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taexual · 8 months

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sleepwalking ● 1 | jjk

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers / fluff / angst / smut (in later chapters)

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, SLOW BURN

words: 7.5k

chapter 1 ► when i open my eyes to the future, i can hear you say my name

There was virtually not a single person left on the entire fourth floor of the company building, despite it being a Monday afternoon. Normally, two other managers worked in offices adjacent to yours, so the noise in the hallways never settled below a pleasant hum: producers, promoters, and publicists – the three cursed Ps – shuffled in and out, heels clicking urgently against the marble floor.

This funeral silence was unusual, but you knew it was only a calm before the storm.

Rated Riot were going on their first-ever European tour in two days to promote their sophomore album – named aptly, “ready, set, RIOT” – and today was the final day of meetings. Evidently, the executives at Jett Records assumed that the band deserved to have a whole floor to themselves, so everyone else got a half-day, leaving you and the Floor Administrator, Rue, all by yourselves until the band got here.

This unsettling silence was exactly why you heard them arrive as soon as the door of the building opened four floors below. Rated Riot lived up to their name by making themselves heard before they were seen.

As soon as the sharp ding! of the elevator reached you in your office—your door was always open on meeting days, because the four members of one of the most promising rock bands in the world at the moment lacked any sense of direction—you could immediately feel the atmosphere lighten, the previous silence long gone.

“Rue! The apple of my eye!” Hoseok, the drummer and the de facto mood setter of Rated Riot, exclaimed as you listened to the familiar sounds of the band as they exited the elevator and, based on the repeated clicking of shoes in the lobby, momentarily got disoriented.

“Always looking good, Rue!” Jungkook, the vocalist, as well as the new Golden Boy of Jett Records followed after.

“Good to see you again,” Taehyung, the always well-mannered bassist, said. Silence followed and you assumed he shook Rue’s hand.

“Hello,” Yoongi, who was, technically, the guitarist of the band, but, really, played any instrument he could get his hands on, was the last to speak. He’d always been very well-spoken in songwriting, but quieter and more careful in most everyday conversations.

“Welcome, guys,” Rue greeted them. You couldn’t see any of them from where your office was located, but you’ve been in a similar situation countless times before and you could imagine what was happening without needing to witness it first-hand.

Rue would stand up from her seat and point her right hand down the hallway, reminding them—yet again—that they needed to walk down the hall and take a right turn. The members of Rated Riot, in turn, would walk down the hall. At least one of the four of them would turn left instead, causing a pause as the group gathered back together, exchanging confused glances. Then, they would turn back to Rue—who would still be standing there, her right hand extended like a helpful Statue of Liberty. They’d laugh at themselves, nod at Rue, and take the correct turn.

If things were going well, they’d find your office on first try—they’d just need to find the open door and peer inside; your desk was right in front. More often than not, however, they stumbled around, knocking and chuckling to themselves as they continuously interrupted the offices of everyone else, but you.

They were special. Not just because they looked like loose ducklings, separated from the Mother Duck, whenever they entered the company building, but also because, in spite of their own lack of coordination, they still managed to get things done.

And they brightened the day of everyone they came across. Which was almost ironic—as you realised by watching the four of them enter your office—considering the effortless rockstar aura that surrounded them.

Jungkook walked in first. That was typical because he usually did: sometimes because he was the only one who remembered where your office was, but usually because the other members offered him as a sacrificial lamb when they went knocking around every office on the floor in search of yours.

He was dressed in all-black—always—adorned with silver chains and necklaces that often gave you a start when you looked up, because he had a very specific way of entering the room: he seemed to make sure to position himself in just a way that the light, coming in from the window behind you, always reflected off his jewellery and momentarily blinded you.

Sure enough, you blinked, cringing into yourself as the brightness hit your eyes, and when you opened them again, he was already grinning.

“Hi,” he said and the rest of the members followed in after him—a brighter palette of colours.

Even Yoongi, who was the only one who could have given Jungkook a run for his money if you had to count which one had more black items of clothing in their closet, was wearing a beige, loosely buttoned shirt.

Despite that, however, you could tell they were rock artists as soon as you looked at them—all tattoos, piercings, intense eye make-up behind sunglasses, and old band tees—and you stood up, excited to let them know that, finally, every last loose thread had been found and tightened. They’d get to introduce their artistry on a different continent, and you’d make sure it’d go smoothly.

“We’re leaving for Prague tomorrow morning,” you told them once the five of you settled down at the round table in the back of your office. “So, if you were planning a going away party, I strongly advise against it.”

“We weren’t,” Yoongi said, lifting his glass of lemon water—there was a jug on the table—and giving you a reassuring look. “This is the strongest drink I’m having tonight.”

“Thanks,” you said paradoxically enough, but being grateful when the members of the band you managed didn’t get drunk before an important day was part of the job. “I’d also appreciate it if—”

“Hold on a second, though,” Jungkook interrupted—you’d been anticipating it. “I’m going to a gig tonight, Reconnaissance are in town again. And there’s obviously an after-party—”

Despite Reconnaissance being, arguably, one of the most popular rock bands in the world right now, you were definite when you cut him off, “No.”

“—so, I—wait. No?” he paused. “I never miss their shows, you know that. And I don’t get drunk easily. You know that, too.”

“That’s why you drink so much,” you rebutted. The rest of the band members got their phones out, knowing well enough at this point that this would take a while. “And then I have to come get you out of trouble.”

“You absolutely do not have to do that,” Jungkook insisted. “We’ve been through this.”

“Have we?” you argued. “Because I keep telling you it’s my job to keep you from passing out in a dirty bar bathroom, but you don’t care enough to hear me.”

“Well, you’re not very convincing. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll wake up again.”

You were used to having this conversation with him—you’ve argued about this way before he became a singer and you ended up as his manager. And yet, the lax way he said this made you clench your fists.

Despite being mostly introverted, Jungkook did enjoy getting drinks with friends: even if said friends enjoyed his celebrity status more than they enjoyed the drinks.

“And if you don’t?” you threatened. “Rated Riot’s vocalist gets his stomach pumped. A catchy headline.”

“Yeah, man,” Hoseok interjected, putting his phone screen down on the table and crossing his arms. “Doesn’t go well with the vibe we’re going for. Don’t get your stomach pumped.”

“Fine, I—”

“What he meant was, don’t drink so much that you’d need your stomach pumped,” you clarified because Jungkook moonlighted as a Loophole Finder.

“I never have!” he insisted. “Seriously, you treat me like I’m still nineteen. Have some faith.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the other members of the group look up from their phones. The band had only formed a few years ago, so you were the only person in this room who knew what Jungkook was like when he was nineteen. You never spoke about it – that was likely why everyone was so curious.

In any case, Jungkook was wrong. You did have faith—that’s why you spent so many of your off-duty nights driving down deserted streets to pick him up after his asshole friends convinced him it was a good idea to try the biker bar on the outskirts of town, and he’d gotten in an altercation with a burly redneck that was twice his size.

There was no time for that now, not when he was supposed to be on stage in Prague in three days.

“Well,” Taehyung spoke up. “I was thinking of going to the show as well. Not so much the after-party, I have better plans. But, uh, I could come, after all.”

You appreciated the offer, but you knew that these better plans involved him spending time with his girlfriend, Luna, who was going to join him for a few weeks of the European tour, but after that, the two of them were going to be apart for several months.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you said, not trying very much to hide the hopeful undertones in your voice. Jungkook’s friends felt intimidated by all the members of Rated Riot; they’d be on their best behaviour if Taehyung was there.

“No, I think it might be fun,” Taehyung said. You exhaled quietly and he could sense your gratitude without words. He turned to his younger bandmate. “Should we go together?”

Jungkook groaned and mumbled under his breath, “not if I have to third-wheel again.”

“When have you ever third-wheeled anyone?” you asked rhetorically, but he was already opening his mouth to reply. Quickly, you added, “be careful, is what I’m saying, okay? I am complaining about having to pick you up from all kinds of holes, but if you need me to bring NDAs, I will bring them. So, ask.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but chose to stay quiet. He knew better now – the one time he did not make anyone sign a non-disclosure agreement after an impromptu, drunken busking session in New York, pictures of him, half-dressed and giving a lap dance to a random, equally as drunk, groupie, were on every rock page on Instagram. Accompanied with detailed retellings of how it came to happen, of course; all of them more ridiculous than the next. Your personal favourite story was that he was recruiting members for a sex cult.

“We’ll call you,” Taehyung gave you a nod, “if we have to.”

“Perfect,” you said, glancing at Jungkook again, even though expecting him to confirm that he, too, would call you if he had to, was wishful thinking.

Every time you reminded him how he needed to start going out with a less destructive crowd, he’d treat his phone like a poisonous snake – and he’d been doing that even before you became his manager. His friends seemed to get their pleasure fix from watching you arrive and rip him a new one, so they were the ones who called you most of the time, always laughing into their phones like true accomplices.

It was funny how Jungkook was the only one who passed out or got so wasted, he ended up on a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. His friends always walked away unscathed and, usually, only called you by the time they were back in their bedrooms – “when we left, he was ordering mint and honey daiquiris, you should probably go over there and check up on him.”

It was like they loved pushing him into danger and purposefully bringing the two of you together again, and Jungkook either didn’t realise or didn’t care anymore. It’s been a while, after all.

You and Jungkook had been broken up for almost two years when you got the unbelievable offer to manage an up-and-coming rock band. This was over two years ago now and you were only twenty-four back then. Up until that point, you had worked as an assistant manager for various indie artists, so that offer was massive.

You figured the downside that your ex-boyfriend happened to be in this particular band was worth it, considering the huge leap in your career you’d make by accepting this job.

And, for the most part (excluding the first two months that were pure chaos of repressed feelings), you and Jungkook both made this work, drawing a strict line between your relationship before Rated Riot (back when he still had your phone number saved as “❌”) and after he met you again as Rated Riot’s new manager (ironically, now your name on his phone was “❌❌❌”).

You’ve managed Rated Riot for almost exactly two years now, and if you’d asked the band – which you wouldn’t, partially out of humbleness, but also because you were scared – you’d know that they loved working with you as much as you loved working with them. So, in the end, it all really had been worth it.

“Check your emails for the descriptive itineraries,” you continued smoothly enough. The guys at the table put their phones down and returned their attention to you. “Now, who else is coming with us?”

Technically, the band wasn’t supposed to bring anyone – the label was explicitly clear about that. They wanted the first European tour to go “without a hitch” (meaning, without distractions), but you held a more liberal view here.

You didn’t think loved ones coming on the road were a distraction; if anything, they were a firm support mechanism that made touring easier for the artists.

“I know Luna’s staying until the Barcelona show, yeah?” you asked, double-checking the notes on your laptop.

Taehyung nodded, a small smile on his lips at the mention of the girl. “She flies out the next day, yeah.”

“Okay. Who else?”

“Well, Sid and Jude are coming,” Jungkook spoke up and, after seeing your eyes roll back, added, quieter, “and Minjun isn’t sure.”

The three musketeer-wannabes – Sid, Jude, and Minjun – were on speed dial on your work and personal phones, because if Rated Riot had a performance and the vocalist wasn’t there, it was likely those three who were to blame. They were the only ones who knew Jungkook longer than you did, and they seemed to take pride in the fact that they had successfully been causing you headaches for seven years now.

“Sid and Jude,” you repeated, “aren’t worried they’ll lose their jobs if they travel to Europe abruptly?”

“No, they’re cool,” Jungkook shrugged, not catching the mockery in your voice. “I’ll text Minjun right now. Maybe he’ll come when we’re in Poland…”

“I needed confirmation by last week,” you reminded him. “At the latest.”

He glanced at you from his phone and then went back to texting. “So, why’d you ask now?”

“To double-check,” you said. “They’re going to have to book the hotels themselves. Or sleep on the street. Honestly, I don’t really—”

“So, uh,” Yoongi interrupted before another argument could begin, “how many hotels this time?”

“Prague, Amsterdam, and Paris. And, depending on flight time, maybe two nights in London,” you said with an apologetic smile. “Bring your favourite blankets. We’re living on buses for the next three months.”

None of them minded – if anything, you could see a little glitter in their eyes as they listened to you. Being on the road and having to sleep on the tour bus every night was an experience they’d missed. They hadn’t gone on an actual tour in almost a year – as someone who thrived on live performances, they had obviously missed this.

Really, you’ve missed it, too. Rated Riot may have been a riot to look after as their manager – pun fully intended – especially on tour, but they were your riot to deal with.

You liked your job and the challenges that came with it, because, in the end, you overcame most of them: starting with your previous relationship with Jungkook (no one in the band had a problem with it, and the label miraculously seemed not to know about it) and ending with your relatively young age (Jungkook was the only one who had a problem with you being his age, but he had a problem with almost everything).

Hopefully, one day you’d manage to overcome the challenge that was getting Jungkook to open his eyes and realise that the people he surrounded himself with were more groupies than his friends. But all in due time.

“If you have questions,” you said as the meeting approached its’ conclusion, “go right ahead.”

“Wake-up calls,” Yoongi said. “Any possibility of arranging those?”

You smiled – this had been traditional practice ever since you started to work with them.

“I’ll call,” you said and then remembered a particularly frustrating way in which this had backfired. You added, “and keep you on the phone until you’re out of bed.”

Back when you were an assistant manager to a different band, this had been your main task. And, you supposed, if Rated Riot had assistant managers, they’d be the ones making wake-up calls, too – however, the band had only started to live up to their potential now. Before you booked the European tour for them, Jett Records thought they barely needed one manager to begin with.

You’ve made it this far. If the tour went well, maybe you’d get to expand your team as the band gained popularity.

Jungkook felt giddy the whole night. The Reconnaissance show with Taehyung and Luna was a lot of fun, as expected—he’d seen the band five times before tonight, and they never failed to let him down.

When he arrived at the after-party, he was nearly vibrating with excitement—on top of everything, he was going on tour tomorrow and he knew he might lose his mind over it—and this was usually the time when he tended to get reckless.

He did drink a little too much to retain a completely sober mind, but he stayed true to his word and did not wander anywhere or caused any—serious—trouble. You would have said that’s because Sid and Jude weren’t with him, but Jungkook was convinced it was because he simply had great self-control when he put his mind to it.

The only place he went to after the party was his family’s house, so he could say goodbye to his grandma. She probably wouldn’t even hear him—and if she would, then she probably wouldn’t recognise him—but he couldn’t leave to Europe without saying goodbye to her.

He thought he’d take his Katana to the house, but then remembered immediately the last time he got on his motorcycle drunk – his grandma had, literally, smacked him on the back with a rolling pin, yelling about how careless he was. She didn’t say that she hit him out of concern for his safety—that was obvious—and, instead, she focused on how hard he’d worked on restoring the bike after he’d bought it; his first purchase with the money that he made off Rated Riot’s music.

“Don’t you want it to last?” she had said then. She’d been the only person who believed he could bring the bike to life, despite it not having a single properly functioning part, least of all the engine. “You worked so hard on it. Do you want to wreck it in one night?”

Tonight, however, everyone in the house was asleep when he arrived. It was quiet, so he tried to be silent as he went up the stairs to her room—and then knocked over a picture frame after his feet fumbled on the carpet in the hallway. But no one went out to check who was making the noise—which was dangerous, he realised for a brief, semi-sober second; but the house had security, so he figured they were safe from outsiders—and he gently lowered the handle on his grandma’s door, peering inside.

The room was painted in blue hues from the night light next to the bed where his grandma was sleeping. He approached—really trying to be quiet this time—and carefully pulled her comforter up, so she wouldn’t get cold, even though the room felt warm.

It was always warm here and Jungkook had to bite his lip when he realised how much he missed sitting here as a child while dozens of his cousins ran around the house and wreaked loud, childish havoc. How much he missed his grandma reading him books—never children’s stories, he always insisted she read him the thickest, most boring books he could find on her shelves, just so he could stay in her room longer, listening to her soothing voice and feeling her comforting warmth.

Sniffling quietly, he leaned closer to her and brushed a strand of white hair from her face, listening to her soft breathing as she slept, unaware of his presence.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised in a whisper as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She didn’t wake. “We will talk again then.”

He knew he’d keep this promise even if she didn’t hear it, even if she didn’t remember. But leaving her room felt painful and he was far less excited now. The alcohol had begun to wear off and heaviness settled in his chest instead. This happened sometimes when he was left alone with his thoughts, especially after he visited his grandma.

He'd come back, he knew he would. But as he glanced at his grandma’s sleeping frame one more time—remembering how she hadn’t called him by his name in months; not one glint of recognition in her eyes when she’d see him—he wondered if he’d have anyone to come back to.

Surprising exactly no one, Jungkook was the only one who did not answer your wake-up call the next morning. Having foreseen this, you’d already called Hoseok, Yoongi and Taehyung – in that order, because the first two took the longest to wake up, and by that time, Taehyung was already awake on his own – and only then attempted to reach the one remaining member.

Fifteen minutes later, you were already dressed and ready to drive over to his house and personally wake him up with an icy bath in bed. And just then, your phone rang – his name as the caller’s ID.

“Look who—”

“Okay, okay,” Jungkook’s groggy voice cut you off before you could greet him with the appropriate sarcastic remark. “I’m awake. Halfway in the shower.”

“I don’t hear running water.”

He responded with a groan first, then shuffling. You waited patiently, balancing the phone on your shoulder as you unlocked the door of your apartment. Finally, you could hear the water start running on the other end of the call.

“Happy?” Jungkook asked, always the brightest of all rays of sunshine in the morning.

“Ecstatic,” you replied, equally as enthusiastically. “Sending a car to pick you up in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

“I can drive myself—”

“No driving when you’re hungover,” you said, not for the first time. “In fact, don’t even go near your Katana.”

He considered several ways to respond to you; first and foremost, defending his beloved, navy-coloured Suzuki Katana with a matte coating, custom-made leather seat covers, golden rims, purring engine, and—anyway. He ended up choosing to respond with a question, “how do you know I’m hungover?”

“I’ve known you for almost ten years,” you replied. “If you go out drinking the night before, you’ll wake up hungover.”

“Well, how do you know I drank that much last ni—?”

“Listen,” you cut him off, hoisting your suitcases over the threshold of your front door. You fixed your phone against your cheek and continued, “how about you take that shower, and we’ll resume this nice little Q&A at the airport?”

“No,” he replied and, in a purposefully exaggerated breathy voice said, “I simply can’t stop talking to you.”

“Hanging up now.”

Jungkook laughed as he listened to the beep, indicating the end of the call. Putting his phone on the side of the sink, he took his shirt off and was about to continue undressing when his phone vibrated and nearly fell off the sink.

Scrambling to catch it, he smacked it against the cupboard and exhaled in relief when he saw that the screen hadn’t cracked. He was expecting a text from you – a threat, in case he’d go back to bed – but it was actually Sid, asking for the time of his flight.

His friends were taking a separate flight out to Prague – they weren’t happy about it and neither was he, but at least they’d get to hang out in Europe eventually – and, obviously, they wanted to know what time they’d meet up and where.

He double-checked the itinerary you’d emailed him, got confused about the time zone difference and texted Sid back.

“Gonna be there the day before the show,” his text said, “jetlag. Sleep. Maybe beer? Catch u there.”

Sid was, of course, delighted to hear the mention of beer and Jungkook snickered to himself before he resumed undressing for his shower—knowing from experience that you wouldn’t be above shipping him to Prague in the cargo section on the plane if he was late to the airport.

As it turned out, for the first time in his life, Jungkook was so terribly jet-lagged, that he did not feel like doing anything – not even drinking with friends – but sleeping.

He slept through the whole layover in Paris – and, consequently, through Taehyung and Luna’s stories about the 5 minutes they got to spend in front of the Eiffel Tower before rushing back to the airport (never mind that it was about 2 AM) – as well as the flight to Prague.

He only woke up on the bus ride to the hotel when he felt something nudging his lips and opened his eyes to find an open bottle of Coca-Cola in your hands as you held it by his face.

“Did you just—” he started to say, but his voice sounded brittle, more a croak than a voice, really. He cleared his throat and tried again, “did you just wake me up by making me sniff soda?”

“It worked,” you replied, nudging the bottle at him again. “Drink. You need sugar. You didn’t eat anything on the plane here.”

“I had that bagel on the flight to Paris,” he mumbled, but sat up properly and took the bottle from you.

“That was a croissant,” you clarified. It was almost cute to see him barely awake. “And I warned you about flying with a hangover. You did this to yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he replied after taking a big gulp of coke. “Not sure which day it is, but other than that, I’m perfect. Do you have anything for headaches?”

Snickering, you nodded. “Yeah, give me a second.”

You went to fetch your carry-on bag and returned with ibuprofen, which allowed him to go back to sleep until you arrived at the hotel. The other members were also in and out of slumber, but that was their own fault. You and the other girls on this tour, which, really, only meant Luna— Taehyung’s girlfriend—and Maggie—the tour photographer—had planned ahead and taken sleeping pills as soon as the plane took off. Meanwhile, every man on this trip thought too much of himself.

By the time you arrived to the hotel and checked in, it was already lunchtime. If this had been your first time travelling with Rated Riot, you would have been beyond surprised to see what effect food had on them: they looked like they'd just returned from the most refreshing vacation in the Caribbean. Lively conversation and cheerful laughter echoed around the table – no one would have guessed that they’d just spent over 13 hours on airplanes. Their recovery was nearly always miraculous.

And, naturally, since they were feeling better, they wanted to do something as soon as the first rehearsal was over. You had far too many things to do before the show tomorrow, so you couldn’t babysit them – again, an assistant manager would have been life-saving – but you knew you’d still have to keep an eye on them.

Taehyung and Luna went sightseeing, but they were the sort who kept you updated on their adventures through pictures, which you were endlessly grateful for. There was never a reason to worry here; if you were a teacher who had to pretend not to have a favourite student, Taehyung would be the student you were pretending about.

Yoongi and Hoseok, initially, went to a record store together, but then split up – one of them returned to the hotel for a nap, and the other one went café-hopping. Those two were also fine – they usually took some members of the crew with them anyway, so you knew that in the worst-case scenario, you’d still have several people you could call to reach them.

Now Jungkook was going to meet up with Sid and Jude, both of whom had, most unfortunately, successfully landed in Prague. The Diabolical Duo would take him out drinking, you had no doubt about it – and this was where you’d have to step in with another warning. You weren’t the angry mother, dragging her children by their ears, but you felt it necessary to remind Jungkook of what was at stake if he allowed his friends to be their usual, obnoxious selves tonight.

However, you didn’t want to ask, so you had to figure out where to find them yourself. You didn’t even have to use the seven years that you’ve known them to deduce two logical, universal-for-all-assholes things: one, Jungkook’s friends wouldn’t be nearly tired enough not to want to drink. Two, they’d be too jet-lagged to look for their usual hole-in-the-wall spot that sold drinks. Therefore, they’d have to settle for the bar of the hotel.

And when you exited the elevator on the ground floor later that night, your assumption was confirmed – you could hear their laughter from where you were standing in the lobby.

You’d texted Jungkook as you arrived, hoping he’d leave his friends and come see you at the back of the bar for a minute, but unfortunately, Sid and Jude noticed you and waved you over with loud cheers.

Embarrassed as the people in booths around you began to turn to look, you swallowed and walked towards the front where Jungkook and his friends were sitting by the bar.

“Wow, it’s been so long!” Jude exclaimed as you approached. In your opinion, it wasn’t nearly long enough, but you only lifted the corners of your lips and did not comment.

“Jungkook, a moment?” you said instead.

“Let’s get you a drink!” Sid suggested as though you hadn’t spoken and extended a hand, clicking his fingers to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey! Can we get some Margaritas here?”

You cringed watching this, but, again, restrained yourself. They could behave like pricks all they wanted; it wasn’t their reputation that you had to protect. Someone else would, hopefully, teach them a lesson.

“Sure,” Jungkook said to you, sliding off the stool. He seemed sober enough to walk without any sort of waddling or stand without swaying, but you could tell by the relaxation behind his eyes, that he was already tipsy.

His friends patted him on the back and whistled as he followed you to a quieter spot in the back of the bar. He shook his head at them—but had a grin on his face, and for that alone you wanted to punch him.

“Can I count on you to take it easy?” you asked, once the two of you were out of earshot. “Not because you’ll make my job much harder if you don’t, but because you have a rehearsal tomorrow at eight, and that’s hard with the jet lag alone, but add a hangover into the mix, and—”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, but you’ve heard this song many times before. It was one of his top hits. “I’m actually tired, so I might have a few and then go straight to bed.”

“Okay,” you said, choosing to believe him, because that was easier than making him sign a contract, swearing not to wake up in a dumpster. “Can you text me when you’re back in your room? So I know you’re not lost somewhere in Prague with Dumb and Dumber.”

His lip twitched in an almost-smile at the nickname, but he resisted – a loyal friend, even if they didn’t deserve it – and gave you a nod.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll text you. And I won’t get lost.”

“Okay—” you started to say and then squinted your eyes at him, realizing. “I meant don’t go wandering the city streets while drunk.”

He snorted and placed a hand on your left shoulder. Gazing into your eyes, he enunciated very dramatically, “I will not get into trouble. Promise.”

You pursed your lips. “You’d better not.”

“I realise what that would mean, believe it or not,” he said, straightening. “Tomorrow is an important day. I’d never do anything to ruin it.”

“I know,” you said. “I trust you to make smart choices. I don’t trust them.”

You pointed at the twosome by the bar – both of them watching you like you were the entertainment of the night – and Jungkook turned to look. Sid and Jude both immediately waved at him. Jungkook waved back and, when he looked at you again, he was smiling softly.

Clearly, he genuinely enjoyed hanging out with those two. You’d never believe that there was anything about them that was bearable—let alone enjoyable—so Jungkook’s weird attachment to them had to come from some sort of weird destructive force inside of him.

“I’ll keep them in check,” he said and then, possibly prompted by the skeptical frown on your face, he felt the need to explain, “they help me relax. If it weren’t for them, I’d probably be shaking from anxiety all the time. Kind of like you are.”

He winked as he said that last part, grinning at his own wit, but you rolled your eyes in response.

“Goodnight,” you said then. “Don’t forget to text me.”

“Are you going to stay up late waiting for my text?” his tone was humorous and it stopped you from leaving.

“Hopefully not,” you said, ignoring the flirty comment that was obviously meant to rattle your composure. “But it’d do you well to remember that I can make life very difficult for you if you disobey me.”

He lifted his eyebrows at this, but did not lose the grin. “Oh? Will I get punished if I—”

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” you said again—louder—and turned away.

You glanced over your shoulder when you reached the archway leading to the lobby and caught him watching you leave—he was still beaming, but he composed himself and nodded when he caught your eye. You nodded back.

Maybe he really would be fine tonight.

And, truly, Jungkook had meant what he’d said – he couldn’t wait for tomorrow and there was nothing he’d do to ruin that. Not even if the smirking faces of his friends prompted him to laugh as soon as he returned to his seat by the bar.

“What do you want, assholes?” he asked, punching Jude on the shoulder as he walked past his friends. As soon as he sat down, leaving Sid in the middle, he took a big gulp of the beer he’d left waiting; only his third one tonight.

“We don’t want anything,” Jude said, still smirking. “What did she want? Another moral how you’re not being a good boy?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “No—”

“I was always curious,” Sid interrupted. “Was she like that when you dated, too? You know, always in charge?”

Even before you and Jungkook had settled into a steady enough rhythm of working with each other, neither of you spoke to others about your relationship. Not while you were dating, and not after you broke up. So, all your friends—real friends and whoever the hell Sid and Jude were—essentially knew nothing of your relationship.

And there was nothing he’d tell them now.

It’s been four years since you broke up—plenty of time to move on. Not to mention, you were both (trying to be) professionals. There was no point to bring back the past; there never had been.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jungkook teased, managing to keep the banter going without revealing how the question irked something inside him.

“I would. That’s why I asked,” Sid replied, laughing haughtily. A few heads turned his way. Sid sounded very much like an entitled heir—or an elephant high on helium—when he laughed, especially when there was nothing funny going on. “I mean, you never talked about her to us. Was it getting rid of her that made you who you are today?”

Jude snorted, slapping Sid on the back in a half-supportive, half-warning manner. Jungkook knew that the level of your patience for his friends ranged from Sid (no patience) to Jude (case-by-case), to Minjun (bearable)—and he could see why.

“I didn’t get rid of her,” he said, an edge to his voice. “We broke up and moved on. Did you hear from Minjun?”

Sid laughed again—even louder than before; the glasses behind the bar seemed to clatter.

“Look at him, trying to change the topic!” he wheezed, looking at Jude over his shoulder.

“Leave him be, man,” Jude said and nodded at Jungkook. “So many girls around us and this dumbass is still hung up on your ex, huh?”

Jungkook finished his beer and held the liquid behind his cheeks for a second before swallowing. He caught the bartender’s eye and lifted his empty glass, indicating a refill.

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s hung up,” Sid said with a very knowing look in his eye.

Jungkook looked at him and raised his eyebrows—surprised and momentarily distracted from his drink. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you come to her as soon as she calls, like a puppy,” Sid replied. “So, you tell me.”

“I have to come when she calls,” Jungkook defended. “She’s my manager.”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Jude said, slapping Sid on the back of the head this time. “She’s his manager.”

Jungkook suddenly found himself smiling when he realised that you’d probably consider this the reason why Sid acted the way he did sometimes – permanent brain damage from Jude’s incessant slaps.

“Well, then someone,” Sid said, angrily accentuating the word—the anger was clearly directed at Jude, but the pronoun at Jungkook, “has a fucking crush on their manager.”

“I don’t have a crush—”

Sid spoke over him, “I bet you could never get her to go out with you again.”

Jungkook saw the bartender approach to pour him a drink and he heard Jude scoffing, but he could only blink, taken aback by what sounded like an accusation. “Why—why would I even—why—”

“Oh, see, see?!” Sid screeched, turning to Jude with a triumphant expression. Jude gave him a pitiful look—and looked about ready to give him a black eye, too. “He knows I’m right, it’s why he’s stuttering!”

“Dude,” Jude said slowly. “You are yelling.”

Jungkook cleared his throat, nodding at the bartender as a thank-you and then bringing his refilled glass to his lips. “And I’m not stuttering.”

“You so are, my man,” Sid taunted, patting Jungkook on the shoulder with so much force, the beer nearly spilled from the glass and from his mouth. “Your ass is so whipped, you’re going to be singing at her wedding to some random producer.”

Suddenly hyper-aware that there were several producers on tour with them right now, Jungkook put his drink down and straightened in his seat.

“I’m not fucking singing at weddings,” he said.

“Not yet,” Sid pointed out, grinning. He knew he'd gotten under his skin.

“Okay, come on now,” Jude interjected, leaning back in his seat to be able to see Jungkook. “You promised you’d sing at my wedding.”

“As if anyone would ever marry you,” came Sid’s snide.

“You shut the fuck up,” Jude snarled, but there was no malice behind his bark. “I have more chances of marrying someone than he has of marrying his manager.”

“He—oh, fuck!” Sid was about to argue, but then burst into laughter—so loud and thunderous again, that the bartender was forced to glance over at the security guards by the entrance to the bar. “That’s good! You’re so right!”

“Both of you are fucking idiots,” Jungkook spoke. The edges of his vision were red. “I could get her to go out with me again if I wanted to.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Sid nodded, wiping invisible tears from his eyes. “Big talk.”

“Jungkook, no offense, my dude,” Jude said, leaning forwards this time. “Let him have this one. Sid may be dumber than box of rocks, but he’s got a point here. Forget about her.”

Another insinuation that had Jungkook throwing his head back in frustration.

“There’s nothing to forget!” he groaned. “What the fuck are you even talking about? I just fucking told you I moved on.”

“So why are you getting all riled up, then?” Sid smirked, more and more satisfied with each curse that he provoked out of him.

Jungkook felt even angrier, because he was getting riled up, but he had a good reason for it. He enjoyed banter as much as the next person, but he did not enjoy mockery at his own expense—especially not the kind that involved you.

He snapped back, “because you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

His friends snickered at this – convinced that his irritation only proved the point they were both making – and Jungkook clenched his jaw, annoyed.

“If anything,” he added sharply as he picked his beer up—as if that could somehow distance him from this conversation, “it’s her who’s still hung up on me.”

That was a cheap, childish defence, and everyone by the bar knew it.

“Yeah, right!” Sid cried out, but resisted from laughing again. “We’ve heard her yell at you more times than we can count. You fucking wish she was still hung up on you.”

“Okay, to be fair, Sid can probably only count to five,” Jude added—Sid finally punched him on the shoulder—as he toyed with the paper umbrella on his fourth cocktail; the Margaritas they’d ordered were long gone. “But he’s right, you know? You’d never get her to go out with you again.”

There was pity in Jude’s voice—as if he felt sorry that Jungkook lived in denial, chasing after you and convincing himself that it was only a matter of time before you’d come back to him.

This made Jungkook’s temper vile, his face red, hot, and angry. He slammed his beer back on the table, forcing some of it to spill. “Yes, I fucking would!”

Sid was hiccupping as he laughed.

“Okay, okay, listen—let’s make a proper bet,” he managed. He picked up a napkin from the bar top, then looked around for something to write on it with—not finding anything, he stood up from his seat and leaned over the bar, grabbing a pen before the bartender could notice. “$1000 says you can’t get her to go on a date with you again.”

He glanced at Jude for approval—Jude shrugged.

“I’d suggest $500,” he said. “We don’t want to rob him blind.”

Jungkook’s face remained stoic, prideful.

“Fine with me. But you have no idea what you’re getting yourselves into,” he bit.

“Oh, that’s right, he’s been awfully cocky about the whole thing, hasn’t he?” Sid spoke, addressing his rhetorical question at the bar. He wrote something on the napkin and then lifted it to show the number “4000” to Jungkook. “How about this: Jude and I each pay you $2000 if you win. But if you lose, you give us your Katana.”

Jungkook lifted his eyebrows, the sudden mention of his bike catching him off-guard. Sid came from old money, he could afford fifteen brand-new motorcycles with the change he found in his suitcase, probably.

“How is that fair?” he asked. “Do you even know how much a Suzuki costs these days? It’s not $4000, I can tell you that much.”

“Why should you care?” Sid asked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You were so confident about winning the bet just a second ago. Scared you’ll lose after all?”

In his defence, Jungkook did hesitate for half a moment. But there was a shit-eating grin on Sid’s mouth that he wanted to wipe off more than anything else, and he downed the rest of his beer in one big gulp—a showcase of his determination.

“Not at all,” he said then. He wasn’t sure if he was lying as he said this, but he had no time to figure that out. He extended his hand at Sid. “Get your money ready.”

Here, he was putting up a front – this wasn’t about the money at all. It was more a thing of pride; they were teasing him, purposefully making fun of him—and he wanted to prove them wrong, regardless if they were actually wrong.

Smirking, Sid shook his hand—cementing the bet between all three of them, as Jude was busy finishing off his cocktail—and was about to say something when Jungkook jumped off his stool.

“Have to go now,” he said, always a show-off with his overly creative comebacks when he was tipsy. “My horoscope predicts a date and a big fortune in my near future. Got to prepare.”

chapter title credits: sleep token, “rain”

special shout-out & thank you to @eleni-cherie who delivered the much-appreciated kicks in the ass, so that i would keep writing. the odds were really against me, so if it weren't for you & our in-depth fanfic discussions, i definitely wouldn't even be writing this note right now, let alone finally starting this story 💜

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#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts reactions #bts x reader #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts rockstar au #bts scenarios #jungkook rockstar au #jungkook reaction #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic

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neonghostlights · 4 months

Text

Eddie flipped through the magazine, once and then again before he blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes until he saw stars, but none of this did anything to change what was printed on the glossy page before him.

You, walking out of your job and unaware of the camera aimed in your direction.

Eddie’s heart did a little flip at the sight of you. It had been about six years since he last saw you and even the image on the page radiated your beauty.

“Mr. Munson,” Jane spoke again, stress marring her face. “Are you still listening?”

Oh, he had been listening to the shit show that was now his life.

When he walked away from you all those years ago he never expected you to get dragged into the circus of his fame.

Becoming a rockstar had always been his dream, something he had achieved with his best friends at his side. The road had been rocky, he had fallen from grace. He made bad decisions, treated people like shit. He had gotten himself together, mostly, but now karma was catching up to him like the pest she was.

He had pissed someone off. He wasn’t sure who but they had made it a point to spite him.

The magazine had printed a tell all about the three exes of Eddie Munson.

Eddie scoffed at the title.

The Three Exes of Eddie Munson: Their Time to Talk

He would hardly say Rosie was an ex, hard to be that when they were never real at all. It was simply PR a way to promote his album and her movie. Her page showed her on the streets of Italy, clearly a photo shot by the paparazzi as the hid behind a building. She was smiling, laughing at something her costar said.

Her feature talked about her and Eddie’s ‘short and sweet whirlwind romance before it turned sour with partying.’

He did have a habit of partying in those days. He honestly didn’t remember the incident that caused their agreement to end but he knew it was bad.

The second ex was Jennifer. Jennifer was a poorly judged fling that should have never happened. She was a model, polished and proper and he was, well, Eddie.

It didn’t even last a week.

Her photo was her walking down the runway, face trained ahead and staring at the camera that she knew loved her.

Her feature said that Eddie left her broken hearted and ruined, that he made it hard for her to ever trust another man.

Eddie knew that wasn’t exactly how it went down.

The next page was the one that really hurt.

You looked tired, overworked as you walked out of the building.

Eddie traced a finger over your photo. It had been so long since he last saw you. He recognized the building in the photo so that meant you must have stayed in Hawkins when he left you brokenhearted on his trailer steps.

He wondered how they knew about you. Who in their right mind would spill to the world his best kept secret?

There was no juicy printed story under your photo, only speculations about who you were to him.

“Eddie?” His managers voice cut in, ruining his train of thought.

“Fix this. Now.” He snapped, shoving the magazine and his only remaining photo of you into his jacket pocket.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson au #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst #rockstar!eddie x reader

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a-sip-of-milo · 7 months

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Need a reason to live?

Recently, I made four polls with eleven reasons to live in each. Most of those reasons were given to me by people who have also been suicidal in the past, and I decided to compile them into one long list (plus some) for anyone who needs it to come back to when they're out of reasons to keep going.

⚠️ Disclaimer: Please do not turn this into one of those "ALWAYS REBLOG IF YOU SEE" posts. Thank you. ⚠️

Relationships

Your furry companion(s) (this means pets and friends who are furries <3)

Your friends

Your family

Those who look up to you

To reconnect with someone you haven't seen in a while

Your headmates (specific to those who are apart of systems)

There's someone who isn't around anymore who would want you to keep going

To eventually be a mentor to someone

To make sure your animals never have to sleep alone

To fall in love

Your partner

To meet your online friends/mutuals

To tell your mentor/the people who raised you with kindness that you made it

To see someone close to you through their final days

To make it big enough to eventually provide for those you care about

Your FP (personality disorder specific)

Group photos with your (found) family and friends

To help your friends do the same

The friends you've yet to meet

A promise you made to someone special

Acts of kindness

To be there when someone needs you

To see someone smile because of you

To make a stranger's day a little brighter

To hand out compliments to those who need it

To make the world a little bit better before you go

To treat the people around you the way you wish you'd been treated

To be the one person in someone's life who is there unconditionally.

To help someone you love to quit an addiction

To do charitable deeds

Affection

Hugs from someone you trust

Kisses from a partner, close friend or pet

Cuddles when it's cold/lonely

To laugh until your stomach hurts

Forehead touches

To hold someone so tight that they're wheezing

Doting on people when they're feeling down

To make the people around you laugh

Interests

That new game/movie/show/book/album/etc. that you’ve been waiting for

Telling everyone and anyone who will listen about your special interest/hyperfixations

To share creations that aren't appreciated enough

To save up for something that would make life more bearable

To finally complete a collection

Projects would be left unfinished

To travel

To complete a project you've been working on for a long period of time

Projects you've yet to come up with

To start participating in special interests you've had to put on hold

To laugh at the creations you made when you were younger and less experienced

Those who consume your work would never get to see another creation of yours

Spite (because I think spite deserves Its own section:))

To stick it to your abusers

To prove your younger self wrong

To prove the people around you wrong

To prove your younger self right

To prove the people around you right

To spit on the grave of someone who hurt you

As a big 'fuck you' to the world and everyone in it who tried to silence you

To outlive your enemies

To do something that you've never been allowed to do (get a piercing, tattoo, cut or dye your hair, etc.)

To show off your success to the people who doubted you

To make sure whoever hurt you doesn't win

Milestones

You've got a milestone of some kind that you'd like to reach before you go

To see your (future) children reach a milestone of their own

To see a birthday you never thought you'd make it to

To graduate from school

To see your wounds from self-harm heal

To experience old age

To get married

To recover from your eating disorder

To experience independence

To start/complete your transition

To go on your first date

To get your first job

To adopt a child and give them the life that they deserve

To rescue a pet and give them a home

To purchase your first car

To rent/purchase your first house/apartment

To have your first child

To lose your virginity

To experience the joy of knowing you escaped/got through a bad situation

To eventually publish your own book/art piece/etc.

Miscellaneous

To finally get diagnosed with something important

So if nothing else, you can still say you survived

You have a bucket list you'd like to complete

To live because you want to, not because others want you to

Comfort drinks with someone you love

You wrote a letter to yourself that you can't open until a certain date/birthday

Those rare and valuable pieces of media with good representation of a minority/marginalised group.

To read through past conversations with people and cringe/laugh/cry.

All the different foods you've yet to try

To see the world become more accommodating to those who need it

To watch the seasons change

To celebrate the holidays

For those days where you do feel okay, perhaps even good

To eventually replace the stuff in your closet with things that represent who you are now

To read back on journals and diaries you made when you were younger

If you are not in a place where any of these help, that's more than okay as well. It will be here if and when you ever need it. Being suicidal can be extremely lonely and scary and we all deal with it in different ways.

If you have your own reason and you feel comfortable sharing it with me, let me know via asks or DM and it will be added as soon as I can 💞

#reasons to live #npd safe #bpd safe #did #osdd #tw eating disorders #tw self harm #tw death #tw abuse #mental health #positivity #neurodivergent #cluster b safe

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dreadful-windandrain · 2 months

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listened to the real will wood album three times yesterday. here are my thoughts:

am i being detaIIIIIIIIINED? am i under arrest?? (yes!)

"this is a song written by a dead guy" the implications..........

unsyncopate cotard's solution right this fucking second

the transition into dr sunshine lives is SO GOOD

was it when i left the cave and swore i'd. NEVER GO BACK!!!!!!!

how did he make white knuckle jerk hornier. what's with the moans. and why do i like it better than the original.

HEART BLUER THAN MY b-b-b-b-bbbbbaaaaa~a~LLLLLS!

the weird voices he uses in thermodynamic lawyer sure were a choice

fucking ADORE front street live. even better than the original and my favorite off of this album. literally just. the tempo changes. "if you're not on your worst behavior... get the fuck out!" "is this shit enough proof for you?" "give us all that fucking osmosis! oh, yeah!!" "sing it with me you fuckers!". he made a villian song sound even more evil. wtf and well done

i trusted you i trusted you i trusted you i trusted you i tru

the long ass intro for hand me my [x], i'm [y]! is fabulous. the anticipation!!!

the tempo is also faster here than the original which is awesome but overstimulating as hell when the second half of the bridge hits

take it away, creeps

here's a song *first chord of 2012*

by retracing myyyyyyyyyyyyyyy ste-epppppppppp pssssssssss

the guitar riff that starts mr capgras makes my brain perk up like a bluetooth speaker being connected

FUCKING HURT EACH OTHER! COME ON!!!!

yet another banger intro! the latter half of this album does not miss!

can we drop this shit? i wanna see you at each other's throats, man, make some fucking noise. one two three oh YEAAAAAAAH

the transition here also. magical.

i definitely didn't almost cry at the end of fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva when the tempo slowed down and everyone was vocalizing

-ish is so fucking underrated oh my GOD you people don't talk about it enough

the people who sang "myself again" after "and i'm gonna be"...... read the room

the new harmonies on where do you get off, front street, and mr capgras give me life

overall i love it but i do believe that ww didn't sing the song with five names to spite me personally. he did sing it on in case i die but still. you don't know how much tax fraud i would commit to hear it live with a full band

#will wood #will wood and the tapeworms #wwattw #the real will wood #wii woo #wee woo #ren's rambles

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strawberryspence · 1 year

Text

Because I am obsessed with the famous trope here’s another one that kept me up all night.

Steve and Eddie dated right after Vecna in ‘86 and it’s perfect. They date each other and it’s like two puzzles clicking together. But they’re young, foolish and they both have mountains of trauma. And sometimes, the passion and love, just isn’t enough to keep a relationship going.

They have a messy break up that has Eddie packing all his stuff up in ‘88. Eddie goes to LA or New York, either way that’s where he gets discovered. He then goes on to write some very angsty and angry rock/metal music about the break-up that gets him up on the map.

Steve hates it. He hates it with every fibre of his soul because it’s one thing when you and you ex still have the same friends and have to be civil with each other, but it’s a whole other thing when you open the radio and this man you dated, this man you loved and cared for and failed is just out here singing it for the whole world to hear.

And yeah listen, it’s petty and dumb. But Steve writes his own fucking songs, it’s not the direct response to Eddie’s song but it’s close. By that time it’s already ‘90 and Eddie’s made a whole name and career out of their relationship. Steve writes the songs, he sings, and he sends the damn demo to almost fifty different companies. And he gets picked up by one company.

Steve takes the pop star route, and with his looks and his somehow amazing vocals, by ‘94 Steve’s on the charts with Whitney and Mariah. The whole Party has solemnly promised to not get involved with their petty songwriting fighting anymore. They also haven’t spoken in person in almost six years, and the only way they communicate now is through the freaking songs.

There’s not a lot of overlap with the rock and pop community, and no one notices it until ‘05. It’s one fan that makes this one blog post talking about this weird freaky coincidence in Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson’s songs. It becomes a whole thing, like someone from Hawkins pulls out the yearbooks and finds out that they could’ve known each other. Their faces are splashed together into every magazine and celebrity entertainment shows.

They don’t say anything about it. No one comments about it for a few years and it infuriates the public even more. The next time Steve comes out with a song, Eddie comes out with another song a few months after and it’s once again a literal conversation about their relationship.

The whole thing continues until ‘11 and by then there’s blog dedicated for all the clues. It’s now a long running thread, and it gets updated when there’s another clue to this massive confusing puzzle. There’s a whole subsection with names of every Party member and how they connect the two artists together. There’s freaking flow charts and pictures and family trees.

It only ends when Eddie finally posts two pictures on Twitter. The first one is taken backstage. All you can see is Steve’s back, but you will know it’s him because of his hair. He’s standing at the side of the stage, and on the stage is Eddie Munson singing. The second one is a picture of Eddie sitting in a couch as Steve looms over him, hands crossed on his chest. Eddie’s signing his own album with a smirk, while Steve glares at him. If you zoom, you can see the sign on the album saying, “To Steve. This album is for you.”

The caption says: “Me and my biggest fan. Circa 2004.”

Steve replies to the original post saying: “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Eddie deletes the post and reposts it with: “Me and my wonderful, gorgeous, talented husband. I can’t believe I am married to THE Steve Harrington.”

It’s the first time the term “break the internet” is ever used.

Turns out, they were just writing the songs to spite each other and to add fuel to the fandom fire. (In an interview, Eddie says, “It’s our foreplay.” and Steve doesn’t talk to him for a solid 30 minutes for running his mouth. It only lasts for 30 minutes because Eddie made it up to him by using his mouth for something else.)

#HA #i love famous steddie #theyre so petty #also dont come for me #i dont know where the ‘break the internet’ term came from #so dont get mad #anw #i love them #steddie #daeheadcanons #steve harrington x eddie munson angst #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steddie headcanon #steddie hc #famous steve harrington #famous eddie munson

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chuuyrr · 4 months

Text

GORGEOUS — NAKAHARA CHUUYA

⊹ CW(s): f! reader, famous! singer! reader, strangers to lovers, crushing (you fall first but he falls harder), heavy references to taylor swift and her reputation album, 3.9k words

⊹ SYNOPSIS: in which you write your crush a song, and he finds out

inspired by: gorgeous by taylor swift !

applause and cheers flood your ears as you stand before the stage, a smile on your red-painted lips, albeit a little breathless as you bring the microphone to your lips, ready to deliver your speech and express thanks for the award bestowed upon you.

what began as a passion for music and songwriting has grown into stardom, as evidenced by the best female musician award you were now receiving on stage, surrounded by other artists in the business and, most importantly, your fans.

just as you were ready to begin when another music artist, much older than you, interrupted you. you stood there perplexed, but then the much older and taller artist grins at you, almost darkly and mockingly.

"yo, [name]!" he exclaims into your microphone, stealing as he addresses you with such familiarity, "i'm really happy for you. i'mma let you finish, but, she has won the best video award of all times!" he exclaims, gesturing at the other female music artist sitting on the sides, but she looks just as perplexed as you.

"one of the best videos of all time, i tell you!" he says into the microphone again, facing the crowd as if rubbing salt in your open wound, then shoveling the microphone back to you as if nothing happened.

in any case, the sudden interruption of the said male performer stunned the entire stage and audience. as you move about the stage, you find yourself uncomfortably laughing and unsure what to do.

the audience suddenly begins to yell "boos!" instead of clapping and cheers, and your hands shake so much that you nearly drop the trophy in your grasp. the shame seeps deep into your flesh, and the fact that cameras were flashing everywhere and this awarding was also being done live didn't help.

you couldn't find your voice, and the stage appears to be tilting as your eyesight blurs.

your great moment, your glory, vanished in an instant.

your reputation.

as you hold the glass in your hand, you sigh and tap the rim before giving it a quick, delicate spin, allowing the ice to clink against the glass before you drink the burgundy liquid, letting the addictive yet mild taste of fermented grapes strike your tongue and throat.

you twirl the glass in your palm one more as you recall the incident that occurred during your awarding. you recall the dazzling lights of cameras, the gasps and shouts from the audience, and what's more, that very artist who humiliated even stated that you owed him something sensual for making you famous.

a smile tugs at your lips as you shake your head and look at the music playing in the pub. it served as a gentle reminder that this was your current situation.

even if you remember it like it was yesterday, it has been a while since then. customers at the bar are singing along to the fairly spiteful yet powerful tune and lyrics of your song, enjoying the piano and beat.

"but i got smarter, i got harder in the nick of time. honey, i rose up from the dead, i do it all the time. i got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined—i check it once, then i check it twice, oh!" the crowd of the bar sings, jumping up and about with their drinks in hand.

"look what you made do! look what you just made me do!" they continue to sing the lyrics, some even dancing to the choreography while others were just cheering and such.

your little revenge song appears to have polarized music critics, with some praising your new direction and hailing it as a fierce comeback, while others were disappointed with your change of style from your usual romance-esque and heartbreak songs to a dark electroclash and dance-pop, as well as the hidden message that underpins it.

"huh, that was a nice build-up to a crescendo build in the pre-chorus from the sparse verses," a voice next to you comments.

you blink, your eyes widening and your heart trembling slightly.

shit. did you got recognized already?

you slowly turn your head, and there stands a red-brunet with his hair framing his face and a black fedora on top of his head. he's dressed in a white button-up shirt underneath a gray vest, a black choker, a black ribbon bolo tie kept together with a little silver clasp, an open black cropped jacket with sleeves pulled up at the elbows, black slacks, a black belt dropping off his right hip, and black low-arch shoes.

you can feel your heart pounding. this man appears to be a big deal, possibly like you? was he a music critic, perhaps? you thought you heard him say something about your song, “look what you made me do”, playing in the background, but you couldn't be sure.

but there was something oddly appealing about this man, and you found yourself glancing at his face rather than his suit, and…

ba.. dump..

you feel the blood rush into your cheeks and your heart skip a beat when you notice he has beautiful blue eyes that remind you of the ocean.

your gaze ultimately settles on the creases of his face, from his brows to his nose and all the way to his lips. he is so gorgeous that you find it difficult to swallow the lump growing in your throat, your words becoming tangled in your tangle of thoughts and feelings.

for a brief moment, you've forgotten what you were drinking and thinking about because he—this stranger—has taken over everything in your mind.

when he finally turns to you, allowing you to be face-to-face with him as he sits on the cushioned stool next to you, you shift in your seat, becoming nervous once more.

"are you okay?" he says, and you notice him watching at you carefully, but with some concern, as he notices your flushed cheeks and how you appeared to be a little shaken in your seat.

"wha—?" you murmur out, blinking in confusion.

he blinks back before narrowing his eyes slightly, a look of uncertainty on his face, yet the way he does it is igniting feelings inside your chest right now.

"i asked if you were okay. is everything okay, miss?" he asks again, and this time a chuckle escapes his lips.

"o-oh, yeah. i’m fine, no worries," you exhale, a sheepish smile on your face as you manage a brief fit of laughter. you were still in awe of this man.

you assumed he was a music critic or a businessman wanting to interview you or get you into a deal for collaborations, but from the way he speaks and addresses you, he appears to be neither.

what's more unexpected is that he doesn't seem to even recognize you.

you were already expecting him to start bombarding you the instant he laid eyes on you and sat next to you, but it was something you didn't mind at all. it was a strange feeling for you, yet it was reassuring in some ways.

being famous always meant having eyes and cameras trained on you at all times, which you acknowledge was a touch stifling. you couldn't really blame yourself because you've made quite a name and reputation for yourself with the songs you've composed since you were a child.

you gently sit back, more calm now that he doesn't appear to recognize you, and order another glass of wine from the bartender, who kindly pours you some from the bottle.

"hey, is that a pinot noir?" you hear him speak again, commenting on the beverage you got.

you turn back to face him, "yeah, it is. why?"

"that's a great wine to have by itself," he explains, chuckling softly.

"you seem to know a lot about wine," you smile at him before taking a sip of your drink, welcoming the taste of the wine in your taste buds once more.

"and you seem to have a good eye," he says, smiling. at least, that's how you perceive it. the sort that you'd see from your fans, not the ones that reminded you of bad music critiques and certain people in your life.

he turns to the bartender to order himself a drink, which you see sends a little surprise from the bartender as you hear the bartender fumbling over when he orders a wine called petrus, oblivious of how ridiculously pricey it was.

"you have a problem with me ordering petrus? hah?" he asks, arching his brow at the bartender, and you find yourself giggling at the sound of his tone.

something about the way he spoke when he was agitated, the subtle growl in his voice, was sending you.

"oi, what's so funny?" huffs the red-brunet, staring at you with a little but not necessarily mean glare.

"nothing," you remark between laughter as you sipped your pinot noir, "you just sound like a cute but angry puppy."

"EXCUSE ME?!"

maybe you did drink a little too much that night.

the next thing you know, you're seeing the same man you saw about a week before, and strangely enough, you discovered him in the club doing who knows what.

it was bizarre, truly, but you felt drawn to this man you had no known about. you didn't even know his name when you met him in the bar, so you did what any normal person would have done.

you simply stay far from the crowd admist the blasting lights and music in the dimly lit room because you don't dare to approach him, but little did you know, he was here for a reason, and one thing he wasn't expecting was to see you again the moment he does.

"you again?" he asks as he purposely bumps into you when he walks across the crowd.

"i think i should be saying that to you, mister fancyhat," you say back with a smile tugging on your lips.

his eyes widen a bit at the nickname and for a second he scoffs, "the hell?"

"well, you never gave me your name," you playfully roll your eyes at his reaction, giggling and immediately saying, "i mean it though. your hat is pretty fancy."

"well, thanks," he shrugs his shoulders before asking, "so, would you like a drink?"

"you bet i do," you smile softly with a wink. how could you not accept this man's offer?

"well then," he says, a small grin tugging on his lips, "how does whisky on ice sound this time?”

"sounds good," you remark, shrugging your shoulders, but what he says next takes you by surprise.

"but do me a favor and get behind me real quick, sweetheart," he urges sternly, forcing you to move instinctively to do what he says.

small gasps fill the club at the unexpected ruckus, some even afraid by the red-brunet's sudden cruelty to this stranger, but all settles down when he states that the guy was snapping pictures of you without your permission.

for some reason, even though he was yelling and threatening the paparazzi, the manner he protected and guarded you from them was not alarming to you. it even made your heart skip a beat for some strange reason.

you never imagined that stranger you met could be that interesting. he definitely had a reputation, possibly as big as yours, if not bigger—and you were enamored like a schoolgirl with a big crush.

could he possibly be a spy? or even a mafioso? the possibilities were endless. you had no idea what it could be, but it gave you a rush of thrill and excitement. he was so cool.

"hey, um," you manage to say, blinking out of your sight as chuuya scoffs at the person taking pictures without your permission—you didn't know how to explain to him that the guy he had just nearly beaten up was your paparazzi, but you were grateful.

"what? you okay? that guy was following you, ever since i saw you in here, actually," chuuya adds, pulling you by the wrist to take you somewhere secure in the club, unaware that he was also there for another reason involving his line of work.

"yeah, i'm fine," you admit with a sheepish smile, "more than fine, actually. let's just drink.”

chuuya sighs and scoffs a little, but smiles at you, "just try not to get drunk and make fun of me like last time, okay?"

you can't help but quietly giggle as you recall getting drunk on your wine the last time you met in person at the pub. to be honest, the growl of his voice and the way he says his r's as he becomes irritated at the bartender's answer to his request for a petrus tickles your brain in a hilarious manner.

"i'll try not to then, but no promises~"

"you better not damn it."

from the moment you met chuuya a spark ignited in your very heart. as you spent more time together in secret, the ember grew into a flame, fueled by shared laughter and late-night conversations.

it was in those moments that you discovered the layers beneath chuuya's tough exterior, the vulnerabilities that made him undeniably human.

one evening, inspired by the depth of your emotions, you found yourself sitting with a guitar in hand, fingers strumming gently. the lyrics flowed like a river. each word echoed with sincerity, a testament to the connection you had forged. you wove a tapestry of emotions into the song, from the subtle nuances of his laughter to the way his eyes held the oceans of stories.

lyrics always came to you naturally the minute you felt inspired to write a song, but this time was different.

instead of simply focusing on your reputation, past painful experiences, those who had wronged you, and even past lovers who now serve only as heartbreak and lessons, this time it was all about him.

you found the sweet whisperings of love gently tugging at the strings of you heart. as you navigated the complexities of your emotions, you stumble upon a connection that felt like destiny—a love story in the making.

with pen in hand and heart wide open, you pour your emotions onto the blank pages, each word a declaration of the feelings blossoming within. the verses were a canvas painted with shared moments, laughter echoing in the lyrics, and the subtle nuances of chuuya's essence woven into the melody.

as the melody and chords resonated with the rhythm of your emotions, you realize that in writing a love song for chuuya, you were not just creating another song; you were navigating the path to love once more.

and each lyric became a stepping stone, leading you towards a renewed understanding of affection and the beauty of opening one's heart to another, and it was a celebration of the love that had rekindled within you after everything.

late into the night, you penned the final verses, pouring my feelings onto paper. the melody became a vessel for the unspoken, a silent confession wrapped in the chords of a heartfelt song of bubblegum pop.

it was a labor of love mirroring the evolution of your feelings for chuuya, and as the last notes faded away, you knew you had given voice to the emotions that had taken root in your heart.

chuuya was in his office at the port mafia headquarters, having completed his report for the boss.

he was merely looking out his office window with a glass of wine in hand, a neutral and albeit weary expression on his face, letting out a tired sigh as the radio playing from his desk said the following words just before a new song came on,

"here we have next is a new single from the one and only, [surname] [name], entitled gorgeous!"

chuuya's eyes widen as he hears your very name on the radio. he may have only recently learned your name, but he remembers it vividly, as the song begins.

there was no doubt that was you and your voice singing on the radio, and this song doesn't simply tell about someone who is in love with a new love interest in a promiscuous manner in an attempt to attract the attention of a prospective lover.

“ocean blue eyes, looking in mine. i feel like i might sink and drown and die—you're so gorgeous! i can't say anything to your face.”

chuuya stands in stunned silence as the melody filled the atmosphere when the bridge comes in. the song was a heartfelt composition, capturing every nuance of his personality and the shared moments between you two.

“you make me so happy, it turns back to sad, there's nothing i hate more than what i can't have. you are so gorgeous it makes me so mad. you make me so happy, it turns back to sad. there's nothing i hate more than what i can't have and, guess i'll just stumble on home to my cats alone.. unless you wanna come along?”

the drum beats, synthesizers, and the gentle cadence of your voice resonated with emotion filled the air. it took chuuya a moment to register that the words were meant for him, a love letter crafted in the form of a song.

as more of the lyrics unfolded, he felt the weight of your affection settle in his chest, each note a testament to the depth of your feelings. it was a revelation that left him breathless, realizing that someone had taken the time to compose a symphony of emotions just for him.

the lyrics danced between vulnerability and strength, capturing the essence of your connection. in that moment, chuuya understood the magnitude of your love, and a warmth enveloped him.

chuuya feels his face grow hot, only because of he was too oblivious for a mafioso to not recognize you, to not realize he had been speaking to a famous artist like you out in the open just like that, thinking you were just some beautiful girl in the bar and club he'd go to. no, you were more than that.

and now, going back to it, it makes sense as to why he would constantly find people trying to take pictures of you, as to why you would seem quite tense at times, or even why you would keep staring at him.

"fuck," chuuya curses to himself, "oh, fuck."

the final chords of the song lingered in the air, not long after, and without hesitation, he reached for his phone, fingers tapping with urgency as he dialed your number.

the phone rang, each tone echoing his anticipation. when you answered, he could hear the warmth in your voice, a familiar timbre that matched the melody he had just experienced.

"was that... you?" he asks, his voice a mixture of awe and genuine curiosity.

there was silence for a moment, before you answer, "so you heard it on the radio." you says softly in the call.

as you confirmed it was indeed your creation, chuuya couldn't help but smile, a rare and genuine expression breaking across his face. the connection between you two deepened with every word, the song serving as a bridge that brought your emotions to the forefront.

in that moment, over the phone lines, chuuya felt a profound connection, grateful for the beautiful revelation you had shared with him.

the warmth in his voice betrayed a mix of emotions as he spoke, "it was... incredible. you wrote that for me, sweetheart?"

there was a brief pause, filled only by the static hum of the phone line, before he continued, "i never knew. i... i don't know what to say, but i had to hear your voice, to tell you that it meant everything."

a playful chuckle escaped your lips as you tease him, "took you long enough to connect the dots, didn't it? turns out you've been with a famous artist all along." there was even a lighthearted tone to your words, a mixture of amusement and affection.

chuuya's response was a hearty laugh on the other end, a sound that resonated with genuine delight.

"well, i guess i’m not the fastest at catching on," he admits, the hint of self-awareness in his voice. but then, a sincerity washed over his words as he continued, "but damn, you just made me fall harder for you, sweetheart."

the exchange of laughter and genuine emotions continued, bridging the gap between the revelation of your identity and the newfound depth of your connection. the melody of your shared feelings played on, a harmony that echoed between two hearts that had finally found each other.

excitement radiated through the phone as chuuya declares, "enough of phone calls, i need to see you right now."

there was now a newfound sense of urgency in his voice, a genuine desire to bridge the physical distance that remained between you two at this moment, "where are you right now?"

you share your location without any hesitation, without waiting for another response, he swiftly made his way.

as chuuya reaches the familiar spot, his eyes scanned the surroundings eagerly, searching for the person behind the melody that had woven its way into his heart.

and then, there you were, standing under the soft glow of a streetlamp, a smile playing on your lips as you locked eyes with chuuya.

the world seemed to fade away as he closed the distance between you, the anticipation building with each step. without a word, chuuya pulls you into a tight embrace, savoring the reality of your presence after the emotional journey of hearing your song on the radio in his office.

in that moment, the bustling world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you enveloped in a shared understanding and newfound depth of affection.

chuuya whispers in your ear, "i needed to see you, to feel this. no more hiding behind melodies and phone calls, damn it. just you and me, together."

his arms held you in a comforting embrace as the world around you embraced the quietude of the night. the streetlamp cast a gentle glow on both of you, and the soft hum of the city formed a distant backdrop to the shared moment.

breaking the silence, chuuya gazes into your eyes, a mixture of gratitude and genuine emotion reflected in his intense gaze. "i can't believe i've been so blind to what was right in front of me. how could i have not known who you were, and that song.."

you smile softly, a tender acknowledgment of the connection that had finally blossomed between you two, "i meant every word, chuuya. you have no idea how much i want you."

he brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch a gentle reassurance. "well, i'm done letting things slip through my fingers. i want this, with you," his breathy words hung in the air, carrying the weight of a promise.

and so, beneath the canvas of the night sky, chuuya's lips met yours in a gentle, yet fervent kiss. it was a collision of emotions, a fusion of longing and realization.

as you melt into the kiss, the embrace held a promise of a beginning, a tender affirmation that echoed louder than any song you've written before, and the melody of your hearts played the sweetest tune, and the night whispered secrets of a love that had finally found its voice.

⊹ a.n.: thank god my finals is finally over because i finally got to finish writing this !! *literally cries* i also think i went all out for this one too because it ended up reaching 3.9k words, which is crazy. oh, and to the anon that requested this, i hope you enjoyed reading this one, in fact, all of you who made it this far—i love you and thanks for reading (honestly felt like i wrote a bit too much for this fic but oh well lol) <3

#chuuya x reader #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #chuuya nakahara x you #bsd x y/n #bsd imagines #bsd oneshot #bsd fluff #bsd fanfic #bsd chuuya #nakahara chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x you #chuuya x fem!reader

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sataara · 9 months

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Respite

I saw @nartothelar 's tags on this ask and I ended up listening to Under/tale (the song from the soundtrack) in loop while writing this. I also teared up while typing.

This is just a small ficlet about how Ingo might feel when coming back from Hisui, hope you guys enjoy!

The laughter carried over as Ingo moved from the living room to the hallway, the slight smile on his face wouldn’t go away, he could hear the teasing and joking between Emmet and Elesa growing fainter, but still loud enough that he was thankful for the thick walls, they already had enough noise complaints as it is.

He missed that. His heart pounding in his chest from how hard they laughed, his cheeks red and eyes watering, their smiles, an arm thrown over his shoulders, a poke into his side that became many when he showed annoyance, his own answer in the form of relentlessly tickling until his brother begged for mercy or kicked him, whatever came first. He missed their voices, their company, he didn’t know at the time what it was, but he knew it was lacking.

Now as he was passing the hallway to his room, on his way to grab a photo album that Emmet reminded him of, something caught his eye. He turned to the wall and saw his reflection, staring at him in the mirror that Elesa said would look nice in there when they first started furnishing their apartment.

Ingo looked and saw the scars, old and new, each with a different story behind them. He saw the small patch of beard that he was going to shave off but Emmet did make a joke about it, so now he was keeping it out of spite, for as long as he could. He saw his eyes, still with eyebags right under, despite the last nights bringing the best sleep he was sure he had in years. He saw his hair, a bit wild, longer than he ever kept it before, in a cleaner and more put together state than he was able to keep it back in Hisui.

Since he came home he still had a hard time breaking the habit to avoid mirrors. He knew now why he did so back then, he knew that his reflection reminded him of Emmet, he knew that the differences reminded him that it wasn’t Emmet and that Emmet wasn’t there. It hurt, he couldn’t remember why, he just knew it hurt.

Now it was different. Emmet was here, in the living room, spoiling Gliscor rotten, getting annoyed at Elesa’s puns, smiling harder than Ingo knows he has not smiled in years.

Ingo looks at his reflection and he sees Hisui, he sees Mount Coronet, he sees Sneasler, he sees the Pearl Clan, he sees the friends he made, the fights he fought, the hardships and the hurt.

Ingo finally looks in a mirror and despite everything, he sees himself.

Despite everything

It's still you.

#submas #pokemon #subway boss ingo #should I tag Emmet and Elesa? they are there but just mentioned #my writing

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oneforthemunny · 4 months

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i'm not entirely sure what prompted this. to be utterly honest, the holidays are rough sometimes, and i've been kind of struggling so here's this bc this is how i cope now :)

tw: mentions of loss, grief, depression.

“...at the tone, please record your message.”

Beep.

“Uh, hey. It’s-It’s Eddie. I, uh, I was just calling to, uh- I was just wanting to check on ya. I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days, sweetheart, and I know you’ve been busy. I just… Yeah, gimme a call back when you can, alright? I still got those VHS’s. Rentals not due for a couple of days. I’d-I’d really like to see you. Just… call me back when you get this. Even if it’s late. Love you.”

The lights on your tree started to blur, water-stained with blinding, swirling tears of guilt. Settled on your couch, in the same crumpled position that you fell into as soon as you got off work, waves of exhaustion consuming you, but sleep never came easily.

The most wonderful time of the year was a stretch, a mockery of a term that felt poisoned and back handed. With every happy, glowy commercial, all smiling families and sing-songy laugh; it made you feel sick at the falseness of it all.

It had been four days since you last spoke to Eddie, nearing two weeks since you saw him in person. Not out of spite, or a fight like it had been in the past. This time, it was you- all you.

The message on the receiver played on a loop, you jammed your finger on the button, letting it sound off its automated message before his voice filled the silent space in the room. You missed the sound of his voice, the warmth behind it so comforting in this frigid winter. It might be better to call him, actually hear him and talk to him, but every time you reached for the phone, you couldn’t dial his number. That would mean you’d have to talk, have to say something, tell him why you’d been so MIA, and that required a strength you didn’t have yet.

Somewhere between the late night talk show coming on, but not before your neighbor’s lights turned off, there was a knock at your door. You figured it was your neighbor across from you, Mrs. Jennings, always bringing you baked treats in festive sweaters, leaving with a hearty “Merry Christmas!” that always had you crumbling inside.

“Baby?” Your body stilled, breath caught in your lungs at the sound, like he might be able to see you through the door.

“Hey, I-I know you’re in there.” Eddie’s voice was soft, muffled by the heavy wood of your door. “Not to sound like a total fuckin’ stalker or anything. I just… I wanna make sure you’re ok?”

Your mind screamed at you to move, to go answer the door, to reply, to do anything.

The lock jiggled, a squeak and a creak before the door was opening softly- hesitantly, like he was scared of what he might find on the other side. “Babe?” Eddie’s eyes scanned the small kitchen area, your purse slung on the table, shoes kicked off by the door into a pile.

“You alright? I-I called you a coupla times, actually, and I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” His voice was tight, heavy soled steps on the carpet.

You knew he saw you by the way he stopped. Halted behind the couch, hovering over a collapsed you on the couch. Tear stained sweatshirt sleeves under your head, an array of photo albums you always kept tucked in the top of the storage closet down the hall, memories sprawled out on the coffee table, creased on the edges from your shaky grasp.

The one closest to you had his stomach dropping. He’d seen her before, the solemn looks and shaky breaths that you and your family gave when you’d pass the outdated family portrait in your home. Plastered on the wall with matching bright smiles, but looming with a haunting, sickening feeling. Eddie knew the feeling, a little too well.

“Oh.” Eddie breathed before he could help himself.

You wanted to sob, felt the burn of it in your throat, curling into yourself.

“No, no, no, I-I didn’t-” Eddie’s eyes darted frantically, reaching out towards you, but never touching you. He knew what this felt like, knew the embarrassment and vulnerability, the shame and dread.

He knew what it felt like.

Silently, he sank next to you on the couch, careful of the delicate photos, placing them out of the way with a gentleness that had you sniffling, swallowing down a whimpering cry. A hand on your back, pulling your body into his, letting the weight of you settle onto his chest.

Your face moved into the soft cotton of his tee. He’d smoked on the way over here, though it was comforting. Nose rubbing against his chest, clinging to the fabric next to you in a fisted clutch. Eddie’s arms around your frame, holding you firmly yet so softly at the same time.

Your neighbor’s lights were off by the time you finally spoke.

“I was in line at Melvald’s getting wrapping paper,” You croaked, voice raspy with emotions, cheek still pressed to Eddie’s chest. You could hear his heartbeat. “And they started playing this song. The Christmas one by The Partridge Family?”

Eddie nodded slowly, hand still gliding soothingly up and down your spine. He could feel your shaky breath through his fingertips. “She, uh,” You swallowed around the words. “She used to love that song. Would always sing it when we’d put the trimmings on the tree. My mom would have that hanging tinsel you know?”

“Yeah.”

“And,” Your tone fell at the thought, at the mention of her again. “She’d always play this song on a loop. Would throw it around, all over the branches just to piss my mom off.” Your lips curled at the memory. You always laughed when she did that. Now you couldn’t because you knew she’d never do it again.

There was a moment, a beat of silence in the still room. “Anyways, I…I was going to get wrapping paper because I’m so fucking behind on wrapping and-and buying, because I’ve been working-”

“-You’ve been working a lot.” Eddie’s eyes cut down to you, carefully.

You sighed, a shudder of a breath in. “Yeah. I know.” It was soft, an apology. You didn’t need to, but Eddie was glad to hear it. Selfishly, he was relieved that his fears that this was somehow his fault, that he’d done something to upset you, weren’t true.

“I just… I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to be busy? I felt like if I stayed busy, I wouldn’t really get to think about it. Get this holiday over with and then I wouldn’t feel so…” You didn’t really know what to say, how to describe the feeling.

“No, I… I get it.” Eddie nodded slowly, staring off in the colorful strands of lights glimmering from the tree in the far corner of the room. “My mom used to wear that, uh, that Pond's stuff to bed. The face stuff with the green lid?” You nodded slowly, cheek still smushed against his chest.

“And right after she passed, I-I was in middle school, right? Seventh grade. And we had a sub and… fuck, she smelled just like that cream.” Eddie shook his head softly at the memory. “She just walked past me to make sure we were reading, and I smelled it and… I just ran out of the classroom because I didn’t want to cry in front of everyone. But, like, running out wasn’t much better.”

You snorted softly, light enough to have Eddie’s gaze peering back down to you, heart skipping in his chest. “Yeah, I would say that might make it worse.”

“Wasn’t very smooth.” Eddie nodded. “Just running out of the classroom seemed better than crying.”

You paused for a moment, lips puckered in a pout. “It’s weird.” You muttered, still looking ahead. “How you’re just out and the smallest things just… send you over the edge.”

“Yeah.” Eddie sighed. “Grief’s a weird thing.”

“Really weird.” You mumbled.

Eddie ducked his chin down, let his nose press into your scalp, breathing in your scent, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m here for you, you know?” He muttered, the vibrations from his words tickling your scalp. “For when it gets weird. You don’t… this sounds really fuckin’ cheesy and I’m sorry, but you don’t have to do it by yourself. Don’t have to be alone.”

You weren’t sure what to say. Not sure you could even speak if you did know what to say, the growing lump in your throat strangling you. Instead, you clung tighter to his shirt, pressed yourself further into the warm, inviting hold that felt familiar and calming.

Eddie would go and get the wrapping paper for you tomorrow, even help you wrap a few gifts. He’d help you carefully put up the photos with a gentleness that would have your heart fluttering. But for now, he held you, fingers moving down your spine, chin pressed to the top of your head, pulling you closer to him on the tiny couch.

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sledbedar · 3 months

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In case you want to familiarize yourself with The Brobecks song A Letter that's getting redone for IDKHOWs new record

The first ever iteration of the song, at the time called "Globular", it was just a test track with Matt Glass reading out of an encyclopedia but man its vibes are immaculate.

An early demo of A Letter, this ones far closer to the final product and is a personal favorite of mine. (And, if you're wondering. The spoken word segments are as far as I'm aware completely made up of excerpts from a letter an ex wrote Dallon. Or possibly it's the full thing. When asked why he said "spite" lol.)

and finally the finished version of A Letter that appeared on The Brobecks album Happiest Nuclear Winter, this is one of the songs that made me fall in love with the band and it really pulls that alum together. Not a lot of indie bands out there were bold enough to try things like this, especially on a sophomore album hot off the heals of a successful first release. words can't describe how much i'm looking forward to hearing the IDKHOW version of this track, Matt Glass (the original voice of these songs) was in the studio for the album so you know this will be amazing.

#the brobecks #brobecks #dallon weekes #idkhow #idkhbtfm #gloom division

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adorethedistance · 6 months

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Baby Fever (2) - Trevor Zegras x Reader

Hockey Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex

Words: 2417

Requested: Can you please do a trevor blurb where him and y/n go to a pumpkin patch with their nephew and Trevor's playing with their nephew and y/n gets so much baby fever please

A/n: Back already I know ! Here's part 2 to Baby Fever lol hope y'all enjoyed Part 1. I've decided this is going to be a 3 part fic bc I wanted to write a smut as well but this part was already getting too long for my liking. Therefore, part 3 is gonna be an almost plotless smut lol. Enjoy my loves !!

“Can I have aux?” Trevor asks, unplugging my phone before I can say anything.

“Please, help yourself,” I say pointedly, making fun of his impatience. He merely scrunches his nose and sticks his tongue out at me though there’s no real maliciousness behind it. “Let’s stick to child appropriate content only. I don’t need the little guy to go home with some new words. Dani will have my head.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Trevor salutes me but doesn’t look up from his phone. After a moment he presses a button and “Mr. Perfectly Fine (Taylor’s Version)” begins to play. I roll my eyes. This is the fourth time Trevor has made us listen through this album this week.

“At this point, I think you’re doing this to spite me.”

“Come on, babe!” He turns over his shoulder to look at Greyson, “You like Taylor, right Grey?”

Stretching up to look in the rearview, I see Greyson frown and shrug his shoulders indifferently. The gesture makes me laugh and I quickly glance at Trevor with a smug smile.

“You guys are just haters,” Trevor pouts, making no effort to change the music.

Once we arrive at the pumpkin patch, I put the car into park and as soon as I do, Trevor unbuckles to sit up and grab my chin with his hand and kiss me swiftly. The action is surprising at first, but I allow myself to melt into the kiss and pull away with a smile.

“Let’s go!” Greyson jeers from the back seat. Trevor and I laugh before getting out of the car in synchronized pacing. I open the rear driver’s side door to reach in and unbuckle Greyson. He slides out of the seat on his own before leaping out of the car and I step back surprised. When I step backwards I bump into Trevor who had seemingly materialized out of thin air. He catches my hips in his hands before running his thumb over the waistband of my jeans. I shoot him a look that’s partially alluring, partially mocking,

“One kiss is all it took?” He shrugs and spins me around to kiss me again. Blinking away his smugness, he holds out his open hand for me to take and together we enter the patch. Greyson, who was pushing ahead until he came to the entrance, suddenly became shy about the crowd of people. He turns around to look at me and Trevor and I extend him my free hand which he bashfully accepts.

We enter the patch, taking in the expansive set up. The carnival lights amidst the sunset are simply gorgeous, but Greyson doesn’t care to take in the scenery. He holds my hand tightly, pulling full steam ahead toward a stand that’s pouring warm cider. He watches eagerly before looking up at me and Trevor.

“You wanna try some?” I ask to which he agrees. Grabbing a drink from the booth, I make sure it’s not too hot before handing him the cup. Greyson takes one sip, then cringes and hands it back to Trevor.

“No, thank you!” Trevor and I laugh before he pops off the lid and takes a sip for himself.

“Buddy, you’re insane. That’s amazing,” he then hands me the cup for a sip, and I hum in delight. Trevor gives me a smug look and I shove his shoulder back.

“Mind out of the gutter, Zegras.” Luckily the cider cup is small, so he and I can down it quickly between the two of us. Greyson then gently tugs on the fabric of Trevor’s hoodie to grab his attention. He bends down to talk to Greyson,

“What’s up?”

“Can we go over there?” Greyson asks, pointing to the petting zoo area.

“Sure thing, bud. Is it okay if we hold hands so I don’t get lost in the crowd?” Suddenly inflated by a sense of protection, Greyson nods ‘yes’ and takes Trevor’s right hand to head toward the petting zoo. Standing back up, he takes my hand in his left and leans down to say,

“We should have a baby. Or two.” After the words leave his mouth, I turn to look at him like he’s crazy, only managing to expel a laugh of disbelief. “We’d be great parents!” As I scoff a laugh, Trevor looks genuinely confused as to why I’m amused by his bright idea.

“Trevor, you are twenty-two years old. We are not having a baby any time soon.”

“Good for you!” I hear a stranger's voice call. I turn to see we passed a group of younger gen z kids that were standing by me and my statement. The moment makes me laugh and I look at Trevor.

“We have our hands full at the moment anyway.”

A pen that stands around four feet tall encases a few sheep who are grazing, disinterested in being surrounded by smaller children. Greyson stares at the sheep, fascinated by their dense wool coats. Trevor lets go of my hand to squat down to Greyson’s level.

“Look, bud. The sign says their names are Molly, Blue, and Hudson.”

“Which one is which?” Greyson asks simply, afraid to look away from the sheep in the event that he’d miss a single moment. Trevor begins pointing at the different sheep as I pull out my phone to take pictures for Dani and Troy.

“Well, let’s look at the pictures. That one is wearing a blue ribbon so that’s blue. Hudson’s picture has an orange tag, and that one right there has an orange tag.”

“So that’s Hudson!” Greyson finishes cheerfully.

“You got it! Way to go, buddy!” Trevor holds up his hand and Greyson excitedly high fives him. When he stands up, he takes Greyson’s hand and leads him to the horse enclosure nearby. There’s a bucket of various foods on the side of the enclosure so visitors can feed the horses. Trevor grabs a carrot and demonstrates to Greyson how to feed the horses. Since the horses are much taller than the grazing sheep, Trevor lifts Greyson with ease to hold him right in front of the smallest horse in the enclosure. Greyson carefully follows Trevor’s instructions, and feeds a carrot to the content animal. As he holds Greyson up, Trevor looks at me and smiles, allowing me to snap the cutest photo ever. In finishing the carrot, the horse had licked Greyson’s hand which made him giggle at the sensation.

“Let’s wash your hands before we do anything else, yeah?” Trevor walks with Greyson over to the portable sink. It’s the kind of faucet that requires you to pump a foot pedal to run the water. After it takes him a second to figure it out, Trevor holds Greyson up to the sink and operates the pedal. As Greyson is rubbing his hands together with soap, Trevor runs the water, only for it to stop once Greyson actually places his hands beneath it.

“What the?” The little boy exclaims as the water disappears.

“That’s so weird, why is it doing that?” Trevor says, pretending to be confused, “Try again.”

Greyson does and Trevor repeats the bit once more, and I can’t help but laugh. Looking up, Trevor smiles victoriously at having made me laugh and I swoon a little bit. Greyson catches on and is unable to keep from laughing as Trevor keeps repeating the action.

Once he finally washes up, Greyson leads us to the largest pumpkins in the patch. They’re nearly the same size as him, which translates to needing to climb on them in Greyson’s mind. He sits on the top of the pumpkin happily, and I pull out my phone to snap more pictures for Dani. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Trevor pull out his phone and begin taking pictures of me taking pictures of Greyson.

“Wow, you guys are such a beautiful family,” I hear from behind me. Turning around, an older lady watches the scene unfold with an adoring smile.

“Oh, we’re-”

“Thank you!” Trevor cuts me off. He shoots me a look that says ‘just roll with it’ and I oblige.

“How old are you, young man?” She asks Greyson, who cowers nervously.

“Three and a half,” he says shyly and she smiles comfortingly.

“Wow, you’re so grown up! And how long have you been together, mom and dad?”

“Together for four years, married for three,” Trevor replies seamlessly, as if he’s thought about this before.

“Oh, you’re married! How wonderful. I didn’t see any rings, but I was curious.”

“Yeah, we almost lost them at last year’s pumpkin patch visit, so they’re in the car,” I say with the same nonchalant tone as Trevor. He looks at me, almost impressed with the backstory I’d conjured out of nowhere. I smile and peck his cheek as if we were telling the truth.

“My word, that sounds awful! I’m glad you found them though.”

“Yeah, us too,” Trevor affectionately places his hand on my lower back with a smug smile.

“If you want, I could take some pictures of you all, as a family?”

“Sure!” Trevor says before leading me to sit near the pumpkin Greyson is sitting on. We pose together like a JCPenney portrait session and I’m trying so hard not to laugh. The idea of pretending to be a family is an interesting backstory for these photos.

“Here you are, dearie. You take care now.” The old lady hands me my phone and smiles brightly before turning to her own grandchildren. Once the lady wanders out of earshot I turn to Trevor and inquire, “Together for four years, married for three?”

“A guy can dream, no?”

“Keyword dream.”

“Y/n?” Greyson speaks from atop the large pumpkin.

“Yes, Greyson?” I ask politely.

“Can we get a pumpkin?” I turn to Trevor and raise one brow quizzically.

“What kinda budget are we working with here?” He gives me a nod that suggests somewhere in the mid range. I stand up fully and offer my hand to Greyson, “Sure, but let’s go look at some of the smaller ones okay? I don’t think your parents would be cool with a pumpkin that weighs more than you do.”

“Will you hold me?” Greyson asks, but before I can respond, Trevor picks him up by the legs, dangling him upside down with incredible ease. Greyson screeches with laughter, unable to control the series of giggles.

“Put me down!”

“But I’m holding you! This is what you wanted!”

“No! I want Y/n to hold me!” Trevor flips Greyson around before setting him back down on the ground. Immediately on his feet, Greyson runs over to me and hugs my legs for safety. I pick him up to hold him on my left hip and hug him after he lays his head on my chest.

“You’re safe! He can’t get you now.” Trevor comes up behind me to hug me and Greyson before leaning down to kiss me briefly. After he kisses me, Trevor pulls away slowly until Greyson presses his hand against Trevor’s chest, pushing him away from me. I can’t stop the hearty laugh that escapes me at the gesture and Trevor holds up his hands in appalment.

“What? I can’t kiss my girlfriend?!”

“No!” Greyson fiercely yells back.

“Unbelievable.”

“You should’ve bought me that fancy dinner before it was too late,” I shrug playfully and Trevor scrunches his nose at me in jest. Together, we walk over to a stack of hay bales that display a plethora of mini pumpkins. Looking at the different options, I would pick up a pumpkin to hand to Greyson for his inspection. He rejected some, and pondered others, until we came across one specific pumpkin.

“Look at this one, Grey. It’s white like that one you liked but without the orange stripes.”

“Yeah! That one!”

“And is that because you’re a white supremacist?”

“Uh huh!” My joke is lost on Greyson but Trevor laughs so hard he has to walk away for a moment. When he returns, he’s still laughing slightly, but it’s settled into a sweet smile.

“You’d be a great mom, Y/n.”

“...Shut up.”

“What?! I’m serious.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Y/n-” Greyson begins, but whatever he was about to say is stifled by a lengthy yawn and I check my phone to see the time is 7:32.

“We gotta get you home little buddy.”

“I don’t want to!” He tries to argue as his vision is blocked by drooping eyelids.

“We’ll hang out again soon, bud. I promise.”

“Okay,” He says through another yawn, nearly dropping the pumpkin he had worked so hard to select.

“Trev, can you take him so I can pay?” Trevor then grabs the pumpkin from Greysons tired hand. Holding the pumpkin in his left hand, he takes Greyson to hold him on his right hip. As I go to take the pumpkin from Trevor, he begins walking toward the exit without a word. I curiously follow him and watch as he steps up to the cashier, paying for the pumpkin and supporting Greyson with ease. Observing the moment brings a small smile to my face, and I feel my cheeks flush slightly at the idea of maybe having a family with him down the road.

Only after he pays does Trevor finally relinquish possession of the pumpkin. I hold his free hand in my own as we walk to the parking lot. Trevor brushes the pad of his thumb on the back of my hand and I squeeze his hand gently.

“This was fun.”

“Next time we have Baby Terry I want to plan the date.”

“Gladly.”

“I’m not a baby,” Greyson tries to argue which makes Trevor and I laugh. His eyes are fully closed but he’s still slightly alert. As we reach the car, I use the remote key to unlock the doors, allowing Trevor to place Greyson in his car seat. Once he’s seated and buckled in, Trevor closes the car door. I move to open the driver’s door, but Trevor catches my wrist in his hand and pulls me close. His toned body is pressed flush against mine, dropping his hands to interlace his fingers behind my back. Trevor dips his head down to lovingly kiss me and I kiss back until it dissolves into a smile.

“Still opposed to having a baby?”

“Admittedly, a little less than before, but still opposed.”

“Hmm…” Trevor exaggeratedly ponders my response before lifting one brow, “What about babymaking?”

***

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therealcocoshady · 11 days

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RED CARPET APPEARANCE 🎥

Eminem x Young Actress Reader

This is Part 2 of Daddy's Spaghetti 🥰

Synopsis : You argue with Em about a red carpet appearance at the Oscars.

The last thing you wanted was to argue with your boyfriend right before going to the Oscars, but there you were. Lately, the two of you had been arguing quite a bit. To be fair, both of you were working a lot and being in a long distance relationship didn’t help. Not only did you have to manage hectic schedules, you also had to deal with time difference and last minute changes in plans. You had been dating Marshall for a few months now and you weren’t too sure how long things would last. Sure, when you were together, things were great, but actually getting together seemed impossible, these days. Right when you thought you could both make time, there was always something coming up, like an unplanned studio session, a meeting, or God knows what else. It didn’t help either that Marshall was paranoid about the two of you being seen together.

After more than a decade in the spotlight and living in Los Angeles, you were used to paparazzi and having your picture taken whenever you were running errands. Of course, sometimes, it was annoying, but you had learned to live with it. Marshall, on the other hand, in spite of having a career lasting over twenty-five years was as paranoid as one could get. It was one of the many reasons why he hated being in Los Angeles and always tried to get you to come to Detroit instead, along with the weather being too hot. In truth, you didn’t mind going to Michigan or spending a lot of time inside, just the two of you. This time, however, you wished he would be the one making an effort. You were nominated for an Oscar for the first time and it was a big night for you. You knew he wasn’t a big fan of public appearances but you wished he would agree to coming with you. After all, he was a nominee himself - for the same movie as you, mind you - and everyone pretty much knew about your relationship, even though none of you had officially confirmed it. To you, there was no reason not to walk the red carpet together. However, when you asked him if he would be your date to the Academy Awards, he wasn’t too enthusiast. In fact, all you got from him was a « erm, I don’t know. We’ll see. Let me think about it. ». And after giving it some thought, he decided not to go with you, breaking it to you over FaceTime, three days before the event. He brought up a bunch of reasons, like having a studio session with Dre that might run late and prevent him from making it in time, hating the red carpet anyway and not wanting to be paraded in a suit that made him look like a penguin. He did not seem to care that you having to take someone else as your date would mean you wouldn’t be sitting next to each other or that you would have wanted him to be by your side. You were mad. You had always known he didn’t really care about awards and public appearances, but you wished he would make an effort for you. Him being set in his ways made you feel like he wouldn’t put you first, just for once.

Do you even want to be with me ? You blurted out after he told you to find another date.

What the fuck ? He asked with disbelief all over his face. What does that have to do with that damn red carpet, Y/N ?

You cancelled the last time you were supposed to come to LA, you’re never available and now you won’t even make an effort for me, you explained. If you don’t want to be with me anymore, just say so…

You’re so dramatic, they better give you that Oscar, he groaned. Not everything is about you, you know ? I’m working my ass off to get the album done in time, I don’t need you complaining over a stupid red carpet appearance.

Oh I’m being dramatic ? You asked as you stared at his face on the screen. I’ll give you drama : you can book a hotel room and forget about all the nasty things you were planning on doing to me in bed for next time we were supposed to see each other.

Whatever, he said as he rolled his eyes. Just go and rehearse your acceptance speech. I have to go anyway. I have Dre calling on the other line. I’ll call you later.

He did try to call you a couple of hours later, but you didn’t feel like picking up. You were still pissed off and, frankly, a little stressed out too. After all, he hadn’t answered your question about wanting to be with you. You knew you’d have to talk to him at some point - and get to the bottom of the situation, but you also didn’t want to break up over the phone merely three days before one of the most important events of your life. Whatever it was, it could wait until after the Oscars.

You ended up walking the red carpet with your older brother as your date. The two of you were extremely close and he had always been your plus one to events. It sort of made sense to go to the Oscars with him, even though you would have loved to have Marshall by your side. Your big brother was all smiles as he watched you pose for the photographers in a stunning custom Alaïa dress. However, your attire or possible Best Actress win wasn’t exactly the main focus of the journalists, who were yelling questions about your boyfriend who was nowhere to be found.

Where is Eminem, Y/N ? One asked. Is he coming tonight ?

Are the two of you together ? Another yelled.

You didn’t answer the questions about him, only the ones about your nomination, how you’d feel about winning, the movie and your outfit. You tried to focus on the positives and everything this night meant for your career, but you had a hard time focusing. All you wanted was Marshall’s hand in yours and him to be by your side. Hell, you had even picked the dress color because you thought he would like it. You knew that blue was his favorite color and had figured that, if the two of you were to walk the red carpet together, it would make his eyes pop.

Breathe, your brother said. You look tense. Is this about Em ?

Just call him by his name, you said as you rolled his eyes. You’ve met him.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be your date and enjoy the open bar, he continued, but you look… upset ?

I think he wants to break up with me, you said nervously.

No he doesn’t, your brother scoffed. Where did you get that from ?

Well, he’s never available, he didn’t want to be here with me tonight, and he called me dramatic, and…

First of all, you are dramatic, your brother chuckled. Also, you know he’s working a lot…

I should have known better than to ask his biggest fan for support, you said as you rolled your eyes.

Just shut up and focus on your big night, sis, he said with a smile. My baby sister might be getting the biggest award there is for being dramatic, tonight. Now, I think we should focus on that, as well as the fact that stylists managed to make you look presentable.

Your brother’s weird encouragement was a good way to make you smile, and the glasses of champagne waiters kept on handing you did a great job when it came to taking the edge off. You were taken to your seats and the ceremony began. You kept nervously searching for Marshall in the crowd but you didn’t manage to spot him. Was he skipping the whole thing ? Your mind wandered as the ceremony unfolded and you were soon on autopilot. It was your first time attending the Academy Awards and this had to be the longest ceremony ever. The only entertaining things were the various performances. Your heart skipped a beat when you heard the music of Marshall’s song - the one he had written for the movie. He was not supposed to perform tonight - this had not been announced - but he was on stage, rapping the song that got him his second Oscars nomination exactly twenty years after winning Best Original Song for Lose Yourself. The crowd was wild and you were excited as well. Seeing him on stage made you forget how mad at him you were and you were back to being his number one fan, gushing over how good he looked and rapping the lyrics at the same time, like the groupie you very much were. His performance got him a standing ovation and, twenty minutes and a commercial break later, he was back on stage, accepting the award for Best Original Song. Only this time, he was conforming to the Academy’s dress code, looking dapper in a tux. He might hate this type of outfit, but no one could deny he looked absolutely incredible. One detail did catch your eye : the bow tie he was wearing was made of the same fabric as your dress. He was matching with you !

When you wouldn’t return his calls, he called me to ask who you were going to wear, your brother told you.

He did ? You squeed.

Yep. Not the kind of thing anyone who wants to break up with you would do, I think. I’m not supposed to tell you, but he’s got another one to match your second dress, too…

You couldn’t help but smile. The fact that he would go out of his way to call your brother, as well as the dressmakers to have a bowtie matching your dress was absolutely adorable. You couldn’t keep your eyes off Marshall, who was giving a heartfelt speech about how great it felt to have the Academy acknowledge hip-hop and how grateful he was to have the opportunity to be on this stage, two decades after Lose Yourself won. His speech was just like him : elegant and understated. When he went back to his seat, you could see him search for you in the crowd and you waved quietly, sending him a kiss. You couldn’t wait to go and hug him.

Can’t you behave ? Your brother chuckled. There’s cameras, Y/N. And try not to eye fuck him or drool, this time, will you ?

I’ll try, you giggled.

You were almost in agony the rest of the night and the two of you kept looking and smiling at each other. As always when the two of you were in the same room, you were unable to take your eyes off him for a single second. You didn’t pay much attention to anything else that was going on, so much so that you almost missed your name being called for Best Actress. Everyone around you got up and cheered for you and you were lost. You had actually won an Oscar ?! You ? It didn’t feel right. Bit it was indeed, your name on the screen, and people kept on looking at you. Your brother had to help you get up as you came to your senses and realized that your childhood dream had come true. You made your way to the stage as tears of joy were welling in your eyes. You were almost shaking with nerves as you started your acceptance speech. You had one written and memorized but you couldn’t remember it for the life of you. You spotted Marshall in the crowd, who was smiling and looking at you with pride in his eyes, mouthing a silent « I love you ».

I… Wow, you said nervously into the microphone. I can’t believe this is happening. I had something really heartfelt, clever and funny written but I can’t remember a single word so please bear with me. Hum… Standing here, on this stage, holding this award is a childhood dream come true. First, I want to thank my family who has always supported my passion, and I’d like to thank everyone in Hollywood that gave me a chance to act. And everyone who didn’t. In fact, I want to acknowledge every person who doubted me. And every boyfriend of mine who called me dramatic. There have been a few, and you best believe I’m creating a group chat tonight and telling them that I actually got an award for being dramatic and made it my full-time job. Um… What else ? Oh, uh, thank you to my manager, assistant, glam squad… Shout out to Alaïa for getting me into this dress tonight, and shout out to Marshall Mathers who will be taking it off me tonight. Dreams do come true, guys !

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter and you could see Marshall laughing before you exited the stage. When you made it backstage, you took a moment to sit and realize what just happened. You had won an Oscar. Oh, and you had accidentally mentioned Marshall taking off your clothes. On stage. While million of people probably watched the ceremony on TV… Oops. A few people came to congratulate you, though you were quickly ushered back to your seat for the remainder of the ceremony. The movie you were in did not end up winning Best Picture, but you easily got over your disappointment. When the ceremony ended, you were swarmed by an army of people who came to congratulate you. You even got to hug Meryl Streep and tell her how she was the one who made you want to act in the first place, and this was definitely the highlight of your night. Your brother had gotten out of your sight and was enjoying the open bar, as he always did whenever he came with you to an event. When the crowd began to vacate, you had a moment to yourself. That’s when you spotted your boyfriend.

Congratulations, he said as he pulled you into his arms.

Congratulations to you too, you said giddily. You were amazing on stage !

As were you, he replied with a smile. Great speech, by the way…

Oh my God, I am so sorry, you said. I forgot my speech, and I-I… Are you mad ?

It’s fine, he chuckled. You’re way too adorable for me to be mad.

Really ? You asked nervously. I know how you are about privacy…

Really, he said reassuringly. And with you looking like this… ? I am glad everyone knows you’re spoken for.

I think they got the idea when they saw you matching with me, you said with excitement.

You like it ? He asked with a smile. I had to ask your brother and harass the dressmakers. They hate me.

He told me, you said giddily. And I know you have another one to match my dress for the afterparty, too…

If you still want me as your date, that is, he pointed out.

I do, you giggled. But I’m going to need your help to get out of this dress and into the other…

Let’s go, then.

He grabbed your hand and you walked out of the theater, holding your awards, while an army of journalists were screaming to get your attention. You half-expected Marshall to let go of your hand, knowing how guarded he was when it came to the press, but he only squeezed it tighter before grabbing you by the waist as you made your way to a car.

Em, how are you feeling tonight ? A journalist asked.

Have you seen my date ? I’m great, man, he grinned as he looked at you lovingly.

VIDEO : WATCH AS EMINEM GUSHES OVER Y/N AFTER THE OSCARS

Eminem & Y/N have officially confirmed their relationship ! The couple did not walk the red carpet together but they certainly made a memorable exit, as Eminem gushed over his date to journalists while not letting go of her. This happened after Y/N hinted at Em taking her Alaïa dress off her in her acceptance speech. While the Rap God did not mention his girlfriend in his own speech, he certainly appeared in love. While known for his stoic face, he was seen smiling all evening, especially when they made their way to the Vanity Fair afterparty (almost an hour late, mind you…) in matching outfits. And if he does not seem like one to kiss and tell, no one missed Y/N’s lipstick all over his mouth, nor the hickies in his neck.

That night was a big one for the rapper and the movie star, as they both took home statues, respectively for Best Original Song and Best Actress. And from the looks of it, they certainly celebrated.

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #eminem x reader #eminem fluff #eminem imagine #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine

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guess-my-next-obsession · 1 year

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Same Old, Same Old

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: M (so much angst, no happy ending really, alcohol consumption/abuse, talks of killing/death, arguments/breakups)

wc: 1k

a/n: this whole album by the civil wars is joel core but this song specifically made me yearn for angsty joel. hope you’re just as sad as i am!! 🫶🏼

joel masterlist

'Cause do I love you // Oh, I do // And I'm going to 'til I'm gone // But if you think that I can stay in this // Same old, same old // Well, I don't

It was cold this morning, the body laying beside you in your dusty, threadbare sheets doing little to add any warmth.

Joel had retreated internally again, something during one of his trips outside the confines of Jackson apparently striking a tender nerve that he refused to let you attempt to soothe.

You knew who he was when you met him in the town bar, his dark eyes hiding an even darker soul behind them, but you didn’t care, you liked him not in spite of his past, but because of it. He was not a man you worried you’d lose to the monsters, both infected and not—he’d fought plenty to get this far and you knew he’d fight again if he had to. You liked the way he only spoke when he had something of value to say, never being one for small talk yourself. And when Joel smiled—not that it was a common occurrence, at least not lately—it almost felt as though he was taking you back in time, to somewhere safer, somewhere more fit for something as luxurious as the love you felt for him since the first time he spoke to you.

Now, after a year of sharing his bed and trying to crack the code to his head, you struggled more and more to find a reason to stay here in this cold house that he never decorated, it’s dark walls closing in on you day after day.

Perhaps it was the past that you stayed for.

Joel hadn’t always been this cold and distant. In the early days, he was shy and hesitant to make a friend, but he carried a new-found hope inside that allowed you to get your foot in the door. Maybe it was the newness of Jackson, or the little girl he’d adopted as his own that gave him the courage to pursue something with you, taking initiative to find you out around town, always under the guise of lending a helping hand. You welcomed him with open arms, having waited a lifetime to find a man like him—strong and protective and soft when you needed him to be, but only for you.

The two of you were attached at the hip for a long time, always pawing at each other and sneaking off to whatever private room you could find. Tommy liked to joke that it must be you doing all the work because he doubted Joel could manage anything at 56, but it couldn’t have been further from the truth. Joel was a capable man in every aspect of the word, putting every other man you’d ever had to shame with the simple touch of his hand.

Joel used to be present, he used to laugh and kiss and talk to you. But these days, the only person he spoke to was his brother and Ellie, and even they’d come to you with worries over his sudden change in attitude.

You believe it all started when he began going out on patrol as a request from Maria—a request you tried not to hate her for making. The changes didn’t happen overnight, either. Slowly, he started to pull away, choosing to stay out drinking with Tommy after a long shift rather than coming home for the dinner you and Ellie prepared together. Then, he started not to come home at all, instead choosing to crash on Tommy’s couch while you sat up all night in your lonely bed worrying if he found someone else, someone with the shine of newness that he could find comfort in.

Sitting up, you ran your palms over your exhausted and sleep-deprived face before turning to look at his back, watching him as he snored, unbothered and at peace. You began to resent him for not caring, for not being torn to shreds but the wedge he forced between the two of you. After all, there was only one explanation for his peace in all of this turbulence—he simply must not care about this relationship the way you did.

Thinking yourself sick, you climbed out of bed and made no effort to quiet your movements as you got ready for a shift at the garden, allowing your boots to clunk against the hard wood, the door to slam as you walked in and out of the bathroom, the pans to clank as you prepared yourself breakfast. If you weren’t going to be well rested because of this, neither was he.

It seemed to work, Joel’s heavy footsteps descending the staircase to find you eating alone at the kitchen table, no food or coffee left over for him.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” you asked, feigning ignorance. Joel narrowed his sleep-crusted eyes on you before shaking his head and rubbing a palm over his face.

“You startin’ this early?” he replied, walking over to brew a fresh pot of coffee and put some bread in the toaster. “Ever think it’d be nice for us to have a mornin’ without you pickin’ a fight?”

“No,” you replied, letting your fork clank against your plate as you immediately lost your appetite. “Fighting is the only time you fucking speak to me anymore, so I’m going to continue to pick these little fucking fights, Joel.”

“Jesus,” he sighed, turning back around to face you, his frame leaning against the counter behind him. “I’ve just been…stressed. No need to get your feelin’s hurt over it. It’s got nothin’ to do with us.”

“Doesn’t it?” you shouted. “I’m supposed to be your person, Joel. I’m supposed to be here for you—I’m trying to be here for you. But you’d rather drink yourself unconscious than speak to me.”

“And what am I supposed to say?” he shouted back, his voice booming off the walls in a way that yours never could. “I kill people. Every day. How am I supposed to come to you with that? How am I supposed to lay that down in your lap and ask you to untangle the goddamn knots in my mind?”

“I want to help!” you cried, your anger now turning to tears. “I want to share the burden! I don’t have half the weight holding me down that you do. Let me take some of your hurt and carry it with me…please.”

“I’m not gonna do that to you,” he shook his head, voice quieter but no less harsh. You stared at him blankly, the only solution running through your mind being leaving him, and you weren’t sure you could manage that. “I told you when we met I didn’t want a wife. I didn’t—you’re not my—“ He huffed a sigh at his inability to put his feelings into words. “You don’t need to worry about me like this.”

“I know I’m not your fucking wife, Joel.” You stood up and walked over to the sink, carelessly dropping the plate inside before turning back to face him. “And you know what? You’re right. I don’t need to worry like this over a man that won’t even claim me. So I’m done with this same old, same old bullshit.”

“What do you mean you’re done—“

“I mean I’m fucking leaving!” you shouted. “I mean you’ve gotten what you want. I won’t sit around here and wait for you, I won’t watch you drink yourself to death, I won’t lay in a cold fucking bed when I can find someone who wants to hold me at night.”

You saw how the thought of you with someone else struck him in the chest.

“I’m going. I’m going back to my own house, because as lonely and cold as it is there, it’s a million times warmer than the bed we’ve been sharing.” Joel swallowed thickly and forced his expression into indifference. “Ellie knows where to find me if she needs me.”

Joel called your name as you walked out of the house without another word, figuring you’d come back once he left for patrol to pack what few things you kept at his place. You had to fight yourself to not turn around as he continued to call out your name until the front door closed and drowned it out.

Maybe in time he’d realize his mistake and come back for you, for the love you were offering and still deeply yearn to keep offering, and maybe then you’d have the man you fell in love with back. Or, maybe this story didn’t have a happy ending. Maybe you’d move on, find someone new, avoiding his eyes as you walked through town hand in hand with someone you could only love halfway. Maybe he wouldn’t even notice you’d even walked past him.

Time could only tell.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #joel miller x y/n #joel miller reader insert #tlou #Spotify

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faggot-vampire-dies-epicly · 1 month

Text

Tear me to pieces

Summary: Vanessa was annoyed. Her dad had sent her to check on you at the old Freddy's location on the outskirts of town. She expected the eerie atmosphere and dusty hallways, but she didn’t expect the way you made her feel. | Words: 6,031K

Warnings: Semi-graphic depictions of corpses. Death, murder, missing people, references of child death/murder. Parental abuse, physical abuse, verbal abuse, manipulation. Cursing. A slight sexual joke. Heavy angst, hurt/almost no comfort. William is an asshole on this one, you guys. Fem!Reader.

A/N: Whew, this took so long! But I'm kind of proud on how this turned out, so I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I went out of my way to make William as shitty as possible because I love making Vanessa suffer, and well, there's also sort of a plot twist? It's probably pretty obvious but I tried to keep it in the dark a little :). Title is from Lovely by Billie Eilish & Khalid/Inspired by the entire album of Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, by My Chemical Romance.

Main Materlist | Vanessa Masterlist | AO3

She had arrived at least fifteen minutes ago, but her headache from her father’s berating had not yet subsided. She really wasn’t in the mood to make any effort. In spite of William’s scolding, she wanted just to fulfill her father’s orders in the most half-assed-and-bare-minimum-effort way possible.

Vanessa sighed, staring at the restaurant’s sign. The letters of the neon sign glowed dimly over the parking lot.

She cursed under her breath and got out of the car. She opened the trunk and took out the bag where she kept his fake police uniform. Her father had been trying to convince her for months to enroll into the police force, but she had refused over and over again. Vanessa knew he just wanted her to cover for him, and she refused to be more involved in his crimes than she already was.

She put the uniform over her normal civil clothes, grabbed the fake police badge and the ID and stepped out of the car.

Vanessa took a deep breath and finally walked to the entrance.

Doing these checkups was never easy for her. She got to meet pretty mundane people who were practically doomed from the start. From middle aged parents that just needed the job to survive with their kids to college students and teenagers that were fresh out of high school and just wanted to make some money to buy a car or go out with their friends.

They never lasted. Never.

Unfair was an understatement.

At least her father didn’t have to do with the disappearance of the majority. Most of them she would find inside Freddy. It wasn’t pretty. It didn’t get any easier, but at least she knew her father wasn’t the real cause in the end. Or that’s how she tried to convince herself.

She rang the bell, waiting for the guard of this month (or perhaps of this week only) to come out.

She looked back at the parking lot. It was empty except for her car, parked on the darkest corner she could find. The door opened and she snapped her head back to the entrance.

And she saw you, looking confused.

“Is there anything I can help you with, officer?”

She stared at you for a moment. “Another college kid?” she thought wryly, “she’s not even going to last the full week”.

Vanessa forced a smile, suddenly becoming too aware of the way your gaze wouldn’t leave her face.

“Hi,” she said in a slightly strangled voice. You frowned.

She blushed slightly and cleared her throat. “Sorry. I’m Officer Shelly. Vanessa Shelly,” she laughed awkwardly.

Vanessa extended her hand out, hoping you would understand the gesture and shook it. You complied. It was gentle, but firm.

It made her skin tingle.

Vanessa swallowed, trying to shake the feeling away.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious,” she began. “I just wanted to check on you. When there’s a new night guard in this place, word spreads fast.”

You made a confused face, but you nodded. She smiled at you, “can I come in?”

“Um,” you hesitated, then sighed. “Yeah, sure,” you said while stepping aside. She gave you a polite smile and she went into the restaurant.

Once inside, she looked around. It looked the same every time, but that didn’t make it any less dreadful.

The place used to be crammed with kids and their families. There were always birthday celebrations, kindergarten graduation parties, some people just going for a quick bite after a long day. Hell, sometimes even some high school students would show up after homecoming.

She remembered it well. The smell of pizza, the laughter of children, the animatronics singing and dancing.

And then, her father inside the suit. The police sirens, mothers crying, fathers yelling.

A chill runned down her spine, snapping her out of the memories. You eyed her curiously at the sudden reaction, but said nothing.

Vanessa cleared her throat again, “how long have you been working here?”

You licked your lips, an action Vanessa got too caught on. “A couple of days only.”

She hummed, nodding. “Has anything weird happened?” You swallowed, “weird how?”

Vanessa shrugged. “Like someone trying to break in,” she said casually, glancing around. “Or,” she trailed off, “equipment malfunctioning, like the monitors, or the cameras, or…”

She turned to face you. “Maybe the animatronics getting a bit quirky.” She tried to be as nonchalant as possible while mentioning the animatronics.

You seemed to tense up slightly, opening your mouth to answer but then snapping it shut again.

“No,” you said finally, with a slightly higher pitch than usual. “Nope. Nothing like that has happened, ma’am.”

Vanessa grimaced at the formal way you addressed her. “Please,” she forced some humor into her voice, “don’t call me that.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, “I’m sorry Officer–”

She raised her hand, signaling for you to stop talking. “Just,” she sighed, “just call me Vanessa.”

You breathed out softly. “Sorry, Vanessa.”

The way you said her name had her avoiding your gaze nervously. “God, Vanessa, get a grip,” she thought.

“It’s fine,” she dismissed quickly.

You two stood there in an awkward silence for a few moments. She couldn’t bear it.

“So, what made you decide to work at Freddy’s?” Vanessa internally scolded herself for asking something so stupid and personal.

“Oh,” you said, shrugging. “I just wanted to make some money before the school year starts.”

Vanessa nodded slowly, “Highschool?”

You shook your head. “College, actually.”

Her eyes widened, you looked younger than you were then.

“That’s,” she blinked a few times, “nice.”

You nodded awkwardly, and she smiled. “What’s your major?”

“English literature.”

“That sounds interesting,” she said thoughtfully.

“You know, I never considered going to college,” Vanessa murmured, thinking how her father would reduce her to dust if she even dared to suggest the idea.

“Is that why you’re a cop?” You said bluntly. You quickly realized how that sounded and attempted to take it back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Vanessa stared at you blankly for a moment before bursting out laughing.

You smiled, confused.

“Don’t worry. It is probably why I am a cop, yeah,” she said, smiling, trying to regain her composure.

Not one of the previous had charmed her enough to even smile, and now you were making her laugh.

She obviously couldn’t tell you that she wasn’t actually a cop. She sighed, gazing at the clock that hung on the wall. “Well, I better get going, I still have to patrol a couple of blocks,” she lied.

You nodded, understanding, and then escorted her to the door.

“I may come back another night to see how you’re doing, alright?”

“Sure.”

Vanessa nodded, but before you closed the door, she spoke again. “You never told me your name.”

You smiled, “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” she echoed, then nodded. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you too, Vanessa.”

And with that she made her way back to her car, her heart pounding inside her chest.

She returned four days later by her father’s order.

Same routine. Choose the darkest spot in the parking lot, put the fake uniform on top of her normal clothes, grab her fake badge and fake ID and put on her bravest face.

It was the same procedure she had done for years. Except, of course, that this time it was pouring, and she hadn’t brought a rain coat with her.

She frantically rang the bell, feeling the rain wet her clothes and soak her to the bone.

You opened the door, letting her through. She mumbled a thank you as she rushed inside.

“God, you’re soaked,” you murmured. She snapped her head towards you, almost straining her neck, and you blushed at how that sounded. “I, I meant–”

Vanessa sighed, looking at her uniform, “I know what you meant,” she grumbled.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, “I think there’s a towel in the office. Come with me.”

She followed you to the office while shivering. You offered your chair for her to sit and she gladly accepted it.

She watched you search every corner of your office for a towel, but the only thing you could find was a handkerchief.

“Sorry, this is all I have,” you scratched the back of your neck as you offered the piece of cloth. She took with trembling fingers, and immediately dried her face.

“What brings you here again?” You asked, sitting on your desk. She sighed, untying her hair to try and dry it a bit with the handkerchief.

“I just want to see how you are doing, honestly,” she said, making a face. “I didn’t read the weather forecast, as you can see.”

You chuckled a bit, “you’re going to be fine.”

A beat passed and you spoke up again, “actually, I have coffee, would you like some?”

She groaned softly. “Oh my God. Yes, please.”

You chuckled again, taking out a thermos from your backpack and pouring some in the mug sitting on the desk.

She took the coffee hastily and took a sip, humming in contentment. “I think you’re the first guard to bring coffee to the job,” she murmured. You raised your eyebrows.

“Okay, first of all, that’s ridiculous. The job is being a night guard, I can’t be the only one,” you rolled your eyes, and she smiled into the mug. “And second of all,” you looked into her eyes, “you met the other guards?”

Vanessa choked on the hot liquid, and coughed. She had said too much.

“Um,” she said, trying to recover. “Well, I met some of them,” she laughed awkwardly, avoiding your eyes. You hummed, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

“And how were they like?”

Vanessa sighed, as flashbacks flooded her mind.

Sometimes she would find their bodies still sitting on the chair, their head laid down on the desk. She would consider herself lucky when she found them like that. Usually they had been just stabbed on the chest, or the stomach. It was probably Foxy, or that’s what she liked to think.

Other times she would find them in the supply closet. Dismembered, split in a half, headless, or smashed. She would have to hide the bodies and additionally clean the whole room.

The animatronics were relentless, especially, she had come to realize, if the person looked like her father, even if it was just the minimum.

She didn’t blame them of course. They had been trapped in there for at least two decades, and even if they had forgotten what happened, and who did them wrong, they still subconsciously searched for vengeance.

“Vanessa?”

She snapped out of her thoughts, “yes?”

“What were the other night guards like? I mean,” you shifted on the desk, leaning in. “I mean, I’ve heard that most of them went missing. But that can’t be true, can’t it? That’s too many people to be a coincidence.”

She swallowed, looking at the remaining sip of coffee on the mug.

Vanessa cleared her throat in an effort to regain her composure. “Well, I’m sure most of them simply quit.”

“You don’t seem so sure,” you said, arching an eyebrow. She tried to brush it off by chuckling.

“I mean,” she sighed, “it would be too many people to be a coincidence, like you said. People don’t just… disappear.”

You frowned. The tone in which she had said it made your curiosity rise.

Just as you were about to ask her to explain what she meant, she drank the last of the coffee and handed you the mug.

“Well, thanks for the coffee,” she looked down at her hands, where she was holding the handkerchief. “And for the…” she waved the piece of cloth, “this.”

You smiled and her heart sped up. “Sure thing."

It had become a routine. She came back to supposedly check on you, but in reality she just wanted to see you. To hear you.

She ached to look at you as you ranted to her about a boring book you had been reading lately.

She brought you dinner sometimes, which you always took with a smile, and a thank you in a soft voice, which made her heart leap into her chest.

Vanessa wasn't what people would call experienced in love, much less in dating, or relationships, but she knew that what you made her feel was not only attraction, but also affection.

Affection had always eluded Vanessa. First from her father, given his nature, and then from her mother, who vanished from the face of the Earth when Vanessa was a child.

But you were different. You seemed to exhale affection through your pores. It was so natural for you, whether with her or with everything else, that she could feel devotion slowly consuming her.

Her father had started to suspect that something was up. He had always controlled her outings, only letting her out at night to fulfill her duties as his spy, but she was checking on the guard a little too much for his liking.

He had even cornered her, grabbing her arm tightly and pressing her against the wall. “I’m warning you, Vanessa,” he said. “If I find out that you are crossing the line between my orders and your personal matters, it’s not going to end well for either of you. Especially not for her.”

She had suppressed a shiver as William let go of her arm.

Vanessa knew it was risky, but she didn’t want to stop. In fact, she couldn’t. It’s like she had become addicted to you.

Addicted to your smile, your humor, your voice.

She hadn’t even touched you yet, aside from the handshake on the first night she met you, and the occasional brush of hands when she handed you some food, or when you gave her a mug filled with coffee.

She loved to hear you rant about the books you read, even if she thought that reading was boring, especially the books you always chose to read.

“I’m telling you,” you said, “this has to have some truth to it!” You exclaimed, holding the book up, whose cover read “The Turn of the Screw.”

“What if ghosts do exist?” You continued. She rolled her eyes, slightly unamused by your interest in the supernatural.

She knew ghosts were real. The whole place was a proof of it. All the deaths, and the attacks, it was obvious what had provoked them, but she remained silent as you kept speaking.

“I mean,” you continued, “you know energy can’t be destroyed, right? And humans are energy. So what really happens to our energy when we die?”

You seemed fascinated by the concept of ghosts now. All thanks to that stupid book.

“Y/N, you can’t be serious,” Vanessa scoffed.

You rolled your eyes, “you just don’t get it.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

You grinned, “I could lend you the book if you want.” She chuckled.

“That won’t be necessary, believe me. I know enough thanks to what you have told me,” she smiled.

“Well, that sounds like you don’t like reading.”

She laughed, “Not all of us can be workbooks like you, you know?”

Your grin widened. “You just don’t appreciate the beauty of reading and analyzing.”

Vanessa hummed, and smirked, “that must be why I became a cop.” You groaned. “God, no. I thought you had forgotten about that.” She smiled.

“I never forget the things you tell me,” she said softly.

You smiled softly, blushing slightly while you looked down at your book. On the page you were left on you put the handkerchief, which you were now using as a separator, and closed the book.

“You know,” you spoke softly. “I know that might have sounded pretty mean. But I said it as a compliment.”

She met your gaze, “how so?”

You licked your lips. “Well, I could never be a cop. To be a cop you need to be brave, smart and caring. Reading is something I’ve always loved, that’s why I’m majoring in english literature, but you,” you paused. “You became a police officer to help people, something that has never crossed my mind.”

Vanessa swallowed, knowing that she wasn’t a real cop, and that she wasn’t pretending to help anyone but herself and her father.

“Your decision to pursue a career that allows you to help others doesn't compare to my futile decision to study literature because I like to read and be annoying.” You smiled at her again. “I could never be like you, and I admire you, honestly.”

She felt a little overcome with emotion, and completely filled with guilt. She swallowed her feelings down.

“Thank you. For your kind words.”

You grinned, “as long as I’m alive you’ll get to hear more kind words coming from me.”

One night, when Vanessa descended the staircase, carrying the bag with her fake belongings, William was waiting for her at the foot of the steps, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

He wore that look he always had when he was planning something, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Vanessa,” he began, his voice cold like ice, “where are you going?”

She swallowed, lifting the bag for her father to see, hoping he would deduce her intentions, but he merely arched an eyebrow. “I’m going to Freddy’s”, Vanessa said in a small voice, “to check on the night guard.”

She brushed past him, walking towards the garage.

“You’ve been checking on her an awful lot lately, hm?”

William trailed behind her, his pace slowly but his steps wide.

Vanessa didn’t turn to look at him. She opened the car’s trunk, throwing the bag inside, and just hummed in acknowledgement to her dad’s words.

“Is there a reason why?” William insisted.

Vanessa sighed. “No, dad. I just want to keep an eye on her,” she closed the trunk with more force than she intended to. “I’m just doing as you told me. I’m just doing what you entrusted me to do.”

He hummed, sounding more like the typical cartoon villain than an actual man.

“Remember what I told you, Vanessa.”

Vanessa didn’t answer, she just opened the driver’s side door, and got into the car.

Just as she was adjusting the mirror by her window, William grabbed her wrist tightly, and squeezed even tighter.

Vanessa groaned.

“I’m serious, Vanessa,” he leaned closer to her through the window, towering over his daughter. Vanessa felt herself shrinking on her seat.

"If I catch you spilling your guts to that filthy little friend of yours, I'll skin her alive, and you, dear daughter, I'll lock you up in the basement with the prototypes of animatronics I've been working on.”

Vanessa’s breath got caught in her throat. “Dad–” she tried to explain, but he just kept talking, squeezing her wrist harder.

“And I assure you, little girl,” William practically sneered, “this time those animatronics will serve their purpose if you dare come near them."

Finally, he let go of her wrist, or rather, he flung it away from him, and Vanessa's hand hit the mirror.

William walked away, slamming the door behind him as he left the room.

Vanessa sat there, still trembling, holding onto her hand, which hurt pretty bad. But she didn’t know what was worse, if the physical pain, the threats against you, or the threats against her.

When she had finally calmed down enough, she turned on the engine, and drove away.

Away from her father, and looking for you.

Your smile had disappeared, and turned instead into a frown as soon as you saw the state she was in.

A nervous mess, with tense shoulders, and a bruise starting to form on her wrist. Wide, alert eyes met yours instead of the usual bright eyes that typically greeted you.

You closed the door behind her, the atmosphere was so tense that it could have been cut with a knife.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she sighed, leaning against one of the tables that were used for dinning back in the day.

You crossed the distance between you and her in two seconds, and delicately took her injured wrist.

“Then what is this?”

Vanessa’s pulse quickened. You were touching her.

Your skin felt so soft, so warm, and inviting. She suppressed a shiver as she swallowed dryly and looked away.

“That’s just,” she gestured with her other hand, “an occupational hazard.” “I've never seen you have one of these before," you murmured. “Does it hurt?” You asked as you poked the bruise lightly. Vanessa hissed.

“Shit–” you let go of her hand as if it burned you. “I’m so sorry–”

“It’s fine,” she cut you off. “I’m fine, really.” She ran a hand through her carefully arranged ponytailed hair. “That just… happens sometimes. Sometimes things just happen to you, and you can’t explain why.” She swallowed, “you never know if you did something to cause them, or if that is just how life works.” You opened your mouth to say something, but then closed it again.

“Come with me,” you said finally, walking towards your office.

She hesitated for a moment, but ultimately followed you.

Once inside, you took your backpack and began to search inside. After a few moments, you pulled out a cold juice can wrapped in the handkerchief from last time.

“I brought this because I wanted to give it to you,” you said after you saw Vanessa’s look of confusion. “But I have books in my backpack, I don’t want them to get wet.”

You unwrapped the handkerchief, which was now cold. With a subtle gesture, you extended your hand towards her, indicating for her to bring her wrist closer.

She complied. You took her wrist, wrapping the cold cloth around it.

“There,” you said, “that’ll help with the swelling.”

She took a deep breath, touched by the gesture.

“Thank you,” Vanessa said, meeting your gaze as she smiled softly.

“Anytime,” you replied, offering the juice can to her. “Besides, it matches your uniform.”

Vanessa smiled, taking the can from your hand. Her fingers brushed against yours, which caused a tingle to go down her spine.

Your smile widened, your eyes traveling to her injured wrist. “I hope it helps,” you gestured towards the piece of cloth wrapped around her wrist.

Vanessa nodded, pulling the tab from the can, and resting her lips on the cold surface of the lid. “It already feels better,” she admitted with a soft voice.

“Good,” you replied. You both stood there in silence, and Vanessa couldn’t help but notice that providing her with some comfort made you look strangely content.

“Have you seen the animatronics perform?” She asked suddenly.

You huffed a laugh. “Uh, no. Not really.”

She took a sip from the juice, “would you like to?”

You met her gaze, holding it for a second, and then you nodded.

When Vanessa woke up the next day, she lay in bed, mulling over everything that had happened the night before.

You giving her your handkerchief to help with the swelling of her wrist, the juice can, the animatronics' performance, the dancing, the way you rested your forehead against hers as you laughed after tripping over your own feet.

It felt surreal, to say the least.

When she finally decided to descend the stairs to find something to eat, her father was in the dining room reading the newspaper.

Their eyes met, but due to the fight from the night before, neither of them said anything and shortly after, William disappeared from her sight.

She was relieved, of course. A day without William meant a day without problems. No arguments, no empty threats, and no deathly stares.

Vanessa decided to just stay in and relax. It was true that she was glad William wasn’t around, but she didn’t want to upset him further by going out without permission. With her going out almost every night, deliberately disobeying him and lying to his face. She didn’t want to think about what could happen if he found out.

Hours passed and Vanessa was growing worried. Had something happened to him?

It was true that whenever they were together, Vanessa felt like she had to walk on eggshells, always being on edge. But he was her dad after all, wasn't he? Her only family.

After a while of pacing out in front of the door, Vanessa sat down.

She started dozing off, and just when the clock was about to strike midnight, the door opened, with a very calm William stepping inside.

Vanessa immediately jumped from her seat, rushing to him.

William gave her an exasperated look, but smiled to her nonetheless.

He unceremoniously walked to the kitchen, opening the fridge, and Vanessa trailed behind him.

“Dad?”

William ignored her, taking the carton of milk out of the fridge, and setting it on the table. He then turned to the cupboard, taking out a mug, and lastly, took out powdered coffee from the kitchen cabinet.

“Dad,” Vanessa insisted. What was his deal now? Was he going to ignore her until his anger had dissipated?

He turned around, turning on the hot water, and filling his cup, which was now full of coffee powder. He hummed a tune, one Vanessa could recognize from the songs the animatronics used to play, she clenched her fists.

“Father,” her patience was running out, her voice was more commanding this time.

William continued on his task, now pouring the milk after having dissolved the coffee with water. Then he took the sugar jar and opened it.

She hated him. She hated him so much.

She hated his smugness, his incredibly enormous ego, the total dismissal of her feelings, the threats, the fights, the screaming, the hits –

Her fists clenched until her knuckles turned white. What was his problem? All Vanessa had ever done was to please him, and when she displeased him just once, he preferred to be away all day and ignore her afterward.

“Look at me!” she all but growled.

William audibly sighed, taking a sip out of his drink. He put the mug on the counter, and finally acknowledged Vanessa’s presence.

“Tell me,” he said in a monotone voice, “are you going to visit your little friend today?”

Vanessa swallowed. “No, I’m not.”

William raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really? That’s surprising.”

Vanessa opened her mouth to answer, but he interrupted her with a low chuckle. “I mean, you were so eager to see her last night, weren’t you?”

She inhaled, trying to relax and push her uncomfort down. “Yes,” she said between her teeth. “But since it upset you, I’m not going to go check on her for at least a couple of days.”

William hummed.

“Is that satisfying enough for you, father?”

“Bah,” with a dismissive gesture, he waved off her words, turning his head to the side with disdain.

“Playing the “father” card with me, like you’re a little kid,” he murmured to himself. “I know what you’re doing,” he turned to her, closing the distance between them.

Vanessa recoiled, panic etching her face.

She tried walking away from him until her back hit the wall, and William finally cornered her.

“You think you’re so smart, huh?” He smiled condescendingly at her. “You think you’re so tough, so… lucky. One day reality it’s going to hit you, and you’ll realize you’re not worth any of the trouble you’re causing.”

He raised his hand towards her face.

Vanessa’s breath quickened. She felt as if all of the air in the room suddenly vanished. Her chest felt tight, her throat was dry and her eyes burned with unshed tears.

William gently stroked her cheek before slowly sliding his hand downward. He rested his hand around Vanessa’s neck, not squeezing, just to hold her in place, like a silent warning.

His voice was soft and calm, but incredibly supercilious. “The day will come, Vanessa. Just wait and see.”

After a week of radio silence, Vanessa couldn't take it anymore and went to look for you at work.

Something had changed. She didn't know what exactly, but you weren't the same.

You would barely face her, let alone look at her. You would avoid her touch, you wouldn't accept her offerings of food.

You didn't offer her coffee anymore.

Vanessa couldn't help but wonder if it was something she had done.

Every time she tried to mention it, you brushed it off like it wasn’t important.

“I’m just tired, that’s all,” or sometimes it was “I just had a rough day, don’t worry about it.”

You were lying, it was painfully obvious, and both of you were aware of it.

But why? What had happened?

Vanessa couldn’t help but roll around in bed every night, thinking, analyzing.

Whatever it was, she was determined to find out.

There was something else, too.

Her father had also changed his behavior.

He stopped asking where she was going. He also spent most of his time in the basement, working on his projects.

Vanessa honestly didn't mind as much, she felt better with him being out of sight most of the time.

That night, when she went downstairs ready to check on you at Freddy's, he was in the living room, reading the newspaper.

“How's your little friend?” He asked, not lifting his gaze.

“She's fine,” Vanessa answered, maybe more coldly than she should've.

William chuckled, amused, for some reason.

“I've been thinking about placing an ad in the newspaper to look for another security guard.”

“Another?” Vanessa frowned. “Are you going to fire her?”

William lifted his gaze, “you sometimes worry me, Vanessa.”

Vanessa was taken aback by this, but her father didn't elaborate.

She sighed, making her way to the garage.

Vanessa heard her father say, “have fun,” as she left the room.

She was inside Freddy's in no time. You had developed the habit of leaving the door unlocked, Vanessa knew she probably had to scold you for that, but she honestly couldn't care less.

Vanessa headed to your office, but something stopped her.

Was that the smell of…?

No, she interrupted her train of thought. No, it can't be, it's impossible.

“Is it, though?” A voice inside her head said.

She swallowed, turning around and heading to the storage room.

With her heart beating madly inside, she entered the room.

An incredibly strong and nauseating smell hit her.

Vanessa recognized the smell easily.

Putrefaction.

Death.

And there were you. Or rather, what was left of you.

Her heart was beating so fast that she was subconsciously afraid that her blood pressure would drop and she would faint.

Slowly, painfully so, she approached your body.

At first glance, and also thanks to the stench, she could tell this had happened days ago, if not weeks.

How?

You talked with her not too long ago, barely a couple of days had passed.

How? Who?

Vanessa could no longer stand, and her knees gave way.

How? Who? Why?

All she could do was stare at your decomposed body, the dry wounds, the rotten blood, the pale skin.

It was like seeing the kids again. All over again.

Before she could When he realized it, big tears were sliding down his cheeks and falling to the ground.

This couldn't be happening. Not to you, at least.

It didn't make any sense, one day she had you dancing in her arms, and now you were lying dead on the ground.

Why?

Could she have prevented this?

She never even get to tell you how she felt. She never got to tell you that she liked you.

Vanessa trembled, unable to stop crying. Was this a divine punishment?

Did God see all her atrocities and decided to take action against her?

She tried to brush away the tears, being too harsh.

It hurt. Everything hurt. From her eyes, to her head, and her heart.

Her chest felt tight, she couldn't breathe. No amount of trying was going to compensate for it.

You were dead. But she had seen you, hadn't she?

And that's when she heard footsteps behind her.

Vanessa snapped her head back, and lo and behold. You were there.

Vanessa choked, trying to say something, anything.

“You're gone,” was the first thing that came out of her mouth, barely audible over her sobs.

You nodded, softly.

She raised her voice, “why didn't you say anything?”

You just stared at her for a moment. “I don't know.”

“You don't know?” Vanessa stood up on her wobbly legs.

“It wasn't supposed to be like this,” you say.

Vanessa looks at your face after what felt like eternity. So that was why you would recoil from her touch. That was why you would never look at her, you would never let her look at you. It was disturbingly obvious now.

Your eyes were basically drained of life, hollow, empty.

She would have realized something was amiss if you hadn't taken all those precautions.

The tears kept falling.

“I'm sorry,” Vanessa breathed out with a broken voice.

You managed a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. “Don't be. It wasn't your fault.”

She choked on her sobs, her cries getting louder.

“I don't understand,” she choked, “why are you still here?”

You (or rather, your ghost,) looked down, sighing. “I guess what they say it's true. You can't go if you have something pending.”

You approached her. "I guess I should tell you.”

Vanessa looked down at your corpse and then back at your ghost.

“Tell me.”

You sighed, smiling bittersweetly.

“Let me tell you something else first,” you began. “I still admire you for your decision to become a police officer. I know you think it's nothing. But not for me, because I know you'll help with the investigation. I know you'll report what happened here, and I'll finally get some peace.”

Vanessa swallowed. She wouldn't. She couldn't.

“Anyways, I…” you closed your eyes, and opened them again. “I'm ready to tell you.”

A beat passed.

“I like you, Vanessa.”

Numb. That's the only way she could describe it.

Her hands felt numb after dragging your body through the cold and burying it behind Freddy's, on the empty lot William had bought a few years ago.

Her heart was numb after your confession.

“I like you.”

It repeated over and over again inside her head, like a broken record.

I like you, I like you, I like you.

If only she could have said, “I like you too,” before your spectrum became nothing more than dust and memories.

If only she had said something before you were killed.

If only she had done anything at all.

She knew exactly who had done it. She couldn't pretend that she didn't see it anymore.

That night, coming home felt like a nightmare.

Vanessa had barged inside the basement, and screamed at him. At her father.

The one who had taken you away from her.

She screamed, and threw everything she could find at him. She cried, and cried, and cried.

And William remained impassive until he didn't.

Vanessa made the mistake of tearing William's work plans off the wall, and at that moment he finally saw red and revealed himself.

With an incredible amount of force, he grabbed Vanessa and pressed her against his desk.

“What do you think you're doing, you stupid creature? You think throwing a tantrum will bring her back? Do you forget who you are, and who I am?”

William basically spat the words out, Vanessa took a deep breath.

“Look at what you have become,” William narrowed his eyes as he said this.

With a trembling voice, Vanessa replied, “I am what you made me. I am your daughter.”

He growled, “you're unbearable. I want you out of my sight!”

William pushed her out of the basement, and locked himself inside.

A couple of days later, Vanessa was packing everything she owned, including the handkerchief you had given to her that one time, and leaving her dad's house. For good this time.

And a month after escaping her father's shadow, she was changing her last name from Afton to Shelly and enrolling in the police academy.

A/N: Well, that was a ride, wasn't it? Reblogs are appreciated.

#vanessa shelly #vanessa shelly x reader #fnaf #fnaf movie #elizabeth lail #william afton

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