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2hightocare · 5 months

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DOWN BAD! 02

Synopsis: Despite undeniable chemistry, your guys’ relationship remains undefined, caught between playful teasing to deeper, unspoken longing.

Pairings: bad boy! jungkook x fem! reader

Genre: friends to lovers. college au. slowburn!

Warnings: angst, drug use, profanity, explicit content, talks about abusive home, fighting, arguing, screaming, crying, flashbacks, oc and jk are nineteen (freshmen’s in uni) mentions of death, daddy/mommy issues.

a/n: GOSHHHHHHH! pray for my girl yn😓😓 she’s down bad and she fr ain’t getting up. Left you guys on a cliffhanger hehe. enjoy🤍🤍

01! playlist

"What do you want?" He says, the smallest glint of amusement on his face has Jungkook's stomach recoiling.

"The regular," Jungkook found himself saying, reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. "I don't have opioids. My supplier said there was a shortage—want to try some new shit?" Yoongi says as he balances his cigarette on his lips, looking into a cabin.

"You've tried snow before, right?" He looks up at Jungkook who stands there. "No, I told you l don't fuck with that shit," Jungkook shakes his head, putting his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans.

"It's on me, just try it," Yoongi hands Jungkook a small bag filled with white powder. "Just snort it and let it do its thing, boy," Yoongi chuckles as he watches Jungkook look down at the drug in his palm. "It won't kill you if that's what you're thinking," he continues, taking a drag from his cigarette before exhaling.

Jungkook's mind immediately goes to you as the words leave Yoongi's mouth.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” you scream, your hands pulling on your hair as Jungkook watches silently—his heart breaking as he sees the tear fall from your eye. Whatever he wants to say stays stuck in his throat.

“I’ll be fine,” Jungkook finds himself muttering, a loud scoff heard from you as you hold his face in your hands, making him look up at you. “Tell me what’s wrong, fuck! I’ll fix it, just tell me,” you cry out. Jungkook watches as your legs give out and you drop to the floor in front of him.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop, his heartbeat stops, and his mind goes blank. He wants to drop to his knees and beg you to not care and run away as far as you can from him, but the selfish part of him wants you to stay.

“Baby,” Jungkook slurs, the drugs in his system not letting him speak normally. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he apologizes again for the hundredth time in the past few days. Jungkook drops beside you, removing your hands from your face as another sob racks through your body. Your eyes red and puffy as tears continue to cascade down.

Jungkook knows nothing about love, but there’s you. The highlight of his days, the only reason he even wants to wake up in the morning.

He hates how he drags you along with him—in every bad decision he makes. Jungkook’s life hasn’t been easy; an abusive household isn’t something anybody wants, but he’s one of the unlucky ones who got it. He knows he’s a legal adult and can move out, but his feet stay glued inside that house because of her, his mom.

God. Jungkook has seen everything fucked up in the piece of shit he calls his house. The blows his mom would take from the man whose blood Jungkook carries. He wasn’t a father to him, that’s for sure. Screams and fighting are the only things his house is filled with. He never heard a bedtime story or got a good night hug. The hug was replaced by a hit on the cheek, jaw, face—or anywhere his dad could get his hands on.

Jungkook blames his dad for the way he is, and every time he looks at you, he imagines the what ifs. Jungkook has done everything he could do to push you away, but instead of leaving, you stayed. It’s scared the shit out of him.

He’s in love with you. Jungkook has never felt anything more in his life than his love for you—it’s almost pathetic how much you make him feel. If your love were a drug, Jungkook would do it every day, every hour, and every minute instead of all the shit he put in his system to forget.

Your love is pure and innocent—everything that Jungkook isn’t. Every time he looks at you, he’s afraid he will break you. He wishes you could realize how unfixable he is and leave—but instead, you’re on your knees begging for him to be better.

How badly did he want to be better; so he could be with you.

“Stop saying sorry and stop doing it, fuck,” you sob, your fist holding onto his hoodie—your knuckles turning white from fear that if you let him go, he’ll vanish.

“You’re better than this. I know you are,” you cry, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, wetting his hoodie with your tears. “Please stop, you could die.” you beg desperately, like a child would.

“Shh,” he comforts, his hand rubbing your back as you sob into him, “I’m sorry.”

As Jungkook walked, the guilt inside him consumed him more and more. The hurt expression on your face after he disrespected you remained etched in his mind, feeling like someone was poking his heart with a needle with each step he took.

Similarly, the weight of the small bag in the pocket of his sweater sent a sense of panic through his body. He hadn’t planned on taking it, but the moment it was placed in his hand, he couldn’t bring himself to give it back. Instead, he bit his tongue and shoved it into his pocket.

His heart sank as an image flashed in his mind of what your reaction would be if you ever found out. With a shake of his head, he buried the thought deep within him before reaching the main door of his house.

Jungkook’s hand trembles as he holds onto the doorknob. He had nowhere else to go, it was either yours or this. He felt his throat close up as his mind went back to you, his heart screaming for you. To turn around and run back to you—like always, his safe space. The only place where he could let his guard down.

The aching sensation in his chest reminded him of the first time he told you about his dad. You were both seventeen—laying on the carpet of your room, staring up at the ceiling. The broken expression on your face after he confided in you made him feel worse than any hit he had ever taken.

“Did you seriously get into another fight?” you groaned as you examined his face, the purple and blue marks beginning to form twisting your stomach in knots. “Who was it this time?” you frowned, your hand reaching out to touch his bruised cheek.

“Didn’t fight anyone. I actually hit myself with the car door,” the lie flowed smoothly out of his mouth.

“A door?” You raised an eyebrow, not fully believing him. Jungkook had a tendency to throw the first punch after someone lightly touched him—he had more suspensions and run ins with the police than anyone could count. Every time you saw him, there was another bruise decorating his skin, always brushed off like it was no big deal.

“Who was it?” You tried again, your face turning to him.

Jungkook's eyes remained locked with the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling. “I can’t tell you,” he mumbled softly into the darkness.

“Why not? Is it a secret?” You quipped, scooting closer to his side—your finger tracing his features as he let out a deep breath. “It’s a really big secret,” he hushed, to which you only nodded eagerly.

“I can keep a secret,” you smiled, your heart beating fast in your chest as you noticed the proximity between you two. You raised a pinky into the air. “Pinky promise,” you bit your lip anxiously, watching him interlock his pinky with yours. “Okay, now tell me.”

“My dad,” he said, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“What?” You stuttered out, hoping you had heard him wrong.

“My dad, he's abusive,” he restated. The color drained from your face, and Jungkook saw it.

Sadness written all over your face. Words didn’t come out when you opened your mouth; instead, an ugly cry replaced the words.

“That’s why I can’t stand someone’s hands on me,” Jungkook says, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to escape the pain in his heart. It felt as if he was being kicked and thrown.

“Fuck.. I always touch you,” you bit your lip, trying to contain your sobs. “Your touch is the only touch that doesn’t repulse me, baby. So if you plan on not touching me, don’t,” Jungkook quickly interjected, grabbing your hand and intertwining it with his.

Jungkook loved your touch; your fingers on his skin felt like heaven. It almost confused him how much he looked forward to it—sometimes he found himself initiating it. You were the only exception with such privilege; anyone else who laid a finger on him sent a sense of nausea and shivers down his body.

“I didn’t know. I’m so fucking sorry, baby. Let me help you.. we can tell the police, he deserves to be in jail. Please,” you sobbed, placing your palm on his cheek.

“You think I don’t know he needs to go to jail? For all I know, he should be put on a electric chair,” Jungkook spat out, shoving your hand away from his face.

“And fuck. Yes, my mom knows. She fucking gets hit too,” he rambled, his chest heaving as he tried to look anywhere in your room that wasn’t you, and for the first time, you saw him break down.

As Jungkook crumbled down with a loud sob, his hands cover his face as his shoulders shake as he weeps, you wasted no time dropping to your knees and pulling him into you, whispering reassuring words in his ear.

"She doesn't leave," he cried. "I keep telling her he's going to kill her if she doesn't leave, but she stays." The cracks in his voice mirrored the cracks in your heart as you listened, feeling the weight of his pain, as the double meaning clicks in your head.

"And I can't leave. Who's going to protect her if I'm not there?" he sobbed quietly, his hands tightening around your waist. "I'm scared that if I leave for too long, I'll come back to a house with a dead body in it," he confessed, sending shivers down your spine.

"Baby," you cooed, tears streaming down your cheeks,

"we should tell the police. They'll help you. I promise."

But his response shattered your hopes.

"No," he croaked out, untangling himself from your embrace.

"Listen to me. If you even think about telling a policeman what I just told you, I swear to god yn, I will never fucking forgive you," Jungkook shook, his face contorted with pain and panic.

"I trust you enough to tell you, but I swear if you say anything about this to anyone, we're done. Whatever the fuck we have, it's done. I will never fucking forgive you."

Jungkook pushes the door open, and he’s met with silence. Without thinking twice, he rushes to his mom's room, slamming the door open to be met with her limp body on the bed.

His heart stops beating, and suddenly everything stops—his hand trembles as he makes his way to her. He nudges her once.

“Mom,” Jungkook calls, only to be met with silence.

“Mom,” he tries again. She stirs in her sleep.

“Jungkook?” She croaks, her voice hoarse as she peeks from her lying position. Jungkook's heart picks up again, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Mom, are you okay? What happened?” Jungkook asks, dropping beside her on the bed. His fingers move her dark hair off her face carefully, revealing a bruise on her cheek.

“He hit you again?” Jungkook lets out a growl, his fist tightening beside him.

“I made him mad. It’s not his fault,” she defends, almost automatically making Jungkook scoff. “Mom, that's not an excuse!” He grits his teeth.

“He isn’t a bad man, Jungkook. He's still your father,” she sighs, the look of tiredness clear on her face as she winces when she moves to her side. Jungkook watches dumbfounded.

“You know, you remind me of him,” she shakes out a laugh, the whole sentence feeling like a punch in the stomach for Jungkook. The more he tries to breathe, the more difficult it becomes. “He was just like you, you know? Every time I look at you—it’s like I’m seeing him. He is a good man underneath it all, Jungkook. You have to understand that I could never leave him. I’m in love with him,” she continues, and every word feels like a hit in the gut.

“W-what do you mean.. I’m just like him?” Jungkook stutters, his throat drying up and the familiar feeling of tears picking up in his eyes have him clawing his nails into his palms.

“Do you think when I met your dad, he treated me wrong?” She finally locks eyes with Jungkook. The light in her eyes she once had is now gone, replaced with dull, tired eyes. “He was gentle with me, he was sweet, caring, he was everything to me. He’s still everything to me,” a tear rolls down her cheek, making Jungkook suck in a breath.

“What about me?” Jungkook's voice cracks, the knot in his throat tightening as he watches his mom shake her head.

“Am I not everything to you, Mom?” Another tear falls, followed by more.

“It’s more complicated than you think, Jungkook,” she sighs. Jungkook feels his heart crack into a million pieces as he watches the woman who brought him into this life discard him.

“He’s going to kill you one day,” Jungkook speaks, wiping the tears from his eyes before clearing his voice. “He’s going to kill you, and you’re going to let it happen.”

“He wouldn’t do that to me,” she whispers into the silence.

“He wouldn’t?” A shocked laugh leaves Jungkook's lips as he can’t believe what he just heard. “He fucking wouldn’t? He fucking hits you? Aren’t you fucking scared that one day he throws the wrong punch?” Jungkook shouts, anger taking over.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” she snaps. “I’m your mother, and you don’t get to fucking talk to me like that.”

“Well, you’re a shitty mother. A good mother would put their child first. The only reason I’m still here is because of you!” Jungkook snaps back, his frustration growing stronger as he watches his mom stay motionless.

“I keep coming back because I’m scared he’ll kill you. But apparently, you don’t give a fuck,” he breathes out, his hand tugging on his hair—feeling almost manic at the lack of his mother's reaction.

“Every hit he took on me, you blamed it on me. When all I did was try to protect you. But you always choose him. So fucking next time he comes in through those doors and has his way with you, don’t come running or yelling my name to come and save you,” Jungkook spits out before walking out of the room and shutting the door behind him with a loud bang.

Jungkook's mind kept racing, never shutting up for a moment, allowing him to think. His brain was filled with repetitions of everything his mom just said. The words "he was just like you, you know? Every time I look at you-it's like I'm seeing him" kept getting repeated in his head over and over again without a break.

Screams of his mom asking for him to save her echoed in his brain, the weight of his guilt and the haunting memories that plagued his mind had Jungkook pulling out the small baggie from his sweater, moving to the small desk in his room.

Jungkook dropped the white powder on the surface, making a line. Without hesitation, Jungkook leaned over, pinching one of his nostrils before snorting.

A sharp burning, stinging sensation spread through Jungkook's nose as he sniffed, rubbing off the remaining powder.

Jungkook dropped onto his bed in a star position as he stared at the ceiling, the feeling of numbness taking over his body. His muscles relaxed as the drug entered his bloodstream, sending a sense of euphoria—a warm feeling spread throughout his body, making him groan in pleasure.

And for once, the voices finally stopped.

It was embarrassing how you found yourself looking for the man you were in love with every corner of the campus. You started with the lockers and hallways, peeking through every classroom, hoping you’d catch a glimpse of the boy who left you standing in your angel costume Saturday night.

You had debated on running after him; the guilt that weighed you down from the slap was intense. Your touch was supposed to be his only gateway, instead, you used it against him to hurt him the same way his dad does. As messed up as his words were, it didn’t compare.

“Have you seen Jungkook?” You ask, poking Dahlia on the shoulder. She turns to look at you, mouth filled with food as she nods without saying anything.

“You have?” Your eyebrow raises as she continues to nod eagerly.

“Y-yeah, he’s ou-outside, in the corner,” Dahlia finally says, swallowing her food. You throw a small ‘thank you’ and rush outside.

As you run to the corner where everybody meets up to smoke, you curse out loud as you trip on the crack of the pavement before changing your pace to walking instead.

Your eyes meet his in an instant as you pass the corner, the lit-up joint hanging from his lips. You look around to see Taehyung and Jimin with worried looks on their faces. As you walk closer to them, Jungkook passes the joint to his friend before crossing his arms in front of him, flexing his muscles. If you weren’t so mad at him, you would find it hot.

“What’s up, pretty,” Taehyung says, trying to break the awkward silence as he takes a hit off the joint before passing it to Jimin, who looks uncomfortable as hell.

“Hey,” you acknowledge them both, giving polite head nods before turning your attention to the boy in the middle, his eyes bloodshot red with a small grin decorating his handsome face.

“What’s so funny?” You snap, crossing your arms in front of you. A loud laugh slips out of his mouth, shocking the boys beside him. “Hi baby,” he says, his eyes dropping low as he moves closer to you. You push him away with a hand on his chest, making him pout.

“Rude,” he playfully scoffs, leaning back onto the wall and reaching for the blunt on Taehyung’s fingers as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“That’s enough,” you say, taking away the joint from Taehyung’s hand as Jungkook was about to reach for it.

“This is our cue to leave. Let’s go,” Taehyung hurries off, pulling on his blonde friends arm, before they both mutter something under their breaths as they disappear around the corner.

“Don’t throw that, it’s some good shit, and I just bought it,” Jungkook chuckles, reaching for it only for you to push him away.

“Alright then,” you pull the rolled-up paper up to your lips and take a drag. Jungkook's face drops, and suddenly nothing is funny. His hand immediately shoots up and yanks the joint out of your mouth before throwing it on the ground and stomping on it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jungkook roars, watching you cough loudly as white smoke rushes out of your mouth.

“Fuck, what were you thinking?” He panics, rubbing a hand over your back to coax your coughing fit. Your throat and chest burn as you continue to cough.

“Don’t ever do that shit again, do you hear me? It’s not good for you,” Jungkook sighs, his rough hand drawing circles down your back as you finally calm down.

“So, you agree it’s not good for you?” You say, your voice hoarse from all the coughing. “Let’s not do this right now, yn,” he pulls on your arm as he walks you to the parking lot. “You never want to do anything,” you yank your arm from his grip. Jungkook takes a deep breath, trying his best not to snap at you.

“Just get in the car, baby,” he continues, opening the passenger door for you. Instead, you push him off and slam the door shut.

“You’re high as fuck; you can’t drive, asshole,” you snap, throwing your arms in the air in anger. “And you’re not?” he clenches his teeth. “I took one hit,” you shove a finger in his face.

“Yeah, a big-ass one. Before you know it, you’ll be high, so get in the fucking car or I’ll put you in it myself,” he snaps. “You wouldn’t dare,” you spit out, and before you know it, your ass is in the air as he hauls you over his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t?” Jungkook mutters under his breath as he opens the car door and sits you down on the seat, reaching for the seatbelt and strapping you in. “Where are you taking me?” You roll your eyes as he sits down beside you.

“To your fucking house,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot of the school and driving you home.

The whole car ride is filled with silence; neither of you decides to utter a word. The moment the car stops in front of your house, you hurriedly unbuckle your seatbelt and open your door before sprinting to your door, unlocking it, and disappearing inside. Jungkook almost screams into his hands, wanting to throw a whole tantrum in this car, but he decides otherwise.

With a loud sigh, he turns off the car, turns to the back seat, gets his sweater, and jumps out of the car. He takes the same route he always did when he showed up at your house, climbing himself over the picket fence before climbing the tree next to your window.

The window is opened as you sit on the ground of your room, your knees up to your chest. Jungkook throws his sweater in first before jumping in.

Then his heart dropped, your small hands hold the tiny bag that was in the pocket of his sweater that had fallen out.

“What’s this, Jungkook?” You voice out, and Jungkook doesn’t miss the wavering of your voice as you finally look up at him. His heart might just have been stabbed by your shocked expression, the betrayal and the pain etched in your expressions send a shooting pain in his heart.

“Baby-“

“Don’t fucking baby me! What the fuck is this?” You interrupt him, your hand shaking as you think of every possible drug that could be in the bag. Jungkook didn’t reply; the words suddenly died in his mouth.

“Is this a way of pushing me away?” You ask, tears starting to flow down your cheeks, mixing with your anger and heartbreak.

“Did something happen at home again? Why? Fuck, why?” You cry, a soul-crushing sob that comes out of you, which has Jungkook coming back to his senses. He feels like shit, and that word doesn’t even cover half of what he’s feeling.

“Please tell me why? I’ll do anything. Let me help you, just fucking stop doing this shit, baby.” You cry, pulling his body to yours, wrapping your arms around his waist, crying into his uniform.

“Use me, scream at me, tell me horrible shit if that helps. Just don’t ever touch any drugs, Jungkook. I don’t know what I would do if you died.” You whisper the last words as you sob into his arms, begging for him to stop. “I’m never leaving your side, so get that into your head. If this is your way of pushing me away, it won’t work.” You sob.

And that’s where everything clicks for Jungkook. His mind thinks back to his mom, “You have to understand that I could never leave him. I’m in love with him,” and his heart drops to the ground. All the walls he took so long to build collapse. He was just like his dad—Jungkook wanted to say he wasn’t, but here he was, hurting you, making you sob into his arms, begging for him to change. The same thing his mom does anytime his father would get drunk.

“I’m not good for you,” Jungkook finally speaks, his hands cupping your face. “I’m not good for you.” He repeats, and you shake your head disapprovingly repeatedly. “Stop.” You cry, your tears wetting Jungkook's palms as he repeats the same thing over again.

“You deserve someone so much fucking better, baby,” Jungkook whispers, dropping his forehead to yours. “You deserve so much better than me. I can’t give you anything, baby, besides heartache and pain.” He continues as you repeat ‘no’ over and over again under your breath.

“Please don’t leave me,” you cry, as he untangles himself from you, pushing your hand away gently when you try to reach for him.

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t leave. Stay the night; we’ll talk about this in the morning.” That was the last thing Jungkook heard as he jumped out of the window and ran to his car, leaving his heart in the hands of the girl crying on the floor, praying for him to be safe.

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bueckers · 1 month

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UNFINISHED BUSINESS ━━━ paige bueckers ( 2 )

synopsis: putting an end to everything, drea thinks she’s totally and completely done with paige bueckers. that is until the blonde is finally honest with her.

pairing: paige bueckers x fem oc

warnings: angst and smut. they’re so toxic but also like made for each other.. alcohol use, scissoring, fingering, lots of paige’s hands.

notes: another long one so there wasn’t any major cliffhangers, hopefully this makes up for the wait.. :) also a paige & flau’jae feature because i love them sm.

The morning sunlight filters through the hotel curtains, and she’s sitting at the edge of the bed. I can feel the space next to me where she was lying, still warm but empty now. She’s moving around, getting dressed, and I’m fighting the urge to reach out and pull her back into bed. But I know I shouldn’t.

“You don’t have to go yet,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s more of a plea than an offer, and I hate how desperate I sound. I can see her hesitate, her back to me as she fiddles with her shirt. For a second, I think she might stay, but then she turns to face me, and I can see the determination in her eyes. Why was it so difficult for me to just say it?

“Except I do. We never actually talked… if you missed that part,” she says, and I try to ignore the slight raise in her voice.

In attempt to busy myself, I grab my shirt from off the ground and pull it over my head. “The whole point of last night was to avoid that, Drea. We ain’ gotta talk about it.” I respond, and I’m only half joking, but I still wince at how much of a dick I sound.

She’s serious, and instead of agreeing or starting an argument, she ignores it. “Look,” she starts, and I can see her struggling to find the right words, her eyes glued to the bedsheets. Not me. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to say anything, that I get it, she deserved an explanation. But I don’t want to make it easy for her. Not when I know this is probably the last time we’re going to be like this.

“Last night.. it shouldn’t have happened.”

I furrow my eyebrows. "You don’t gotta say that. It’s not like we didn’t both want it,” I huff out.

She looks at me a certain way, and I can tell she hasn’t put much thought into what she’s saying. But she’s saying it anyway. "That’s not what I mean," she says quickly, like she’s trying to fix it. "I’m not saying I didn’t want it. I just… I shouldn’t have let things get so deep between us. How things ended.. it’s my fault.”

Her fault? She shouldn’t have let things get so deep? Theres no way she means these things, right? She stands there, biting her lip, and I know she’s waiting for me to say something. My throat feels tight, and my mind is a mess. I’m caught between wanting to shout at her, to tell her how wrong she is, and just shutting down completely.

This is Drea. The one person who’s always known how to get under my skin, in ways both good and bad. And now, while she’s standing right in front of me, telling me she regrets how deep we got, that basically, she thinks I cut her off because she caught feelings, I can’t help but feel like a fool. I spent so much time convincing myself that she didn’t feel the way I did, that I’d imagined the whole thing. Now it turns out she was in it too. And I don’t know what to do with that.

I wanna tell her to stop, to not say anything more. But I can’t let myself be that vulnerable, not when I’ve spent so long trying to protect whatever pieces of myself I have left. This is, like, the biggest joke of my life, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

When I finally do speak, my voice comes out quieter than I expect, almost detached. “So, what now? We just pretend none of this ever mattered?”

Drea’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see something flicker in them—regret, maybe, or doubt. It seems like this is the most straightforward conversation we’ve had about the way we actually feel, and everything’s coming to light and an end at the same time. Just as quickly, she pushes it away, her expression hardening, and it makes every dot in my mind connect. “I’m not saying it didn’t matter. It did. That’s why we need to stop.” She’s trying so hard to be the rational one, to be the one who ends this cleanly. But nothing about this is clean.

I nod slowly, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Fine. If that’s what you want.” God, I even sound bitter.

She looks at me like she’s searching for something—maybe a reason to stay, or maybe just confirmation that this is the right choice. But then she sighs, her shoulders sagging with the weight of it all, and I know nothing, at least in this moment, would change her mind about me.

“Please take care of yourself.” She kept me grounded when I couldn’t find my footing, and those words just feel so cruel. It sounded like we’d never be speaking again, and I hated that thought.

I nod, unable to trust my voice, and then she’s gone. And just like that, it’s over. Or at least, it’s supposed to be.

A few days pass in a blur, and my time in Phoenix is slowly coming to an end. It’s safe to say the events of the city had only temporarily kept my mind off of everything, and now I’m sitting in a bar with Flau’jae, trying my best not to let the rain cloud over my head poke out. She’s talking, animated as ever, but I’m only half-listening, my mind drifting back to Drea more often than I’d like to admit.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” Her voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.

I blink, forcing out a smile. “Sorry,” I apologize, stretching my arms out in a way to reset. “I’m listening now. Promise.”

Flau’jae narrows her eyes at me, clearly not buying it. “Nah, you’re not,” she says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. “What’s got you so deep in thought? You’ve been acting like you’re here, but not really here, y’know?”

I shrug, trying to play it off. “Just tired, I guess. Been a long week.”

She studies me for a moment, her gaze sharp. “Uh-huh. And this long week wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain someone, would it?”

I bite my lip, trying to stay cool. Flau’jae doesn’t know about Drea and me—no one does, really. We made sure of that. But if anyone’s gonna pick up on something, it’s her. I should’ve known better than to think I could just sit here and pretend everything’s fine.

“Maybe,” I say vaguely, hoping that’s enough to satisfy her curiosity. “I just got a lot on my mind, I’m fine,” I reassure, furrowing my eyebrows as if it was nothing to worry about.

She raises an eyebrow, leaning in like she’s about to uncover some big secret. “Stuff, huh? Girl stuff?”

I roll my eyes, trying to play it off. “You’re too nosy for your own good, you know that?”

She grins, laughing a little. “Paige! Come on, spill. Who is she?”

I hesitate, and for a second, I consider telling her everything. But that’s a slippery slope, and I’m not ready to go there. So instead, I won’t reveal too much. “It’s complicated,” I sigh.

Flau’jae crosses her arms, fully intrigued. “Complicated how?” She could be a detective.

I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. “Just... complicated. Things didn’t end the way they were supposed to. And now I’m stuck trying to figure out what to do next.”

She nods slowly, taking that in. “So, you and this girl… y’all were close?”

“Yeah,” I huff out, nodding as I press my lips together. “Real close.”

Flau’jae gives me a knowing look. “Thats who you was texting last night at the game?”

“Maybe,” I drag out, a shit-eating grin gracing my face. Then I slip up. “I was jus’ too scared to say anything to her face.”

Her eyes widen, and she brings a hand up to cusp her lips. It takes me a bit to realize, and as soon as I do, she cuts me off. Damn it. “Thats why you was hugging her a little too long after the final buzzer.”

“Hey! I ain’ even say a name,” I say quickly and louder than intended, trying to backtrack.

She leans forward, eyes wide with amusement. “You didn’t have to! You gave me everything I needed to know. Paige, what the hell? You and Drea, for real? I didn’t know you had game like that.”

I jerk my head back, scrunching my face up at her. There was no doubt that Drea was one of the prettiest faces in the game, and the fact that she can ball too just really adds to it. “I can show you what these rizz hands can do,” I joked momentarily. “It wasn’t even supposed to be a thing, though. We kept it on the low for a reason.”

Flau’jae shakes her head, holding her lips a little tighter now. “You know what Twitter would do with this? You been out here sneaky-linking and didn’t even give me a heads-up?”

Sneaky-linking? Was that really what it was? “Can we stop talking about this?” I say, half-laughing despite myself.

“And y’all met in high school, too. That’s some next-level soulmatism or something.”

I chuckle, licking my lips as I lift up my drink. The clinking of the ice fills the silence, and I’m able to put a close to the conversation. “It’s over now, anyway. Doesn’t matter.” It’s a lie. We’d clearly went over that it did matter.

Flau’jae studies me for a moment, her eyes narrowing as if she can see right through me. But then she lifts her hands up in surrender, a smirk playing on her lips. “Alright, if it’s really over, how about you find someone tonight? You could use it if I’m being honest,” She retorts, referring to the mood I’ve been in the entire night because of my situation.

“Chill!” I laugh, shaking my head as I lean back in my chair myself. “You make it sound so easy.”

She shrugs, and I hesitate, taking a second to let my eyes wander around the bar. A couple of eyes meet mine, lingering longer than what’s considered normal. I’m not sure if they might know who I am, or just think I’m attractive. Or maybe both.

Flau’jae seems to notice too, shooting me a wild and bright smile. “See? you still got it. Just make a good choice.”

The car hums beneath me, the city lights flashing past as I sink into the leather of the backseat, my head leaning against the window. I can still taste the alcohol on my tongue, and my mind is replaying the past few hours like a hazy, disconnected reel. All I can think about is her.

You’d think after a night out I’d at least be able to get the mass of Drea off my mind, but I think it just made everything worse. No matter how hard I try to push her out, physically and emotionally, she’s always there, right on the edge of my thoughts.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, my thumb hovering over her contact. I know I shouldn’t text her. I know it’s a bad idea. But our last conversation on repeat and the emptiness from earlier are making my judgment untrustworthy, and before I can stop myself, I’m typing out a message.

Yo, you up?

I stare at the screen, the words staring back at me. It’s a weak attempt, but I’m past caring. A part of me almost hopes she won’t respond, that she’ll leave me to deal with the consequences of my choices alone. But then I add another text, like I can’t help myself.

Idc if you’re not

It feels like a challenge. Like I’m daring her to ignore me, to stay out of it. But I know that’s not what I want.

I swallow hard and send one last message, my fingers trembling slightly as I type.

You still in Phoenix, right?

The words hang there, waiting for her response. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can’t tell if it’s from the countless amounts of dirty shirley’s or the anticipation of hearing from her. Or both. I really hope I don’t throw up in this car.

I lean back in the seat in attempt to relax, but I can literally hear my heart beating. I wonder if the driver can, really. I don’t know what I’m hoping for, but I know that if she’s still here, if she answers… I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist whatever comes next.

The minutes stretch out in silence, broken only by the occasional sound of the car’s tires hitting a pothole. I keep my eyes glued to the screen, watching the three little dots appear and disappear. I should put my phone away, maybe even go back to the hotel and sleep this off, but I can’t. I’m too far gone for that.

The Uber turns down another quiet street, and I feel the weight of my decisions pressing down on me. It’s not just about tonight. It’s about all the nights that led up to this, every bad choice that brought me to this moment. The thought of facing it alone is unbearable, and I realize that’s why I texted her. Not because I want her to come over, but because I don’t want to be alone. Or that I do, just with her.

My phone buzzes in my hand, and I almost drop it in my rush to check the screen.

Why?

A single word, blunt and to the point. She’s guarded, as usual. But the fact that she responded at all makes me happy enough.

I just… I hesitate, staring at the blinking cursor. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say, but I settle on honesty.

Just wanna see you. Is that so bad?

I hit send before I can second-guess myself. My fingers hover over the screen again, and then I add another message.

I don’t wanna stop seeing you fr

It’s more than I planned to say, more vulnerable than I planned to be, but it’s the truth. And I’m too tired of pretending otherwise.

The reply comes quickly this time, and I can almost hear her voice in the words.

Are you drunk texting me right now?

And no, you mean you don’t wanna stop fucking me

Her words hit me like a punch in the gut, and for a moment, I just stare at the screen, the bright light from my phone casting harsh shadows in the dark car. I can feel the truth in what she’s saying, but it’s only part of it. Yeah, we’ve been physical, and I’m not denying that’s been a big part of this whole thing, but it’s not just that.

No, Drea. It’s more than that. We both know it always was.

You said it three days ago.

I hesitate before hitting send, but I know I have to. I can’t keep hiding behind the bullshit. She deserves better than that even if she won’t appreciate it.

The reply doesn’t come right away, and the silence feels like it’s pressing in on me from all sides. I shift in my seat. This whole thing—this whole night—feels like I’m balancing on a razor’s edge, and I’m terrified of falling off.

When her response finally comes, it’s short.

It’s 2am.

Ok, it’s not ideal. but I can’t stop thinking about everything you said.

And everything I didn’t say.

There’s another long pause, and I can almost picture her on the other end, trying to figure out what to say. We’ve been dancing around each other for so long, caught up in this push and pull, and now it feels like we’re on the verge of something, but neither of us knows how to take the next step.

Then, her next message comes through, and it’s enough to make my chest tighten. It’s hesitant but willing.

Where are you?

Outside your hotel.

Her reply is instant this time.

Come up.

I shove my phone into my pocket and step out of the Uber, my mind on a million as I make my way to her room. Every step feels heavy as if I’m walking through mud, but there’s a part of me that knows this is where I need to be—where I’ve always needed to be.

When I reach her door, it swings open almost as soon as I knock, and there she is, standing in front of me. Her eyes are guarded, just like her text messages, but I can see something softer underneath. Something that tells me she’s just as scared of this as I am.

“Paige,” she says, her voice a little wistful as she fiddles with the door knob. She looks me up and down, almost as if I’m being examined before I’m allowed in.

I don’t know what to say, so I just step forward, closing the distance between us. “I’m not drunk,” I state, shooting down her concerns from a few moments ago. She wouldn’t proceed if there was a chance I wouldn’t remember anything in the morning.

She looks at me for another long moment, like she’s trying to decide if she believes me. Then, with a sigh, she steps aside, letting me in. The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I lean against it. Suddenly we’re alone in her room, the reality of the situation settling around us.

“I know I shouldn’t have texted. But I did, and I’m glad I’m here.” I ramble, although still stern.

She sighs, and the curls that fall perfectly over her shoulders bounce a bit. Shes in a pair of short pajama shorts and a long, grey Nike tee-shirt that could’ve been mine. Correction, it definitely is mine. “You’re making this so much harder than it has to be.”

“It doesn’t have to be hard. We can make it less complicated.” I try to reason.

She stiffens, her breath catching as she looks at me, her eyes searching mine. “I—“

“I’m serious,” I cut her off, my voice low as I step closer to her. I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking. “I don’t know when I’m gonna see you again. And I can’t… I can’t leave tomorrow without letting you know how much I care.”

I don’t say it out loud, but the words are there, hanging in the air between us. I love you. And I’m sorry. But I can’t bring myself to say it. I don’t know why. Instead, I just hope she can feel it, hoping she knows without me having to spell it out.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she says quietly, her back turned to me as she walks further into the room. “Running to me when you’re feeling lost. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” I admit, taking a step closer. “But I’ont know how to stop. I’ve tried, but… since you’ve been apart of my life it’s been hard to let you go. I don’t wanna lose you—“

“You already did,” she cuts me off, turning to face me, and it scares me how serious she sounds. There’s pain in her eyes, but there’s also something else—something that makes me hope, even if just for a second. “We both did.”

I close the gap between us, and I can tell it catches her by surprise because of the look she gives me. My hands gently cup her face. “Then why am I here? Why did you let me in again?”

She glances down at my lips, and despite being angry, she doesn’t respond with words. Physicality has always been our response for everything involving each other. It’s all we know. She leans into my touch, and it feels like a birthday gift. Her eyes flutter shut before she opens them again, and it’s enough to make me lean in, pressing my lips to hers in a kiss that’s more desperate than anything else.

She kisses me back, her hands finding their way to my shoulders as she pulls me closer, and for a moment, it feels like everything else fades away. It’s just us, tangled up in each other, trying to find something solid to hold onto.

But then she pulls back, breathless, her hands still resting on my shoulders. She’s looking down, like she’s fighting some internal battle. “Oh my God,” she whispers, shaking her head. “You are drunk.”

“I told you I’m not,” I murmur, trying to find her eyes and pull her back to me by the waist, but she resists, her fingers gripping my shoulders tighter. Her resistance is strong, her fingers digging into my shoulders as if she’s trying to push away the intensity of the moment. “Please, Drea.”

She shakes her head, eyes still averted. “I can taste the alcohol!” She brings her thumb up to brush over my lips. “I knew it, why the fuck would you lie?” She’s trying to walk away at this point, but my grip is too tough. I won’t let her go.

“No, listen,” I say, more eager and clear. “What I said, what I meant—none of that has to do with being drunk. I’m here because I need you. Because I want you. This isn’t just about tonight.”

Drea’s resolve falters, her eyes flickering back to mine with her perfectly arched eyebrows crinkling up just a bit. “You’re saying all the right things, but I can’t just ignore—”

I cut her off by pulling her closer, my grip firm but gentle on her hips. My thumbs move beneath her shirt, stroking her skin and feeling the muscle. “I know.” My lips are ghosting over her ear. “But please, just for tonight, let’s not think about it.” I press a kiss right below it. “Just be with me. Let’s just be here.”

“Paige..” she starts again, her voice softer this time, and I love it when she says my name. I lean in, silencing her with a kiss that’s both insistent and tender. She melts into it, her resistance breaking as she wraps her arms around my neck. Shes quick to sneak her tongue in, the movement making me wince, furrowing my brows at how good she tastes.

I guide her backward until her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she falls onto it with a soft thud. I follow her down, my body pressing against hers as our kiss grows more fervent. My hands explore her curves, skimming over the fabric of her shirt as it rides up, and I feel her shiver beneath me.

“Is this mine?” I breathe against her lips, the warmth of her hands on my cheeks making my face flush a vibrant red. Drea nods, her breath hitching as she catches the look in my eyes. Without another word, I grab the hem of her shirt and yank it up over her head, tossing it aside. The shirt hits the floor, and she starts giggling like a school girl, her chest now fully exposed and daunting.

The sound of her laughter makes my stomach flip, and I can’t help but grin, leaning down to capture her mouth in another kiss. This time, there’s no hesitation, no holding back. Our bodies press together, her skin warm and soft against mine, like it was made for me.

My hands begin to wander a bit too much, all the way down to her shorts. Slipping my hand in, I can already feel how wet she is. She lets out a soft gasp as I trace slow, deliberate circles against her clit firmly. “Tell me what you want, baby,” I whisper, my breath fanning over her neck.

Her body has always reacted to every touch, every word. She’s trying to stay composed, but I can tell she’s barely holding on. Her hips instinctively push against my hand, silently begging for more, but I keep my movements steady, torturously slow and sloppy. I want to hear her say it.

“You,” she breathes out, her voice wavering. She’s antsy, I can feel it—the way her muscles tense, the way her breath comes in shallow pants.

“C’mon,” I murmur, nipping at her earlobe. “You can do better than that.”

She whimpers, her hands gripping my shoulders, nails digging into my skin as she tries to find the words. “Please… I need—” She breaks off, a soft moan escaping her lips when I press harder, right where she needs it most.

But then she grabs my wrist, stopping me just before she can fall over the edge. Her eyes lock with mine, and they’re low, dark, and daring. Three words that are very Drea. “Stop,” she says, her voice firmer now, even though I can tell it’s taking all her willpower. “I wanna feel you.”

The way she says it—so raw, so desperate—it’s enough to make me slip into a trance. I pull back, my gaze lingering on her as I strip off the rest of my clothes, watching as she does the same. Every inch of her is so perfect to the point where it should be a crime, and I want to touch every part.

I lay back on the bed, and she climbs on top of me, her movements deliberate and careful as she positions herself right over the bottom half of my body. I let my hands slide down her sides, tracing the curve of her waist before coming to rest on her ass. I tilt my head slightly against the pillows, mouth slightly agape. I can’t resist giving her a gentle squeeze, eliciting a soft noise from her. I smile, and my hands linger there, holding her close as she settles into place. We’ve done this countless amounts of times, and every single time it feels different. Better.

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy, you know that?” I pull her hips down, aligning our bodies perfectly, and the feeling of her heat against mine makes my breath catch, but I’m still focused. “Could stay like this all night.”

Drea licks her lips, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she adjusts herself, the friction and jolting of our bodies a whole whirlpool of pleasure. “You better,” she whispers back, a teasing smile tugging at her lips as her hands grip my legs so she can find herself.

Slowly, she starts to move, her hips grinding down against mine in a smooth rhythm. Every slide of her body against me is agonizingly perfect, and I can’t help the groan that escapes as she finds a pace that makes my whole body push up against her.

My eyebrows furrow as I take sight of where we meet, her pussy flat against mine. The squelching of our juices together fills the room, and I lose it. Maybe the alcohol is accentuating the feeling for me, or she’s just this good. “Fuck…” I breathe out, my hands roaming up her back, feeling the muscles flex and move beneath her skin. “You feel so good. Always so good.”

Her response is a soft moan, her head falling forward slightly as she loses herself. I let my hands slide back down to her ass, guiding her movements, making sure every grind, every brush of our bodies, hits just right. I can feel her trembling, her thighs shaking as she picks up the pace, chasing that high.

I can’t resist teasing her a little, my hands kneading her ass as she rides me, my fingers brushing just along the edge of her entrance, close enough to make her squirm but not enough to give her what she really wants. She lets out a frustrated moan, hips moving harder, trying to get more.

“Paige!” she groans, voice full of need and just the right amount of anger, her breath coming out in ragged pants. “Stop playing with me. I can’t take it.”

My grip tightens, and I keep her exactly where I want her, reaching up to tuck a loose curl behind her ear, my fingers lingering as I brush my thumb gently along her cheek. “You can take it, baby,” I whisper. “I know you can.”

She looks at me with those pleading eyes, her breath hitching as she adjusts herself, arching her back more. The movement pushes her even closer to me, our bodies pressing together, and the feeling almost sends me over the edge.

Without warning, I dip two fingers into her entrance, the sight too pretty to resist. It makes her gasp, her body collapsing forward against me. Our skin sticks together, warm too from the sweat, and her chest is pressing against mine as she struggles to catch her breath.

Before she can lose herself entirely, I slide my hand to her lower stomach, pushing her back up, guiding her into place. “Nah, stay up w’me, ma.” My voice is shaky with the effort of holding it together. Out of breath, mouth wide open. “Hold that shit.”

She whines out, her voice high and so pornographic. “Mm—oh, I can’t…” Her words trail off into a desperate moan, her body shuddering as my fingers move in that come-hither motion, curling inside her just right. The feeling of her slick is almost too much to bear, making my head spin.

I push through, keeping her steady even as I feel myself starting to lose control. “You can,” I pant, my breath coming out in ragged bursts. “So close, I know you can do it.”

She’s trembling, her thighs shaking as she tries to follow my command, but I can see the strain on her face, her dilated pupils, the way she’s fighting to keep herself together. My fingers work faster, deeper, and she bites down so hard on her lip I swear it might bleed.

Finally, when I feel her body tighten around me, right on the edge of breaking, I tap her ass lightly with my palm and pull my fingers out just enough to catch everything. “Now, baby. Come for me.”

The moment I say it, she lets go, and we come together, our bodies moving in sync, the room filled with strangled noises. The pleasure is blinding, overwhelming, and I cling to her as we ride it out. She’s finally able to fall on top of me comfortably, hand resting on my chest.

We stay like that for a moment, tangled together, both of us shaking with the aftershocks, until we finally start to come down. I press a soft kiss to her temple, my heart still racing (for more than one reason I’ll admit) as I hold her close.

I can feel her hesitance, scared to move or say anything. But I can also feel her tiredness, the way her body sags against mine like she’s too worn out to keep up any walls.

Gently, I shift, moving my body so I’m laid up next to her, our limbs tangling together naturally. My arm stays draped around her, holding her close as she nestles her head into the crook of my neck, her breath warm against my skin. It feels good—too good—like maybe we could stay like this forever if we didn’t know better.

“I want you to mean what you said. All of it.”

Her words hang, and I can feel her hesitation, the fear that I’m just saying things because it’s easier than dropping the bomb or just straight losing her. I swallow, pulling her closer.

“You’ont think I did?”

“Paige.”

“Drea, I do.”

She doesn’t respond right away, just presses herself deeper into me, like she’s trying to believe it, trying to let herself see us being more than what we are right now without it turning into shit. I know how hard that is, how many times we’ve proven we aren’t made for each other.

“Then prove it,” she finally murmurs, her voice a little stronger now, like she’s challenging me, daring me to back it up.

I nod against her, not sure if she can even feel it, but I know what she means. It’s not about words anymore—it’s about what comes next, and whether we can make it work. “I will,” I promise, and for once, I really believe it.

#bueckers’ works 🍒#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers fic #uconn wbb #lgbtq #paige bueckers headcannons #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 3 months

Text

Bad for Me — Cassian x Reader

Hi! I found this in my drafts and thought I’d share it while I’m finishing up the next part of Bluebird. I’m not sure why I never posted it 🤔maybe because I don’t think it’s very well written. Also, it seems I was using a prompt list for parts of dialogue in this, but I can’t for the life of me think which one it was 😅but anyway, enjoy an angsty piece with an angsty cliffhanger ending 💅🏻

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: None.

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“What the fuck is this?”

There wasn’t a part of you that didn’t shake with anger as you stormed your way into the sitting room. Anger that had built up and festered as the day had faded into night.

It was late. You’d waited up — waited for the telltale, arrogantly loud footsteps that had announced Cassian’s return. Where he’d been all day, you didn’t know nor care.

Sure enough, you found him in his usual chair by the fireplace, a glass of whiskey rested on the arm and his eyes closed. His fingers rubbed circles into his forehead — a positive sign that he was sporting a particularly gruelling headache.

Good. You would yell into his ear until he launched himself off one of the verandas and flew far, far away.

“What is this?” You repeated, chucking the item you held straight onto his lap.

His eyes slowly opened, and he glanced down impassively. “That’s a piece of paper. It’s useful for writing, or drawing, or—”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

It had surprised you, to say the least, to wake up to the folded note on your bedside table — in Cassian’s rough scrawl.

Find yourself a pretty little dress. Don’t make any plans for Friday next. We’re going dancing. Cassian.

“Explain.” You demanded, your tone clipped. Brash.

You didn’t want to go dancing with Cassian. Or walking, or running, or…anything.

It was bad enough living under the same roof as him. Working in the same circle as him. Bad enough having to be civil in the name of a unified front.

But you were professional. You could pretend to get along in front of people.

That didn’t mean you had to socialise with him, though.

With a sigh, he sat up straighter, brushing his hair back. “Rhys is having me play courtier again.”

Your head cocked to the side. “But you’re so terrible at it.”

The minuscule pause and tick of his jaw told you you’d landed a sure blow. A nervy spot, for Cassian, was certainly his abilities off the battlefield. Why Rhys insisted on sending the General on certain courtier expeditions was beyond your comprehension. And beyond Cassian’s, too, judging by how much he hated it.

You took no small amount of pleasure in that fact. A little payback for all the ways he’d torn you down over the years.

“Hilarious.” He rolled his eyes at you.

“I wasn’t joking.”

“Whatever. Rhys is having me represent him at a fucking ball in the Hewn City and I need a plus-one, so — you’re coming.”

Your shoulders tensed. “Absolutely not. Ask somebody else.”

“There’s no way I’m putting Mor through that. And she’s in Vallahan, anyway.”

“So take Amren with you.”

“Be real, Y/N.”

You stared at him, clenching your jaw. You hated him. Hated him so, so much — loathed him — that you swore your veins turned to ice around him. Ever since you’d met him, and you’d taken one look at him and thought he was the most beautiful male you’d ever seen.

You’d sworn never to fall in love again, when you’d joined Rhysand’s Inner Circle — and seeing Cassian go through flings like you went through books only solidified that decision.

Hate was a good thing. Hate was something you could pour all your anger into and throw at the person that seeped into your thoughts a little too often.

And dish that hate out you may, but gods Cassian gave it back just as fiercely.

“Ask one of your many lovers.” You spat. “You have your cock in a different female every week. I can’t imagine you’re short on admirers.”

Cassian stretched his arms over his head. “And how many admirers do you have, Y/N?”

You tried your best not to flinch. To let him see the effect his words had on you was as bad as him thrusting a dagger into your gut. You willed yourself to give nothing away.

“Just find somebody else.” You said. “There’s not a fucking chance I’m going anywhere with you, of all people.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond. You turned on your feet and stalked from the room, leaving the note on his lap and your barbed words hanging heavy in the air.

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Three nights later, your bedroom door burst open so abruptly that you dropped your book on your face.

“Pause your masturbation for five minutes.” Cassian’s deep, arrogant voice filled the room. “I have your dress.”

You sat up, your entire body tensing the way it always did in his presence. “What.”

He kicked the door shut behind him, and even in your considerably-sized bedroom, his domineering figure seemed to take up most of the space. He strode to the foot of your bed — and paused, just for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight of your nightgown, your unbound hair.

You didn’t have a chance to remark before he straightened himself out and launched a flash of pale pink fabric at you.

“For the ball.” He said. “I checked your size and asked the shopkeeper to pick it out, so…if you don’t like it, I don’t really give a fuck.”

Your eyes fell down to the dress in your lap. Undeniably pretty, with its rosy hue and flaring skirt, thin straps and tiny, beaded jewels. A dress you would probably choose for yourself, if the occasion called for it.

You’d always loved clothes; dresses in particular. The intricacies of certain garments fascinated you, and the thought of creating your own made your heart skip a beat.

You thought you’d feel pretty in this dress; prettier than you usually felt, in your leathers or shirts and breeches. It wasn’t all that often that you had an occasion to dress up for.

But even this gown wouldn’t convince you to accept Cassian’s invitation. Or, rather, his order.

You pushed the dress away from you, though your fingers lingered within the soft fabric. “You’re absolutely fucking insane if you think I’m going to that ball with you.”

Cassian’s eyes fell to where your hands stroked the skirts, before climbing back up to meet yours. The bastard knew what you were feeling. He fucking knew.

“Oh, you so want to.” He smirked. “I can see it in your eyes.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “So it’s a nice dress. I’m sure one of your many sexual escapades would appreciate it.”

The General’s head tilted, a few strands ripping from the loose knot his hair was tied into. “What is it about my sex life that bothers you so much?”

That you’re free to even have such a sex life without judgement. That you will never know what it’s like to be ostracised just for exploring such things. That you can fuck who you like with no repercussions. That it isn’t me you’re—

“Don’t mistake me for someone who gives a shit about anything you do.” You bit. “I just wouldn’t want such a nice dress to be wasted.”

“It won’t be. Because you’ll be wearing it to the ball on Friday.”

“No.” You threw the dress back at him. Picked your book back up. “I will not.”

“I’m going to hang it on the door.”

“Don’t bother.”

He ignored you, of course. The dress was hung. “We’ll be leaving at seven.”

“No we won’t.”

“We will.”

He pulled your bedroom door open, slipping out.

“Cassian?” You called, and there was a strong pause.

He poked his head back in. “What?”

“I’m not going to that damned ball with you.”

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You were going to that damned ball with him.

High Lord’s orders, your ass. You’d kill Rhys for this.

The dress was a perfect fit, clinging to you like a second skin. And as you stared yourself down in the mirror, smoothing your hands over the fabric, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this pretty.

A long, long time ago. A night of passion. A night that would ultimately ruin your life.

You shook the past from your thoughts, straightening yourself out. It was imperative that you wore an unbreakable mask to the Hewn City. One that was steeled and sharp and revealed nothing of the person that lay beneath.

A thump fell on your bedroom door. “We’re going to be late.” Cassian barked.

You rolled your eyes, turning away from the mirror. The beads of your dress swished as you moved, and you focused on that, rather than the oaf that was currently trying to break into your room.

Just a few hours, and this would all be over.

“Simmer down, General.” You pulled the door open, stepping out. “I’m ready.”

Cassian stepped back. And stopped.

His hazel eyes slowly traced the length of your body. And despite the fact that he’d griped about being late, he took his sweet time drinking you in.

You waited for the snide remarks. For whatever fault he would surely find with your appearance. But when his eyes landed on your face again, you couldn’t puzzle out his expression.

“Good.” Was all he commented. “Let’s go.”

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“Can you quit your fidgeting?”

Cassian scowled beside you, rolling his shoulders. “The collar on this thing is too tight.”

Your eyes travelled the sculpted length of his body — not for the first time — before you forced them away. He looked…undeniably breathtaking.

His comfort, you knew, was in leathers and body armour. Only on rare occasions like Starfall or Solstice did he swap his usual attire for more casual clothing like button-up shirts and trousers. You couldn’t recall a time you’d actually seen him decked in a tailored suit.

Until now.

The material was of deepest burgundy, outlining — accentuating — every last muscle it possibly could. There was something thrilling about the thought of so many deadly weapons hiding within that dashing attire. Something thrilling about knowing the Lord of Bloodshed walked beside you.

Right now, though, he was the fucking Lord of Complaining and Whining. You rolled your eyes, turning to him.

“What are you doing?” He watched as you pushed up onto the tips of your toes.

“Shutting you up.” You adjusted his collar, ignoring the feel of the backs of your fingers brushing his neck. “Better?”

“Suppose so.” He rolled those shoulders again. He wouldn’t be content until the suit was off him completely.

“Then let’s go.” You currently stood outside the towering gates of the Hewn City, the air always unpleasantly cold in these parts. You took a step forward, your dress swishing along the ground—

A warm, rough hand landed on your arm. Stopped you.

“What?” You glanced at Cassian over your shoulder.

“Rhys is expecting us to represent him.” He said, his hazel eyes strangely fierce. He always got that look when there was a task at hand. “I know we hate each other. And that’s more than fine. But just for tonight, can we pretend that we…don’t?”

You stared back at him pensively. A petty part of you wanted to shrug him off and scoff. To tell him that the unpleasantness with which he’d always approached you had long laid any potential alliance to waste.

But he was right — Rhys was counting on you both. And Rhys had done a lot for you since you’d turned up on his doorstep with barely a coin to your name. For him…for him, you would pretend to enjoy Cassian’s company.

“Whatever.” You shrugged the General’s touch off, turning back around. “Fine.”

It wasn’t going to be easy, though.

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You made sure, in your life, that you never had to spend any extended amount of time with Cassian. You tolerated him when you had to, and avoided him the rest of the time.

But you’d been for nights out in the same group, of course. And you’d forgotten how many females tended to flock to his side and fawn over him.

This ball was a sure reminder of that.

You’d barely stepped into the room and grabbed yourselves a drink before groups of females were glancing over and chatting excitedly, shrill giggles floating over to you. It was a mere five minutes before one of them mustered the nerve to ask him to dance, leaving you standing on your own.

It was during that first dance that you decided — you weren’t just going to be civil with Cassian.

You were going to be so sickeningly over the top that he’d have no chance of skulking off with any of those females and leaving you by yourself while he got his cock sucked. Not a chance. If they thought he’d been claimed by another member of Rhys’s Inner Circle, they’d back off; if a little begrudgingly.

So you watched. Waited for that dance to end. Rhys hadn’t given you any specific orders, besides attending on his behalf and keeping an ear out for any gossip. You drank your wine and enjoyed the music, and the second Cassian had an empty space before him, you dipped in before anybody else could.

It seemed to surprise him. He blinked at you, before straightening himself out. “What are you doing?”

“Dancing with you.” You grabbed his hand, fastening it on your waist.

“Rhys never said we had to dance together.”

“You want us to get along, Cassian?” The music began, tugging you into movement. “Then let’s get along.”

With the other couples beginning to dance around you, it left no other option than to follow suit and avoid causing a scene. Cassian’s jaw ticked, but he grabbed for your other hand and began to pull you around the dance floor with him. He was no seasoned dancer, by any means, but he displayed more skill than you’d expected.

Another thing you loved — dancing. Feeling like your feet were floating. Once you started dancing, you wanted to keep going and going into you fell off the world and tumbled into a blissful beyond. Nothing else mattered besides the music, the moves.

“I didn’t know you could dance.” Cassian commented, echoing the thoughts you’d had about him.

You shrugged, not misstepping once. “I was forced to take lessons as a girl.”

“I didn’t know that, either.”

“Why would you know? It’s not as though we like each other.”

He spun you around. Dipped you in his arms. “And why is that?”

Laughable, that he was the one to ask that question. “You tell me. You never tried.”

“Is that how it went?”

“It is.”

He stared at you, expression unreadable. No other words were exchanged as one dance came to its end, and the music flowed into the next piece. But you didn’t need words to carry out your plan.

The second you caught a glimpse of hopeful, waiting females in your periphery, you pulled Cassian closer to you once more, your bodies flush against each other.

You may have felt a teensy bit ridiculous as you slipped your fingers into the strands of his hair and brushed it out of his face.

“I like your hair like this.” The words were heavy on your tongue. Not untrue, but…painful to say out loud.

Cass stared at you. “…thank you.”

But his thanks was lost in your satisfaction as the awaiting female disappeared from the corner of your eye, skulking off to sulk, no doubt. It was an effort not to smirk. Still, you righted yourself and continued with your plan.

You made certain that yours and Cassian’s bodies met in all the right places. Very close. Very dangerous.

Perfect — because there were still hopeful, simpering females watching. Waiting for you to walk away.

“Dance with me again.” Your breathy tone wasn’t entirely for show — nor was the hand you trailed down his arm for emphasis.

But Cassian frowned at you. “What are you up to?”

“Me?” Your eyes glittered. “Nothing at all.”

He kept his gaze on you, following you into your second dance. You could have sworn you saw the slumping of many shoulders as you spun around the floor, Cassian’s hands like a burning brand on your skin.

You weren’t even really paying attention to him, simply following the steps mindlessly, until he spoke again.

“That isn’t how it went.” He said.

Your brow furrowed as you spun around. “What?”

In one swift move, he was pulling you against him, pressing your fronts together. “You said I never tried to know you. I refute that.”

You shrugged. “You treated me with the same contempt as the bastards I ran away from.”

“You treated me like I was dirt beneath your shoe and I didn’t deserve the time of day.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. That simply was not true. He had always been cocky, and arrogant, and difficult. He acted as though mud wouldn’t stick to him, as though he could do what he liked, when he liked.

Suddenly, you didn’t want to be dancing with him anymore. Didn’t want his hands on you, simpering females or no.

He could go to hell.

“I never thought you didn’t deserve the time of day.” You contested tersely. “I—”

“I know.” He interrupted. Spun you around again. “I worked it out eventually.”

“Excuse me?”

“What your problem is.” Another dip.

You didn’t like this conversation — it’s direction. It would be easier to run away, to avoid it.

Easier, but cowardly.

“Pray, tell, General, what do you believe my problem is?” You stared at him.

He leaned down, just as the music faded. Poised his lips at your ear. “Jealousy.” He murmured, the word seeming deafeningly loud. “Sometimes the way you look at me makes me think that perhaps you don’t hate me that much.”

You knew your body stiffened between you. And as he pulled back and smirked, you also knew that he knew he’d won.

Whatever it was that glittered in his eyes was…knowledge. Knowing. An understanding. And that couldn’t mean anything good for you.

“Cassian?”

The two of you looked up upon the intrusion, only realising then that the music had stopped, and the dancing with it. A doe-eyed girl stared at the General with bright, sparkling hope in her eyes.

“I was hoping I might have the next dance.” She said.

You didn’t care anymore. You barely spared either of them a glance as you let go of Cassian and pushed out of his arms.

“He’s all yours.” You said.

And then you went to find some fresh air.

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“I’ll be sure to tell Rhys that you spent the evening skulking around on your own whilst I did all the posturing.”

You glanced at Cassian out of the corner of your eye. You weren’t interested in a verbal sparring match right now. The night air was pleasant on your skin, and you allowed it to cool your face, your neck. Allowed it to wash away the tension permanently coiled within your veins, if only for a few stolen moments.

“Go ahead”, was the only reply you offered.

Eyes pierced into you as you bathed yourself in the moonlight. Even with your own shut, you could sense Cassian watching, waiting. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of anything beyond vague acknowledgement. Not now.

That seemed to fucking torture him.

“What—no smartass response?” He quipped.

“No, Cassian,” you sighed quietly. “No smartass response.”

He paused — seemed genuinely knocked silent for a moment — before he scoffed. “I don’t believe that for a second. Even in silence, I know you’re up to something. That scheming brain of yours—”

“This scheming brain of mine is exhausted.”

As your eyes flew open, you caught the way he faltered, a slight misstep, the barest ruffling of his wings. For all he was the General of War, the Lord of Bloodshed, you’d also observed him to be a profoundly emotional person. And that emotion sometimes won as he fought to hide it.

This emotion…it was ire. Gone was the sharp-edged teasing. He found issue with your words, and his jaw gave a telltale tick.

“What could you possibly be exhausted by?” he scoffed. “You need only turn up looking like a fucking goddess and people respect you. You’re not some lowly, bastard-born brute. You don’t get sneered at simply for breathing—”

“You believe people respect me?”

“Of course they do!”

“You don’t.”

He stumbled — actually stumbled — and it was only that which alerted you to the way he’d been inching towards you. But his steps faltered, and he gaped at you like your revelation was entirely out of pocket. Like you had no reason to feel that.

“You have never respected me.” You held firm on your point, even if your voice was a tad quieter. “I fled a fucking viper’s den and ran to Rhysand’s court, hoping to find a sense of…of belonging. But you…” A soft, rueful chuckle shuddered out of you. “You have made it your mission to ensure that would not be the case.”

Slowly, Cassian’s brow pinched. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, seeming to search for the right words. “That…isn’t how it went…”

“It is,” you shrugged. “You said I treated you like dirt — perhaps, unintentionally, I did. Perhaps it was a defence mechanism, because I never expected to flee absolute hell and come face-to-face with a male that I immediately wanted.”

There they were — the words out in the open. The truth wedged itself between you like a glaring, unmissable sign. You had never hated Cassian. Quite the opposite.

“I thought that I would never want another male in that way again.” You revealed hoarsely. “I thought I would live a life content with just…being me. With friends and nothing more. But that first day I met you, I walked in and I…I knew. I felt it.”

Cassian blinked, slowly shaking his head. “What…”

“And then you were so hostile, and I thought that maybe that was a good thing. That it would discourage me from feeling things. But I must be a fucking glutton for punishment, because no matter how cold you were towards me, my feelings only grew. And I tried…I tried so hard to shift them into hate, but I couldn’t. I’ve never been able to. I simply…can’t.”

The way he stared at you…so hardened, so severe…you couldn’t get a read on the reaction. But then…had you ever really been able to get a read on him?

“You were right…what you said about me being jealous,” you swallowed. “I was. I am—”

“That was…just a joke…I was just being a dick—”

“No,” you shook your head. “You were right. I was jealous in there, and I’m always jealous when people flirt with you. When I see you smile at them and joke with them and I shouldn’t wish it was me but I do. These feelings are constant. And that, Cassian…that is why I am exhausted. It’s exhausting for me to know you.”

Silence.

It should have been a relief, to have finally shifted such heavy feelings from your shoulders. But they were like tangible beings, fogging the air around you, wrapping you and Cassian up in a situation that was complicated and ugly and not at all ideal.

You knew he would do nothing with your feelings…except maybe sneer at them, laugh at them, throw them back in your face. You expected nothing from him. And the longer the silence went on, the more you began to wish that you could steal your confessions back. Shove them deep back into that narrow part of your heart that was still capable, somehow, of feeling such things.

You cleared your throat, tweaking the pretty, delicate gloves that covered your hands and forearms. “We should…head back inside.”

You breezed past him, suddenly desperate for the mindless chaos of the throne room. But you’d only managed a few steps forward before Cassian was gripping onto your arm and yanking you back.

Your dress fanned out as he spun you around, and a breath pushed out of you as he slammed you against the nearest wall, the cold brick biting into the fabric of your dress.

Before you could say anything, he was dipping down, his mouth sliding over yours.

Cassian kissed you deeply, punishingly, his lips moulding to yours perfectly. You gasped against him, and his tongue slid into your mouth to dance with yours, his rough, rugged taste invading you.

You’d thought about this moment a ludicrous amount. You’d imagined what the weight of his lips might be like, how perfectly his tongue might duel with yours. Nothing — no amount of imagining — could prepare you for the reality. The sense of rightness as his hand coasted up to clasp the back of your head, his fingers sinking into your hair. He gave a gentle tug, and you moaned in immediate response.

Air, it seemed, was not important. Not as you kissed him back feverishly, gripping at his shirt in an attempt to pull him as close against you as he could possibly get. The press of his hard body against yours was pleasure in itself. You nipped his lip, desperate for more, more, more, and he groaned in response.

This — this could very well spiral out of control, and you would welcome it. You wanted him to tear your clothes off and take you against this wall. You wanted him to make you feel like he wanted you, like it wasn’t exhausting to know him—

But there was suddenly emptiness and coldness. And it took your mind a moment to catch up and realise that he had pulled away.

Not far. Just enough to stare down at you, his deep hazel eyes flaring and furious. His panting breaths sawed out of him, landing directly on your lips and making you desperate for another taste. You tilted your head up—

He shook his head. Stepped back.

“No,” he murmured, voice gruff. “No. You…you are very bad for me.”

Your entire body turned cold at the words. Words that sliced at you, reminiscent of ones you’d heard before. “What?”

“You’re bad for me,” he repeated. “And I am very bad for you.”

“Cassian—”

“Don’t—don’t even say my name.”

With a swiftness that sent a gust of wind rustling the skirts of your dress, he turned, wings flaring and launching him into the star-speckled sky above you. You gaped at his retreating figure, flying off into the night, leaving you alone not only in that courtyard, but in the fucking Court of Nightmares.

Your mouth had turned dry, your skin cold. You lingered out there long after Cassian had flown off, waiting to see if he would come back. Pathetically hoping he would.

He did not.

And as you conceded, slipping your courtier mask back into place and turning to retreat back inside, his words rang like a deafening klaxon in your head.

You are very bad for me.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fandom #acotar fic #cassian #cassian x reader fic #cassian angst #reader insert #cassian x reader #cassian x you #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #acourtofwhatthefuck #acotar angst #angst

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erinfern0 · 23 days

Text

cutting the cord

spencer reid x explosives specialist!gn!reader

— gender-neutral nicknames, gender-neutral anatomy, only pronouns used are you, they, etc.

summary: the team struggles with a group who planned to plant a bomb in a town hall to spread awareness of their cause. as the only technicians available in the area are busy with another emergency, Spencer finds himself calling you, the closest off-duty technician he knew, despite how much he hates the idea.

warnings: emotional, angst(?), some swearing, love confession, and obviously stress, anxiety and fear for your life, etc. cliffhanger

a/n: this was highly inspired by episode 'hero worship' from season 10 of Criminal Minds. I haven't written anything besides smut for such a long time I wanted to give something like this a try. Itt's also over like 2,5k words long--- (I'm so sorry i don't even know how i wrote it)

Doomsday Prophets - The group they were tracking started off small, with a bunch of troubled, unsupervised teenagers led by their online guru, who believed the system was too flawed to even try to repair it. They spent their first months spreading their agenda with countless flayers and graffiti murals all over the most popular places in the city. No one knew his real name, just the internet alias of doomsking130. Even the great Garcia couldn't track him in time before one of his sidekicks got brutally beaten for trying to leave.

Countless informants, and hours spent in interrogation rooms with lower-ranked members and the injured boy, lead them to the leader struggling with psychosis and an overwhelming god complex. He believed the only way to get people's attention was to set a bomb in a nearby town hall in the early morning hours, showing even the government can't protect people from the truth, at least that's what the team thought.

He never even thought there might be security guards waiting for him, informed about his plans by the FBI. As soon as they saw him entering the building via security cameras, they called no other than SSA Hotchner, who had warned them earlier that something like this might happen soon. His team quickly moved into action, hoping they could stop him before he set up the bomb, just to avoid getting help from Bomb Techs.

“Dave, you and I go from the staff-only entry on the left, Morgan and Jareau take the right window, the security guard who called left it open,” said Agent Hotchner, pointing the right directions to his team, watching them split. “Reid and Callahan, you enter the front and look for any worker left in the building.”

Everyone nodded in understanding, splitting and running to their destinations with their guns in their hands. Dr. Reid could feel a tiny drop of sweat running down his brow as he pointed another person toward the front door. People ran away in fear but kept their mouths closed not to alarm the criminals' leader.

Some time passed, leading the team to the building's basement, where the leader set up his life's biggest achievement. A small-looking detonator, connected to two canisters of gasoline, was set next to the power outlet. The arrest was quick, he didn't try any games or to run away, he simply allowed Agent Rossi to cuff him, because the damage was done.

Or was about to be done.

The bomb was already set, giving the team one and a half hours to deal with it as the unsub refused to help. He screamed about how the government tries to control the youngest of all to be their mindless little soldiers. How the system was set to manipulate the youth into dying for the country that didn't care about them. He laughed as Agent Morgan inspected the bomb from a distance.

“Y'all are a part of their games, agents,” he spat as agent Rossi guided him to the door. “All I spread is the truth, you're just too blind to see them using you. My kids won't stop opening people's eyes, even when you take me away! The Doomsday will come as they realize they'd been lied to...”

“Aren't you even worse?” Asked Morgan, crossing his arms with a displeased look on his face.

"How so?" Asked the man, suspiciously calm and smug as he raised his head proudly.

"Well, technically speaking even if what you're saying is true, the government uses us to help other people who can't protect themselves from people like you," said Reid, staring at the man as if he were trying to look at his soul. "You on the other hand pressure troubled teens into doing your dirty work to feed your ever-growing god complex, which almost led one of them to death."

The unsub seemed to be confused, that little frown on his brows, mindlessly staring into the wall behind Dr. Reid as he parted his lips as if he was about to speak.

"Seems like you used up your limit," taunted Callahan, smirking at him as he opened his mouth again.

He started trashing his arms around in Rossi's grip, spitting something out in some Slavic language they couldn't understand.

“That's enough,” murmured Rossi, tightening his grip and taking the criminal outside, leading him to the car parked in front of the building alongside Callahan.

“I'll call the Techs,” said Hotchner, heading outside to get his phone.

Some minutes later he came back with his arms crossed and that strange, disappointed look.

"And?" Asked Morgan, looking around the room, kneeling beside the bomb, and inspecting it closer.

"They might or may not be here in an hour, there was another emergency, supposedly done by the Dooms Prophets," said Agent Hotchner, looking at all of his people who stayed inside.

"He planned this better than we thought," whispered Jennifer, looking at him with concern. "The kids must have lied..."

"Or he didn't trust all of them, the ones we got to speak with were younger, less devoted. He wouldn't trust them with that information," added Reid, standing beside Morgan.

"Yeah, but if he really treated them like prophets for the close-minded folks, he wouldn't change his mind from a long-lasting plan to something so quick," murmured Derek, looking up at his teammates.

"This was his plan all along, he knew he'd be caught. He just hoped his Prophets would continue his work without him," Reid chimed in, looking around to only see his teammates confused faces. "His nickname was 'doomsking130'… The bomb was set to an hour and a half," he added, looking at his watch, then the device. "I think the attack and the emergency wasn't his idea, it's his followers who tried to continue his work on their own."

They all stared at one another, nodding in agreement while processing his words, following up on the idea of their Boy Genius.

Morgan turned his head slightly to look at the messy-haired doctor. "This shit is too complicated, nothin' I've seen yet, this guy is a smart one," he whispered, shaking his head softly. "I can't deal with this... I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, Derek. We'll wait for the Techs," assured Hotchner, patting his agent's back as he stood up away from the bomb.

"There is no time," said Jareau, turning her head to her team. "You said they 'may or may not' be here in an hour, and we already lost a few minutes, they might be too late."

The atmosphere in the room felt heavier as Agent Rossi came back to the room, saying he got the local police to drag the leader to the station, while Kate called her family to inform them she'd be late. He felt as disappointed and worried as everyone, making sure to keep the pregnant agent safe, away from the building as the rest searched for a solution for a few more minutes.

"Reid," started Morgan, turning to face his friend. "Doesn't your lovebird know how to deal with those?"

"Um, yeah, they worked in the bomb disposal department, but decided to take a break from this a while back," he answered, already frowning his brows at the dreadful idea.

"Would they be able to disarm it?" joined Hotchner, crossing his arms as he listened.

"I think so..." he said unsurely, his hands shaking slightly at scenarios running through his head. "It wouldn't be exactly legal to bring them here, just for your information."

"Would be quicker than the actual technicians," noticed Jareau, looking at Spencer with a soft, understanding look on her face. She knew exactly how much it had to scare him, but like everyone else — she couldn't see another way.

"If they don't feel like doing it, we'll just have to wait for the Bomb Techs, as a civilian now, they shouldn't feel pressured into risking so much," reminded Hotchner, looking at Dr. Reid with a glimpse of sympathy.

"But saving some time would be nice," said Morgan unapologetically, moving closer to Reid. "They live only a few blocks away, local police could escort them and secure the area."

Jennifer came up to Spencer, slowly wrapping an arm around him, soothing his tense muscles. She saw the distress in his eyes, but just like the doctor, she didn't like the idea.

"I'll call," decided Spencer, closing his eyes to calm down. "They live around eight minutes away from here, but-"

"It's up to them," assured Hotchner, nodding his head in understanding. "I'll make some calls, to make sure they won't get into any trouble if they decide to come."

Getting a call from Spencer so early in the morning was usual, so you left your book on the side of the couch, paying your full attention to his words. He spoke quickly, almost too quickly as he tried to summarize everything in the shortest amount of time possible, making it hard for you to interrupt him. Just the tiredness and distress in his voice made you melt, gathering your kit before he could even finish his ramble.

You didn't hesitate, jumping into the police car he talked about that escorted you right to the town hall, passing the barrier blocks and reporters who tried to talk to you. You covered your face with your hood, knowing too well not to talk to them, especially that you weren't there exactly legally. Passing agents Rossi and Callahan, you waved at them, getting polite nods as they watched you disappear into the building.

You walked as quickly as possible, guided by the deputy that drove you there. Something felt different, deep inside of you as you ran downstairs to the basement. It wasn't the first time you got an urgent call to help disarm a bomb, that was your entire life for the past few years, but just reminding yourself of Spencer's voice made your heart beat a little faster.

"SSA Aaron Hotchner," said the tall man who stood in the middle of the room, nodding his head as he shook your hand. He was the only member of the team you didn't have the chance to meet. You introduced yourself. Just hearing your own specialist title fall from your lips felt so distant as you were on a break for the past few months.

You nodded to everyone, only locking eyes with Spencer, who got closer as if just his presence was meant to protect you. "Agent Hotchner," you started, looking away from your boyfriend to kneel beside the device, opening your kit of tools in a hurry. "Evacuate the building and the area, I'll do my best but with devices like this..."

"I understand," he assured, letting Morgan and Jareau leave the room. There was only one more person who didn't budge beside him. "Reid?"

You looked to your side, watching Spencer shake his head and roll his sleeves up. "I'd like to stay," he said as if it was nothing, not even looking at his superior.

"It's your call," said Hotchner, looking at him with worry, but he left the basement. You knew if you weren't so important to Spencer he'd never allow this kind of behavior, but you could feel your blood boil at just the idea of him staying.

"Leave," you said simply, knowing how dangerous it was for him. At that moment, you didn't even care for yourself, you've done this a million times, but risking his life...

"Not a chance," he replied, reaching for your flashlight to help you. You could see the way his hands started shaking then he lifted it and it started to break your heart.

"You can't do this, Spence," you whispered breathlessly, focusing your eyes on the device. Two detachable components connected only by a few wires, a wide panel to control the bomb was already turned off the moment the time was set and two big canisters of gasoline beside just to make the explosion more dangerous.

"I can and I will," he said firmly, watching your skilled fingers run over the bomb to carefully detach the two parts.

"For fucks sake, Spencer," you sighed, already feeling the way your lip quivered with every word. "I can't promise you anything, I can't do this to you..."

"I'm not leaving," he repeated through gritted teeth, looking up at you from under his messy hair, covering most of his face as he spoke. "And stop trying to convince me otherwise."

You wiped the tears that spilled from your eyes as they followed one wire after another, watching the way they split and connected to find the one to cut. There were way more than in a usual device and just from the look of it, you knew some of them were just decoys, not really connected to any part, not activating anything, just being there to fuck with the mind of the person who dared to try defusing it.

"I can't focus when all I can think of is this killing you," you whispered, your voice breaking with every passing second. "Leave me here, I need to do this alone... I can't risk your life like this. You mean too much not only to me but to your team, your mom, the people who will need the help of an actual genius, so please, just spare me the talking and get out when you still have the chance. It's so selfish to even think..."

His calm and soft voice stopped you in the middle of your monologue. Tears kept falling down your face as you recognized the words he spoke. The stubborn bastard couldn't even fathom the idea of leaving you to this by yourself. Despite how scared he was inside, he kept his cool, reciting one of your favorite books from memory.

You inhaled deeply, feeling yourself growing more steady and calm, your muscles relaxing with every paragraph. Despite biting into your lip harshly, you didn't feel the pain, the tears were gone and the annoyingly fast heartbeat eased.

Spencer kept his eyes glued to your fingers as he took breaths in between each sentence, only glimpsing up a you for a second every time you cut another decoy wire to clear your way to the actual ones.

The time seemed to stop despite the timer showing you almost an hour passed already, leaving you with only a few minutes to neutralize the threat. You wiped your face in your hoodie, getting rid of sweat and tears as you cut through the last decoy, leading you to analyze the actual device.

You caught the cord you thought was the right one with your scissors, swallowing harshly at just the idea of you being wrong. You reached your free hand to the side, mindlessly searching for his. Doing this was not only risking the lives of you and Spencer but potentially unaware people who happened to be close by. Your heart sped up drastically as you made the decision.

Looking up, you saw Spencer who stopped mid-sentence. A look of worry passed through his face as he intertwined your fingers, his other hand resting on the back of your head, soothing you by slowly moving his fingers through your hair.

"Spencer," you whispered breathlessly, a stray tear running down your cheek, leaving him to quickly wipe it off with a soft smile."I love you..."

His smile only grew bigger as looked at you, that familiar sparkle in his eye shining brightly at you. His eyes were teary, but he didn't let any tears spill as he nodded. Those puppy eyes stared at you with the most love you've ever seen.

"I know," he whispered back, his voice cracking as he looked down at your hands.

You felt like the whole world crushed over you as he didn't say those words back, unlike he did a million times before. Your heart sank but you just looked down, brows frowned as you focused not to lose all composure you had left.

For a split second, the basement was filled with eerie silence as you pushed down on the scissors, cutting the cord in half.

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#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid criminal minds #gender neutral reader #criminal minds #criminal minds around season 10 #riri writes #dont worry bby

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thatrandomidiot182 · 2 months

Text

Pt. 2! This might be a bit vague and confusing so I might come back and edit it, but my internet is being super spotty and slow but I hate cliffhangers!!

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Continuing on with Velaryon! Reader who...

Has spent her whole life preparing for a succession everyone told her she'd have, (Queen/Lady).

Everyone told her that Driftmark was her birthright, that she'd be one to ascend the Driftwood throne and rule. That, unless she willingly gave up the title, it was assured hers.

They said if she did choose otherwise, an even greater title would surely be hers. After all, no other girl has proven themselves quite as capable, or deserving, of being the future queen as she.

It was guaranteed she'd be titled sooner or later.

It was fate, that she'd be a gracious, caring, benevolent ruler at some point.

It was supposed to be her.

Yet, in one thirty-minute meeting, all of that was taken away from her.

Her birthright, her inheritance, her future, her throne, gone.

All instead given to a bastard.

A bastard, who has no knowledge of ships, or the sea, or anything about politics.

A boy, of fire and blood.

Whereas she, pure salt and sea, has been groomed for it her entire life.

Readers so furious. Like, body numbing, ear ringing, jaw clenching, blood drawing furious.

For once, she agrees with Vaemond.

The king had no right to declare the heir of Driftmark.

Alas, she's far more in control of her emotions than her uncle.

Aemond is just as angry as her. Lucerys took his eye, and now takes his wifes birthright away from her! That just won't do...

Aemond is the only one who knows how much Reader has sacrificed and gave to make herself worthy. How much she's suffered and endured just to gain her parents' approval. All the dreams she's pushed aside, opportunities she's lost, blood she's shed. He's been right next to her all throughout her journey, so of course, he's the only one who ever truly understands her. (Man is rlly delulu but it's kinda.... 😍)

He also sees this as an opportunity. Now that she's lost everything, she's more likely to go along with his plans, seeing as she does not have many other options.

Jace is flabbergasted. Appalled, disgusted, and terrified. Does this mean he can't marry Reader? Why couldn't Rhaenys just announce their engagement instead? It would've made sense. Everyone knows she was going to marry him eventually, so where did Baela come from? Was his mother keeping something from him? Was this Daemons doing!?

Yeah, he's taken so off guard, but he's also wary of Readers' next actions. He knows of her ambition, and he knows how far she's willing to go for it (no he doesn't) and he knows she already dislikes Luke bc of Aemond. He's really conflicted.

Rhaenys has had enough of Readers' indecisiveness and decides to make the choice for her. In her mind, the worst case scenario, is that Reader was going to choose Jace, and they end up marrying the boy to two women.

Best case scenario is that Viserys accepts Rhaena and Baela as 'the great unification' instead and allows Reader to marry anyone she wants. Anyone besides Aemond.

(Bad parenting on her part)

Reader is pissed, sad, and panicking, so what does she do?

She goes to Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra, who has always pursued her heart over anything else.

Rhaenyra, who has consistently pushed aside duty and perception for love.

Rhaenyra, who is her last shot at securing the iron throne.

Reader approaches Rhaenyra in private and breaks down. She begs Rhaenyra to wed her to Jace alongside Baela.

She loves Jace! She's always loved him, but never had the opportunity to inform anyone of her feelings (which is true tbf). She's fine being a second wife as long as she gets to spend the rest of her life with him.

She really sells it. Kneeling, tears, snot, the whole nine yards.

Rhaenyra believes it. She has seen how much her son cares for Reader and mourns the future that could have been. However, she's hesitant to go against Rhaenys. She trusted the older woman to help her and her sons, and she did. So she must have had a good reason not to announce Reader and Jace rather than Baela and Jace.

"I am afraid it is not my decision to make."

"You will be queen one day, if you speak it, my parents will have no choice but to heed your wishes."

Rhaenyra is torn, but in the end, she prioritizes her children above anything.

"I will ask your mother to reconsider once the dust has settled, whatever choice she makes will be final."

"If you do not command it, she will never reconsider! The longer we wait, the more people will know and if that happens, it'll never be accepted!"

"I am truly sorry."

Oooooh now Rhaenyra is on Readers shit list.

So, Reader feels backed into a corner. She's hurt, angry, embarrassed, and ashamed. She feels as if she's lost everything, all within the span of a few hours.

Then, Aemond visits her. He comes to her with open arms and sweet words. He kneels before her and proclaims his love and devotion and his desire to make her Queen.

Reader is so angry at Rhaenyra and her parents that she allows herself to believe his honeyed words and sweet smile. She loves him as much as she loves Jace, so it's not a total loss. Besides, Aemond has proven himself willing to do anything for her.

She announces their engagement that night at the dinner table.

Viserys is stoked. Three engagements in a day!!

Otto and Alicent are also happy. Otto just thinks this has been a long time coming, and Alicent is relieved to finally have Aemond off of her plate. (These two have no idea what's coming 💀)

Rhaenyra is flabbergasted. Literally, like an hour before, Reader was begging to marry her son, and now this???

Jace is utterly heartbroken. He understands that realistically, it was inevitable, considering he was now betrothed to another, but the pain was the same nonetheless.

Rhaenys is pissed. She did all this to avoid Reader marrying Aemond, and she turns around and does it anyway!?! She can't speak up though because it makes her appear weak and not in control, and she'd never willingly show that to anyone, much less with Daemon present.

Luke is terrified, his two worst enemies are now engaged!?

Helaena is so excited to have Reader as a sister in law!! Her dreams have shown her great things about this marriage. She makes sure to include Reader in her toast as well lol.

Aegon finds it hilarious. The two dragonless Targaryen's getting married, ha! (He'll regret laughing later lol)

Daemon is unnerved. He's probably the only one who sees the marriage as what it actually is. A power move. One unseen by anyone but him. Though he'd never admit it, he was sure he could handle Aemond or Reader alone, but together? Together, they might just be unstoppable...

That night was the last time Reader danced with Jace before the war.

Aemonds toast was unexpected, but Reader felt it was justified and even broke Baelas nose when her niece got up to help Luke and Jace.

Jace was astonished.

Aemond had a sexual awakening lmaoo.

The night King Viserys dies, a shadow flies above kings landing, quickly followed by a terrible storm.

The next day, during the search for Aegon, Reader approaches Otto, and offers a backup plan.

She knows that all he truly wants is a puppet, that he has no care about 'rightful' heirs, which is why they chose to be so insistent on Aegon being crowned.

She also knows how much Aegon despises the thought of ruling.

They both know that Aemond would do anything for the crown.

But only she knows that he'd do anything for her.

So she proposes a deal. Should Aegon falter, it would be best to replace him with Aemond.

A war is inevitable, and they both know that, despite his temper, Aemond would be far more likely to win against Rhaenyra and Daemon than Aegon has any hope of.

Aemond is also as loyal as a hound to his beloved, and if Otto agrees to crown him, Reader would ensure that Aemond heeds his grandfathers every wish for as long as he lives...

Otto hesitates. He has come to see the kind of woman Reader is and has no reason to believe that she would lie. He agrees with everything she says, as it is all the truth. He also sees her as another pawn he could utilize as he believes she respects him and listens to him well. (🤡)

He accepts her proposal but insists that Aegon be King for as long as rationally possible. After all, it was Viserys' dying wish to crown him so it wouldn't look great to immediately replace him. He also reminds Reader of Alicents loyalty to Viserys and his wishes.

Reader isn't very happy with the deal, but accepts it nonetheless. She's waited this long right?

In the meantime, she swears loyalty to the greens.

Aemond is surprised to hear of this deal, but is elated at how much easier this would make their succession. He's so impressed and in awe of Reader!!

Rhaenys and Erryk attempt to take Reader with them to Dragonstone, but she vehemently refuses.

"You have humiliated me countless times. Ruined my childhood and painted false images of honor and glory in my head only to whisk it all away without a second thought!! Now, you ridicule me for choosing the only person who has ever truly loved me? Scorn and curse me for not bowing down to the mutts who took MY birthright from me!?! You speak of honor and oaths... You are nothing more than a hypocrite."

Rhaenys is gutted. She finally sees how big she fucked up. Still, it's not like she can do much so she leaves without her, swearing to come back for her once she 'sees the truth.'

Thus, Aegon is crowned king, and the Reader chases Rhaenys out of kings landing on the back of a huge black dragon.

Ideally, and in my head, its Balerion. The parallels of Vhaegar and Balerion being the previous dragons of Visenya and The Conquerer and now Aemond and Reader are too compelling!! If you prefer to be a bit more canon compliant, I also can see her claiming a son of Vhaegar and Balerion, hatched during the conquest and hidden away. Maybe Vhaegar leads him to Reader cuz she feels a war is coming.

The smallfolk see it as a sign. Since they love Reader so much, they view her obtaining a dragon in such a time as a promise that she is destined for greatness. In the light of the battle for succession, word flits about the people of kings landing that perhaps it is time for a change. Perhaps Reader and her Husband should sit the Iron Throne. After all, they ride dragons from the days of the conqueror, and have shown much more care and compassion for the true good of the realm than either Aegon or Rhaenyra.

Corlys and Rhaenys mourn the relationship they ruined with their only daughter. Corlys' only requirement to swear to Rhaenyra is that his daughter be spared, no matter what happens. Rhaenys and Jace back him up. Rhaenyra agrees. (They're all delulu and believe Aemond has bewitched her or manipulated her in some way)

Reader uses the time between Aegons coronation and Lucerys' death to bond and train with her dragon. While Aemond was sent to deal with Lord Borros, offering gold and slaves, Reader flew to Driftmark and rallied a good portion of sailors and soldiers. She has a good reputation amongst the people of her home, and many of them refused to live under and serve Lucerys when she was their one true ruler.

When Aemond returns to kings landing with the news of Luke's death, Reader is disappointed and vexed.

She wasn't mad that he killed Lucerys, but because he did so at the worst time. Otto was bound to see this major fuckup and completely reconsider their deal.

Aemond is so upset bc he disappointed her.

Jace is now resolved to 'save' Reader from Aemond, if he killed Luke what's stopping him from killing her??

Reader now has to work to save Aemonds reputation. Not only is he 'deformed' but now he's a kinslayer! Any claim he has to the throne is dwindling the more he acts.

She also has to figure out how to deal with Alicent.

And find a way to get Helaena and her children out of the keep before all hell breaks loose.

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Okay, officially, the end of season 1! Season 2 might take me a bit longer to write because there's a lot more to figure out. Also, I like how this was originally supposed to be a vague outline and just fleshed into a whole rant, lol. I'm kind of forcing myself to finish this format bc I really want to write more in depth one-shots showing some scenes but I can't until I finish posting these.

Idk what to call these. It's not a full fic, it's not really headcanons either...

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aphrogeneias · 4 months

Text

it's been seven hours and fifteen days —

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (soulmate!au)

summary: it's new years eve, and as the year comes to an end, so do a lot of other things.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: fluff and a lot of angst. brief sexual assault (by an unnamed patron). a little bit of violence. mention of a gun (as a joke, very quickly). a cliffhanger. stobin (platonic with a capital p) appreciation.

author's note: it's been a long time, but the show must go on. i hope you enjoy it! <3 also, please don't hate after you're done with this, 'kay? pinky promise.

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Steve and Robin surprised you with a visit right before New Year’s Eve of 1991.

Surprised isn't the word, in fact. They had both been dropping hints about coming over to see you whenever you'd talk on the phone for a few weeks then, especially since Eddie came back to your life. You were trying to not worry them, to not bring up the subject too often, but they knew you better than you knew yourself.

In the same way Eddie once knew you too.

On the morning of the 30th, you were woken up by several insisting knocks on your apartment door. Those were unexpected in themselves, since no one used to visit you. Especially at that time of day, after a long Sunday night shift. Your roommate was out of town for the holidays, and even then, it wasn’t like there were people coming in and out of your home on Monday mornings.

Mornings were for sleeping in and recovering from the buzzing in your ears left by way too loud live music — Linda would always say you'd all end up deaf, but you couldn't think of a better way of eventually losing your hearing — and standing on your feet since the afternoon. However, that particular Monday morning was different than any other.

Stumbling out of bed, you inwardly cursed whoever was bothering you this early, when you'd just gotten to bed. From the other side of the door, you could hear two people arguing. “Stop knocking! You've already woken up the whole building!”, one of them said, in a frazzled whisper-shout. The other responded, in an almost bored tone, “And she might still be asleep.”

You'd never yanked the lock open that fast in your life.

Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley, with bags under their eyes and bags on the floor by their feet, stood on your doorstep. Their matching smiles staring right back at you.

“What are you doing here?” You gasped, launching yourself forward, involving both of them with your arms around their shoulders in an awkward group hug.

“We were long overdue for a road trip to see you.” Steve sounded tired as he squeezed you back.

“The old Beemer almost didn't make it.” Robin commented as you pulled away.

“I’d kill both of you for surprising me like this on my day off but I'm too happy to care right now.” You were already pulling their bags inside and closing the door, leading them in.

“Can we take a nap first? I'd rather be killed while I'm well rested.”

The cold, early morning sun shining through the window curtains made that sight even more surreal. Robin already lying on your couch, and Steve sitting himself on the floor in front of it, resting his head on the seat. You smiled through the sleepy fog that still lingered behind your eyes.

“That can be arranged.”

They slept through the morning and a little into the afternoon, which gave you time to sleep too.

After you were all awake and they'd settled their luggage in your room, showered and changed, it was time for an improvised breakfast for lunch with whatever you had in your fringe. Frozen waffles, scrambled eggs and plenty of coffee.

You sat around the small, square table in your kitchen while you listened to them talk about everything, everyone, you'd left behind. About running into your mom at Bradley’s Big Buy, about the kids going to college, — and how Robin hopes Dustin never follows any of Steve's advice, much to his chagrin — about Robin’s life in the city and Steve’s struggle to let go of the past.

Some things would never change, even when they did most drastically.

You didn't speak about yourself, content in just hearing them talk, basking in their warm presence. Until Robin asked, “What about Eddie, huh?”

“Yeah, what about Eddie?” Steve repeated, trying to act casually while he filled his mug with more coffee. It was never his strong suit.

You sat back in your chair, crossing your arms. “What about Eddie?”

“Can't we ask how he's doing? How are the two of you doing?” Robin mirrored your position, grinning at you.

“There's no two of us, nothing’s changed in that regard, before you ask.” You sighed, “And Eddie… Eddie is doing great. The band is doing great, they're getting good traction with the public, the bar has been more and more crowded each weekend. It's just a matter of time until they get a better offer as a resident band, or from a label. I'm happy for him, for them.” You quickly corrected yourself.

“What about you? Are you happy?”

You couldn't help but smile at Steve's question. “It's bittersweet, I think. I grew used to having him around again, some days it's like I haven't even left, but I know it's got an expiration date hanging over us all over again. It's good to have him while I can, you know? I try not to think too much about it.”

“No use in telling him, then?” Robin finally breached the subject, you knew that was where they were trying to get all along.

You shake your head. “No, there never was, really. It's what I told you guys five years ago and it hasn't changed. Eddie doesn't want a soulmate, even if it's…”

“Not even if it's you? I really doubt that.” Steve interjected.

“Especially if it's me. Especially now, after everything I did. It's not fair to him.”

They exchanged a look then, one of those looks Robin and Steve shared that no one but then could really tell what it meant. It was enviable, really, to be that understood by someone. You once knew what that was like.

Before either of them could say anything, something shifted at the table. Subtle, like a soft gust of air, but you knew the feeling. You knew it well, and when you looked down between the empty plate of waffles and your barely touched cup of coffee, sat something that wasn't there a moment ago.

A woven leather bracelet, with a simple silver clasp. It was slightly worn, clearly well loved. There was no question where it came from.

You picked it up, letting it hang from your pointer finger.

“Is that… his?” Steve broke the silence.

A tired sigh left your lips from deep within your chest. “Who else could it be from?”

One more for the box.

As seemed like a pattern that day, you got woken up again, this time by the phone ringing.

Robin was sleeping in your roommate’s bedroom — because what she doesn't won't hurt her — and Steve was dead asleep, snoring on your couch. He didn't budge as you picked up the bright blue receiver from where it hung from the wall.

“Hello?”

“Did I wake you up?”

Eddie's tone did not indicate he was even a bit remorseful — you could practically see the dimples forming around his lips stretched in a charming smirk, his body leaning against the telephone booth.

“You didn't call me to ask that.”

Little did he know you had a matching smile on your own lips.

“You’re right. Jus’ wanna hear your adorable, middle of the night voice.”

“Asshole.” You scoffed, and if your face felt a little hot, you tried to ignore it. “What's up?”

“You wanna go help me put up some posters over on the Strip? Linda said we need all the marketing we can get for New Year’s, and I could use some help.”

“And your dear bandmates can't help because…?”

“Didn't ask them. I'm asking you.”

“Why? Missed my pretty face that much? You saw me yesterday, man.”

“Jesus…” He sighed, overdramatic and loud, as you'd expect. “Just get your cute butt over here, I'm waiting at the next corner.”

You giggled, again, not being able to help yourself. “I knew it.”

Most days, you liked to tell yourself you shouldn't get too attached. Eddie would soon be leaving again, on a tour bus to brave the country — with how much people they'd been attracting to The Deuce, it was only a matter of time until one of them was a producer scouting for their label’s next big hit.

You told yourself that, if he didn't leave, then you would. You'd done it once, there was no harm in doing it again.

You realized you liked lying to yourself more than you were previously aware of.

Lying to yourself was what you did when you were crammed into the passenger seat of Jeff’s old car, less conspicuous than the beat-up behemoth Eddie calls a van, scouring the city for the best spot to tack some concert posters. The late night radio tune the background of your laughter, inside jokes returning like second nature, the red string tightening around your pinky finger.

It was what you did when he held your hand to make you walk the streets faster, trying to cover more ground through the night, the same way that he used to when you played together. When he asked you to sit on his shoulders to attach posters to places higher than either of you could reach, and his hands rested warm on your thighs. When you ended the night at the same diner you did every morning, sleepy eyes meeting over hot coffee mugs.

Closer each day, still pretending to be far.

Holidays were never a busy time at The Deuce, which meant that the crowd at that New Year's Eve party was something you'd never seen before.

Being one of the smaller, lesser known clubs at the Strip, your parties were always a bit more inconspicuous. Smaller bands, smaller crowds, a lot less trouble. For some reason — and you suspected it was due to the news of a certain frontman’s charisma spreading through the city like wildfire — everything you expected was turned upside down this year.

Tickets were sold out that afternoon, and the bouncer had manager to squeeze in a few more people waiting in line. All pretty girls, of course. You had drinks to sell, after all.

The beginning of the night went as smoothly as you could manage. You got in earlier than usual, as did the rest of the staff, and by the time people started rolling in, you barely had time to greet Robin and Steve, who promptly found a place to sit further from the stage.

It was funny, seeing all of your old friends under the same roof again, even if it was just for one night. The boys came from backstage to say hello for a moment, and it was almost like being back at The Hideout again, with those same old drunks, and much less history between all of you. If you closed your eyes, it was almost like being there again.

If you looked closely, though, the strained smiles and awkward small talk amidst your closest friends and Eddie told you everything would never be the same again, not even if you tried.

A new year, a new life. Wishes to make, though yours was always the same.

You tried to shake that feeling, though, and concentrate on work. On the buzzing, electric feeling in the air, on the loud chatter and the music the DJ was playing in the background, on the eminent excitement for midnight to come.

Your wish happened to come out of backstage again that evening right before the band came on, wrapping one arm around your shoulder while you carried an empty tray towards the bar.

Your heart raced as he leaned closer, voice lowered for your ears only. “Do you see that guy over there?”

He pointed at a man sitting by himself, close to the stage — as close as he could get without getting into the crowd that was already forming in front of it. He looked like a mixture of Kim Fowley and a Ken doll, nothing too out of the ordinary for the men you saw regularly here, but he was definitely not a regular.

“Who is that?” You whispered back at him as you placed the tray back on the counter. Eddie remained there, with his arm around you, his body learning against your side. You could tell how excited he was by the wild grin on his face.

“He's here for us. Linda called on some favors with an old friend who knows people, and… voi-fucking-lá. We have an in.”

“Good luck, then.” You smiled, turning to fully look at him. “You're gonna need it.”

You were not expecting it when he left a lingering kiss on your forehead before walking away.

If there was a strange feeling growing on the back of your throat, you tried your best to ignore it. It stayed there as you watched Corroded Coffin perform what you thought was their best night there, their music rising and rising the crowd until they broke like a wave, manic guitars and heavy drums working them for their own pleasure.

It stayed until the clock struck midnight, and Eddie threw a kiss at you from the stage, and you pretended to catch it in the air and place it in your heart. Somehow, that felt more intimate than the dozens of couples kissing all around you.

All hell broke loose after the band left the stage.

The DJ returned, where he would stay until the bar closed, and as everyone scattered around the bar, it was the usual pandemonium you were already used to, but with much more people. The bar was busy, which meant you were busy, but not too busy to sneak a shot or two with Steve and Robin, or watch the former flirt with Heather behind the bar.

Eddie and the boys were all around, talking to everybody. It felt nice to see them in their element, especially Eddie with his big gestures and loud personality — he was right at home, there. It felt even nicer when you managed to cross each other, his hands always finding a way to touch you, to let you know he was there.

As good nights, though, that one also had to come to an end.

It started to crumble when you had a full tray of beers, and a man bumped into you. You tripped, but didn't fall, thanks to all the practice you'd had. The man grabbed your waist, then, harshly. “Whoa, there! Falling for me already?”

“You wish. Let go.” You responded, curly, already trying to escape. It wasn't the first time you dealt with one of these types, and it wouldn't be the last. Keeping your cool was the best you could do in a situation like this.

“Not yet. Let me show you a good time, baby.”

“I said let me fucking go.” You gritted through your teeth. Some people around started to notice, and it wasn't long until they started staring. His hands started to lower on your hips, whining some you couldn't understand through slurred speech, until you felt someone push the man's shoulder.

“She said let go, man. You heard it the first time.”

“Not right now, pretty boy.” He pointed at Eddie, and you saw an opportunity to pull yourself away, and didn't resist stepping on his foot, hard.

“Asshole. Get the fuck out of here.”

The man’s face grew red with pain, and anger, no doubt. “Bitch!”

You heard Eddie let out a bitter laugh before his face was flying at the man’s face, who upon impact, lost balance and barrelled into you again, but with full force this time, sending the beers on your tray flying, glass shattering on the floor, and beer spilling onto you.

It was like being in the middle of a hurricane. Eddie fought the guy, who was already on the floor, as the boys came running to drag Eddie away. Robin, with Steve on her tow, pulled a startled you by the hand and away from there. Her and Heather lead you towards Linda’s office at the back, but all you wanted was to look back.

In your haste, you'd left the door unlocked.

The bathroom inside the small office room was cramped, but better than the ones outside. Robin had offered to come in with you, but you wanted to cool off alone. She waited outside as you attempted to clean yourself, your black top hanging from the sink as you wiped the drink off your chest with paper towels.

Your heart still beating fast in your eardrums, though the adrenaline was starting to wear off, made you tremble a bit, a cold shiver going through your body. You didn't know if it was relief that nothing worse happened, or if it was the phantom memory of Eddie’s hands gripping your body close to his.

You sighed, looking at your disheveled self in the blurry, dirty mirror.

The door handle rattled behind you, and you answered without looking. “I'll be right out, Rob.”

“Buckley is outside with Harrington and the bartender chick.” There's a slightly injured hand, free of the usual rings adorning it, holding the door a few inches open, and a face obscured by overgrown bangs. “Can I come in?”

Through your daze, you made yourself a reminder to trim Eddie’s hair when you could.

Sensing his hesitation, you smiled as best as you could through your reflection, feeling too vulnerable to look back. “Yeah. Of course.”

Quietly, — too quietly for Eddie — he came in and the door clicked closed behind him, but he didn't move, staying still with his back against it. You realized he was probably trying to make himself smaller, as to not scare you even further. Your heart grew warm while your body still shivered.

“Is everyone alright?”

When you turned, you noticed you were mirroring each other's positions. Trying to stay as far as possible in that tight space, arms pressed to yourselves, as the red string between you pulled and pulled and pulled, strained to the point of breaking.

It didn't, it wouldn't.

“Yeah, they kicked the guy out. Uh… I kicked the guy out, actually, and the guys helped, but yeah.” He chuckled nervously. You couldn't see them, but if you had to guess, the tips of his ears would be bright red. “Linda threatened him to never come back with that pistol she keeps under her desk, you should have seen it.”

You giggled despite yourself, “Man, how could I have missed that.”

“Are you alright?” Big brown eyes stared at you from across the small room and, as they always did, disarmed you completely.

“I'm alright.” You turned again, reaching to give your wet top a thorough squeeze before putting it on again. “Didn't get hurt, just got wet…”

You forced a laugh, but Eddie didn't return the sentiment. When you looked back again, he wasn't looking at you anymore.

He was crouching, picking something off the floor. The ceiling light wasn't on, just the yellow one over the mirror, and you struggled to see what it was until he straightened himself up, shuffling on his boots. The first thing you noticed on his right hand was a silver chain, and at the end of it, a red guitar pick. It must have fallen while you took your top off in a hurry.

You knew it like the back of your own hand. It was slightly chipped at the bottom, the scaly red slowly losing its former glossy finish, the faded Fender logo at the center of it.

You knew he knew it too.

“Where did you get this?”

A hand stretched between you, like a long corridor in a dream. Just within your line of sight, but unreachable. The necklace hung from it, limp, its silver chain glinting in the yellow light of the flickering lamp.

When you didn't answer, Eddie’s voice hardened. “I'm not gonna ask again.”

Your eyes were focused on the red guitar pick, not on his face. You swallowed hard, “I think you already know.”

“No, I don't.” He emphasizes it with your name, and it hurts you to hear it. The atmosphere changed completely, then. “I lost this years ago after a show in Indy, but you were already gone. Where did you get it?”

Eddie's voice trembled with something you only describe as betrayal. There was grief too, somewhere in there. Your shattered heart ached, but you couldn't find it in yourself to say something. Anything.

“What have you been hiding from me?” He had never sounded this quiet. It scared you.

“Nothing you don't already know.” You mumble, staring at the floor. “Like I said, I think you already know.”

Frustrated, he stomps his feet, but you don't flinch. “Goddamnit! Just tell me. Tell me. I want to hear it from you.”

“So, you do know?”

Narrowed eyes met in the middle. The red string tensed, and bent — does it break? Could it, ever? Sometimes you wished you could snap it. For his sake, not yours. But all it did was stretch impossibly tighter, like the fist that closed itself around your heart.

“I don't…” Eddie's eyes glistened in the dark, whiskey dark, swimming in murky waters. “I feel like I don't know you like I thought I did.”

You broke first, approaching the door with trembling legs, like a deer in headlights. The two of you stared at each other closely for what felt like more than just a mere moment, unsaid things hanging heavy in the air.

“Did you ever?”

It doesn't break, but bends, and bends, and bends.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst

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artists-ally · 7 months

Text

{She Gets The Flowers, Right?} Reader x Lucien Vanssera {Pt. 3}

Welp... here you go! I shall prepare to be boiled alive. Enjoy!

Word Count: 7,525

Warnings: you know the drill. Angst, language, hurt/comfort, nasty ass cliffhanger

Tagging: @bubybubsters @thelov3lybookworm @cyrygher @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @anuttellaa @crazylokonugget @thehighlordishere @acourtofbatboydreams @thisblogisaboutabook @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @venuseuripedis

Summary: Can everything be reconciled? Be repaired? Was it all just a big misunderstanding?

~~~~~~

READER POV

THAT MORNING...

There is nothing quite as startling as waking up to the sound of silence. In a life full of chaos, full of commotion and the constant buzz of energy, silence is unsettling. Especially in a house that should be full of laughter, taunting jokes, and easy smiles.

Anger seared my heart. Branded it black. Visions of heated conversations seep into mind, flooding my vision in red.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so mad in my life. The fact that he chose her over me. But I refused to let him disrespect me. I said hurtful things. And a twisted part of me likes the fact that they hurt him. I wanted him to suffer and grovel as much as I have been.

It’s petty, but I don’t care.

I push myself out of bed, dragging to the bathroom to sort myself out. I look in the mirror: skin? Dry. Eyes? Puffy. Lips? Swollen. I look tired. I am tired. And no amount of sleep will fix the bone deep ache of sheer disappointment.

Gods, he is still everywhere. Even with all his stuff gone; his toothbrush, his signature scent, his body soap and cufflinks sitting in the dish behind the faucet, somehow, he’s still here. Bits and pieces of him, of his once kind words…. All of it has turned sour.

A day has yet to go by where I don’t think of him. Of his laugh. Of the way his lip trembles when he cries.

I miss him.

And every day I hate myself more for it.

I shouldn’t miss him. What did he do besides torture me with the fact that he’ll never give me the time of day? Just like Elain was doing to him. I hope he’s happy. No, I don’t. That’s a lie. I hope he’s just as miserable as I am.

That’s even more of a lie.

I dress without thinking, my outfit the same as it has been for the past month and a half after opening the restaurant. The double breasted, black chefs coat with three stars embroidered over the heart. The slithering, embroidered black filigree on the shoulders, in a slightly different sheen to make them stand out. The pants had matching details over the pockets and down the side of the pant leg. My boots slip on and I grab my cap, fitting it over my head before heading out the door to get an early start.

Every fucking day since I kicked him out has been an early start. Anything to keep myself in this place we used to call home. I should move. Repaint at the least. Change something.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Everything is painfully the same.

When I need change the most, I can’t–for the life of me–decide what I want that change to be.

It doesn’t fucking matter.

He’ll always be there.

A murmur in the back of my head of what could’ve been.

Should I be this jealous? This aggravated over this whole thing? Am I overreacting? It’s not like he cheated on me, we weren’t even together. But I wanted him so bad I was willing to kick him out because he chose someone else over me. Oh Gods… I am a horrible-

No, I stop myself. Taking a deep breath as I step down off the porch, heading down the well beaten dirt path towards the city. Your feelings are valid. He hurt you. Badly. You didn’t overreact. Some would say it might’ve been an underreaction, or how could you have let it go on this long? You are allowed to be upset, for as long as you need. No one can tell you otherwise.

No one can tell you otherwise. I repeat the words over and over. I stare down at the cobblestone sidewalks, firsts clenched under my arms. I chew my lip. I clench my teeth. Things I always did, and things Lucien would try to get me to stop.

He’d put a hand on my shoulder. Or grab my hand to keep from digging my nails into my palms.

No one will ever know me as well as he did.

And that shatters my soul.

The thought of having to try to explain the events of my life to someone all over again… it’ll be impossible. Why couldn’t he have just loved me back?

Before I have time to realize where I’m going, I’m at Meliora. I see Ms. Immy bustling around. I wonder if she ever sleeps.

“Ah!” She cheers when I walk in the door. “My Spirit of the Gods! How are you dear?”

I give a half smile. “I’ve been better. Just the usual for me, please.”

“You are still missing your Fox?”

I nod. I watch as she pours the bubbling water into my mug, dipping the peppermint tea bag into the liquid. She’s so methodical. I’ve been here a thousand times, and she manages to make it the same way every time. Ms. Immy dusts the top with granules of sugar, adding a mint leaf to the top. She slides it in front of me as she grabs the chocolate chip muffin from the case.

“When are you going to talk to him?”

The question throws me for a loop. I answer honestly, “I wasn’t planning on ever seeing him again.”

She snorts. “I doubt that will hold true. He misses you too.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.”

Yes. I do. “I don’t know how to forgive him.”

“Then don’t.”

I blink. What? “So, you think I should make amends with him, but not forgive him? How does that work?”

“He is your mate, no?” I nod. “Then you love him. Why is it so difficult to forgive someone you love?”

“I don’t know,” I bit my tongue. “I don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“Yet you still want him back.”

Wow. I sound so pathetic. I cast my eyes down, tapping my fingers on the mug. “No matter how much I love him, I won’t let myself remain second place. I refuse to let myself go through to torture of always being picked next. Never first. No matter how much it hurts to stay away from him.”

She clicks her tongue, wiping down the counter behind her. Faintly, she hums a tune, its melody ringing in my ears. I feel like I knew it once. But I've been so caught up in everything that happened last month to bother trying to hold onto those types of memories.

I am losing myself.

“Do you know the meaning of Meliora?”

It’s the name of her cafe. I shrugged, “No, should I?”

“It means the place for better things, my Spirit. It is an ancient omen, an ancient oath of the Night Court. This is a Meliora, a place for better things. Seems like you could use some better things.”

“I have Latibule. I am living my dream of owning a restaurant. Better has come.”

“And it has gone,” Ms. Immy says. “Don’t fool yourself Yn. You are lost without Lucien. If he were to ask for your forgiveness, to give up Elain and all that has happened, would you accept him? If he said he only wanted you, would you have him?”

I grind my teeth together. The peppermint tea has turned to acid on my tongue. No one can tell you otherwise, no one can tell you otherwise…

“There are things in the world Yn, so precious and hard to find that it would be stupid to let it go. To trade it away over unintentional negligence. Lucien loves you. You love him. The two of you have been blessed by the Cauldron with a mate. Let it go to waste and suffer the consequences of never being able to fill that void. Let it rot your mind and heart for anyone else.”

I grind my teeth harder. Why does she insist on forgiving Lucien?

“After everything I did for him, after saving his life and rebuilding him from the ground up, he decides to repay me how? By forgetting about me and standing me up on the most important day of my life? Seems pretty unforgettable to me.”

“There is a great balance in this world. And to keep it, the Cauldron dishes out magic and illusions to offset it. Lucien got the short end of the stick and got more than he could handle.”

“Well that's not my fault.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “But it is your problem. Yn, all I’m suggesting is you give him a chance. There is no telling what will happen between you two if you don’t try.”

“I don’t want to try, what if I make things worse? What if it doesn’t work out?”

“But what if it does?” _____

But what if it does? I have been doing nothing all service besides thinking what Ms. Immy last said to me. But what if it does? I start spiriling with questions after that.

What if it does work out? Will I be able to fully trust that he won’t run back to Elaine? If it doesn't, will I just spend the rest of my life trying to find him in everyone else? Will I ever find someone else? How can I be so sure that he’ll want me in his life after I’ve kicked him out? If I see him, will I want to punch him in the face? Could I even stomach looking at him? Would I just puke from nerves and anger? Should I even bother? What if I never get the chance to-

“Yn, there is a table seated in section 8 for you,” my lovely hostess, Esmira, calls from the window.

“I’ve got six pans on right now, Es. I can’t just take a table. Where are Karos and Daxillion? They’re supposed to have a handle on this right now.”

“We’ve got a full house. It’s the High Lord and Lady, as well as her sister and the General.”

Shit. It’s midweek, why do we have a full house? Especially at lunch. From what I’ve heard amongst my staff's gossip, Lucien has been living at his house. I don’t want to see anyone. Especially someone who’s been caring for him.

“Okay… okay fine I’ll take the table. Go take their drink orders and I’ll be right back. Esro, I need you to cover my station in between checks.”

“Heard,” he calls back dutifully. He always takes the shit I give him and dusts it with gold. I should give him a raise.

I jog to the supply closet where I have an extra uniform stashed in case of an emergency. I change quickly, taking my cap off and fluffing out my hair. Not bad but… not great. I still look so tired.

Esmira scampers into the bathroom to hand me their drink list. A bottle of wine and water for the table. Easy enough.

Racking the glasses onto the carrier, I haul the bottle of wine and decanter of water to the table, plastering a courageous smile on my lips. Who knows if it’s actually convincing.

“Evening, my High Lord and Lady,” I greet. “Cassian and-” Elain. It’s Elain. What is she doing- “Elain. Good to see you out and-”

“You don’t have to pretend to be excited to see me. I know you’re not. I ruined your relationship with Lucien.”

Well, shit okay guess this is happening now. What do I say? “He made a choice, it’s not your fault.” I settled on.

But it is your problem… screw you Ms. Immy.

She looks hesitantly to the High Lord, who gives a firm nod. She sighs. “I’ve tried to stop him from pursuing me for months. He still comes back. I share no bond with the firehead.”

Firehead, ha! Why had I never thought of that one?

I just press my lips together, fighting off the prickle in my nose and throat. “Can I take your meal orders? Anything you’d like to start with?”

“He misses you, Yn.” Rhysand spoke. His violet eyes swirling with stars. “Is there a chance you’ll talk to him?”

I feel like such an outsider looking at the Inner Circle. There were so many outcomes I could’ve had in Velaris. I could’ve been a part of their Court, not just an inhabitant. But I chose the path my heart wanted, and lost the thing it needed most.

I swipe the tear away as fast as it falls.

“I’ll bring a round of bread for the table.” And I head off.

____

After I had served them their meals, bid them farewell with a pitiful look on the High Lords face, the room was a lost less crowded.

Now I’m starting to wonder if we were meant to say goodbye. Maybe there is something salvageable. But I don’t want to shred myself to pieces for a maybe. Even he is not worthy of my self destruction.

But what if it does?

“Hello?” A sultry voice says from behind me. I rack the polished pint glass and turn over my shoulder, greeted with a handsome face. Too handsome… curse these high fae. He’s got rippling muscles as he crosses his arms over his chest, eyes a vibrant, ashy caramel. And his hair… “I’m looking for Yn?”

What does he want? “Is there something I can help you with?”

“For once, my brother wasn’t reserved in his descriptions.”

What? His brother? I stare at the male, taking in his sharp nose, those eyes like fire, his hair… oh Gods-

“I’m Lucien’s brother, Eris.”

I stay silent, taking in his face. Fuck, there is a lot of Lucien there. More than I’d like to see. They have the same eyes and hair. And it hurts to see so much of him in someone else.

“Now, I don’t particularly care that much about who you are-”

Charming.

“-but I do know you made my brother happy. At one point or another. I also don’t care what happened between the two of you, but it must’ve been bad.”

“Leave.”

“Whether or not you talk to my sorry bastard brother means nothing to me. But if I have to deal with one more Court meeting where Rhys and his brute ask me if I’ve talked to him, I will rip off my own ears.”

“I asked you to leave my restaurant.”

“Is this how you treat all your customers?”

I narrowed my eyes, “You are not a customer, you haven’t ordered anything. So have a good day, Eris.”

“I’ll take a pint of ale,” he smirks. Smirks, like I’ve got all the time in the world to listen to him babble about how much he wants me to talk to Lucien.

With a viscous yank, I pull off the glass I just put away and fix it under the tap. I debate spitting in it. That most certainly would not end well for me or my restaurant. I’ve already had one Vanserra ruin my life, I don’t need another to ruin the only hope I have left.

I slap the glass down in front of him, turning around to finish unloading the clean dishes from the drying racks.

“So,” he slurps his drink, “when are you going to fix your shit with Lucien?”

“I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“Because he hasn’t earned my forgiveness.”

“What would it take?”

“Doesn’t matter. I won’t forgive him.” Can he stop asking me so many fucking questions? I just want to clean up, shut down the kitchen, hand out todays tips and go the fuck home.

“Why?”

My hands came down on the steel counter, rattling plates and saucers. “Why are you so fucking concerned with something that isn’t your problem?”

He goes quiet for a second, and I’m blessed with a moment of peace from his irritating voice. “Because, despite being nothing but a pain in my ass, he’s still my brother. And he’s miserable. And you’re the reason why.”

“No,” I snapped, ready to hurl a glass at his thick fucking skull. “He’s the reason he’s miserable. He did all the damage on his own. All I did was ask him to be there for me, and he threw me aside like a stray cat begging for a warm meal.”

“What did he do?”

“It’s none of your business, Eris. Go away, the bar is closing.”

“I still have a tab open.”

“Then come back tomorrow and pay it.”

“But I’ll be away.”

“Then it’s on the house,” I sighed, too exhausted to deal with this. “Just go. Please.”

“As soon as you tell me what he did I’ll-”

“He fucking ruined me, thats what he did.” Thank god the restaurant was empty or else the whole city would know that I’ve been completely shattered by Lucien Vanserra. Who am I kidding, I’m sure everyone already does. “All I asked was that he be there for me the day I opened my restaurant.”

Eris puts his palms up, “well? Where was he?”

“Where do you think?” The glare I sent him made him back off.

“Oh…”

I scoff, “yeah, oh. I gave up everything for him. My family, my home, my life to restore him after he fled to the Spring Court. I just wanted his support. And he was busy with a female who would rather be tortured than in his presence.”

“I don’t think it’s fair to blame Elain for-”

“I wasn’t blaming Elain,” I corrected. “Lucien let me down. Unforgivably. That's the end of it. I don’t want an apology from him, it won’t do anything for me.”

Eris let out a long sigh. “Look, I understand that he hurt you. I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings. He fucked up. Point blank. He’ll never be able to take back what he did and said. But is there any way that the two of you may be able to move on?”

“Move on?” I scoffed, a cruel laugh escaping me. “Move on? Eris, I confessed to him that I am his mate, and he told me I was selfish because I wasn’t happy about him and Elain.”

“Were you?”

“Of course I was,” I ran my palms over my face. “Did it hurt knowing he’d never look at me like that? Yes, but I was prepared to live with it if it meant that he got to live a happy, fulfilled life. I didn’t care who it was, it was the fact that he forgot all about me. On more than one occasion. Menu designs, recipe tastings, wine tastings… all of it. He missed all of it to go be with her.”

“So you’re jealous?”

It took everything inside me to not rear up and smack him across the face. Who does this asshole think he is? Instead of possibly earning myself more trouble, I take his glass of ale off the counter, dump it, and rinse the glass.

“I wasn’t done with-”

“Well, you’re done now. Thank you for dining with Latibule, but the restaurant is officially closed. See yourself out.”

Eris clicks his tongue, pushing off the bar. The rustling of his clothes chafes together as he walks away. “Lucien cares about you, Yn. From the very few mentions of you he’s shared, I can tell he thinks highly of you, no matter what you may think.”

Then the door snaps closed, and I’m left with nothing but a pulse in my ear and tears in my eyes.

____

After a quick mop in the kitchen I shut off all the lights and lock the front door. As I’m walking down the street, a thick, crackling scent hits me. And my stomach churns. It’s familiar, part of it still lingering in my house. But this one is more… just more.

“Eris, leave me alone.”

“I did a lap around the block, and I was thinking-”

“Hope you didn’t hurt yourself too bad.”

Eris chuckles, then laughs. “Feisty, I can see why Lucien would like you. Just give him a chance.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why are you Autumn Court fae so fucking dense?”

“Just be thankful it was me and not my father who came to see you, then you’d really see dense.”

“Please,” I rolled my eyes. “If I ever came face to face with that bastard I’d do a lot more than hurl words at him. I’m not particularly fond of you either, so be careful how you speak to me.”

“What if I arranged a meeting for the both of you? To talk things out and see if there is any common ground to be found,” Eris suggested, falling in stride with me as I walked up the path, back towards home.

“Gonna pass on that one. If I wanted to ‘arrange a meeting’, I would’ve already done it. I don’t need Lucien's big, scary older brother to do it for me,” I mocked.

“You think I’m scary?” He smiled.

“I think you’re annoying and disrespectful.”

“A lot of the High Lords of Prythian would agree, try not to be so original.”

Don’t rip out his eyes, don’t rip out his eyes. He’s just trying to get under your skin, don’t let him win.

“Come to think of it, there is one High Lord in particular who seems to agree with this idea of trying to get you and Lucien back together.”

“If you even think about dragging Rhysand into this-”

“He approached me,” Eris admits. “He’s sick of Lucien moping around the Town House all the time.”

“Then tell him my advice is to kick him out,” I bit out, more than tired of this conversation. “And stop following me, Eris. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

“But I have to make sure you get home safe, Lucien would have my head if something happened to you,” Eris reasons, knocking his shoulder into mine.

“Is there an imminent threat against my life, Eris Vanserra?”

“No?”

“Then there is no need for you to walk me home.”

“But if there was an imminent threat, I would be able to protect you,” Eris smiled, and curse me… it’s a nice smile. I glare up at him, but he just smirks back.

I decided to seal my lips. If I don’t respond, he can’t get any more information out of me.

“Just think about this for a minute: if you decide to have a conversation, one of two things is going to happen. You’re either going to confirm everything you already know; he’s an uncaring, forgetful bastard who doesn’t give a shit about you or the lives you two have built together. Or, you’re going to realize the exact opposite; that he does care, and it was all a misunderstanding. And that he does care about the life the two of you have built together.”

I can’t be bothered to care about what he wants anymore. I’ve spent too much of my life caring for his every waking need. When is it my turn?

“You are his mate, Yn. It goes against every instinct in your body to reject him. Why do you keep fighting yourself on what your heart wants?”

Because he betrayed me. He completely broke my trust, ruined my image of him in one night. Why does no one understand that?

“I get it, he hurt you or whatever, but are you really going to risk the chance of eternity together with him because of one mistake?”

He and Ms. Immy would get along well. And it wasn’t just one fucking mistake, it was about seventeen. Apologies don’t mean a thing if you don’t ever fix what you did wrong. I can see my house, just a few hundred yards away. I can slam the door in his fucking face and spend the rest of my night doing anything but thinking about Lucien.

“Yn, just answer me,” Eris demands. “I know there isn’t anyone you’ve talked to.”

“No you don’t.”

“Have you talked with anyone about this?” I stay quiet. “Exactly, you need to release this. To scream and shout and yell-”

“I’ve tried that. Didn’t do anything for me.”

“Have you punched anything? I like doing that when I’m mad,” Eris snickered.

I just rolled my eyes. “I’m about to punch something soon.” He takes a step back as I finally reach my door. I unlock it and push it open, kicking off my boots at the door. I have no reason to be bitter to Eris. he’s just trying to help, trying to be there for his brother. Now, whether or not he’s doing it in the best way is certainly debatable. But at least he’s trying. I sigh, feeling incredibly defeated. “Would you like a drink?”

His smile is softer, and he gives a nod, following me inside.

As I make us a drink, he looks around the kitchen and the living room.

“Gods it looks just like the Autumn Court in here,” he chuckles, picking up a pillow from one of the chairs.

“Yeah, Lucien did most of the decorating.”

“It’s gotta be difficult to see it every day.”

I bite back a sob, “You have no idea.”

“I know I am not the easiest person to get along with, or the most…tender, but if you are hurting this bad, then I know Luc must’ve been special to you. And you special to him. So, if there is anything I can do, tell me.”

As I slid the glass across the counter, I stared at my hands. Would talking about this really make a difference? I just feel like it keeps opening up old wounds without giving them the time to heal. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to move on.”

Eris looks at me, thick brows knitted together. “Because you miss him?”

As much as it hurts to admit, I nod. “So fucking much, Eris.”

“Now, do you miss him, or just having someone to share a space with?”

I blink up to meet his eyes, the ashy-caramel irises full of so much life. “I miss him. I don’t know when he started distancing from me, but I clearly didn’t notice it quick enough. I started to miss his smile first. He stopped laughing for a while after he met Elain. The creases between his eyes replaced those around his mouth.”

“Yn-”

“He started being late to everything next. He would apologize but… they weren’t sincere. I tried not to be hurt by it but… I don’t know. I thought maybe it had to do with stuff happening from the Spring Court and with Tamlin. Doesn’t matter, it just kept getting worse. He’d only talk about Elain, ask for advice on what to do since ‘I was a female’.”

“Oh Lucien…” Eris rubs his eyes. “Even for him that's low.”

“Yeah. I don’t know why I didn’t snap earlier. Part of me wanted to hold onto something I knew I couldn’t have. Then came the grand opening and once he was late for that?” I shook my head, biting my lips so as to not sob in front of Eris. “Nothing he could’ve done would’ve made up for that.”

I don’t know why I’m opening up to Eris. He’s probably just going to relay it word for word back to Lucien. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

“None of what he did is excusable,” Eris says. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand. He wanted to spend time with his mate. He just wanted her to know that someone was there for her. But did he do it the right way? Absolutely not. And he fucked up, really bad.”

“Can I give you something?”

Eris just stared blankly at me. “What?”

“Just stay here for a moment,” I set my glass down, charging up the stairs. It’s been burning a hole in the bottom of my closet since I found it a few weeks ago. The lump of midnight blue fabric was a crumpled mess, but his scent still lingered on it.

I held it up to my nose. Inhaling deep. It’s time to let go.

As I stand in front of Eris, I hold out the shirt. My throat is like liquid iron. “Give this back to him, will you? It was one of his favorites.”

This shirt… this god damned shirt. It always looked so good on him. With the color of his skin and the tone of his hair. All the jewel tones made him look marvelous, but there was something about the teal color. Tears slid onto my cheeks. The first night he wore this shirt was when Rhysand and Cassian took him out to dinner. “To try and get to know me better,” Lucien said. He thought they were going to interrogate him. But he wore this shirt with dark blue pants and black leather boots. His hair was braided away from his face… I braided it back away from his face.

Eris’s hand on my cheek pulls me out of the memory and into his eyes. “Did you keep this, knowing it was his favorite, hoping one day he’d come back looking for it?”

The fact that he figured it out so easily made my blood run cold. I tried to answer, but the sound of the door creaking open made me forget what I was going to say.

My heart dropped.

Eris’s hand was frozen on my cheek.

Lucien dead still in the doorway. What is he doing here?

Eris clears his throat, taking the warmth of his hand as he drops it to his side. “Brother, perfect timing.” Perfect timing? Did he- “No, I didn’t plan this, Yn. Though I respect you for thinking me so clever.” Eris turned me, blocking my view of Lucien. He folded the wrinkled shirt in my palms. “This is your chance.”

And then he left. He slipped around Lucien with a subtle glare and shut the door behind him.

Lucien looks… he looks so…

“I thought you would be at the restaurant,” he spoke, voice low and cool. “I can came back-”

“What did you want?” I asked, curious as to why he’d be back here ever again.

“Actually I wanted um… I came here for that shirt.”

Oh. Oh. My heart hammered against my ribs. “Yeah, yeah, take it. I found it doing laundry a bit ago.”

Lucien crosses the threshold of the room and takes it from me. I’m waiting for him to ask me about Eris. To ask about how I’ve been. Or to apologize. Gods Luc, please say something.

“I see you met my brother. What did he want?”

Here we go. “He walked me home from Latibule.”

“Oh,” he nods. “Well, I hope he wasn’t too much of a pain.”

I snicker, but refrain from further details. “You look well.”

He did, he looked healthy. His arms and chest fill out his shirt in a way they never used to.

“I’ve been training with Cassian for a while,” he explained. That’ll do it, I guess.

“Sounds exhausting.”

He gives a faint chuckle, “It’s interesting.”

Then we just look at each other. My heart swells, and crashes down. My fingers and toes go numb and my head feels lighter. I want him to stop looking at me so intently, yet I don’t want him to leave. Ever again. I want him to stay here and build a home with me. A new home with new memories and new adventures. But the logical part of me knows it’ll never quite be the same.

“Why was Eris here?”

“I told you he walked me home from Latibule.” He gave me a look that screamed ‘I’m not buying that shit’. I must have no resolve because I caved instantly. “He came and found me to talk about you.”

I’ve never seen Lucien look so worried in my seventy years of knowing him. “Why?”

“He wanted to know if I’d ever forgive you. Apparently he’s tired of dealing with Rhysand begging him to talk to you so he came to me.”

“Yn,” Lucien’s eyes sulk, “If I had known Eris would’ve found you I would've just talked to him. I just wanted him gone and away from me. I didn’t mean to drag you further into this.”

“It’s fine, he only mildly insulted me. I see where you get it from.” It was a low blow, but seeing him wince made me feel a bit better. It was petty. But cathartic.

Silence stretched between us. Wrapping around me like a pit viper after delivering a lethal dose of venom to its prey. It constricted and constricted and constricted-

“I love you.”

I almost looked around the room to see if someone else spoke. But it was his mouth that moved, and it was his voice that sang.

“What?”

“I love you, Yn.”

“No-”

“I love you,” he gasps, tears filling his eyes. “I-I… I am so in love with you.”

“Lucien stop,” I beg, that numbness spreading up my arms and calves.

“I am so so fucking sorry for the way I treated you. You are so undeserving of that after all that you did for me. I was selfish and blinded by what I thought I wanted. You were right, Yn. About everything. I never once considered that it could be you because I just always knew you’d be in my life. I never thought that I’d lose you but when I did I… I broke. I can’t live without you. I need you. I love you.”

“You don’t get to decide that you want me and then waltz back into my life. That is not how this works.”

“Please Yn just give me a chance to apologize and make things right.”

“No,” I shouted, anger leaching into my tone. “No, I gave you one too many chances I think. I have given you too much, Lucien. More than enough for one lifetime and you're just now realizing that you want me back? ”

“I’ve always known I’ve loved you Yn. I just didn't understand how much. Or in what way. And I know that’s my fault and my problem. In some way I was cursed by the cauldron to have two mates. But it blessed me with one who cared enough about me to take my broken spirit and make it whole again.”

“Good luck finding someone to do it again because it will not be me this time.” I crossed my arms over my chest, turning away from him.

“Yn please just- just let me speak. I truly didn’t mean to hurt you. I got so caught up in the fact that I finally had a choice in this world that I forgot to think about everything else in my life. I never meant for you to feel anything but loved and appreciated.”

“Lucien, you somehow managed to achieve everything you meant not to do.”

A sob tore through Lucien. And one tore through me too. “You never gave up on me, not once. From day one you have always believed in me, what happened? What changed?”

“You’re complete and utter recognition of my existence changed, Lucien!” I screamed, not caring who heard me. “Ever since the war ended you haven’t paid me the closest bit of real, undivided attention. You only spoke to me if it was about Elain, what dinner was going to be, or if I had gotten the next project done on the restaurant. But not once did you ask me how I was doing or if I wanted to go out for a fun night. I just faded away into the back of your mind.”

My blood curled against my bone while I waited for a response. He stared at the floor, eyes darting around and around.

“I’m so so so sorry, Yn.”

“I’m sure you are.” More empty apologies

“How do I fix this? Tell me what to do. I’ll do fucking anything you want just tell me- please Yn I can’t leave here without saying I gave us every chance we had-”

“And I told you I gave you one too many chances to apologize.”

I refuse to be walked all over. I refuse to be second place. I refuse to be treated as anything but a first priority. My heart is too big sometimes, and I’ve been known to forgive under less likely circumstances, but this is where I draw the line.

Lucien gets down on his knees. “Please, my Yn. I have nothing without you. You are entwined in every corner and crevice of my soul. I know I’m undeserving of you. But somewhere deep down I think you still love me. Even if you hate me right now, and I do not blame you. I have been an awful person-”

“Lucien please don’t-” my throat feels like it’s swelling closed.

“-but I cannot see a future without you in it. If I don’t have you by my side, then all of this is useless. All these heartbeats, all these breaths of oxygen are worthless without you giving me a reason to have them.”

I try to get a grip on the world spinning around me, but it’s of no use. “Lucien get up.”

“No,” he shakes his head, pieces of his hair falling loose to frame his face. In times like these I would once comfort him. Place my hands on his cheeks and tell him how worthy he is of love and protection. And here he is, trying to do the same for me. “No, I need you to listen to me.”

“I don’t wanna hear what you have to say.”

“I don’t care. I have to tell you otherwise I might burn alive. I have never regretted a day more in my life than that night a month and a half ago. It haunts my every waking nightmare. On repeat, every night for me to relive and beat myself up over. I deserve every second of it. You’re right, I did discard you to the side like you were nothing. And I sweat my life on the Cauldron that I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t know I was doing it until you pointed it out to me. Then I just… I fell apart.

“I had no idea what to do, where to go. Ask anyone, for weeks I was unable to get out of bed after I came and got my stuff from here. The only person I talked to was Ms. Immy. Even she knew about it. She told me to respect your wishes, to not neglect them like I had neglected you in the past and I might have hope. So as hard as it was, I stayed away. Because I didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. Ms. Immy told me it wasn’t my fault that I neglected you- well… it was, but- but it was now my problem. To try and fix it. And she’s right, you’re right. Fucking everyone is right. I just want to fix this with you.”

It’s not your fault, but it is your problem. Damn that wise hag.

My muscles are so taught they begin to ache. I can’t handle this, I don’t want to handle this. I want him gone- no… no I want him to stay and tell me how much he’s fucked up. To validate me because he spent so much time doing the opposite.

“What if I don’t want you to fix things?” I asked. “What if I wanted you to leave and never come back?”

“That’s not an option. Being out of your life has never been an option. I want you more than anything I could think of. I am going to fix this between us one way or another, today, tomorrow, or a hundred years from now. But I will never stop trying because I love you.”

“Don’t say that,” I plead, turning away from him. His hand wrapped around my forearm, locking me in place. “Let go of me. Now.”

“Not until you give me a legit reason why we cannot fix what we have. Yn, you have given your entire life to me. Let me return all those years back to you.”

“I don’t want you t-”

“You don’t have to forgive me today, but let me try to make it up to you. My Spirit of the Gods, who cares so much more about the lives of others than her own. Let me be the one who cares about you. Let me bear the weight of your burdens.”

“Lucine stop talking.”

“No,” he roared, shaking his head. “I need you to understand that I won’t stop trying to fix things with you no matter how much you hate me. I love you too much to let you slip through my fingers. I made the biggest mistake of my life when I blew off the most important night of your life. Through everything, you were there for me, and I didn’t return the favor when it mattered most. You worked so fucking hard on Latibue, Yn. And I am so unbelievably proud of you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there to support you.”

“For Cauldron's sake, Lucien, shut up.”

“Why are you refusing to listen to anything I have to say?”

“Because if you say one more Gods damned thing about how much you love me and how fucking sorry you are, I might just forgive you and I am not ready to forgive you because I am still livid with you!” The confession tears from my lungs. I heave for a breath, carefully watching Lucien. “I’m not ready to be comforted by someone who hurt me so badly.”

“Then I’ll give you time,” Lucien’s eyes soften as he stands. “I can live with you being angry at me, but I can’t live without you at all.”

“I can’t possibly know how long that’ll take.”

“I don’t care how long it’ll take,” he shrugs. “I’ll wait until our souls pass again if I have to.”

My mind is too cluttered. My heart in too many shards. “You don’t need to wait for me. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I know you will,” he smiles. Oh how I’ve missed his smile. His smile. “But that doesn’t mean you need to be.”

He wants to fix things, he was begging on his knees for you to listen to him. He’s okay with you being angry at him as long as you give him a chance. He loves you. He loves you back. After all these years, everything you’ve been waiting for… it’s right in front of you. Even if it hurts, even if you’re scared it is better to do it afraid then not at all.

I broke down into tears, my chest wracked with sobs. All this locked up pain and indignation exploding out at once. And Lucien is right there to keep me from falling. “Shh, Yn it’s okay,” he purrs, holding me so tight I can’t breathe. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I have spent so long loving this boy, begging him silently to love me back. And here he is… why can’t I find the space inside me to let him in?

“Lucien…”

“My Yn,” he breathes, cradling my head to his chest.

I take a deep breath. “I love you.”

I feel his body relax.

“And I think you should leave.”

His body goes rigid. He pulls away, hands reaching to cup my face, but settling on the backs of my arms. “W-What? Why do you-”

“If you spent all this time waiting for it to be the right moment to make peace with me but never taking the opportunity then it’s too late.”

“Yn please- this is me taking the opportunity.”

“No,” I shake my head, sniffling. “This was just a coincidence. You didn't come here with the intention of making amends. You came here just to get a shirt. So here,” I picked up the shirt, shoving it in his chest. “Take it. And go.”

“Wait-” I began to push him to the door. “Yn wait! Yes I came here to get my shirt. No, I didn’t think you’d be here. But you were. So I took a chance. I took a risk for you.”

“Do you really think I’m so naive?” I scoffed, opening the door and shoving him through, rougher than I intended. “If you want me, then you’re going to have to do a lot better than getting down on your knees and saying you love me.”

“What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything, anything.”

“If you need me to tell you, then there’s no hope for us.”

He stares at me, eyes begging, pleading, hoping and praying that I’ll just tell him. Despite the slight sweat on my skin, my body feels calm. Powerful. I feel in control.

Then his lips are on mine, and any sense of reality I have comes crashing down.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #lucien acotar #lucien vanserra #lucien x reader #lucien x you

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deppiet · 1 year

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About the yassification of GO2.

Warning: the following text is highly critical of the second season of Good Omens. If you enjoyed it, I am happy for you, and a non-negligible amount of jealous as well. Please scroll past before I inevitably rain on your fandom parade.

So, I did the thing. I binged the entire second season of what was, up to now, my favorite show ever, in one sitting. And I have a great deal of things to say, but hardly any of them is positive.

Let me start by saying that I don't mind the cliffhanger or the melancholy ending, like at all. In our era of Marvel apologists and the instant gratification culture, it is necessary for media to persevere and add nuance to romantic relationships. That said, what transpired during the six hours leading up to this sort of unearned climax hardly contains anything remotely close to nuance.

Who are these people? I don't mean the new characters, all of them written as cardboard-cut anthropomorphic personifications of stereotypes, yassified to the point of representation losing its purpose and getting in the way of, you know, actual writing. I mean the protagonists themselves, Aziraphale and Crowley, up to now my favorite characters in the entire world and -up to now- tangled in a love story so beautiful I had, for better or for worse, devoted a large part of my creative output on it, making art, songs, and metas on why what those two entities had was as close to perfect as anyone can hope to find for themselves.

These are not the characters I knew. The characters I knew spent hundreds of human lifetimes revolving around each other in a treacherous yet familiar dance- they both knew the love was there, it was comfortable like an armchair that has taken the shape of the body using it for years. They argued the way old couples do, and of course, like all fictional beings that are counterparts of one another, had differences to settle, but what stood in their way wasn't misunderstanding or miscommunication, in was their fear of Heaven and Hell, and their fundamentally different approaches on how to keep each other safe.

What is all this teen angst? This will-they-won't-they silliness that lacks any nuance, thematic coherence, or literally even trace amounts of understanding of the source material? Where is the dark humor, the quotability, the chaotic overarching plot, the self conscious camp? The season is so cynically written to cater specifically to a certain part of fandom, that I am losing respect for the original work- because if Neil Gaiman doesn't care for these fictional beings, and he evidently doesn't, why should I?

The thematic core of what made Good Omens what it was, had always been the "Love in unexpected places" trope Sir Terry Pratchett knew how to write so well. It had never been about the fantasy, because Sir Terry wrote satire wrapped up in a supernatural package, it had never been about the romance, because when the ship becomes the end instead of the means, the love rings hollow, like artificial light trying to pass as sunshine. The beating heart of GO lies in its philosophy, in the beautiful notion that the agents of two oppressive systems at war have more in common with one another than with their respective oppressors. That being a nobody, a mere cog in a larger machine, says more about said machine than it does about you, and that you can try to break free and build a life for yourself, where a happy ending looks like a dinner at the Ritz with the one you love most.

Shoehorning an underdeveloped "romance" between Beelzebub and Gabriel not only feels like bad fanfic (disclaimer: I like the ship and feel like it could have worked if developed in any capacity, and presented in a more humorous and character-appropriate way. I hate with passion how much they watered down Beelzebub in order to make them stereotypically romanceable, adding the Ineffable Bureaucracy to the ever-expanding list of characters I don't care about anymore.) but also, it muddles and grossly undermines the thematic raison d'être of Ineffable Husbands. If the ramifications for defecting and fucking off with the enemy were a slap on the wrist for the respective leaders of both sides, well surely the system can't be that oppressive after all. And if fear of the oppressive system wasn't, after all, what kept these beings apart, surely these two entities don't like each other as much as we thought. Or rather, one is reduced to a lovesick puppy and the other to a brainless husk of a character, a plot device, a means to go from place A to place B without spending much brainpower on the logistics.

And if these two new people got to kiss I care not, for they are not the same people I rooted for (props, though, to the actors, who gave, somehow, an almost Shakespearean gravitas to their love affair, underwritten and dumbed down as it was. They both love the characters, and it shows in the minuscule yet brilliant ways in which they added nuance where the script had none.)

What was that thing with the lesbians about? Though straight passing, I have always known myself to be attracted to women as well as men, and I am always highly suspicious when an "ally" writer (see: straight, no shade to straight people among which I live because they are, like, the majority) decides to make all characters queer, in the face of real-world statistics and despite NOT being queer themselves. When a person like Nate Stevenson does it they get a pass because writers self-insert and because, when done well, it can carry a message of equality. But when the ally writer does it, unless it is pitch-perfect, I am forced to examine the possibility of them being calculating about it and trying to score representation points, often because they need the rep as a fig leaf to cry homophobia behind when people start complaining about the atrocious plot.

Nina and Maggie were boring. They had no personalities, no cohesive backstories, nothing to make us understand what they are to one another and to the overarching plot ("plot" is used loosely here, for there was no plot: the series ended where it should have started, with six hours of -progressively more offensive to my intelligence- fanfic tropes in a trenchcoat serving as the, well, "plot"). I didn't care whether or not they'd end up together, because I have no idea who they are. The blandness of the dialogue had the actresses, both very talented as evidenced in the first season, grasping at straws with what little characterization they were left to work with, and the "ball" was so unbelievably bad a plot device no amount of suspension of disbelief was ever going to make it right.

The minisodes, though at parts clever and philosophical, felt out of place. This was another narrative choice I had to raise my eyebrows at, because it felt like a bunch of executives sat around a table and watched Neil Gaiman's powerpoint presentation of what made Season 1 financially successful. They were shoehorned in, largely irrelevant to the, eh, "plot", and most of them lasted far more than I personally deemed welcome, or necessary.

What else is there to say? The wink-winks and nudge-nudges to the Tumblr nation? The in-your-face Doctor Who reference? The narratively myopic choice to make Crowley a former archangel? The cheese dialogue, not one bit of which was quotable?

I am distraught. I am grieving an old friend, and a part of my fandom life I cannot, in good faith, return back to after this gross betrayal. I am happy for those who don't see it, because I wish I could love this season past its flaws. However, the writing isn't simply mediocre, it is irrevocably, immeasurably, undescribably bad, so bad I am shocked to my very core, so bad I find it offensive to Sir Terry's memory and everything his own creative output was lovingly filled with.

I am passing all five stages of grief and very much doubt I will return to this fandom. I loved the original story and the characters with all my heart- now the aforementioned heart is broken, not by the breakup or anything as pedestrian as cheap romantic tropes. But because my old friends, my family of fictional beings, are no longer the ones I loved and could relate to.

Deppie out.

#good omens #good omens season 2 #go2 #good omens 2 spoilers #gos2 spoilers #good omens s2 #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens critical #good omens season 2 critical #neil gaiman #terry pratchett #good omens spoilers #michael sheen #david tennant

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mazzystar24 · 2 months

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Everyone shut up and listen

Sorry that was rude

Have a cupcake 🧁 sit down 🪑 and listen real quick

So we keep saying how Eddie is chasing this idea of Shannon and what their relationship was and could’ve been and that’s partly why he did the Kim thing because he wanted to prove to himself that they could’ve lasted if she hadn’t died and he wants to romanticise their relationship

And now we think we may have an alternate universe episode

So imagine this alternate universe is in his head and it’s if Shannon hadn’t died (are we ripping off buck? Yes but friends who match trippy coma dreams together stay together?)

and throughout the coma dream obviously things aren’t working out for them but we keep getting vague references of him hiding something or playing a role etc (this may be a niche reference but who here read the steal my sunshine fic by @cal-daisies-and-briars ? THAT like the trippy comp het references except merged with Shannon alive comaverse) and obviously surprising to absolutely no one the big secret is this man is stonecold gay but we don’t get told that till the end of the episode after he’s already woke up and we end on a cliffhanger of a buddie confession

Omg and one of the things in the comaverse COULD be that if Shannon had lived buck and him wouldn’t be so close (adding to the hints throughout the dream because why is the world so similar but THIS isn’t) and he wouldn’t be as involved in Christopher’s life and ahhhhhhhhh now I’m thinking of all the ripple effects because of how entangled they are in each others lives and how much those significant emotional moments impact them- like what would buck be like if he never had the will conversation? Or even something as small as ranting to Eddie abt his parents and getting that validation of his feelings? Or Eddie if buck hadn’t helped him through s5? So many thingssss

Back on track- this realisation of his motives in romanticising his relationship with Shannon and what his real relationship was like could be such a quick way to wrap up the Shannon/kim storyline

Do I hate recycling storylines? Yes

Do I need Eddie out of the closet and for his Shannon/kim storyline to be wrapped up in a neat bow asap? 10000000%

Ik none of this would happen but sharing is caring🫡

#911 #buddie #911 abc #evan buckley #911 fox #911onfox #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley

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cosmicjoke · 4 months

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Eh, well, that was disappointing. Or at least, it would be if I actually thought Gojo was magically back to life, which I never really did. I guess it's appropriate and supposed to be a reinforcement of the bleakness of JJK's underlying message, or whatever, that Gojo's body, even in death, is still being used as a weapon. It's just such a bore, is the problem. This whole manga has become a hideous bore with the way it's all been executed.

But I swear to god, if this doesn't kill Sukana and the stupid fight continues on with Yuta dying for nothing, and Gojo's body being desecrated for nothing, I'll call this the worst fucking trash I've ever read and it won't even be an exaggeration. It's already practically there with the god awful pacing and dropped plot points and foreshadowing that seemingly went nowhere. But we'll see.

I'm just done. I've been done for a while.

I mean, it is sad that Gojo's entire legacy is just one of being seen and used as a weapon, even by his own students, whom he cared for so much and wanted to preserve the youth of. That's definitely a tragedy. It's just... the whole build up to this moment, the execution, the horrible pacing and fake-out cliffhangers (including this last one, which anyone with any familiarity with this manga and the way Gege writes should have seen coming)... it's too exhausting and too cynical to feel like any of it matters or to want to become invested. It's honestly awful. Maybe I'm too hard on this story. Maybe I'm too dumb and my inability to enjoy all the complexity of the CT's and what it all means made it impossible for me to enjoy the story the way someone smarter might be able to. I really loved it at first, and anyone who knows me knows I'm never opposed to tragic endings. And it seems inevitably that JJK will have a tragic ending. I'm not opposed to cynicism or tragedy, if it's done well. Even if they beat Sukana, the way it seems they're having to go about it, assuming this actually works (which, again, I'm not holding my breath), it will be a tragedy.

It's just, between the convoluted, unending explanations of cursed techniques, the boring, meaningless, dragged out fights that went nowhere and meant nothing, the foreshadowing for certain confrontations and revelations and characters that have yet to be resolved or touched upon, even... I don't know. It's just not doing it for me, anymore.

I am sad about Gojo. What a shit deal he got. Maybe Gege really hates him, or maybe he just feels sorry for him. Either way, it's pretty heartbreaking. Well, hopefully the story will end soon, because I honestly don't see where else it can go from here.

#jjk #jjk 261 spoilers #jjk spoilers #Gojo Satoru

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physalian · 5 months

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“Endings are the hardest!” / “No, beginnings are the worst!”

I’ve never had a problem figuring out the way I want my stories to end but starting them? Yeash, that’s so much pressure. Both carry the same weight for different reasons while you have writers in both camps with legitimate arguments. One may be harder than the other on a writer-by-writer basis, but they are equally daunting.

—

So. Beginnings:

You have sometimes as little as three sentences to hook readers, at most the first chapter. I don’t even give fanfic more than the opening line sometimes (mostly because fanfic takes opening en media res to wild new heights). I’ve been working on a system of “I have one sentence to give you the setting, the protagonist, and the hook that makes this book different, go” and while it might not be perfect, it’s a starting point.

For example! The opening sentence to ENNS is:

Beneath the snowdrift of the longest blizzard Elias has ever endured, the last vampire in the dungeons has finally succeeded in taking their own life.

As someone who struggles with beginnings, I have given you five pieces of information in 25 words:

The setting, that concerns long and repeat blizzards and snow

Protagonist’s name

Establishing the existence of vampires

Establishing that those vampires are kept in dungeons

Establishing that those presumed prisoners are in such bad conditions, that they’re restoring to suicide, something vampires don’t tend to do

I think I did a pretty good job.

So much of the burden of your book is given to so few words. You can’t make it cliché, but try too hard to be unique and you risk looking pretentious. You have to establish the setting, the narrator, the initial setup and inciting incident and convince readers to pick your book out of hundreds of thousands of other options. I hate beginnings.

Best advice among an avalanche of others? Write a placeholder and come back later if it’s too daunting and frustrating because there is no writing advice that is one size fits all.

It’s entirely dependent on your genre, your demographic, the age of your protagonist and how self-aware they are, the tone of your story, your own personal writing style.

“First sentences should include THIS!”

Yeah, okay, but what if I have a better idea? Beyond that your sentence should have a hook that sets your book up as something apart from its genre neighbors, just go look at the most famous opening lines. They’re all different.

There is nothing in common between

Call me Ishmael.

and

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

And that’s the point.

—

Endings though?

Endings bear the burden of providing catharsis, or robbing you of it. Endings have to answer ‘but what does it all mean?’ and stick the landing, or they don’t. Endings can turn a TV show that took the world by storm for four magnificent seasons and drag it limping across the finish line in a finale that sucks the life out of the fandom forever.

Endings either leave you in an existential lurch staring at the ceiling, or in tears of joy or anguish, or frothing at the mouth at yet another cliffhanger. If you can’t answer ‘what does it all mean’ you have bigger problems than just your final lines.

People don’t have fan theories about your first page, they have fan theories about what comes after your last page. There are no rules to writing an ending and sometimes by its nature of being unfulfilling you become infamous.

Example: The ending of Mark of Athena, that prompted this dedication in its sequel House of Hades.

“We’re staying together,” he promised. “You’re not getting away from me. Never again.” Only then did she understand what would happen. A one-way trip. A very hard fall. “As long as we’re together,” she said. She heard Nico and Hazel still screaming for help. She saw the sunlight far, far above—maybe the last sunlight she would ever see. Then Percy let go of his tiny ledge, and together, holding hands, he and Annabeth fell into the endless darkness.

(one short Leo POV later)

Nemesis wanted him to wreak vengeance on Gaea? Leo would be happy to oblige. He was going to make Gaea sorry she had ever messed with Leo Valdez. “Yeah.” He took one last look at the cityscape of Rome, turning bloodred in the sunset. “Festus, raise the sails. We’ve got some friends to save.”

If you weren’t in this fandom when this book came out and ended with the protagonist falling into Greek Super Hell, to wait a whole year to find out what happens next—We lost our collective minds.

And then the next book opened like this:

Gettin’ a bit big for your britches there, ey, Riordan?

How you write your ending should reflect the kind of feeling you want to leave your reader with. In this case, it was anguish and despair and the pinnacle of “always leave them wanting more”. Maybe you’ve written a character who’s suffered constant setbacks to reaching their goal, and the final line is them at peace with, or without achieving it. Or it’s the final plot twist/reveal no one saw coming. Or it’s ambiguous, leaving it up to reader interpretation.

My favorite classical book ending comes from The Great Gatsby and while I had to crack open my copies of the PJO books, I know this line by heart:

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

There’s just something so melancholy and tragic about it, as it should be: Gatsby is not a happy story. That line is the answer to the thesis, that trying to live in the past and not embrace the future, not allowing yourself to move on, can only end in tragedy, and yet, so many of us do exactly that.

The image of a dinky little rowboat is always what I’ve pictured, as opposed to a ship or something more formidable. A rowboat bobbing around the thrashing waves, pitted against a force of nature it can’t ever hope to overcome, yet it endures.

The book opens on an equally melancholy note, “In my younger years…” as the protagonist reflects back on their life gone by. It’s an American classic for a reason.

Even if your final line is unspectacular, the line isn’t as important as how the narrator feels about the book being over. Quotable hashtags are great, but if the ending doesn’t feel like a proper fit, you’re going to leave readers disappointed.

—

Endings are so fricken fun though, no matter what’s at stake. It’s as cathartic for me to finish as I hope it is for the reader to read. There’s plenty of advice out there on the perfect opener or the perfect closer, the endless arguments over which is harder, and it’s all up to you in the end. They just come easy to me, I have no advice. I can picture them well before I get to the final pages and they just click into place. Beginnings, though? Ugh.

—

Thank you for 300 Followers!!!

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #beginnings #endings #starting a book

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skzdust · 3 months

Text

Contingency

Part 2

This one ends with a bit of a cliffhanger but the next part will have some smut so prepare for that hehehe! Enjoy! Thank you @palindrome969 for beta reading!!!

Summary: You accept a job from your best friend Seonghwa getting information on Ateez's rival group, SKZ. You decide to get to the organization through one of their members: Lee Minho. You find yourself falling for him, and things get even more complicated when SKZ's resident hacker seems to have his sights set on you as well.

Pairing: Lee Know x I.N x Reader

Includes: Coffee shop date, mafia party, meeting Jeongin, cliffhanger ending

Word count: 2.7k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife, @tsunderelino, @hyunjinsjeans

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Part 1 | Part 3

Masterlist

-----

Minho was already at the coffee shop when you walked in the next morning. He hadn’t texted you, but you were counting on him to have run a background check on the name and number.

Y/n l/n was a squeaky clean person: never gotten so much as a parking ticket. Middle of her class at the local university, graduated with a computer science degree. Worked for a country-wide company headquartered in the city, providing a degree of anonymity a more important job at a smaller business wouldn’t have. No boyfriend. Parents lived four hours away. Only a few friends in the city.

You’d gone to great lengths to forge y/n l/n’s life as the perfect partner for Minho. You hoped it would be worth it.

Minho was seated facing the door, and he smiled as you walked in. You waved and got your latte before sitting across from him.

“Hello.” He greeted you awkwardly.

“Hi.” You smiled. You were nervous, but you knew that was stupid. This was a mission, just like any other. This wasn’t really a coffee date, this was a step in a calculated plan.

But to Minho, it was just a coffee date. “I’m going to be honest, I hate small talk.” He took a sip from his americano, keeping his eyes on you. “So, I have an important question for you.”

“Sure.” You ignored the jump of fear in your stomach. Did he know who you were?

“Are you a cat person?”

You couldn’t hold back your laugh. “Pets are definitely considered small talk.”

“Pets are very important to me.” He gestured with his hand for you to keep talking, smiling. “I asked a question.”

His tone was joking, but the glimpse of dominance made your stomach jump for a very different reason.

“I am.” You shook off the thoughts.

“Good. This might work out, then.”

“That’s a prerequisite for dating you? I have to like cats?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Yes, it is.”

You laughed again, wondering if you were laughing too much. “Fair enough. Fortunately, I love cats.”

“Very fortunate.” His smile was genuine again. “So, tell me about what you do for work.”

He was blunt changing between topics, but you went with it, inventing something about the grocery company you worked for and how you liked your workplace but your boss was a bit too authoritarian at times. A standard answer.

“What are you doing here all the time, then?” He gestured around the coffee shop.

Your heartbeat kicked up. “I, er, I work hybrid. I’ve had a few days out of the office recently.”

He nodded. “Makes sense.”

“How about you?”

Minho’s lie was smoother than yesterday. He told you about business deals he helped to negotiate for one of the biggest banks in the country, and his only tell was the slight shifting of his feet under the table you could hear when you asked a question. You knew the truth, though, and didn’t hesitate to test him a bit.

“So, you travel a lot?” You interjected after he mentioned something in Milan.

Minho nodded. “Yeah, it’s a lot of long flights.” He sighed. “I don’t like flying. I don’t like being away from my cats, either.”

It was one of the first personal details he’d given. He’d kept his talk strictly to work.

“You must really love those cats.”

His eyes softened, a fond smile curving his mouth. “I do. They’re my babies.”

“I’d love to…” You cleared your throat, not even needing to fake anxiety. “I’d love to meet them.”

“Trying to get in my apartment already?” He looked amused.

You held up your hands in front of you. “I just like cats!”

“Mhm.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t say I didn’t want you there. Anyway.”

Your discussion turned to other things: music and books you liked, what you did in your free time, your favorite places around the city. You didn’t forget who you were talking to, or why you were talking to him, but you let yourself enjoy flirting with him for now.

There was a lull in your conversation.

“So…” Minho filled the silence. “I know this is our first date, but I figure it’s worth asking. I have a work party coming up, and I was wondering if you’d come with me.”

“Wow, you haven’t even taken me out to dinner, and you already want to bring me around your coworkers?” You teased.

“There will be dinner at the party, does that count?” Minho scrunched his nose as he smiled.

“I suppose that can count.”

“So, you’ll come?”

“I’ll come.”

You couldn’t believe your luck. Minho trusted you enough—liked you enough—to bring you to one of his SKZ parties. It would be a great opportunity to get to know what kind of resources SKZ had, both in people and in equipment.

“I should warn you, it’s kind of a business party.” Minho said. “We’re celebrating a… a victory. A big deal.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Oh?”

He laughed. “I wasn’t too involved, but as I’m a branch of the team that did the work, I got invited.”

“So you don’t know too much about it?” You gave him an easy out.

“Not too much, no.” He shook his head. “I’ll send you a dress.”

“Don’t you need my address for that?”

“You see, I was hoping we could go there together.”

“You want me to bring you home?” Your eyebrows shot up. “Minho, we’ve gone on one date. What if you’re a stalker or something?”

“Then at least I’m hot.” He smirked.

You suppressed a grin. “You’ve got me there. I’ll give you my address, but you’re not coming home with me tonight.”

“Fine, deal.” He leaned back. “I’ll send you a dress.”

“When’s the party?”

“Er… tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You were genuinely surprised at his answer. You’d heard about the SKZ party through one of your contacts, but you didn’t know it was so soon.

“I know it’s short notice... but I’m looking forward to you being there.”

You smiled. “I’m looking forward to it, too.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Alright.” You wrote down your address for him, your heart jumping at the self-satisfied smile he gave you as you handed it to him.

He stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You got up, too. “See you.”

Before he left, Minho took your hand and pressed a kiss to it, keeping eye contact with you, before sweeping out of the coffee shop.

—

The next day, the dress Minho had promised showed up at your door, delivered by a man in a dark suit. You unzipped the garment bag, excited to see what Minho had picked out for you.

The dress was beautiful, a shimmering deep blue material with a low neckline and a low back. The bottom flared into a trumpet skirt.

You were surprised at the quality of the tailoring. You couldn’t tell if there was any special adjustments to the pattern, but even if it was a standard size, it fit you like a glove. You admired it in the mirror before taking it off, deciding to do your makeup and hair first so as not to mess up the dress.

You finished your preparations and put the dress on again. You hid a few knives on you before doing a few twirls in the mirror and checking the time. It was almost 7:00, and a minute later, there was a knock at your door.

Minho was standing there in a black suit with a blue shirt that matched your dress. There would be no doubt who you were there with. He was carrying a small bouquet, and held it out to you.

“Thank you, Minho!” You accepted the flowers with a genuine smile.

“Of course.” He nodded his head.

“I’m gonna take these inside, and then we can go.”

He nodded again, a smile creeping onto his face. “Alright.”

You went back inside. This apartment was a rental, not your actual apartment, and you had no idea where the vases were, so you just got out a large cup and half-filled it with water before setting the flowers inside.

Minho held out his arm as you walked back towards him, and you took it. “How gentlemanly.”

“That’s me.” He smiled as if laughing at some private joke. “A gentleman, through and through.”

You almost snorted. You didn’t think the numerous people he’d killed would describe him that way, but whatever.

You left the apartment building, and you acted surprised at the limousine waiting for you. “A limo? Minho!”

“It’s on the bank.” He opened the door for you, and you climbed in.

“Well, if you’re kidnapping me, at least you’re doing it in style.”

He laughed. “If I were kidnapping you, you’d know it.”

He got into the car after you, and you were off. The party turned out to be in a ballroom in a skyscraper downtown, which you found a little disappointing. You’d been hoping to see one of the SKZ buildings tonight, but you supposed Minho probably wouldn’t bring an outsider to one of his organization’s secret locations on a second date.

He helped you out of the car and opened the door for you as you went inside. You were the only two in the elevator, and as it dinged to indicate you’d arrived at your floor, Minho held out his arm again. You took it and walked out of the elevator to a short hallway. Two men stood outside one of the doors, and Minho nodded at them as they opened the doors.

The ballroom was big, a huge chandelier suspended from the ceiling, and beautiful rococo-style molding on the trim and wall panels. It was dim, but not too dim, and it was full of people.

“Don’t be too intimidated. Some of them might seem… scary, but I promise they’re all nice.” Minho mumbled as you walked in.

You held back another laugh. You knew these people were killers. They’d kill you if they knew who you were. They weren’t nice.

But you nodded. “I’m not easily scared, it’ll be fine.”

“Oh, here’s my boss.” Minho sighed as a man noticed you, waved at Minho, and began to walk over. The gun holster strapped to him was the same dark color as his shirt and suit, but you noticed it immediately. He was young, younger than you’d expected, but if he was Minho’s boss, this had to be Bang Chan, the leader of SKZ.

You swallowed. His job was to know who his enemies were. His job was to know who you were.

But he didn’t indicate any recognition as he smiled at Minho and extended a hand to you. You let go of Minho’s arm to shake it.

“Hello, Minho. And hello, beautiful.” He smiled at you, and if you didn’t know who he was, you would’ve melted. But you were a little too terrified of him knowing who you were to be starstruck by that brilliant smile.

“She’s here with me, Chan.” Minho said, but his laugh was good-natured. “I forbid you from hitting on her.”

Chan gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, fine.”

“My name’s y/n. I’m… yeah, I’m here with Minho.” You looked around. “I know exactly no one else.”

That was a lie. You didn’t know everyone, but you recognized at least half the faces here, either from missions or reading files. Right now you could name Han Jisung, who was one of SKZ’s top spies, and Kim Seungmin, a gifted medic, among others.

“It’s alright, I can introduce you.” Minho smiled reassuringly. “Like I said, no one’s scary.”

“At least not too scary.” Chan said, and Minho shot him a look.

You’d met a few bosses, but never Chan. He was more lighthearted than you’d expected, but you knew his relaxed vibe masked a ruthlessness and a tendency for vengeance that surpassed those of other organizations. Chan was like Minho: dangerous, but good at hiding it.

Minho guided you around the party, introducing you to a few people, including a few of those you already recognized. You were on guard the whole time, hoping no one would recognize you. You’d never worked with or even against anyone in SKZ before, but you were known enough in the mafia world that you half-expected someone to blow your cover. But you were lucky, no one let on even the slightest indication or tell that they knew who you were.

Although you did notice someone watching you.

He had blond hair and the most intense eyes you’d ever seen—and you worked in the criminal underworld, you’d seen a lot of intense eyes. You didn’t recognize him, but he stuck to the walls. His white jacket and the black belt he wore over it stood out in the sea of dark suits worn by almost every man in the room.

Minho was talking to someone, so you told him you were going to get a drink and walked over to where the man in the white jacket was leaning by the punch bowl.

You poured some into a cup, trying to react to his staring like a normal person and not like a bounty hunter. “You’ve been watching me.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a little creepy.” You looked at him, and he gave a wry grin.

“I’m not trying to be creepy. I just… you look familiar.”

Your stomach twisted. “I don’t work for the bank. I’m here with Minho.”

“Ah, you’re Minho’s date.” His grin grew, and if he didn’t know the bank lie Minho had been telling, he didn’t let on. “I’ve been teasing him about coming solo to parties for a while.”

“Do you have a date?”

“No.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Then who are you to talk?”

“Touché.” He laughed. “So then, why are you so familiar?”

You shrugged. “Dunno.” You took a sip of your punch.

“Hm.” He hummed.

“I’d better get back to Minho.” You said, turning around.

“Wait.”

You turned back to him.

“My name’s Jeongin.”

Your blood went cold.

Your specialty was tech and hacking. You were one of the best. But if there was anyone better than you, it was Yang Jeongin of SKZ. He was your biggest competition, the only one who could get past a firewall or take down a system faster and more effectively than you.

Jeongin knew you as The Spider. He shouldn’t know your face. You’d never seen his. The fact that you were familiar to him was very concerning.

“Y/n.” You replied with as easy a smile as you could muster.

“Y/n.” He repeated, tilting his head. “That’s a beautiful name. Just as beautiful as you are.”

“Thank you.” You were getting flustered, both from his recognition of you and his compliments. “I should get back to Minho, though.”

“Oh, Minho… he won’t mind if you talk with me for a little longer.” He gave you another grin, but this one was more flirtatious and less threatening.

“What do you want to talk about?”

“You.”

“Me? I’m not very interesting.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“Why are you being like this?” You said bluntly.

He tilted his head, and his eyes got a little more intense. “I didn’t come here with a date. I hope Minho will forgive me for what I want to do to you.”

A shiver ran through you, definitely not fear.

This was arousal.

“And what do you want to do to me?” You whispered.

He smiled, and it looked warm, but you knew it was dangerous.

You knew he was dangerous.

But you wanted him.

“Come find out.”

You swallowed. “That’s a bad idea. I’m here with Minho.”

He rolled his eyes, laughing. “I can deal with Minho… if he finds out.”

This could jeopardize the entire mission. If Minho found out you’d cheated on him, he’d probably dump you, and while SKZ likely wouldn’t retaliate, you wouldn’t be welcomed either. There would be no way to get their information.

On the other hand… if you could convince him you were just some civilian, you weren’t involved in his world at all, you’d be safe. Hooking up with him would probably do that.

This was a poor rationalization, and you knew it. But he was hot.

“Okay.” You said after a second. “Show me.”

----

a/n: prepare for smut lol.

#stray kids #skzdust writes #stray kids fic #i.n #lee know #lee minho #lee know skz #skz x reaker #skz #stray kids x reader #lee know x reader #i.n x reader #jeongin x reader #jeongin stray kids

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graciegoeskrazy · 11 months

Text

If you’re living and you’re 17

Pairings: Matty Healy x Teen!Daughter!reader, George Daniel x Teen!Niece!reader

Warnings, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND SELF HARM, lots of cursing lmao, yelling, so much fucking angst, mentions of losing friends, shitty fathers for a second, lil cliffhanger (?),

A/N: Requested by a super sweet anon! I ended up adding to the original idea so sorry if it’s not how u invisioned it but the creative juices kept flowing and my fingers just kept on typing. Seeing the 1975 in ONE WEEK! Thx for all the love!

You walked inside the tour bus and was greeted with an overwhelming fume of drugs and laughter. Adam was the first to acknowledge you. “Y/n, you want some food? I’m ordering Chinese.”

“No, Thank you. I’m good.” You said, on your way to your bunk.

“What’s up with y/n? She seems off.” Adam said.

“I don’t know. Teenage hormones I guess.” You heard your father say, laughing.

Just then, Ross came bursting through the doors with a huge grin on his face. “It’s official mates! A 3rd leg is completely booked. 40 cites, almost every continent, and we’re ending it in Madison Square Garden!” Everyone cheered and smiled. All except you.

“God!? For how long?” You asked. A look of panic on your face.

“About a year?” Your mouth dropped in shock. You just turned to your dad and whispered a simple, yet strong, “Fuck you.”

You stormed off into to bunk room. Your dad rolled his eyes and said, “I hate teenagers.” causing the others to laugh. He followed you into the other room.

“Hey! What is going on with you lately?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry I said anything. I’m happy for you.”

“Really? Because that didn’t look like fucking happiness over there!” He was fuming. “Stop fucking lying to me, ok? Now, tell me what the fuck has gotten into you.”

You dropped everything and put your hands over your eyes. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Your father's anger continued. “What? Doing what?”

You suddenly stood up facing your father and letting it all go. “THIS! This! Living this crazy life with you and putting on a smile like everything is fucking fine, but nothing feels fucking fine! However many times I try to talk to you, Tell you how I’m feeling, tell you that I’m having thoughts of ending my life every single God damn day, tell you how much I hate my life with you, it never works because you never listen!”

Matty’s face contorted into confusion, his anger mostly dropping. “What do you mean?”

“God, it’s like I’m talking to a brick wall all the time. Are you even listening? Have you ever thought about listening to what I have to say? Or how I’m feeling? No. Because you never care for anything other than yourself.”

“I…I don’t understand.”

“I’m tired, Dad. I’m tired of spending every waking hour of my life in a tour bus, or hotel room, a plane, or any bed that isn’t my own. I’m tired of your bullshit and you getting drunk every night partying with 40,000 people. I’m tired of getting blamed for the stupid shit that you say or do. I used to think that this whole tour thing would be fine. I would enjoy online school and maintain my relationships - and I did. Until you came along and did something that scared them away! Now all my friends are weird 30-year-olds and I’m failing in every class I take but I don’t even get the chance to tell you that I’m struggling! I’m tired of seeing you all over social media skipping from woman to woman who eventually gets tired of your bull shit or then find out you have a daughter and run scared. I wish I could be like them and run from Matty Healy the first chance I get, but I can’t because I’m stuck here. In this fucking smelly tour bus, letting you live your dream while I watch my entire life fade away.”

To say the least, Matty felt awful. How could he have been this blind? Had he really not noticed at all how much his own daughter was suffering? He was at a loss for words, and yet still tried to find the right ones. “I’m sorry.” He said.

“Thanks, Dad.” You said, Walking away and into the main space.

Everybody that was in there before had left except for Jamie, Ross, and George. When you walked in you immediately went up to George.

“Can I spend the night at your place?”

He gave you a weak smile and put his hand on your shoulder. “Yeah, of course.” He said.

_ _ _

Nearing showtime, you avoided your dad. Instead of hanging is his dressing room or the green room, watching him do his prep or play music together like you used to, you were in George’s. You told him that you would be fine if he went into the green room to hang out, but he wanted to leave you alone for as little as possible. You were thankful for George and all he did throughout your life. Sure, he was technically your official unofficial godfather, (official because your father deemed him that the day you were born and unofficial because your father also doesn’t believe in God so you never went through with the baptism) but ever since you were young he has always been a second parent to you.

After the show, George drove you back to his hotel room as promised and told you to get ready for bed. At one point he heard a loud thump of some sort come from the bathroom. You knocked over the soap dispenser on accident and picked it up with no problem. When George came around to check in on you and see what had happened, he noticed your arm.

Red and littered with marks all over.

His first reaction was to run to you, grab you, tell you to never do that again, slightly scream at you, and then make sure you were okay, but he knew this needed to be handled differently. He went back to the bed and waited.

You came back just a few minutes later and to no surprise, your sweatshirt was back on. “Ready for bed?” He asked. You nodded in response. He pulled back the covers to let you get in and stood up. He planted a kiss on your forehead before continuing. “I’ll be back, I gotta make a call.”

“Uhhhh, You’re not gonna tuck me in?”

“I just did!”

“That was a bad tuck. Plus you're not gonna stay with me?”

“It’s a work call. It’ll be fast.”

“Dude, it’s midnight,. Nobody you talk to at work is gonna answer. Especially my dad if you’re trying to call him. He’s probably black out drunk already.”

He let out a slight laugh. “Okay fine.” He agreed.

He got in on the other side and pulled you close - your head leaning on his chest. After a few minutes of going back and forth, he finally gave in and played the movie you wanted to play instead of what he wanted. It backfired on you though because within 20 minutes, you passed out. He chuckled at your quite, delicate snores and pulled out his phone, dialing your dad.

He answered right away. “How is she?”

“Well, given the circumstances i’d say she’s good. Calmed down a lot. She sound asleep right next to me.”

“Ok. Ok, that’s good.”

After a brief pause, George continued. “Listen, Matty, I gotta tell you something…about y/n.”

“OK?”

He cleared his throat before speaking. “She was getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth and stuff and I came in to check on her.”

“OK?”

“She had her sweatshirt off. She was in a tanktop, and there were red marks all up and down her arms.”

Matty couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Do you mean that she-”

“She selfharmed, mate.”

Matty wanted to burst into instant tears. “Jesus Christ.” He said.

“I didn't bring it up. She didn't even notice I was standing there. I just figured that even though you shouldn’t be having that conversation alone with her, it wasn’t right for just her and I to have it.”

“Yeah. You’re right. What happened after?”

“Nothing, She came out with the sweatshirt back on, I tucked her into bed, sat next to her and she fell asleep watching a movie.”

“Ok,” he said hesitantly.

“Listen, I’ll keep my eye on her tomorrow before the flight we’ve got to have a conversation with her.

“Alright.” Your father said.

All the while, you were fast asleep.

PART 2

#matty healy x daughter!reader #matty healy x reader #matty x reader #matty the 1975 #matty healy #x daughter!reader #x teen!reader

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blueraineshadows · 1 year

Note

*slams credit card on the table*💳💥 💳💥 i would sell my soul for a continuation of where seb and mc left off after he slipped that ring on her finger

😆 gotta love a cliffhanger! Here is the fic where Seb slipped a ring on her finger ---> HERE

Picking up where Seb has Apparated MC and himself away from the confrontation in Hogsmeade, and they are now in his Feldcroft cottage. NSFW 🌶🔥❤️

She didnt know how long they had sat, kissing, on the floor. She thought that maybe it could never be long enough. They had so much time to make up for. But then, Sebastian stood and held out his hand to her. MC took it and he helped her to her feet. He cupped her face, gently. "Are you alright?"

She nodded. The adrenaline of facing up to William like that had worn off, and tiredness pulled heavily at her, but she felt safe. "If someone had told me I would be standing here with you at the end of the evening, I would have thought them quite mad."

"Same," he said, smiling. His thumb brushed against her cheek, his smile fading. "Any regrets? I mean, what he said about your reputation, your job. Would he really make life that difficult for you?"

"He might," she sighed. She put her hand over his, her finger tips grazing gently over his knuckles. "But I could never regret leaving with you. I just wish I'd had the nerve to find you sooner."

"Well, we're together now," he said. "Let's not worry about William tonight. He can't get to us here. We can figure out our next move tomorrow, but whatever it is, I am going to be right there with you. And next time, I wont think twice about hexing his arrogant mug."

She nodded. At his mention of being here together, alone, her eyes drifted towards the curtain that closed off the sleeping area of the cottage. Her pulse skittered and she looked back at him.

"There are two beds," he said. He really had a talent for reading her like a book. "We don't have to share one if you'd rather not."

MC was reminded of the offer William had made to her only that morning, the very reverse of this one, trying to convince her to share a bed with him. The very thought had made her blood run cold.

Now, standing here with Sebastian, she realised that the thought of being parted from him, even if only across the room, was too much to bear right now. It had taken them years to finally be able to hold each other. How was she supposed to let go?

She cleared her throat. "Is there somewhere I can freshen up?"

"Of course," he said.

He warmed some water for the basin, and found a shirt for her to wear. When he went out to fetch some more fire wood, MC went behind the changing screen and began to loosen the ties for her dress. The corset was so tight, the back having been laced by William's house elf, a grim mouthed little thing she hadn't much cared for.

MC tugged and gave a frustrated groan at the blasted thing. She hated corsets and frivolous silks. She missed the freedom of cotton blouses and duelling trousers, much preferring sturdy boots to little kitten heels. She kicked off the offending heels and tugged the stockings from her legs.

The sound of the door announced Sebastian's return, and MC paused to peek around the changing screen. He put the logs in the basket before kneeling before the fire, feeding it to boost the flames. A swirl of chill night air had come into the cottage behind him and goosebumps spread up her arms.

She bit her lower lip, watching the way his shirt moved across his shoulders as he stoked the fire. Her intake of breath was a little shaky, and she pressed fingers to her collar bone, smoothing along the skin he had kissed, remembering hia searing kisses. She shivered.

She ducked back behind the screen, turning to face the wall, hand pressed to her throat against her fluttering pulse. "Sebastian?" She called. "Would you mind? I could do with a hand."

She heard his footfalls as he approached, her heart in her mouth, but she didn't turn to look as he paused by the screen. She could hear his breathing, feel the burn of his gaze on her back. "Could you help loosen the laces of my corset, please? It's too tight for me to do it properly."

"Of course, seeing as you asked so nicely." She could hear the smirk in his voice.

He joined her behind the screen, and anticipation made her body burn, the seconds stretching between the pause of his step and the feel of his fingers on the laces.

Her own fingers toyed with the silk of the gown, the bodice of which was pooled at her waist. He tugged at the laces, a knuckle brushing against the skin of her back, and she felt the corset begin to loosen. She sighed a little in relief, her breasts relaxing after being squished behind their bonds.

Once the corset was undone, her hands fluttered in front of her breasts, nervous. Should she hold the corset in place and dismiss him? Or, should she let it fall away from her flesh? She felt the last lace pull free and the corset sagged. She realised she was breathing a little faster, the sound soft in the confined space behind the screen.

Sebastian placed a warm palm between her shoulder blades, the touch gentle, and then his hand smoothed up to the nape of her neck. She sighed again, closing her eyes. She felt her breasts tighten at the touch, the peaks hardening against the loose corset.

Then, he was sliding the pins from her hair, slowly, one by one, his fingers easing her locks free to spill down her back. Another shiver washed over her at the feel of his hands in her hair. It was intimate, personal, and it filled her with a need so strong she could almost taste it.

His hands cupped her shoulders, smoothing down her arms to her hands where he linked their fingers. He lifted her arms just enough and the corset slid forward, exposing her. He was closer, she could feel the heat of his breath at her ear, it was as fast as her own soft gasps. She squeezed her fingers around his, hungry to feel those hands on her skin.

The heat of his mouth moved lower and he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. She tilted her head to give him more access. His lips moved, his kisses becoming firmer at her willing invitation. The corset slid to the floor, forgotten, his hands releasing hers to skim her waist, sliding smoothly over her skin to settle below her breasts.

Her head fell back with a gasp, the movement lifting her breasts, begging for his caress. He was so gentle, a whisper of skin against skin as he cupped her, a thumb teasing softly over one hard nub. She moaned, the sound so close to his ear, it made him exhale sharply.

So intent was she on the feel of his hands caressing her breasts, she hadn't even realised that one of her own arms had reached up to thread fingers through his hair. His caress moved to her sides, finger tips smoothing over the reddened marks where the corset had pinched her. He bent to press a soft kiss there, just below her breast, his tongue swirling over the sensitive skin.

She turned, needing to see him, his face was soft, his eyes darkened by his desire. She felt a sudden shyness, her arms hovering in front of her breasts. He held her close and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "We can stop," he whispered. "As much as I want you, I would never do anything you didn't want. You're safe with me."

She fiddled with the front of his shirt. "I want you too," she said. She felt a blush warm her cheeks. "It's just...I've never done anything like this before. I've never..."

She swallowed and looked down, but he caught her chin with gentle fingers, lifting her gaze to his. "Never? Not even with your fiancé?"

She shook her head. "He wanted to, but I couldn't. I didn't want to because...he wasn't you."

Sebastian's eyes widened in surprise, he even blushed a little. "I'm not sure I deserve such an honour."

Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she wondered how many girls he had kissed, how many times he had taken one to his bed. It hurt her heart to think of it, but how could she blame him? He had owed her nothing. But, how could she ever live up to the girls who had come before her? She wanted to please him, she wanted him to feel the pleasure that he gave her. The brief touches she had already tasted held so much promise, her body burning desperately for him. She wanted to return that.

"Can you show me how?" The words were a whisper. "I don't want to disappoint you."

He held her face. "Listen to me," he said, firmly. "You could never disappoint me. You must never think that. Look at you! You're beautiful, just one look at you sends me spiralling. It drove me crazy seeing you in the pub earlier, so close and yet so out of reach."

"When you touch me it's like I'm going to be swallowed in flame," she admitted. "I've never felt like that with anyone. Just you."

"I have to admit, I do like the way that sounds," he said. A gleam entered his gaze. He leant his forehead against hers, his eyes on her mouth, his breath hot. "Mine, and only mine."

Her pulse fluttered and she stared at his lips, her tongue sliding to wet her bottom lip. "Will you take it?" She breathed. "Take what is yours, please."

The passion in his kiss seared through her, his tongue sliding into her mouth, claiming her as she had asked. She clung to him, arching her body to feel the warmth and safety she craved from him. He tugged at the last fastenings of the dress, his patience now gone and he yanked hard, the rending of torn silk reaching her ears. The dress sank to the floor and he lifted her out of it, carrying her to the bed.

He placed her on top of the blanket, pausing to shed his own clothing before joining her. Her eyes were greedy, taking in the toned muscle, the soft trail of hair that led down below his navel. And, of course, the hard shaft of his arousal.

She leant up on her elbows, a little breathless at the sight of him, even a bit intimidated by the size. She squeezed her thighs together at the thought of him inside her. But then he was kissing her, his mouth tasting her skin, moving down to take a breast into his mouth. She gasped, her hips lifting to aid him as he slid her underwear free. Now, they were both naked.

She pulled him against her, moaning at the feel of their skin finally pressed together. She moved against him, delighting in the friction.

"You feel so good," he gasped. His hand moved to her hip, rocking her against him, his arousal digging eagerly against her thigh.

She smoothed her palm over his behind, moulding it, loving the feel of it after admiring the way it curved through the fabric of his trousers. She moved her hand over his hip, hovering close to where he throbbed eagerly for her. He took her hand and guided her, wrapping it around his length. She looked down, fascinated, as he showed her how to stroke him. A sound left his throat and she smiled. She was making him feel good. It made her feel empowered. He wanted her and she could give him what he needed.

He returned the favour, his fingers seeking out her heat and she gasped, her thighs instinctively parting for him. He stroked with slow, deliberate caresses, her slick spreading to ease his teasing. She couldn't help the sounds that fell from her lips, her head fell back, and she was like a desperate, wanton thing. He swirled over her clit and she cried out, a pressure building as he stroked to a rhythm that had her panting and clutching at him.

She didn't think it could feel any better, but then he slid downwards and she stared, wide eyed as he moved his mouth close to where his fingers worked. Heat flooded her cheeks at the intimacy of this gesture and then he was kissing her there. His tongue replaced fingers and she thought she might actually die, the fire inside her flared so dangerously. She was soaring to a height that made her head spin, her pelvis rocked, the need to grind against him almost unbearable. "Sebastian," she panted. Her fingers gripped at his hair. "Oh...oh..."

She felt the dip of his fingers, probing gently, sliding slowly into her as his tongue drove her higher. He pumped his fingers, twisting and curling them, picking up the pace. She could hear the wet, desperate sound of herself, the pressure almost unbearable but Merlin's beard, she did not want it to stop. Her arm flung out, fingers gripping the blanket, tugging at the fabric as though she was about to slide off the edge of the world.

And then she felt a deep clenching sensation, fiery waves of delicious release washing over her, and her eyes squeezed shut, an animalistic sound bursting from her lips. She was breathing so hard and fast as her body became fluid, sinking back into the mattress, spent.

Sebastian withdrew his mouth and fingers, she whimpered, not just at the loss of him, but also at the little pulses of aftershock. He gathered her in his arms, pressing kisses to her breasts, her neck. His hand smoothing along her waist and down to spread her leg wider for him.

"You're amazing," he whispered. He kissed her mouth, his lips and tongue hot and wet. She could taste herself, and wondered briefly how he would taste if she took him in her mouth. She moaned, her hips flexing. She felt him reach down, the press of him against her slick folds.

"Relax," he urged. "Deep, even breaths. You're doing great, so fucking perfect."

He moved to kiss her ear, his tongue sliding along the outer edge. She could feel the fire reigniting, the coil of her need twisting into life. He pressed into her, his tip nudging gently, in and out, easing her. "That's it," he whispered into her ear. "Good girl. I'm going to fuck you, I'm going to make you mine. Is that what you want?"

She flushed hotly at his filthy words. Her breathing hitched madly in her throat, her body arching greedily. "Yes," she moaned.

He pressed in deeper and she felt the sting, the stretch. He stroked her, kissed her ear, easing back out and then in again. "Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned. "I need you."

She gripped his hips, lifting her own to meet him, her heels digging into the bed. With each gentle slide of him, in and out, the sting lessened. She moaned as the new, full feel of him began to send waves of tingles deep inside her. She glanced down, watching as he thrust.

His face was set in concentration, his brow creased, his lips parted with his pleasure. She could see the restraint he was clinging on to. The sting was gone, and he felt so good, so right.

"More," she urged.

He met her gaze. "Does it feel good?"

She nodded. He watched her, eyes lidded, and he thrust deep. She groaned and he slid right back, for a desperate moment she feared he would pull out all together, and she sank her finger nails into his hip, urging him to stay in. He smirked and thrust firmly, sinking all the way in. Her moan was his reward.

She couldn't tear her eyes from his as he kept up these deep, hard thrusts. She could feel that pressure building, making her soar higher again. This time, she knew what it meant, and anticipation tingled on her tongue.

He looked down at where they were joined. "Oh fuck," he panted. "Fuck, yes."

His words sent sparks of flame through her. Who knew she liked dirty talk? The rough edge to his voice was a massive turn on, she wanted more. She slid a palm down his chest, her finger tips trying out a teasing pinch of his nipple. He moaned, the sound giving her a thrill, so she pinched again, harder.

He shifted to lean on one elbow and then he began to thrust harder, faster, his other hand reaching down to grip under her knee. He bent her leg up, easing her open so she could take him even deeper. She felt the slide of him against somewhere deeply sensitive inside of her and she arched, his name spilling from her lips.

Her release gripped her, a sudden deep clench that made Sebastian utter a low growl, he buried his face into her neck, his teeth biting down into her skin. She whimpered, stunned at the raw emotions rushing through her, her body pulsing around him. And then he, thrust deep, holding himself there as he spurted his own release. She could feel the throb of it, her arms holding him close, his heart thundering against her chest.

For a while they lay quietly, holding each other, savouring the closeness. She nestled her face against his warmth, breathing in his scent, feeling a tension slide from her. This was absolutely where she belonged. She had known it back in the Three Broomsticks, and now it was confirmed.

She brought her hand up to look at his mother's ring on her finger, no, her ring. He had given it to her. He wanted her by his side forever. "When do you leave?" She asked.

"We leave in two days," he said. She looked up at his choice of words. He smiled. "How do you feel about Italy?"

"Isn't that where you just travelled from?"

He nodded. "It is, but I want to take you there. I want to see it all again through your eyes."

Her heart danced in her chest. This was actually happening! "I will need to fetch my things, and say a few goodbyes, Poppy will have wondered where I ran off to."

"We can do all of that," he smoothed her hair back from her face. His eyes grew serious. "I will never forget how you stood in front of me, blocking me like you did. When you reached back for me, holding yourself to me..."

He paused, swallowed hard. "I already knew I loved you, but what you did, it said more than any words. When he caught us, I thought you would have gone to him, but you didn't."

"I realised it was what I had always wanted," she said. "I had to stop letting William make my choices for me. It would always be you, Sebastian. Always."

....*....

When MC awoke, the bed beside her was empty. Immediately, she sat up. Wrapping a blanket around her, she moved out from behind the curtain and saw Sebastian with an owl, a letter in his hand. "What's that?" She asked.

He turned to her, pulling her closer to kiss her forehead. "Good morning," he said. He held up the letter. "From Ominis. I sent an owl after you fell asleep last night. This is his reply. He is meeting us in London when we collect your things."

"Really?" It would be nice to see him again, she realised. "What about William?"

"Oh, you don't have to worry about him," Ssbastian said, his smile smug. "Ominis thought him a right prick, and has already used his connections to make sure he won't be a problem. Your reputation is perfectly intact. As for William's..."

MC widened her eyes. "My goodness! But, why would Ominis do all that for me?"

Sebastian frowned. "Why would he not?" He took her face in his hands. "I love you, he knows that, and he also cares for you, he wants us to have what we have always wanted. Each other. Like me, he would do whatever he had to in order to keep you safe, happy. People care about you, MC, people love you. You will never have to suffer the likes of William again as company."

Her throat felt rather thick all of a sudden. "Thank you."

"Ominis is also going to bear witness for us," he said. He slid a thumb over her lips, pressing a kiss there. "After collecting your things, we will marry. We can leave for Italy as man and wife. If you still want to, that is?"

"Oh, yes, Sebastian," she said. She wrapped her arms about him, the blanket slipping free of her grasp, but she didn't care. She was no longer shy of him. She clung to him, his arms strong and warm as they held her close. "It is exactly what I want."

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