big fuckin’ slut !

😭😭😭😭

kinda lame but enjoy!

OKAY fine fine fine 🙄 sorry if this is ass.. also trying out a new ig app do we like?

part 1

part 2 toxic ex!patrick x reader, bf!art x reader

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a/n: STOP this is so sad!! i wanted to try my best to write it as well, hope you enjoy…. shedding tears as we speak 😖😖

connor murphy bot link

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you don’t cry at the funeral.

everyone expects you to, of course. you can feel their lingering eyes on you. hear their soft whispers. their pitying glances. teachers who recognise you from the hallways but don’t know what to say.

mrs. murphy pulls you in for a hug that lasts a little too long. she smells like vanilla and maybe something artificial. when she lets go, she presses a single red rose into your hands, her fingers cold and shaking.

“thank you for coming,” she murmurs, like you could have stayed away. like you would ever consider not attending, standing in the damp grass, staring at a casket that shouldn’t even exist.

you place the rose on top of it with the others. red against the reflecting polished wood. it looks wrong. all of this looks wrong.

the priest is talking, something about healing and grief, but his voice fades in and out like a radio signal that won’t quite tune in. you don’t want to hear it anyway. the grief you are feeling isn’t irreversible. you already know there’s no healing from this. no coming back from the space connor left behind.

someone sniffles behind you. you wonder if it’s real. if they actually miss him, or if they just feel like they should. no one treated him kindly while he was alive. why pretend to care now?

there are too many people here. more than he would have expected. more than he would have wanted. some of them are people who hated him. people who laughed at him in the halls, who whispered his name like a sick joke.

you want to turn around and ask them where all this kindness was when he was alive. maybe to even sock them in the face, like they truly deserved. some sick fantasy in your head wished that it was them in the casket and not your beloved boyfriend.

but you just stand there, your hands curled into fists at your sides, your nails biting into your palms.

you think about the last time you saw him.

the way he looked at you, like he was already halfway gone. the way his voice cracked when he said your name.

“i’m just so tired.”

you should have held on harder.

you should have told him that he was wanted. that he was needed.

that he was loved.

but the words are worthless now. they belong to the living.

connor is gone.

your connor is gone.

you think about all the widowed women around you. the ones dressed in black with their hands folded neatly in their laps, faces drawn tight like they’ve spent years practicing grief. most of them are old, the way widows are supposed to be. you wonder how they do it. how they wake up every morning knowing the person they loved is never coming back.

you always thought being widowed came with age. that it was something that happened after a long life spent together, when the hair turns gray and the bodies grow frail.

but you feel like a widow.

an 18 year old, a teenager. a widow. it just didn’t feel right.

connor was yours. even when he pushed you away, even when he got lost inside his own head, even when you fought and it felt like neither of you could ever win—you were his, and he was yours.

but now, there was nothing.

tag list: @newrochellechallenger2019 @melancholicmelanin @elliotlovesmacncheese

(if you want to be tagged in my work, dm or comment!)

also dedicated to @elliotlovesmacncheese my biggest connor murphy supporter

omg i just KNOW this man would be so supportive. and maybe (definitely) bragging about his supermodel gf 😭

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