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forlix · 4 months

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‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 (besides myself)・l.f.

— you spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

words・5.4k

pairing・lee felix x gn!reader

genres・babysitter!au, girldad!lix, nobody look at me, toothrotting fluff, more angst than originally intended tbh, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending yayyy, non-linear storyline

warnings・cousin has a korean name and experiences one (1) minor head bump, mc is temporarily heartbroken and experiences one (1) breakdown

playlist・house song by searows・glad by tori kelly・let's pretend by del water gap・you were good to me by jeremy zucker

a/n・hiiii my loves, i'm so unbelievably excited to bring u my first contribution to my and @astraystayyh's collaboration, "winter falls" ♡ every time i write for our ray of sunshine i'm reminded of how thankful i am to love him. this fic ruined me. hope it does the same to you (smile)

I. everything

“One day,” you muttered to the toddler sitting on your shoulders, “you’ll experience something deeply, irreversibly humbling, and I’ll be there to witness your downfall.”

Byeol responded to this with an unbothered babble. She then gathered two handfuls of your hair and yanked using far too much force to be biologically possible.

You folded like a lawn chair. “Mother—!”

Oh, that word was not suitable for button-sized ears.

“—oh, my dear mother, why? Why me?”

Technically speaking, your aunt should’ve been the target of your lamentations, but all she did was produce the child presently steering you around the kitchen like you were her own personal bumper car. Your own mother was the one who volunteered you to watch said child during the first weekend of your winter break. Only for an hour until the babysitter arrives, she’d said (raising her voice, so as to be heard over your groaning).

You adored Byeol. She made scarily accurate chipmunk sounds and possessed an immobilizing fear of grapes. She bust out a dance move before she took her first steps. The girl could have you floored with laughter without being able to say more than three words at a time. Still, this was far from how you imagined onsetting your desperately-needed few weeks off. Not to mention it was now half past three; your shift should’ve ended two minutes ago.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Byeol emitted an excited onomatopoeia like a golden retriever detecting the mailman. Your reaction wasn’t too far off; you swiveled your head in the sound’s direction, sang out “coming!” in a delighted vibrato, and twirled into the foyer, your hands around Byeol’s ankles anchoring her in place.

You cracked open the door and found yourself face-to-face with Byeol’s babysitter. The freckles scattered across his high cheekbones and sloping nose seemed to you like they were imprinted by the sun itself. His hair was dark, falling just shy of pitch black, and long, ending an inch or so below pierced ears. A few misbehaving strands rested over his forehead but did little to obstruct your view of his eyes: profoundly brown and pointed at either end, like poinsettia petals.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You felt your skin warm, your heart flip. You opened your mouth.

Then Byeol hit her head against the vertical edge of the front door, loud enough for it to echo.

The panic that seized you in that moment was truly unlike anything you’d experienced before. You caught one glimpse of the stranger’s expression (as mortified as you expected), and then you were seeing your own epitaph on the inside of your eyelids, engraved with the four words “Death by Furious Aunt.”

“Was that—?” The man sputtered, and his voice was rich and full and accented and just as breathtaking as the rest of him and holy fucking shit now was not the time.

“My fucking god,” you whispered, completely forgetting to watch your mouth. In a hurry, you swung Byeol off your shoulders and dropped to a knee. You leaned in close to examine her reddening forehead and cradled the plush of her cheek; she blinked at you a few times, fascinated by the sudden sight of your face again.

“You okay, Byeollie? That hurt a lot, didn’t it? I’m so, so sorr—”

Byeol started to laugh.

Not laugh as in those little chuckles she let out randomly, like there was something inherently amusing about the kitchen cupboard, but laugh as in a boisterous, resounding guffaw, like a great-uncle at a family gathering off one too many martinis.

This rendered you speechless for the second time in under a minute. Then, you lifted your other hand to cradle her other cheek, her face now sandwiched between your palms, and squeezed.

“I broke my cousin,” you whispered, your voice was so deathly serious that the man in the doorway had to stifle a laugh of his own.

His knee brushed against your shin as he sat down to your left, folding his legs into a criss-cross. You could discern notes of lavender and orange blossoms in the delicate cologne that clung to him, perforated the air and your mind both.

“Can I?” He asked.

“Please.”

Carefully, you shifted Byeol’s small frame towards him; the manner in which he accepted her was so smooth and practiced that there was no doubt in your mind you were watching a professional at work. He settled her on his right knee, then dipped his head to look her in the eye.

“Hi, princess,” he cooed with a dulcet smile. He curved his pointer finger, dusted it beneath her chin. “Why are you laughing, silly girl?”

Oh.

You might just continue your lineage after all.

“Y/N-ie,” she answered, still tittering.

He looked to you with a slight tilt to his head, and you nodded affirmatively. He murmured a quiet ah. “What about Y/N-ie?”

Somehow you sensed that she was about to embarrass you and pinched the bridge of your nose—in preparation.

“P-pretty.” I knew it!

The man let out the laugh he’d been holding back since earlier and tapped on her button nose, lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew you could hear.

“I agree.” His eye glinted playfully, matching his tone. “And so are you.” The bashful, high-pitched giggle she responded with sounded eerily similar to your inner monologue.

The two of you spent a little longer on the floor of the foyer making sure Byeol was okay, and then the girl upped and made a mad dash for the kitchen while yelling something about a horse, and if that didn’t confirm that she was completely fine (albeit incredibly strange) you didn’t know what would. You found her rolling around the carpet in the room adjacent to the kitchen and left her to her own devices while you and her babysitter fixed up a small fruit plate for her afternoon snack. No grapes, of course.

He told you he usually went by Felix, but that his Korean name was probably easier for Byeol to pronounce, with its easier consonants and whatnot. You asked which name he preferred, and he said either or. He was a recent college graduate, a year older than you, who was determined to spend at least the next two years doing nothing but working out his future. He accepted the part-time babysitting position to pick up some light cash in the process.

“And ‘cause I’m good with kids,” he added, splitting apart a tangerine. “So I’ve been told.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said, plating a couple blueberries. “You melted her earlier.”

“She melted me. She’s so cute. And you’re so cute with her—I didn’t realize I was robbing someone of their job.”

You turned your head to regard the tot and let out a helpless laugh. Byeol tired of being a human lint roller a few minutes ago and had since moved on to staring aimlessly out the window.

“She doesn’t take me seriously, and I can’t stay mad at her,” you mused. “I would be a nightmare as her babysitter, trust me. She’s all yours.”

Felix held out two overturned handfuls of tangerine slices, to which you quickly moved the platter across the counter. He didn’t respond to your comments as he placed them on the outermost edge so that they looked like rays of sun emanating from a multicolored core. Adorable.

“Will you be around much, then?”

You made eye contact with him across the counter. On his perfect face was a teasing smirk and a subtle blush. Ah, you’d been mistaken, writing off his silence as concentration—he’d been contemplating how to best flirt with you.

“Y’know. In case I need any help teaching her cuss words,” he appended.

It was then your turn to flush a couple shades darker. “Please don’t tell her mom.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He walked around the perimeter of the counter until he was directly in front of you; the lavender and orange blossoms returned. “On one condition.”

Not even one hour on the job and he was already trying to blackmail you? You respected it. “Which is?”

As he shifted some of his weight onto the counter, something too shifted in his smile, giving it a quality that was every bit as hopeful as it was gentle.

It was then, while Lee Felix was looking at you like that, all dilated pupils and long lashes, when you predicted that he would one day break your heart. You predicted you’d let him.

“Be around,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a question or a demand. In hindsight, you think it was more akin to a birthday wish, ill-fated the moment it hit the air.

II. has changed

Felix pulled Byeol’s hood up and over her ears, and you realized he was right about the winter coat getting too small for her—she looked like a bowling pin. You muffled your snort into your scarf.

“And what was the last rule again?” He asked, his breath puffing into the frigid afternoon in tiny clouds. Byeol sighed like she knew anything of the world’s woes.

“No barking at other kids,” came the sad reply, but a toothy smile spread across her face anyways when Felix nudged the underside of her chin. She loved when he did that.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed. “I believe in you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you said, and the wounded look Felix shot you was like you’d just confessed to hating kittens. “Come on—she doesn’t have a good track record. I’m allowed to have my doubts.”

“I dunno what that means,” Byeol announced with admirable frankness, and then turned around and scurried down the porch stairs, scattering fun-sized footprints across the snowy streets.

As you braced yourself to follow her, Felix stopped you with a slip of his hand into the pocket of your puffer. His fingers first aligned with yours inside the insulated nylon, then chased the spaces in between. He leaned in close, placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, another on the corner of your mouth. This brought a helpless smile to your face, too. He had a way of melting you and Byeol both.

“It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “A little barking never hurt anybody, baby.”

“Lix, last time somebody called animal control.”

“Ermm—a little barking never hurt most people.”

That winter, Byeol was four, and your relationship with Felix was about to turn two.

Funnily enough, you’d never figured out when your anniversary actually was. Felix wagered it was the day you met, as he knew he loved you the instant he saw you; you insisted it was months later, since it took both of you an entire winter break of open-ended flirting and informal dating to label yourselves for real. Imagine your horror when he showed up outside your college apartment on the last day of your fall semester, arms overflowing with flowers and gift bags brimming with your favorite things, the phrase “happy anniversary” on his lips three months before you perceived it to be. You’ve celebrated both days ever since.

You loved the ocean growing up. You didn’t get to visit it often, but when you did you would run up to the water’s very edge so that your toes dipped into the cold—and just stand there, observing, absorbing, until even the seam of your lips and the ends of your eyelashes were studded with crystals of seasalt. You found endless tranquility in its rhythmic whispers and unspeakable comfort in its oscillating waves, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Your fascination stemmed from the folktale your mother used to read to you before bed, about a sun goddess creating the earth. In the story, every component of nature was one of the sun’s beloved children. She allegedly loved them all, but you suspected the ocean was her favorite; it was obvious, the way she twinkled off its ebbing surface, the way every minuscule spot of light looked to you like a handprint of hers, left behind by eons of endless doting.

Felix reminded you of the ocean. Every day you grew more certain that you wanted to drown in him, to let his resonant voice and kind eyes sweep and keep you inside his depths. It was never salt that he pressed into your skin but warmth, stamped and sealed with caring hands and cautious lips. His deep whispers promised eternal love and temporary ecstasy and everything in between. You knew he would come back to you even if stranded in a different realm. And there was no questioning the goddess’ favoritism, either. The freckles on his face mirrored the sun’s very spots like an homage to his creator.

You didn’t love the ocean growing up, no. You had never loved before Felix.

The park was busy when the three of you arrived. Byeol and Felix recognized a few families as your aunt’s neighbors and hurried over to say hello. Your social butterflies.

“I’ll be over there,” you called after them.

Felix stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder. It had started snowing lightly on your walk there, and snowflakes now sat atop his sable locks. He looked like a painting. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes.” You shooed them off. “Don’t worry about me. Go have fun.”

With that, you withdrew to the sidelines, an unoccupied swingset adjacent to a baseball diamond covered in frost.

Your baby cousin was brawny for her age, which you could’ve seen coming with how she was hauling at your hair two years ago, but even she couldn’t yet terrorize the playground without assistance. Who better to make her partner in crime than her favorite Bokkie? You couldn’t help but giggle as the two revolved around each other for the better part of an hour, Byeol’s smile colossal as she frolicked every which way, Felix’s smile worried but hopelessly endeared as he followed behind. He never let her leave his shadow. She never tried to.

It was there on those icy swings that you experienced a moment of strange clarity, like you’d broken the fourth wall of your own story. You could feel the winds of change blowing your hair across your shoulders. You were aware of time’s trickling from the gaps of your fingers like liquid mercury.

Your laughter dissipated to a bittersweet smile; your smile mellowed to dewy eyes. It seemed like just yesterday when Byeol was small enough to sit on your shoulders and Felix stepped into your kitchen for the first time. Now, she was scaling a rope ladder with the celerity of a crazed monkey while Felix hovered a wary hand by her waist. The muted sunlight caught on the silver rings he wore, particularly the thin, bright one on his middle finger. You had one just like it, adorning the same place.

The last two years were the happiest of your life. Why couldn’t you remember where they went?

Lavender and orange blossoms announced your boyfriend’s arrival—that, and the sigh of fatigue that he expelled as he dropped into the swing next to you.

“I’m not cut out for this anymore.”

Byeol’s neighbor had temporarily relieved Felix of his post by taking her and his son to test out the seesaw, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town could hear her enthusiastic shrieking.

“You know how people walk their dogs?” You mused. “Some dogs walk their people. She’s one of them.”

For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the grin creeping across your face; then, he groaned in a way that could only mean you were right on the money. You gave his thigh a sympathetic pat.

“You’re whipped, my love. It’s okay.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, suddenly perking up. “Hey, no barking though.”

“Are we considering that a win nowadays?”

“Do you see animal control anywhere?”

“Good point.”

Felix monitored your expression during the quiet interval that ensued—saw through the melancholy curve of your lips, the pensive slant of your gaze. There was a red tinge to the whites of your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You saw him reach for you in your periphery. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, remained there for three slow heartbeats, and then lifted away.

“Angel,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not.” Not even ten seconds after the last time, he reached for you again, now to take your hand and bring it to his lap. “You know it’s not.”

“It’s just that—”

Felix thumbed over the ridges of your knuckles, his touch so gentle that it could’ve unraveled a chrysalis; it certainly unraveled you. You took a stabilizing breath.

“I wish could recognize my own happiness in the moment,” you sighed, “not just in retrospect. That way, even when it comes to an end, I’d still be able to look back and say with confidence that I was happy once. I’d like that, I think.”

His brows knit together as he processed your words, and, the next thing you knew, he left his swing trembling in his sudden absence and his trenchcoat became a black blur in the cold air.

Felix rested his elbows atop your knees as he knelt in front of you, cradled your face in his hands. He was achingly beautiful always, but you truly felt your breath swiped from your lungs at the new proximity of his ethereal features: petal-shaped eyes, wind-bitten cheeks, coral cupid’s bow. A painting.

“That’s easy enough,” Felix hummed. “How do you feel right now?”

You had zero agency in the smile this brought to your face. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, your answer quick, thoughtless. “Happy.”

He pressed his lips to the space between your eyes. “And now?”

“Happier.”

He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw. “What about now?”

“Even happier.”

His gaze flickered to his final destination, but you beat him to it, sealing your mouth against his with urgency. The kiss that followed was so intensely loving that your head went fuzzy. How was it that you felt his adoration for you even in his pliant lips, his velvet tongue? You ran your fingers through the part of his hair. You loved when you could feel the locks flutter back into place afterwards.

“GET A ROOM!”

You and Felix pulled away from one another, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Byeol was approximately five Newtons away from soaring off into the stratosphere, her legs jostling around as she clung to her seat for dear life. It seemed your neighbor had a very aggressive way of seesaw-maneuvering. It seemed your cousin had a very aggressive vocabulary.

“Where did she learn—?” The two of you began in unison, then shot your heads back towards each other.

“It had to be you.”

“Outrageous—you’re the Australian here!”

“You cuss like one too!”

“Because of you!”

“So we’re just lying now?”

“Well, yes.”

Felix cracked a smile—and then the two of you were dying of laughter, his right eye squinting closed and your forehead thudding onto his shoulder. You hardly managed to get out your next words. “We have to do something about her vernacular, don’t we?”

“Oh, badly,” he replied. “Badly.”

After you expended your giggles, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, blissful, glowing. “Thank you, baby.”

“What for?”

“Being my happiness.”

He angled your face back to his and kissed you once more, whispering I love you like it wasn’t enough that it graced your ears; he needed it embossed upon your flesh in permanent ink.

Your intermingled breaths floated up into the air like flare signals over a capsizing boat. Here marks the time we were happiest.

III. (besides myself)

He’s blonde.

That’s the first thing you notice when you see your ex-boyfriend on your aunt’s porch: the slightly off-white color of his silky tresses, grown out longer than you’ve ever seen, pushed off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

It’s not the only thing you notice, of course. His face has thinned ever so slightly, the shadows thrown over his features by the streetlights behind him particularly opaque. His outfit is glorious, expensive, with the black blazer and white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the pendant of a silver necklace resting between toned collarbones. His hands are almost overflowing with what must be gifts for your family. It’s impossible to discern all of them from this distance, but you know the bouquet of white poinsettias is for your mom, the batch of brownies doused in sprinkles and icing for Byeol.

But the hair is where your gaze returns, because tucked among the platinum strands are black roots: millimeters of the color you grew to adore, peeking out as if trying to catch a glimpse of you, too.

You’re so occupied with this game of “I spy” that you don’t notice the rampant footsteps coming up behind you. Your six-year-old cousin collides with the back of your leg head-on and nearly topples you like a bowling pin.

“Is it him?” She asks breathlessly.

You come this close to berating her as you steady yourself against the wall—what did I say about treating human beings like couch cushions? But you look down to see her chin resting on the side of your thigh, her eager eyes shining so brightly that she puts her own namesake to shame. Your scolding tirade dissolves on your tongue like popping candy.

You simply sigh instead. “Yes, but—”

“BOKKIE!” She shrieks, and Felix’s head snap upwards at the sound of her voice. His tender smile melts some of the frost laminating your heart.

You crack open the door, making eye contact with Felix for the first time in six months.

“Put everything down. Quickly,” you whisper, and he obeys right away, alarmed by the urgency in your voice. A wise choice.

The last present has hardly touched down upon the wooden planks when Byeol wriggles through the doorway and charges towards Felix like an angered toro. He swivels at her bright holler of his name, lowers himself to a squat just barely in time to catch her in his embrace. The delighted laugh that leaves his mouth as he staggers backwards sounds like the sun itself; you feel lost in orbit hearing it again.

“Bokkie,” Byeol murmurs, her voice muffled in the dip of his shoulder, by the tightening of her arms around his neck.

“Hi, princess.” He kisses her temple, presses his nose against her hair. “Whoa, you’ve grown strong, haven’t you?”

“She takes taekwondo classes now,” you hum from above, and the shock in his face asks the very question that your poignant smile confirms. Yes, because of you.

Felix pulls away, cocoons her cheeks with cherishing hands. “Is that true?”

She bobs her head. “I want to be like Bokkie.”

And his eyes go impossibly, terribly soft, like he’s gazing at the horizon itself. The sight twists the knife in your gut and yanks on your tangled heartstrings. It’s all because of you.

“And kick some ass!” Byeol adds, knocking you out of your sentimental spiral. You clap a defeated hand to your forehead. Felix falls over himself. So much for fixing her vernacular.

A few minutes later, Byeol is pirouetting towards the kitchen with a couple of Felix’s smaller presents in her arms, all too happy to be of help. You linger behind as Felix takes off his shoes, your cousin’s departure leaving the two of you alone in the dim foyer.

Felix straightens. The two of you come face to face. The air hangs so heavily with unspoken words that you half expect it to start dripping.

“Hi,” he says.

You nearly laugh at the cruelty of it. The man you were certain you’d grow old with greeting you like you’ve been forced to sit next to each other on the first day of school.

“Hi,” you answer. “You look—”

The two of you say this last part in unison; old habits die hard.

“—nice,” you finish.

“—beautiful,” Felix breathes, his eyes flicking off to the side abashedly.

Your throat constricts, pulse quickens. Says you. If he was a painting before, you think he’s a sculpture now, his perfection as tangible as if hand-chiseled by the greatest artists of old. As clear as the sun’s beloved sea. You can’t tell if it’s his stylist’s doing or simply a product of him growing into himself.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly. “And thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t do it for me.”

No part of you wants to see the subtle wince that crosses his face at your statement, so you turn your gaze to his jewelry-laden hands instead.

For a split second, you swear you see the same promise ring settled in the same place on his middle finger. You realize what you’re really looking at only after blinking the phosphenes from your eyes: the thin tanline that it left behind. The realization fixes and destroys you all at once.

Then, Byeol starts wailing about Felix’s whereabouts like an actress hired to spare you from this very interaction.

“Her Highness beckons.” The smile you manage feels like drying cement. “Shall we?”

On your way to the kitchen, you notice the cologne emanating from his person smells only of citrus—no lavender. Its absence steadies you, deludes you into believing that it’s a stranger you’ve just let inside.

That illusion lasts for exactly three hours and forty-eight minutes.

It’s clear that the breakup has your family walking on eggshells, but it’s even clearer that their adoration for Felix has never wavered. You’ve never resigned yourself to the restroom so many times in one night, only to stand with your back against the door, unmoving, unfeeling, listening to the low thrum of his voice through the mahogany. Chatting comfortably with your aunt, bursting into laughter with Byeol, reminding you of the time you considered him family too.

With every glance you toss your reflection, you discover new cracks in your composure. Has he noticed them yet?

After you come out of the restroom for the sixth time, you notice a light spilling from Byeol’s bedroom into the hallway. A low Australian accent graces your ears, followed closely by a tinkling giggle, and your body nudges you towards the sounds before your head can intervene.

You give your cousin’s door a feather-light nudge. It opens a few centimeters more and grants you vision of Byeol tucked into bed, Felix knelt at her side. Both of their faces are illuminated by the flaxen light of the nearby lamp.

Felix brushes her choppy bangs out of her eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. “Can I tell you a secret, princess?”

This wrests from her another fluttering laugh; you swear he’s the only person in the whole world who makes her shy. “Sure!”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“Not even Snernard.”

“M’kay.”

“Or Bong.”

“M’kay.”

“Especially not Trash the chicken. I don’t trust him.”

“I know, I know, I won’t!” Byeol huffs, and Felix laughs at her outburst. You also snort into your sleeve, amused (and deeply perplexed) by your cousin’s plushie-naming conventions.

“Thank you,” he hums, and he lowers his voice enough that you don’t catch the next thing he says.

All you perceive is the way that Byeol reacts. She sits up straight in bed, resting her back against her pillow. Her features rearrange themselves slowly, awfully, like the spread of cherry-flavored cough syrup over one’s sore throat, into the furthest thing from her trademark too-big-for-her-face smile.

Your stomach plummets to your fucking ankle.

“Why?” Her voice sounds microscopic.

“Well, do you remember what Bokkie’s dream job is?”

Byeol considers for a moment. “Being a singer?”

“That’s right.” He runs a knuckle over the hill of her cheek, the action achingly familiar, immensely fond. “And I found a place where I can do that, but it’s very, very far away. I won’t be able to come home very often.”

The telltale signs appear as he speaks; the final word sets them into motion. A tear streaks down the side of Byeol’s face. It hardly leaves the corner of her eye before it’s being intercepted by a doting swipe of his thumb.

“No,” she replies.

“You've grown so much.” Another tear falls. He wipes away that one, too. “You’re growing so well.”

“No,” she repeats.

“You’ve stolen the light of every star in the sky already. The whole galaxy will be yours someday, sweetheart. I know it.”

“I don’t want it,” she whispers. “I want my Bokkie.”

His vision starts to blur also. “But you don’t need me anymore.”

“We do.”

You know the precise moment Felix’s heart pauses in his chest because it is when yours does too.

“We?” He repeats, and she nods.

“Your dream job is being a singer.” Now Byeol is the one to reach for Felix, her delicate hand cupping the curve of his cheek. Her fingers are too small to catch his tears, she tries anyways—

“But what is your dream?”

It becomes too much for you.

You turn around. A choked sob escapes from behind the hand you have sealed to your mouth, causing both heads inside Byeol’s room to whirl in your direction. You don’t care that you nearly break both of your ankles beelining up the stairs; you only care to get the fuck out of that hallway.

You topple into your room, close the door behind you, and crumble.

Your quivering hands find purchase around your folded legs; your eyes squeeze shut against your knees. Rivulets of tears cascade over your shuddering lips like ruptured barrels of wine, left in the cellars of your soul to age, to spoil.

You never wanted your grief to see the light of day. Pouring your regret over every sidewalk wouldn’t change the past. Splashing your heartache across every wall like the world’s most fucked-up mural wouldn’t alleviate the pain of losing him. He was the one who left, but you were the one who’d asked him to. Feeling, yearning, mourning. Those always seemed so futile.

But you’re not just crying in this moment, rocking back and forth on your bedroom floor; you’re bleeding, the wounds you never treated igniting all at once as if exposed to vinegar, leaving you writhing and gasping in their wake. How you wish they’d been able to heal sooner. Maybe then seeing Felix tonight wouldn’t have splintered your soul like dropped porcelain.

Your door clicks open. Your breath hitches in your throat with a quiet scratch. The gulp of oxygen you intake tastes of oranges.

Every night before you fall asleep, you still think of the last time you visited the sea. The cool sand chafing against your toes, the coarse winds slapping your hair against your face hard enough to sting. The weather was terrible (you neglected to check the forecast before making the drive), but when you stepped onto the embittered coastline, you took what felt like the first real breath of your young adulthood. The fog melded to your skin as if melting a blindfold away, showing you the world in its entirety.

You return to that beach when Felix pulls you into his chest, and there’s no fog this time. Just the faint smell of lavender and your ocean, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Feverishly, Felix presses his lips to your temple, the apple of your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. Brokenly, he utters, “it’s you.”

You can feel his shaking in every part of him: the tickling breath, the fluttering eyelashes, the unsteady hand that reaches into the pocket of his blazer. You graze your fingers over his jaw, an attempt to steady his careening heart, only to lose yours in the fray also when he produces a small red box of unmistakable dimensions.

“God, it’s you. It always has been, always will be. Anything can change except for this.” His voice disintegrates as he speaks. You disintegrate as you listen. “Everything has changed besides myself.”

Felix leans back in to pepper kisses across the expanse of your wet features, then brings himself to one fated knee. He flicks open the lid. You don’t even spare the ring a glance; you don’t doubt its perfection. All you care to look at is the love of your life, deliquesced to adoration and tearwater.

“Thank you for being around, my dream.” His soft smile tends to your scars like ambrosia. “Will you let me do the same?”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp ♡

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whereismywizardhat · 1 year

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Saw Glass Onion, and I cannot help but think about what the movie is trying to say.

Spoilers Ahead, you have been warned

The most obvious (and considering how November went in the year 2022) is the dismantling of the myth of the Tech Billionaire. Miles Bron is a obvious Musk/Zuckerburg stand-in, with the former’s charisma and energy industry connections and the later’s assorted former business partners.

Miles surrounds himself with “The Disrupters” aka the shitheads. Lionel the engineer, Duke the alt-right troll, Claire the politician, and Birdie the fashion model. Science, Media, Politics, and Entertainment, four pillars of society each dependent on the smooth talking grifter with the pile of money for their own continued success. Like with Knives Out, the politics of the four doesn’t particularly matter: Claire is mentioned to be a liberal politician, while Duke’s MRA talking points barely can escape his garage without being called out by his mother and Birdie mindlessly repeats slurs on social media with such regularity her assistant micromanages her phone. Class solidarity matters more, 5% will protect the 1%.

Miles surrounds himself with these people, but he has no loyalty to them. He powers his home with an unstable energy source that his engineer is sure is dangerous (because it’s hydrogen, the most explosive element), he has already convinced the politician to back his dangerous energy source, he assists the far right media guy in getting a new platform but does not platform him on his own network, and he intends to allow the fashionista to take the fall for their sweatshops.

Coming out in a year where we have watched billionaires throw good money after bad in such ventures as “Worse VR Chat” and “Let’s Burn the Bird Site to the Ground”, it has never been more obvious the mediocrity of tech billionaires. And here comes Glass Onion, which presents it’s Ersatz Zucker-musk as the most mediocre of them all: seemingly only having the talent to steal ideas from others and force others to repackage them. A man so utterly devoid of creativity or talent that naturally everyone thinks of him as a genius. A Cave Johnson level Moron.

The fifth guest, Andi, Mile’s former partner, represents Business but she’s also a black woman who was the true brains behind the operation, and thus was first discredited then murdered. The Andi we meet is actually her school teacher twin sister, Helen. Education, another pillar, and notably the only one is not beholden to Miles. Tech Billionaires aren’t even beholden to Capitalism, but they are beholden to people educated enough to see through their snake oil.

And finally there is Benoit Blanc, our beloved detective. He represent justice (notably, not the police), and notably while he solves the crime he cannot touch Miles. White Privileged Billionaires never have to worry about Justice reaching them, they are insulated from it. The only thing he can do is encourage Helen.

And Helen burns it all down. No justice can be extracted from Billionaires, but we can burn their houses down, their own hubris practically guarantees that they will have left fuel everywhere. After all, they are morons.

#knives out #glass onion #benoit blanc #glass onion spoilers

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kiss-inthekitchen · 1 year

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sacrosanct

You have a nightmare. Damon is there to wake you up.

damon salvatore x reader, 2.2k words, hurt/comfort

i had 'this is how you fall in love' by jeremy zucker on repeat while i wrote this, if you like to listen while you read

sacrosanct as in protected, sacred, hallowed. regarded as too important or valuable to be interfered with.

“Mom, please. Let’s just go, okay?”

You throw the words over your shoulder, unceremoniously grabbing items from your dresser and tossing them in your duffel. You don’t know how long you’ve been doing this for. You can feel her presence in the door frame. You want to turn around and see her, but you can’t. You just keep reaching for things, shoving them in the bag, reaching again with unfeeling fingers. Somehow you haven’t filled the bag yet.

“It’s not safe here, you need to start packing–” Why was she just standing there? Why couldn’t you see her?

Suddenly the duffel is gone along with the four walls of your bedroom. You’re in the town square, the Mystic Grill a few dozen yards away.

“Mom?”

You can see her now. Your mom is facing away from you, a little ways down the road. It takes you too long to get to where she is– you will yourself to go faster, but you can’t feel your legs move. “Mom,” you stress, reaching out to her.

She turns, and you see her face, finally. She gives you a sad little smile, an expression you’ve never seen on her before. “We’re not going anywhere, honey. You’re exactly where you should be.”

Your surroundings change again. Your mom disappears, faded to black along with the Grill and the trees and the sunlight. On some base level you know you’re in your bed at home, but you can’t see anything. The darkness is suffocating. On instinct you want to call out for someone, but you know no one is there. You’re alone.

“Sweetheart, hey, wake up,” a tense whisper cuts through the deep fog of your subconscious, two strong hands around your shoulders lifting you from the depths.

Your eyes squint open in the half-lit room, uncomprehending. Where are you? This isn’t your room. How did you get here?

“Come back to me,” he encourages, sitting on the edge of the bed, his body twisted toward you. A sliver of relief edges into his tone when he sees your eyes open fully. “There you go, good girl.”

You flinch away from Damon, still only half conscious. Your eyes flit around the room briefly, so different from your own. Nothing is where you expected it to be.

“You’re at the Salvatore house,” he says, answering your unspoken question.

“Why?” you ask, pressing your palms into your eyes for a moment. Your hands come away wet.

The look in Damon’s eyes shifts, becoming something round and soft and almost dreading. It confuses you further, this pain coming from him. But it also wakes you up, finally and forcefully thrusting you back to reality. And then you remember.

“Nevermind, I know. I’m uh– I’m awake now. Sorry.” He didn’t want to have to tell you, you realize. You can’t blame him. You don’t want to hear it said, either.

“You don’t have to apologize–”

“Damon, it’s bad enough I moved into your house,” you sigh, slumping against the headboard. “I don’t mean to make you take care of me, too.”

His hands, which had fallen from your shoulders when you’d jerked away, come up to your cheeks, thumbs softly swiping away the tears that continued to roll down your cheeks. You hadn’t noticed them.

“Somebody should.”

Bitterness rolls through you. He’s right. Somebody should.

You take a deep, settling breath, and Damon seems to feel it, too. His hands are still holding your face, a tingling warmth blooming from where his skin touches yours. Unthinkingly, your own hands come up to cover his, curling around his wrists. His skin is so soft for all the things his hands have done.

His eyes seem to be searching yours, for what, you aren’t sure. The pale green mesmerizes you. You’ve often thought of a perfect word to describe the color, the opacity of it. The only one you could ever come up with is moonstone. You don’t think he’d like that. Too many unpleasant associations.

He’s still searching. Waiting for an answer to a question he hasn’t asked. You don’t care about that anymore. He’s here, his pulse strong and steady beneath your fingers. He’s here.

“I think your house is haunted,” you whisper instead.

“A lot of people have died in it,” he agrees, scrunching his nose up. That summons a breathy little laugh from you, and god if that isn’t the best thing he’s ever been responsible for. “I think you should sleep in my bed.” He doesn’t choose to say the words so much as they free themselves from him, a spark of surprise lighting his expression.

“Damon…”

You’re frowning again. That little crease between your eyebrows always so quick to appear, Damon thinks. He looses his hands from your face. You don’t let go; your joined hands come to rest on the sheets between you.

“That’s not me trying to take care of you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he speaks in his usual teasing tone, despite the weight of his gaze a minute ago. “I wouldn’t dream of that.”

Your eyes narrow at him in mock suspicion. “No? Why are you up, anyway?”

“It’s like you said,” he shrugs. “House’s haunted.”

Your lips tug up into a half-smile despite yourself. “Hmm,” you pretend to weigh your options. You don’t think you’ll be able to fall asleep in here again, and you don’t want to think about what dreams might visit you if you do. “Will you fast-run me there?” you acquiesce, already reaching for him, lightly crossing your wrists behind his neck.

The way his eyes light up, still subtle in his own Damon way, has you wanting to say yes to any request he could possibly ever have for you. “Yeah, I’ll fast-run you there,” he repeats your made up term.

He gently lifts your body from the guest bed, untangling the sheets from around you. Less than two seconds later you’re being placed in another bed, clear across the east wing, completely breathless.

Your voice comes out more like a gasp than anything else. “Thanks.”

He slides under the covers with you, lying on his back with one arm behind his head as he leans back against the headboard. His other arm wraps around you, maneuvering your body to curl into his before you can overthink your way onto the opposite edge of his California king. He knows you too well, you think to yourself.

Your tears have dried now. You sink gratefully against Damon’s chest, the soft fabric of his undoubtedly too-expensive t-shirt. Your shoulders are a little stiff– you’ve never done this with Damon before. You’re not entirely sure what it means.

You’d been out of it lately. Trying to get used to your new normal. Trying to learn all the ins and outs of the Salvatore house without leaving a mark– the uneasy feeling of being a guest in someone else’s home, of wanting to leave everything looking as if you’d never been there at all.

Neither Damon nor Stefan liked this. They’d each told you as much, Stefan in his usual kind and understanding way, while Damon just told you to “settle in, kid. Your tiptoeing is getting on my nerves. No one’s gonna throw a fit over you putting a frying pan in the wrong drawer.”

Not that it made any difference. You thought about how you would feel if someone had moved into your house indefinitely, going through your things, altering your routine. You refused to believe that the boys could remain truly unbothered by their new unexpected roommate.

How was this your life? That the only two people in the world left to care for you were the Salvatore brothers? Somewhere in your mind you knew that wasn’t true; you had Bonnie, Caroline, Elena. Though they’d all moved on to Whitmore around the same time you’d moved in here, so you didn’t see as much of them. Still, you knew they were your family. The Salvatores just had the most space, the most resources with which to protect you.

But they weren’t the ones who were supposed to do this– that person had left you to fend for yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Damon had actually insisted on this arrangement. Caroline had been all too excited to move you into her dorm at Whitmore, but Damon wouldn’t have it. You’d planned to take a gap year, not so intent on rushing into a ‘normal college experience’ as your other friends. You weren’t enrolled in classes, you’d be alone all day and probably end up feeling worse. That had been Damon’s argument to Caroline, anyway. He’d left out the part about what it would’ve done to him to let you out of his sight.

You sigh, feeling your body start to relax. Damon calms you just by being there, the steady rhythm of his exhales as they brush past you, the solid presence of his body where it’s pressed to yours. You’re almost grateful for the circumstances that have led you to his bed, a feeling that seems so utterly wrong and confusing to you that you want to shy away from it.

“I can’t believe she left,” you say quietly.

His eyes flash with anger where you can’t see them. He squeezes you tighter, and when he speaks, his words carry a weight you don’t yet understand. “Neither can I.”

“I could’ve stayed in my house, you know.” You imagine the tail end of your nightmare being real, you waking up alone in your darkened bedroom instead of here with Damon. You have to suppress a shudder.

“You kidding?” he scoffs. “You couldn’t have stayed there alone.”

“I’m an adult, Damon. I could’ve handled it.” Your words are unconvincing. You’re not sure why you’re arguing with him, anyway.

“First of all, this is Mystic Falls, so it doesn’t matter how old you are, you shouldn’t be without protection. Secondly, just because you could’ve handled it, doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Your heart thuds at his defense of you. Too often you expect Damon to grow tired of you, your human fragility, the extra work he has to do to keep you safe. But he never does.

“Going soft on me, Salvatore,” you say through a smile. He exhales a little more forcefully, almost a chuckle, and you know he’s about to make some vulgar quip. You cut him off before he can start. “It is nice to be a homeowner, though.”

They’d signed the deed over to you first thing. The first in a long line of changes they’d had to make for the sake of your safety.

“Hm,” he hums. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for inviting me in.”

“Finally. You’ve kept me waiting weeks for that one. I thought you were a gentleman.”

“Now what gave you that idea?”

You laugh, again because of him, and he feels warmth spread through his body at the sound.

“I’ve been thinking of renovating,” you continue. You don’t want to fall asleep again, for multiple reasons now.

“As long as you leave my room out of it.”

“Really? That’s your only stipulation?” you raise an eyebrow, tilting your chin up to look at him. “What if I made everything baby pink?”

He raises an amused brow back at you. “I like pink.”

“Since when?”

“Since you wore that sweater. The little,” he gestures over his stomach, “Cropped one.”

Your heart beats faster, louder. You know he can hear it.

Your cheeks warm, but he doesn’t call you on it. “Well… What if I made everything modern?”

He gasps. “You wouldn’t.”

“I’d have to refinish all the wood surfaces, of course. Sleek edges. Definitely some changes to the lighting fixtures.”

“You couldn’t. You may have the house, but the fortune’s still mine.”

“Maybe I just wanted to hear you say ‘you have the house’ again.”

Damon’s all too happy to hear you joking around about this, remembering what a struggle it was to get you to sign the papers. He wants to give you more than this. He imagines a time, further down the road, when you’ll let him.

“Mmhm. It’s your world, I’m just livin’ in it.”

You slip into an easy silence then. Damon takes up tracing his fingers up and down your back. You shiver when he first does it, and then you relax more fully than you have in… well, you’re not sure how long. Your lids feel heavier. Part of you still wants to stay awake, but you don’t fear falling asleep anymore.

“Damon?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

His eyes open, fixed on the ceiling above. “Sure,” he says into the darkened room.

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“Where else would I go?” As the words leave his mouth he realizes how much he believes them; anyplace without you is not a place he wants to be. He has the wherewithal to realize that that should scare him, that it absolutely would have before. It doesn’t now.

“I dunno, maybe you have someone to murder or extort or something.”

A surprised, amused sound escapes him. “I’ll wait til after you wake up to get to the murder and extortion part of my day.”

“Mmkay,” you sigh, pleased. “Thanks.”

He turns his body to face yours, one hand pushing the hair back from your face and resting just above your ear. His lips are millimeters from your forehead, so you can feel it when he says, “You’re a complete weirdo, you know that?”

You grin, eyes still closed. “No name calling in my house.”

#damon salvatore x y/n #damon salvatore fanfiction #damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore #the vampire diaries #i'm really obsessed with this one if you can't tell

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nicfromkakariko · 1 year

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zuckers lil green house!

🌲🍵will you come visit?

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infernalodie · 1 year

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Bank Robber M!R spending his possibility last night with Cassie and she finds out the next day what he’s been up to these past few months

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 || 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝

"𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘞𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯' 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯' 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘗𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯' 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦"

Inspo: Jeremy Zucker - full stop

Pairing: Cassie Howard x Black!Male!reader

Summary: If it be your last night with her, you would use it to your fullest...

Warnings: Angst, fluff, and even more angst

Words: 2320

DNI IF YOU'RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

Cassie was sitting on her window sill, staring out at the empty street out front of her house. Legs were tucked into her chest as she awaited another long and hopeless night. She didn’t know why she decided to continue to wait here. Maybe it was the pitiful hope that you may come to her after so long of being gone. Or maybe she just wanted to stay up at night and watch the stars like the two of you always did when you were in town. But your visits had become lesser and lesser after the last.

You weren’t home as much as you used to. All Cassie knew was that your job required you to go away sometimes and be away. Of course, Cassie understood it but never knew more than what you drip-fed her. Giving her tiny pieces of info about what you did, which wasn’t enough for her to get the full picture of your lifestyle. What she did know is that you travelled, a lot, you made enough money to keep paying your rent at your apartment whilst you were away, and you could buy her things that doubled anything Nate had ever gotten her. Offering her to stay at your place rent-free and her phone bill. It was a lot for one guy who freshly graduated, but Cassie is just guessing you worked construction.

So, the time she got with you was very little as of late. Leading to her staying up and sitting by her window sill waiting for you to just pop up out of thin air and hold her. And hopefully have you with her in the morning.

The buzzing of her phone drew her attention. Her eyes lazily flowed from the window to her phone. In an instant, her eyes shot wide her hands scrambled at the phone. Knowing your phone number like the back of her hand, she pressed the green button and pressed the device to her ear, lips etched into an excited grin. “Hi, baby.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” you breathed, a smile able to be heard in your voice. Cassie pulled her legs closer to her chest, resetting her chin on her right knee as she stared out the window. She doesn’t know how long it’s been since she’d last heard your voice. But she didn’t realize how nice it was to hear it. “I just wanted to check in. See if you were still awake.”

“I was waiting for you,” Cassie replied. Standing up from the window sill, she moved to the edge of her bed and took a seat. “How’s work been? Everything alright wherever you are?” A deep chuckle filled the other end with a hiss able to be heard a moment later. Cassie’s smile slightly faltered, eyebrows scrunching together as she straightened her posture. “Y/n, are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah, Cass. I’m good,” you reassured with a deep groan. Your eyes flickered down to the bullet wound in your side. Removing your hand, you took a quick look at the 9mm hole and sighed, returning pressure to the wound. Resting your head against the side of the payphone as you let out a low groan. “Am I able to come over? I need help with something.”

“Y/n, are you okay?” Cassie asked, now standing back to her feet she listened to every little noise that came from the other end of the phone. “Do I need to come and get you? I can if you need-”

“Baby.” Your voice wasn’t firm or annoyed, but somewhat admiring and loving. “I’ll be there in 10, ‘kay? Just… Just keep the front door unlocked. Is your sister home?” When she said no, you sighed in relief. “Ok, grab the med kit in your bathroom and have it by your guys’ couch in your room, yeah?”

Cassie couldn’t help but feel even more worried and confused by what you were not telling her. You weren’t telling her something that might explain what was going on. But that was something regular she should’ve gotten used to when it came to you. Everything about you had to be shrouded in some sheet that hid more of yourself from her. Shame or nervousness; she wasn’t too sure.

“Cassie?”

She shook her head from the thoughts, clearing her throat. “Ok, I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll see you in a bit,” you told her. “I love you.”

She couldn’t reply before you hung up the phone, leaving the phone to be blank as she dropped it on her bed and did what you asked. Running downstairs and unlocking the door before running back upstairs to grab the medical kit and setting it on her couch. Anxiously preparing for whatever shit storm you were planning on bringing to her home.

When you did show up, Cassie finally understood the purpose of the medical kit was for. Finding the grey shirt you wore to be drenched along the side in blood. An almost grey tinge on your face tells her that you must’ve lost too much blood. Once bright and beautiful ebony skin is now stained red and your complexion greying from the bullet still lodged in your side.

Yet, you wore that charming smile of yours. “Hey, baby.”

“Y/n, w-what the fuck happened?” Cassie breathed, hands covering her mouth as you pushed from the door and toward her. She couldn’t decide what needed more attention, you or the fact you were beginning to bleed on her floor.

Instead of providing her with an answer or just giving her something to work with, you grabbed the medical kit and moved to the bathroom. Placing it on the sink and looking in the mirror. After this, you needed to go. You needed to skip town and never look back until things died down. Then again, maybe they never would. And sadly, your heart was already aching from reality beginning to settle in from what had happened.

Things weren’t to have played out the way that they did. A smash and grab- that’s what they had told you. But why the fuck did things always have to go sideways with you? Why did they make you have to pull the trigger?

Looking past yourself and to Cassie who stood in the doorway with a concerned look, you clenched your jaw. “Can you help me with this?” You mused, lowering your gaze. The blonde licked her lips, stepping behind you and carefully shimming the hem of your shirt up. Feeling the engulfing heat of your skin against the back of her hand, the droplets of sweat, and the blood that touched her ivory skin.

After a painful process of getting the shirt over your head and arms out, it left you leaning against the sink. Hands bracing the porcelain as you scanned the wound. “I’m going to need your help with something,” you announced to the girl. “It’s going to suck for me, but it might be worse for you-”

“Why do you have a gun?” The question made you look over your shoulder. Finding your girlfriend transfixed on the pistol resting along the hem of your pants.

You sighed. “Cassie, I really need your help with this-”

“You don’t get to do this!” Cassie exclaimed, silencing you. “You don’t get to show up at my house after no texts or phone calls for days and no explanation as to where you’ve been, alright? And still, even now, you aren’t telling me the truth, Y/n. What the fuck is going on?”

“Help me with this, and then I’ll tell you.” The sharpness in your tone made the girl’s jaw clench. Staring sharp daggers at you, clear frustration found in those beautiful eyes of hers. It was unfair. You understood that, but things weren’t as simple as Cassie would like them to be. They never would and never will.

Creating some sort of pact for now, Cassie grabbed your arm softly and turned you around. Grabbing the medical supplies as you said, “The bullet is still inside. You’ll have to pull it out.”

“Great! I like how you asked the person who has no experience with this type of thing and is your girlfriend! Smartest fucking idea I have ever heard in my entire fucking life-”

“I have nowhere else to go, Cass!” You told her, silencing her tangent. “You’re all I have left and I need you right now. So, if you can’t do this, then fine. But don’t make me feel like shit more than I already do.”

With pursed lips, Cassie kneeled down in front of you and placed her fingers around the wound. There was a faint sting, but nothing too serious. When she gently spread your skin, trying to make more room for the tiny clamps, that made you groan in pain. But she didn’t say anything. Brows scrunched together in concentration as she gently and slowly pushed the clamps inside whilst you rolled your head back, grunting in pain.

She tried to be as quick and as gentle as possible. But as much as you had experienced wounds before, you’d never had to have someone pull a bullet from your body. So, you were grateful that Cassie wasn’t just jamming the clamps into the wound and wringing it around inside of you.

When she found the bullet and pulled it out, you took the liberty to stitch yourself up. Sitting on the toilet and doing so as Cassie cleaned up the floor and her hands. Scrubbing until her skin was red and ready to break. Although she wasn’t saying much, she was freaking the fuck out. She was on edge. She was sick. She couldn’t think straight with all the jumbled and clouding thoughts in her head. Seeing you bleeding, seeing the gun, the bullet, she needed answers or she might just go insane.

“Explain what the fuck is going on, Y/n,” Cassie breathed, turning off the faucet and bracing her hands along the edge. “I feel like I am going crazy over here while you act like this is nothing new.”

It wasn’t.

Ok, getting shot was new, but you injured and laying low wasn’t. “I am involved in some dangerous shit, Cass,” you confessed, driving the sewing needle through your flesh, biting your bottom lip. Cassie looked away, unable to stomach the sight. “I won’t tell you much because I want to protect you, but I’ve been a criminal since before you left me.”

Cassie frowned, looking over at you cutting the thread and beginning to tie a tiny knot. “What the fuck do you mean you’re a criminal?” She laughed. “You’re an on-the-go worker that…” She trailed over her words, unable to find the correct occupation.

But the longer she mulled over her words and placed two and two together, she was slowly realizing that you hadn’t hidden anything from her. The large margins of time you were gone, the excessive amounts of cash, the secrecy, it all just made sense now.

Should she be surprised? Angry? Hurt? It was all too much at once for her fragile mind to handle. Your crimson-stained hand gently touched her naked thigh, pulling her gently towards you. “Cass, return to Earth.” Your words made the blonde swallow the lump in her throat, blinking rapidly and finally meeting your warm gaze. “I never wanted you to find out like this. Everything is so fucked up right now and I know you’re trying to process all of this. By tomorrow you don’t want me in your life anymore, then fine. But I just need a place to stay for the night.”

For the first time tonight, Cassie finally was given vulnerability. A chance to have insight as to what is going on in that beautiful head of yours. Finally able to see and feel something that felt real and genuine. Like, the curtains had finally been pulled back and allowing the sun to shine through the window. It felt nice, refreshing, and emotionally rehabilitating.

Cassie blinked rapidly, leaning down as her hands held your face. Brushing her thumbs over your cheeks and jaw, the little bristles of your light stubble. Sliding to the back of your head where she gently toyed with the ends of your corn rows with her eyes tearing up. “As long as you lay with me tonight.” Smiling shakily, Cassie watched as you leaned up and kissed her nose, forehead, and cheeks, and then finally met her lips. It was soft, sweet, and loving. Just like it always has been.

So, was that frightening? Shouldn’t Cassie be the tiniest bit scared of what you’ve done in your past if you were a criminal? Maybe you’d killed people. Or maybe you’d hurt people that may be deserving or non-deserving of it. But for whatever reason, she felt closer to you than she ever has been since the two of you started dating. Shit, maybe since the two of you last saw one another before tonight.

With caution, Cassie helped patch up your wound with a bandage and moved you to her bed. Allowing you to slip under the covers before soon following with her head resting on your chest. Your heartbeat beats like a drum with a methodical rhythm to it. A calming sound to Cassie's ears as she turned her head slightly and kissed your chest. “I don’t wanna lose you.”

A warm hand came down her back and gently rubbed the curve of her spine. Repeating the motion until Cassie was in a sleepy daze, eyes fighting for a chance to hear if you respond or to just stay with you a little longer. Hang onto this moment a tad bit more. But your silence was suffocatingly comfortable and it left Cassie finally relenting and closing her eyes.

“You won’t, baby.”

But you know that wasn’t the truth, judging by the sirens heard in the distance outside.

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mayorwhisper · 11 months

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This is going great so far 😂

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katiepotatie · 5 months

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that way «Eddie Roundtree x f!Y/N»

Request/Summary: Anon asked, "Could you do an Eddie Roundtree oneshot based on the song "That Way" by Tate McRae ft Jeremy Zucker with a childhood friend of the band who also lives in California?" AN: Heyy! This is my first time writing a full oneshot/imagine since like 2019 when I was a literal child and in my MHA phase, so it's not the best thing ever... but it'll have to suffice 😙 Anyways, this imagine is MY interpretation of the song. I don't want people telling me to change how I've written my story (the only exception is constructive criticism on grammar, little fiddly bits in the story and ways to expand the plot a bit ❤️) Also Anon, I hope this is okay! I kept the song elements and childhood bsf part so... 😅 ---------------------------------- Word Count: 1.4k ------------------------------------- Warnings: Angst, Mentions of drug use and alcohol use, a bit fluffy, breakdown/kinda a depressive episode, short...hehe. --------------------------------

SFW

You and Eddie Roundtree have been friends forever. So, when he asked you to move with his band 4 months ago, you jumped at the chance. You were unaware, however, of the amount of partying that this would involve. You had always been a ballsy person but even some of the stuff that Graham was doing was a bit out of your comfort zone.

When you were little, Eddie lived next door, sneaking through bedroom windows to comfort each other during storms and playing your piano, coming up with little songs. You were each other’s first kiss and Eddie took you to prom. Everyone said you two would get married one day. You said ‘no’. He said ‘maybe’. You still do stuff like that together but he’s off with groupies half the time. You hate to think it but, you feel like you are something more than just best friends…

Jealousy has overtaken your creativity lately. Every song you write is about him and you can’t fathom the fact that you might like him more than the unbreakable bond you’ve made over the years. Shit, you might even love him.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

“Hey Y/N! Come join us!”

You look over and see Warren and some other guys smoking something from a bong and you agreed. Anything to get your mind off Eddie dragging that girl to his room.

During the day, he’s the sweetest most loving person you’ll ever meet, but at night… You hate to think what else he does than hook up. It’s like he’s making you run in circles, constantly, you hate it. In fact, it’s almost draining. So, drowning out your sorrows in drugs and alcohol seems like the perfect solution.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

3 hours later and you’re pissed and high wearing a halter neck bralette and flared jeans, wishing that you didn’t exist. That this stupid crush didn’t exist.

That Eddie and you never existed.

So, as you lay there on the couch, listening to the unwanted people still vacating the house, you start to cry. You want to leave but, getting up wasn’t the easiest thing when you’re bawling your eyes out, drunk and high and surrounded by people you don’t even know. But you proceed to someone’s room, that definitely isn’t yours. To your surprise, there aren’t any girls in here anymore. Or a boy. You lay on the double bed in the middle of the room and ponder, still crying. Just wondering whether moving here was the right choice after all.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

You awake, unaware that you fell asleep in the first place. It’s not cold like how it was when you came into the empty room. You turn around to find that Eddie was the reason you didn’t have frostbite. Peeling his arm from your torso, you sit up and regain consciousness before standing up and walking to your room.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You turn to find a sleepy Eddie Roundtree at the end of his bed, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“To bed.” You reply, clearly annoyed. Yet, some people just can’t take the hint.

“But you were in bed.”

“My bed dumbass. Besides you probably just fucked some groupie-“ you stopped yourself, but it was too late. Eddie looked at you concerned; you could only tell by the small slither of moonlight coming from the window.

He stood up and approached you slowly taking note of the vulnerable state you put yourself in.

“What are you talking about?”

He cupped your cheeks and his palms felt warm, you felt at home.

“The girl... from earlier... didn’t you-“ He cut you off. Your faces so close together that your lips almost touched. You didn’t like that. You felt like he was taking advantage of you, but oh well, it’s Eddie motherfucking Roundtree we’re talking about here.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Y/N.” He did in fact know what you were talking about. Not only was it horrible but she wasn’t you. And that’s what hurt him the most.

But it hurt you more.

You sigh, pulling his hands away from your face.

“Too high to remember?”

He didn’t answer only looked down in shame.

“Of course.” You scold him as your eyes start to water. You can’t keep them back like you normally would, which means that your heart is officially broken.

You peel away from him and run through the house to the rooftop. You sit on the ledge and cry until you hear a familiar voice behind you.

“Y’know, friends don’t look at friends that way.” It’s Karen.

You wipe away your tears and turn to face her, “huh…?”

“I heard everything... are you okay?” You nod, it’s not the most reassuring thing ever, but it works.

“Anyways, what were you saying? About the friend’s thing?”

Karen smiles sadly, “He looks at you the same way Camila looks at Billy, or how Graham looks at me. He loves you, Y/N. And I can tell you love him too.”

You look down, as if ashamed that you love him, that someone knows you love him.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

Eddie paces around his room. He knows he fucked up but there aren’t very many ways he can repair what he had broken. Trust. Comfort. Love. He overthought everything through so heavily that he became dizzy. Getting drunk again as if it might mend the hole in his heart for a little while. It didn’t. He was just drunk and delusional. Eddie put his hands to his head in frustration, making his headache, heartache and longing for your arms around his waist. Like you always would whenever you missed him. You wished you could do that too.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

“Friends don’t look at friends that way.” That was repeating in your head non-stop over the next few days making your mind blurry and incognitive. Locking yourself in your room and staring at the void in your wall for hours on end wasn’t healthy. You knew this, you just didn’t give a shit. Even though everyone was worried you convinced yourself no one cared. That Eddie will never love you. That no one will ever love you. This obviously not true because 4 days after the ‘incident’, Eddie walks into your room. You were crying on the floor, next to a blanket and a box of tissues.

“Hey... We’re all really worried y’know.” He assures. You just lean on his shoulder as he sits down next to you and wraps his arm around your shoulder. It was nice there. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a small wave of happiness.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out. Still crying and overwhelmed.

“For what exactly? I was the one who fucked a bunch of girls and still thought that I deserved the most amazing one of all.” He chuckled. You smiled. Until you didn’t. Raising your head from his shoulder, turning to face him, your face grew the grimacing emotion of anxiety.

“Do… Do you love me, Eddie?”

“Of course, Y/N. Who wouldn’t lo-“

“No. Do you love me, Eddie Roundtree. I need to know because this is what your games, or whatever the fuck you’re playing me at, has done to me.” You grasp his hand, solemnly. His face contorts into something you haven’t seen from him before. He’s about to cry.

“Why the fuck would you ever think I didn’t love you as more than friends, Y/N? I have loved you the second I laid eyes on you. The minute you showed me how to play piano. The hour I spent making you a stupid sign to ask you to prom. I just figured you had other people in mind. That we were strictly platonic-“

You cupped his cheeks and pulled him in for the kiss you have both longed for since you laid eyes on each other. The passionate, painful, loving, gentle kiss you had needed since you knew you loved each other. With no words said, you have told Eddie a million things.

“Karen told me this thing, the night of the party…” Eddie said as the kiss broke. As if on que, you said in unison,

“Friends don’t look at friends that way…”

AN: If y'all want a taglist just tell me ❤️

#eddie roundtree x reader #eddie loving #eddie loving x reader #eddie roundtree #eddie roundtree fluff #eddie loving fluff #djats x reader #djats #daisy jones and the six #go me for actually commiting to something for once #like woooo!!#my phone broke today 😅

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