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flemingsfreckles · 3 months

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Be a Good Teammate pt. 2

Jessie Fleming x USWNT!Reader (also Seattle!Reader)

Read Part 1

Warnings: none, this is a pretty relaxed chapter

WC: 2.8k

A/N: thank you so much for the support on what is now Part 1. Due to how many people requested a continuation of this fic, I figured I’d go for it! This is more of a filler/plot mover part of the story. There will be at least one more part that will be a lot more interesting but if there’s enough interest and I have the ideas, maybe it’ll be many more parts.

It had been a couple weeks since you had talked with Jessie on the field in San Diego. You haven't heard anything from her, not that you were expecting to after she had told you she had a lot on her plate. Not hearing from her had bothered you a bit in the beginning, thoughts of her constantly popping up in your mind. She was a minor distraction. As time went on and you didn’t hear from her you went back to the way you had been before you had seen her. You were able to brush off the thoughts of her easily, getting back into your routine as if you hadn’t even seen her.

Something deep down hoped you’d wake up to a text from her. That hope diminished as the days passed. It wasn't until the week before your team was supposed to take the trip to Portland to play that you heard from her.

Unknown: Hey, this is well overdue but I just wanted to apologize, I was rude to you after the gold cup game. Not an excuse but I was in a pretty rough state. Thanks for what you said too.

Unknown: by the way this is Jessie, I had to get a new number to use in the US. Feel free to delete my UK number. Keep the Canada one, I still use that.

Unknown: I got your number from Coffey.

Unknown: Hope that’s okay. You can just delete this number if you’d rather.

Reading her texts made you smile and let out a small laugh, she texted exactly how she would talk. You can practically hear her voice while reading through the texts, how she probably sat there overthinking each text only to then feel guilty for not just double or triple but quadruple texting you. You clicked on her number, changing her name in your phone to Jessie (USA).

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard as you thought about responding. Deciding against replying at the moment, you lock your phone again and climb out of bed. You throw on your clothes for training then head to your kitchen to make a quick breakfast and coffee.

Training was rough. It was less that the physical workout was hard, it had actually been a lighter day being only 2 days away from game day. It was rough because you couldn't focus.

Your mind kept drifting to the few texts you had received from Jessie. Had she been thinking about you all these weeks? Why did she wait so long? Maybe she was only thinking about you since you would be seeing her this weekend. But maybe she was thinking of you for other reasons. Maybe she was ready to start being friends? Maybe you could end up as more? All the thoughts related to her were swarming around your head, leading you to be in a fog at practice.

It was embarrassing to say the least, missing touches, overpowering or underpowering your passes, even tripping over your own feet a couple times. After you had fallen to your knees while doing individual dribbling drills, for the third time that day at practice Quinn stepped over to you extending their hand.

“Are you good?” Concern in their eyes as they pulled you up.

“Yeah, just in my own head today.” trying to give a convincing smile shaking your head at your own behavior. You had managed to push Jessie so far back in your mind for years, why was she messing with you now.

“Alright, if you need to talk let me know, or go see the psychologist. The team has them for a reason. We need you to stay on your feet Saturday.” They pat you on the back and go back to finish their dribbling drill.

“Thanks.” You gave Quinn a smile, knowing damn well you wouldn't bring yourself to talk with them. They were one of the best listeners on the team and had heard out your other issues, anxieties and just general venting. There was no way you were going to talk to Quinn about their own national team teammate. You didn’t need it coming back to Jessie that she was on your mind.

You were so thankful when you were called to huddle up and end practice. Heading back to the locker room you peeled your sweaty jersey off, throwing a sweatshirt on instead, grabbing your phone and heading to the trainer’s room. You greeted the staff, walking over to the ice bath and hopping in. The icy water causes goosebumps to appear across your skin. It felt good, you knew it would, you often would use a cold shower to clear your mind, but this counted as your recovery as well so it was a bonus. You stripped off your sweatshirt leaving you standing shivering in your sports bra. You took a deep breath and let your knees give, sinking your whole body under the water.

Under the water was peaceful, quiet, the freezing water causing your brain to go blank, no thoughts of the bad training, no thoughts of Jessie, no thoughts of what to make for dinner tonight, nothing. So you waited, sitting on the bottom of the tub prolonging your peace. Running out of air, you resurfaced to find a few teammates and members of the training staff to be looking at you. Feeling suddenly self conscious you grabbed your sweatshirt throwing it back on. “What?” you harshly asked in the general direction of your teammates. None of them responding, shaking their heads or just looking away.

Before you could make it out of the locker room you heard your name called and saw your coach standing behind you.

“Can you come to my office before you head out?” She asked.

“Yeah no problem, just give me a second to change my shorts, I’ll be right up.” You tried to appear calm on the outside. On the inside you were stressing. Why did she need to talk to you, maybe you were being traded and you'd be able to dodge Jessie longer. Maybe she was taking you off the travel roster, maybe she was going to yell at you for your performance today. You quickly changed into some dry pants and walked over and into the coaching office.

“Go ahead and shut the door.” She pointed behind you when you walked in. Her words make your stomach sink. You sat down, not saying anything, just looking at her across the desk. She finishes up something on the computer, hitting the power button and turning back to face you. She taps her hands on the desk and starts talking. “Look, I’m going to tread lightly here, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Your best attempt at a smile comes across your face.

“You realize why I have to ask, right?” you just nod at her question. “I don't mean to be crass but that was the worst practice you've had since you started here. I get it, everyone has an off day, but that to me looked like a lot more than just an off day.”

“I’m good, I just had a bit on my mind.” She wasn't telling you anything you didn't know but hearing her criticism of your performance hurt, you didn't want to disappoint her.

“Do I need to take you off of our roster for this weekend's game?”

“No!” You're quick to protest her offer. “I promise, I’ll have it sorted by then.” Not sure if you're trying to convince yourself or your coach at this point you keep talking. “You can count on me.”

“I want to believe that, I do. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt on this one, I’ll leave you on the roster, we really need you for this game, but I’d rather not put you out there if your performance is going to look like it did today.”

“Yes Coach, I understand. I’ll be good.”

She turns back to a stack of papers, grabbing off a small slip from the top. She hands it to you, you look at it recognizing the name and contact information of the team’s sports psychologist and the team’s standard psychologist. “Take this, I’m not saying you need to talk to anyone, but it's good information to always have.”

You look up from the paper, thinking it's silly how now two people had recommended that you needed professional help, all over the fact that you had a silly little crush on an old teammate.

“Thanks Coach, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You stood up pushing in the chair behind you, leaving her office. You walked down the hallway back toward the locker room to grab your bag. Before you head out you quickly pack your travel back, throwing in your boots, shin pads, extra socks, tape before dropping the bag at the front of the room where your teammates had placed theirs. You moved back

Part of you cursed Jessie for reaching out, you had been able to push your thoughts of her back in your mind after you had talked but now that she had reached out she was back in the forefront. Opening your phone as you walked out of the training facility, you opened your messages and clicked on Jessie’s name. You opened her contact, frustrated from your performance at practice and causing your coach to consider benching you, you wanted to blame it on her. You hover your finger over the delete button. You then moved your thumb to where it read Block This Number. Before you could think twice you pressed it, the messages from her disappearing, no trace of her new number on your phone. While you were at it you proceeded to delete her number from the UK. You left her Canadian number, she never used that one to talk to you, no harm in it staying. You were hoping blocking her new number would also block the thoughts of her.

You learned very quickly though the night that if anything, blocking her number made Jessie more prominent in your mind. She was in your mind while you drove home. You thought about her while you stood under the cold water of your shower, she was in your mind while you cooked. Trying to distract yourself you grabbed a book and the book worked. It kept Jessie out of your mind until you realized how much you liked the book, one of the best ones you had read in a while. You decided to open GoodReads, immediately closing it when the first thing you saw upon opening the app was Jessie’s name, she had recently rated a book. You had forgotten that you were even friends on the app, you hadn't read or rated a book in a long time. Deciding you’ve had enough, you pull yourself off the couch and into the bedroom to try and get some sleep.

Setting your alarm for the next morning, you climbed into bed, deciding to count sheep to prevent your mind from wandering. It took many minutes of tossing and turning before you were able to fall asleep. Despite the long day you had mentally and physically, sleep did not come easy. Unfortunately, once you were asleep, you didn’t stay asleep long, feeling restless when you woke up for the fourth time that night, the sky was still dark outside. You roll over checking the time 3:18am. Still half asleep you reach for your phone, sliding it open. Squinting at the bright light you find your settings, opening your list of blocked numbers, finding Jessie’s you click unblock. You open your messages, type in her name and then a message.

You: No problem, see you Saturday.

You're not sure what you're saying no problem to, if it's because she apologized, if it's because she thanked you for talking to her or if it's to the fact that she had asked Sam for your number. Sleep is still fogging your brain. You hit send, shut off your phone and roll over hoping you can get some more sleep before your alarm wakes you.

You wake up to the sound of your alarm. You gave yourself an extra hour in the morning to pack before you had to meet at the stadium to travel. You threw on your travel sweats and shirt before throwing an assortment of sweatpants, t-shirts, and shorts into a bag, not caring what you packed for the 3 day trip. Moving into the bathroom you packed your toiletries, before heading back to your bedroom to grab your phone and the charger.

Jessie (USA): See you Saturday.

You do a double take at the message, last remembering that you had blocked her number. You open it, seeing that you, in fact, had not blocked her but instead you had texted her at 3 in the morning. “Oh you idiot,” you insulted yourself. You threw your phone in your pocket while packing your charger in your bag.

It wasn't long until you were sitting on the bus, stretching your body across two seats, trying to get comfortable. The buses had to be one of the most uncomfortable parts of playing, unfortunately Portland was considered too close to justify a plane ride. You were reading over the itinerary that had been handed out. You were scheduled for a light practice this evening followed by designated stretching and recovery time, then it was dinner and lights out. Looking to Saturday you saw the early arrival time, the game starting at Noon, pitch walk just before that, and time to warm up. After the game you had recovery for an hour followed by the words “Free Time” It wasn't uncommon for you to get freetime after game days when you were traveling, it was nice to explore where you were playing or just getting to hang out, unregulated, with your teammates. Sunday consisted of a practice in the morning, then more free time, followed by the bus ride back in the evening. The large amount of free time on this trip caught your eye, giving you an idea as you dig your phone out from your pocket. You open it to Jessie’s messages again and start typing.

You: If you're up for it, dinner Saturday night?

You realize that feels a bit forward, adding a second message.

You: You can bring a teammate too if you want, it doesn't just have to be us.

Seconds after you send it you see the bubble indicating Jessie is typing pop up, you lock your phone and toss it as if it's on fire into the seat that your legs are resting on. You feel it vibrate against your calf, indicating she had responded. Instead of reaching for your phone you remain still, staring at it. It’s only once the phone vibrates again reminding you that you had a text that you reach and pick it up. Involuntarily you hold your breath and turn on the screen.

Jessie (USA): That would be nice.

The gray bubble appears again.

Jessie (USA): just us

You let the air out of your chest, feeling relieved at her response. She wanted to see you. She wanted to see you, just the two of you. A smile grows on your face as you read over her messages again and again.

You: sounds good, may need some recommendations on dinner locations

This time when you see her typing you hold onto your phone. Watching as the bubble appears for a few seconds before disappearing and reappearing

Jessie (USA): I’ll figure something out and let you know

You begin to type out “sounds like a date” before deciding that it’s a little too forward, against it, deleting it and changing it.

You: perfect!

You waited, seeing if she would respond, not that there was much to respond to but part of you hoped she’d say something else. When she doesn't you shut off your phone. You lean your head back so it rests against the window and you're looking at the ceiling of the bus. You let out a sigh of relief. It feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest for the first time in two days. You now knew she didn't completely hate you, you knew she was willing to let you talk with her again.

Feeling last night's lack of sleep catches up with you, your eyes close and you’re able to drift peacefully asleep, your brain no longer filled with anxieties or concerns about Jessie, you remain asleep until the bus stops and you hear your teammates gathering their belongings to get off the bus. You were finally in Portland.

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #jflem #canwnt #canxnt #portland thorns #jessie fleming imagine

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elusivecagedmockingbird · 5 months

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Orbiting: pt.3,5°

[icehockey!jungkook x figureskater!reader] [1.4k filler, it was supposed to be a drabble, but oh well; fwb to lovers; less plot, more smut, but basically, this is how Jungkook and Y/N came to their fwb agreement; slightly drunk sex, unprotected sex but irl plz don't be silly and wrap his willy; not proofread, heh.

You didn’t expect your night to end up like this.

Thursdays were yours and Jungkook's torturous days. Waking up at 4 a.m. and every second, minute, and hour that followed was spent practicing on the ice—you nailing your skating routines and Jungkook running through hockey plays. Some days, you practice on different ice rinks, each on opposite ends of the town, the other days, like today, you share the big dome rink close to your apartment.

By tradition, Thursday nights with Jungkook are spent letting out steam—here is what you do as follows: 1. Rant about how hectic the day was 2. Eat an unhealthy amount of junk and sweets 3. Share a bottle of soju, or two, or more while a movie plays in the background. When the day has you beat, ideally, Jungkook makes you his infamous highball drink, and in return, you cook him extra strips of samgyupsal. A win-win.

But tonight, it seems you and Jungkook have explored a new way to let off steam.

What started out as a night full of frustrated rants turned into frantic rutting against your best friend's thigh.

You remember watching a rom-com film, and a soft porn scene came on the screen, and your inebriated brain struggled to filter your thoughts that they just spilled out, “If you weren't here, I might have touched myself over that.” Followed by downing a shot as if your words hadn't short-circuited Jungkook's own brain and went straight to his dick.

“Gguk,” you struggle to speak, lips caught between Jungkook's teeth as he playfully bites and pulls.

He's become a little more cheeky. But you wouldn't deny how seeing this side of him makes you yearn for him. Here you are, wrapped around each other's arms, but you want him closer. He's so close, yet so far. This is uncharted territory, restricted even. And you can reason that you're too far gone to just stop and cockblock yourself, but the truth is, you're being selfish. You want Jungkook. You want him all to yourself.

You lean your forehead against his, the close proximity has you feeling how Jungkook steals your breath; he breathes you in as you breathe out. You lower your eyes to look at his parted mouth, and you smirk. His lips are swollen and stained with the color of your lipstick.

“Make me feel good, please,” you scan his face, from the mole on his chin to his eyes, and pull the most seductive look you knew worked on guys.

At your beck and call, Jungkook crawls down on your body, stops at your crotch, and noses at your pussy. His hunger grows as you take over his senses—his sight focused on your arching back as he touches every skin his hands never caressed until now, and the taste of your arousal with the ripe smell of your pheromones flood him.

“Mmm, so sweet,” he hums, “I love it.”

You’ve never felt fiercely desired. You want to believe that this is more than lust. But before you can overthink and float away, Jungkook brings you back to the ground.

He doesn't bother to remove your panties. In fact, today, Jungkook discovered he has a thing for lacy underwear. Or maybe it was just having you under him, so responsive and alluring. He eagerly lays his tongue wide on your clit and laps like a thirsty kitten, the rough texture of the lace intensifies the pleasure.

With each pant and whine of Jungkook's name that leaves your mouth, his tongue dives deeper and harder inside you. The sounds you make are music to his ears that he doesn't want to stop. The call of his name grows pitchier by the second. Before you can warn him, you reach orgasm in strong spurts and the sight has Jungkook almost cumming as well.

“Shit, Y/N,” he exhales, “That was so hot, baby.”

Your body acknowledges the pet name before your brain can overthink it. You reach for Jungkook's dick, tongue wetting your lips, ready to take him, but he stops you.

“I'm close,” he shyly admits, “And if I'm cumming, I want it to be from your pussy.”

Hand still wrapped around his leaking cock, you keep stroking as you guide him to your cunt. Soft squelches are heard as you rub his tip to your pussy lips.

Jungkook groans, “Stop teasing.” He removes your enclosed palm around his dick and intertwines your hand with his as he briskly pushes it to the bed.

A moan is pulled out of you as he plunges himself inside you. He eases in so easily, but there's a burning stretch that satisfies you as Jungkook pushes his cock further. Like magnets, your legs are hooked around his waist as soon as he bottoms out.

“Shit,” you both curse. You wipe at the accumulating sweat on his forehead. His bedroom eyes chase your eyes, and when you lock gazes, it's only then that Jungkook pulls out his cock and then plunges back into your wet walls with a hip roll. The bed squeaks as he thrusts into your pussy. Breaths are once again exchanged until Jungkook feels his climax coming; he kisses you roughly, tongue and all, and releases himself.

You're awakened with hot and heavy air blown on your neck. Turning around with a groan, your sight lands on a sleeping Jungkook, his mouth parted as snores leave his lips.

The events of last night catch up to you and you harshly sit up from the realization. The sudden jerking of blankets wakes Jungkook. It takes him a moment to re-orient himself where he is and you see it on his face when realization hits him.

“Morning,” he greets, “So, last night was wild, huh?”

You're stunned. “Is that all you have to say?”

No, it's not, Jungkook thinks. In fact, much like you, he's panicking internally. Last night, you got carried away and went over the line. But he knows that if he mirrors your reaction, there's no saving your friendship. He's considering if he could take this moment to confess, but judging how you're pacing the room now, he thinks now is not the time. He just might lose you for good only because his dick did the thinking last night. He knows how you think, Jungkook admitting how he feels now might be misconstrued as a last resort than an honest profession of love.

“Uhh, I'm not gonna lie, Y/N, that was one of the best sex I've had in a long time.” Correction, it was THE best sex he's had ever. It was with you.

“Are you really okay with what happened?” At least now you sat on the bed. Jungkook feels the chill of the morning and he thinks it's easier to pull your body for warmth than pick up his clothes across your room.

But your needs come first. And what you need right now is reassuring words to quash whatever roaming destructive thoughts you have running wild in that pretty head of yours.

“Y/N, if you're uncomfortable, we can forget about it. I mean, was it so bad for you?” The last question came out as a jest to ease your nerves and it seemed to have worked.

A snort leaves your nose. “No. It felt... good.” Too good, you think.

“Yah! Just good?” Jungkook uses this chance to pull at the duvet, but your grip is unrelenting, so you topple over his chest, giggling.

You roll your eyes. “Fine, it was one of the best sex I've had, too.”

“Just think of it as us helping each other release our... frustrations.”

You grimace. “Classy.”

Jungkook chuckles. Your grip on the blanket eases and he slips inside the comforter for warmth.

“You know,” you trail off, waiting for him to look at you. “I don't mind, uhm... I mean, with the competition coming close and you know, uhm, frustrations pile up... I think it's good if we can help each other more than just this one time?”

Jungkook knows what you're asking, but at the same time, he also doesn't know what you're asking.

“You want like a friends with benefits thing?” The last word came out hoarse from his mouth.

“Only if you're comfortable,” you were quick to assure him. Of course, Jungkook would love to have a repeat of last night, but he's not sure if agreeing with this setup will push him into the friendzone or if it will finally let you see him differently. Still, he agrees.

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twinklelilstarkey · 1 year

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Tutor: Long Overdue

Words: 3k+ Type: Some angst, but fluff Summary: The days after the argument. Warnings: Rafe is the softest boyfriend in the world. Y/N has some problems with overthinking and anxiety here. Mentions of alcohol. Mentions of narcissist friends. A filler chapter for you to take a breath in the middle of the angst.

Tutor Masterlist

I do NOT give you permission to repost my work. If you’d like to read my stories on other platforms, you can find them on my Wattpad and AO3.

You wish you could say that everything went by smoothly after that conversation. But you would be lying if you said so.

When you got out of that car, your hands were visibly shaking. It was out of your control. It was a mix of all your emotions just building up inside you and wanting to come out all at once. It was the frustration, the anger, the disappointment, and the sadness. You hated every single second of that conversation. How helpless you felt at times. The way your supposed friends looked at you as you spoke. It was as if you had gone insane.

Thankfully, when inside the house, Wheezie had run upstairs for a quick shower before your tutoring class, or else she would’ve seen you cry your eyes out in front of her brother. You felt weak for doing so, but you still did it. You cried the entire time you told Rafe everything about what had happened. You noticed how he had no idea what to say or what to do for you, other than give you comfort. And you let him do it, as that felt like what you needed too.

When Wheezie had come back downstairs with her things - since she wanted to study outside this time - you had already wiped your tears clean and didn’t feel like you would cry at every sentence that left your lips. To your luck, your eyes didn’t appear too puffy when she laid her eyes on you, which spared you from many questions.

By the time you were helping her study, Rafe still kept a close eye on you. He would never disappear from your view for too long, always either sitting on his phone on the porch or coming out to the table near the pool, where the two of you were. He made you and Wheezie laugh from time to time.

It lifted your mood ever so slightly, but deep down you still were filled with worry and hurt. How far could this go? Could the girls go further than this? Maybe by telling other people, or simply talking to their other friends about this. Was there a possibility this could get to your parents before you even had the chance of finishing high school as you had planned?

All these questions, they made worry bubble in your blood at the most random of times during that afternoon. By the end of it, Ward and Rose eventually came home. Rafe was by the island of the kitchen when Rose stepped out of the kitchen to get you your monthly paycheck, and Sarah Cameron stood in that kitchen for a single second, and the first thing she said to you was: “Are you okay? You look… down.”

If that did anything to you was to force yourself to put on a better act. You were just about to go home as Ward had asked for Rafe to drive you. You didn’t want your parents to see you and ask the same things. It would be harder to lie to them than to Sarah.

You two sat in the car in silence for a bit, and you could feel Rafe’s eyes on you. Silence only gave you the excuse to want to cry more, even when you still felt ridiculous for it. You tried to hold it back, but whenever a tear would slip, Rafe was there. He calmed you down and held your hand or sometimes said something that would make your heart hurt less.

At home, you forced yourself to make conversation with your parents - knowing that if you didn’t, they would’ve followed you to your room to find a reason behind your silence. All of it was forced and unnatural small talk, but your parents didn’t seem to notice. Your mom was too focused on making a new recipe for dinner, and your dad was too focused on his reading to look up from the book in his hands.

The rest of the day wasn’t any easier. Rafe asked if you wanted to come over, but you know that it wouldn’t make anything easy. It would simply make your feelings go temporarily numb. You didn’t need that. You needed to just face it for what it is: a stupid confrontation that you saw coming from a mile away because it had to happen eventually. It just came sooner than you expected.

Sleep didn’t come easy either. By the time you finally fell asleep, there weren’t many hours of rest before having to get up for class. You hid whatever hints of your exhaustion with make-up, as well as put on a happier expression just so you could make your way through the house and to school without any questions coming from your parents.

Breakfast was uneventful, just like dinner the day before. And your dad drove you to school just as you had planned beforehand.

In class, if you were used to the girls' looks before, this day had been another level of staring. And given the fact that you share every class with each of them, your sadness and worry quickly turned into anger by lunch hour. They didn’t try to speak to you or even ambush you all at once again. They just sat there at their little tables watching you as if you were some experiment about to go wrong.

Kristy wasn’t in school. She missed every single one of her classes. And all that made you think was how thankful you were for the lack of her staring too.

By the time you were done with classes for the day and inside Rafe’s car, you were still in your depressing bubble but more annoyed than anything else. And that is when a call from Patty came in. There was going to be a party tonight.

You're not ashamed to admit you didn’t even think twice before answering her. You wanted to go to that party. And you did.

Not that you remember much from it now that you lay on Rafe’s bed, silently contemplating your life choices, but you like to think that you had fun.

You remember how you got to the party with Rafe, and quickly found Patty, who made sure to give you as many drinks as you wished to have.

Rafe stepped away to find Topper and Kelce only after he made sure that Patty was going to actually stay by your side the whole night and entertain you enough.

You drank cup after cup of different concoctions made by Patty herself. Some were actually good, others… she just told you to drink it all in one gulp.

You were able to disconnect from reality while sitting in that kitchen with her, drinking and listening to her talk you through the process of making another drink. You two talked for a long time, or at least for enough time until the both of you weren’t exactly speaking in obvious and comprehensible sentences but in slurred words filled with giggles.

And you remember that you went off to find Rafe at some point. You remember that he was very much sober at that time. You remember flashes of sitting on that couch with him and his friends. Patty would eventually join you on the couch and start a conversation that would make a lot more sense than any of the guys' around the table. You also remember that it was way funnier at the time than now.

Also, at one point into the night, you decided that playing, or better, patting Rafe’s buzzed head was the best idea you could ever have. Your drunk mind must have been blown to realize how weird it felt to touch his short hair and feel it prickle your palm. Rafe didn’t seem to mind it too much - even though he must have told you to stop at one point because you remember being dramatically hurt by something he said to you.

Maybe you had exaggerated by deciding to numb your thoughts with alcohol when you know that hanging out with these people would simply do the job. You didn’t need to get that drunk. But you still felt like it was the best time to do it, as well as with the best people.

Hanging out with people like Patty and Topper is nice. They were never your type of crowd, but even when drunk or high, last night, they did listen to you when you talked about what happened. It happened when some of you decided to step outside for some air, while others, like Rafe, decided to stay back. You told them everything, and they listened. And they also offered to help, in any way possible.

That memory alone made your heart squeeze in your chest. Maybe, yes, this is how real friends are supposed to be if they are able to. But it still felt good when they told you that if you ever needed to run away from life’s problems for a bit, they would be there for you, along with Rafe.

And to think that conversations like these resulted only from you choosing to date someone with a bad reputation.

Since the beginning, you had a feeling that you would need to talk to someone about it - you and Rafe. Simply to let them know before they find out from someone else, and everything turns shitty. And, now, all you can do is acknowledge that you missed your opportunity and everything is indeed shitty.

Your friends found out before you could even warm the waters with some information or subtle hints first. Maybe you could've told them about all the times Rafe hadn’t been like the awful cookie-cutter shape they all seem to find him fitting in at all times. You could’ve told them about how he is not bad and how he is indeed good. But you missed the opportunity to do so. You let them find out by themselves, and now they think you are in bed with a psychopath only for the thrill of it. Not with your boyfriend, who has never done a bad thing to you and is always putting you first.

Yet, even in the ocean of guilt, you can’t help but feel the anger that has begun to rise by itself. Yes, you had missed your opportunity, but your friends had also failed. They failed to speak to you in a civilized way. Failed to be there for you as they believed you were in a manipulating and abusive relationship. Failed to understand you. And failed at being your friends at the end of the day. They didn’t seem to care about your feelings that day, and they didn’t seem to care about anything but their fury toward you this week. They failed, even if you did so too.

And, as much as you hate it, there is still fear inside you. It has been pushed deep into you, hiding in a corner of your brain, stored away with other worries on top of it so it isn’t noticed by you any time soon. And that fear has a shape and name. Your parents. Because if your friends had their suspicions and found the truth, where does that put your parents?

They are a pair that believes in every word from the neighbors, as well as any word on the streets. If someone were to whisper about Rafe murdering a crocodile in the middle of the street, they would believe it - even when there aren’t any crocodiles near any roads in the OBX. They would believe it, every word of it. Maybe make theories of their own too. Imagine Rafe as this cartoonish supervillain, now wearing the skin of his victims as new shoes. It is ridiculous but absolutely believable to them.

How would they react? What would they do to you? You are of age, but still a student and living under their roof. What would they even think of you?

“Scoot over, you’re taking up the whole damn bed,” Rafe says while standing beside his bed.

You snap out of your horrible thoughts - with your mind still trying to envelop your heart with its dark and painful realities - and throw the pillow closest to you at him, hitting him in the chest. He doesn’t respond. He throws the pillow away and makes you move with a hand on your shoulder and another on your leg, pushing you further into the bed.

The coldness of the sheets under you make your body react in an uncomfortable wave of shivers, and you turn to face Rafe, who is lying on his back beside you now. On the bedside beside him, you can see that it is still early in the morning, meaning you still have a few hours before being dropped off at your house and then at school. And also, everyone in Rafe’s home is still very much asleep.

“Looking at the time won’t make it go by faster,” Rafe says, making you look at him.

“I want it to go slower, not faster.”

Rafe meets your gaze, and he holds it for a bit. A slight bit of a headache hits you right in the temple, and you try not to react by snuggling closer to the pillow under your head. Seems like you were never truly someone blessed with no headaches while hungover, just lucky on that one time.

“What’s wrong?”

“Headache.” You groan into the pillow, closing your eyes to escape his gaze for only a bit.

It takes a few seconds before he talks again.

“What else?” His tone is soft and worrisome. When hearing his question, you don’t move; not even an inch. You just lay there for a bit, listening to your own heartbeat with your ear buried in the pillow. You let some heartbeats go by in your silence, but Rafe waits for you. Never pushes you. He just waits.

“I’m… worried, I think.” You whisper so softly, you almost don’t hear yourself.

“About your friends?”

“That too,” You open your eyes as you talk, “But more about my parents.”

“Why?”

“They’re strict. Very strict,” You explain, even though you know that Rafe already knows that, or else he hadn’t been climbing your window and whispering in your room for months. “They always reacted badly to dating. And they never liked you or your family.”

“Many don’t,” he says with a small curve on his lips.

“It’s different,” you try to explain in as few words as you can, “They’re worse than Kristy or any of the girls would be.”

Rafe simply looks at you, silent. You look at him and let out a breath.

“I don’t know what they’re going to do when they find out...” You tell him, sincerely. “I just want it all to be after graduation.”

He still doesn’t say anything, so, he simply lets you talk.

“I think that’s what I’m so scared of… The fact that I don’t know what to expect from their reaction.” You sigh, “And that is why I wanted it to be later. So I can- I don’t know, run away before they get to do anything.”

“What’s the worst thing they can do?”

“I’m not sure…” You whisper, your eyes meeting his again. “Kick me out, probably. Never speak to me again,” You try to say it with a positive tone, one that doesn’t seem to consider those options to be true, when, in reality, nothing ever felt more possible than this.

Rafe makes a face that doesn’t seem like he’s convinced.

“I can’t be that bad.” And that earns him a smack.

Rafe’s laughter fills the room, and a small involuntary smile appears on your lips.

“Be serious,” You tell him, turning around to lay on your stomach and prop yourself up on your elbows. You groan with the slight headache pounding on your head, and Rafe’s hand soon lays over your head, trying to soothe the pain away.

“I’m sorry,” He says.

“I’ll think about it,” You say while meeting his eyes. Some sort of humor comes out with your words, and Rafe notices it. He grins and simply looks at you for a moment.

You two stay quiet for a little longer before you start letting more words out, explaining your worries to Rafe while he simply listens. He just lays there and nods, giving you his utmost attention.

And, as expected, you two talk for so long that time does the opposite of what you want it to. It just speeds past you two, and everyone in the house begins to get up and get ready for the day.

While listening to the doors opening and closing around the house, as well as some screaming about breakfast from one floor to the other, you two lay in Rafe’s bed in silence. Rafe’s hand is on your pillow, fallen from your hair, and now under your cheek, softly caressing it with his thumb while you lay there, hugging your pillow with your eyes closed.

Rafe stares at you for a bit. There would be no way of you catching him doing it, with your eyes closed and body ready to go back to sleep. You are laying on his bed, lacking clothes, and with only a soft white duvet over your legs all the way up to your waist. Your back is uncovered, and your hair is a mess, but the scenery is perfect. Rafe’s heart tightens at the memory of the tears you’ve spilled in the last few days. He can’t help but feel guilty over it, even when you remind him that he has nothing to feel guilty about.

You’ve told him time and time again. Whatever has happened has nothing to do with him. It has to do with control. Control that some of these people want to have over you or have had for so long - even when that control was disguised as love and worry of you ever getting hurt. Truthfully, it would’ve been indeed love if they wished to speak to you calmly and got to know Rafe. But your friends never dared to.

And Rafe knows how much you wish your parents to be different. Even when you teared up while saying it just now, Rafe listened as your tone was thick with hope - the hope of your parents to be on your side when all of it comes out. And still, all he can do is be there for you until all this ends, whenever that will be.

Rafe leans over and pulls you closer to him, which you let him with no hesitation. Your head lays over his shoulder, and your arms go around him. Rafe hugs your body close to him and kisses the top of your head, cherishing the small breath you let out as he does it.

“I love you,” you whisper to him, your breath warm against his skin.

Rafe leans his head in closer to yours and kisses your hair. There is no surprise for either of you to say it. No fear of the love not being reciprocated. No fear of rejection because all of it is obvious, even in the midst of all this mess. Those words were long overdue.

“I love you too,” He whispers, making you lean in closer to his warmth.

- - - - - -

*Giggles in 'shit is about to hit the fan but I am making y'all suffer in anticipation'*

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lovesickry · 9 months

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⎯ LET THE LIGHT IN ⁴

⎯ lando norris x rival femdriver!reader [1.8k] ✶ part 1 ! find all parts here! contains: 18+, swearing a/n: its kind of a filler..

The shred of relief you felt after Miami was only due to the 2 week gap between races, time to focus more and time to maybe, slightly get on with things. Lando Norris had occupied your mind for far too long but no matter how many times you rerouted your thoughts, It wasn’t helping. You were still furious, you just couldn’t afford to be, it was interfering with everything you did now. An obsession, an annoying, tugging, nagging thing in the back of your brain. It wasn't supposed to be like this, you've been impeded before and gotten readily over it, why was time different. It had you hung on it and you hated it.

Since Miami there had been countless articles covering the crash and both you and Lando’s reaction to it. Most were fine, others were less so, but thanks to the work being done by your PR officer who told you exactly what to say when posed with any kind of question regarding the “incident” in Miami. Most unpleasant experiences were completely uninteresting and not warranting any article worthy statements. Proof of Mercedes PR managing skills as you watched Lewis laugh to himself when you spoke through gritted teeth how the crash wasn't “anyone's fault”.

Lewis was amazing, you couldn't have asked for a better teammate. Always calm, always kind and always supportive. He was the first to comfort you after Miami and the first to compliment your driving rather than your "composure". Sadly you couldn't spend every moment with Lewis and when he got some world champion privileges, like picking and choosing his media days, you did not. Which meant on Thursday when it was told to you who would be in press together you nearly had an aneurysm because it would just be you and the 2 McLaren members. Of course, of fucking course. Where was Lewis, anywhere but here. You wished you could’ve gone with him. Maybe when you have a few world championships under your belt Toto will let you skip out on media duties.

༊*·˚ SPANISH GRAND PRIX 2022

Spain definitely wasn’t cold the first day you arrived on track, briefing with the engineers and teams before being escorted to press. You spoke with Daniel before going in, you know he has it hard with McLaren, they treat him like shit and it’s starting to show, you laughed a bit before you felt Danny go stiff and you knew who must’ve arrived.

“Hey mate” Lando pulls Danny in for a kind of high five, handshake thing. Weird.

You're still just standing there.

“Oh hey Dylan, I didn’t know we were doing press together”

You smile weakly and nod, you know he's lying. Danny gives you a sympathetic look.

“Sorry if they ask me a bunch of questions about my win, i know it might be a bit annoying for you” he was half joking, but it still made you fucking mad.

He was so cocky you fucking hated it.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll have lots to say, it is quite a momentous thing anyway, first win in formula one and it only took crashing into me."

He snorts at that and Danny gives you a knowing look.

Lando walks towards you some more and goes to open his mouth before Danny steps between you two.

“Yeah alright, alright, lets just calm down okay”

Always the mediator. You were silently grateful as you were suddenly ushered into the press conference glaring at the back of Lando’s head and sitting down between the 2 drivers. You wished you were anyway but here as you looked out at the boppings heads of journalists and the prying eyes.

“My question is for dylan”

Your head perked up, initially zoned out. You nod at the journalist for them to continue.

“How confident are you feeling about Spain after Miami?”

Good this was good, remaining fairly neutral. Thank you.

“Yeah, I mean, in Miami the car was insane, but I did find myself struggling just in regards to wear on the tires and grip with the street circuit a bit more, but the team is expecting great things from the car this weekend, so yeah. Fairly confident.” you nod and move the microphone away from your face to signal that you’d finished.

The conversation flows on and you suddenly feel a hand on the back of your neck, quickly glancing next to you. You’re met with a smug Lando Norris who happens to have his arms spread out over the couch. You scoot slightly away from him and see the smirk that follows as you express your dis-comfort. You shoot him a look, which he responds to by moving closer to you and again touching the back of your neck. As his cold hands touch the skin at the back of your neck you subconsciously take a deep breath in. Was he this fucking stupid, what was the media gonna say about this shit. You couldn’t move away again it would seem unnatural, but the way his touch felt on you was wrong, you tried to not let it affect you. Not let him affect you, but it was, you try thinking about anything else, but all you can feel is his hands on your neck. He’s taunting you, playing you. His hand remains there until the end of the press conference to which you promptly flee from. So promptly in fact you have Danny chasing after you to check if you’re alright, you insist that you are and then pose the idea of dinner with him and Heidi soon, you guys hadn’t caught up in a while. He smiles at this and gives you a pat on the back before walking back to the McLaren garage as you walk to the Mercedes garage.

On Friday There's a few team meetings before you get ready to hop into the car, the activity you had been anxiously anticipating since Miami. Hopping into the car going into practice 1 is reminiscent, it had only been two weeks but you’d missed it. Pulling out of the pit lane ready to hear the car once more.

Practice 1 was less than satisfying, a meagre P8. However practice 2 was much more fun, as it always is, needing a little bit of warming up to things you clocked a P2. Getting out of the car for the day smiling was something that even your engineer was shocked about. Everyone had been shocked with your performance but you’d never been outwardly impressed with yourself. Maybe now it was just a reminder that the man who took your win was struggling significantly more with his McLaren than you were with your Mercedes. He got under your skin, now it was your turn to get under his.

Saturday rolled around and you had a pep in your step, you had a good feeling. The car felt great and you loved the track too. You hadn’t gone around spain too much but you’d reserved a few days to look around that weren't going for runs with your trainer. You said hi to Lewis in the morning as you sat down with the team, debriefing on yesterday’s results and car performance, Lewis had a small problem with his brakes yesterday that the mechanics said they had fixed, you raised the problem of a small oversteer but how it was not too much of an effect to your driving yesterday. You hopped into the car feeling settled and your engineer who you'd had a talk to before had advised you to “push even more”. So you did, you pushed the whole time and in doing so, pulled the car into P3, honourable but down a place since FP2.

Sat in your drivers room, legs-crossed sitting, a ritual for qualifying, calm before the storm. You are interrupted with 2 short knocks, you thought it might be holly (your physio) so you get up and don't hesitate to open the door. You roll your eyes at the smirking fucking face you see, you close the door almost immediately to which he only opens it again.

“Rude” he says.

“Fuck off”

“Just wanted to wish you good luck” his voice is high and taunting.

You glare at him, you’d been doing better than him all season he’s the one who needs “good luck”.

“I should be saying that to you, considering your results in practice”

He throws his head back and laughs, acting as though you've wounded him.

you walk towards him, hoping that with the movement he’ll edge towards the exit, but he stays put, looking at you.

You tense your jaw and walk past him, opening the door, gesturing for him to leave.

“Good luck”

He walks out with a grin on his face. What the fuck did he get from riling you up like this?

Holly, your physio finally arrives and you greet her with relief as you get prepped for qualifying. Holly was both friend and doctor as you knew her and she was always there to listen when you had drama to talk about, this specific one relating to a certain boy wearing orange who couldn’t seem to stop annoying you. She laughed at the gestures you made and stayed to talk as the PR officer came to talk to you about the Post-quali interviews and while you put on your fireproofs, telling you about her most recent life events. As you climbed into the car, still mouthing the words of the last song that played in your eyes, you wished you weren’t thinking of one thing: him. You begin your lap with a blank mind, pushing and pushing and pushing the car and the thoughts out of your mind of anything. Especially him. Its gruelling going into Q3 but you do it and your engineer is giving you points on where to push.

“That's P4 Dylan”

“Thank you” you say out of breath.

“Thank you”

“Great job”

You leave the track that night with a sense of satisfaction, not once thinking of him as you drive to your hotel.

tag list:

@eviethetheatrefreak, @fairiesdowntheroad, @landosgirlxoxo,@hiraethrhapsody, @hockeyboysarehot

#f1 #f1 fic #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fic #lando norris series #lando norris enemies to lovers #lando norris rivals #lando norris x you #lando norris angst

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yoonia · 3 months

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the bedroom hymns ● chapter xvi

⟶ Chapter summary | The many layers of mysteries that are present in the home castle are beginning to feel daunting. But the biggest mystery of all may have been about your magic. After your last encounter with Yoongi and finding yourself in a predicament which further questions the secret behind your family’s magic, you try to find ways to find your own solutions to grow stronger, to gain control of your magic, only to constantly being face with one obstacle after another.

⟶ Author’s Note | It took me a while to finish this part, so forgive me for my absence. I’m splitting what was supposed to be the filler in chapter 16 into two separate chapters because there’s going to be a lot of information dump happening and I don’t want to confuse everyone. So please don’t be surprised with the short chapter(s) coming. Thank you for your patience and have fun reading! [Ps. This is highly unedited so I’m sorry if there’s any mistake]

chapter xvi. respite

Quite some time has passed since the first time you began using the magic portals, long since you have arrived in this castle and learned about the existence of magic in this realm, and you are slowly beginning to notice the changes happening with your body.

It seems to you that the more you are using the portals, the easier your body becomes affected by their magic. Just as how you seem to be getting more sensitive to the flow of magic that is a part of the portals.

Returning from Grimm had costed you quite a predicament. Once again, the journey had drained your energy that you slept through the night and nearly woke up late the next morning after your return. Even the palace maids who have been tending to your needs since the day you came to the castle had become so concerned, thinking that perhaps you have gone ill.

It wasn’t until later in the evening when you figured out the reason why you have been feeling a deep fatigue coursing through your body each time you returned from your excursions. Not until the moment the royal physician was brought to see you after a full day of being listless, with barely any energy for you to have a meal.

The royal physician took his time examining your body thoroughly, yet once he deliberated his assessment, you were quickly taken by surprise, not expecting to hear him talk about your mana and how it had everything to do with the reason why you were feeling sluggish and drained.

“It seems to me that you have exhausted your mana. Have you perhaps been using it excessively as of late, Your Highness?”

“I—no, not that I recall. I haven’t done much but study with my tutor and keep myself busy with royal duties,” you simply answered as you laid back against the pillows, refraining from admitting openly that you hadn’t even begun training on how to wield your magic, much less to start getting to know about it at all.

You had no idea how much most of the people within the home castle have learned about you, or if any of them ever knew anything about your previous life at all. Particularly about your life back at The Citadel, back in the human realm where magic didn’t exist. You also had no idea if there was anyone within the castle who may have learned about the family’s magic and the responsibility that had been placed upon you to protect the secret behind the magic.

A part of you wished that you could have said something about it. Because maybe then you could find someone to help you solve the things you had wished to know. To find someone to confide in.

Someone who belonged in the castle, who was trusted by the King himself, instead of confiding to a member of the mercenary army suspected to pose a threat to the empire.

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to stop thinking about this—to stop thinking just how dependent you were becoming to the handsome and mysterious stranger that you probably shouldn’t trust—just as the royal physician shared with you another theory while being oblivious to your trailing thoughts.

“Then perhaps your body is having problems adjusting to the castle. The magic barrier that His Majesty, The King, has placed here is quite strong. It must have been draining your energy as you come in contact with it, or—” the physician stopped himself as he deliberated the issue further while rubbing at his chin. But then he suddenly started shaking his head, as if brushing away those thoughts with his lips curling downward in displeasure.

“No,” he began wondering to himself, brushing away whatever thought crossing through his mind as he murmured, “I doubt that His Majesty’s magic would feed on your mana. The barrier surrounding the castle would require a power source, but I can’t see anyone else other than His Majesty who would be powerful enough to provide such energy.”

That can happen? You couldn’t help but wonder. Has your father’s magic been feeding on your mana?

But that sounds—so terribly wrong.

Just as these thoughts continued to run rampant in your head, a faint tingle ran through your forearm while you were being examined, and you couldn’t help but remember how similar it felt to the sensation coursing through you whenever you walked through the magic portals.

Had it really been the reason? Have you been right for thinking that perhaps the magic portals have been draining your mana, your energy, feeding off your magic that had been lying dormant within you?

Is this why Father had insisted that I only use the portal only once a day and not more, and to not stay any longer than the time limit that he had given?

Or had it been the other way around? What if it has always been my mana which activated those portals, while the keys have only been the medium to help open the doors?

Clearing his throat, the royal physician brought your attention back to him as he gently reassured you, “I will leave you with some remedy and a special potion to help strengthen your mana and help you rest for the night until your body recovers enough. I will also leave a list of nutritions that could be added to your meal. It may help you heal faster if your body receive the proper sustenance needed for your recovery. I shall leave it in the hands of your personal maids so they could hand them to the royal chef.”

Your mind was still stuck in his previous comment and your own assessment of the condition that you found yourself in that you barely paid attention to his words, although you were still able to answer him with a soft murmur, “Thank you, Sir.”

The physician said nothing else after. “In the meantime, please don’t strain yourself too much, Your Highness. You have quite a delicate constitution which may require a lot of care,” he inquired, before softly adding, “I am sure that His Majesty would prefer that you take care of yourself well until he returns home.”

You said nothing other than gratitude to the royal physician as he made his leave, allowing you some privacy and enough time to have your much-needed rest. Yet the silence that you were left with couldn’t stop you from spending the night wondering, thinking back to everything that he said; about your mana being drained without you realising it.

Looking down at your hands as you kept them rested on your lap, you slowly opened your palms. There hadn’t been enough books in the library that could have given you any clue on how to make use of your mana and practice your magic.

You could only figure this out simply because you had tried to look. Out of all the magic books that you had been digging into in the library outside of your tutoring hours, you had found little to nothing that was written about any magic that may conjure portals. At the very least, nothing that seemed similar to the magic that your father had cast in these portals.

And there had been nothing other than the old scriptures you found about ancient fairies and their ability to move between space and time that sounded similar to those portals. Although there were mentions of these ancient beings traveling to many different parts of the realm, even crossing between realms.

But what if there was something in those scriptures that could explain about the source of your father’s magic? Had there been something in those texts that you had missed?

That night, as you slowly drifted into sleep under the effect of the potion that had been given by the physician, you made a promise to yourself to return to those scriptures and learn more about the magic that was written in them. You fell asleep that night feeling hopeful, determined to find the roots of your father’s magic.

Perhaps, with a little more digging, you would find the reason why he had left you with such a huge responsibility of keeping this magic as a secret, while setting things in motion to have you venturing into those portals and to walk across the parts of the world hidden behind them so blindly.

Perhaps, you could also find the answer to one of the biggest secrets that he has been keeping from you and everyone else for years.

The secrets about your mother.

“I might have to show it to you to prove it…”

Yoongi’s voice echoes through your mind as if it bounces against the invisible walls standing all around you.

The words that he gave you seems to have been engraved in your memory ever since the day you met him in Grimm, and they keep haunting you both in your dreams and during your waking hours. It has been a couple of days since, yet it still feels like yesterday when you parted ways with Yoongi in the dark forest of Grimm.

Since then, you have been overcome with a deep feeling of regret.

The regret for not being able to have more time to spend with him. The regret of not being able to catch his sight, to be completely helpless as you watch him getting swallowed under the thick foliage, held back by fear that had a tight grip in your chest.

And you also feel the regret that always comes to haunt you whenever you recall about the offer that he made that day. When he reached out to you, offering to assist you in learning more about your magic. You hate thinking that you might have missed out on a chance to figure out your magic.

But it couldn’t be helped, after all, when your father’s voice—repeating the same words and warnings about how important it was to keep the family’s magic a secret—kept echoing through your head while you were staring at Yoongi’s extended hand which he offered you that day. You had felt the itch to reach out to him, to accept his hand, even if it was only for the sake of feeling the gentle touch of his fingers on yours instead of actually having him help awaken the magic that was lying dormant inside you.

Yet you just couldn’t do it.

And now you are left with the constant wonderings—all the what ifs and what could haves—while the long list of regrets that are still lingering with you becomes the reason why you keep seeing in in your dreams.

The dreams are never the same.

In one dream, you recounted the moment you refused his offer. Only this time, you had stepped away from him at the tavern, choosing to end your time together earlier than what you had intended to so you could escape his attentive eyes. In another, you haven’t even heard the same words spoken by Yoongi before his image vanished right in front of your eyes.

But there was one particular dream that appeared so vividly that you continued to see it even during the daytime, taking over your idle mind with his presence as if you were taken back to that moment, when you sat right across from him with his deep, unwavering gaze locked on yours.

“I might have to show it to you to prove it…”

You never truly understood what he meant by saying those words, but in this dream of yours, none of it mattered. And your father’s voice hadn’t been there to stop you from leaning forward at the table to give him your rapt attention. Your mind was also silent, and the thunderous sound of your heartbeat faded away when you spoke to him,

“How?”

“Give me your hand.”

Time seemed to remain still as you reached out to him, giving him your hand. You barely touched the tips of his fingers when something magical happened; as a bright sparks of silver dust light up between both of your hands, with specks of blue dust erupting the moment you made contact with his skin, and the same tingling sensation that you had often felt from the portals came surging through your arms before settling inside your chest.

Before your mind could ever make sense of what was happening, the light only grew brighter, and everything faded under its blinding glow which later pulled you away from the dream. And as you slowly woke up, finding yourself lying on your bed alone, nothing else remained from the dream, except for the tingles running across your skin which took their sweet time to fade away.

Stepping out of the treasure room, you clutch the golden pocket watch in your palm, feeling victorious that you finally have it in your hand.

You had come to the treasure room right before your afternoon lessons with your tutor, hoping that you would be able to find anything that might be useful for your next trip through the portals. Your father had been right, after all, that the treasure room may provide you with anything that you may need to support your daily activities while you adjust with your new life at the castle.

Like a pocket watch, for example.

Something that is so small and simple, yet crucial for the sake of your safety while you are out there, roaming through any foreign land that the portals are taking you.

Why have I never thought of this before?

You cannot help but wonder as you look down at the ticking watch in your hand, regretting that you didn’t think of getting one in the first place. It could have saved you a lot of trouble if you had.

The last couple of trips you made had been risky, as you kept cutting it too close to the time limit that had been given to you by your father, only missing merely minutes or even seconds before the portal started closing behind you after you slipped back through.

You had nearly gotten into a bigger trouble when you returned from Grimm, almost missing a toe when you barely managed to return to the portal before it closed on you. You blame it to your impulse need of chasing Yoongi into the deep forest when you started to feel like he was slipping away from and disappearing for good.

It was after that incident when you finally learned your lesson and decided that something needed to change. That you would need something to hold onto which may help you to keep up with the time, instead of simply relying on the signs of dusk as a reminder to let you know when it was time to return home.

The idea first came to you after observing Lord Gordan, the royal aide and the head butler of the castle, while he was working on his duties. You had often seen him pulling out a golden watch from the pocket of his suit to help him tell the time, and wondered if it would be something that you could make use of.

After receiving the royal physician’s approval to return to your daily duties this morning, you feel like you are ready to embark on another adventure. With this golden pocket watch in your hand, the magic necklace that had been passed down to you from your late mother, and the dagger hidden under the skirt of your dress, you feel as if you are unstoppable, ready to face anything that may come to your path as you walk through the portal later once your tutoring hours are over.

Now if you only could just find a way to calm the restless thrums of your heartbeat inside your tight chest, then everything would be well. That is all that you could only hope for, at the very least, as you make your way to your tutoring lesson.

Because what better way to find answers other than to gain them straight from the people who are in charge of teaching you everything that is needed to learn as the heir of throne? Who else would know the answers you need, other than your tutors?

“You want to—” Lady Laurel carefully repeats your question. She is looking slightly wary to even voice it out loud, even if it is just the two of you in the library that her voice is lowered when she continues, “—practice using your magic?”

You have only been away from the library for a couple of days while you were resting, only keeping contact with Lady Laurel by corresponding through letters and the books that she had left behind through your personal maids for you to read.

Today would be the first day that you are back with your daily lectures. You could tell from the moment you saw Lady Laurel sitting by the study desk in the library as she waited for you to arrive that she had a lot of things planned out to keep you busy for the day.

But you have come up with your own plan when you marched your way to the library.

For weeks now, Lady Laurel had filled your private lessons with lectures about the fairy tale land to get you to know this new realm a lot more. So far, you have learned about its history, about the kingdoms and the people, even the non-human beings that you may find should you ever have the chance to visit those lands—elves, fairies, werewolves, even human mages—and you have heard about the real events that are the makings behind all the tales known and shared in the human realm.

During those long weeks, Lady Laurel had also been teaching you the basic knowledge of magic; the types of magic that you may encounter and each of their origins, the history behind them, and the ancient spells that have been written in the textbooks that you have found in the library during your solo studying.

She was also the one who first taught you to find a way to identify your mana.

She had mentioned how it would be helpful in the future should you start using your magic, as you would have become familiar to the mana flowing inside you by the time you begin your magic practices. If only she knew with what you have been doing once you were done with her lessons, how you have been using the theories that she had taught you into practice once you were left on your own.

There has been nothing much that Lady Laurel could teach you in her lessons other than the ability to reach within, to feel the presence of your magic and have a good grip on it, to recognise it as a part of yourself instead of something that simply appeared in your body overnight. But your solo practices that you have been doing in the shelter of your bedchamber had taken it a step further, enhancing it until you could make use of it to recognise and then respond to the magic that exists around you.

Just like the way you had used it to respond to the magic in the portals and to recognise Yoongi’s inner mana.

Yet that is just as far as both of you could get. You could tell that there are restrictions that your tutors would need to follow when they are guiding you through your lessons. Because not once had she ever tried to do more; whether it was to help you unleash the magic inside you, nor to use it by conjuring the magic for a purpose.

But you want more. You have been ready for more. And after your last encounter with Yoongi, you have gained the courage to express your desire to learn how to properly use your magic more actively. To learn how to expel its powers and make use of it for your own benefit.

And that is exactly what you said to your tutor the moment you joined her at the library’s study area, as you were taking the seat right across from her as you usually would during your tutoring hours.

Keeping your eyes on Lady Laurel, you try to gauge her reaction. Even from the moment you had first thought of bringing this up to her, you had expected to have an intense response from her, and for her to straight up refuse your request.

And you have been prepared to deal with whatever the outcome may be, knowing that you are not going to back down that easily.

“Yes, that is exactly what I said,” you answer her with your chin raised, feeling determined about taking the next step into learning how to use your magic. “I want you to teach me how to unlock my magic and help me practice using it, instead of just trying to feel it. Because I already know that it’s there, lying almost dormant inside me without me knowing how to use it to protect the people who are dear to me, which is something that I want to be able to do.”

These thoughts have been running through your head for the past few days while you were being holed up in your bedchamber under the royal physician’s restrictions. The feeling of want and the deep curiosity you have to know more about your magic, to be able to reach within yourself so you could somehow wield it so that you could make good use of it, has been growing stronger that you can no longer deny it.

That need had been lingering in your thoughts that it was almost impossible for you to remain idle during your bedrest, and you had then taken the risk to secretly try to find ways to unlock your magic on your own.

You just couldn’t help it, after all. When you had nothing else to fill your time with aside from watching the scenery outside of your windows and reading the pages of your books, until neither could easily calm the havoc happening inside your mind. So you stole the short chances you could get between the hours you were given to rest under the heavy medication and the constant flurry of lady maids coming and going into your room as they attended to your needs.

Using the vivid images of your dreams, the basic knowledge of magic that you learned through your lectures, and the small facts about your magic that you learned from Yoongi as your guidance, you had spent your quiet nights trying to get in touch with the magic that was believed to be coursing through your body.

You tried everything you could; from using your necklace to see if it could bring out the mana inside you, to copying Yoongi’s action which you saw in your dreams, by placing your hands together to see if it could bring out your magic.

But no matter how hard you tried to concentrate and tried to cast your magic out through your fingertips, nothing seemed to be happening. Nothing more but a surge of energy crawling its way from your palms, through your fingers, stopping at each tip, before they vanished into your veins.

And you continued to try, until there was nothing left but the exhaustion rolling through your body and the missing warmth of Yoongi’s hand which your body seemed to have memorised from that day and what you are now craving to feel the most.

Having to openly ask your tutor for her help had been your last resort, knowing that she has her limits to what kind of guidance that she could offer you in learning about magic. Yet you had every reason to harbour some hope that she would somehow comply with your request.

Oftentimes, whenever you would try to inquire about any specific theories to learn about during your lectures, Lady Laurel would have embraced it—she has always loved your curiosity and your eagerness to learn—and grabbed any chance that she could have to share any knowledge about the realm that you were still struggling to understand.

This time, however, she seems uneasy to hear your request. Not because she is reluctant to teach you about magic, as she has been doing so ever since the first day she started her lessons. What seems to make her reluctant about this is the fact that you are asking her to help you learn about your magic.

With a remorseful sigh, Lady Laurel leans forward in her seat. Reaching out across the desk, she places a gentle grip on your wrist. “Your Highness, I’m sure that you are curious to learn more about your magic,” she begins with a polite smile, “But His Majesty had specifically inquired—”

Before she can finish her words, you immediately cut her off.

“I know what my father said”—as you have repeatedly said each time I tried to bring this topic up before, you silently wonder with a frown—”but His Majesty has yet to return, while here I am, feeling like my soul is slowly being sucked out of my body without understanding why. Maybe if I could control my magic, things will be different and I’d know how to prevent something like this from happening again.”

Through the letters that you have been exchanging with your tutor, you had explained everything that the royal physician had relayed on you about your condition.

At first, you simply mentioned about your draining mana in your letter to try and ask for her opinion to see if this was something that could possibly happen. Without mentioning the secret doors and the magic portals in your letter, you questioned her if there was anything that you may have come in contact with which might be able to drain your mana without you ever realising it.

The response that you were given with hadn’t been enough to answer your curiosity. But there was something in her letter which caught your attention, when she explained in a rather plain sentence—

“There are certain elements that have been built all over the castle, each one imbued with His Majesty’s magic. Perhaps, with His Majesty being gone, these elements have been trying to find a new source of energy. I have highly suspected that your magic might be similar to that is of the King’s, which made it possible for the energy around you to mistakenly drain your mana to fill whatever they are lacking.”

“You know very well the reason why I would have to refuse taking over your magic training, Your Highness,” Lady Laurel regretfully says as she pulls back. You hate how genuine she seems to be as she is saying all of this, about the regret of not being able to fulfil your wishes, as she is being held under the King’s orders.

It wouldn’t be until later when you notice the unspoken words hidden perfectly in her response, that she isn’t refusing your request because she isn’t capable of doing so. Because she is capable. But she is also bound under your father’s rules when it comes to your lessons.

“All I can do without His Majesty’s guidance would be to guide you to become in tune with the mana that you have inside you, preparing you for the actual training that you are about to have under the King’s guidance himself,” she continues, and just like that, she turns to pick up the guidance textbook and the set of candles that she would use during these sessions, ready to start another one of her practices that she has been introducing you as of late. “We can continue to do that today and see how far ahead we can go this time. The last time we did—”

Once again, you cut off her words before she could finish talking. “The last time we had our lesson, you were helping me identify my mana and how to channel onto it so I could feel its flow inside me.”

And to recognise it without exposing your magic form. Something that you have caught on after a while and seems to be one of the main tasks given to her when your father passed down the duty of tutoring you while he is gone. But you say nothing of this.

After all, if you are trying to convince her to change her mind and sneak behind the King’s orders to fulfil your wishes, the last thing you should do is to show her that you have figured out all of her cards—the little tricks that she had played to skirt around the subject of your magic.

You may never figure out the reason behind all the secrecy about the family’s magic, or why your father would prevent anyone from helping you in unlocking your magic without his presence. But oddly enough, the more you think about it, the more you understand why your father would take such measures.

The magic that he uses to create the portals wouldn’t have been a regular kind of magic. You can tell that it is something special, something that your father has treasured for a long time, even before you ever came into the world.

But would your magic be anything similar to what your father has, just like what Lady Laurel previously claimed? Would you be able to create your own portal one day to find your own escape?

As if answering your question, Lady Laurel gently speaks to you, “I know that you are curious, and the lessons that you have been getting so far no longer seems to adequate to your needs, as you have gotten enough of the basic knowledge that you could gain in such a short amount of time. All I can ask of you is for you to be patient for now. His Majesty will be returning soon, and he will be able to guide you with your magic and answer a lot of your questions.”

As much as you hate backing down, you realise that you have no other choice—at this moment, at least—but to give up, and follow your tutor’s advice.

“I suppose, I can be a little more patient,” you finally say to her with a sigh.

Your acceptance seems to please her, as a smile grows on Lady Laurel’s face. She beams as she rings the bell to summon the maids for a serving of tea and snacks to accompany your lesson, just like always. And while in waiting, she continues to set up all the books of magic that she would need for your lesson, followed by lighting up the set of candles that she has laid out in front of you.

“Let’s continue with our practice on your focus today,” Lady Laurel says to you as she returns to her seat while gesturing you to keep your eyes on the flickering flames. The same way that she has always guided you during your focus training.

This practice might be far off from helping to unlock your magic, yet you still have to admit that this practice may have been quite helpful so far. Because it was through this practice that you had inadvertently figured out one of the skills that you have developed ever since you started learning about magic.

The skill which allows you to trace and identify others’ mana; be it within a person or a place.

The same skill that you revealed to Yoongi the last time you were together.

As you try to empty your mind and focus on the flickering candlelights, the dejected feeling that came over you earlier is slowly being lifted when you remember that this day is still far from ending, and you still have other tutors to turn to.

So you try to make it through the end of your lecture, doing your best with your simple training, Even if it only means that you will be walking out of here in the afternoon with sharpened focus. Perhaps it might be able to help you later by preventing you from falling asleep too soon if you ever decide to try to unlock your magic on your own again.

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n1ghtwr1ter · 1 month

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At the end of my latest TLT reread and it’s been physically painful attempting to read the last 40+ pages of Nona. Like, the short shrift that Gideon/Kiriona gets given by the people in the story…the theoretical good guys who honestly only see her as a thing, as a means to an end with an inconvenient dead soul attached to it… It makes me want to rip my own heart out of my chest.

Nobody has cared about Gideon her whole life. Most people, in fact, if they remembered about her at all, went out of their way to tell her how much they wished she didn’t exist. In the final chapters of Gideon, she finally gets the thing she’s been desperate for her whole life: somebody telling her that they need her, they care that she exists, and they badly want her to go on doing it. This allows her to make peace with the prospect that at the ripe old age of 18, she needs to die so that that person can go on living and living and living, using the castrated remnants of her soul as fuel to do so. Not a great way to go, but at least Gideon would get to be useful to somebody, would get to be remembered for something.

And then she wakes up in the wrong body, and finds out that her sacrifice - her attempt to be useful in the most selfless way possible, in that her self will no longer exist - has been rejected. And not only that, but the person she tried to give herself to - the one who was supposed to care about her - went to extreme lengths to make completely sure that she no longer remembered about Gideon.

She literally cut Gideon out of her brain.

And now, drifting along in the worst sort of half life where she’s inhabiting her body but it’s no longer really hers, in very obvious fashion - there’s holes in it, her heart is missing, and it’s got her shitty father’s handprints all over it (not even touching how much of a violation that is), indelibly - she finally meets back up with the small group of people who could theoretically be relied upon to be glad to see her again.

But then the one who was supposed to care about her most tries to kiss her (massively OOC for Harrow), and turns out to not even be there - it’s some weird baby inhabiting her body, and doing a really shit job of it too. The rest of them won’t stop talking about how they need her to break into the Tomb - as if she was just another key, same as the ones they worked together to acquire in Canaan House, just bigger and more inconvenient - and/or how they both fucked and killed her mom, who also (surprise, surprise) wished that Gideon had never existed, but saw her as a thing that needed to be done for the good of the mission.

Ultimately, they all make it abundantly clear - Palamedes, Camilla, Pyrrha, and especially Nona, all these people who are supposed to be kind and good and right - that they would prefer she wasn’t there. That it just be her body, with no Gideon attached - at least not Gideon the way she is now, broken and rejected and miserable. They would all far have preferred that she not have her own inconvenient thoughts and feelings and desires and impulses - that she just be inanimate and let the important people, the grown ups, get things done.

They wish she didn’t exist. Same as everybody else in her life, save one, and now she’s left wondering whether Harrow really meant it at all. Because if she did, she wouldn’t have left Gideon to Kiriona’s fate.

And honestly? Really, truly? I know everybody in the fandom loves Pal and Cam and Nona and Pyrrha, but in the end I couldn’t give less of a shit about them. They are fucking side characters, and as intriguing as Nona has been from a worldbuilding standpoint, I ultimately resent having been forced to read 400+ pages of filler bullshit about fucking side characters. I am a butch, and I’m here for my sarcastic, loving, angry, vulnerable, forgiving, and yes, inconvenient sword butch. I’m here for Gideon. But Gideon has been fridged for the last two books of the series in which she is supposed to be a, if not the, main character.

And it feels like almost nobody else in the fandom feels the same way, which, fine. I’m used to that. I’m also used to being told I’m projecting; and I’m used to being told that I’m inconvenient too, in my thoughts and my opinions and the mere fact of my existence. I spent the first eighteen years of my life being told I was inconvenient. Yet another point of overidentification with Gideon.

But in case anybody still thinks that Nona proves that Gideon was an asshole all along, think about all of the above. Think about how it would make you feel to come back from not just death but from the erasure of your existence, something you chose in order to save the life of someone you loved, and be told that you’re inconvenient. Think about how you’d feel if you’d been told all your life that it would be better for everyone if you didn’t exist. And then tell me that Kiriona isn’t in the right and that I should give a rat’s ass what happens to literally anybody else.

It’s Kiriona Hours up in this House, butches. We’ve spent long enough caring about people who would prefer we weren’t around. For once in our entire lives we were told we were important; we were told we mattered; we were told we were the main character. We were going to, if not get the girl and save the world, at least get to do something real, something important, something like being the hero.

But that’s over now; we’re back to being wrong and bad and inconvenient thanks to the simple fact of our existence. So it’s time to embrace it. Let’s be a little shit. Let’s be kind of a dick. Let’s have our own agenda, let’s play our cards close to our heartless chest, let’s allow our circle of empathy to contract to ourselves and maybe one more person. That’s where I’m at right now. And I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

#the locked tomb #kiriona gaia #harrowhark nonagesimus #griddlehark #gideon nav #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #sorry if this makes 0 sense #but also sorry not sorry bc I don’t care #and neither do you if you’re being honest with yourself #go enjoy thinking about your little masc Lyctor fusion and leave me alone to not rot when I’m supposed to #and why yes I do need therapy #thanks very much for noticing #if you feel like paying for it and the hours I’d miss going to it here’s my cashapp #$fuckoff-2024 #also just to get out in front of these #yes I should just go read something else #but 1. you and I both know this series changes your brain chemistry so good fucking luck #and 2. point me at a book where the butch gets to be in the spotlight and I will gladly fuck off forever

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fortheloveofwonderland · 1 month

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Rusty | Chapter 14 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - filler chapter of sorts I suppose. I needed this build up to the next chapter which I guess will be the kinda pinnacle of their relationship. It’s also one of the more angsty chapters, please proceed with caution.

Summary - Another trip to the hospital does not get Spencer’s birthday off on the right foot. You try to push past your anger and frustration towards him in order to still help him celebrate.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - mentions of past abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, blood, self harm, hospital, dissociative suicidal ideals, swearing, medication, tears, arguing, mentions of Maeve, vague mentions of age gap.

WC - 6k

Chapter 14 - Even Cowgirls Get the Blues

There was a place in your mind you’d been forced to carve out, a small, dark recess for which you’d been obligated to create.

It was a special place you visited when things became too much, the burden of your stepfather's abuse and later the hardships that came from being on your own at such a young age.

It was your own way of distancing yourself from life’s fundamentally unrelenting wave of trauma. No point letting it bring you down or you may never get out of bed in the morning.

When you suffered, you stuffed it down in the cavern of your mind. Don’t dwell, don’t allow yourself to feel. Box it up and send it on its way.

It wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism, for that you were acutely aware. But it staved off the emotions, allowed you to get up with the dawn of each new day and carry on.

It was a fail safe, your own way of shrouding yourself from the horrors of the world.

But the day you opened the door to Spencer’s lodge and found him unconscious in a sea of red, would leave you forever changed.

This was one too substantial to quantify. There was no hiding this away. You were sure for the rest of your life you would never shake that image from your mind.

When you’d taken your revenge on Leon there had been a lot of blood. It wasn’t until later when you were being processed by the cops that you realised some of it was on your own clothes too.

But you were calm, unperturbed. He’d deserved to bleed that way, the sticky substance pooling from the holes you’d shot into him didn’t phase you.

This was different. This was one atrocity you would never be able to stow away.

It all seemed like a dream, albeit a terrifying one. The images were blurry but no less nauseating. Somehow you’d managed to jump into action without letting yourself become bogged down in the weight of it all.

You’d tried to stem the bleeding whilst calling the ambulance, followed behind in your car while they took him to the hospital. You’d done everything right, not allowed yourself to crumble before you saved his life.

But now it was hitting you like a tsunami. As you sat in the waiting area of the hospital, staring catatonically at the opposite wall, you couldn’t stop seeing the scene you’d walked in on when you’d arrived back from town.

Spencer slumped on the couch, eyes closed and barely breathing. Head forward, chin on his chest. A razor blade still held limply in his right hand and a seemingly endless stream of blood flowing from his left arm.

Somehow he’d gotten his cast off, the remnants of plaster and purple fibreglass strips you found on the floor from the kitchen to the couch where you’d found him. He’d taken the razor and cut a vertical laceration from the crook of his arm to his wrist.

The doctor had told you he’d incised an old scar you hadn’t known existed on his forearm. The damage was extensive, he lost a lot of blood. That much you knew, you’d seen it.

The floor and the couch and Spencer’s clothes had been covered in the claret. In an attempt to try and stop the bleeding you yourself were covered in it.

Your hands were still stained light red despite the scrubbing. The sleeves of your shirt were caked in it. You knew exactly how much blood he’d lost.

You didn’t know the full extent of what was going on as you tried to tune it out. He’d had his wound stitched up, some imaging to ensure he hadn’t caused any kind of permanent nerve damage. He was pumped with fluids and had regained consciousness.

The doctor informed you that you could see him but you didn’t move from the waiting room chair. They were waiting on a psychological evaluation to determine if he was a danger to himself.

You would argue that he most certainly was.

You were gone an hour at most. If you’d come back even a minute later, Spencer most likely would have bled to death.

Perhaps that had been his intention. Maybe he hadn’t wanted saving. What if you’d betrayed him by letting him live?

Eventually the doctor came back once the shrink had visited with Spencer. They’d reviewed his medical history, spoken to Doctor Ortega and determined he wasn’t outwardly suicidal.

He’d gone on to explain that his dissociative disorder caused a shift in normal behaviour. There was a part of Spencer, one that lived deep within in his fractured psyche that harboured these kinds of thoughts but it only presented itself when he fell into one of these states.

Their main concern was trying to stem the dissociations, and aid him in experiencing them less frequently. The doctor was confident that when he wasn’t dissociating he wasn’t a threat to himself. But the stronger dosage of his med was yet to fully kick in, they hoped that when it did he would experience them less.

You’d listened and stored the information but it all went a little over your head. Your brain was sheathed in a thick fog, still ruminating on the sight of the blood, on Spencer’s unconscious body.

Before leaving the doctor told you that Spencer was asking to see you.

The emotions that swirled within you when you finally got up from the chair were nearly overwhelming. You experienced them all at once, a tornado of feelings all begging to be felt.

You were terrified, you were sad. You were grateful he was alive but so fucking angry at him for putting you in this position.

You found him in the hospital bed, his entire forearm bandaged in a thick gauze and set with a splint as his arm was still broken.

He had an IV attached to the back of his hand and a thin sheet draped over his lower half. His expression as you entered the room was unreadable.

You shuffled further into the room, closer to his bedside but didn’t come too close for fear you might slap him for his stupidity.

His eyes were hooded, his lips dry and chapped and pulled into a thin, tight line. His hair was damp and stuck to his forehead.

He wouldn’t make eye contact with you, instead stared down at the drip in his hand, flexing his fingers and watching the way the movement caused his vein to throb.

“You could have died.” Your voice was rough and scratchy, you hadn’t had anything to drink since you’d been here. “I thought you were dead.”

“There’s really not much point in me explaining myself.” He huffed out a breath. “We all know what happened. I dissociated, I cut myself. There’s no use me sitting here and telling you I didn’t mean to do, because I guess there’s a part of me that did. But the conscious part of my brain, the dominant part, didn’t mean to do it. I’m not suicidal, I don’t want to die.”

“You scared the shit out of me.” You wrapped your arms around your waist although it was too late to protect yourself now.

It couldn’t be unseen, the blood would never wash away from your memory.

He heard the trembling of your voice and he looked up at you now. You looked so tiny and fragile at that moment.

“In my defence,” he shrugged meekly. “I did ask you not to leave me alone.”

The way your eyes widened in disbelief wasn’t a surprise to him. He could feel the anger radiating off of you from his words.

“So this is my fault?”

“I didn’t say-”

“I can just never leave you alone for fear you’re going to do something like this?” You spat. “I can’t live like that! I was gone for a fucking hour, Spencer! And I come home to find you covered in blood, unconscious! I can’t live like that. I lost both of my parents Spencer, I can’t lose another person I love!”

He shrunk back against the pillows, rolling his lip between his teeth.

“I can’t change this about myself, Y/N.” He whispered. “I wish I could, trust me when I say there is no one who wants me to get better more than I do. Maybe you’d be best to leave. I’m no good for you, I’m no good for anyone.”

“Don’t start that self deprecating BS again. You’re not going to get rid of me so easily. But you have to let me help you. If you’d told me the reason you didn’t want me to leave was because you were scared this would happen I would have stayed. I thought you were just being needy.” You started angry but as you talked your voice softened, more sounding fed up by the time you reached the end.

Spencer was toying with the IV, not trying to remove it, just gently fiddling with it to distract himself.

“I know. I knew as soon as you walked out of the door that I should have said something. The stronger dosage of my meds hasn’t taken effect yet, I guess. But asking for help is a really big thing for me. In my whole life I’ve never really had anyone I could depend on, only myself. Even after prison, I pushed Luke away because I was adamant I could handle things on my own.” He sulked, pouting his bottom lip.

“Yeah, and look how well that worked out for you.” You sighed with a roll of your eyes.

“I…I know I said it would be best for you to walk away but…please don’t? I know I’m a lot, I know I’m fucked up. But you’re just about the best thing that has ever happened to me and I can’t lose you.” A few tears crept from his eyes and your chest constricted.

You shuffled closer to the hospital bed and perched on a small empty space next to Spencer’s ribs. He immediately took hold of your hand, you were careful not to disturb his IV as you curled your fingers around it.

“I told you, you’re not getting rid of me so easily. But you have to try Spencer, you have to talk to me if you think you’re at risk of dissociating or something. I might not be able to stop it happening but I can at the very least stop you from hurting yourself while you’re out. You have to involve me.” Your voice still held a hint of sternness, wanting him to know that you meant what you were saying.

“I promise I will try.” He nodded, offering you a tired smile.

It was understandable that he was drained, and you gave his hand a soft squeeze before letting it and sliding off the bed.

“You should rest.” You told him, his eyes already growing heavier.

“Hmm, rest would be nice.” He agreed.

“I’m going to go back to the ranch and clean up but I'll be back I’ll a few hours okay?”

Spencer looked at you now, brows pinched and noticing for the first time that your shirt was covered in blood. His stomach coiled and he grimaced.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry.” He whined.

“It’s okay.” You shrugged. “Just try and get some sleep, I’ll be back in a little while.”

Spencer nodded, shuffling himself down the pillows and tangling his good hand in the bedsheets. He didn’t speak again and neither did you, choosing to silently retreat from the room instead.

You barely had it closed behind you before Spencer started to violently sob out of nowhere. Tears broke free in heavy waves and his body started to wrack under the weight of it all.

He should not have dragged you into his messed up life. Maybe it would have been better all around if you’d left him to die on the side of the road.

***

Before you bothered to shower and change out of your blood stained clothes, you set about cleaning Spencer’s lodge so he didn’t have to return home to this mess.

You tried to ignore the metallic smell of the dried blood as you got on your knees and scrubbed the tarnished floorboards. The hardest part was getting it out from the cracks between them but you were thankful the floor was dark and it was hardly noticeable.

You were glad for Spencer having a leather couch as at least it hadn’t seeped deep within porous fibres. Still though, you couldn’t get it completely clean and the arm of the couch would forever be marked. If you let yourself pretend, you could imagine it was simply a red wine stain.

Surveying your work you didn’t feel satisfied like you’d hoped. You could still see the blood in your mind, maybe you always would. Perhaps you would never be able to shake the image of Spencer half dead in a pool of his own blood.

You had tears in your eyes by the time you were finished cleaning and dragging yourself to the bathroom. You didn’t look at your clothes as you stripped them off, planning to dispose of them later.

It was only once you were in the shower that you let your tears fall. They mixed with the water coursing over you as you cried quietly into your hands.

You hoped that once his stronger dosage kicked in it would help stem his dissociative episodes. Even if it didn’t get rid of them entirely, they had to at least make them less frequent.

You’d told Spencer he would never have a normal life with you, forever looking over his shoulder. But it was apparent you would also never have a normal life with him. And there might come a day where you are just too late to save his life.

***

You returned to the hospital to find Spencer sleeping peacefully and you couldn’t help the way it angered you that he could be so relaxed. You weren’t sure you’d ever have a decent night sleep again.

When Spencer woke up he made small talk to fill the void which was normally something you took the mantle of, but you found you didn’t have much to say.

It was morning by the time Spencer was discharged and you were physically and mentally drained.

The doctors didn’t re-cast his arm as he needed to be able to let his new wound heal, instead they left him in the removable split. He was told he needed to take it off for at least a few hours a day to allow his stitched cut to breathe but to exercise extreme caution as his broken bones weren’t yet fully healed. When he wasn’t wearing the splint he still needed to wear a sling to keep his arm stabilised and reduce motion.

The drive back to his ranch was spent in stifled silence. By the time you arrived back you couldn’t wait to curl up in bed and try to put this ordeal behind you.

You went to pass him as he hovered near the car, straight up to your own lodge but he gently reached out and circled his fingers around your wrist.

“Where are you going?” He asked, voice croaky and unsure.

“To sleep. I’m exhausted.” You snatched your arm out of his grip.

He looked wounded by your words, like they caused him physical pain. You always slept in his bed, he’d grown accustomed to falling asleep next you, waking up and your face being the first thing he saw.

For years he’d hated sharing his personal space like that but he’d quickly gotten used to you being there.

“Can’t you, uh, you usually sleep in there?” He nodded his head towards his own lodge.

You huffed out a deep breath, scratching the back of your neck in discomfort.

“I just want to be alone right now, Spencer.” You shrugged, turning away from him.

You got a few steps before his voice caught your attention again.

“Sorry that my dissociative suicide attempt has pissed you off.” He spat harshly.

You immediately tensed, turning back to look at him. His eyes were dark with his anger and you imagined yours were much the same.

“Is that supposed to be fucking funny?” You folded your arms across your chest.

“Not in the slightest.” He mirrored your position despite how hard it was with his splint.

“While you were resting up in the hospital, I was scrubbing blood out of your floorboards.” You scowled at him.

“Thought you’d be used to large amounts of blood.” He scoffed.

“Wow,” You shook your head. “Just fucking wow.”

You spun away from him again and started storming towards the spare lodge. The rage filled every pore, every nerve ending. If you didn’t leave you would surely say something you would regret. But Spencer wouldn’t let it lie.

“I’m sorry this has been an inconvenience to you but it hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park for me either.” He raised his voice and you heard the gravel crunching under foot as he followed you. “I could have died! And despite there clearly being some part of my brain that desired that outcome, for the most part I did not want that. And you’re treating me like this is my fault!”

“Who else’s fault is it?” You spun once more, raising your voice. “No one made you cut your arm open Spencer.”

“I’m sick.” He hissed. “I told you that day one. I told you I wasn’t well, that you shouldn’t get close to me but you did it anyway. I gave you fair warning that I am fucked up in the head so don’t act like this is new information. I’m sorry you had to witness it and I am sorry you had to clean up after my mess but you were warned.”

“There’s fucked up and then there’s goddamn suicidal Spencer!” You yelled. “How many times will I have to clean your blood off of the floor? How many times before I find you actually dead? I love you, you idiot! I can’t watch you die.”

Spencer softened a little, his eyes downturned and his arms falling back to his sides. He knew you had a point. As much as he couldn’t control his behaviour when he dissociated, he could take measures to stop the dissociation in the first place. He knew his grounding techniques, he knew it was possible.

But he allowed himself to be consumed by it, threw himself over to it rather than trying to fight against it. And he could have very well died, you could have found his dead body. And he knew that wasn’t fair.

He’d seen his share of corpses in his time with the BAU. It got easier over time, he distanced himself from it, grew hardened by it. But he never had a connection to those people, didn’t know them from Adam.

Spencer remembered with startling clarity what it had been like to watch Maeve die. Having an eidetic memory meant he could recall every little detail of that day, watching the life snuff out behind her eyes, her body collapsing to the floor in a pool of hers and Diane Turner’s blood.

It still haunted him from time to time, witnessing someone he loved be taken away from him in such a brutal way. He knew exactly what you meant then, and he would never want to put another person through what he had been through.

“I, uh,” he swallowed. “Years ago, my girlfriend was murdered right in front of me.” He confessed, his chest tightening as he did so. Your expression softened as you looked at him, silently telling him to continue, so he did. “I will never forget it, not as long as I live. I don’t want to do that to you.”

You inhaled sharply, completely thrown off by his sudden admittance. You felt the previous anger asusaging, but it didn’t vanish thoroughly.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” You lowered your voice. “I still just need to be alone right now though, okay?”

“Fine,” Spencer shook his head sadly.

“Try to sleep or something. I’ll see you later on.” You turned and this time he didn’t stop you.

He watched you retreat towards the second lodge, arms wrapped around yourself as you went. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, a dull throb coursing down his arm. He stood still until you disappeared up the steps and let yourself into the cabin.

When he finally turned to his own lodge, tears were hindering his vision as he pathetically dragged his body towards the door, thinking to himself, happy fucking birthday you moron.

***

You laid in bed for several hours staring at the ceiling but eventually must have fallen asleep as the next thing you knew it was past four pm. So much for throwing Spencer a birthday celebration.

You sat up in bed. You were on top of the covers and still fully dressed. Your bags of shopping from yesterday were sitting on the floor by the door and your stomach coiled. It was Spencer’s birthday and you didn’t want him to be alone, to believe no one cared. But you were also still a little frustrated at him.

You pushed yourself up and stood, stretching your limbs as you did so. You knew inevitably that you would go through with your plan even if you were still angry at him. No one should have to celebrate their birthday alone.

You showered for a long time, trying to re-energise yourself for the task ahead. You let the water caress your aching limbs for longer than was necessary and once you were done, took your time getting dressed.

You picked out a dress from a store in town similar to the floral off the shoulder number Spencer had liked so much on you. It was a deep, royal purple in colour, you had assumed it to be a favourite of his and slipped on a pair of cheap black patent heels you’d also purchased on your trip to town.

The dress was billowy and reminiscent of 1950s swing style dresses. It cinched you in at the waist, hugged your curves and showed off your legs. Looking at your reflection you had to admit it looked wonderful on you, but it did nothing to soothe your mood.

Regardless, you pressed on. You took your shopping bags and the cheap fold up craft table you’d bought and snuck out of the lodge, glancing left and then right to see if Spencer was lurking around. Hopefully he would be sleeping still or reading or something and not up at the stable.

Thankfully the stable was empty, aside from the four horses who were all pleased to see you, although to varying degrees. Rusty was the most excited, making appeasing huffing sounds when she saw you. Willow and Franklin both made noises of greeting while Wilbur simply glanced at you briefly before returning to his trough of food. Clearly Spencer had been here at some point while you’d been resting as they’d been fed and groomed.

You went about setting everything up. You unfolded the craft table and set it up far enough away from all four steeds that they wouldn't be able to reach the party food you then set up on it. You filled little paper bowls and plates with cocktail sausages, mini sausage rolls, bowls of chips and dips and several bottles of flavoured pop.

The centrepiece was a large red velvet cake for which you stuck five candles in, having no idea how old Spencer turned today. You hung happy birthday banners and streams of bunting all around the stable before collecting the pile of gifts and cards left by Luke from your closet. You donned a party hat, and gave the stable a once over.

It looked like a slightly sad kids birthday celebration, certainly not what you’d had in mind but it was the best you could do at such short notice. You still had a pang of annoyance towards Spencer in your gut but you tried to push past it, at least just for today.

Once you were finished preparing, it was dark outside. You closed the barn doors and typed out a quick text to Spencer asking him to come to the stable before you stood awkwardly and waited.

He could very well have been asleep still, or even if he wasn’t he didn’t always have his phone nearby. You could be waiting ages. But less than two minutes later you received a reply.

📲 Spencer Reid: I just got out the shower, can you give me five minutes? Is everything okay?

You responded to let him know everything was fine and made up a quick lie about needing him to check out a sore on Rusty’s back. And so you waited. According to your phone seven minutes passed between you sending the second text and the sound of footsteps heading up towards the stable.

You held your breath, instinctively wrapping your arms around yourself whilst rolling your lip between your teeth. You heard him getting closer and before long the large barn door creaked open and Spencer took a step inside.

He only made it one step before he stilled, eyes quickly flitting around the stable, from you and that dress, to the party hat on your head, to the decorations and to the table packed with food and gifts.

He looked back over at you, a questioning expression on his features. He was dressed in dark jeans and a red flannel shirt with the top few buttons undone. His hair was slightly damp on the ends from his shower and he wore his sling, arm cradled against his chest. He opened his mouth but the words got caught in his throat.

“Uh, Luke left you a bunch of gifts on your doorstep.” You shrugged. “He was talking through the door, thought you might have been in there and before he left I heard him say, Happy birthday for Friday.”

Spencer’s wide eyes once again wandered around the stable, taking it all in once more as though he couldn’t quite believe any of it was actually there. When they landed back on you, you could see the unshed tears causing his eyes to sparkle.

“It’s been…” he cleared his throat, eyebrows pinching together. “It’s been a long time since someone did something for my birthday.”

“You’re welcome?” You shrugged again.

He took a few steps forward and picked up a party hat from the table, inspecting it in his hand as if he’d never seen one before. After a few long seconds, he raised it to his head and pulled the elastic under his chin to secure it, which looked particularly cumbersome with one hand but he managed it.

“You did all this for me?” He croaked.

“I mean, it's not much.” You waved him off.

“You were planning all of this for me and I…fuck…I am so sorry.” He shook his head.

“Don’t.” You shook yours too. “Not now. Just, uh, lets just enjoy this okay?”

Spencer exhaled through his nose, stepping closer to you and raising his good hand to rest on your hip. His eyes grazed up and down the dress and the way it hugged your figure in the most sinfully perfect way.

“Was this for my benefit also?” His lip quipped at the corner.

“It wasn’t for mine.” You rolled your eyes. “So what birthday are we celebrating, Doctor Reid?”

He shuddered at your use of his honorific the way you knew he would.

“Uh, a big one I guess.” He sighed. “I turned forty today.”

“Ohh old man.” You teased.

“Wow, thanks for that.” He chuckled. “They say forty is the new thirty.”

“Who says that?” You laughed as he edged his way closer until your bodies were flush together.

“Me, I said that. And you know, you’re only as old as you feel?” He pulled a face. In reality he felt so much older than forty.

“I think the term you’re looking for is that you’re only as old as the person you’re feeling.” You smirked devilishly at him and he shuddered again.

“Well in that case, I’m in luck.” He chuckled, bowing his head and kissing you while his hand groped at the fabric of your dress.

The kiss grew heated rapidly, his tongue hungrily exploring your mouth whilst all your previous anger towards him died on his lips. But before he could get too carried away, you pushed him lightly by his shoulder.

“You have gifts to open. And cake to eat.” You chuckled at his eagerness.

“I thought you were my gift?” He whined.

“Not a chance, cowboy.” You stepped back from his hold. “You have to enjoy the world's most depressing birthday party first.”

Spencer couldn’t hold back the laugh as he glanced back at the display of food and gifts. He nodded in agreement, knowing the chances were likely if the two of you started to get intimate he would back off and ruin the night.

He didn’t want that.

So instead he reluctantly picked at the food and eyes up the gifts and cards all adorned with several sets of handwriting he knew so well.

He wished he could be grateful that his old friends still cared enough to send him gifts, but they only left him feeling disheartened.

***

After stuffing his face with all manner of party food and two large slices of cake, he hesitantly started on the presents sent by the BAU team.

Garcia got him another horse plushie to match the grey one she’d sent to him a few months after he left Virginia. Rossi sent a new brown suede stetson which Spencer could tell was incredibly pricey.

Tara and Emily gifted him a few flannel shirts and a t-shirt which somewhat cringingly proclaimed ‘Everything's Bigger in Texas.��

JJ sent him a book full of drawings Henry and Michael had done of Spencer and his horses, the first page of which, in JJ’s neat cursive read: ‘The Log of a Doctor turned Cowboy - the Spencer Reid Chronicles.’

Luke’s gift and card remained untouched. He stared at it for several long minutes before casting it aside, silently telling you he didn’t want it. The final gift was a small box for which you handed him shyly. He toyed with it in his hands and you chewed on your lip.

“It’s not much.” You shrugged. “I, uh, I didn’t know what to get you.”

Spencer glanced up at you with a soft smile before focusing back on the box in his hand. He’d already removed his sling to allow him to open the gifts but under your very watchful eye to ensure he didn’t exacerbate his injuries.

You had to go out to Pipe Creek for this specific gift as there was a wider range of shopping available. You were extremely lucky that you could get such a personalised gift on such short notice, paying extra for the blacksmith to craft this for you as quickly as possible.

Spencer lifted the lid and you watched his brows furrow as he cautiously removed the item from inside the bed of shredded paper. He hooked it on his finger and raised it in front of his eyeline as he inspected every intricate detail of the small gift.

It was a keychain with several metal pendants hanging from the loop. Four silver names dangled from the centre loop, Willow, Wilbur, Franklin and Rusty. The focal point was a circular metal disk about the size of his old NA chip. It was mostly black, but embossed in silver was the shape of stars and constellations.

Around the outside, curling with the curve of the disk were the engraved words ‘the night your star crossed with mine.’ He looked back at you, the unshed tears once again prominent behind his eyes, questioning without the use of words.

“The night we met, when I came back here whilst you were in the hospital, I just sat on your porch and stared at the stars. It was the first time I’d ever really had the chance to see them properly. And every night since I look up at them and think how beautiful they are and how if it wasn’t for us meeting I may never have had the simple pleasure of looking at the stars in the sky.

“I found an image online of exactly what the sky over your ranch looked like that first night, the night our stars crossed. There's a blacksmith in Pipe Creek who is seriously under utilised because he made that in like a half hour. It was really impressive.” You babbled a little.

Spencer looked back at the keyring then back at you several times in quick succession. When he finally settled on you, his tears escaped his eyes and started rolling down his cheeks.

“I think this might be…” He croaked. “The nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Oh don’t say that, that’s just sad.” You chuckled with a shake of your head, making Spencer laugh too despite his tears.

“That’s a maybe, but it's painfully true.” He stepped closer to you, setting the box back on the table but still holding the keychain. “I love you so, so much,Y/N.”

“Happy birthday, stud.” You giggled as he kissed you once more. “Slow your horses, cowboy.”

“Mmm, do I have to?” He mumbled against your lips.

“Yah huh, your birthday isn't over yet.”

“Oh no, what else have you planned?”

“We’re going to see some live music down at the Wildhorse Saloon. I thought it was kind of apt seeing as we met in part because of a wild horse.” You nodded your head in Rusty’s direction.

“I think that sounds more fun for you than it does for me?” He frowned a little.

“Probably,” you nodded. “But you really do need more fun in your life.”

“I have plenty of fun.” He scoffed, placing the keychain gently back inside the box.

“Yeah, okay,” you rolled your eyes. “You might enjoy it, and besides, I didn’t get this dressed up to hang out in a horse stable all night.”

“I thought it was for my benefit?” Spencer struggled with his sling and you came closer so you could help secure it around his neck.

“It was, mostly.” You shrugged. “But this dress demands to be seen.”

“Trust me when I say I am seeing it.” He hissed as you stepped back around to face him and his eyes grazed up and down the garment.

“Humour me?” You tilted your head to the side. “I’d really like to just cut loose after, you know, everything.”

Spencer exhaled loudly, knowing you were right. It might be his birthday but you had been through a lot with finding him hurt and having to clean up his blood. And honestly, Spencer had a hard time saying no to you.

“Fine, okay.” He shrugged. “But if you plan on cutting loose we’ll probably be best to walk. I can’t drive or ride with my arm strapped in this thing.”

“Deal.” You agreed with an almost smug smile, but Spencer didn’t reciprocate. “Oh come on, Doc, you might surprise yourself and actually have a good time.”

“I highly doubt that.” He huffed, watching you saunter past him to the door. “But I’ll be damned if I could ever deny you anything.”

“That’s the spirit.” You laughed, swinging the door open.

“I am, however, not wearing this party hat.” He scrambled after you.

“I’ll allow it.” You clucked, continuing down the gravel path and hearing him latch the barn door closed before hurrying after you.

As you headed away, a pang of anger let itself be known in the pit of your stomach. No matter how hard you tried to get past it you couldn’t stop picturing Spencer slumped in a pool of his own blood.

You knew for a fact alcohol was only going to intensify that feeling. And you were sure the chances were that this night would end in disaster. But it didn’t stop you from going ahead with it anyway, despite your better judgement.

@kalulakunundrum @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @babyspiderling

#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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talkdutchtome · 10 months

Text

You Should Have Said No Chapter Six- Mean

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / pierre gasly x reader )

summary . . . when your fiancé cheats on you, you strike up an unusual friendship with one of his closest friends, who just so happens to have had a crush on you since he set eyes on you. chaos ensues.

inspired by the works of miss taylor swift )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . mean - taylor swift)

warning . . . cheating, mental illness, angst, eventual smut, poorly translated french and dutch, swearing, mention of parent loss, emotionally abusive parent, slight social media au, kendall jenner as fc (potentially more i’ll add as i go along)

a/n . . . i'm so sorry that it's been so long but here is chapter six. it is unfortuatly a lot of filler which i hate to do but i sat for ages trying to figure it out and i just couldn't move the story on without it. also i'm thinking on doing a mini .5 chapter with pierre's pov so let me know if this is something you'd want )

The first thing you noticed when you woke up on your hotel bed, still in the clothes and make up from last night, was the pounding headache that made you feel like room was spinning; the second thing you noticed was the overwhelming feeling of dread at the very pit of your stomach. Despite this, for a few blissful seconds you didn’t remember what it was you did that made you feel such a way. But when the realization hit you, the feeling of dread in your stomach started to rise to the back of your throat until you had to clamper off your bed and to the toilet to bring up the many, many tequila shots that you had taken last night. After getting everything up and feeling marginally better you sat on the hotel bathroom floor with your head between your knees and began processing what had happened last night. Max said you looked beautiful. You kissed Max. You kissed Max and then slammed the door in his face. Why would you do that? Do you like Max as more than a friend? What about Pierre? Questions ran through your head rapidly making the room spin even more than before. “I need to talk to Lila” you spoke aloud to yourself before finally getting the balance to stand up and walk towards the bedside table where your phone sat, although the messages waiting for you on the screen threatened to bring up the remaining food and drink in your stomach.

Max Verstappen

Hey Y/N, thanks for a good night last night. Let me know if you need a ride back to Monaco; Lando and Danny have already gone so it would just be us.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the hell were you supposed to do? It’s not like you can sit on a private plane for hours with Max after kissing him and then slamming the door in his face. He will inevitably have questions and considering you can’t even answer your own questions about your actions, you’d be willing to bet your life on the fact that you wouldn’t be able to answer his. After staring at his text for what felt like forever, you eventually decided that it would be best to just not reply right now and make your own way home. Space between yourself and the Dutchman was probably for the best, at least until you can figure out what the hell was going on.

“Jesus Y/N I’ve been gone less than 24 hours, you can’t miss me that much already” you heard your best friend’s voice come through the speaker, she picked up on the first ring, of course she did; she always was able to tell when something was wrong. However, hearing her voice; rather than comforting you made you fall apart sobbing.

“Y/N?? What’s happened? What’s wrong?” Lila’s voice became concerned, she more than anyone knew that you didn’t like to cry and that you very rarely did.

“I fucked up Lils. I really fucked up.” you told her through gasped breaths earning yourself a worried sigh from your best friend.

“Okay what did-” she asked but you cut her off, unable to contain it any further. “I kissed Max” You braced yourself for Lila to scold you for being so stupid and careless, instead her amused laugh came pouring out of the speaker; only confusing you further.

“Why is this a bad thing Y/N, he’s hot, you’re single. I don’t see the problem” she spoke after catching her breath from laughing. “Lila come on there’s about a hundred reasons why it’s a problem; I’m only just out of a long-term relationship, a relationship where I was engaged to be married. Max is Pierre’s friend, and this could ruin their relationship. Max is my friend, and this could defiantly ruin our relationship. Pierre is-” you rambled and when Lila saw that there was clearly no stopping point for your list, she interrupted you. “Babe, forget about Pierre for a second. Do you like Max?” Her question, though not entirely unexpected, made your head spin; did you like Max? He was attractive, there was no denying that, he was smart and funny and kind. Maybe you did like him. Maybe. Was it even possible to like someone so soon after such an intense break up. If you did like him what would that even mean? It’s not like you could be in a relationship with him, not after Pierre.

“Helllo Y/N you still there?” Lila’s voice awoke you from your spiraling thoughts “ I’m going to assume that that long drawn-out silence means maybe. You know this doesn’t have to be a bad thing; he clearly likes you too. Nobody is saying you need to jump into a committed relationship with him straight away but what’s wrong with a bit of fun?”

“No what about Pierre, that would kill him”

“Kill him like he killed you?” her words cut deep. There was truth to them of course there was, after what Pierre did to you, you owe him nothing at all. But when you loved someone for 14 years how can you do something you know would crush them, even if they have hurt you. The ugly truth that you didn’t want to admit even to yourself, was that you weren’t even sure if your story with Pierre was over. The love you shared with Pierre was the strongest and most unwavering thing you had ever known until that night in Monaco. Pierre wasn’t just your boyfriend or your fiancé, he was your person. The dreams of having a family and growing old with him hadn’t just disappeared because of what he did.

“I need to go Lila, I need to find a way back to Monaco”

Arriving back to your flat in Monaco after a very long very hot commercial flight only further deepened your confusion. Here you were in the place that you and Pierre had made your own, the place that you had spent a large portion of your adult life living; but Pierre wasn’t here. Come to think of it you actually had no idea where he was or where he was living at the moment. As if on cue, at that moment your phone began to ring with Pierre’s name lighting up the screen; you thought about not answering- realistically nothing good could come from the conversation, but truth be told you missed him, you missed his presence and the way he made you feel.

“Oh, hey Y/N. Sorry I didn’t think you were going to pick up. Are you back in Monaco?” he asked and his voice made your stomach flutter, you knew it wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help but feel yourself relax hearing that oh-so familiar voice.

“Yeah, I just got back”

“Okay can I come round?” he asked, and your heart dropped. As much as you did miss him and in theory wanted to be around him again, in practice it wasn’t something you thought should happen. In your heart you might still be holding out hope that there was a way to fix things but, in your head, you know there isn’t. But despite you’re not being sure that if, being around him in the place you built your lives together, your head would win over your heart. Could you be rational when the love of your life is standing in front of you?

“It’s just I need to get some stuff and I wanted to talk. I need to know whether or not I need to look for somewhere to live.” He clarified and despite your better judgement you agreed.

Once your phone call with Pierre had finished you caught sight of a notification on your phone that made your earth shake. Your dad had texted you. After your mum died, your dad began to spiral. He would get black out drunk every night just to numb the pain. He completely blanked you, citing that you just looked too much like your mother. Eventually the alcohol led to drugs and the drugs led to the loving, caring man you knew be replaced by somebody cold and heartless. Growing up in that environment was one of the worst, darkest periods of your life so when you grew older you got out of there. Since you had moved away from the small little town, haunted by the memories of what your life could have been if you mum didn’t die; contact between you and your dad had been extremely limited- only speaking once every few years. He knew that you were living with Pierre and working alongside him in Formula One but that was mostly it. Despite the fact that he could never find a nice word to say about you, he liked Pierre. He had told you on a number of occasions that Pierre was a good man and that you were extremely lucky to have him.

The phone rang. He was calling you. Your heart rate increased, and you could feel the palms of your hands become clammy. In spite of all the horrible things he did and said to you over the years, he was still your dad; so, you answered.

“Y/N. I need money.” his voice came through slurred. He was intoxicated, best case drunk worst case high. You had given money to him a handful of times but with your relationship with Pierre being up in the air and therefore potentially your job too, you just didn’t have the money to spare.

“I’m sorry dad I can’t. I think I need to move soon so I can’t afford it” you spoke your voice no more than a whisper.

“Oh, don’t pretend you’re not loaded. I know how much Pierre makes” your breath hitched; you were going to need to tell him.

“We are- Dad, Pierre and I aren’t together anymore. He ch-” he interrupted you before you could finish the sentence.

“Oh, you stupid little bitch how did you let that happen. Pierre was the best thing that ever happened to you.” your eyes started to water, you opened your mouth to say something, but he continued.

“Although it’s no surprise, he was always too good for you. I’m just shocked it took him this long to realize.” The tears were streaming down your face now, you wanted to argue, to put him in his place; but you couldn’t.

“I know.” Your voice was weak, the words were met with a scoff from your father before he hung up, clearly done with the disappointment that was his only daughter. Loud sobs escaped your lips. He was right after all. Pierre had always been too good for you and it’s no surprise that he eventually found someone who was better. Your dad’s words were knives that he had used against me for years now, he would take pleasure in knocking me off my feet, take pleasure in making me feel like I’m nothing. This was nothing new, but the cuts stung so much deeper now, because you didn’t have the love of your life beside you, assuring that you dad is nothing but a mean man who would say whatever he could to hurt you.

A knocking at the door pulled you from your thoughts but the tears wouldn’t stop falling, the sobs wouldn’t stop escaping. Trying to breathe whilst sitting still was almost impossible, there was no way you could get up to get to the door. So, you ignored it, willing whoever it was to go away. However instead of going away, the person behind the door simply put a key in the door and let himself in. It was Pierre. He ran towards you, clearly not expecting to see you in such a state.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? What’s happened come on baby tell me” His soft voice spoke, he knelt to the ground Infront of the seat you were sat on, so your faces were level. His hands found your hair, brushing softly in an attempt to calm you down. You tried to explain, tried to tell him about your dad but between the sobs that broke up your words and the shortness of breath you had, Pierre couldn’t understand anything you were saying. Instead of pressuring you to explain, Pierre simply stood up, scooped you up in his arms and walked with you into the bedroom. Placing you gently onto the bed, he then got on too and held you tight. Whilst he was aware that he really had no right to do this anymore, you needed help right now and this is the way he had helped you a million times before with anxiety attacks. He sat with you in his arms, stroking your hair and whispering in your ear until you began to calm down and relax a bit. And when you were able to, you told him about your dad, and once you had started telling you just couldn’t seem to stop, so you told him about everything you were worried about this morning, including the feelings you had been having surrounding your relationship with Pierre as well as the kiss between you and Max. That last piece of information made his heart sink, he wanted to talk more about it, to find out everything that happened, was it Max that initiated it? Was it you? Despite that, however he knew that what you needed to talk about was your dad, so he put his feelings to one side and talked to you about your call with your dad.

“You know that what he said isn’t true don’t you ma belle. In fact, it’s the opposite. You were always too good for me”. He whispered in your ear, still holding you tight. Eventually, sleep came, and in the arms of the person you have loved for 14 years, you had the best sleep you had had in a week.

Waking up alone after falling asleep with someone was an extremely empty feeling, so when you woke up in bed by yourself a few hours later, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Your eyes fell to a note on the bedside table.

I’m sorry I had to leave, but I didn’t think us sleeping in the bed right now was appropriate. I know how frazzled your brain can get after an anxiety attack and I didn’t want you to wake up with any regret. You know where I am if you need me.

His reasoning made sense; with how confused you are right now, waking up to him next to you again would only make matters worse. It was late now, almost 11pm but as you had slept all day, there was no chance you were going to be able to go back to bed now, so instead you went to the living room and put on your favorite movie. You were so lost, so confused; but you couldn’t think about that right now. You needed to chill, to take a bit of time for yourself and forget about Max, forget about Pierre, forget about everything. About 20 minutes into your movie, however, there was a knock at the door once again. Even though you knew that there was going to be nobody standing there that you wanted to speak to right now, you went and answered it anyway. Stood in the darkness was Max Verstappen. His eyes poured directly into yours, his hands ran through his hair in the form of a nervous twitch.

“Can we talk?”

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66sharkteeth · 3 months

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Weekly thoughts on this week's episode-

I dunno. Just kinda sad about this one. I really thought this was gonna be kind of a big episode with the big reunion and stuff? People have been asking for Rex and Shnee reunion since pretty much beginning of this season. I spent a lot of extra time on this episode to try and make it kind of special and it was extra long too. But it ended up getting less likes and comments than the last episode which WAS an actual kind of filler episode. I'm afraid I fumbled it or something. I wanted to make something kind of nice and emotional but I guess I just didn't do it w/ this one.

As for more notes on the actual ep... Finally went back to those dog comments I told people to put a pin in a while ago. It was important for me to address that Desmond wasn't excluded from that school of thought. Desmond's been kind of the representation for internalized hate for most of this series, and this ep was supposed to be a bit of a wake up call for him with Rex pointing it out.

That's all this week. Next week is Jericho stuff, and I know people check out when it's not focused on the main cast, but I don't feel like people were really into this one either so... dunno. i there's some really huge scenes coming up and i hope people are interested again by then.

#weekly thoughts #rex #desmond #city of blank

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year

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My Future in You | 1.9 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, references to abortion in a few chapters, angst, will be fluff eventually, will be smut so 18+, enemies to lovers kinda thing, kind of a filler )):

…

Back and forth, back again. White socks padding along the floor, his eyes following you like he’s in the crowd at a tennis match. Bradley watches in silence. He’s sitting back against the wall behind his bed, since he doesn’t have a headboard, arms folded over his chest.

Asking about the future has clearly triggered some kind of meltdown, and at this point, he knows better than to intervene. Instead, he grabs the baseball on his bedside table and tosses it upwards, catching it again.

Each time it lands in his palm, you turn. Pacing from one side of his room to the other, ranting about the logistics of his question. It’s been around fifteen minutes now, Bradley’s sitting in his boxers and a t-shirt, paying less and less attention.

You’ve moved on to the second phase of your rant now. Phase one was about you and him — barely knowing each other, not even liking one another. That kind of thing. He had tried disagreeing, but you’re better at rationalizing than he is.

This is more about the financial side of things.

“I have money.” Bradley shrugs his shoulders calmly, the ball bounces off of the ceiling and ricochets — he leans off of the bed and catches it. Without looking back at you, he continues to toss it up and catch it again. You stare at him.

The boy sitting on the cheap mattress, tossing up a baseball he had taken from this year’s freshman orientation. The father of your child.

You scoff incredulously. Beige walls, plain navy sheets and football banners on the walls. Like this is the kind of home you’d like to raise your child in. “Real money. Babies aren’t cheap, and I’ll be working — do you know how much daycare costs?”

“I have real money.”

You inhale sharply. Everything’s hitting you all at once. You had been putting off this conversation for a reason and now you’re freaking out. You’ve got less than twenty weeks to get your shit together. Stopping by the door, you prop your weight up against it and breathe out hard.

“Real real money, Bradley — I barely even have a credit score, there’s no way we’re getting approved for an apartment.”

“My credit score is good and I’ve got money from the house.” He shrugs again, spinning the ball around in his hand and tossing it up. Too hard, once again. It bounces from the ceiling and ricochets. You catch the ball.

He looks up at you, finding you staring at him now. He raises his eyebrows.

“House?”

“Yeah, my parents’ house.” Bradley replies, settling down and tucking his arm behind his head now that you’re squeezing his only source of entertainment so hard that he’s somewhat concerned you might crush it. He was certain he had mentioned this to you before. “I inherited it after my Mom died.”

The house, the two life insurance policies. There had to be some kind of upside to losing both of his parents before he had turned twenty. You stand by his door, dumbfounded.

“I’m sorry… so, you own a house?” You squeak out.

He shrugs his shoulders again, glancing down at the baseball in your hands and sighing. “Yeah, it’s by the base in Norfolk. My dad was stationed there for a bit in the eighties. I was going to sell it, but my cousin’s staying there. He pays me rent.”

You take a small step towards him. He runs his fingers through his curls, tilting his head, smiling softly. Those stupid, big brown eyes stare into yours. He lifts his hand and reaches out for you.

“I’ve got this,” He nods, curling his fingers for you to come closer. You swallow softly as you step towards him. He sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, parting his thighs. You step between his legs. Bradley rests his hands on your hips.

He leans forwards, pressing his lips gently to your stomach over your sweater. “We’ve got this. You’ve been saying it since the beginning.”

You soften slightly, pushing your fingers through his auburn curls. He looks up at you, lips quirked up into a smile. Suddenly, his brows furrow.

“Wait, so — when I offered you money in December… what did you think I meant?” He frowns slightly, stroking his hands along your sides. Thinking back to it, you shrug.

“A couple hundred, I don’t know. You were being a dick.”

He chuckles and pulls you forwards so that you’re perched on his knee. His perpetually warm skin pressing flush against yours. He wraps his arms around you and nods his head. “I’m sorry.”

Bradley has successfully bypassed your first two protests to moving in together, leaving you to sit and think about your options now. Graduation is two months away, the baby’ll be here a few months after that.

You look at Bradley, trailing your fingers through his curls tenderly as you think about your future with him.

Sitting, rolling, crawling. Experiencing all of that with your son, taking him to the park and to the pool — all while Bradley’s a couple of hundred miles away, on his own.

Could you do this without Bradley? — Probably. It’s just that you’re starting to question whether you want to anymore. This morning, you had a boyfriend — not Bradley. Now you’re sitting here discussing moving in with him.

“But my job is going to be here.” You say quietly, frowning at him.

He nods his head. “I thought about that. There are offices near Pensacola, it’ll just be a case of calling them up and asking to switch. Which, your dad’ll be able to organise for you.”

“Did you forget that he kind of disowned me?”

Bradley shakes his head, “No, I remembered, but he spoke about how proud he was of you for getting that grad scheme at a couple of events, it’s on google. People would probably ask questions if you suddenly dropped out of it, right? — It’ll be easier for you to work if we’re together, so it’s in his best interests to make a phone call.”

Once again, he renders you silent. This is not the same idiot you’ve been putting up with for the past few months. He skims his hand along your thigh and shrugs his shoulders.

“So, yes?”

Your lips quirk softly at the edges, that thundering beat in your chest finally slowing. He grins, leaning forwards and pressing his lips to yours. He knows that his parents would be proud of him, using his money for this.

It beats blowing it on alcohol and new cars. He’s happy with his bronco and cheap beer. He knows he’d be even happier getting to see his son grow every day.

“Where’s all this coming from?” You murmur softly, pulling back and trailing your fingertips back down his arm.

Jake makes it home a little after 9am the next morning, his head pounding as he tries to close the door as quietly as possible. He stumbles forwards into the kitchen, needing water urgently before he blacks out. Eyes closed, he turns on the sink and sticks his head under the stream of water, mouth wide open.

A soft giggle to his left draws his attention. He lifts his head and squints. You’re sitting on Bradley’s lap at the table, both of you looking over the top of a laptop at Jake. He stares at the two of you, blank-faced.

“Morning, sunshine.” Bradley teases playfully. You laugh softly and nudge your elbow into his ribs. He kisses your jaw tenderly, wrapping his arms around your middle.

If Jake didn’t feel sick before, staring at the two of you is certainly getting him there.

“What are you two so chirpy about?” He mumbles tiredly.

You open your mouth to answer. You’ve been awake half of the night, figuring out how to delicately break this to Jake. He’s not going to take it well, and you know you need to approach this with some sensitivity.

“We’re moving in together.” Bradley answers, smiling.

You close your mouth quickly as Jake’s gaze turns towards you. The look on your face tells him that it’s true, and that’s as much as he cares to hear. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

There’s something about knowing that there’s nothing he can do to intervene that really just makes his hangover that little bit worse. Knowing that his little sister is planning to move to the other side of the country, with a baby and that idiot — and there’s nothing he can do about it.

He turns away from you both, shaking his head as he leaves the kitchen without a word. Bradley scoffs, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the apartment listings.

It’s three days before Jake speaks to either of you again. The only thing that gets him to cave is hearing you crying in Bradley’s room. He’s halfway up the stairs, stopping in his tracks. The walls here are paper thin, he can hear the bass in Bradley’s voice as he murmurs to you, trying to get you to calm down.

He finds himself equal parts angry and confused with you. Jake understands that you’re scared of doing this alone, but he’ll never understand how you can give Bradley so many chances. He has hurt you time and time again, and Jake can’t stand the thought of him not being there to protect you.

You flinch as the door to Bradley’s room swings open. Jake second-guesses it as the door’s halfway opening, relieved to find that you’re both fully dressed once it’s fully open. He folds his arms over his chest. Bradley sits up, unwrapping his arms from around you.

You whimper softly, trying to stop the stream of tears as you push yourself to the edge of the bed.

“Pensacola.” It’s all that Jake manages to say. Bradley’s brows furrow in confusion, he nods slowly at your brother. Jake exhales. “Fine. I’ll come too.”

“Excuse me?” Bradley scoffs. It’s not exactly what he had in mind — you, him, your son… and Jake.

“Flight school, can’t be that hard if they’ll let you in.” Jake replies. You sit up and wipe at your cheeks, sniffling softly. Bradley turns his head towards you, then back towards Jake. You push yourself up and throw yourself at his chest, wrapping your arms around your big brother. Bradley’s lips quirk amusedly.

It might not have been what he had planned, but then again — none of this is. Leaving his future in the hands of Seresin’s hasn’t worked out badly for him before, and he knows that you’ll like having Jake nearby. But Jake’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’ll be a better pilot.

…

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