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sherewrytes · 2 months

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T. A. R (Time, Appreciation, Respect)

(I'll always want you part 2)

Synopsis: Ony was calling Y/N constantly these days, trying to always reach out to talk and say his piece. Y/N wasn't sure if she was ready for it.

C.W. Angst, Black coded reader, Drug use (weed). Song links used as reference.

Fanfic inspired by the following song.

Solange: Cranes in the sky

Link for part one here

Time had passed since your confrontation with Ony on that fateful night. The sting of betrayal still lingered, casting a shadow over your every thought and action. You still find herself unable to shake the memories of everything that took place between you and Ony and the raw emotions it had unleashed.

It's 2:30 AM. You lie awake, replaying the conversation with Ony in your mind. A part of you acknowledges he may be right, yet you find it impossible to converse without being overwhelmed by emotions.

You heard Annie out on her part to play in all this but not Ony. You didn't have class until 2pm today so you had enough time to sleep some more if needed. You got out of bed, stretched, went to your desk to journal to clear your mind.

You lit the candle on your desk, opened your journal and poured your feelings into it. The pen felt heavy in your hand, similar to how your heart felt in your chest. You wrote about the confusion swirling within you, torn between the logic of Ony's words and the ache of betrayal that still lingered deep within your soul. Memories flashed through your mind of happier times, of sad times and every moment in between. You knew you should hear him out but, you couldn't decide if you were ready or not.

You closed the journal and texted Sasha to see if she was awake. You needed someone to talk to. Sasha responded almost immediately saying she's in the area, so she'd be over in a few and she has Connie and Eren with her.

You sighed and responded. You went to your kitchen to make a quick midnight snack for you and your quests. 15 mins later, at your apartment is Sasha, Connie and Eren.

Connie: "Is it okay if I smoke in here. Between Uni, my music shit and other shit. I'm stressed out."

You: "It's cool. I do smoke sometimes, well used to with Ony. Speaking of Ony. He's been calling my phone nonstop.

*Turns to Eren* He said you've been on his ass about me. Eren the fuck you on boy.

Eren sighed "Look I'm just looking out for him. Ony is taking this harder that I've seen him take anything. Him and I go way back. Ony only shows up to class, messages me for some weed well hella weed. He aint even in the studio much either."

You knew Eren, Connie, Mikasa and Ony were music majors at Paradis University which you all attended. Eren was the lowkey producer type that makes beats to rival the greats. Connie is a rising hip hop artist and Ony is a cross between Trap Soul and Rap. Mikasa was the soulful girl with a beautiful voice. You knew Ony never missed studio time for nothing, so you knew he was struggling.

"When last did he show up." Y/N asked Eren with some concern in her tone.

"Probably 2 months ago before that it was 3 months before that. Look you don't have to force yourself to talk to him or bear his wounds or help him heal from the mess he made on his own. It ain't your job to, What I'm asking is if you can hear him out even if its 5 minutes if you can't then Imma tell him to drop it."

You sat in silence for a bit truly wondering what to do, so you turned to Sasha. "Honestly I want to hear him out, I do but I need more time. I know everyone thinks I forgave Annie so easy, but Ony and I had something deeper than Annie and I had even with our years of friendship. Ya we were fighting and at odds that time but..I know I'm being dumb cause Annie is just as responsible as he was. I just need to clear my head some more."

Connie took a toke of his joint and passed it to Eren then Eren to Sasha. Sasha pulled out her phone and connected it to the speakers in your apartment and started playing L.E.S by Childish Gambino. They all passed the joint around the room you took a few hits here and there. Eren was mindlessly scrolling through his IG to see Ony posted a 15 sec video on IG with a link in the caption to his YouTube to his latest track Amphetamine.

Eren blurted out with a bit of shock, "What the fuck, Ony just dropped a new song. It looks like he changed his artist's name from Ony to Soro. I mean he mentioned the change last time he came in the studio. Yo Sasha disconnect real quick lemme listen to this real quick."

Sasha disconnected her phone to allow Eren to pull up the track. " The song is almost 8 mins WTF is Ony on" Eren says.

The beat kicks in with this smooth, laid-back vibe that immediately hooks you in. Everyone's silent giving the track a listen.

" It's like an amphetamine, how it marinate on my mind (stuck on me, yah) Got no doubt I'll be alright, if I just make it through the night."

You can hear, almost feel the range of emotions in the song. You can hear Ony's voice pouring out his feelings. The beat changes around 2:48 seconds in giving a whole different vibe to the song.

"Shawty cold as December, I still fold her, no Manila B-b-b-brr wit me baby, I hibernate, smoke the lettuce."

Everyone was vibing with the song until they heard Mikasa's voice drop on the track around 4:28 Everyone a bit surprised since Mikasa doesn't easily do features even if it's with her friends. Connie laughed a bit "He got Mikasa on this with him. Damn he really went all out. Aye Eren aint this the same beat he said he didn't want around 5 maybe 6 months ago?" Eren laughed thinking back to when he played this beat for Ony, and he said he hated it. Ony owed him big time for this, but he'll circle back to it. As the song finished. You sat with your eyes full of tears. You thought to yourself that you could feel every emotion Ony sang about in the song. The loss of their relationship, his struggles with his mental health and so much more.

Connie was the first the chime in when the song ended "Damn that was.... deep." "Yah it was Ony really flipped the script on this one." Eren chimed in.

Eren got a notification that Ony was live on IG. He clicked on it. He saw he was talking about his just dropped song and other usual shit that's going on in his life.

Ony's eyes were the newfound usual shade of slight bloodshot red from smoking and hardly any sleep. He was reading off a comment asking him who inspired him to write the song. he responded with "Someone but also no one."

Ony's voice flowed through the speakers in your apartment causing Eren to disconnect his phone to watch the live a bit easier.

He commented saying "Fire track man, wish you'd let me know you were droppin a song man."

Ony read the comment out loud and smirked and said "Sorry man. I wanted it to be a personal project, but I owe you one big time for the beat."

Ony and Eren were engaging in their usual banter in the comments of Ony's Instagram live. You were deep in thought when Ony read aloud a comment from someone claiming his song was inspired by his ex-girlfriend. Ony and you had a semi-public relationship, which is due to his rising fame as a Trap Soul/rap artist.

Ony sighed, his mind drifting back to the last time he saw you in person, when you came to return his belongings from your place. He had seen you around campus since then, but it simply wasn't the same. His response was "It was inspired by pain. Pain of loss, loss of love, loss of hopes, loss of dreams. Loss of self. She's part of something I lost in my life."

Ony paused, his gaze drifting off as he recalled the bittersweet memories. He took a deep breath, trying to push away the ache in his chest as he continued, his voice laden with emotion. "So yeah, she's part of what I lost, but 'Amphetamine' is also about finding myself again. It's about reclaiming my voice, my truth, and pouring it all out into my music."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, though sadness lingered in his eyes. "Maybe one day she'll hear this song and understand. Understand that she's not just a memory, but a muse who ignited something within me, something I'll carry with me forever."

With that, Ony concluded, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. The live disconnected indicating he ended it abruptly.

As the live session ends abruptly, the room falls into a heavy silence. You, sits with a mix of emotions swirling within yourself. Ony's words echo in your mind, resonating deeply with your own conflicted feelings. You can't shake the sense of nostalgia and longing that his music and words evoke. Sasha breaks the silence, her voice soft yet determined. "Y/N, are you okay?" she asks, her concern evident.

You took a moment to collect your thoughts before responding. "I don't know, Sasha," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sasha nods understandingly, her eyes reflecting empathy. "I get it. It's hard to hear someone express their pain so openly, especially when it's intertwined with your own." Eren chimes in, his tone reflective. "Yeah, but maybe that's what he needs right now. It's better than him bottling it up and tryna smoke it all away."

Connie exhales a puff of smoke, his expression contemplative. "True, but it's also a lot to unpack. Y/N, you don't have to rush into anything. Take your time to process everything, to figure out what you need and want. What Ony did was messed up"

You nod, grateful for your friends' support. "Thanks, guys. I think…I think I need some time alone to sort through my thoughts."

With that que, Eren, Sasha and Connie left your apartment. you walk through your apartment heading to your room, the melody of Ony's song still echoing in your mind. Your emotions even more confusing than when you talked to Ony earlier. You looked at the time. It was almost 5 am. You decided to shower and head back to bed, hoping to get some rest before class.

Your mind was restless, torn between Ony's latest track and his words during the IG live, you were conflicted. On one hand, you acknowledged missing him, but on the other, infidelity was something you could never condone in a relationship. You recognized a desire to listen to his explanation, yet you feared your heart might not endure his version of the events.

The weight of Ony's words hangs heavy in the air, suffocating your mind with intense thoughts. Alone amidst the dim glow of your bedside lamp, the words "Maybe one day she'll hear this song and understand." taunt you with the possibility of reconciliation and closure. You thought to yourself "How could I ever hope to understand the depths of his pain when my own wounds still bleed with the memory of his betrayal?"

Finally entering your room, you sink onto the edge of the bed, burying your face in trembling hands, desperate to silence the cacophony of thoughts threatening to consume you.

"Take your time to process everything, to figure out what you need and want." Connie's words echo faintly in her mind. With a trembling sigh, you rise from the bed, your steps faltering as you make your way to the bathroom. The steady stream of water cascades over your trembling form, washing away the tears that stain your cheeks.

"It's 5 am. I should try to get some rest before class," you think to yourself. Climbing out of the shower, your limbs feel heavy. Wrapping yourself in a towel, the fabric offers a feeble shield against the lingering chill. You dress slowly, abandoning your usual routine for the simple comfort of bed, seeking to calm your mind. Eventually, you drift into sleep, the confusion in your heart, perhaps even greater than before.

*Slight Time Skip*

You finished up her class for the evening, your Textile Science class drained your mind. you run into Eren, Connie, Armin and Pieck in the courtyard chattin it up.

"Yo, Y/N!" Armin hollered, his grin wide as he motioned for her to come over. You gave a small nod, casually strolling over as they kept chattin'. It helped take your mind off things for a sec.

"So, y'all ready for tonight?" Armin asked, his eyes sparklin' with excitement. "Tonight?" you echoed, feeling a bit lost.

Armin leaned in closer, speakin' low like it was a secret. "The party, It's goin' down at my place. everybody's rolling through." You thought about if Ony was gonna be there since going Armin's parties was one of their go to things as a couple.

You shifted uncomfortably, tryna come up with an excuse to bail but before you could say anythin', Sasha and Mikasa slid through, bringin' a burst of energy to the scene. "Hey, y'all!" Sasha greeted; her smile infectious as she pulled you into a hug.

Mikasa gave a nod, her expression serious as she peeped Y/N with concern.

"Y/N, you gotta come through tonight," Pieck chimed in, her voice smooth and persuasive. "You never show up to the parties, and it's gonna be lit." Y/N hesitated, caught between the comfort of being alone and the fear of missing out on the squad's vibe.

Just then, Ony strolled past, casting a shadow over Y/N's mood. She felt a surge of anger bubbling up inside, memories of their messy situation flooding back.

Armin, clueless as ever, turned to Ony with a hopeful grin. "Yo, you coming tonight, Ony?"

Ony glanced at you for a sec before turning back to Armin, his face unreadable. But before he could answer, you spoke up with fire in your voice. "I ain't showing if he's gonna be there," you stated, pointing your finger at Ony with a fierce look.

The air got heavy; the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Y/N's heart raced as she waited for Ony's response. But instead of coming back at you, Ony just nodded quietly, his eyes holding a hint of regret before he dipped out.

You caught the concerned glances of your friends. You knew your emotions were a bit confusing being torn between wanting to hear him out, missing him then not wanting to be around him. Even though almost much time had passed, her emotions still felt raw.

You looked around to your friend group who was gauging your reaction to seeing Ony. Each stare, felt like a trap a push to make a decision you weren't ready for.

"I can't do this," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you took a step back, your eyes darting between your friends and a mental escape route. Sasha's hand on your arm stopped you in your tracks, her grip firm yet gentle. "You can't run from this forever, Y/N, you're gonna have to address this or find the will to move on" she said softly, her eyes reflecting a depth of understanding. You stared at Sasha's face trying to gauge her facial expression and reaction "I know, Sash I know." you whispered hoarsely, your voice cracking with emotion. "But I'm not ready to face him, not yet. I don't know if I ever will be."

With that said you turned and left them there, briskly walking back to catch an uber back to your apartment.

----------------------------While you left-----------------------------------

Eren stared at Armin, scoffing with annoyance "Bro, how you gonna forget they ain't together no more? Ony straight up did her dirty with Annie."

Armin sighed and took a step back. "I know but they're both my friends and I want them both to be happy and come out more. guess I messed up by asking them out around each other. It's just that we hardly get to chill with both of them around, you know...it's tough."

Eren shook his head, his frustration evident in his furrowed brow. "I get that, Armin, but you gotta realize it's not just about them being happy. Ony really hurt Y/N, man. And seeing him around just brings back all that pain."

Armin's shoulders slumped in defeat, his expression reflecting the weight of his guilt. "I know, Eren, I know," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just... I don't know how to fix this mess."

Sasha, who had been listening quietly, spoke up with a sympathetic tone. "Maybe there's no quick fix, Armin. Sometimes all we can do is give them space and time to heal, you know?"

Connie nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "Yeah, sometimes the best thing we can do is just be there for them when they're ready to talk or when they need us."

Armin sighed; his gaze heavy with regret. "You're right," he admitted, a sense of resignation settling over him. "I just hope they both find their way through this, somehow."

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#aot angst #aot onyankopon #onyankopon x reader #onyankopon x black y/n #ony x black reader #ony aot #aot x black reader #aot x you #aot x reader #black reader #black tumblr #sherewrytes #connie springer #sasha blouse #eren yeager #eren jaeger

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auteurdelabre · 6 months

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Something to Fight For (Series) Part 18 Joel Miller x f!Reader

Rating: 18+ THIS CHAPTER'S TRIGGER WARNINGS: Emotional Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Drug Addiction, Mentions of Death A/N: I rewrote this fucking chapter about 8 times. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. It was a real hard one to write, ya'll. A lot of my own shit is mixed up in there with the story. MC is part me after all (and part all of you). So it was hard. Harder than I think I expected it to be. So I dunno how it ended up. Couldn't re-read it too much. I really need your reviews on this one folks. It's real important to me, 'specially now. I need to know how you feel, the good and the bad. I gotta get this right.

Story Masterlist HERE

You're overcome.

There's no other word for it. You've been sobbing in your shower for the last hour. After running from the barn, taking a taxi home and bursting into your suite you immediately fell to your knees, the warm water pelting down onto your back.

It's as close to being held, at being soothed that you can manage right now.

You can’t stop replaying tonight’s events. The song Joel chose. The one of longing and deep yearning.

"She may be the reason I survive

The why and wherefore I'm alive

The one I'll care for through the rough and ready years"

But also of a love gone by. A regret.

"She may be the face I can't forget

A trace of pleasure or regret"

Is that how he views you? A love gone by?

Of course he does.

Paul's engagement ring is in the velvet box it came in. It's being returned tomorrow. You'd have done it tonight if it weren't so late.

You need to end things. It's the only way forward. No matter what, no matter if Joel is in love with Tess, no matter if you'll never be with him, you *can't be with Paul.

You don't love Paul. It's obvious to everyone including yourself. It's been obvious for so long. You've wasted so much fucking time and energy on him.

You think of all the boxes packed here, the ones you were going to move to Leander. You think of how strange and sad it is that your whole life can be put into less than twenty cardboard boxes.

And even though Joel can't be yours and even though that hurts more than words can begin to say, you are so fucking grateful for him. You are so grateful you met Joel Miller because he's shown you what love is. True, caring love.

Even if it's not yours to keep.

You will never forget the way he looked singing tonight. The goodbye song from his heart to yours. You'd felt it. The bittersweet finality of your time.

More tears are coming.

"I love him," you say to the tile in front of you. You need to hear the words spoken out loud in the universe, even if it's hidden in the fall of the shower and heard only by you. "I love Joel."

You need to see Joel. You need him to hold you. Need his calming presence. You need to wrap your arms around him and press your face into his neck and just feel breathe that sweet, spicy scent of home.

He's not yours.

You don't get to see Joel. You don't get to have him. He's Tess'. You can't be his friend, you want him too much. So what does that leave?

That leaves you replaced and alone.

You pull yourself from the shower, shivering as you towel off, drying your hair the best you can. You go to your dresser and pull out one of the few remaining pieces of clothing there.

Joel's shirt.

You've washed it so it doesn't smell like him anymore. Doesn't smell like the laundry detergent he uses or that wood shavings scent he sometimes carries. But when you put it on it feels like he's there in some small way. You pull it on over your sleep shorts hiccupping a soft cry.

You remember so long ago, standing in Joel’s den as you pondered if he just played guitar or if he sang as well.

“S’weird how something can make you feel so good and then outta nowhere become the pain”

That’s how it feels now. Joel, the thing that makes you feel good has also become the pain. The wedding is tomorrow. You need to collect yourself by then. You'll see Joel and you need to be controlled. You need to be okay. You need to not ruin this for him.

Because you do love Joel. You love him in a way you never expected to love or be loved. You love him so much that you are determined to make his life better. Determined that you will not take away what he has carved out for himself.

You crawl under the covers, your face buried in the pillow.

"I l-love Joel," you whisper it again into the pillow only now it's broken by sobs. You curl up under the covers, your body trembling. "I love him I love him."

You feel lost. So hopelessly lost.

And then the phone rings.

///

It's late in the Miller house. Quiet. Sarah's been asleep for hours thanks to the sugar crash Bill's cupcakes provided.

Tommy's asleep in the basement apartment, exhausted from the evenings festivities and anticipating a long day tomorrow.

Or, as Joel glances over at the bright neon numbers of his digital clock, later today.

He's laying in bed, one arm behind his head, one hand over his sternum as he stares at the ceiling. In this pose he feels every breath in, every breath out. The studying rhythm bringing him peace. It's impossible to shake the image of you free from his mind.

He'd done it out of love for you. Out of a need for you to know how much you'd changed him. Changed his heart, his outlook, even his fucking idea on the concept of romantic love.

But the look on your face? The way it had fallen before you had dashed out?

Sarah had been bouncing up and down in her seat when he finished his performance, hugging him tightly and throwing things at him as he tried to contain his disappointment ("Daddy you sing so pretty!" And "Daddy will you teach me guitar?") Everyone was clapping him on the back, telling him it was wonderful, so romantic, that Tommy and Maria loved it.

He refused to let his eyes search for you, knowing you were gone. He refused to let his heart believe that you'd come back.

Joel knows he has to stay away from you.

Knows that singing tonight was a terrible idea because not only did he make it so obvious to everyone that he’s so deeply in love with you, but he also made you cry.

Watching your face crumple, watching the way your eyes fell to the ground at the last string. He’d thought you’d be happy singing, Maria had said how often you’d felt happy when you did. But that wasn’t happiness he saw tonight. It was pain.

Joel doesn’t know what to do. He feels so lost.

And then the phone rings.

///

"Joel, I need you."

Four little words over the phone at 2 am.

Four little words that have Joel stumbling out of bed, murmuring he'll be there before he's pulling on his jeans and a t-shirt.

He's half asleep, his mind whirring. He goes to the basement, rapping on the door. An equally tired Tommy answers, blinking in the light.

"She- I gotta go," Joel tries to explain in a rush. "I'll explain later. Can you come watch Sarah?"

Tommy gives a few bleary eyed blinks before nodding and following his brother up the steps.

Tommy settles himself on the sofa as Joel runs out the door. And all the younger Miller can think before he falls asleep is:

Finally.

///

Joel's shoulders nearly take up the doorframe. You notice this when the rap of his knuckles pulls you sniffling from the sofa and you open the door to him.

His eyes are sleepy, but wide. His hair is tousled from sleep and you can see the indent of his pillow faint in his left cheek. He scans your face, concerned.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm so sorry," you say as soon as Joel takes a step towards you. "I never should have called so late. I’m so so sorry, Joel."

"Just let me in," Joel insists, his hand coming to go to your cheek and then dropping. He doesn’t want to overstep. "Tell me what happened."

You try to make the words come out; you force them crackling and trembling out into the world.

"I don't want... I don't want to go back."

Joel doesn't have any context, but that doesn't stop him from rushing in. He closes the door behind him gently before bringing you into his arms. Your forehead drops against his sternum as he does this, your tears warm and free flowing.

As he rubs a soothing hand along your spine he realizes you're wearing his t-shirt again. For some reason this small thing makes Joel's eyes wet.

You're so warm in his arms, trembling against him as you hold in sobs. He wants to kiss away the tears rolling down your cheeks. He wants to carry you to bed and strip every bad memory and experience from you with his mouth and body.

That's not what she needs right now. She needs a friend.

He takes your hand in his, leading you to the sofa. A place where you can talk. The fireplace is on, bathing you in a warm flickering glow that makes his breathing hitch when he glances over at you.

Your eyes are puffy, your nose red and he thinks you might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He can't help himself but reach for you, bringing you to his lap as he sits. There's nothing sexual about it, just the need to hold you close, to make you feel safe there. Your arms wrap around his neck and he rocks you, his arms banding around your waist.

"Honey," Joel whispers into the crook of your neck. "What's wrong?"

Honey.

You melt into him just as easily as the word. This was a terrible idea. What had you been thinking? How could you ask Joel here?

Because of the song, your traitorous heart cries. Because you love him! Because his face is the first one you want to see!

You hold him tightly to you, unable to break from him just yet. Unable to tell him the awful ugliness. Instead your mind drifts to the rehearsal dinner. Your hand plays with the fabric of Joel's shirt, twisting it under your fingers.

"Joel . . . The song."

Immediately he tenses and you can't see his face, but you can imagine it. Eyes nervous, mouth hooked slightly to the side. The same way he’d held his face that night in his den, your hand around a glass of soda.

"Maybe one day we'll have reason to make music again.”

Joel smiles softly around his glass. "Maybe."

"Did you like it?" he murmurs into your hair. You can't help but hold him tighter, your eyes filling. He sounds so unsure of himself, so worried about what you’ll say.

"Yeah, I loved it. It was beautiful."

You feel him physically relax in your arms at this admission. The tension, the uncertainty is drained from him. You force yourself not to tilt your face to his, not to search for his mouth with yours.

"I thought you didn't play anymore,” you tell his shoulder.

"I don't. One time performance I guess. Shoulda charged for tickets."

There, the humor you both needed to break the intense spell that weaves itself when you're in Joel's arms. You're thankful to him for that. Now you can pull back, still seated in his lap, but in control of yourself.

"I hope you keep playing forever."

Joel smiles wistfully at you, nodding. You let his dark eyes search your face. You let his hand cup your cheek, his wide thumb brushing away the tears there.

"I never told you about why I went back to Chicago," you sniffle. "Why I didn't call."

"You don't have to tell me," Joel insists. "It doesn't change why I'm here. I'll stay here all night just holdin' you if it's what you need."

He doesn't want to push you, doesn't want you upset because of him. This time in Chicago, the separation, it feels like an ugly part of your shared history that he just wants you both to forget.

"No, I want to tell you," you say in a sorrowful voice. "You deserve to know everything."

Joel nods and he wants to keep you there in his lap. But you shuffle back from him, sitting across from him on the sofa. It takes several minutes of staring into the flames of the fire before you feel you can begin.

"My dad has been in and outta the hospital a lot," you explain, looking at your hands in your lap. "It's because he's waiting for a liver transplant."

Joel is shocked. The way you spoke of Chicago, of your family, he'd assumed your father was dead.

"The thing is," you continue, unaware of his shock. "He can't get one unless he stops using and, uh, he won't."

"Using?" Joel is still taken aback by the revelation, not thinking clearly.

"Coke and heroin mostly," you say with a wince. "He's a drug addict."

Your father has been a junkie for most of your life.

And it's in part because you exist.

The same year you were born he'd gone to a party without your mom. She was tired, still breastfeeding you and encouraged him to go out and have some fun.

He did.

The kind of fun that had started as a party drug passed around and ended with him burning through the family savings and growing gaunt in the coming years. The kind of fun that had him doing eight balls during your soccer games and shooting up on your graduation day.

You were four when he first went into rehab at the insistence of your mother. A few weeks before your fifth birthday he'd come home sober and ready to change his life back around. You hadn't really understood what was happening. You'd just been so happy to be a family again.

That photo on your desk, the one the flood destroyed, the one that meant so much to you is from the only birthday party of yours that your father ever attended sober.

In the passing years he turned to drugs again but he hid it well from you and your mother. You never knew the severity of it until you turned fifteen.

Until you came home one day from your part time job at the Chicago humane shelter to find him covered in piss and his own vomit and barely responsive.

He died on his way to the hospital, a full forty two seconds he was clinically dead. Until they revived him and he sputtered back to life. You remember all of this because it was you in the ambulance with him.

Your mother was at work, unreachable. Your dad's sporadic unemployment meant she worked two jobs.

So it was a fifteen year old you with tears running down her cheeks that watched this unfold, completely terrified.

You were sixteen when he got out of rehab for the second time and promised his life was changed forever. He and your mother had almost two years of no fighting - a change of pace for you who had grown up to their constant shouting matches.

You were eighteen when he relapsed at a friend's house party. Twenty two and twenty five when he went back to the various rehabs that your mother always paid for in more ways than one.

And then he just stopped trying in the coming years. Still using, but not enough for your sweet mother to kick him out.

It's like he's infected by some insidious being inside him. A forever hungry thing that takes and takes, warping your once sweet father into something subhuman. A being that is frighteningly underweight, hollowing his cheeks and making his eyes bulbous in his face. He isn't your father anymore, not really.

But he is. That's the worst part.

Because if he wasn't your Dad you could hate him.

You tell Joel all of this, it spills from you like a stream and he sits across from you, nodding and never speaking. When your voice hitches or the tears begin fresh he instinctively moves towards you on the sofa, stopped only by your raised palm. You need to get all of this out and if he holds you, you never will.

"That night you left, like, two hours later my mom called me to tell me that my dad had a really bad seizure," You shake your head, wanting to stop the memory. "And she sounded so scared on the phone and I just had to get back. I had to get there, back home to help. I was on autopilot."

Joel recalls the hollow look in your eyes when he went to see you that day.

"I know you came to see me but I don't even remember it," you tell Joel. "All I could think of was that I fucked up, that I should have been there in Chicago with my mom."

Joel is stiff, watching you without speaking.

"And I got home and it was just as awful as I thought it would be." You start to shudder at the memory. "My dad could barely talk. And when he did all he wanted to do was blame me for leaving. Telling me I was selfish for leaving my mom and him. Telling me that without me around to help pay for things that there was more pressure on him and my mom to afford their place."

You break off only to hold in a sob, breathing deeply and continuing.

"And he was right, you know. Coming to Austin for school was so selfish of me. I could've just as easily gone to school back in Chicago." A look of disgust crosses your features as you talk now to yourself. "So fucking selfish."

"No," Joel's voice is quiet but firm. "That's not true."

You're ignoring him though, so caught up in your own devastation. Your eyes are shut tightly and your head is giving short jerks.

"I just run from everything, Joel. I ran from Chicago and I ran to Austin because I thought that if I kept running far away enough that, that his ugliness could never touch me. But it lives in me, Joel. That ugliness is in me forever."

Joel's eyes have grown glassy, even now he remains sitting there looking at you with unending patience and his hands twitching to hold you.

"I stayed there for a month,” you continue, not even aware that your head is tilted so low Joel has to lean forward to hear. “A month of my dad telling me I was selfish. A month of my mom trying to tell me that it's just his disease talking. A month of seeing your name come up on my phone and wanting so badly to talk to you but just thinking about how horrible I was and how you and Sarah deserved better."

You force yourself to breathe between sentences, your air hitching in your chest. Joel is staring at you, his eyes swimming over your features. Horrible? You?

"So when I eventually got back to Austin I was just so fucking sad, Joel. So tired. I couldn't get out of bed. I didn't want to be around anyone. Not you, not Sarah. I couldn't do that to you guys." You swipe at your eyes with the wrist of your sweater. "I should have called you and seen you but I was so selfish only thinking about me and how I felt.

Your eyes jerk open when you feel the warmth of Joel's hand on yours. He's leaning across the sofa, his wide hand placed gently over yours. A thumb gently strokes your knuckles.

"No," Joel breathes in a voice of gentle warmth. "Never selfish. Never. It was me that fucked up."

"No."

"Yes," Joel tells you and you can see the way his dark eyes are damp. "You are the least selfish person I've ever met."

"Oh yeah?" you challenge, your chin wobbling. "You know why I called you tonight? Because my mom just called to beg me to come home again. Apparently my dad's saying that if I move back to Chicago that he'll go to treatment again. That he'll stop using. That he'll be able to get the transplant."

Joel's eyes widen but he remains silent.

"And I don't want to go," you say, lips trembling. "I don't want to go back there. I don't want to fucking go even if it would mean helping because I'm a horrible, selfish cunt."

The sobs that burst out of you are pure anguish that you muffle in a pillow to keep Maria from hearing all those floors above. Joel is physically holding himself back, dying to embrace you but giving you your space.

All he can do is stroke your head, desperate to convey all of his care and affection for you through the gesture.

"He was always promising he was going to get clean," you say hollowly, moving away from the pillow and Joel's touch. "And my mom, she just, she just kept carrying on like there was hope. But there is no hope. Just this endless, bleak, fucking pain."

Your eyes meet his and you're overcome. You stand abruptly, feeling the scrutiny of Joel as sharply as if he were stabbing you.

"Joel, just go. I'm sorry I called. This was a terrible idea to have you come here. This isn't your problem. I'm so fucking sorry."

Joel stands and for a moment you think he's going to leave. You think that might be a relief because you're feeling too vulnerable, too exposed.

You aren't expecting Joel to quietly close the distance between your bodies and wordlessly pull you into his arms. You're shocked more however at how willingly you allow this, how easy it is to fall back into his embrace. To tangle your arms around his neck and hold him as tightly as you can. He's warm against you, his cheek resting on the top of your head as you press your face to his shoulder.

"I hate him. I hate what he put my mom and me through." Your chin is trembling as you blink back the onslaught of more tears. "And I hate that I love him so much because he's my fucking dad."

Your hands are gripping Joel around the middle as he holds you, his broad shoulders curling, his arms tightening.

"I hate that I just want him to die," you cry through clenched teeth. "To stop holding on. To bring my mother some fucking peace."

More tears come.

Joel thinks of James and the cocaine and how upset you'd been. He'd thought you were justified in the way you'd acted, the heated punch across James slimy face for treating you so rudely. But now he realizes why you'd been shamed, so terrified of your own fury.

"And I hate that I'm just like him."

You break off as Joel's large hand is cupping the back of your head, and he's gently swaying you, the way a mother would a newborn.

"It's okay," Joel murmurs in your hair. "I've got you. I've got you."

You don't know why, but this quiet utterance from him is that breaks you, and the wall against him that you've built so high for yourself collapses. Heavy sobs break free from you, stark mournful things that you muffle in Joel's shoulder. They make your body jerk, causing Joel to hold you tighter against him.

"Shhh," Joel soothes. "Just breathe, baby. Slowly, like me."

He takes a few steadying breaths, urging you to match the slow pace. After a few shuddering exhales you do so, your breathing staggering into a steady, even rhythm.

"Good," Joel whispers. "Good."

"I'm just like him," you again whisper the words you've only ever thought into Joel's collar. "I'm selfish and horrible and -"

"You're nothing like that," Joel assures you, pulling you back so that he can look into your eyes when he tells you this. "Not at all."

"Really? What do you call what we did in your kitchen?" You scoff. "Knowing that we were with other people? Or how about when you pushed me up against that wall over there?"

Joel is silent, only his eyes move around your face while the rest of him is like a statue. He doesn't need to look at the wall to know what you're talking about.

"I can't stop wanting you," you say with a look of torment in your eyes. "I can't fucking stop, Joel. I try and I try and I can't. I'm just like my dad. I want what I shouldn't. I want what's only going to hurt other people and hurt myself."

"Honey-"

"I can't stop," you repeat weakly, trying to step back from him. "So I have to stay away."

Joel hands are on either side of your face again and he's peppering your face with soft kisses and everything in you wants to rejoice because Joel is here and he's holding you.

"Don't stay away from me," Joel's tells you as he rains compassion down on you. "Never."

You can't keep him. He's not yours.

Both of you are being incredibly selfish right now. Tess is probably at home right now taking care of Sarah and Daniel. Tess who was made to be a mother. Tess who understands Joel. What is wrong with you?

Selfish.

Horrible.

"Stop, Joel," you say twisting from him, out of his grip. "I told you all of this so that you can understand why I won't be around as much. But I'll call Sarah every other night, if she still wants to speak to me. And when I come back for visits I'll take her to the movies and-"

It's like Joel is only just now noticing all the moving boxes. He's glancing around as you talk, his eyes widening.

"You're not actually thinking of moving back to Chicago," Joel interrupts in a horrified voice. "You can't be."

"Just for a few months, just until he's settled in rehab-"

"No," Joel is wild-eyed shaking his head, his eyebrows saddling. "You can’t. You just. . . You can’t do this. You can’t sacrifice everything. Your work - that sanctuary. You won’t come back. I know you, you’ll feel like you have to take care of your dad. You’ll stay there."

"It's complicated-"

"It's not."

"Joel, my dad needs me."

"That was a horrible thing to lay on your shoulders," Joel says and he looks furious and sad all at once. "And I'm sorry for your parents, I really am, but no. You can't go. You can't do this to yourself."

"I have to go," you tell Joel. You falter, pulling back from him, needing to be out of his orbit.

Joel stands there as you pull back from him, looking so out of place in your suite with its low ceilings, the space almost emptied of furniture. He’s like this beam you can’t look away from, this tall broad angel with eyes that look at you as if you’re actually worth something.

He breaks off, uttering a pained "Jesus Christ" and you're sure he's going to yell at you about Paul just like Maria did.

You’re sure he’ll run from the room shouting that you’re selfish. Positive that he’ll tell you that you’re not worth all this hassle.

Instead Joel does something you're not expecting.

He crosses the room over to you and slips to his knees, holding you around the middle before he presses his forehead gently against your abdomen. It shocks you, this action and this pose from him. He sits like this in silence for several minutes, holding you, breathing against you in heavy shudders. Your hands are on his broad shoulders, glancing down at him in confusion.

"I'm so sorry," he finally whispers, a little murmur against you. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there."

"I didn't need you to be," you insist, your hand going to his neck, urging his face up to look at you. He won't move his face from where it is lodged against your stomach. He can’t.

"But I should have been," Joel insists, his voice a low rasp.

“It was so long ago.”

Almost six months since the awful incident. And you don’t carry it with you, not like Joel apparently has because now his head tilts back from your abdomen.

"I never should have walked away that day. I should have stayed. If I had none of this Tess and Paul shit would have happened. I would’ve gone back with you to Chicago." Joel's voice sounds thick with escaping emotion. "I ruined us."

His beautiful eyes open and you watch as tears slip down his cheek. You suppose that's what makes you freeze up, your heart sinking. You've never seen Joel cry before and the sight is as shocking as it is heartbreaking.

"Forgive me," he whispers brokenly. "Please."

You can see the anguish in his features and realize he's been living in it since you got back. This hellish landscape of grief and regret. He's been wearing it like armor weighing him down.

"Nothing to forgive," you tell him honestly, your knuckles trailing down his cheek to wipe the tears away. "Joel it was never a matter of fault. It was just how things happened."

His head drops against your stomach again and you can feel his strong shoulders begin to quake jerkily.

"I was fucking weak."

"You were human," you reply, rubbing at his shoulders, wanting to soothe him as much as he wants to soothe you. "You couldn't have known."

"I just left you there, all hollow and quiet and I walked away," Joel's voice is ragged. "I should have stayed. That's what you do when you love someone."

Love.

It hits you with a strong, visceral acuity. Starting in your rib cage and then spreading outward, causing everything in your body to wake up. It makes you breathless to hear it, though you've long suspected it, secretly hoped for it.

"Joel-"

"I'll never stop being sorry for it," Joel tells you simply, his face tilting up to look into yours. "Never."

Without thinking your hand is gently carding through his tousled curls. His eyes shutter closed as he leans into your hands. The moment is overwhelming in austerity and you need to break it.

"Not even if I asked nicely?" you say with a teasing lilt to your voice.

His eyes open and he gives you a small, watery smile before he stands. He towers over you again, taking your face in his wide hands and now it’s you leaning into his touch.

"I'd do anything you asked."

And all at once you know he's going to kiss you and that you want him to.

He tilts his head forward and lips move over yours so gently that you sigh into his mouth. Your entire body sags towards him and instead of the fervent kisses from not that long ago, this kiss is different. It’s soft and sweet and unhurried. His soft lips move over yours, taking time to memorize how your pliant mouth moves under his, the way you inhale softly when you break apart, his wide hands still cupping your face.

Tess.

Marmalade.

Selfish.

"I'm sorry I called," you sniff, tilting your face from him. "I never should have done that. You should go, Joel."

"You want me to go?" Joel's voice is a low aching sound. You can't look at him. You can't look into those intense, beautiful eyes of his so instead you face away from him.

"Yes."

You feel yourself floundering, that unmistakable voice in your head screaming to run. Run from the conflict. Run from your feelings.

Run. Run.

"You're lyin'," Joel insists.

"I'm not."

You feel his strong fingers on either side of your chin, dragging your face to meet his. But still your eyes remain closed.

"Look at me."

You shake your head the best that you can in his grip.

"I can't have you here, Joel. I'm sorry I called you, it was wrong.”

Joel's hand is flying to slide around the back of your neck. "Stop."

"You’re with Tess," you insist with a shake of your head, pulling back from his sweet touch. "She's perfect for you. She'll make the best mom to Sarah. It makes sense, Joel. You have to see that."

"I broke it off with Tess," Joel bites off. “I don’t want Tess.”

Your eyes fly open."What?"

"How could I keep dating her? I knew I couldn't stop wanting you. I never will." Joel feels his neck growing warm. "And she told me what she asked you to do, to stay away from Sarah."

You nod brokenly, feeling the tears gathering just at the memory compounded by this new guilt.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I just want what's best for you and Sarah. A chance at a real family."

You've ruined this for him. Joel's chance at a family, something for himself. Something for his own. Selfish like your dad.

"Go back to Tess, Joel. Tell her it was a mistake."

"I'm not gonna do that."

"You have to, Joel. She wants you."

“And you don’t?”

It hangs there, the truth between you. If you admit it, it’s over. Any pretense you would have carried is gone. He’ll choose you because of this unknowable, untenable connection. But you’re not good for him. You’re not the kind of woman Joel Miller needs. You’ll take and take from him, leaving him with nothing in the end. It’s how your father operates, and you are your father’s daughter. Your engagement isn't even officially off. You're moving to Chicago. So what? You'll confess you love Joel? Make him feel compelled to follow you to Chicago? And what about Sarah? You're going to disrupt her life too? How is that not the most selfish thing in the world?

“No.”

Saying it physically hurts.

You love Joel. You love this man in front of you. And it’s precisely that love that sends you pushing back from him. But you’re stopped by his hand on the back of your neck again, holding you there.

"Don't," Joel says through clenched teeth."Don't stand there and lie to me of all people. You wanna lie to yourself? Fine, but not to me. Never to me. I don’t deserve it."

It is. It is a fucking lie.

"Tell me the truth," Joel urges gently, pleading. "Tell me to my face that you don't want me as much as I want you.”

You try to form the words that tell him exactly that, but you can't.

They don't exist.

Joel nods in understanding, his warm eyes even warmer. But he can see the fear in your expression, the panic.

"Just let me take care of you tonight," Joel whispers, his thumb stroking your cheek. "Please."

You're trembling against his palm, tears coating your lashes. "Okay."

Joel seems surprised by your easy acceptance but he nods, reaching down to take your hand in his.

"Let's go to bed."

You follow him without question to the bed. He shrugs off his jacket, watching you watching him. You're eyes are owlish in your face, the tension clear. Joel brings himself up on the bed still dressed in his jeans and shirt. He lays overtop the sheet before bringing it back for you to crawl under.

You hesitate. There is nothing more enticing than the thought of Joel making love to you right now. But it feels wrong, rushed. Too many things going on in your mind.

"I just wanna hold you," Joel explains when he sees your eyes nervously move from him to the bed. "If that's okay?"

Relief floods you and you nod, moving under the covers of your bed. And all the aching loneliness, all the terror of being lost? It’s gone. It’s gone the second you snuggle up against Joel in your bed.

His broad hand moves through your hair gently, moving it back from your flushed face before stroking it in tenderly. He stares at you, barely blinking. You muse that you could have entire conversations like this, just staring into each other's eyes. That perhaps you're having one right now.

His eyes are so soft. How can a man made up of sharp angles and broad planes look at you with eyes so fucking soft?

"How can you look at me like that?" you ask blinking through new tears. "After everything I've told you how can you lie there and look at me like I'm not a piece of shit?"

"Because you're not," Joel replies swiftly. "None of what your dad did is your fault. How could it be?"

"If I was there-"

"He'd still be using," Joel tells you simply. "And he'd have a new thing or person to blame for it."

"Even if that's true," you insist. "I'm his kid. I should go back."

"You're telling me if I told a grown up Sarah she had to move back home to take care of me, even if I'd barely been in her life, even if she had a whole life somewhere else, you'd tell her she was selfish for not doing it?"

Your eyes widen. Sarah. Sweet, genuine Sarah. No, you wouldn't blame her. But that's Sarah.

"She's just a kid-"

"Same age as when your dad started." Joel's eyes are watery. "How come you're so unkind to yourself? Why don't you think you deserve good things?"

"A lifetime of experience," you reply darkly.

///

And for a moment there is sudden clarity for Joel that hits him in such a way he's shocked he never understood it as easily before.

In the job you chose, in the immediately natural way you were with the screaming Daniel, even quicker than you were with his sweet and calm Sarah.

In the way these animals, hurt and abandoned and ignored are so much more than just pitiful creatures that pass along your desk in files.

You see yourself in them.

You see yourself in their haunted eyes and terrible histories. You see it in the plaintive cry of the frustrated Daniel. In this world that turns its back and its ears to them you want desperately to embrace them, to hold them to you and communicate a perfect, unending love for them.

Because no one did that for you.

Your mom tried, Joel is sure of it. But love is hard to share when so much of it is reserved for a husband in constant crisis. When you're a frazzled mother working two jobs to keep your mortgage and your marriage and family together. Love is there of course, but it's not overt. Not like you crave.

The kind of love that Maria gives you without question. The kind of love Joel would give to you every fucking day if you said you wanted him to be yours.

"I know I have no right to ask you to stay or demand anything from you, but, fuck, please don't do this," Joel whispers earnestly. "Don't move back to Chicago."

You're silent.

“If you do you’ll never come back,” Joel murmurs, his voice full of so many emotions it would be impossible to pick just one. “I know you. You’d sacrifice everything for him.”

“I. . . I don’t. . .”

Your eyes are so heavy, almost as heavy as your heart. You’ve shared so much with Joel, brought up so many painful memories it feels like you’ve run a marathon. Your head tilts against the pillow.

"Go to sleep, baby," Joel tells you, holding himself back from kissing you. "I'm here. Just sleep."

When you finally fall asleep Joel continues to look at you. His dark eyes travel the curve of your cheek, takes in the length of your lashes and the way your mouth looks half open in sleep. He memorizes each part of your face knowing that this may be his only chance to do so.

You’re engaged. You still have that connection to your parents in Chicago. There is so much that exists in this world to take you away from him.

He still sees it this way, outside forces wanting to rip you from him, as if he has some claim on you. He doesn't care if Paul gave you a ring. You’re his. You’re his and he has never stopped feeling this way, even though he's tried. He doesn't know he'll ever stop.

He stops himself from kissing your sleeping mouth on more than one occasion during the night, desperate for that contact if this is really the end.

It can't be the end. It can't.

You sigh in your sleep, shuffling closer against him for warmth or for comfort. Joel allows this, his eyes skipping closed at the calm your nearness brings him.

I'll never ask for anything as long as I live. Just let her be mine.

He finally falls asleep with your soft breathing in the crook of his neck

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #smut #dad joel miller #fanfic #fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal

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disneyanddisneyships · 10 months

Text

@gyubby99 I like causing pain.

Warnings: mentions of drugs, alcohol, cheating, and depression

Aponi drank a bottle of beer as she read the Pamphlet again.

"I had frequent intimate meetings with Linda Davis," it had read.

Over and over again.

She kept reading it.

Over.

And over again.

In her drunken state she threw the bottle in anger.

It hit the wall, smashing to peices as tears rolled down her face.

Her phone lit up with a text from Valentino.

Val: E canceled on me. Somethin about reveling in your misery. You have her time if you can get off your ass and pull yourself together.

Aponi: be there in 20

Val: good. Sing somethin sad. We've been getting more asking about a sad song.

Aponi rolled her eyes and threw the Pamphlet onto her bed before taking a bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes out.

She left her apartment.

..........

Aponi walke dinto the back of the club, her head pounding as she took another cigarette out of the pack.

It was her 4th one.

"'Poni?" Angel asked as he saw her. "The fuck happened to you?" He asked.

"Haven't you heard? Alastor's been sleeping around with a little bunny," Aponi replied before getting dressed.

"He fuckin WHAT?!" Angel asked, his features fuming.

Aponi nodded before snatching a performers cocaine, snorting it quickly before straightening herself out.

"Hey.... 'poni you.... I've never seen you do..... drugs...." Angel muttered, worry on his face.

"Whatever. I'm up," Aponi stated before wlaking onto the stage.

The music started.

Aponi had told Val that this was the song she wanted to sing next time she got to, so clearly he made it happen.

She took a breath before starting to sing.

I got no excuses for all of these goodbyes Call me when it's over, 'cause I'm dying inside Wake me when the shakes are gone And the cold sweats disappear Call me when it's over and myself has reappeared

She sang as she threw the cigarette that was in her hand, down onto the floor, stepping on it so it went out.

She knew the song, but she felt if she didn't stop singing it, she'd just break down into a million pieces.

I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know why I do it every, every, every time It's only when I'm lonely Sometimes I just wanna cave and I don't wanna fight I try and I try and I try and I try and I try Just hold me, I'm lonely

She sang some more, wrapping her arms around herself as a tear ran down her face for the first time since the Pamphlet.

.......

Deborah walked into the club.

E usually came here to spy on her daughter.

Which worked out really well tonight, seeing that she was on stage.

Deborah smiled softly before taking a seat. However, as she listened to the lyrics, her smile faded.

......

As aponi looked out she saw her mom. And that's when she broke.

Momma, I'm so sorry, I'm not sober anymore And daddy, please, forgive me for the drinks spilled on the floor To the ones who never left me, we've been down this road before I'm so sorry, I'm not sober anymore

As Aponi sang, tears fell fown her face, her voice practically raw with emotion.

Deborah looked at her daughter, worried, but keeping her distance.

I'm sorry to my future love for the man that left my bed For making love the way I saved for you inside my head And I'm sorry for the fans I lost who watched me fall again I wanna be a role model, but I'm only human

She sang as she took off the stupid promise ring Alastor had given her, throwing it to the dogs as they all scrambled to get the expensive jewelry.

As she sang, she watched a few regulars walk out of the club, making her feel even worse.

Her face contorted.

It was angry as she sang a few lyrics.

How could he do this to her? After 8 years....

As she sang, she took the microphone and walked to the front of the stage, sitting down curled in a small ball.

She looked at her mom, before turning away in shame.

I'm sorry that I'm here again, I promise I'll get help It wasn't my intention, I'm sorry to myself

As she finished the song the lights went out. She walked off stage like she usually did, and walked straight into her dressing room, curling up on the couch.

A knock sounded on the door.

"Go away, Angel!!!!" Aponibyelled as she wiped the tears from her face.

But the door opened to reveal her mom.

"M-mom?" Aponi asked, shocked as she tensed up.

"Hey Bug...." Deborah muttered.

"Listen, I knownim a big fuck up, but i would really prefer if you didn't tell me 'I told you so'" Aponi stated with a sniff.

Deborah sighed and walked briskly over to her daughter, hugging her from the side.

"Ohhh Lillian.... honey, I know it hurts...." She said in a quiet whisper before pulling Aponi so she was cradling her like a child.

That's when Lilly broke down.....

"I loved him mom," Lilly sobbed as she held onto her mother.

Deborah rocked back and fourth, shushing her.

"Oh honey, I know..... I know you did," She muttered as she stroked Lilly's hair gently.

"Why can't I find love like you and dad did? Why am I so easy to leave and cheat on and fuck up? Why am I so broken?" Lilly sobbed even more.

"Shhh shhhh... baby, you're not broken... other people are... you just.... you just need to find the right person, bug," Deborah replied as she kissed her daughter's head.

#Spotify

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rhaenella · 2 months

Text

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 22

Part 21 | Masterlist

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, smut

Word count: 4.7k

A/N: another Rhys pov! (to make up for the long hiatus lolol) Enjoy <3

Song: And so It Begins – Klergy

“The disappearance of Tom Lockwood, sir.”

Bloody hell.

Even in death, the bastard managed to find a way to disrupt Rhys’ life and well-crafted plans one way or another.

He felt a surge of adrenaline, but whereas most other people would succumb to the nerves, start sweating and rambling, make mistakes. Rhys didn’t. Instead, it only sharpened his focus, making him that much more dangerous.

The reporter had used the word disappearance, meaning Lockwood’s body hadn’t been found, meaning there was no physical evidence that could potentially link him to the crime, which ultimately meant that he was in the clear. At least for now. If he played it right, perhaps Rhys could even turn this little hiccup into a story that would reflect him positively in the press.

The mob of journalists and cameramen were waiting with baited breath for him to comment, silence befalling the crowd once more. The only sounds that could be heard were that of the bustling city around them—the honking of a double-decker bus, London’s never-ending construction noises, and the screeching of a police siren a mere two blocks away.

Rhys allowed a mixture of emotions to pass over his features. Initial shock—which hadn’t involved much acting—followed by a hint of grieving sadness, before he settled on a more calm, compassionate look. Because, like any good psychopath who studied the intricacies of human emotion, Rhys knew that that’s what the public needed to see in a leading figure. Someone who showed the appropriate level of feelings and compassion, but ultimately was able to offer reassurance and take action if need be.

“Mr. Lockwood…” Rhys shook his head, unfolding his clasped hands to convey a subliminal message of openness and sympathy. “I must say that I am deeply shocked by this news. Is there any more information regarding his disappearance?”

“News surfaced after an anonymous tip was made to The London Dispatch, a spokesperson for the T.R. Lockwood Corporation has just released a statement that they are and have been aware of the circumstances and are working on an internal investigation, the Met Police have also just reported they are launching their own investigation,” the same reporter summarised, reading off of his phone. “Any thoughts on what could have happened, Mr. Montrose?”

Any thoughts… Oh, he had plenty, alright.

An anonymous tip. To The London Dispatch. That could only be from one man: Jonathan.

Did he seriously have the balls to go to the press, knowing full well that Lockwood’s disappearance could be traced back to him? Rhys hadn’t thought he would raise the alarm after revealing that detail to him, but it seemed Jonathan was keen to call his bluff.

On the upside, Lockwood’s employees had tried to keep the whole thing under wraps, just like you and Rhys had predicted. But now that it had come out, the peace and quiet would come to an end, especially with the police’s involvement as well.

“I could not say at this time, I’m afraid,” Rhys stated, schooling his actual thoughts. “I think, as of now, the best course of action is to allow all parties involved to conduct their investigations without adding unnecessary speculation that could potentially hinder their job.”

That prompted an immediate response from the crowd.

“You don’t think Lockwood’s partners should’ve been upfront about their CEO going missing?”

“Lockwood was last spotted in Prague–”

“Hasn't his staff already been hindering the police?”

“–over two weeks ago, what are the chances that–”

“Considering these suspicious circumstances–”

“–could this be another murder?”

“I understand,” Rhys interrupted, raising his hands in an attempt to quiet the masses. “I understand the demand for answers. I do. But we have to let them do their jobs. The Met Police will get to the bottom of this and find Mr. Lockwood, I have every faith.”

Lukas stepped up to the press then, drawing their attention with a wave of his hand. “That will be all for today, everyone. Please, step aside to let Mr. Montrose pass.”

They did so begrudgingly, some ignoring his campaign manager as they kept shouting questions left and right. Rhys walked past them, thanking them for their time. His head of security met him halfway, guiding him the last couple of metres to the car.

“Where’s Y/N?” Rhys asked.

“She’s waiting in the car, sir,” Reggie answered.

“Mr. Montrose!”

“One final question, please!”

Rhys easily picked up on the thinly veiled exasperation in Lukas’ voice as he tried to reason with The Telegraph. “No can do, sir. Mr. Montrose is already late for his next commitment. If you have any follow-up questions, please feel free to send them to our office.”

But the seasoned reporter wouldn’t just let it go, following Rhys all the way to the kerb.

“Mr. Montrose! What about his family?”

Reggie had already opened the passenger door, but Rhys paused, turning back around. He had to give it to the guy, no politician in their right mind could ignore that type of question.

He wetted his lips, a mournful smile flickering across his face. “Ofcourse, I give my deepest sympathies to Mr. Lockwood’s family during these uncertain times. I hope he will soon return in good health, and be reunited with his loved ones.”

Rhys dipped his head, pouring all the sympathy he did not actually feel into a final smile before he slid into the back of the car, where he was greeted by you, sending him an amused but troubled look.

Reggie shut the door as Rhys leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Take us back to Primrose.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver nodded. “We might hit some traffic, though. There’s been an accident on Holborn and City Road.”

“That’s alright. Nothing we can do about it. Get us there as quickly as you’re able.”

“Straight away, sir.”

Rhys raised the soundproof, glass divider between the front and back of the car, giving you the privacy to talk about all that had just transpired without the driver being able to eavesdrop.

You turned to face each other as the car pulled into the stream of ongoing traffic.

“So. Deepest sympathies, huh?”

“Why yes, ofcourse, darling,” he grinned.

You snorted. “Liar.”

He was about to retort when his phone started ringing. Rhys checked the caller ID, and sighed. “Excuse me, this won’t take long,” he said, accepting the call.

“I don’t want to hear a word about Cynthia, Luke,” Rhys announced, wanting to move past his indisputable error in judgement quickly. “Go back to the office, coordinate from there. We need to get an official written statement out ASAP, one that is based on all the facts known at present.”

“Agreed, sir. I’ll fetch Brian to–”

“No. No, have Sam write it, she’ll need the experience. Just make sure to double check it before you post it online.”

“You don’t want to read it yourself? Are you not coming to the office?”

“No, I’ll meet you there later. There’s another pressing matter that requires my attention first. I trust you to handle the situation while I’m out.”

“Yes, Mr. Montrose.”

Rhys ended the call and pocketed his phone before resting his head against the headrest. What a day this was turning out to be. And it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

He must have involuntarily let out another sigh, for he felt the softness of your touch, your slender fingers wrapping around his hand.

“How is that patience of yours doing?”

“I won’t lie, it’s hanging by a thread.”

“Figures,” you smiled, squeezing his hand.

Your smile was quickly overshadowed by that same troubling look from before, one which you didn’t have to hide anymore.

“That anonymous tip… it must be–”

“Jonathan? Yes, I think so, too,” Rhys finished. “Unless you called The London Dispatch and failed to inform me of a new tactical move.”

You shook your head no as the car slowed to a stop, now officially stuck in the busy rerouted traffic. “Nope, it definitely wasn’t me,” you said, looking out the window to catch a glimpse of St. Paul’s looming presence.

It was a cloudy day, ten a penny for London, even during the summer time. The storm front may have passed, but the uncertainty of what was coming still lingered in the air.

“Whilst you were giving your statement to the press, I kept thinking, why?” You looked back to Rhys. “Why would Jonathan do this now? He knows that we put the account that was used to bribe the pilots in his name. That was supposed to keep him quiet, at least for a little while longer. So, what’s his angle?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, the same question dominating his thoughts. “Jonathan’s calculated. But also rash, and unpredictable, as today has clearly demonstrated… We need to act quickly before he goes from being a liability to a full-blown threat.”

You chewed your lip. “You know who else can become a threat?”

His eyes flickered between yours, trying to find an answer there as he mentally went down the long list of possible enemies he made along the way. The ones that were still able to draw breath, that is.

Only one name came to mind.

“Marcus Atkinson.”

The man who conspired with Lockwood to have Rhys removed from the upcoming elections, by categorically trying to erase him from the face of the earth.

“Atkinson,” you agreed. “So far, he’s been quiet, but there’s no telling what he’ll do now that the news of Lockwood’s disappearance has been made public.”

Rhys hummed, affirmative. “You’re right. We need to prepare for every possibility.”

“Is that why we’re going home?”

“No,” he said, a little reluctant.

You frowned, not following. “Then why did you tell the driver to take us back to Primrose Hill?”

He sighed. “Because you’re going home, whilst I go and pay dear old Jonathan a visit.”

You paused, slowly letting go of his hand as the meaning of his words landed.

“You’re what?”

“You heard me.”

Rhys set his jaw, his decision already made and final, but that didn’t stop you from glaring at him.

“And you’re sidelining me because…?”

He looked away, something flicking over his expression. “It’s the only way I know how to keep you safe.”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed. “What about me and what I do for a living gives you the impression that you need to keep me safe?”

Rhys winced. He’d anticipated this reaction from you. But there was no way in hell he would allow you and Jonathan in the same room ever again. It wasn’t that he didn’t think you could fend for yourself, because, as more than one occasion had attested, you certainly knew how to throw a punch or two. And make it hurt. He himself was privy to the knowledge.

However, he didn’t trust Jonathan and what he would do… Especially now. Besides, as far as Rhys could tell, Jonathan still didn’t know anything about your true identity. And he’d very much liked to keep it that way.

“He’s a psychopath, Y/N,” Rhys stressed.

“Right,” you drawled. “Do you want me to look up the exact definition? Because I’m pretty sure it would also include present company.”

He smiled, bitter. “I’m not planning on hurting you. Jonathan might. You know the things he was mixed up in across the pond. If he figures out how important you are to me…”

His forehead creased with genuine concern, and even in your anger, your eyes softened a little at the admission.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he amended. “But that doesn’t take away from the fact that I want to keep you as far away from him as I possibly can.”

You nodded thoughtfully, still far from happy with his decision. But Rhys wasn’t going to change his mind, and you knew it as well.

Once again, the sound of a phone pinging interrupted your conversation. Privately, Rhys hoped it would put an end to it as well, although you quickly relieved him of that illusion. “We’re not done talking about this.”

“A man can hope,” he muttered.

You shot him a warning look as you retrieved your phone, effectively making him shut up.

He looked around, noticing they were still motionless. No. That wasn’t right. They had moved about three car lengths in the last five minutes. Progress, he thought, clocking his inner voice’s sarcasm with a wry smile. At least the extended travel time would give him a little more time to prepare for his surprise attack on Jonathan. Although, that twat was likely already waiting for Rhys to show up after the shit he pulled earlier today…

Rhys gritted his teeth as he thought of Jonathan. How he must have watched the press interview live on tele, probably thinking he’d won this game… Well, Rhys would make damn sure that his victory would be short lived.

A startled noise came from your side of the car, and his eyes shot back to you, jerking him from those thoughts.

Your wide eyes were scanning whatever message had appeared on your phone’s screen, four times over, as if making sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you. A wave of worry careened through him as he watched the colour drain from your face.

“Y/N?” he said, alarmed.

“Oh my god…”

Frantically tapping the screen, you brought the phone closer to your face. “Oh my god.”

Before Rhys even got a chance to ask what the hell was going on, you’d already pressed the device to your ear, fingers now tapping restlessly against the car’s interior door.

“Y/N,” he said, firmer this time, clasping your hand in his. You looked at him, panicked, uncertain… terrified. Rhys felt his own stomach drop. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out.

The call went straight to voicemail, and you groaned in frustration. “Damnit, she’s not answering her phone.”

“Is it Zoe? Sadie?” Rhys tried, concern slipping into his voice.

He softly squeezed your hand to garner your attention. It worked. You refocused on him, visibly swallowing a tang of adrenaline before shoving your phone into his hands. Rhys read the ID: Zoe. He was right—there were only so many people that could pull this type of reaction from you. He could probably count them on one hand.

His eyes slid down to read the most recent incoming texts, and he sucked in a breath, immediately understanding your nervousness.

>>> mum’s back

>>> please come

Your mother…

Alarm bells went off inside of him, his concern slowly getting replaced by something sharper, harder.

You’d both known the day would come, yet the words on the screen still shocked him to silence, the only thing he could muster a feeble, “Fuck…”

“Yeah…”

Rhys closed his eyes. Another person who had completely disappeared—albeit not by your doing—resurfacing. It had been quite the mystery as to what had happened to her, and you had spent many a night trying to figure out where she could have possibly gone. Without much success. But now she had seemingly returned.

The timing could also not have been better. Apparently Murphy’s Law always lurked around the corner somewhere.

“Where did she come from all of a sudden?”

“From hell, likely.”

He huffed a strained laugh. That was certainly one possibility. Rhys met your gaze, then. The initial shock had lifted, and now the fire he’d grown to love glowed bright in your eyes.

“I’ll kill her,” you whispered, unyielding. “I swear to god, if she’s hurt them… I will kill her.”

You snatched your phone from his hands, your thumbs flying over the keyboard as you typed out a series of messages in quick succession.

“Hey,” Rhys said, pitching his voice into a soothing range. “They’re gonna be okay. Just like their big sister, they can fend for themselves.”

“I know they can,” you said, still holding your phone in an iron grip. “But after what happened last time, I can’t help but worry.”

He couldn’t stop himself. “I know the feeling...”

You dropped your phone, turning to him with a look that made it abundantly clear that now was not the time to test you.

“Rhys,” you warned.

“Sorry…” he muttered, squeezing your hand again. “How do you wanna tackle this?”

“I’m going over there.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Right now. I have to make sure they’re okay. Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” you shot back, eyes narrowing.

Rhys pursed his lips. Yep. He deserved that.

You looked outside to find that you were, still, stuck near St. Paul’s. And it didn’t look like that was going to change anytime soon. Sighing, you clasped the door handle, but before you could sprint out, Rhys tugged you back to him.

“Whoa, wait a second,” he said, worry seeping back into his voice. He didn’t want to part like this. “Are you sure you want to do this by yourself? I can help.”

You looked at him evenly. “This can’t wait. And neither can the Jonathan situation.”

Damnit.

No, it couldn’t.

“I’ll take care of my mother while you take care of our professor,” you offered, running your thumb over his hand in an attempt to persuade him. However the grim look on your face wasn’t helping.

He held your gaze for a long moment, equally grim, before nodding once. There was no other way.

“Be careful, and call me when you need me,” Rhys implored, already cursing himself for agreeing to this plan. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” you said, purposeful, determined.

And with that, you were off, shutting the car door with force.

Rhys watched you go, worry now mixing with guilt. By trying to protect you from one situation, he was now the sole reason you were diving head-first into unknown danger all by yourself.

Although, you would have gone either way. No matter the circumstances. You were just like him in that respect. Once you’d made up your mind, there was nothing anyone could do to dissuade you. Rhys had to let you go. Leaving you the space to deal with problems the way you saw fit. He didn’t like it, but if he wanted to keep you by his side, there was no other choice.

As far as he was aware, your mother wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. But even so, she’d come pretty close to manslaughter with the Hackney house fire. Rhys also knew for a fact that you hadn’t yet told him about all of the harrowing things you’d endured during your childhood. Some details, yes. But definitely not all. He hadn’t wanted to push you too hard, you would tell him when you were ready. Just like with everything else.

Rhys shook himself. Dwelling on this wasn’t going to do him much good either. He had his own headache to deal with. After that, he would work to make things right with you.

He pressed a button, lowering the glass divider. “Change of plans. I need you to take me to South Kensington.”

—

An hour later, after trudging through London’s busy traffic, the car parked in front of Kynance Mews. The driver hastened to open his door, and Rhys slid out, glancing left and right.

“Give me twenty minutes,” he said, adjusting his suit.

“Yes, sir.”

The ride over had given him plenty of time to consider his options, which in the end boiled down to two simple objectives: kill Jonathan, or not.

As tempting as the first option was, Rhys had to accept that it wasn’t the most prudent one. Now that Lockwood’s disappearance had become a public affair, and the police were conducting their own investigation, there would be a lot of heat bearing down on the case. Sooner or later, the police would find out about the bribe money, and once they’d successfully trace the money and start making connections, ‘Professor Jonathan Moore’ would be the subject of a lot of scrutiny.

Like with Atkinson, the risk would be too great. If either of those two were killed right now, people would surely start asking questions. Questions Rhys didn’t want to be asked.

Therefore, with a tinge of annoyance, he opted that the best course of action was to keep the professor alive a little longer.

However, Jonathan couldn’t continue on like this. He had to be reined in—reminded of who was in control here. Good thing Rhys had one more trick up his sleeve, and now was the time to use it.

He made his way inside the building, taking the stairs two at a time, determination edged in his pace. Once he made it to number ten, he lifted his fist, landing a series of powerful knocks on Jonathan’s front door. He didn’t have to wait long before it swung open.

Rhys bursted into the flat, the door nearly hitting Jonathan in the face.

“You’ve been busy, mate.”

Jonathan recovered quickly. “So have you.”

His dark eyes tracked Rhys as he strode around the flat, making sure there were no unwanted third parties present. Once he made sure there wasn’t, he stopped in front of Jonathan, meeting his gaze.

Rhys took a breath and nodded. “Tell me about it. It’s hard work, winning these elections—making sure all possible threats are dealt with accordingly.”

Jonathan looked him up and down, measured. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Among other things... I was starting to miss our fun little chats.”

“I wasn’t,” the professor sneered.

“Oh, pray tell,” Rhys said, light.

Jonathan appeared calm, but the tightness around his eyes told Rhys all he needed to know. A single, disdainful head-tilt cinched it.

So, this would be fun.

“You’re a cold-blooded psycho.”

His mouth twitched. “Ah, one that needs to be taken down? Is that why you tipped the press?”

“I’m done with your bullshit and your fucking mindgames,” he hissed. “And I’m not going down for your sins whilst you become mayor of this godforsaken town.”

“And yet here you are,” Rhys snickered, waving a hand at him. “Digging your own grave. Or did you forget that Joe Goldberg helped cover-up Lockwood’s murder?”

“I’ll tell them the truth about you,” Jonathan promised. “You’re not getting away with this.”

“And who do you think they’ll believe?” Rhys returned, tilting his head, a challenge. “A suspected murderer who faked his own death, or the man that’s working tirelessly to strengthen their police force—making sure their kids will have access to a higher education, someone who’s battling corruption and fighting for what’s right. You tell me.”

Jonathan shook his head. “No… No, you will go down for your crimes.”

Rhys couldn’t help but laugh. “And what crimes are those? Do you have any proof? Or will this be another case of your word against mine?” he taunted, stepping up to the fuming American.

Jonathan stood rigid, frowning in contemplation. He took a moment to mull over whatever thoughts held him before he looked at Rhys askance.

“There has to be proof. People always seem to mysteriously disappear or die around you. Like last night.”

Rhys remained entirely unfazed. “That Fernsby bloke, you mean? Well, if you’d listened to the news, you would know he died of natural causes. Very unfortunate but it happens,” he said, inscrutable, picking a piece of lint off of his suit. “Besides, I have an alibi.”

“Of course you do,” Jonathan mumbled, more to himself. “Your girlfriend?”

Anger simmered under Rhys’ cool facade at the mention. But he couldn’t let Jonathan see it.

“She serves many purposes,” he smirked, lewd.

Jonathan’s face twisted in disgust. “You’re using her.”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s all she’s good for anyway. A pretty face for the cameras, and an excellent shag at night.”

Jonathan looked away, uncomfortable despite his own nature. He took a beat, his eyes locked in an endless stare, seeing seemingly nothing. Then he blinked, once, and looked up to Rhys again.

Something in his eyes had changed. Like he’d made up his mind about something. Rhys couldn’t tell what it was, but it didn’t sit well with him, at all. That much was clear.

His smile faded, it was time to get down to business.

“Alright,” he exclaimed, delightfully startling Jonathan in the process. “Enough chit-chat. I think it’s about time I remind you of a few things…”

Jonathan stiffened, but didn’t respond. Rhys sauntered over to the window, the one providing a perfect view into the flat of one Miss Kate Galvin. The flat was dark, and it didn’t look like anyone was home.

“Do you know where she is?” Rhys asked, peering through the window.

He didn’t need to specify who he was referring to. Not to a seasoned stalker like him.

“At work,” Jonathan said, clipped.

Rhys glanced back over his shoulder, clocking Jonathan still standing in the exact same spot, shooting daggers at his back. Rhys’ lips curled.

“Remember this feeling, Jonathan,” he said as he zeroed in on the fireplace, bending to pick up the fire iron. “Remember how it feels to know where she is. To know she’s safe…”

He twisted the metal object leisurely, feeling the weight of it in his palms. “But above all, remember how I can take all of that away, in the blink of an eye.”

If possible, Jonathan stiffened even more, nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists.

Rhys’ eyes sparked with amusement. Jonathan hadn’t wanted to play any more of his ‘mindgames’, but unfortunately for the professor, he was only just getting started.

“Now, we wouldn’t want her to meet the same fate as her father, would we?” Rhys mused, using the metal tool to prod at some charcoal remains. “Because speaking of unfortunate things, I’d say that would definitely qualify as such.”

Jonathan glared at him, not even attempting to cover the hatred he felt for the man daring to enter his home like he owned the place—and threaten him, his girlfriend, and everything he had tried to rebuild for himself.

“Stay away from her,” he said, voice as cold as ice.

“Come now, Jonathan. There’s no need to get snippy,” Rhys tutted, eyes flicking to him. “You and I both know that whatever happens to her, it’s entirely up to you.”

The sound of metal scraping against the fireplace's stone surface caught Jonathan’s attention, his eyes flying to where Rhys was still playing around with the rod. He relished the look on Jonathan’s face, a sweet mixture of trepidation and rage. It meant he was listening carefully.

“Fun fact about fire,” Rhys went on, off-kilter. “Which, correct me if I’m wrong, I believe you may be familiar with,” he added jokingly, stabbing at a larger fragment of unburned wood.

“Nothing ever truly vanishes. There’s always something that remains. And what’s so amusing about this fact is that you never know which pieces are left behind… or when they might resurface.”

This was it. The last card Rhys could play to keep Jonathan silent—short from killing him, ofcourse.

To threaten him to complete the framejob by planting Lockwood’s other hand that you and Rhys had kept as a backup, and call in the cavalry. Physical evidence tying Jonathan to the crime, in combination with the paper trail already set up in his name, would ensure Jonathan’s arrest and indictment. And he knew it.

Jonathan swallowed. “Lockwood?”

Rhys walked up to him, eyeing him steadily. “You better stick to our first agreement, and keep quiet,” he warned, tapping the fire iron against Jonathan’s chest. “Otherwise, I’ll make sure you’re going down for all of it.”

Defeat flashed over Jonathan’s face. He was still angry, no, livid would be the better term… But the growing apprehension and doubt was unmistakable.

Satisfied that his message was received loud and clear, Rhys dropped the metal rod to the floor. The loud clang of the object hitting the wooden floor caused Jonathan to flinch back, much to Rhys’ pleasure.

He turned his back on the American, gleefully making his way towards the front door where he paused, resting one hand on the handle, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“It’s all about who holds the power, mate,” Rhys smirked, looking back to Jonathan, whose jaw was clenched tight. “And at present, that isn’t you.”

––––

A/N: FINALLY a Joe and Rhys meet… I know it’s been a long time coming 🙈 I had a lot of fun writing this particular scene, I hope you enjoyed it as well. Now let’s see if Jonathan will heed Rhys’ warning or… not. hehe

––

Tags: @artaxerxesthegreat

#rhys montrose x reader #rhys montrose x female reader #rhys montrose fanfic #rhys montrose fic #rhys montrose #you netflix #you season 4 #you season 4 canon divergence #jonathan moore #joe goldberg #goldrose #ed speleers #rhys montrose x original female character #on ao3 #you and me

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darktr1ad · 1 year

Text

Random Tate Langdon Headcanons

WARNINGS: ED mentions, self harm, suicide, drugs

• he has major mommy issues

Tate wouldn’t like admitting it to you because part of him is embarrassed by it. Maybe he calls you mommy one time by accident and apologizes immediately afterwards, but you reassure him it’s okay, which is a huge comfort for him.

• he starves himself

If you were to call him anorexic he’d be a little offended and deny it. He would only do it as a coping mechanism. In highschool he probably started to do this when he realized what a bad relationship he and his mother had. I think that if she ever yelled at him, he wouldn’t eat for a few days out of shame that he isn’t enough.

• you and him have a song you share

One of his love languages would be sharing his music with you, but at first he may be a little bit shy showing you his favorite song in fear you may not like it as much as he does. You would end up loving it when he says it reminds him of you, and it would be something special between the two of you.

• he would carve your name into himself

You would probably never have found out about it, but the two of you got into a fight when you told him you didn’t think he was committed to the relationship. Tate would say something along the lines of, “if I wasn’t committed would I have done this?” And show you the scar. At first you may be a bit disturbed by it, but then realize he didn’t have bad intent by doing it, he just doesn’t know how to convey certain emotions.

• if you ever attempted, he would tell you that he did the same

Before Tate shot up the school, I feel like with everything going on at home, and maybe some occasional bullying, he’d tried to kill himself. It wasn’t his proudest moment but he didn’t know what to do with all the built up anger and sadness. When he finds out you tried to do something to yourself, he figures that one of the only ways to make you feel a bit better is if he opens up to you about his past; though you’d be the only one he’s ever trusted with the secret.

• he started using cocaine because of social anxiety

Going to school when he was alive always made him incredibly anxious, but after finding out how cocaine made him feel, Tate started using it regularly. The house made influenced him to do the things he did, and I feel like it also contributed to him using drugs for some emotional relief.

Small note:

I know this was a bit shorter and different than what I normally write. I’m going to vent a bit so just skip over this if you don’t want to hear it.

I’m working on some new stories, but lately have been unmotivated. School has been stressful for me lately, and this plus my disorder I’ve been so exhausted both mentally and physically. I promise I’m trying to write more as it helps put my mind at ease, but if anyone is wondering why there’s been a lack of stories that’s why, lol.

#tate langdon #american horror story #evan peters #evan peters smut #ahs double feature #austin sommers #austin sommers smut #kai anderson #kit walker #murder house #ahs smut #ahs asylum #ahs cult #ahs fandom #ahsedit #tate and violet

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blackjack-15 · 5 months

Text

okay i'm back 6 hours of sleep later

i'm still galled at claire having her friend say "we were together for 5 years and he never even cooked me dinner" and claire's response being "you deserve better. no one's ever made me dinner before"

no one -- i think it's gelled by getting more sleep than i have all week, so i'm a little more normal now -- no one talks like this in the show. the bear prides itself on very naturalistic dialogue. hesitation markers, people talking over each other, misspeaking, correcting themselves -- it's an intensely naturalistic approach to dialogue, and it makes the world feel very cohesive. it's worldbuilding in the most integral way. it's not there for "realism", it's there to create the world that the characters operate within

claire does not talk like this.

claire says stuff like "because you're the bear, and i remember you" in a supermarket at night. claire says stuff like "speaking of dead brothers, do you want to go to a party?" when a man is talking about how he enjoys talking about his brother's memory. claire says stuff like "you deserve better. no one's ever made me dinner before" when her friend is sobbing over a 5-year relationship ending.

claire speaks like she's on a CW show and has no idea that she's not.

and since the writers and directors are good and purposeful and consistent? this is on purpose. she's supposed to feel Outside of the show, and it's not because she's Exceptional. it's because she's a distraction.

anyway.

tina's killing it, she looks great, she sounds great

and gee i wonder why the song is about supporting and loving someone who needs them by their side...it's ebra, yes, most texturally, but...syd's sitting there at the bear, trying to do plates and menu, and she needs her partner

it's character work, and carmy's going through it. but i'm gonna love seeing those two come back together. it feels like a string stretched too tight for comfort

oh carmy...he is not logan but he's gonna pretend!

CARM'S PERFORMER SIDE COMES OUT

"that's the thing about logan. he doesn't give a f//k"

it's amazing how much easier he finds it to talk -- and how much charisma he has -- when he's not buried under the weight of being Carmen Berzatto. if there's one thing i've noticed over and over throughout this show, it's that carmy's at his best when there's no spotlight shining over him -- when he's not mikey's not-dead brother, or 'the bear', or Chef Carmen, or anything else; those quiet moments he's cooking with syd in the kitchen and no one else is around, when he's talking with marcus outside behind the beef, when he can finally hash things out with sugar on the floor of the office, when he's sitting in the car or basement with richie talking about life

"i got really good at managing sad, drunk people" "yeah i know that feeling" "i know you do" if this girl could have one EFFING emotional beat without making it all about herself, i would cheer.

"guess i missed this college thing, huh" AND THE SUBTEXT BECOMES TEXT. this whole thing is a glorified high school/college party. fireworks, drinking, i'm guessing a handful of drugs in the mix, crying drunks, the whole nine yards

carmy in a lot of ways skipped from kid brother to executive chef, emotionally, and what he's missing is, like in the last episode, being out in the world. he's technically speaking the best, the most impressive, and he has a lot of heart in what he cooks, because it's the only language he can reliably use to express what he's feeling.

the result is that he has very little middle ground. he's either spending hours scrubbing a single spot on the floor of the kitchen or he's using a fake identity to entertain at a party. he either comes back to the bear after a long day there to keep working or he disappears from it entirely. he needs balance. and he's not finding it here just yet -- especially not so long as he keeps up this all-or-nothing approach that has let him 1) become one of the best chefs in the world 2) become such an isolated and repressed person that it takes a case of mistaken identity to get him to smile at a party

oh. okay fake number thing? we're going onto another post for this holy crap

#the bear #liveblogging #2X05 #anti claire bear #that tag is getting a workout but the lap's not done yet!

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seasurfacefullofclouds1 · 3 months

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Sea, I am not sure you will agree with me but when I listen to the 1D guys solo music for the first time, I always feel that I may like the production of their songs, I may love some of their vocals but I really do not love the songs. I always feel let down by their creative vision. I feel like they wasted the potential on a mediocre song which I know will become a hit because the quality of the song doesn’t have much relevance.

When I listen to Louis’ songs on the other hand, I don’t always love the production, I sometimes don’t like the vocals but in most cases I like the song. I always feel like it was a song worth making.

I don’t know if anyone else has had that feeling. The songs always being interesting, pulling you in, making you feel something. The funny thing is that the songs I associate with the least are either his favourites or fan favourites like KMM or Written all over your face.

Interesting points!

I can only answer from my own experience. For Louis’ songs, I almost always love his voice, even if it isn’t technically amazing (sometimes the engineers/ producers overdo the auto tuning and the vocals sound muddy). I love that Louis sings with emotion, the way theater singers do, almost as if he’s telling a story, acting it out. I love the conversational, plaintive, “dialogue” aspect of the singing. It’s a little bit like old time folk songs or epics, each line telling new nuance or information.

I love that Louis’ songs show psychological intelligence. There’s seldom a cheap and lazy hook; the choruses and bridges always mean something. Even in his most “pop” songs like Back To You, the choruses mean something, and they often mean something deeper and more revealing at the end than at the beginning.

I talked about how High In California isn’t just a feel-good drug song, and it’s not just about nihilism or Dionysian freedom, but really about identity— the courage to be true to oneself despite the world judging, despite hardship and “blue” times of sadness— that safety and liberation can be just around the corner.

Similarly, Paradise, despite the title, isn’t really about escape or fantasy, but about grounding oneself, finding one’s way— righting the horizon so that the path you set for yourself is filled with purpose, no matter the detours. Purpose is paradise. The means of reaching one’s goals are as relevant as the goals themselves; don’t get discouraged because things seem easier for other people.

(Louis is a Homeric songwriter, always writing about his own difficult journey home.)

Louis once made a lyric video for Just Like You that showed that our troubles are all similar; people of all ages feel the same kinds of emotions. This is why young children and old people all love his songs. This is why seeing him perform can be such an intensely emotional experience— because he is, in a way, telling our stories too.

At times, it is fun to slide into Louis’ mind and enjoy the adrenaline-fueled chaos. He is such a fun person, the life of the party, and has songs that show it. These tend to be the less introspective songs, but that’s ok too.

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wallisninety-six · 9 months

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Endless Ocean - Remembering Dennis Wilson and "Pacific Ocean Blue" (1977)

"When my record was finished, Brian was the first to hear it. In the middle of some tracks he'd say, "I can't stand this" and walk out of the room. Sometimes he'd laugh. Sometimes he'd cry. I guess he was thinking that he'd seen me grow up as a musician." - Dennis Wilson, 1977

This coming December will see the 40th anniversary of the death of Dennis Wilson in 1983- the first loss in the Beach Boys and the culmination of an intense, fast-paced life filled with extreme parental abuse, commercial highs and lows with the band, and heavy trauma from events of the late 60s- oftentimes using copious amounts of drugs & alcohol to cope in the last years of his increasingly troubled life. But even in darkest times, Dennis also refused to slow down for his music, and his passion for it either- and that fact should not be forgotten while discussing his life.

Famously the only surfer in the band, as well as its drummer- Dennis was the bad boy of the group- charismatic & popular with fans, and living a true rocker style; hardly anyone thought of him as a talented songwriter, though. But he- not brother Brian, would be the first member to officially release a solo album, itself a culmination of his songwriting history that started in Beach Boys albums like Friends and the wonderful Sunflower. This work is 1977's Pacific Ocean Blue- which he largely wrote and produced with longtime songwriting partner Gregg Jakobson, and is the only album he released in his lifetime.

At this time, Dennis' rough lifestyle had begun to affect him- his voice had become much more raspy and rough, almost leading us to believe he was tough as nails from life & experience and moving away from the tender songwriting from the past. But with Pacific Ocean Blue, we witness Dennis at his most open, most brutally honest and at his most sensitive and heartfelt too- pouring out his soul and never modifying his expression to make his big debut more pop or radio-friendly like most labels wanted him & The Beach Boys to be- what's here is him at most genuine, uncompromised in every way.

Dennis' rough voice complimented the songs and subjects of the album well and makes his earnest feelings that much more believable, and with the very welcome inclusion of the Double Rock Baptist Choir- the backing vocals moved away from the expected Beach Boys vocal style (though members like brother Carl and Mike Love would appear here too)- but bacame more soulful and yearning to match the moods of the songs. For their part- the song's lyrics are simple yet visibly honest, not bogged down with complex lyricism, but plainspoken to be much more direct with the listener, helping to elevate the music instead of distracting from it.

With all of this in mind (and considering Dennis' own musical style) overt emotion and mood triumphs over all- he had been depressed by his break-up with his wife Karen Lamm-Wilson, finally charted out his own musical path away from the Beach Boys as the band was practically hanging by a thread, and was utterly dismayed by environmental destruction and degradation in California- as seen in the terrific, thundering opener "River Song". Thanks to the (severely underrated) talent of Dennis and Gregg's production work, the whole album is surrounded by a full and intricate wall of sound and emotion- and as a result, the album has a atmospheric sadness to it that pervades it all, but it also shines and expresses itself in many different ways. If the Beach Boys famously signified a sunny day on the beach- Dennis' work was the thick June Gloom that blanketed the whole ocean.

But that didn't mean that all of the songs on the album were grim- Dennis shows appreciation for life, love, and music in a way only he could, like in the heavenly-sounding and mandolin-filled track "Rainbows" and the somber-yet-greatful tone of "Farewell My Friend". The theme of loss in the latter song hits harder in hindsight- while Dennis had been working on a new album (work-titled 'Bambu') his indulgence in excess worsened to the point where his body and mind deteriorated rapidly and never recovered. He would drown in Marina del Rey in California- He was only 39. He was cremated and his ashes would be scattered over the Pacific Ocean.

But while many are quick to bring up Dennis' rough life & end and (almost solely) paint him as a tragic figure to set the mood for his obituary- it does a great disservice to his memory & the sheer joy writing music for others gave him (as he would state multiple times in interviews). And after being out of print for so long, Pacific Ocean Blue was finally re-released in 2008 and soon became wildly acclaimed by critics and fans, keeping his music alive for generations to come as much of his other unreleased work with the Beach Boys finally gets released officially to this very day- and what we can finally hear is gorgeous.

#dennis wilson #pacific ocean blue #pacific ocean blues #the beach boys #carl wilson #mike love #music #rock history #classic rock #music history #1970s #70s music #1977 #friends #sunflower #tw: abuse #tw: drugs #tw: alcohol

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respectthepetty · 4 months

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when you get this you have to answer with 5 of ur fav songs and then tag your mutuals to do the same, but as usual, I'm tagging nobody, and I'm gonna do what I want.

5 Colorful Songs!

tagged by @wen-kexing-apologist who had a pretty good playlist!

Note: Yellow is my favorite color; therefore, Coldplay's "Yellow" could not be considered. It's not fair to these other songs that they aren't about yellow.

AFI - Girl's Not Grey

youtube

Lead singer, Davey Havok, is everything to me. He looks good with any hairstyle and at any age, and the way he performs gender is amazing. I've seen AFI several times, but my favorite was when they were on tour with 30 Seconds to Mars and Linkin' Park. I caught the tour at the Dallas stop, and AFI was the opener. As much as everyone loves "Miss Murder," I'm strictly a "Girl's Not Grey" screamer because this music video is forever embedded in my head and my heart.

New Order - Blue Monday

youtube

No style of music hits me harder than 80s synth-pop, and any version of this song is a win in my book. The juxtaposition is what makes it one of my favorites because it gives us over two minutes of the best dance beats in the intro only to hit us with the lyric "How does it feel? To treat me like you do?" then proceeds to make us dance to five more minutes of the singer lamenting about an abusive relationship. It's a bop!

NENA - 99 Red Balloons

youtube

The 80s + dance songs about horrible shit = my eternal love. This song was originally in German then an English version came out, and everyone was dancing to a song about nuclear war. It was about a girl releasing balloons and because the government couldn't identity the objects, they shot them down, which caused a domino effect of other countries releasing bombs, but in the end, the girl stands in the rumble releasing one final balloon. It's a song about war, destruction, and hope. God, I love it.

Goldfrapp - Ride a White Horse

youtube

Most people know this duo for their 2003 hit "Strict Machine" which is a song about control, machines, and, of course, sex, so know that is very on brand for the band. They came out with "Ooh La La" which was about wanting sex without romance, and "Ride a White Horse" could be referring to drugs, but it wouldn't be a stretch to think it's about sex too, especially since the color white aligns with purity and innocence, yet the lead singer is doing the dirtiest things in the music video, so yeah, sex is my final answer.

Amy Winehouse - Back to Black

youtube

This song is about Nas. Winehouse is singing about American rapper Nas! She wrote other songs about him such as "Me & Mr. Jones" and "In My Bed" which he confirmed, but in a way that merely states Amy liked listening to his music, which seems like a bold lie because like all of her songs, it hits at the core of her emotions. The lyric "I died a hundred times" just ain't about sadness, you know? But that's why I love this song. It has a history. She is exposing a secret while keeping it close to her chest. She was sharing her whole life but being guarded. It was beautiful! It still is.

Bonus: Purple Disco Machine - Male Stripper

youtube

German Grammy-award winning DJ Purple Disco Machine knows his audience is queer and creates sets he knows will resonant with that audience. I have seen him at Electric Daisy Carnival in Las Vegas, Nevada, Red Rocks in Denver, Colorado, and a club in Koln, Germany and each time he delivered queer dance floor icons like Sylvester and Scissor Sisters' Jake Shears to the masses, so I'm going to keep showing up to his sets because I know it'll be a good time for me and all the disco queers.

#tag game #I love music #five favorite colorful songs #I always cheat my way through these #thanks for the tag!#Youtube

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mirrorballtales · 1 month

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Now that I’ve had two sleeps to absorb TTPD and all 31 songs I think I’m ready to share my thoughts. I think they’re still all over the place. I’m having to separate so many pieces of my sadness, reframe timelines all while trying to not fall to my knees and break down.

Before I go on, I have to say I think this album is definitely for the older fans. I mean obviously it’s for everyone but as someone who understands the lore or as much as we’re let in, and the discography, some songs have a bigger significance so I understand it’s not connecting with everyone. I hope it grows on them. Her fountain and quill pens have always meant so much to me. I cannot imagine the insurmountable pressure she must feel having a random place their existence in her hands. As much as I love her I have to just appreciate the art and interpret it the best way it fits me.

I won’t talk about every song - just the ones I’ve had visceral reactions to.

Fortnight, so when I first heard it Thursday night I started crying. The line “I was supposed to be sent away but they forgot to come get me.” Before a video was even released all I could think about were my hospital stays. I always joke about them. And all those jokes were funny and riddled with humorous truth. But when the punchline is given, and the laughter dies down, I’m left alone to grieve all that time I lost because of men and boys and people who ruined my life. They made me out to look crazy, like stints in these rooms were going to fix me. Pills I took to forget them just made me want to die. The scars I acquired like trophies are mine to wear like badges of honor. All of that is what I thought with just that line. Then the music video was released. I literally screamed. I saw it and sobbed with a sweltering scream of pain. Seeing myself chained up to a painfully lit room, chained up, drugged up all because I loved. All my life since, I’ve thought I only belong there. Every day, every emotion I’ve had has ruined my life. Ever felt so fucking crazy and no one sees you? That’s what this feels like. But every day. There was something about the way Post Malone hugged Taylor that broke me again. I can’t explain it. I don’t think I’ve ever been held like that. Not as a child. Not as an adult. In that moment I realized I’ve needed a tortured tragic poet hero to come break me out of the asylum. And I’ve waited. I’ve tried escaping but I am pulled back. I think it’s the first time I’ve admitted it to myself I don’t think I can do this myself. But I have no choice and it’s a painful realization that all my life I’ve had to save myself. I’ve been the crazy one in the family. I am the one that isn’t all there. I just want to run to anyone who wants to hold me and tell me they’re getting me out of there. Like I said the song had an incredibly raw and taxing effect on me.

Down Bad, I think this one is really easy for anyone who sits there crying because you’re well, down bad. And it makes you angry. It makes you sad. I think a reel of me being second choice plays in my mind. The boy I like telling me he doesn’t want me. Or the boy telling me I’m nice but there’s better out there. Or begging the guy you love not to leave and him telling you that you’re too much. So he leaves you stranded like he’s doing you a favor. And yeah fuck every single one of them. There’s a petulance saying that. Saying fuck you for not wanting me. Fuck you for not being down bad for me. Fuck you for not doing the all the fighting so you don’t lose me.

So Long, London. It’s track five. I gave all my youth for free. And to have to say goodbye to all of that like it’s my fault? Like it’s my prophecy to be a tragedy.

Fresh Out the Slammer, I’ve lived this song so many times. And then I grew up. I erased the number. Forgot it like my life depended on it but for a while, I knew who’d my first call was too. Then I realized they’d never pick up anyway. I know better.

Guilty as Sin? I’m very guilty. Listen to the way song builds like nirvana. And imagine yourself in it. Alone. I say this a lot but if you read my diary there’s an entry with these lyrics lived out by me. Tell me, you haven’t fantasized. Tell me you don’t recall things you never did. Tell me your body hasn’t longed before but you told yourself to let it stay in a vault. A fantasy where you’ve already done it in your head? I think it actually follows edging to completion. Your mind playing tricks on you, your sheets your only grasp, your chest rising and falling harder and quicker, labored breathing, waves of pleasure crashing into you, words escaping your lips, longing glances into other eyes while yours are closed. It’s a fatal fantasy that takes over you. And you worship it, religiously. Go ahead, recall the things you never did. Be guilty as sin.

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me? You should be. This is a response to mirroball. It’s so easy to vilify the quiet, the nice, the good girl. And then she breaks. Then she’s done playing your chess games. Being a pawn in schemes. I feel this so much as an eldest daughter, as the one that has to be perfect and a degree below that was unacceptable.

loml, I want to acknowledge that this song broke me. I still can’t listen fully without losing it. They say wounds heal with time. But I’m still waiting.

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart, I think for me this is just how I’ve lived my life. I don’t get to be shattered without movement. I must be broken hearted and figure it out, be a tough kid, fake it, smile even if I want to die. It’s an art I’ve perfected.

The Alchemy, I’d like to wake up from the hospital stay. I’d like to be out of the vision in my head. Chemistry is something I’ve always been so fascinated with. You cannot fake it. You cannot learn it or grow it. It’s either there or not. It borders on magical. It’s the only time I believe in something otherworldly. You can’t fight it. You can hide it. Sure. But it’ll pull you out of darkness. It’s my favorite trope. Magnets. Addiction. The most human thing because you can’t make it in a lab. Like the hand of God said here’s the alchemy, you’ll find the other part of that equation.

In-depth thoughts for The Anthology will come later tonight.

#taylor swift #the black dog #taylor’s version #taylornation #the eras tour #healing #the tortured poets department #dead poets society #old habits die screaming #fortnight #post Malone

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rosze-v · 2 years

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when spring comes again

pairing: Sanzu Haruchiyo x Reader

synopsis: Your Haru, becomes Sanzu.

tw: breaking up, angst, vulnerable sanzu, bonten sanzu, mention of killing, mention of drugs, mention of liquor, mention of blood, just sad sad sanzu :(

w.c: 0.9k

a/n: Halu! Man my emotions are all over the place and I was listening to an Urban Zakapa song called I don’t love you and I was crying as if I have anyone to not love :”D actually I was writing for Bokutou but somehow the writing felt weird. I'm still going to post it later. I think I need to start making fluff again cause bro I’m pumping out angst like I’m breaking up with someone. ANYWAY! Women’s rights and choices all the way! Fuck those who say otherwise!!!!

“Do you still love me?”.

“Yes, I do.” You said, yet a string in you tugged painfully, another lie on your tongue. You gently brush his pink bangs to the side, thumb lingering on his scars, gently stroking it. Eyes, a sea of blue and green staring directly into you, feeling as if its peering into your soul. Haruchiyo’s lips tremble, as he clasps your hand that was on his cheek and kisses its palm. His eyes close and open, yet now were filled with tears.

“If you do…, why won’t you say I love you?”.

So, he has caught on. You could only stare into his leaking eyes, another string tugged, very painfully. You gulped, trying to think on why. Do you love him anymore? Not really, but why? That’s the thing, you don’t really know why.

“I'm sorry Haru…”.

“Are you going to leave me?”. You pulled the hand he clasped to your lap as you look down. Wondering on how you’re suppose to answer him.

It was indeed bizarre, when you have realised you stopped loving him. It was sudden, cold and lonely, yet you can’t find it in you to leave him. Haru is a broken person, pieces of his heart litter around his feet and yet half of it is in your hand.

Haru didn’t do anything wrong particularly. It was just you can’t keep up with him as he can’t stay down with you. He’s always so full of life at the wrong things, fighting till his lips bust open, revving up his motorcycle engines on the road and that was when he was younger and a bit more innocent.

Yet now you can’t find even a speck of the innocence in him, not even a petal of the man you used to love. Drugs is a staple for him, he said it boggles up his mind so he doesn’t need to think. Liquor burns his throat every night, just so he can forget about the things he has done. The worst is the blood on his hands, the fact that your once glowing ray of light become this killing machine was devastating.

You thought you could handle him, handle him at his worst, yet the one at their worst is you. When was the last time the both of you have a time of your own, just maybe spending time to go to a café or even watch Netflix together? When was the last time you actually have a good and long conversation with him about his day, your day? Though the worst is the feeling of not being able to stop him from doing all this.

The guilt gnaws into your mind, leaving you trembling and scared at your own thoughts. You have loved Haru all your life yet this is not your love anymore, it’s not Haru anymore.

But nothing hurts more than looking at the glimpses of Haru in the eyes of the man in front of you right now. You could see the eyes, wet from tears that look like Haru. You could feel the tapping of Haru’s finger on your hand, three times, an indication of I love you. With a sob, your shoulder trembles slowly as tears run free on your cheeks.

“ I love you so much Haru… I truly do… but where is my Haru?”. Your hands gripped at his shirt as he sobs, shaking his head gently.

“I'm still here (y/n), please… I'm still here…”.

“No. You’re not Haru anymore. I… I told you to stop… stop before I lose Haru and yet you let it happen.” You pull away from him, standing up to leave when he quickly hugged you from behind, trapping you in his arms, his face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but I can’t help it, the drugs, the killing is my life now…”. He spins you around to face him as he gripped your shoulder, a craze look of desperation on his face.

“But I’m still me! I’m still your Haru!”. You look into his eyes again, trying to find any of Haru but it was apparent, he’s gone. You shook your head as you pull away from him.

“If you… if you truly love me, let me go. Let me go and let me live.”

“NO! If you love me, you’ll stay! You promised! I know I’m not who I used to be but there’s nothing I can do about it!”.

“I DON’T LOVE YOU ANYMORE!! I… don’t … love you anymore Sanzu.” His eyes widen, completely baffled at your words. Never in a million years he would have thought those words would fall from your lips because he knew how much you love him. In a deeper, darker part of him understand for so long already why you don’t love him anymore, no, it was Sanzu you don’t love anymore.

He understands it so much yet its so hard to let go the only place of love for him. The place where he can return to and feel slightly normal. Yet its unfair to you, to you who remain in love and light to be tainted by the blood red he is.

And so, its okay. He’ll let you leave because he loves you so much, he loves you so much that he’s willing to swim the red all alone. Maybe one day, when Haru comes again, he’ll come for you again, like he did during the spring of your childhood.

#sanzu haruchiyo x reader #haruchiyo sanzu x reader #sanzu x reader #tokyo revengers #bonten sanzu #bonten #tokyo revengers angst #bonten angst #sanzu angst #tokrev x reader #tokrev #rsz.w

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gretavangroupie · 1 year

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Wilt (Chapter 5)

Chapter 4

Wilt Playlist

A/N: This chapter could be triggering for some readers.

THIS FIC RELIES HEAVILY ON THE PLAYLIST LINKED ABOVE. TO FULLY UNDERSTAND THE STORY YOU MUST PLAY THE SONGS WHEN YOU SEE THE LYRICS.

WARNINGS: Angst, Smut, Sexual Assault, Drugs, Alcohol 18+ as always.

You spend a lot of the day sleeping and Jake never leaves your side, his hand intertwined with yours at every moment. The remnants of everything leaving your body has you feeling unstable and weak a large majority of the day. You battle your feelings trying to process what happened and pin point an underlying feeling that you just can't shake. You watch movies, and cuddle and just enjoy each others company into the early evening.

Jake gets up from the bed and walks out of the now dark bedroom, returning with a guitar. He comes back over to the the bed and sits down next to you and begins to lightly play.

The melody, one you have never heard him play before.

“What is that?” You ask.

“It’s something new, I just thought of…needed to feel it out real quick. What do you think?” He replies.

“It sounds… sad.” You reply.

“I guess, in a way it kind of is…” he replies as he continues to play. Trying different variations of notes together until he settles on it. He pulls out his phone and opens his voice memos, and hits the record button, and he plays the song, recording the small snippet.

“How many of those recordings do you have?” You ask playful when he finishes.

“Way too many, and out of all of them only 2 or 3 will actually make the cut and turn into a real song.” He says putting his phone on the side table.

“Will you play me a song? One that I would know?” You ask.

He begins to strum the strings and you recognize it immediately and smile.

He is playing 'That’s the Way’ by Led Zeppelin.

“You seem to be fond of this album in particular…I’ve noticed…” he says smiling.

“This is the one I remember the most from my childhood. I think I know the words to every song on the album. This one is actually one of my favorites.” You reply.

“Sing it for me…” he says.

You sing along to his soft playing and take in the moment. It’s been a crazy 24 hours. You went from being so excited to get home and see Jake, finally seeing him and having one of the best nights, to having the worst night of your life in a matter of hours. Finally pin pointing the feeling you’ve been chasing all day, you realize that what you’re feeling is anger. You’re mad at yourself for allowing this to happen. You’re mad you couldn’t do anything to stop it. You’re mad you were even in the situation. Disgusted by what transpired. A part of you is mad at Jake, too. He left you inside that party, and you wonder if maybe it wouldn’t have happened if he had just stayed put like he said he would. Why didn’t he come find you sooner? Why did he leave the spot after he said he wouldn't? The more you think about that fact, the more your stomach starts to sour and you realize that you are mad at him, really mad.

“Jake, I think I need to go home.” You say.

He turns to you concerned, “Are you okay darlin? I mean, I know you’re not okay, and I don’t expect you to be, but…you seem upset suddenly…” He asks.

“I don’t know Jake. I need to process everything that happened and I feel like I need to do it alone.” you reply getting up from the bed, your tone turning harsh.

“I just… need to be alone.”

His eyes search yours looking for answers to what you’re thinking. You begin to hastily shove clothes into your bag and you can feel all of the pent up emotions begging to come out. You are choking back tears, frustration, anger, guilt…

“Babe please, I… I don’t know what to do. What do you want me to do? What can I do? Do you want me to drive you home? I can….” Jake pleads desperately.

“No!” You yell. “Just stop!"

“I’m just trying to help you... Fuck!” He says back, insulted.

“Why didn’t you help me last night Jake!? Why didn’t you come find me? I needed you! I needed you and you were gone! Why didn’t you look for me sooner!” You say turning on him, almost yelling.

“I DID look for you, I told you I did! We all did! We looked everywhere for you! I was panicking searching everywhere for you as soon as I could!” He yells.

“You LEFT the spot. You weren’t there Jake! You told me you would be there!” You begin to cry as you throw your bag over your shoulder.

“I fucking know! Trust me, this shit is eating me alive! Do you even know how fucking bad I feel? This is all my fault! This is something I can’t fix! Do you know how I felt when I saw you laying on that floor? Do you have any fucking clue? I fucking failed you and I will never forgive myself!” He yells… “I know you’re mad, I would be mad at me too! Fuck, honestly I would have dumped my ass as soon as I figured out what happened! But you didn’t and I thought you understood! Apparently I was wrong!” He says full on yelling at you from across the room.

You throw the bedroom door open, and walk down the hallway, him hot on your heels.

“I get that you looked for me Jake! Its the fact that I came back and you were gone! I couldn’t find you and you knew that! You left me there!” You reply.

“God this is just going around in circles isn’t it? But let’s make one thing real clear darlin, YOU left me to go to the bathroom. Yes, I should have gone with you, but how was I supposed to know you’d get into such a mess!” He says.

Wow…You can’t believe this is the same man who told you he loved you just a few hours earlier.

“Do you want me to leave you, Jake? Is that what you want? Will that make things easier for you?! Because I’ll fucking do it, you’re making it really easy for me, right now!” You say harshly with your hand on the doorknob.

“I can’t make you do anything! This is your decision, but you better think about it really fuckin hard, because once you’re gone, I won’t chase after you.” He replies firmly picking up your guitar case to hand to you.

“Keep it. I don’t want it.” You say as harshly as you can muster, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

You see the pain flash in his eyes and his throat move as he swallows. His jaw hardens and he turns his head to the side for a moment before looking back at you.

“Anything else?” He asks coldly. You can tell his demeanor has changed.

You look at him and shake your head as the tears begin to fall down your face freely.

“No. That’s it.” You reply blinking away the tears.

You turn the knob and walk out the door, shutting it forcefully behind you. You stand there for a minute wiping the tears from your face and you hear the electronic lock click behind you, which only makes you cry harder. He's done.

You get into your car and sit behind the wheel and just let everything go. Every single emotion that you’ve been holding back for the past 24 hours free falls out of you. You can’t believe this happened to you. You can’t believe that you could be so stupid, especially after he warned you. You can’t believe that you just left him. You can’t believe he let you.

The drive back to your house seems to take forever, you can hardly see through the tears in your eyes. As you pull into your drive way you immediately shut off the car, grab your things and run straight for the door, fumbling with your keys to unlock it. Screaming a frustrated scream, you finally get in, and drop everything on the floor and lock the door behind you. You run down the hallway and into your room launching yourself onto your bed continuing to sob. You have never cried this much in your life. The trauma from the past 24 hours catching up with you as you lay there thinking about all of it until you eventually fall asleep in puddle of your tear soaked sheets.

It hurts, everything hurts. Your body is so sore. Your head is pounding from all the crying and your chest is sore from all of the hyperventilating. But nothing hurts more than thinking about Jake, so you decide not to.

You drag yourself out of bed and search the house for your purse that you threw on the floor on your way in last night.

Sitting slumped against the wall you find it and dig out your cell phone. You know it has to be close to dead, and you can relate with that.

Clicking the screen on you see it is on 3%. You also see 2 missed calls from Jake and 3 texts that all came in after you left him.

Jake 8:50pm: I’m having the guitar sent to your house in the morning. It’s yours.

Jake 11:08pm: Keep practicing. Don’t give up yet.

Jake 3:37am: I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I am. For everything.

Your phone dies before you can do anything, so you immediately plug it in. Your mind races with those messages all day. You remember his harsh words of ‘I won’t chase after you’ and your heart drops into your stomach. Did you make a mistake? Was this really what you wanted, and needed? You thought time away from Jake would help but he is the only thing you can think about. Around 4:00 your doorbell rings and you open the door to see the guitar case sitting on your door step. You pick it up and bring it inside, setting it by the door and paying it no attention anymore.

7 days pass agonizingly slow. You haven’t picked up your guitar once. The thought too painful. There is too much good tied to it for your state of mind, so you leave it. Every single day is filled with thoughts of him. You miss him, you know you made the wrong decision. You weren’t thinking clearly in the moment, but it’s too late. You loved him and you ruined everything. You just wish he would give you a sign that he still wants you too. But he won’t.

Another two weeks pass. You are feeling better, and more like yourself. You miss Jake terribly but you haven’t heard from him and you knew you wouldn’t. He told you that he wouldn’t. You have forced yourself to not think about him and it hurts worse than anything. You have made the decision to return the guitar to Carter Vintage Exchange as a credit on his account. You can’t even look at it, and it’s being wasted sitting in the case by the door. To prepare it for its new home you decide to wipe it clean and neatly arrange everything in the case. You unlock the case and open it up only to find a small envelope gently placed inside the strings. Your heart constricts when you see your name written on it in Jake's handwriting. You open the envelope and inside is a piece of paper folded in half. A note.

‘Thinking how it used to be. Does she still remember times like these?

To think of us again? And I do.’

When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting. I love you.

You burst into tears. It’s been here the whole time, you were just too stubborn to look. It’s been three weeks. You’re positive that he has moved on. You clutch the note to your heart and sob as the pain of your mistake makes itself known. After you pull yourself together you place the note on your fridge with shaky hands. You sit on your couch and stare at it from across the room for a long time. You aren’t even sure how long its been. Your phone in your hand begging you to make the call. But you decide on something else. You go to the bathroom and get yourself cleaned up, putting on a little make up and fixing your hair. You put on a pair of jeans and a vintage teeshirt, your favorite vans and you grab your purse and head out the door.

You get in your car and turn on your favorite playlist hoping it will bring you the courage that you need. You pull up to his house, unsure if he will even be home but are happy to see his car in the drive way. You swallow down the lump in your throat and you walk to the door. Taking a deep breath you knock on the door. You can hear music playing on the other side.

After a minute or two of waiting the nerves set in and you start to shake a bit.

The door opens, and it’s a girl. Someone you don’t recognize. She is blonde and gorgeous and you instantly feel small. Your heart sinks into your stomach.

“Hi, is Jake here?” You ask, nervous to hear her answer.

“Um, yeah but he is a little busy? Is he expecting you?” She asks.

“No. He isn’t….” You reply almost turning to leave as you see Josh approach behind her.

“Oh my god, thank god.” He says stepping in front of her.

Your eyes flash to his. “Is he here?” You ask.

“Yes, he is here.” He replies.

“He… has company?” You ask quietly, hoping she doesn’t hear you.

“No, she’s my guest…oh god you thought…? No.” He replies adamantly. “Come in.”

You walk into the house, emotions running rampantly through your chest, the anxiety sitting in your stomach making you feel sick. Josh points to the music room nodding his head.

You gather all of the courage you have and walk down the hallway, your hands shoved into the pockets of your jeans. You stop just before you reach the door and peer in.

Jake is sitting at the desk, deep in concentration with big over the ear headphones in, clicking away on the computer screen. You notice the shiny piece of metal on his arm. His bracelet. He never took it off. Your eyes fill with tears. You watch on for a minute before turning to look over your shoulder at Josh who is gesturing you to go in.

With a deep breath you remove your hand from your pocket and gently knock on the slightly open door. His head turns and he sees you standing at the door. His concentrated gaze softens and he slowly removes his headphones and sets them on the desk, before sliding the chair back and standing up, walking to meet you.

His eyes meet yours and they look just as sad as the ones that have been staring back at you in the mirror for the past three weeks. His fingers reach out and gently skim the surface of your arm. “I didn’t think you were coming.” He says softly.

“I’m so sorry Jake, I didn’t know. I only found it today.” You reply, your fingers lightly touching the cool metal of the bracelet resting on his arm.

“I was going to take it back and make them credit your account. I saw the note today. I saw it, and I came straight here.” A single tear falling from your eye.

“Take it back?” He asks sadly.

“I couldn’t even look at it without thinking of you. It hurt so bad. I was going to pack it all up an I saw the note… I came straight here instead.” You say as your fingers touch his.

“I waited up every single day to see if you would come.” He says.

“Why didn’t you just call me?” You ask.

“I couldn’t. I told you I wouldn’t. I needed it to be your decision. I wanted you to have time.” He replies.

“But, what if I never found it?”

“I texted you, I told you to keep practicing. I told you don’t give up. But you did, until now. I knew you would find it eventually and I would still be here waiting for you.” He says as his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck.

“I’m sorry I left Jake. I made the wrong decision. I wasn’t in my right mind. I was scared and hurt and confused. You did everything you could. I know that now. I just needed someone to blame for everything. I don’t know how I couldn’t see that. When I left I thought you didn’t want me anymore and that just made it worse. Please please forgive me.” You say.

He pulls your head to meet his, foreheads touching. “I forgave you the minute you walked out that door. I knew. But I had to let you go. I have just been waiting for you to know, too. Now you do. ” He says gently pressing his lips to yours as another tear falls from your eye, landing on his thumb resting on your cheek.

“I’m so sorry Jake.” You cry.

“I’m sorry too baby. I am so sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. I’m sorry that I couldn’t find you and I’m sorry that you ever believed that I didn’t want you, because I have wanted you every single second since the moment I saw you in that guitar store, and I have never looked back.” He says before kissing your lips again and again. You wrap your arms around his head and hold him close to you.

“I love you, Jake. Always have.”

“I love you too, my girl. Always will. Stay here with me, tonight?” He asks.

“I didn’t bring anything with me, I wasn’t sure what was going to… happen.” You reply.

“You can just wear my stuff. You know, like old times…” He laughs as he pulls you in for a long hug, inhaling the scent of you, and you him. His face leans down and he connects his lips with yours. His kiss is urgent and wet and warm. His tongue asks permission to enter your mouth and seeks out yours. The swirl of love in your chest blooming as they dance together. You missed him, his kiss. His touch in general. You kiss him hard and slide your hands under his shirt to grip your fingers to the soft skin of his waist. Your lips break free as his lips begin to trail down your neck and plant kisses on your jaw line down to your throat. Your need for him is growing by the second. The flame you’ve always had for him never went out, and now the fire is blazing.

“Jake…” you say panting, wanting more from him.

“Yes…” he asks in a dark voice.

“I missed you.” You whisper.

“I missed you too baby. So much. Not even… this. Just, you being here, with me.” He says pushing the hair from your face. “I really care about you, so much. I thought about you every single day.”

“I thought about you too. I wish I opened that guitar case sooner.” You reply kissing his neck.

Jake shuts the music room door, and locks it. He walks back over to you grabbing the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head with ease. You shiver with anticipation. You grab his shirt and do the same before unbuckling the belt on his jeans.

“Are you sure baby?” He asks unbuttoning your jeans.

“Yes…” you whisper into his mouth connecting your lips with his.

You slide your jeans off and he does the same. Jake drops to his knees, leaving kisses trailing the length of your torso as he reaches the top of your panties. His hands cup your ass bringing you closer to him as his nose burries itself into your core. His lips place a gentle kiss on the thin fabric. He hooks two fingers into the top of the panties gently pulling them down to your ankles. Stepping out, his hands run up the length of your legs as he places another soft kiss on your now naked center.

“You are so beautiful, I’m never letting you leave again.” He says between kisses.

His tongue darts out and licks up your center as your hands grip the hair on his scalp. This is the contact that you have craved for weeks, the real thing being better than what you imagined. His lips suction to your clit as a finger slowly enters you, pulsing slowly in and out. You want him. All of him. Stepping back and kneeling down to meet his face you look into his eyes.

“Jake, I can’t wait anymore. Please…” you beg.

Your lips find each other, the taste of your arousal on his, fueling your desire for him.

He gently lays you back on the beautiful vintage rug, his hand guiding your head to the floor.

He centers himself with you and leans down to your mouth, stopping before connecting.

“I wanna go slow tonight, show you how much you mean to me.” He says slowly entering you.

“Ahhh, you’re so tight darlin… ” He says as you adjust to him.

He begins to pull in and out of you in a fluid motion, in such a way that you can tell he is savoring every single moment. He is gentle and reverent. This is so different than any sex you have had with him. He is going slow and making sure that he is hitting every spot just right, kissing you and caressing every inch of your body. His eyes never leaving yours, silently telling you everything he feels.

“Please harder…” you beg

“No, you feel so good like this. Wanna cum just like this, looking at your beautiful face.” He says starting to groan.

Your insides clench around him, begging for more.

“Oh, baby don’t squeeze me like that I will blow right now.” He says.

You do it again, noticing his pace picks up slightly.

“Darlin, I’m serious. I want you to cum first.” He says.

“Then you’re going to have to go a little faster. As much as I love this, I need you to fuck me a little bit. Lovingly of course.” You laugh.

“God damn I love you.” He says as he lifts your leg over his shoulder, beginning to pick up his pace, hitting that spot just right, now.

“God, Jake yes that is it, right there please keep going.” You beg.

“Ah, baby cum for me, I’m trying to wait for you but I don’t think I can.” He says grunting.

“Harder, I will cum… I will cum so hard for you...”

He thrusts into you as hard as he can hitting that spot and sending you into the beautiful orgasm that you have dreamed of for weeks.

“Jake, oh god….” You cry out.

“Fuck” he says as you feel him cumming inside of you. "I love you so much, darlin.”

“I love you too, Jake.”

He pulls out of you, kissing your forehead rolling over to lay next to you.

“Do you think Josh heard that?” You ask.

“Oh 100 percent. No question.” He replies laughing.

You lay there for a while longer, just laughing and talking about any and everything. You missed each other. You yawn, you don’t even realize that is 1 in the morning until you see the clock near the door.

“Do you want to get in bed? I have some clothes for you to wear.” He says rubbing your arm.

“Yes but can I make a request?” You ask.

“Anything.” He says.

“Can I wear your hoodie? I have missed stealing it when I get cold.” You ask.

“Of course baby, consider it yours.” He replies kissing you, then standing up offering you a hand. You both quickly redress and make your way to his bedroom. As you open the door you see 2 suitcases lined up against the wall and your heart sinks. You just got him back…

“You’re leaving….” You say, eyes searching his.

“Yeah, darlin…we are leaving to go play some shows in India. We will be gone for a few weeks.”

“I didn’t know.” You say looking at the floor.

“I was going to tell you the night of the party so that we would have plenty of time together before I left, but then I just couldn’t after everything happened. Then the next day you left, I didn’t know if I was going to see you again, and now… you’re here and I’m leaving. It’s shit timing.” He says walking into the closet, and throwing you his hoodie.

“When, Jake? How long until you go?” You ask, undressing, sliding it on.

He runs his hand through his hair and down his face, “Tomorrow darlin. Tomorrow night.”

You sit down on the end of the bed. “If I had just opened that guitar case sooner…” you say.

“No, don’t say that. Everything is happening how its supposed to. We did this once and it was fine. I mean it was only a week but, I promise I will call you, text you, even FaceTime you when I can. I hate that I leave tomorrow but I think that this is exactly what was supposed to happen.” He says kissing your hands.

“Is that why you wanted me to spend the night?” You ask.

“Yes. I just wanted one night with you before I go. Just want to hold you while you fall asleep, and be there when you wake up in the morning. You’re so beautiful first thing in the morning. I just, need you here.” He says.

You take your jeans off and slide into the fluffy duvet that you love so much.

“So you’re telling me that I don’t get to sleep in this comfy bed for a whole month?” You ask playfully.

“No. You can stay here whenever you want. You know I will always unlock the door for you.” He says as he climbs into bed next to you. He turns off the lamp and you snuggle into his side, everything feels exactly as it should. As you trace the outlines on his necklace, like you would so often do, you feel his hand catch yours and he brings it to his lips.

“I am so glad you came back. I am never letting you go, again.” He says.

You kiss his chest in response, and you both fall asleep in each others arms, dreading tomorrows goodbye.

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