embracing you in a warm hug, he holds you close, his embrace a source of comfort and security as he endeavors to create an atmosphere of relaxation and ease for you.

He is struggling to avert his gaze from the unfolding scene, fully aware that the sight of blood could easily cause him to lose consciousness. Imagining a different scenario where you were not experiencing labor pains, this whole situation might have a hint of humor to it.

Seeing the tiny baby on his arms, Xavier held his tears as his fingers closed up to the baby's face, watching him pick it up. "He's so cute and lovely; you did a great job." You see Xavier smiling while hearing his praises for you and hoping the baby looks more like you. After going through all that, Xavier tries his best to cook for both you and the baby for the first time. He managed to make something edible and started to spoil you with his home-made food.

#rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace imagines #love and deepspace fluff #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel x you #xavier x you #zayne x you #rafayel fluff #xavier fluff #zayne fluff

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vanteguccir · 6 months

Text

── ୨୧ !　𝗖𝗢𝗭𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦, 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N's cozy cottage becomes a refuge for Matt, but it's not just the house that encloses him, but who's inside; OR, where Matt and Y/N are in love, but afraid to confess. Until one day.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by @mattscurlygirly

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Los Angeles was buzzing with life when the triplets moved there, looking for new opportunities for their YouTube career.

It was a sunny day, the day after they settled permanently in their own home, when Matt found himself wandering around the local market, on a somewhat clumsy mission to buy fruit and vegetables for a Wednesday video that Nick had come up with. He wasn't exactly an expert in grocery shopping, and the confusion of colors and smells left him a little lost.

It was then that he saw her - Y/N, standing in the middle of the fruit stands, examining a pile of apples with a serene smile on her lips. She radiated a calmness and natural beauty that instantly caught Matt's attention.

With an inexplicable impulse, Matt approached her, determined to overcome his usual shyness.

"Hi, excuse me." He began, nervous but determined. "You seem to know what you're doing here. Can you help me pick some fruit?"

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting his in an instant. Her smile widened when she noticed his hesitation.

"Of course!" The girl responded, kindly. "What do you want to get?"

What started as a simple exchange of words quickly turned into a lively conversation. Matt discovered that Y/N was a plant lover and an avid supporter of local agriculture. Her passion was contagious, and he found himself sharing more stories about his own life than he expected.

When it was time to leave, Matt found himself reluctant to leave her.

"Hey, do you want to go out sometime?" He asked suddenly, his courage increasing with each word.

"I'd love to. Why don't you come over to my house on Saturday? We can do something together." Y/N smiled, her eyes shining.

Matt agreed immediately, feeling a bubbling excitement in his chest. He couldn't explain the feeling, but he knew there was something special about Y/N from the moment he saw her.

A week later, Matt was standing in the doorway of Y/N's house, his heart beating a little faster than normal while waiting for her. When she opened the door, her warm smile enveloped him almost instantly, dispelling all his worries.

As soon as the boy entered her home, he was immediately captivated by the warm and cozy atmosphere. It was as if he had found a refuge amidst the chaos of the city and even the crazy acceleration of his home.

Over the next few weeks, Matt found himself returning to Y/N's house more and more frequently. He couldn't resist the feeling of peace he found there, nor her company.

Gradually, his feelings for her intensified, but he was hesitant to confess. He was afraid of ruining the friendship they had built - and one of the only true ones he had created in the crazy city of LA and among so many celebrities -, and even more afraid of being rejected.

Little did he know, she felt the same way.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The gentle afternoon breeze danced across the fields around Y/N's small home, whispering secrets among the leaves of the trees and caressing the petals of the flowers in her garden. The golden sun cast its rays through the windows, painting the interior with tones of warmth and coziness.

Inside the house, Y/N was busy watering her plants in her kitchen, an activity she considered as essential as breathing. Her refuge was a veritable green paradise, with foliage that hung gracefully from shelves and vines that snaked up the walls.

The sound of soft knocks on the door in a rhythm already very familiar to her took her out of her reverie, and a smile immediately formed on her lips.

"Come in, Matt!" She called, letting out a nasal laugh at his sudden appearance in her home as she continued to water her plants.

Matt opened the door with a wide smile, his blue eyes shining beautifully in the sunlight.

“Hey, Y/N.” He greeted, entering and closing the door behind him. "How are you? I couldn't send you a text yesterday. We finished recording during the night."

"Better now that you're here." Y/N responded with a playful smile, turning her watering can over and throwing some water towards him.

"Hey, I came in peace!" Matt feigned horror, quickly dodging away, watching the droplets fall on the floor.

"You always say that." Y/N teased, laughing as she put the watering can back in place. "Come on, I made pie. Your favorite."

Sitting down at the kitchen table, they began to talk while eating, as they always did when they were together. It was that easy with Matt. The words flowed effortlessly, and the silence was never uncomfortable.

"Oh, I brought you something." Matt said, taking out a small package from his backpack and placing it on the free space above the table.

"What is it?" Y/N raised an eyebrow while finishing chewing the sweet in her mouth, curious.

"Surprise." Matt replied in a whisper, his smile widening.

The girl opened the package carefully, revealing a pair of small, colorful flower seedlings. Her eyes instantly lit up, rising to his face as a smile gradually grew on her cheeks.

"Matt, they're beautiful!" She exclaimed, holding one of the seedlings gently. "Thank you."

"I knew you would like it." He pressed his lips into a thin line in an attempt not to smile like crazy, watching her tenderly, his eyes traveling from her eyes bright with joy to her wide and excited smile.

With Y/N's help, they prepared pots for the new plants, sharing laughter and lively conversations as they worked together. It was crazy how Matt found an immense interest within himself in plants. It wasn't news that he loved nature with all his being, but Y/N awakened something different in him.

As they worked, their fingers occasionally touched, sending subtle shivers down their spines. It was nothing new for them - there was always electricity in the air when they were together, a gentle tension that they both recognized but chose to ignore.

As the sun began to set, they finally finished planting the flowers, admiring their work with satisfied smiles.

"They're perfect." Y/N murmured, looking at the flowers fondly and clasping her hands together in front of her body in admiration.

"Just like you." Matt said softly, his eyes meeting hers.

A familiar warmth spread through Y/N's chest, and she looked away, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. Matt always had a way of making her feel special, even with the simplest compliments.

"You're so silly, you know that?" She said, trying to hide the emotion in her voice.

"But it's true." Matt insisted, his smile never wavering.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

It was Friday night, the perfect time to escape the routine and get lost in the city's bright streets. Matt parked his car in front of Y/N's house, feeling excitement pulsing through his veins. With a hint of anticipation, he pressed the horn twice in succession, a sharp sound cutting through the stillness of the air.

A few heartbeats later, the door opened and Y/N appeared, observing the car for a few seconds before bending down slightly, looking at Matt in the driver's seat with a mixed expression of surprise and confusion.

"Matt? What are you doing here?" She asked with a frown, her voice thick with perplexity. "Oh my, we had no plans for tonight, right?"

"No, we didn't. But today's video was too stressful to record, and while I left Nick and Chris at home, I thought it would be a good option to drive around for a bit, I needed to clear my head. But it's no fun alone." Matt shrugged, smiling small and raising his right eyebrow, his expression brimming with expectation.

Y/N arched her own, but the mischievous glint in her eyes indicated that she was interested. She shook her head, a smile playing on her lips.

"Why not? I'll get my jacket."

Matt watched as Y/N ran back inside. He knew there was nothing special about just driving around, but the simple idea of spending more time with her was enough to make him happy.

When Y/N returned, he stretched his upper body across the car's console and the passenger seat, pulling the inside handle and pushing the door open, adjusting his posture again and watching her get in and sit down next to himself.

Matt quickly turned on the car after making sure she was comfortable, leaving the familiar streets of Los Angeles behind.

As they drove through the city, they talked and laughed like they always did, the radio playing Y/N's favorite playlist in the background at a low volume, letting the night guide them wherever they wanted to go.

Matt felt at peace next to her, her closeness filling him with a comforting feeling, his mind finally emptying itself of problems and all stress, and focusing completely on the girl he loved.

Suddenly, Y/N's favorite song started playing, filling the car with an infectious beat. Her eyes lit up, a scream of excitement escaping her lips followed by an excited laugh. Her right hand worked on opening the window on her side, allowing the wind to play with her hair.

Matt couldn't take his eyes off her.

As the girl sang at the top of her lungs, her eyes closed tightly, and a beaming smile opened on her cheeks, Matt felt like he was witnessing pure euphoria personified.

He was in a trance, his mouth slightly open, and his pupils almost completely dilated, his heart pounding in his chest.

She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Matt tried to keep his attention between her and the road, making sure they were safe while Y/N gave herself over to the music and the night, the strong wind circulating through the inside of the car and moving the boy's fluffy hair.

His heart filled with warmth at seeing her so happy, and he knew without a shadow a doubt that he was right where he belonged.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A cool autumn breeze danced through the tree leaves, bringing with it the comforting scent of dry leaves and spices. In Y/N's room, autumn-scented candles cast a soft, welcoming light, serving as the only source of living light, while the warmth of coziness filled the walls.

Y/N and Matt were cuddled up in the double bed under thick blankets, their bodies pressing gently against each other as they watched a horror movie on the television.

A bowl full of freshly baked and fragrant chocolate cookies rested on the girl's lap above the duvet, consequently warming her legs, both of their hands fishing for the treats from time to time.

The atmosphere was filled with the tranquility of an autumn night, Matt's favorite, but the boy struggled mightily to concentrate on the movie as his heart beat wildly in his chest.

The feeling of Y/N's warm skin rubbing against his made his own goosebumps, the natural smell of her hair filled his nostrils, leaving him in a state of almost drunkenness.

As the movie progressed, a scary scene appeared on the screen, causing Y/N to jump in fright and snuggle even more against Matt's chest.

The boy felt a shiver run down his spine almost automatically, and his heart beat even harder in his chest, so that he could hear it in his ears, the sound of the voices coming from the television becoming muffled to him.

When Y/N looked up with an amused smile on her face, ready to make a joke about the scare, she found Matt's eyes already fixed on her in a different way, a good one. There was something there - a quiet intensity that made her own heart race.

Her smile slowly faded, her throat swallowing hard at Matt's intensity.

Their gazes remained fixed for long minutes, or seconds, and before Y/N could find the courage to say anything, Matt raised a trembling hand, taking it to the apple of her cheek, caressing the flushed and warm skin lightly, his expression full of tenderness and emotion.

"Y/N." He whispered, his voice soft to the ears. "I need to tell you something."

Y/N's heart lurched in her chest, her cheeks burning slightly under Matt's touch, feeling anxiety and anticipation rise through her body like a shiver.

"What is it?" She asked just as quietly, barely able to contain the emotion in her voice, the movie already long forgotten.

Matt swallowed hard, summoning all the courage he had within him.

“I love you, Y/N.” The boy confessed, knowing that if he thought twice, he wouldn't say it. His eyes never leaving hers. "I love you more than I ever thought possible to love anyone. I would do anything for you, anything to have you."

Matt's words echoed in the room, filled with sincerity and vulnerability. Y/N felt tears threatening to overflow her eyes, a wave of heat flooding her chest.

She wanted to say something, express the whirlwind of emotions she was feeling, but words escaped her, and she knew that in that moment she had gained what her heart longed for most, having him for herself.

Then, in a moment of pure connection, Y/N leaned up, resting her hand on Matt's chest, and finally captured Matt's lips with hers, initiating a sweet, passionate kiss.

Their lips moved in perfect harmony, conveying all the love and affection they felt for each other. Y/N's free hand traveled to the side of Matt's head, playing with his curly hair lightly, as Matt brought his hands to her hips, lightly squeezing the covered skin between his fingers.

When they pulled away seconds later, Y/N blinked long and hard, her eyes shining with tears of happiness, a radiant smile lighting up her face.

"Matt, you are every flower I have ever admired." Y/N muttered, her voice cracking. "That means I love you too. With all my heart."

And there, on that autumn night, under the glow of the candles and the warmth of the blankets, Matt and Y/N could finally allow themselves to feel and love, without fear of rejection, because they already belonged to each other.

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amor-ad-nauseam · 2 months

Text

Somethin’ Stupid (pt. 2)

Pairing(s): Sam Winchester x reader

Summary :You two are pathetic for each other, so much so that Dean can’t help but take notice. Maybe, just maybe his “playing wingman” will work out alright…

Word count : 3.5k

Tags: Reader and Sam have a crush on each other, fluff, no use of y/n, reader uses she/her pronouns, carheartt!sam, heavy make out, kissing, fade to black, almost smut.

Notes; While this does read as a fade to black i may or may not have gotten a little carried away with myself and wrote part of the smut scene… it’s not included here but if y’all want that lmk!! I am so sorry about how late this is coming out! i’ve been very busy with back to school preparations. Notes and reposts are greatly appreciated

part 1 part 3

“Rise n’ shine, Sammy!” Dean announced, clapping Sam on the shoulder.

Sam flinches awake and like a row of dominos, the guitar that was in his lap is sent tumbling to the floor - creating a harsh cacophony of strings and wood.

The sound causes you to jolt from your slumber. You shoot up in bed in a flurry of confusion. “I’m up! I’m up! Where’s the Rugaru!?” You shout, whipping your head around the room.

“Woah, Good Morning to you too,” Dean chuckles, punctuating the sentence with an obnoxious bite of beef jerky. Sam makes a face. “Want some?” He points the jerky at Sam.

“Hey, Dean.” Sam sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He runs his hands down his face. "I’m good, thanks.”

You visibly relax as the real world comes into focus. “Morning, Boys.” You say as the adrenaline wears off. Sam was still across from you, now flashing an apologetic smile and Dean was well- Dean, but in a cowboy hat. That wasn’t too unusual for him. Dean nodded a hello.

“Eh, more for me,” Dean shrugs with another bite. “Anywho,” He bends down and retrieves the guitar from the floor, now with a newly popped high E string. He hoped the motel wouldn’t charge him extra for that. “When’d you become Springsteen?” He smirks.

Sam was in no mood.

Then, his eyes lit up.

“Hey, Dean, what’s that, uh, mark on your neck?” Sam said, a grin only capable of being mustered by the most annoying of little brothers appearing on his lips.

“What mar- “Dean slid his hand down the length of his neck, stopping about halfway in sudden realization. “Oh- “He clears his throat. Mumbling something about getting banged up pretty badly, he dismisses himself to the med kit in Sam’s bag.

“Oh, and that explains why you’re just now getting back at, uh,” Sam glances to the alarm clock. “7am? from a simple salt-n-burn?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean scoffs defensively. “Cause you see, Sammy, I was actually doing my job.”

The early morning sun filtered in through the blinds and for the first time you realized that the wood paneling on the divider and both doors were made to look like a saloon door. Damn. They went all out with this whole cowboy theme. On the bright side, the sun gave everything a warm almost fiery glow. Despite the rather cozy atmosphere of the room, Sam and Dean were still going.

Only two things in life are certain: taxes and the Winchester’s arguments.

“The job that requires you to receive hickeys from girls in bars?” Sam laughed. He was now stood by the foot of your bed, stretching the tension from his shoulders. Man, even through a t-shirt his back muscles were attractive- carved like a Greek statue.

“Okay, when you say it like that it makes me sound like a hooker.”

“Maybe you are, Mr. hard worker.”

“Don’t objectify me.” Dean rolls his eyes, feigning offense . Dean was leaned over the dresser, looking in the mirror as he tried to cover a small purple mark on his neck with a square gauze patch.

He definitely wasn’t winning this one.

As if suddenly remembering something, his head perked up and he set his sights on you.

“How’s the leg?” He asked, looking at you in the mirror. He did genuinely care about your wellbeing, but it didn’t hurt that you were also a good out.

“Hm?” You were a little distracted; you’d almost forgotten about your leg entirely.

“Oh right. It’s fine really,” you swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

When you look down you find the bandage that was once around your thigh, half undone, twisted about and just an overall mess.

“Right, fine.” Dean chuckles.

“Woah, you okay?” Sam questions.

Before you know it, Sam’s closing the distance between the two of you and the roll of gauze is sailing through the air from Dean’s palm to Sam’s.

“Damn, I thought you were better at the whole first-aid thing, Sammy.” Dean remarks, happy to flip the situation back on his brother.

“I am,” Sam takes a seat next to you. He’s warm. And close. Too close. “But someone.” Damn he smells good too. Like a brand-new book. “Wouldn’t let me.” He said with a teasing expression.

“Hey, I didn’t do too bad.” Your cheeks flush.

“Riiight.” He gently tugs at an end of the bandage, and it unravels like a loose thread in a pair of jeans. “Not too bad at all.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” You reply, your face contorting to an attempt at annoyance.

“Hey, cheer up.” Sam smiled.

You couldn’t help but smile in return.

He gently slid his hand to the underside of your knee and placed your leg over his lap just as he did the night prior.

While you were busy tossing the wrinkled bandage into a small barrel-shaped trashcan near the sofa-chair, Sam took the opportunity to let his gaze linger. He drank in every detail of your appearance, hoping to seer it to memory.

For some reason, 3 things in particular stuck out to him: You never bothered to put your hair up last night, the way squinted as the sun reflected directly into your eyes, and the fact that you were still in his Carhartt. That last one especially made his heart beat a little harder.

Your lovely chaotic hair and the sun shining on your face inspired countless fantasies. Some as simple as kissing the tiredness from your expression, others, he felt bad for even thinking.

The minute you turn around his eyes are once again glued to your leg and you’re none the wiser.

“How’m I lookin, doc?”

Dean with his shirt tucked beneath his chin was rubbing ointment on what he wasn’t quite sure if it was another hickey on his abdomen or an actual bruise. Upon hearing your question he perks up, ready to make a dumb Looney Toons reference when Sam of all people beats him to the punch.

“Ah, just peachy, Bugs.” He replied in a nasally imitation of Daffy Duck.

“Huh.” Dean mumbles with some small shock. He watches the two of you from the mirror's reflection. He knew Sam had a thing for you, but this, this was something else.

The way the two of you giggled and just almost leaned into each other with every joke- pulling away in shy stupidity each time you got too close. The lingering eye contact, how Sam’s hand looked almost reluctant to leave you, the way one of you would stare when the other wasn’t looking. The whole thing left his stomach feeling like a pot of warm honey.

Damn. You’ve both got it bad.

An idea.

“Hey guys,” He chimed in.

“Hm?” You and Sam said in unison.

“Oh, sorry no you go- “you said.

“No, it’s okay you- “

“Well, you did fix me up it’s only fair- “just then you realized that your leg was still in his lap. You quickly pull away and smile apologetically. Sam does the same.

Dean just about face palms. You two are hopeless.

“Guys.” Dean clears his throat, capturing both of your attentions once more.

“I'm gonna go out and uh, do something.” Dean said with heavy emphasis on “do something.”

“Oh, okay..?” you said with confusion

“Oh, uh, need help with that?” Sam added, eaqually as confused.

“No! no, sorry…heh… I just mean that you both should stay here while I go make a move.”

“You… feelin’ alright, Dean?” You question.

“He’s still hungover I think.” Sam leans in and mutters.

“Y’know,” Dean turns his attention straight to Sam. “Making a move is always the right thing.”

“…So, you do want my help?”

“No, damnit,” Dean sighs in defeat. “M’goin’ on a coffee run.”

“Oh… okay…” Sam replied. “In that case, make two of ‘em decaf.”

“Aw you remembered?” You say with an expression reminiscent of a teen girl with a crush.

“Yeah, I know how it makes you jittery.” Sam replied, sounding embarrassed.

Dean watches as the two of you sit there smiling like idiots.

Yeah.

Extra hopeless.

- -

The latter half of the day is spent with Dean acting strangely and you and Sam struggling to figure out why.

A couple of theories arose.

“Maybe he is hungover.” You quietly conceded after Dean stretched his legs across the diner’s booth seat when Sam tried to sit down- forcing him next to you.

“Nah, he’s mean when hungover.” Sam replied.

- -

“Maybe we did something?” You suggested when Dean pulled the same diner stunt later at the library.

“Like what?” Sam replied as he studied Deans relaxed demeanor.

“Dunno. Maybe it’s 'cause we bailed last night?”

“C’mon we didn’t “bail”, you got stabbed and we all know if one of us didn’t stay with you, you’d come crawling back to finish the fight.”

“Fair enough.” You shrugged. “Well, I’m fresh out of ideas.”

“Me too. Just can’t figure out what would make him not tell us details on a case, it’s not like him.”

- -

You also happened to notice that Sam grew increasingly grumpy as the day dragged on.

Whether that was due to Dean, or his uncomfortable sleeping situation last night was lost on you.

- -

“Maybe he got roofied?” Sam mumbled when it seemed as though Dean couldn’t walk in a straight line- continually bumping into you - shoving you straight into Sam.

“Can’t be, after that whole witch thing he’s really careful with his drinks.”

“Hm…”

- -

“Mid life crisis?” Sam proposes in a hushed voice from the huddled corner of a motel lobby.

Dean had bought two rooms instead of the usual one accompanied by “we’re livin’ offa credit card scams and prayers. Besides, we’ve all pretty much seen eachother’s junk anyway.”

“He’s 30” you replied while watching Dean flirt with the woman behind the counter.

“With this job and his liver, it’s midlife.”

- -

Finally, the night had rolled around.

“Been dazed and confused for so long it can’t be true~”

The radio humming as the Impala raced down the road.

Normally, nights like this would be relaxing. Windows rolled down, the sounds of the cold and buzzing night mixed with the same five albums Dean rotated. Empty back roads and the three of you endearingly out of tune as you sang along.

But this night was simply and plainly, dead.

The air in the car had a tension not even Page and Plant could cut through. You all silently sat in your unassigned-assigned seats: Dean driving, Sam shot gun and you in the back watching the night woosh by.

It all came to a head earlier when Dean notified you and Sam that you two were on stake-out duty. You watched as Sam’s expression visibly changed into one of suppressed nausea. Sure, stakeouts usually sucked ass but did the thought of being alone with you really drive him to the point of sickness?

You breathed a sigh, sinking further into your seat at the memory.

Sam steals a glance at you in the rear view- you looked sad. Guess you weren’t too excited at the thought of a stakeout either.

The car stops about 50 yards in the underbrush in front of a dilapidated old building in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.

The light previously provided to you by the stars was dimmer now due to the thick miles of pine trees stretching high above- looking as though they could touch the sky themselves.

“Aaand we’re here,” Dean said, switching off the ignition

“Mind telling us where “here” is exactly?” Sam quipped.

“Like I said, it’s a nest.”

“Yeah. That’s the problem. That’s about the only thing you’ve said.”

“Okay, fine- look, We’ve had a lot of duds lately and I didn’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up if it wasn’t the real deal.” Dean shrugs.

Dean was an incredibly good liar. Or as he liked to call it, thinking on his feet.

“Wow you are s- “

“Such a great older brother, I know. I’m gonna go walk the perimeter, shouldn’t take too lo-“

“Great I’ll come with!”

You watch as Sam quickly follows after Dean- not even letting his brother get the words out before he’s on his feet and out of the car like he’ll catch the plague if he’s alone with you.

Yeah. Stakeouts really sucked.

From inside the car all you could hear were Sam and Deans muffled voices, but even still, you could tell they were arguing…

“I’m not an idiot, Dean. I know what you’re doing.”

“Well I’d hope so,” Dean chuckled, holding his newly sharpened machete upward to inspect it. “Dad’d kill us if we ever even thought about going in dull and halfcocked.”

“Y’know you’re not the most subtle guy in the world.”

Sufficiently satisfied, Dean re-sheathes the blade and hooks it onto his waistband. “Dunno wacha talkin’ ‘bout, Sammy.”

“You forced me to sit next to her.”

“Leg got bruised las night, had to keep ‘er elevated.”

“Got two rooms?” Sam quirked a brow.

“So? What if i wanted to bring someone back?”

“Dude, you practically threw her into me.”

“Again, the leg. Can’t walk straight.” He shrugs, grabbing a vial of dead-man’s blood and putting it into his pocket.

“Alright, cut the bullshit. I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. She’s not into me and i’m-“

“A dumbass.” Dean says sharply.

“E-excuse me?” Sam says, caught off guard.

“The girl is head-over-fuckin-heels for you. you must be a dumbass not to see it.” Dean points an accusing finger at him.

“I-“

“I see the way you look at her, hell, you busted out the guitar for her! ah- don’t give me that look, it was obvious. “

“Okay, fine, you got me Dean.” Sam throws his arms up in an exasperated manner. “I have feelings for her.” He pauses. This is the first time he’s said it aloud. His eyes go to his shoes. “Doesn’t mean she feels the same way.”

“Christ.” Dean slams the trunk, shoves his hands in his pockets and walks around the side of the car. Sam gives a puzzled expression. Dean jerks his head. “Watch this,” Dean says.

With the back of his hooked middle and index finger, Dean knocks on the back window of the Impala.

“Hm?” You lift your head from the book in your lap.

It’s a quick set of movements, but obvious, unthought action: your eyes first land on the source of the sound, Dean. He waves. You smile.

Then, all in the fraction of a second you look at Sam. Your smile falters. A short, flustered breath escapes your nose.

Your eyes go back to Dean, your lips curving into a poor attempt at a casual smile.

“See?” Dean says once you turn your attention back to your book.

“See what?” Sam replies, his voice growing annoyed and incredulous- having not picked up on anything out of the ordinary.

“You really make me wanna punch you sometimes.”

“Wha-, you know what, Dean, is this case even real? Cause if it’s not let’s just go back to the motel and-“

“Okay, Okay.” Dean pushes his arms in a ‘calm down’ motion. “It’s real, Columbo. Here,” He reaches behind his back, past the sides of his coat and pulls the local newspaper from the waistband of his jeans. “Happy now?”

Sam’s eyes skim the headline: Reports of “Cult like behavior” spotted near the old McCrowe house.

Below is a photograph of the dilapidated home they were parked in front of.

“Yes, but, h-“

“How do you know it’s real? Ya don’t. But i know you couldn’t take the risk; Even if you tried.”

Sam frowns, combing a hand through his hair. Dean smiles. “Go get ‘em, tiger” Dean says, patting his brother on the shoulder.

"You're an asshole."

Dean walks away with an extra bounce in his step. Sam frowns, again.

After taking a long moment, partially to regain his bearings, partially waiting till his brother disappeared around the bend, Sam pulls open the door.

“…Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

That wasn’t awkward at all.

Leaves crunch beneath your feet, and the book carried at your side rhythmically beats against your hip as you walk.

“So… figure out what’s up with Dean?”

“Oh, uhm,” He tosses the newspaper onto the dash as he slides into the front seat to cover his hesitation. “Nope. Not a clue.”

“Eh, I just hope he sorts himself out. If he keeps walking like that i think i’ll be bruised soon.” You chuckle at your own joke. “Guy’s got hips like Shakira, they do not lie.”

Crickets. Literal crickets fill the beat of silence after that joke.

You knew it was bad but damn.

“Ookay… tough crowd,” You mumble.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Sam said as if he were snapping out of a trance. “yeah heh, Shakira.”

You simply resign yourself to the book in your lap, every once in a while, taking a glance at the house ahead.

Meanwhile, Sam’s gaze never leaves the house for a moment. He had an expression you couldn’t quite place and an almost glazed over look in his eyes.

“Hey, i’m gonna go catch up with Dean, you’ll be fine right?” He says suddenly.

“No,” You slam your book shut and turn straight to Sam. “Sit your ass back down. we need to talk.”

“I’m sorry?”

The words come barreling from your mouth like a falling knife, sharp and unpredictable. “You have been super weird all day- I swear it’s hereditary- Dean acting strange, that i can deal with, but you? i-i don’t know what to do with that.”

A sinking sort of realization sets in. “I- god i’m so sorry.”

“I mean, did i do something? ‘Cause if i did i’m terribly sorry-“

“No, no, you didn’t do anything i swear.”

“Then what is it? i thought things were good and then- Look, if there’s something wrong just say the word and i’m there.”

“i know that but-“

“I’ll listen if you need it, i’m your friend and i wanna help.”

“That’s the problem.”

A beat of silence.

“That you’re my friend, just, my friend. That’s what’s wrong."

You feel your mouth going dry.

The words come tumbling out of Sam’s mouth much faster than he can think. “I-I knew from the moment i met you that you were this super cool and sweet and pretty but also badass at the same time kinda person and then it sorta spiraled into a crush, -which was innocent enough- so i thought it’d go away but then it didn’t and then-“

Every word, every thought, every action, everything within Sam is cut short and fades off when your lips collide with his. Your hands cup the sides of his face. His eyes widen before slowly dropping shut.

A moment later the kiss breaks and you’re sat there, staring dumbly into those gorgeous hazel eyes. From this new vantage point (the middle of the front seat) the gaps between the pines overhead is greater, allowing for starlight to filter in. The parts of his face not obscured by the shadows of his hair were illuminated in perfect detail. The soft edges of his face look almost sharp given the looming shadows, that detail though, is contrasted by the rosy blush spreading on his cheeks.

“…I wanted to shut you up,” You blink. “But I should’ve asked, i’m sor-“

The last of your attempt to apologize is muffled as Sam’s lips crash into yours.

His hand rests on the far side of your neck, his thumb moving across your cheek. The kiss grows in intensity, his tongue licking at the seam of your lips, your breath short and hot on his face. You drop your hands from his jaw and begin to slide them down his torso, eliciting a low growl-like sound from him. You both grow in fervor, the kiss bordering the fine line between sweet and desperate.

His tongue pushes past your lips and begins exploring you with warm desire. A soft sound escapes your throat at the feeling, his body growing warm, breaths shaky, and his tongue needly licking at the inside of your mouth.

Sam pulls away but only for a moment. He takes a quick survey of your face: lips red, breathing coming out in short pants, hair messy and all of you elucidated by the stars outside. You were no longer a reverie- some fantasy far out of reach. You were right there, lovely and more attention capturing than any star. So he says the thought that’s been on repeat in his mind since the moment he met you. What he’s thought on a thousand breathless afternoons when the sun shines just right on your face: “I love you”

“I love you too.” You reply without missing a single beat. you don’t have to think about it, not even for a second. You love him.

Taglist: @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillies444lola @wowzabowza69 comment to be added/ removed

#sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #one shot #reader insert #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural one shot #spn fic #spn

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wutheringcaterpillar · 5 months

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I’ll Always Be Your Boy

Summary: Tommy reminisced back to his lost love, his first and only love. It had been years since he’s seen you, and one night when he pulls into your driveway, it all becomes too much for far too long. He needed to be reunited with you, even if the cost was his life.

Warnings: Suicide, drug addiction (opium), trauma, flashbacks, mentions of death, mention of tommy’s mom, mention of miscarriage

Partially inspired by the song below, be prepared with tissues y’all🥹

The brisk midnight air rolled in through the foggy car window as he pulled into the rocky driveway, still trying to figure out what the fuck he was doing here. Tommy hadn’t seen you in years but yet you still crossed his mind, he still worried about you even though he had taken the most vulnerable part of you and shattered it into a million tiny pieces. Now here he was staring at the damaged, once white house that he once promised to fix up before the argument. The wooden fencing now fading, the deteriorating paint now detailing the uncut grass, green vines covering the width.

Pulling out his cigarettes, he brushed the unflamed end over his plush, chilled lips.

The trees bristled, whistling and bellowing through the atmosphere, scattering leaves around the yard.

Tommy thought back to a a particular afternoon, reminiscing the way you laughed when he tripped and fell into a mud puddle, the way you smiled brightly whenever he would partake in hobbies you enjoyed such as creating masterful works of art out of chalk on the stoned sidewalk.

You were graceful, mesmerizing everything Tommy could’ve asked for in a woman, most of all you cared for him. Making him soup when he was feeling ill, running a warm bath to a temperature of his liking, knowing how to calm him from an angry fit or a stressful day.

God did he miss you, he’d do anything for the chance to take it all back, to treat you kindly and cherish you, give you anything your little ecstatic heart desired, but he fucked it up and he blamed himself every second of every passing day.

He wished and prayed that you knew there was no moving on, you held his heart and he was still that boy you fell in love with all that time ago.

A day hadn’t passed where he didn’t think of you but times were becoming tough. The business was failing, any woman that approached him, he simply ignored, only wanting you back.

Stepping out of the car, he approached the house ignoring the silhouettes of storm clouds rolling in accompanied by a deep, rumbling thunder.

Scanning the rooms, he stopped near the kitchen doorway, glancing at the stove where he had partaken in baking sweets with you. He didn’t like desserts himself but what you made you happy made him happy, and he’d always at least taste whatever you made. He would try to help, to assist in rolling dough, gathering ingredients and putting trays in the oven but you always shoved him playfully away after burning a batch of baked goods, putting him instead on the job of decorating.

Smiling softly, he carried on, stopping every now and then as he walked down the crooked, abandoned hallway, glancing at the dusty photos that still stay portrayed on the walls.

A photo of your first date in a milkshake shack, splitting a chocolate shake while giggling with one another, this was just moments before you had convinced him to go rollerblading and he can still say to this day, that was the most fun he’s ever had, for some reason it made him feel alive.

As he carried on scanning the house, he’d heard objects moving while the abandoned floor boards creaked. He could see the shapes of shadows in the distance but he didn’t feel scared or endangered. Perhaps it was you.

“It’s just me love, nothing to be afraid of.” He wished he could see you, he had missed you tremendously but still blamed himself for your death. He should’ve been there, he could’ve stopped it, and now he was reaping the consequences with a broken heart.

When he approached his final destination, he was greeted with a hole in the rickety old door, flashing back to the time where you’d had your first and last fight over what now seemed to be a pointless event, an event he regretted. If he had knew that would be the last time he saw you, the final thing he’d said to you, the frigid, cold words would’ve never escaped his lips, and he knew very well that the argument was a misunderstanding.

Dragging his feet over to the bed, he removed a bottle of opium from his jacket. That was the only thing getting him through this. He had tried to off himself multiple times, just wanting to see you once more, they even had to confine him in the draft which was nearly unheard of.

Pulling out a needle, he punctured his arm after increasing the dose. Almost instantly he could feel his thoughts slowing, a euphoric rush running through his veins causing him to feel tired and lay down on the abandoned bed. The awful fight replaying in his mind.

Bursting through the door, you jumped in the sitting position of your bed, the book in your lap tumbling down onto the floor from being startled.

Tommy stood in the doorway, bottle of whiskey in hand with drenched, disheveled hair from the pouring rain.

“Where have you been? I needed you, and you weren’t there!” Tears brimmed at your eye lids seeing him in this state, knowing that you should’ve been there but you couldn’t.

Standing up while the tears streamed like a river down your heated cheeks, you closed the door and turned to Tommy.

His angelic blue eyes had a clear perception of pain, himself also crying. Tommy never asked you for anything, not once.

“Y’know not everything is about you, maybe if you stopped and looked around every once in awhile you’d realize that but I guess it was stupid on my part to believe you ever truly loved me. You are just a selfish girl, and I can’t believe that for a moment I thought you gave a shit about me.” You tugged at his arm, begging and pleading for him to hear your side of the story as to why you weren’t present at his mother’s funeral but he wouldn’t listen. Hearing your excuses only fueled the anger and extreme upset inside of him but he didn’t know you were dealing with a loss of your own.

“Listen to me, please! I love you Tommy I do, you just don’t understand I-“

“No, no don’t do that. You don’t get to do that I have a crystal clear understanding that I can’t be with someone who doesn’t and never has given a shit about me. Enjoy your life Y/N, because I’m not sure if I want to be in it anymore if all it’s going to be is excuses. I really thought you were different, but you’re just like any other useless whore.” Slamming his fist through the door in aggravation and immense upset, the sound echoed through the house. His words stung like a bee, a sharp and direct hit to your heart.

The following morning Tommy woke from a deep slumber, arm reaching for you only to realize you weren’t there, half of the bed was empty.

He had regretted those things he said, he should have heard you out but all of his withheld emotions came crashing down on him like a hurricane.

Getting up and dressed, he decided the best way to apologize was to go and retrieve your favorite flowers and take you out on the town. He could be such an ass sometimes but he was still learning.

Heading to the kitchen Pol was shocked to see him out of bed, bright eyes and bushie tailed, dressed to the tens.

“I’m surprised you’re up so early given the events of last night. If you need anything don’t be frightened to reach out Thomas, we all need a little help sometimes. Sweet girl she was.”

“Who are you talking about? If it was that Lee girl I’m not surprised, bat shit crazy she was.” Tommy poured himself a cup of tea, adding only cream before reaching for the paper and sitting at the kitchen table.

“No one told you?” Tommy looked at his aunt confused while taking a sip of his tea. Pol relaxed her tone knowing full well this would break her nephew’s heart. With sympathetic eyes, she settled her hand atop of his.

“There was a fire last night. Y/N didn’t make it.” Tommy froze, this couldn’t possibly be true. Pol could see the panic and disbelief in Tommy’s baby blue eyes. When she tried to walk over and console him, he bolted for the door needing to see for himself.

In a fiery fit of anger and sadness he sped over to your house, seeing the damage that has been done. In that moment his heart shattered into a million pieces and he punched the steering wheel repeatedly.

“Fuck!” The thick walls of his mind were closing. If he had controlled his temper, he would’ve been there, he would’ve been able to pull you out of the fire and save the most important piece of his heart. Why you? Why not him? He had nothing to live for without you. He never even got the chance to apologize.

The only thing that seemed to be intact was your car parked in the grass near the mailbox. Stumbling out of his car, he needed to know, know what it was you weren’t telling him that day. What it was he didn’t even give you a chance to say.

Rummaging through clothes, and misplaced papers and pens, he opened the glove box only to find something that changed everything the day of his mother’s funeral.

Pulling out the small piece of paper, his hands trembled as he stared down at the ultrasound of what would have been your bundle of joy.

All of your emotions from that day seemed to seep into his mind. You must’ve been so scared, felt so alone. Why didn’t you tell him?

Flipping the paper over he noticed writing.

TIME OF DEATH: 11:25 am.

11/20/1913

10 weeks old.

You had miscarried just two hours before the funeral and he was too busy shouting out you to know. The tears sprang freely, his heart aching as he wept in the passenger seat feeling the world crashing down him, accompanied by the profound loss of someone he loved.

As the opium kicked in, he lay his dreary, spinning head onto the singed pillow, clenching his fists in what was left of your crisp sheets.

His eyes became heavy, limbs weak while his head span in a euphoric frenzy. Your face flashed through his mind, memories and moments shared together.

The sun was rising through the window peering in through the burnt curtains as Tommy’s vision became blurry and he could see sparkling orbs forming aside him a figure kneeling on the floor with what looked to be a child.

“Come daddy, mommy’s waiting.” The young girl’s voice was subtle, calming. She lay her delicate small hand on her father’s.

Through his clouded perception he could see she had his bright blue eyes and your facial features. She was beautiful just like her mother.

Beads of sweat formed upon his temple, the rush taking over his body bringing a sense of tranquility. Just before he stopped breathing, your voice spoke melodically through his head, bringing a sense of comfort.

“I’m here now. You can let go. We’ve been waiting for you.” He had never felt more at ease then he did now, drifting off into unconsciousness, awaiting his sweet descent into his lover’s arms being reunited as a family, forever content.

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #ranaewrites #peaky blinders #Spotify

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personasintro · 1 year

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Mutual Help | #20

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭: @kithtaehyung

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⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4k+

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢

The fire keeps everyone warm and creates a calm atmosphere around you. It's sad, this is your last night here and you wish you could stay longer. Your camping trip is slowly coming to an end, and all you can do is fully enjoy it while it lasts. And you do, by sipping beer and talking to Jimin who's sitting beside you. From the corner of your eyes, there's Jungkook rummaging through containers full of snacks as he contemplates which one to choose. And he's not alone, there's Kiko standing beside him and laughing at something he says when a bunny grin appears on his face.

"You don't mind?" Jimin speaks up, snapping you out of your thoughts and observation. You realize you weren't listening to him and got distracted, that's why an apologetic smile appears on your face before your brows frown in confusion.

"Mind what?" you ask, seeing Jimin's eyes shifting somewhere over your shoulder and you know what he's looking at the moment, he looks back at you.

"Them talking." he answers carefully, looking at you with the same pitiful look Hoseok gave you during your hike.

"Why would I? Just because she's his ex, it doesn't mean he can't talk to her. He's a free human, I'm in no place to tell him whom he can talk to or can't." you shrug carelessly, reaching for the beer can as you take another sip.

"Yeah, I know that... I guess, I'm just surprised. You're right here and he's there talking to her, staring at her and—" he stops himself before he can say something else, his eyes leaving your face as he looks at the mentioned couple. "Never mind." he gives you a smile, a weak one that you pretend to ignore.

In times like these, you wish you could tell him the truth. To tell him that he doesn't have to worry about your feelings, or the fact Jungkook is there staring at her with heart eyes and having the time of his life, because it's not real. Your relationship is not real and it's all pretended. But you can't, you promised that to Jungkook and even though, sometimes you get the urge of wanting to tell someone close, you don't. Maybe it's that little knowing feeling that you'd feel embarrassed. Although Jimin isn't a judging person, you can imagine his reaction perfectly. He'd probably scream something like 'Are you guys stupid?!'

No matter what goes through Jimin's mind, he decides not to say it out loud and puts his arms over your shoulders, hugging you and pulling you closer to him.

"I've no idea who bought this beer, but it tastes like piss." he whispers into your ear, causing you to erupt in laughter while he joins you.

From the corner of your eyes, you notice Jungkook and Kiko walking away without saying a single word. Everyone seems to be too busy noticing that, but you do.

"Let's play UNO!" Hoseok says, already pulling out cards from one of his bags while Taehyung's groan resounds.

"I never understand the rules." he whines, but still straightens himself to prepare for the game.

While everyone starts to play the card game, Jungkook and Kiko are out of everyone's sight, slowly walking around the lake.

"How's your ankle? Does it still hurt?" Jungkook asks, not hiding his worry while it makes her smile. She's not subtle, Jungkook notices it and his heart starts to do little jumps at that.

"No, it's fine. Thank you for taking care of me." She thanks him.

"Always," he whispers, but too audibly to her ears and he quickly coughs. "I barely did anything, I just carried you."

"That's a lot and I appreciate it," she tells him, "I'm sorry if me coming here is weird or uncomfortable." she blurts out, causing Jungkook to stop as he stares at her with widened eyes.

"What are you talking about?" he frowns in confusion.

Kiko sighs, stopping as well as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "You and Y/N are dating right now, and here you are, taking care of me. I don't want to cause any trouble, Kookie."

That freaking nickname makes his heart jump again and he's so close to hugging her. Oh fuck, what would he do to hug her again.

"You're not causing any trouble," he says quickly, shaking his head. "We are both fine with you being here. I'm glad you're here."

"You are?" she raises her brows in shock.

"Of course," he nods, "You know... I don't hate you. I could never hate you, no matter how our relationship ended." he says, although the mention of their relationship makes his stomach clench uncomfortably.

This can't be the end. No, he can't lose her. But he still forces those words out of his mouth, silently waiting and watching closely her reaction. She sucks in a breath, looking away almost shamelessly and it sparks interest in Jungkook, not the good kind though. It's because he knows there's something more to her reaction and the whole situation.

"You probably should." she mutters, letting out a chuckle that's nothing but fake and forced. It pains him to see her this way, so broken and guilty.

"What? Hate you? Impossible." Jungkook scoffs, staring into her eyes to let her know that he means it.

Despite her saddened gaze, Kiko forces herself to smile. "That's good to know." she chuckles, nibbling on her bottom lip nervously.

"Kik," he mutters, her eyes snapping from her dirty sneakers to his.

He can see how much that nickname affects her. It's not the same when Hoseok or any of her friends call her that. When she hears Jungkook say it, it's like nobody calls her that and it's the most important and beautiful word at the same time. And yet, it's just a simple nickname.

"I know you said you needed some time for yourself, but I don't believe that."

"Kookie—"

"No, let me finish please," he sighs, pleading with her with his doe eyes that makes her shut up and listen to him. "I know it's not the real reason why you broke up with me."

"It is!" she exclaims, growing nervous and unnecessarily defensive which Jungkook recognizes immediately.

"Hoseok told me, Kiko." he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He told me."

"What?" she breathes out, her face paling in the brightest shade of white and even he can notice it in such darkness. She feels like she's about to faint any second.

"Well, he didn't tell me the reason. Actually, he didn't even tell me himself, I kind of figured there's something more to this. All he said is that it's not his place to tell me anything and I respect that. He's a great friend, but I deserve to know the truth. Don't you think?"

She stands frozen, barely blinking before she slowly nods. "You do, but you'll hate me." she whispers, her eyes filling with tears while Jungkook's ones widen and he swears he can feel his heart crack.

"I told you, I could never hate you," he tells her, assuring her but still, it doesn't assure her and she scoffs under her breath as she sniffles. "I'm sure it's something we can fix."

Her face looks even more broken after he says it and he almost whines at the helplessness he feels.

"Unfortunately, it's not. And you'll hate me once you find out." she sniffles, holding back her tears.

Jungkook doesn't hesitate, he moves fast and before Kiko can realize, he's hugging her tightly. Her arms wrap around his frame after a moment of realization, burying her face into his chest as she takes a sniff of his scent. His cheek is pressed against the top of her head, closing his eyes when his heart feels whole again. He missed this so fucking much.

He wants to enjoy this feeling, and he really does, until his head starts to prevail over his heart and all those predictions come back to life. But even then, he's not opening his mouth nor moving away from her.

Just a little longer, he thinks before they both part at the same time but still stay in close proximity.

She recognizes that look, the saddened one as he's about to say something that might break his or her heart but she can't stop him. She's been practically lying to him, because she didn't add another reason why she broke up with him when Jungkook asked. Although, she really needed some time for herself. To learn how to live with that guilt she's been carrying for a couple of months.

"Have you cheated on me?" he asks, watching her mouth open in shock before she quickly gets a grip of herself.

She's silent, avoiding his eyes as she stares at the darkened lake instead. He sees the wheels running in her mind and decides to encourage her to tell him the truth, even if it's going to break his heart all over again.

"You can tell me, I'm not going to hate you." he reminds her.

How could she think he could ever hate her?

Sighing, she closes her eyes for a brief moment before she looks at Jungkook. "Yes." she whispers, causing him to freeze in place.

It was just a wild guess, something that's been bothering his mind for a couple of weeks. But her saying it, admitting that, just breaks him all over again and he literally freezes at her words. With worried eyes, she calls out his name but all he can hear is the one and simple word she said. She just confirmed something he feared of, he didn't think it could be true. You said she wouldn't do it.

"Jung—"

"Who?" he asks in a low tone, embracing herself to look into her teary eyes.

"Jung—"

"Who?" he asks, much broken this time and she sobs, shaking her head. "Was it Hoseok?"

Her eyes widen and she starts to shake her head abruptly, holding onto Jungkook for her dear life. "Jungkook, please!"

She's begging him to stop, he doesn't need to know more. It'll only hurt him even more.

"Just tell me." he says deeply, voice shaking while he remains to keep his face neutral.

"No, of course not! Hoseok is my best friend!" she exclaims, shaking her head as if the idea is completely ridiculous. "I'm so sorry, Jungkook." she sniffles again, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Who was it then?" he still presses, hurting himself even more and Kiko sees that. But she also knows he won't stop bringing it up until she answers him.

So with a deep sigh, she looks on the ground not willing to look into Jungkook's eyes as her velvety but shaky voice resounds.

"You don't know him." she mumbles, shutting her eyes like she's the one who got so hurt. Like she's the one who just found out the love of her life cheated.

"What have I done? Was I not good enough of a boyfriend?"

It's unbelievable how much control Jungkook has over his features and attitude, because he barely reacts. It's like he's numb to everything right now.

"You were perfect."

"Then why would you ever cheat on me?" he whispers, clenching his jaw to prevent himself from crying.

"I-it was a mistake, I'd never do it again. I regret it and I'll have to live with it for the rest of my life. You've to believe me, Jungkook." she begs, but she's met with silence and numb Jungkook.

"T-that's why I broke up with you. I couldn't just look you in the eyes and pretend everything's okay." Her voice shivers as she gulps down the huge lump in her throat.

"You should've told me, maybe we could work it out," he says pathetically.

"What? Would you still want to be with me after I told you that? Jungkook, listen to yourself. It'd be torture for you." she scoffs, although it's completely sad.

"Maybe, but that's how much I love you." he says, not saying anything further because he wants to spill his heart out. He wants to tell her that maybe, just maybe, he would look past that and try to pretend like nothing happened. That's how much he loves her, he's willing to act like she hasn't broken his heart — as long as he gets to have her by his side.

She seems to be taken back for a moment, replaying his words in her mind and wondering if it was just a slit up.

"I'm sorry I broke you, that was never my intention. But I see that you're better without me," he scoffs and she shakes her head, "No, you are. You don't need me, you don't need my love,"

Oh, how wrong she is.

"You've Y/N now. She's a wonderful woman and she's the only one who can love you like I do."

He scoffs, almost bitterly laughing at her words. This is so wrong. She thinks you two are really dating, when in reality it's all an act and his way of winning her heart back. His mind is all over the place and he's not sure what he wants anymore. He needs to sit down and think it through without anyone by his side.

"If I was fine with," he gulps, "If I was fine with... what happened,"

He can't bring himself to actually say those words out loud and it pains Kiko, because she's the one who messed him up. However, she keeps her head low and listens to him.

"Would you still be with me?"

She opens her mouth, snapping her eyes towards him as she stares at him. Is he insane? Would he really be fine with it?

"I—"

"Just answer honestly. Do you love me?"

"I don't think it's appropriate to express my feelings when you've a girlfriend, Jungkook. Don't break any heart like I did, you're so much better than I am." she pleads with him, but he only raises a brow at her.

All he cares about now is for her to answer his question. He needs it, he needs it so he can think it through and decide what's best for him.

"Do you love me?" he asks her slowly, keeping his tone low and eyes focused on hers.

Her pupils shake with nervousness, while her bottom lip shivers almost as if she was scared to answer honestly. Jungkook's doe eyes plead her, showing that there's nothing to be scared about.

"I do," she whispers, "I love you, but you deserve someone better."

"That's up to me," he tells her, turning around before he lets out a huge sigh. "Let's go back, I need some time to think." he mutters, not bothering to look back if she's following him but the quiet rustling of grass behind him tells him that she is.

"...so tell me, what's this boring person's job?" Namjoon asks, sipping on the beer as he adjusts the buckle hat covering his soft blond hair.

The fire still keeps you warm, although the little amount of beer flowing inside your system helps too. You've managed to make yourself relax, bonding with everyone much more until some more heated theme appeared to be the center of attention. Something, that you and Namjoon weren't part of so naturally, he sat down next to you and started to get to know you more.

The topics of your conversations haven't been that serious, it's actually very nice and light talk with someone you're getting to know. Namjoon is an interesting person with great opinions close to yours, even he can make you speechless with the choice of his words and how artistic he seems to be without even trying. And, that he's really clumsy and managed to knock Jimin's beer and Taehyung's soju, plus he tore off one of Hoseok's cards. That's when everyone decided it's time to finish the game, Taehyung's whining about how he doesn't understand the rules definitely helped.

You don't know why, but in a way Namjoon appears to you as mysterious but he's been nothing but very honest and open. He owns a book store where he holds reading sessions every Sunday where customers can recommend their favorite books and hold a conversation with everyone that decides to visit and be a part of their session. There is always a special guest, usually a writer, who openly converses with readers and customers. The writers can take this chance as a self-promotion but as Namjoon said, most of them are just passionate about writing and want to share their journey and story with everyone. Plus, he admitted that he's writing his own book but he's not sure if it'll ever get published. He didn't give you any more details, insisting on keeping it to himself for now and you respect that.

One fact you weren't surprised to hear, is that Namjoon has a girlfriend. She was supposed to be here, but according to Namjoon's words she's visiting her parents over the weekend. You're sure she's just as lovely as he is.

"I'm working in a modeling agency." you answer, chuckling when you see his big eyes.

"You're a model?"

"God, no. I'm, as you could say, a person for everything. Over the few months I worked there, I think I'm doing at least three positions I shouldn't be. My job is to set up dates of photoshoots, making sure everything would go as planned and as smoothly as possible. Oh, once I even had to try on some clothes because the model who was supposed to wear it, couldn't come to fittings. That's the closest I'd ever get to modeling," you snort, "But I don't mind it, it's good and it pays well."

Namjoon stares at you with a mere bewilderment, silently praising you for working so much. Not many people could handle this kind of job and responsibility. Sure, he has his own shop but to him, it feels like you're overworking yourself.

"Well, the fact that you can fit into clothes for models says a lot. Doesn't that make you a model?" he teases you, causing you to snort in response.

"Sometimes I barely fit into those tiny clothes. But no one else wants to do it." you shrug, explaining how it really is.

Your measurements are definitely not model-like. Even nowadays the industry tries to bring more curvy models, it's still not perfect and needs a lot of work, so women with different types of bodies can feel beautiful and normal. Not being judged by their weight or body type.

"That just shows how good of a person you are." he says with a smile, your lips stretching to a similar one.

Maybe he's just joking or saying it lightly, not putting that much thought into his words but still, it makes you happy and emotional at the same time. It's nice to hear such a thing, especially in today's world.

"Ah, stop it!" you giggle, nudging his shoulders as he laughs with you, exclaiming 'It's true!'

You're completely unaware of someone else's presence but that's until your laughter dies down and Namjoon's eyes trail somewhere in the distance. He coughs, almost awkwardly before he slightly pushes himself away from you, although he never invaded your personal space or anything close to it. You follow his vision, seeing Jungkook staring at the both of you before he looks away. Even that brief moment of the weird expression on his face makes you panic.

Something's wrong.

"Excuse me," you mutter, your eyes still locked onto Jungkook who casually reaches towards a beer fan as gulps down almost all of it. "I just need to talk to Jungkook." you smile, glancing at Namjoon who just nods and doesn't question the sudden change in the air.

For sure, he noticed your mood shifting and attention focused on your best friend, but he doesn't question it. Namjoon's smart, he's probably thinking something but he's keeping it to himself. Giving him one of your weak smiles, you make your way over to Jungkook who stands a few meters away from everyone as he holds the beer can in his hand. The other one is hidden in the pocket of his sweatpants while he keeps staring ahead of him with a clenched jaw.

"Hey," you call out, but he barely reacts. You know he must've seen you coming towards him from the corner of his eyes, but damn, it still shocks you that he ignores you. "Are you okay, Kook?" you ask him carefully, eyeing his slumped figure.

"Why don't you go back to giggling with Namjoon, would you?" he barks, your brows shooting to your hairline as you stare at him before you let out a weak chuckle.

"Ouch, who hurt you?" you joke, but apparently your best friend doesn't find it funny and he explodes.

"I'm not in the mood, Y/N." he speaks dryly, obviously not in the mood for talking to you.

Y/N, okay he is pissed off.

"I can see that," you snort, "But I'm here if you need to talk. Whatever happened—"

"For fucks sake, just leave me alone. Go back to Namjoon." he spits and you gape at him with narrowed eyes.

"Why are you so pissed off? Why are you even bringing Namjoon into this?" you ask in disbelief, but all you can see is his clenching his jaw even more. "Don't tell me you're jealous." you scoff, joking but he doesn't seem to take it as a joke when he glares at you.

Your heart jumps at the look he's giving you. He has never looked so angry at you. This is not your Jungkook.

"I'm not," he decides to clarify with an attitude in his tone, "But you're supposed to be my girlfriend and here you are giggling with some other guy. How does that make me look? How does that make us look?"

And you laugh. You actually laugh at him before you shake your head. "Is that what's bothering you? I don't know about you, but you're the one who sneaked out with his ex-girlfriend to God knows where. So, how does that make me look, huh?" you snap, seeing his eyes widen for a quick second before he's back to glaring at you.

"I didn't sneak out for fucks sake," he mutters, although doesn't protest further. "I just need some time alone."

He's pushing you away, you realize. And you're not the problem here. Something happened between him and Kiko, and he's obviously not ready to tell you and you're not going to force him to open up to you. He knows very well that you're here for him, but you're not going to remind him when he's acting this way. Underneath that layer of anger, you see his true and hidden emotion. He's hurt.

You're trying to look for Kiko, wondering if she's in the similar state like Jungkook is. You're met with a sight of Hoseok hugging her closely, almost hidden behind one of the tents. It's too dark to tell what they're doing, but from what you can see it seems like Hoseok is comforting Kiko.

Everyone's too busy to notice the atmosphere that flies in the air, nor Jungkook's and Kiko's state. They're too drunk and preoccupied with screaming drunken nonsense. The only one who seems to notice this is Namjoon but he respects everyone's privacy and preoccupies himself with staring into his phone.

"Okay," you whisper, shoulders dropping in defeat. "Whenever you want to talk, I'm here." you tell him and give him the space he so desperately wants. You're not sure whether he needs it, though.

If this was him during their breakup, possibly even worse, you've no idea what Taehyung and Jimin did to make him feel better.

That night, you're sleeping in the tent while slightly shivering from the cold, despite the fact that you're wearing at least three layers of clothing and that you're completely nestled in your sleep bag. Also, that night Jungkook doesn't pull you closer nor warms you up.

#networkbangtan #ksmutclub #ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #bts angst #bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts au #jungkook fic #personasintro

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peakyswritings · 1 month

Text

My Father’s Daughter

Time to Say Goodbye

Arthur Shelby x Daughter!OC

Summary: sometimes the hardest decision is the better one.

Warnings: mentions of death, alcohol and drug addiction, rocky father-daughter relationship, tiny reference to sex, angst, season 6 spoilers, English is not my first language.

A/N: guess we’re starting from the ending! Each chapter will be a standalone. They will be linked, but they can be read separately. This is set in season 6.

Edit: putting this here cause I think I haven’t been as clear as I wanted to, since it created a bit of confusion🙈 This is the end of Rosalind’s story - or at least, of her story within the family. I wanted to try something different than what I usually do and start from the ending. In the next chapters I’m going back to 1919 and from them on I’ll explore how things turned out the way they turned out.

MEET ROSALIND

SERIES MOODBOARD

In the dim light of a room she knew all to well by now, Rosalind looked for her undergarments among the mess of clothes lying on the floor. The sun was about to set, and she needed to leave before it got too dark. These days, the streets of Birmingham weren’t safe even for a Shelby.

She slid into her slip, the cool material bringing some relief to her skin, still warm from the activities that had been going on up until a few minutes before. Although she didn’t want to admit it, she would’ve liked to stay a while. He would’ve liked it too. But it would just mean to pointlessly carry over something that was bound to happen all the same. She had never been one for cuddling, anyway. Running a hand through her ruffled red locks, she glanced at her… whatever Isiah Jesus was to her.

He was still lying in bed, a cigarette lazily hanging from his lips. He kept his gaze on her, watching her every movement. “So you’re leaving.”

“Yes.”

“Does your father know?”

“Not yet.”

A sigh escaped her lips as she zipped up her dress. She had to tell him, she knew she did. As tempting as the prospect of just leaving without telling anyone else was. “I’ll tell him tonight.”

“Y’know where he is?” he inquired. Isiah was no stranger to Arthur Shelby’s habits, and the course they had taken of late. One could never tell whether he’d go back home or spend his night in the Chinese shop whose business was thanks to the generous amount of money he spent in it.

“Drunk, somewhere,” she shrugged. “Maybe high. Maybe both.”

She wasn’t worried. She knew her father would show up, eventually. He always did. He needed someone to take care of him when he was too wasted to even stand. She couldn’t be that someone anymore. And it wasn’t like he deserved it. She loved him, of course she did, despite everything. But love was not enough.

“I can’t convince you to stay, can I?”

Isiah’s question hung in the air for a while, then, just like it came, it faded away. He knew the answer, she didn’t need to say it. It was more like himself talking to himself. There was a glimpse in his dark eyes, one of sadness, perhaps. Sadness, and something else Rosalind refused to see. That look could’ve almost compelled her to stay, had things been different.

“What will I do without you, eh?” He let out a chuckle, a poor attempt to lighten the atmosphere. “You’ve been pestering me since you came around.”

“Well it’s time you got yourself a woman. Start a family,” she teased him, sitting on the bed to put on her shoes.

He laughed, shaking his head. The only woman I’d start a family with doesn’t want to hear any of that, he thought to himself. But he didn’t say it. Cause he couldn’t.

Rosalind would’ve missed him too, there was no point in lying to herself. But there was no point in dwelling over what could’ve been either. It was time for her to turn page, to leave that life behind. Was she running away? Yes, she had no intention of hiding it from herself. Maybe if she ran fast enough she could escape the old curse. Polly had said it once. It’s in us. In our blood. We need to move, or it catches up with us.

Maybe it would catch up with her anyway.

Her gaze rested on Isiah one last time. She wondered if she’d forget about his face, overtime. If it would deform and fade until it became an indistinct blur and she could no longer picture it in her mind, like it had happened with her mother. She leaned in to press a kiss on his lips. It was chaste, tender, so different from the ones they had shared until then. She wanted to imprint the feeling of his soft lips against hers. That was the one thing she didn’t want to forget.

“Goodbye, Isiah.”

The sound of Rosalind’s heels on the cobblestones resounded in the empty street, breaking the uncanny stillness. Wrapping herself tighter in her expensive coat, she watched are her breath came out in little white clouds in the chilly air, illuminated by the street lamps. Small Heath was so different from the way it used to be years ago. There used to be workers in every corner, striking iron, shovelling coal, lighting fires. Now it was dead silent.

The gun she always carried with her granted her a faint feeling of safety. There had been a time when she was untouchable. When she would walk down the street knowing no one would dare look at her twice, let alone hurt her. Then Aunt Polly was killed, and all of her certainties came tumbling down. If Elizabeth Gray could be taken out, there was no hope for any of them.

When she walked through the front door of her house, she was hit by the reek of booze and smoke. Her father was there. He was sitting at the head of the table, with rumpled clothes, disheveled hair, and an empty look in his eyes. He didn’t say a word. She wondered if he had noticed her stuff was missing, or if he was too stoned to pay attention to anything. She took a seat in front of him, trying to figure out whether he was lucid enough to have that conversation. Or any conversation.

“I’m leaving.”

A heavy silence hung in the air. He didn’t look surprised. In fact, there was almost no emotion on his face. He looked like a dead man forced to stand by some invisible string, like a puppet in a theatre. It wasn’t the first time she got the impression that all the shit he took - the booze, the cocaine, the opium - had drained all the life out of him, leaving just the shell of the man he once was.

For the first time since she had entered the house, he raised his gaze on her. The gaze she met every time she looked in the mirror. That was the one thing she could never escape from.

“Leaving where?”

“America. New York.”

“To do what?”

“I’ll figure it out,” her voice faltered. All the firmness she had armed herself with was threatening to slip away. Her father’s stare was hard, unflinching. She didn’t let it intimidate her. “In truth, I asked uncle Tommy if he needed help with anything, in New York. He said I should talk to you first.”

As if her father was in the conditions of having that conversation.

A silent question arose in his face, but he didn’t say anything. She didn’t give him the chance to. “Then I changed my mind. Whatever I’ll do, I’ll do it on my own.”

Her father nodded to himself, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap. “So ye’re walking out on us. On your old man. On your family.”

That attempt to instil a sense of guilt sent a wave of burning rage through Rosalind’s spine. She didn’t give in to it, though. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t snap. She limited herself to raise her eyebrows and and let out a scoff. “What family?” she asked dryly.

Her father shifted uncomfortably in his chair, lowering his gaze, his own facade crumbling.

She could’ve stopped there. She could’ve spared him the pain. But she didn’t. “Aunt Polly’s dead. Uncle John’s dead. Esme and her kids have vanished into thin air. Michael’s in America, and he hasn’t been a part of this family since he’s been sent away. Uncle Tommy’s not himself anymore. Aunt Ada’s raising two fatherless children. God knows what Finn’s up to. And you…” she paused, grimacing. “You’re a mess.”

A pained expression crossed her father’s face. Her words were more venomous than poison. She knew she was hurting him. Part of her felt bad for that, but the other part wanted to make him feel a tiny part of the pain that had been inflicted upon her since the day she was born. That was the one thing she’d always carry with her.

“Linda left you because you fucked up. I didn’t like her, you know it. But she took care of you, and you fucked up. She left, and even that didn’t change you.”

She didn’t blame Linda for leaving. She had a long list of things to resent her for, but leaving with Billy was not one of them. She couldn’t take care of him anymore. And now Rosalind knew how Linda felt. Everyday she was waiting for the news that her father had been found dead in an alley, with a syringe in his arm. Or killed in one of the fights he engaged in, chasing the thrill of his long gone backstreet days. She had prepared herself to hear something like that a long time ago. She had come to terms with the fact that he was beyond saving.

Her father loosened the collar of his shirt as if he was choking on the truth his daughter was dumping on him. A glimpse of guilt shone in his eyes, and yet, no apology left his lips. “Walking out on yer old man,” he repeated in muffled words.

“You walked out on me first.”

None of them said another word. Not Arthur, who was still digesting what his daughter had said to him, nor Rosalind, who hadn’t meant for their confrontation to take that turn. But too many things had been left unspoken for too long. And Arthur Shelby, despite his efforts to be better, had not managed to escape the curse that had been passed on to him by his father, and by his father before him. His inability to apologise was the proof.

With nothing left to say or do, Rosalind walked out that house she couldn’t call home, and closed the door behind her.

That was the last conversation she ever had with her father.

My Father’s Daughter taglist: @strayrockette @justrainandcoffee

General taglist:

@iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys

@lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989

@call-sign-shark @ce1iat @red-riding-wood @optimisticsandwichgladiator

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fics #peaky blinder imagine #arthur shelby fanfic #arthur shelby imagine

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v3nusstardust · 9 months

Text

🤍”Somethin’ stupid”🤍

Pairing : BF!Niki Nishimura x DEPRESSEDreader! (Real) 🎀

Genre : fluff <3 sad af tho idfk what the genre is

WARNINGS : mentions of self harm, depression, anxiety

A/N : SRRY I usually post like once a week and I forgot to this week I think… Idrk I literally have a fucking concussion rn💀 happened bcs lowkey thought I was in a music video and did cartwheels in my room at 3 am and smacked the shit out of my head and then hit my head on the floor and woke up seeing Gojo Satoru shakin ass 💀😜 anyway enjoy yawl😳

•

In the car with your boyfriend Niki, heading to the movie theater, the atmosphere was perfect –soft music, and a feeling that made life worthwhile. It had been a month since you’d seen him. These small moments you had with Niki made your life worth living. Most of the time he was busy or away for his idol duties and you’d miss him so badly. You would wonder if him being away for so long would end up with you both breaking up or you both falling out of love. The thought always made you feel nauseous and overwhelmed. Your overthinking would get the best of you sometimes, and you would result to self harm. Niki had no idea though and you never planned on telling him.

"Y/n, you might want to ditch the hoodie; it's getting pretty warm in here. You're sweating," your boyfriend chuckled, casting a glance your way. "No kidding, it's hot as hell." You sighed wiping your forehead with your sleeve. As you started to pull down the zipper your hoodie, the memories of your scars made you hesitate. “Actually I’m fine. I can handle it.” You reassured Niki. “Huh? Don’t risk a heat stroke, take it off,” he insisted, concern etching his face. “No I’m literally gonna be fine trust me.” You countered, zipping your hoodie back up quickly. “Y/n. It’s the middle of summer and you’re wearing a hoodie darling. You might wanna take it off.” Niki suggested, a puzzled look was painted on his face. “I’m gonna be alright trust me.” You gave Niki a sweet smile, trying to look unsuspicious. “Whatever you say Y/n.” Your boyfriend sighed.

You and Niki finally arrived at the movie theater. You checked in, got tickets, got snacks and headed to your movie. The air-conditioned theater promised relief from the summer heat, but your hoodie remained a steadfast companion.

Inside the cool, dimly lit theater, you found your seats, the contrast between the chilly air and your hoodie creating a cozy bubble. The movie previews flickered on the screen, and the scent of buttered popcorn filled the air.

Niki leaned over and whispered, "Are you sure you won't overheat in there?..”

“It’s cool in here Niki! I’m fine.” You softly giggled. The movie began, and you got so into it that the hoodie wasn't on your mind anymore. The plot grabbed your attention, and the cozy warmth just blended into the background.

Midway through the movie, Niki gently reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. Your initial reaction was surprise; you were aware of Niki's habit for tracing his fingers along your palms and wrists. Softly pushing his hand away, you met his gaze. He looked absolutely ethereal in the dim theater lighting.

"Do you not want to hold hands?" Niki whispered, pouting with a hint of sadness.

"I do, just... not right now," you replied. Niki's worried expression prompted him to ask, "Is there something wrong?"

You hesitated before responding, "No, no, I just... don't worry about it."

Your words, though intended to reassure, unintentionally stabbed at Niki's heart. His love for you was profound, and while he knew he could be clingy, he never imagined it could "annoy you." The worry in his eyes lingered as the movie played on.

You both went back to the apartment after the movie. The car ride was quiet because you pretended to be asleep, avoiding a talk about why you didn't hold hands. Niki spent the entire ride overthinking what he might have done wrong.

“Niki. I’m gonna go take a shower.” You said, walking off to your room to get your clothes. “Oh okay. I’ll make you some tea for when you get out.” He replied.

When you stepped in the shower, the warm water stung your fresh cuts. You held your wrists and winced in pain, small tears ran down your cheeks. Staring at your wrists, you wondered how you could be so stupid. You regret doing it , because now Niki might see them. The thought made you softly cry. Thank God the shower water was loud enough to cover up your soft muttering and sighs.

After your shower, you returned to the kitchen. Niki was busy cooking dinner and brewing tea for both of you, a delightful surprise that warmed your heart. Soft music played from his speaker next to the stove.

Curious, you asked, "What are you making?" Sitting at the table, he chuckled and replied, "Pasta, I’m trying out new things." The song changed to your favorite, "Somethin’ Stupid” by Frank Sinatra. Excitedly, you exclaimed, "Niki, you added my favorite song to your playlist!"

With a smile, he admitted, "I really like this song. Isn't it your favorite?" You giggled, "Duh! I play it all the time in your car." Niki turned off the stove and approached you. "Is the food ready?" you inquired. "Not yet, but how about we dance?" he suggested, extending his hand with a gentle smile, eyes filled with admiration.

In the soft glow of the dim kitchen light, you and Niki began to slow dance. The soothing melody of the song filled the air as he held you close. The ambiance was warm, and the subtle scent of dinner in the making lingered.

Niki led with gentle grace, swaying to the music with you in a tranquil dance. The rhythmic steps mirrored the easy connection between you two, the worries of the day fading away in the embrace of the moment. His hand rested on the small of your back, fingers delicately entwined with yours. As you swayed together, his other hand found its place on your waist, the closeness allowing you to feel the comforting warmth of his touch. The subtle aroma of the cooking dinner heightened the sensory experience.

Niki's gaze, brimming with stars and admiration, locked onto yours as he gently took your hand in his. However, reality snapped you back, and a sudden fear of him discovering your self infliction made you pull away. You pulled your hand away from his gently. Niki stopped dancing with you, his eyes locked onto yours with concern. "I'm sorry for asking, but why don't you want me to hold your hand?" he inquired.

A tremor ran through you, fear intensifying. Taking a deep breath, you hesitated before admitting, "I... I just," struggling to find the right words. The fear of Niki discovering your scars weighed heavy on your mind.

After a moment, you decided to face it. "Actually, you know what? Hold hands with me," you said, mustering a smile and intertwining your fingers with his. It was a fleeting decision, hoping that the dance would end before he’d notice. He brought a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Your hair smells good.” He nestled his nose into your hair. The song made the moment vulnerable. You found yourself forgetting about all your worries once again. He brought his lips to your wrist, you didn’t even catch it either. You were too busy humming the melody of the song into his chest. Niki pressed his lips to your wrist. He quickly pulled back and examined if, squinting his eyes. You suddenly realized what he was doing. You pulled away from his arms and held your wrist. His face looked indescribable. Worried, sad, confused all at the same time. The song had stopped already, and the room fell silent. "Y/n," Niki uttered softly, his voice carrying a mixture of concern and care. Before he could say more, your lips began to quiver, and tears welled up in your lashes. A gentle cascade of tears spilled from your eyes.

Niki, swift in his response, hurried over and enveloped you in a warm embrace. His chin rested on your head, and his hand traced soothing circles on your back. Anxiety gripped you like a constricting fog, the weight on your chest almost suffocating. Tears stained Niki's once-white shirt, but he paid it no mind.

"It's okay. I'm not upset," he reassured, planting a tender kiss on the top of your head. "My poor, beautiful girl. When did you do that?" he asked, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. Your hyperventilating made it challenging to speak, rendering you silent in the vulnerability of the moment.

Your hyperventilation began to subside, allowing you to regain some composure. "I..was just.. overthinking," you finally managed to admit, your voice still shaky.

Niki's expression softened, a mixture of empathy and a determination to be there for you. “Was it because of me?” he whispered, his thumb brushing away a tear that lingered on your cheek.

You hesitated, the weight of your emotions pressing against your chest. "Yes?... no," you stumbled over your words, struggling to articulate the whirlwind within. "I just miss you so much when you're gone for so long. I feel so lonely again. You're... you're my only light, and the only one in my life who actually makes me happy. I can't stand it when you're away."

Niki's gaze held a depth of understanding as he gently cradled your face. "Y/n, I didn't realize. I'm here for you, always. I’ll bring you with me next time, and the next one after that. I promise my love,” he reassured. His words soothed the ache within your heart. “I’ll be back,” Niki gently pulled his body away from yours. “I’m gonna go get bandages from the bathroom. Sit down,” he kissed your cheek before leaving the room.

When Niki returned, you couldn't help but chuckle at the state of his shirt, soaked with tear and snot stains – undeniably gross. Standing in front of you, he gently took hold of both your injured wrists, his eyes carrying a mix of hurt and pain. Soft elastic bandages in hand, he began to wrap your wrists with a delicate touch.

As he worked, you noticed a subtle glisten in his eyes. His fingers traced along the palms of your wrists, a silent acknowledgment of shared pain. You looked up at him with teary eyes and saw the vulnerability in his gaze.

"Promise me you'll never do this again," he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. Small tears escaped his eyes, tracing down his cheeks. Overwhelmed, you apologized, "I... I'm sorry. I promise. I'm so sorry."You rose from your chair, embracing Niki tightly, the shared pain and promise binding you together in that moment. “I love you so much darling you have no idea. To know that you’ve been hurting yourself like this.. it kills me.” He whispered softly. “I love you too, Niki.” You placed a soft kiss to his chin.

"Do you wanna finish making dinner, and then we can cuddle after?" you proposed.

As Niki's sniffles gradually subsided, a tender smile graced his face, the corners of his eyes still dampened. Niki's smile widened as he looked down at you. "Of course," he agreed, his head tilting slightly. In that gentle tilt, he closed the distance, leaning in for a long, reassuring kiss.

Together, you continued with the meal, the kitchen filled with the comforting aroma of food and music. You showed Niki more songs you liked and he added them to y’all’s new slow dancing playlist.

As you placed the finishing touches on the meal, Niki slid his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. "Smells amazing in here, thank you for helping me darling.”

The conversation during dinner went smoothly. You both talked about stories of the past and dreams for the future. Niki's eyes, still holding a glimmer of tenderness, locked onto yours, reinforcing the unspoken understanding that this moment, amidst shared laughter and a table filled with love, was truly special.

Cuddling on the couch, the outside world faded away, leaving room for the intimacy of shared comfort. “You’re so pretty y/n” Niki admired your facial features. The smell of his fresh Basil and mandarin cologne brought you comfort. You threw your leg over his and snuggled closer onto him. He could feel your soft breaths on his neck. Niki peppered kisses on your temples. He was humming a gentle tune to one of your favorite songs. The moment made you realize how lucky you were to be with someone like him.

A/n : erm I literally fell asleep writing this w my hard ass fit on and makeup bruh my skin is breaking out hella someone come kill me. Srry for the amount of mistakes btw I did not read over it 🤓🤓 I raw dogged this it might be shitty Also I hope y’all liek:3 i put my whole venussy into this. Xoxo💋💋

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shitsndgiggs · 2 months

Note

hey great to see that your requests are now open! not sure if you are writing part 2’s but if you are i would love a part 2 for the marc guiu fic you posted today. part 2 for lost in obligation would be amazing tysm! btw love all your fics sm

LOST IN OBLIGATION (Part 2) - MARC GUIU

You both come up with a solution to make this marriage work

Marc Guiu x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

Months had passed since our arranged marriage, and the days had blurred into a monotonous routine.

Marc and I continued to navigate our lives under the watchful eyes of our families, maintaining a facade of marital bliss while struggling with the reality of our situation.

The affection we once might have had for each other had been replaced by a resigned acceptance of our roles.

It was another one of those events—an obligatory business gathering hosted by Marc’s parents.

The room was filled with influential figures and their entourages, a sea of polished smiles and forced pleasantries.

Marc and I sat at a table near the edge of the room, our interactions limited to polite conversation and small talk.

The evening had been tedious, the atmosphere stifling, and the forced nature of our presence felt like another layer of shackles on our already constrained lives.

Marc’s hand rested casually on the table, a distance away from mine, his demeanor as guarded as ever.

The clink of glasses and murmur of conversations filled the air, creating a backdrop to our own silent discontent.

As we sipped our drinks, an older man approached our table. He was handsome, with a confident stride and a charm that seemed effortless.

His eyes lingered on me with an interest that made me uncomfortable. He wore an air of familiarity, though I had never met him before.

“Excuse me,” he said, flashing a polite smile. “I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here. Would you care to join me for a dance, or perhaps a drink at the bar?”

I stiffened, glancing at Marc before responding. “Thank you, but I’m married. My husband is right here.”

I gestured towards Marc, who looked up briefly, his expression neutral. The man’s eyes followed my gesture, then turned back to me, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

“Your husband wouldn’t mind,” he said, reaching out to take my hand, attempting to pull me from my seat.

My heart raced, both from the surprise of his advance and the awkwardness of the situation.

Before I could react further, Marc’s hand shot out. He grabbed the leg of the chair I was sitting on, pulling it closer to him.

His other hand rested on my thigh, his touch was firm and surprisingly warm through the fabric of my dress.

“She’s busy with her husband,” Marc said, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. His eyes were locked on the man, a silent challenge in his gaze.

The man’s face flushed slightly, and he looked between Marc and me with a mix of embarrassment and confusion. “My apologies,” he muttered, stepping back and walking away with a hasty retreat.

Marc turned his attention back to me, his eyes intense. Before I could fully process what had just happened, he leaned in and kissed me.

The kiss was unexpected, his lips warm and insistent against mine. His hand on my thigh squeezed gently, and I could feel the tension in his touch.

Caught off guard, I hesitated for a moment before kissing him back, unsure whether to pull away or respond.

The kiss lingered, a mix of frustration, defiance, and something else that I couldn’t quite place. When we finally parted, I looked at Marc, stunned by his sudden display of affection.

Marc’s gaze remained fixed on the man who was now retreating across the room. His face was a mixture of relief and determination. When he finally looked at me, his eyes were softer, almost apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his hand still resting on my thigh. “I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. I didn’t want anyone else thinking they could intrude.”

I was at a loss for words, the kiss and the unexpected show of protectiveness leaving me shaken. “Marc, I—”

He cut me off gently, his expression earnest. “We’re in this together, whether we like it or not. I just… didn’t want to see you being disrespected.”

The sincerity in his voice was a stark contrast to the coldness that had defined our interactions for so long.

The room seemed to close in around us, the noise of the event fading into the background as we sat there, the kiss hanging heavily between us.

“I appreciate it,” I finally said, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t know you cared about me like that.”

Marc’s expression softened, and he squeezed my thigh gently. “I care. I just… don’t always know how to show it. This situation is difficult for both of us.”

We stepped out into the cool evening air, the noise of the event fading behind us.

Marc guided me to a quieter spot away from the bustling crowd, a secluded corner near the entrance where the night sky was visible above.

Marc turned to face me, his expression a mixture of contemplation and sincerity. "Y/N," he began, his voice steady but tinged with an emotion I hadn’t heard before, "I need to be honest with you. I mean, you are insanely attractive. Probably the most attractive girl I have ever seen."

I looked at him, surprised by his candidness. His words were unexpected, and I could see a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

"I just," he continued, "I would have hoped that we could have taken this ‘relationship’ in our own time. If we had been given the chance to build something ourselves, maybe then we could have had happy memories from our wedding instead of this forced charade."

His confession caught me off guard. It was rare for Marc to open up so honestly, especially about his feelings regarding our marriage.

The weight of his words made me pause, reflecting on our shared predicament and the lack of genuine connection that had defined our lives together so far.

"I never imagined this would be how things turned out either," I admitted quietly, looking down at my hands. "I thought maybe, just maybe, things could have been different."

Marc sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to echo the sentiment of our shared struggle. "I’m not saying that we can fix everything overnight. But… maybe we can start by being honest with each other. Maybe we can build something, even if it’s just a friendship."

I looked up at him, the sincerity in his eyes touching a chord within me. "I’d like that," I said softly. "I think we both need to start somewhere, and maybe being friends is a good place to begin."

Marc nodded, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Agreed. It’s not perfect, and it’s not what we imagined, but at least it’s real."

#football imagine #football x reader #marc guiu x reader #marc guiu

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p4p1l0nn · 10 months

Text

“brew-tiful banter”

pairing: barista!jaehyun x reader (featuring jungwoo and doyoung)

genre: romcom, slice of life, comedy, mystery, friendship, coffee culture.

word count: 2.5k

a/n: not my top pick, but decided to let it see the light. take a peek, share your thoughts if you want. enjoy the read!

like any other day, jaehyun greeted his regulars with a warm smile as they entered the cozy coffee shop. the aroma of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air, creating an inviting atmosphere.

“hey there, sarah! the usual caramel latte to kickstart your day?” jaehyun grinned as he prepared her favorite drink.

sarah chuckled, “you know me too well, jaehyun. you coffee is my morning lifesaver.”

a new customer walked in, and jaehyun welcomed them, “welcome! first time here? our coffee's so good it should be illegal.”

the newcomer laughed, “i'll have whatever's the house specialty.”

“the house special? that's a bold move!” jaehyun winked. “how about a velvety mocha with a hint of hazelnut? it's our secret weapon.”

as the coffee grinder whirred in the background, jaehyun engaged with another regular, mark. “mark, my man! how's the novel coming along?”

mark sighed, “slowly, but your espresso shots keep the ideas flowing.”

with a grin, jaehyun replied, “that's what i'm here for – brewing inspiration one shot at a time!”

the mix of laughter, the clinking of mugs, and the hum of conversation filled the air, creating a lively ambiance. the smell of freshly ground coffee beans lingered, inviting customers to savor both the delightful banter and the rich aroma.

but that was before. the once lively jaehyun, whom customers adored for his infectious energy, had now transformed into a more somber version of himself. despite the change, his dedication to excellent customer service remained unmatched.

as he greeted customers, there was a noticeable absence of his signature enthusiasm. “hey there,” he would say, a faint smile attempting to mask the subdued tone. the nickname “brewmaster bummer” circulated among regulars, a stark contrast to his former title.

a long-time friend, jungwoo, sensed the change and asked, “you seem a bit off today. everything okay?”

he sighed, “just one of those days, you know? but don't worry, the latte is still going to be as perfect as ever.”

jungwoo nodded understandingly, “well, if you need someone to talk to, we're here for you too.”

the coffee shop atmosphere retained its charm, but a hint of nostalgia lingered. the smell of coffee beans mixed with an underlying melancholy, creating an unusual blend. despite the change in jaehyun's demeanor, his banter still resonated, though it lacked the sparkle it once had.

a new customer, unaware of the transformation, approached the counter. “hey, i heard this place has the best banter in town. what's the secret?”

jaehyun managed a small grin, “ah, the secret ingredient is a dash of wit and a sprinkle of charm. welcome to brewmaster bummer's, where even the gloomiest days can't dampen our dedication to good coffee and, well, decent banter.

“and as much as i want to serve our specialty, i'm sorry to say that we're closed,” jaehyun declared with his usual wit, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “jungwoo must have forgotten to put the 'closed' sign again.”

the customer sighed, “that's a bummer. i should have brought my friend earlier today, but she's too busy to even step foot in any store. i guess we'll have to come again then.”

jaehyun chuckled, “tell your friend not to worry. brewmaster bummer's is always here, and we'll have the banter ready for her next visit.”

as the customer left with a promise to return, jaehyun exchanged a knowing glance with jungwoo, who shrugged apologetically. the coffee shop may have been closing its doors, but jaehyun's spark of banter remained, leaving a lingering anticipation for the next day's interactions.

╴╴╴╴╴⊹ꮺ˚ ╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚ ╴╴╴╴˚ೃ ╴╴

“order for the brave souls, your bold double-shot espressos are ready!”

a guy who visits everyday with his regular orders approached the counter. with a cheeky smile, jaehyun handed him the cups.

“bold and ready, just the way i like it," he grinned, taking the cups. “fuel for conquering the day.”

curiosity got the better of jaehyun, and he quirked an eyebrow, “does your friend always ask you to get her order? i feel like i've been making these double-shots for weeks now.”

the guy chuckled, “she's a busy lady, always on the run. i'm just the coffee messenger.”

jaehyun laughed, “ah, the coffee courier! well, i appreciate your dedication to delivering the caffeine goods. by the way, i never got your name. no need for introductions, you might already know mine.” he winked playfully.

he joined in the banter, “yeah, jaehyun the banter. the name's doyoung.”

grinning mischievously, jaehyun couldn't resist a playful jab, “so, doyoung, when do i get to see this 'double shots of espresso' lady in person? is she avoiding the legendary banter brewmaster?”

doyoung laughed, “oh, she's a mystery. always on a caffeine quest, but rarely spotted in the wild. you'll just have to keep brewing those double shots, and maybe one day she'll reveal herself.”

jaehyun, leaning on the counter, feigned disappointment, “ah, the elusive coffee connoisseur. i'll keep the banter extra sharp for her eventual appearance.”

their banter continued, with doyoung sharing more stories of his mysterious friend's coffee preferences, and jaehyun adding his own theatrical twists to each tale. the coffee shop, usually filled with the comforting aroma of brewing coffee, now also echoed with the shared laughter of the banter duo.

as doyoung left with his usual order, jaehyun called after him, “tell the espresso enthusiast she's missing out on some top-tier banter!”

doyoung waved back with a smile, “i'll let her know. maybe one day she'll take on the challenge.”

╴╴╴╴╴⊹ꮺ˚ ╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚ ╴╴╴╴˚ೃ ╴╴

a few days passed, and jaehyun's mood seemed to uplift bit by bit. despite his persistent gloom, he managed to pull off the banter routine, but occasionally, a shadow still crossed his face. perhaps it was the absence of his favorite mystery regular, who hadn't made their double-shot order in days. the reason remained unknown.

one day, as jaehyun absentmindedly stared into the coffee beans, jungwoo, his ever-supportive colleague, nudged him, “hey, jaehyun, feeling the coffee blues again? missing the elusive double-shot enthusiast?”

he sighed, “yeah, it's been a while. wonder what happened to doyoung's friend. maybe she found a new favorite coffee spot.”

jungwoo grinned, “or maybe she's on a caffeine detox. you know, trying to banish the coffee spirits for a while.”

despite his lingering melancholy, jaehyun chuckled, “coffee detox? that's like trying to ban banter in here. impossible!”

jungwoo playfully continued, “maybe she's preparing a grand entrance. the return of the mysterious coffee lover, starring doyoung and jaehyun, the dynamic duo of banter and brew.”

jaehyun couldn't help but smile, “i like that plot twist. maybe we should spice up the banter even more. make her reappearance unforgettable.”

and there goes the ring, signaling a customer. jaehyun's eyes darted to the clock – exactly 4 pm. could it be—

“double espresso shots, please,” a voice requested, but it wasn't doyoung's.

jungwoo approached the counter with a friendly smile, “sure thing! we've got a thing for double shots today. what brings you here?”

the girl chuckled, “my friend got sick of me asking the same thing and told me to come myself.”

jungwoo's eyes lit up with recognition, “sounds familiar. are you perhaps doyoung's friend?”

caught off guard, you chuckled, “well, aren't you a detective in disguise? guilty as charged.”

jungwoo laughed, “you're the mystery double-shot enthusiast he's been talking about, aren't you?”

you nodded with a mock serious expression, “i am. i come in peace, armed only with an insatiable love for double shots.”

with a playful grin, jungwoo nudged jaehyun, who seemed momentarily lost in words. his sudden all-talk demeanor had vanished, leaving only silence in its wake. “well, lover boy, you heard her. make her the regular and show off your specialty.”

jaehyun, finally finding his words, chuckled, “alright, alright, the specialty it is. get ready for a taste bud adventure, espresso lady.”

as jaehyun prepared the coffee, he couldn't help but add, “i'll brew it with an extra sprinkle of magic, just for you.”

jungwoo teased, “a sprinkle of magic? watch out, jaehyun's turning into a coffee wizard. maybe he'll even add a dash of love potion.”

you laughed, “love potion in coffee? now that's a unique selling point. i'll take my chances.”

jaehyun worked on your regular order, jungwoo engaged you in conversation, “so, where's doyoung been? we've missed our fellow banter enthusiast.”

you shrugged, “oh, he's on a mission, exploring uncharted coffee territories. said something about discovering a hidden gem.”

jungwoo laughed, “hidden gem, huh? maybe he'll find the banter diamond mine. we could use some extra sparkle around here.”

you joined in the humor, “well, if anyone can uncover a banter diamond, it's doyoung. maybe he'll bring it back for the grand reopening.”

as the two of you bantered back and forth, jaehyun couldn't help but stare at you in awe. your playful demeanor and easygoing banter had injected a fresh energy into the coffee shop, and jaehyun found himself captivated by the newfound presence.

jaehyun gazed at you, his heart seemed to skip a beat, much like the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans that permeated the air. it wasn't just your captivating smile or the way your eyes lit up with each playful remark; it was an inexplicable warmth, akin to the comforting embrace of a perfectly brewed cup of coffee.

your laughter echoed in his mind like the melody of a well-steamed espresso machine, filling the quiet spaces with a delightful hum. jaehyun found himself enchanted by the way your eyes sparkled, reminiscent of the gleam on the surface of a freshly brewed espresso, rich and inviting.

he couldn't help but notice the graceful way you carried yourself, akin to the smooth and velvety texture of a well-poured latte. your presence was like the perfect coffee blend, a harmonious mix of sweet and bold, leaving an indelible imprint on his senses.

every word you spoke was a flavor note in his heart, a symphony of tastes that danced like frothy milk on the surface of a cappuccino. and as he crafted your specialty drink, he realized that, much like the meticulous art of brewing coffee, there was an art to the way you added a touch of magic to the ordinary.

perhaps it was the way your laughter lingered in the air, like the aromatic notes of a freshly brewed pour-over. or the gentle way you leaned in during the banter, reminiscent of the careful pour of a velvety flat white. jaehyun found himself lost in the warmth of your presence, much like the comforting embrace of a favorite coffee mug on a chilly morning.

and just like a well-prepared cup of coffee, you left an aftertaste — a sweet and lingering essence that made jaehyun yearn for more-

“oh shi-”

immersed in admiration of you, reality struck, and he yelped. his coffee daydreaming had led to an unintentional overpour, and a splash of hot coffee stung his hand. jungwoo, the good friend he is, burst into laughter.

“smooth move, barista extraordinaire!” jungwoo teased, laughter echoing through the coffee shop.

your playful grin hiding a hint of concern, quipped, “well, that's one way to spice up the brew, isn't it? hot coffee, hotter hands.”

jaehyun, now a mix of embarrassment and shyness, stammered, “w-well, you see, i was just, uh, lost in the aroma of the coffee, and then, um, things got a bit too dreamy . . .”

jungwoo, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle, chimed in with a hearty laugh, “lost in the aroma, huh? i didn't know coffee daydreams could be so dangerous. maybe we should get you a helmet, buddy, to protect you from those hazardous beans.”

“who knew coffee brewing could be such an extreme sport? i'll have to be careful around here, might get caught in the crossfire of a barista's daydream.” you playfully added.

the poor barista, still recovering from the coffee mishap, managed a sheepish grin, “s-sorry about that. i guess my mind wandered into the coffee fields without a map.”

jungwoo, still relishing the moment, teased, “more like into the coffee clouds. next time, warn us before you take a caffeine-powered trip, captain jaehyun.”

with a playful grin, he nudged jaehyun and added, “or is it because you're nervous? coffee daydreaming might be your secret escape from the mysteries of the heart.”

jaehyun, now fully embracing the good-natured banter, rolled his eyes, “nervous? please, i handle coffee pressure like a pro. it's just, uh, occupational hazards.”

you, shyly enjoying the banter, quipped, “well, captain jaehyun, if your coffee daydreams are anything to go by, i'd say you're navigating the coffee seas just fine.”

jungwoo, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, continued to playfully prod, “maybe you need a co-captain to help you steer through those daydream storms. preferably someone with a good sense of direction.”

the trio chuckled, the coffee shop once again filled with the lighthearted melody of their banter. as the laughter subsided, jaehyun, with a flourish, finished preparing your coffee and handed it to you.

“here you go, espresso navigator. a brew crafted with the precision of a well-charted course and the heart of a caffeine adventurer. may it fuel your journey until our next coffee-filled escapade.”

you, smiling at the banter, accepted the cup with a playful thank you.

finally, you prepared to leave, the banter had woven a comfortable atmosphere, and you playfully remarked, “well, my lunch break is up, it's my cue to leave. thanks for the coffee and laughter, boys. see you around.”

jungwoo, ever the jester, grinned, “anytime you need a caffeine pick-me-up or a good laugh, you know where to find us.”

jaehyun, still recovering from his coffee mishap, added with a sheepish smile, “yeah, and next time, i promise not to turn the coffee shop into a comedy stage.”

you chuckled warmly, “oh, i don't mind a bit of coffee theater. it adds to the charm. and by the way, even if doyoung warned me you both are double trouble, i must say, you're not so bad after all.”

as you gracefully walked out, jaehyun, struck by an unexpected surge of realization, dramatically grasped jungwoo, who nearly tripped in bewildered confusion.

“i forgot to ask for her number!” jaehyun exclaimed, wide-eyed and dramatically clutching his chest as if he'd missed out on the last bean in the coffee bag.

jungwoo, eyes rolling, retorted, “your moves are as weak as decaf. you didn't even bother with the name.”

their banter continued, a hilarious exchange of blame and accusations, transforming the coffee shop into a spontaneous comedy show. back and forth they went until, in the midst of their banter, the closing lines arrived.

“next time, maybe start with a simple 'hi, i'm jaehyun.' that might save you from tripping over both words and your own feet.” suggested jungwoo with a sly grin.

but jaehyun, seemingly lost in his own world, responded with a dreamy smile, “i think i might be in love.”

jungwoo, catching onto the shift in the atmosphere, raised an eyebrow and remarked, “love? you sure it's not just a caffeine-induced daydream?”

jaehyun, still smiling, shrugged, “who knows? maybe my heart just found its favorite blend.”

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