#and it's been less than six months it's not like it's a lost cause or anything and i HAVE read other books i REALLY liked but...
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𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 (Yandere!Neuvillette/Reader)
a/n: this was inspired by my favorite childhood TV show, House MD & Oedipus Rex. The plot was supposed to be something else but dingleaf happened one 4AM ago. Anyways, welcome to our first Throwaway-Thursday this End of Year Blues!!!
Unreliable Synopsis: Everyone held their breath when they heard ex-defense attorney (Y/n) say these words: "Your Honor, I would like to challenge Champion Duelist Clorinde to clear my charges."
CW: yandere themes, reader has so much spite I can fry an egg, hurt/NO COMFORT. Please prioritize your mental health if these CWs are triggering to you. (Note: The plot happens a month before the Fontaine AQ, so he doesn't know about what happened to Vautrin.)
“Why the pale expression? Has the trial last week caused you tremendous pain?”
"Such pallor is caused by pity, not grief.” Neuvilette made his fragile excuse to reassure Furina, but the words did not reach her ears. The ringing of raindrops outside was louder, more convincing. Fontaine is vexed with storms near-daily. The sad verdant earth will soon sponge and dry the hydro dragon’s tears as always, but every man hopes they won’t drown first.
At first, he was convinced what he harbored was pity. For the pessimists, Fontaine is a nation where virtuous pagans paraded themselves as rich and devoted ran amok. Absolute justice is a cartoonish ideal– lack of entertainment is the death sentence.
Lady Furina was starting to believe he lives his life by a certain suspect’s final envoi:
Count no man happy till he dies, free of pain at last.
"Are you insane?!" Navia held your shoulders, eyes wide.
This was the worst thing you could ever do to your best friend.
"Maybe I am." You told her, chuckling slightly as your thumbs caressed the nerves behind her palms. Navia, as intimidating as her occupation was, never once gripped you this hard.
You wish you could hug her fully.
But these prison bars are holding you back.
"Can you blame me, Nav?"
"Don't." She glared. "Don't do this."
Navia trembled.
"Please, don't follow Dad..."
The blonde woman was reduced to a young, hopeless girl. You saw a reflection of the small Navia who lost Callas, and that short glimpse was stretched into a whole tragic spectacle.
"I'm begging you, (Y/n). Please… d-don't go away. Don't leave me too…"
This was the cruelest you've ever been to someone you love.
But also the kindest you've been to yourself.
"There's nothing else I can do, Nav."
"W-We can always do something! There must be a way!" She screamed gutturally. "We'll find a way to make that Chief Justice pay instead. If there's a will—"
"But there's none. There is no will in me left."
"Then hold on to mine, for Archon's sake! Depend on me!"
"What for? We both lack the means to grasp our Archon's hand." You shook your head, grinning without life.
You wiped the tears off her cheeks. In a small fraction of time, you trembled, showing a bit of soul.
"Our Goddess has abandoned me. Everyone and everything but you had." You said. "Dear Navia, don't make this harder for yourself. Let me go."
"(Y/n)..."
Her grip relaxed.
Navia finally let go.
But that was not the scene's last word.
Clorinde sprinted towards your cell, seething in electric rage. Navia stepped back. Their relationship might be less than cordial, but Clorinde was also your friend.
And after all these years of friendship, she never would've guessed you would elicit such melancholic frustration within her.
She knows she'll come out of this duel victorious.
She knows if she doesn't say a word, she'll be the one to bury you six feet under.
Clorinde's fists clenched and her breathing grew harsh and difficult, unable to accept your inhumane gaze.
"Is this your solution, (Y/n)?"
From the tone of her voice, this would not be a pleasant conversation. One wrong word, and you'll see a side of the Champion Duelist not even her court opponents knew.
You nodded.
"Yes."
"State your reason."
"Because this is the only way I'll die with dignity."
…
"Die… with dignity?"
Something inside her cracked.
"Yes." You nodded again, becoming uncertain. "At least with this, there would be something Neuvillette cannot decide for me. And (Y/n) (L/n) chooses a dignified death."
“DEATH HAS NO DIGNITY!!!”
You and Navia flinched at the sudden sound.
Clorinde screamed, feeling her eyes burn. Her veins became more prominent in her face and her skin reddish. The sheer force of her scream was enough to bring your full attention to her, yet to the duelist, her uncharacteristic outburst meant nothing.
“DEATH WILL ALWAYS BE UGLY!!! DEATH– DEATH IS NEVER BEAUTIFUL!!! IT IS ALWAYS SINISTER— LOATHSOME AND VILE.”
"Clor—"
She pulled you by your collar.
“There– there is only dignity in living.” She trembled, casting her gaze down. “You can live with dignity– but you can’t die with it.”
For a while, only her unsteady breathing could be heard.
Clorinde eventually calmed down, her heavy sighs and frantic pants slowing as the red hue of her face somewhat returned to its usual pale complexion. She couldn’t afford a second more to process her growing grief.
"Find another duelist."
As a successor to the Marechaussee Hunters, there's no one else you need but her.
"But I want you."
"(Y/n)."
"You've always been my idol, Clorinde." You told her solemnly. "I always thought you at least made my clients have a clean death under your blade."
Clorinde paused.
That, she cannot deny.
She did spare mercy to the people you defended. But she doesn't understand how you fail to comprehend why she couldn't bear to bring herself to enact the same reprieve for you.
"Retrieve your gloves. I don't and I won't accept your challenge." Clorinde closed her eyes. "Live your days in the Fortress instead. Death is not the solution."
You laughed. As if you'd let yourself be under Wriothesley's guidance when you can smell from miles away that he's one of Neuvillette's lap dogs.
"Isn't this suffering enough?" You spoke with a casual lack of self-preservation. "I don't want to live under Neuvillette's scrutinizing eyes. Not anymore."
You looked up.
That empty smile was no longer on your face.
And that was somehow more frightening than it should be.
"So do your job as a champion and end it all, just like what you've done to Uncle Callas and the others."
Your last conversation with the Duke was not as memorable as when he caught you spiking the Iudex’s cup, yet you’d give his personality credit where it is due. His was certainly a memorable one.
Wriothesley stood a few steps away from the bars while you purposefully cornered yourself. The distance was noticeable. It was clear that neither of you was close to each other. This was mere formality brought about by one of your should’ve-been victims.
“So, you sure don’t want to be roommates?” Wriothesley asked. "Or you know, see old friends and family down there?"
"I'd rather not disappoint them with my presence."
“So, you're a coward?" He asked, intending to provoke you.
"Maybe?" you answered, mimicking his tone. "Wouldn't know. Last time I checked, I was an honorable defense attorney. But suddenly, the Iudex had a change of heart."
"Neuvillette didn't have a change of heart. You are a terrorist."
You laughed sardonically, "suppose so."
You both weren't entirely wrong. Friends and foe alike know you've turned to rebellion after the justice system had failed you repeatedly. Neuvillette's lovestruck fixation was merely the final straw.
“You’re walking on a death sentence.”
“No shit,” you clicked your tongue and continued. “What else do you think this is for?”
“The Iudex was convinced that you’re acting out because you had a guilty conscience, and he’s very willing to drop those charges and forgive you.”
“Guilty conscience?! HA!!!” You laughed. “As if I felt guilty for what I’ve done. If anything, I’m rejoicing.”
Wriothesley smirked, but it faded quickly.
“I told him the same, but then he says if that were true, you’re probably just masking it to play the villain’s part.”
“Do you believe every word he says?”
“No,” Wriothesley did not hesitate to answer. “I know a criminal when I see one. And I also know when a criminal can get away with their mess.”
“The jury thinks otherwise– the oratrice cannot be wrong.” You snickered. “I’m as guilty as they come, hands filled with arsenic and all.”
"You can still get out of this. Sure, you'll get a stern talking-to— a lecture on the virtue of honor and respect. But in the end, he'd give you a second chance. He's still hoping that a mutual agreement will arise in the end."
You expressed your disinterest with a droopy-eyed “Blah, blah, blah…”
Wriothesley frowned.
“You’ll make him depressed.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“And you think I care? Fontaine can flood next month. Just as long as I die tomorrow it’s none of my business.”
…
“Well, it’s your call,” Wriothesley said. “If you’re willing to throw your life away like that, then you probably wouldn’t survive a week underwater.”
He wrapped a hand around one of the bars.
“You know, (Y/n),” the Duke looked at you dead in the eye. “Marriage with the Iudex isn’t as bad as you’re making it out to be.”
You laughed.
“What makes you say that?” You smiled through gritted teeth. “Are you his second spouse?”
“I’m just saying,” he shrugged. “You could’ve just lived a bit more silently.”
You glared.
“Are you saying I should live like a caged bird? That I should accept that our system here is rigged?”
“I’m saying you should’ve been more grateful with what you have.”
You scoffed.
“Wow.”
An awkward silence followed after. It wasn’t as if a quip was hard to form– but the historical context behind whom you were speaking to made weighing empathy over spite a challenge. You knew of his past, his name or lack thereof, and quiet allegiance to Neuvillette. Sigewinne had made sure you knew of it to glorify the adoptive “father” of the Melusines. Wriothesley owes him his survival.
But "Wriothesley" of all people should've known that those who know morbid truths cannot be silenced forever.
And Neuvillette owes you a peaceful death.
… The Duke sighed, noticing that his admiration for the Iudex did not align with his current morals.
“We’ll forever agree to disagree on this, won’t we?” He asked.
“Hopefully not forever, I don’t want to stay here for much longer.”
Wriothesley chuckled at your morbid joke. But before he could walk away with a less-than-heavy heart, you shifted from your corner.
“Hey, Wriothesley?”
He turned to look at you– your hand specifically.
It’s a letter.
“Mind handing these to the authorities?”
Wriothesley’s eyes widened.
“Is that–”
“It’s a written confession,” you chuckled. “Don’t ask me how I got a pen and paper. I know that damn bastard forbids anyone to lend me anything that’ll help me write a final will. Gotta say, at least his etiquette lessons had some use. At least my last words are in pretty cursive.”
He didn’t say another word.
…
The Duke left the room, empty-handed.
…
No one wants to see the Iudex more heartbroken than he already is now.
The interrogation room was small, but not to the point that there was a minimal budget for its construction. You sat on one end behind the glass divider after one of the guards took your letter. There were only plain walls and two lightbulbs on the ceiling. At the center of the room is a table with two chairs on either side, no pen or paper.
Nothing but an empty table.
But the quiet comfort was gone when the man of the hour closed the door behind him. As the ticking of the clock becomes more softer, the two individuals would be forced to sit for the duration of this “interrogation.”
It was none other than your husband, the Iudex, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, and the bane of your existence.
Monsieur Neuvillette.
His back was straight; his eyes, “stern” and focused. He clasped his hands together, fingers intertwined. His gaze searched for something— regret, remorse, anything that could make the upcoming nightmare disappear.
Neuvillette's voice was “calm” and “collected.”
But you didn’t buy it. Not with his messy hair, his forlorn look, his frown. You rarely saw him cry. You had a gut feeling he hides it by standing amidst heavy rain, but this time the redness of his eyes and puffiness of his cheeks says it all.
It’s a heavy downpour outside.
He can’t be bothered to hide his tears from the public eye anymore.
"In your own words, please explain why you had attempted to poison me."
Your eyes lit up. He immediately wished he could take those words back.
So, he’s still in denial. Neuvillette seriously didn’t think you wrote the letter. He probably didn’t think it was your handwriting. It was almost insulting.
“Oh, Monsieur! You are as generous as they say, finally letting your spouse speak for themselves!” You grinned sarcastically. “And they say chivalry is dead! DEAD!!!”
He cringed at your pointed enthusiasm.
You recount the day you attempted to murder him, describing how you had slipped the poison into his favorite cup. How you didn’t really care to hope it wouldn’t be noticed since what mattered more to you was his death over your own freedom. The more detailed you became, the more it suffocated him.
“But, as you can see, you’re alive and I am behind this glass window,” you tapped the divider. “Away from you, at last.”
He bit his lip.
“(Y/n)—”
“I hate you.”
He breathed in shakily.
“I know.”
“And yet you still fell for it.” Your voice suddenly softened.
“Why?” You continued. “Why did you believe my act for the past month? I know you had your suspicions, so why? You knew I was just playing along to get your guard down– to act like some loving housewife so I can find the opportunity to smother you with a pillow– so… why?”
“Maybe…”
Neuvillette took a deep breath.
“Maybe it’s because dying by your hands would be a dignified way to go.”
Your eyes widened. The air turned to glue. Breathing became a challenge.
He looked up, meeting your gaze. Monsieur Neuvillette was serious. No shifting position can make you feel comfortable.
Because Neuvillette in his most sincere form of speech is the most brutal.
“I just wished to be loved by y-you,” his voice cracked. “Even for a moment, even for a lie, I would die to know I was loved by you.”
His face crumpled, tears flowing freely. He reached a hand out against the glass window, his palm marking the divider. Neuvillette was breathing erratically, desperate to hold you. The pain in his chest was getting heavier, much like the rain outside. You almost couldn’t hear him from all the background noise, and you wished that was what happened.
This was the man who took your clients' happiness. The man who took Uncle Callas away with his rationale. The reason for your unhappiness.
And yet, you couldn't think of any other person who would love you as much as he does.
“Y-You know me for who I-I am,” he gasped out. “I am but a weak and beaten down man w-who couldn’t express himself like a human being. Y-You were there, you comforted me with not a smile, an umbrella, or thoughtless words of encouragement— you accepted me for who I was with a warm embrace.”
You hated it.
You hate how your heart ached for the man that made your life a living hell.
“I was the leader of the Revolution and I needed intel against you, nothing more.” You spat. This time, you were the least convincing one. “It was an act of kindness I shouldn’t have done.”
“Yet it has helped me more than you had accounted for.”
“And never before have I ever regretted playing savior.”
“I was merely attempting to reform your life,” Neuvillette breathlessly spoke. “I wished to set you on the right path. You were a gifted individual with great connections. Your peers had high expectations of you. For you to throw that away for nonsense activism— no— terrorism is heartbreaking. And I—”
Neuvillette gulped.
“I didn’t want to face you on the other side of the courtroom.”
You laughed.
“Some things are just fated to happen,” you said. “An old astrologist told me that. She told me I was bound to get myself in deep legal trouble. Growing up, I figured it might as well be a cause worth doing if it’ll lead me to that path eventually. Why else did I become a defense attorney in such a hellishly political land?”
He trembled, tears falling at a faster rate.
You almost wanted to reach out and wipe those tears away.
Almost.
“Must you treat your life as though it is disposable?” Neuvillette asked, choking slightly. “Why are you…”
You digressed. “You’re not going to retract those charges are you?”
“I did.”
You frowned.
“But Lady Furina would not allow it,” he shook, frustrated. “She found out about your past, your hatred for her so-called incompetences and published lese-majestes.”
“Good for her, good for her.”
Neuvillette’s hand slowly slid down.
“I can’t… I cannot watch this…”
You felt a surge of confidence, for Neuvillette was indeed devoid of hope. You've never seen him with his head hung low. What went through Neuvillette's mind remained uncertain. Perhaps, just a small piece of him knew you could never be his. Perhaps he knew that you were destined for a doomed fate.
But it doesn't matter.
All that mattered was that you were free.
That was a month ago.
The rain had been going on nonstop for thirty days, and the Hydro Archon had every right to worry.
“I can’t sleep…” Neuvillette thought he spoke out loud, but it was just a whisper. He’s growing weak, his sleep deprivation catching up to him.
“Then come lay your head down,” she yawned slightly, fanning her breath. “Such heavy thoughts need a place to rest.”
“An irresistible offer,” Neuvillette mused humorlessly. “But I must decline.”
“Oh Neuvillette, when will you relax from this role you carry?” The archon spoke rhetorically.
Neuvillette chuckled sadly.
The heavy downpour wouldn’t stop.
Perhaps…
Perhaps when the day comes and he is stripped of dignity.
Maybe then, he’ll have his rest.
Neuvillette had already forgotten why he was crying that fateful day. But in those memories, he recalls he was callow and unformed. Was it due to an unfavorable trial? The problem evades him. His recollection remains only in how the people reacted around him. Many asked if he was okay and he'd reply with a simple "I'm fine". And he was, until he could no longer convince himself with that lie. He was certain he was about to dip his toes in another cycle of nihilism.
And then you came.
“Monsieur Neuvillette?”
The rain was pouring out in the cemetery. You were there; your presence questionable. He knew that you arrived intending to probe whether or not he was a sovereign dragon, but he gave you the nod of acknowledgment.
“Greetings, Mx. (Y/n),” he answered, “I trust you’ve been well? Is there a person whom you’re visiting?”
He asked in sheer politeness despite knowing your motivations.
“...”
You frowned.
“How long?”
“Pardon?”
“How long have you been carrying that loneliness, Monsieur?” You asked, voice louder. “How long?”
His lip quivered.
“Centuries, perhaps,” the Iudex thought he could pass it off as a light joke to catch you off-guard, but it came off as too sincere. “I do not keep track.”
You cautiously and awkwardly approached Neuvillette, and without a word, wrapped your arms around him in a comforting embrace.
Just like what Uncle Callas had done for you before.
Your existence here was anathema and your words were seditious. His initial reaction was to resist because he knew you were just like Vautrin. He knew you were secretly seeking vengeance because the oratrice unfavorably judged numerous friends and family.
But he needed it. He needed this badly.
It was then that the Iudex decided that he needed you. That he will keep you.
Neuvillette cannot handle another Vautrin— he can't handle another Carole. So, he'll do it right this time. He'll keep you safe, from your illegal associations and even from yourself.
And it was a selfish yet necessary need.
A lump formed in his throat as a tear fell, trickling down his cheek slowly. He allowed himself to melt in your hug, trembling.
“You’re going to need all the hugs you can get if you’re planning to stay as Iudex for centuries more,” you whispered. “You’re resilient, but in this world, that solitary resilience won’t be enough, won’t it?”
Unable to maintain his stoic facade any longer, Neuvillette gripped you tighter in that embrace, his vulnerability finally resurfacing physically rather than Fontaine's rains. Surprised by his sudden tirade of sobs, you embraced him with all the warmth you could muster. At that moment, you had an epiphany. Despite the enmity of their positions, they were the same. Both of you were victims of a nation that demanded more in your assigned roles than you could bear.
“If you'd let me, I'll be the person you’d come to if you ever need a hug.” You weren’t sure if you said it as a devious plan or an act of empathy. “I wouldn’t mind. Not at all.”
You've made yourself important to him now.
Neuvillette cannot lose you too.
As he clung to the solace you inadvertently provided, you can't help but wish you never extended that small comfort months later. Every inch given could be exploited, and when you offered him a shred of empathy, he had seized it and turned it into a mile-long advantage. The vulnerability shared in that hug was the dangerous crack in the sword you've worked so hard to maintain.
And so, when the time came you faced Champion Duelist Clorinde with it, the gaps broke the sword completely and with its death came soon the end of your life.
She was right. There is no dignity in dying with a broken hilt.
But there was peace.
And as much as you hated Neuvillette, you wish he’d have it too.
"I've made it this far, and all I've ever done was in accordance with what fate and others wanted of me. In my demise, let me do something for myself."
“After all, I’ve learned from watching Uncle Callas when he fought Champion Duelist Clorinde— an encounter I’ll surely experience in the next few days— that there is beauty in the end. In his last moments, my much younger self saw what expression he wore.”
“He was content. The most content I had ever seen in someone's face.”
“It was then that I had an epiphany. One that I hope my “husband” Neuvillette will remember, and I care not if it will bring him comfort or pain.”
“What I learned was simple:”
“Count no man happy till he dies, free of pain at last.”
Taglist (lmk if you want to be added on the other three fics!): @ayadikreino @kireeen, @pebblemacaroon, @thelostpanta, @vennnnn-diagram, @sagekun, @vadelma-yatta, @detectivei @sugarplumcutiepie @sunhareskies @dxprived4-starboys @unloadingdata @harmonysanreads (amen.) @atomicsoulhumanspy @sangoqueenkoko @pix-stuff @dilucragnidvr
#ansy-writes#yandere genshin#yandere genshin x reader#yandere genshin impact#yandere x reader#yandere fanfiction#yandere male#yandere neuvillette#yandere neuvillette x reader#neuvillette#neuvillete x reader#yandere#male yandere#yanderecore#yandere genshin impact x reader#yandere scenarios
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offsides (mason m.) - chapter one
summary : when miscommunication on her brother's behalf causes y/n to be unpunctual picking up her six-year-old nephew ollie, she meets chelsea's pronounced golden boy who was delightful enough to wait with him. for mason, it was love at first sight. for y/n, he was just her nephew's football coach.
word count : 2,926
fingers anxiously drummed along the steering wheel as you hummed the lyrics to the song that played on the radio.
you were late.
but truth be told, it wasn’t even your fault for being unpunctual.
if your older brother, charlie, had informed you twenty-four hours prior that he needed assistance picking up your six-year-old nephew oliver, you would’ve been keener on intaking more water and less tequila last night. however, he had forgotten and now you were left to endure the judgemental stares from the faculty due to your tardiness.
glancing briefly at yourself through the rearview mirror, you came to the conclusion that not only were the staff going to be gossiping about your late arrival but your attire as well. having little time to properly get dressed after you ended the phone call with charlie, you mindlessly threw on the first articles of clothing your hands had touched on your bedroom floor, not even bothering to see if your shoes had matched as you dashed out of your flat.
apprehensively looking up at the traffic light that has yet to turn the desired color, you begin to slightly debate if faith was against you at this given moment, if you were being punished for going out on a sunday night rather than attending church that morning.
if you were only five minutes late picking oliver, you wouldn’t have been sweating bullets as you are now.
if you were only ten minutes late, you figured oliver’s football coach would understand and agree that the traffic going towards stamford bridge was always a pain.
however, you weren’t five, ten or even fifteen minutes late, you were thirty and you were having a difficult time suppressing the irritation you felt towards your older brother for not properly communicating with you.
you knew that the benefit of the doubt should be thrown his way due to the circumstances that these past few months have brought, having gone from co-parenting to having to do it all on his own, it had been a tiring adjustment for charlie. you had offered to help as much as you can, with you being newly graduated from university you had a lot of free time on your hands. so that’s how you found yourself speeding through the streets of cobham, crying your way out of a ticket and almost forgetting to place your car in park as you flew out of the driver’s side.
briskly walking to the entrance, you began to try to look presentable despite the pounding headache you were enduring, smoothing out your hair and tugging down your oversized shirt that barely covered your bottom half. you could just imagine the stares now, all eyes on you and your skimpy outfit.
if you weren’t in an hastened mood to collect your nephew, you would’ve properly admired the stadium before your eyes. despite growing up in cobham all your life, you never found the time or interest in supporting your home team. football games had always been a thing between your father and brother, and then oliver was introduced when he was old enough to realize what was going on.
if someone were to put a gun to your head and tell you to explain what offsides meant, you’d be dead.
frantically looking around for a familiar head of curly brown hair, you were sure you looked like a deranged individual. the feeling of uneasiness in your stomach only grew when you couldn’t locate him. you could only imagine the conversation you were going to have with your brother on how you lost his only son. then at the exact moment you began to hear footsteps then the recognizable laugh that belonged to your nephew filled the air.
turning the corner, oliver had the widest grin on his face. he showcased the small gap that remained empty due to his two missing teeth as he conversed with the unknown man beside him. you had never seen the guy that stood alongside your nephew, and you were positive you’d remembered crossing paths with someone like him.
“ollie!” you shouted at your nephew, waving your hand above your head to grab his attention.
oliver’s doe eyes quizzically scan the room, he turned his attention away from the man and towards the voice that called for him. you didn’t think it was possible but oliver’s smile only grew when his big brown eyes settled on your figure, forgetting all about the unknown man as his microscopic legs picked up speed and gravitated towards you.
oliver looked as if he had just been rolling around in grass for the past two hours, hair pointed in different directions, football kit stained with grass marks along with his cleats that were trailing dirt wherever he stepped.
“finally! i was thinking you forgot about me.” oliver joked, his practice bag being dragged behind him as he approached you. just by his facial expressions, you knew that he was judging the way you were dressed, oversized t-shirt that had spice girls plastered all over it, mismatched shoes and thick chunky sunglasses shielding your eyes from the sunlight. anyone with a brain would know you were hungover.
“i would never forget about my favorite nephew.”
“i’m your only nephew.” oliver counterattacked.
“yes and that’s why you’re my favorite. "you respond as you pull him in for a hug. engulfing the scent of wet grass and sweat when you placed a soft kiss to the top of his head, your nose playfully scrunched as you softly pushed oliver away. the nostalgic smell reminded you of the afternoons in your childhood when charlie would return from practice and plant his entire body on top of yours to rub off the smell of the outdoors onto you.
“ollie, i don’t think you can get in my car smelling like that, you reek.”
you had your nose pinched as you tried to block the smell that was surrounding your nephew from entering your nostrils, a soft laugh escapes your lips as oliver lifts his armpit up and uses his opposite hand to childishly wave the smell towards you.
“oLIie, i doN’t tHiNk yOu CaN gEt iN My cAr sMelLiNg lIke tHaT” he mimicked, cutely scrunching his face as he made faces to go along with his attempt of copying your voice, causing for you to pull him into so you can ruffle his curls, his sweet laughter escaping his mouth as he tried to fight you off inoffensively.
unbeknownst to the pair of you, mason watched with awe struck eyes at the moment that was unfolding before him, a smile playing on his lips as ollie was able to break free from you, sticking out his tongue in victory.
this was mason’s first time seeing you here at stamford bridge, he was sure of it because he would’ve remembered someone with your altitude of beauty. eyes tracing over your unfamiliar features, he couldn’t help the way his heart accelerated in speed as another burst of your angelic laughter filled the room, your inviting smile brightening as you glanced down lovingly at the young child before you.
mason couldn’t explain it but everything about you felt alluring, his eyes picked up on small details of you and made sure to engrave them in his memory so he wouldn’t forget the face of the woman before him, the exquisite face belonging to you.
preoccupied admiring your features, he didn’t notice your hand had been stuck out trying to formally introduce yourself to him.
“coach mason!” oliver shouted, tiny fingers tugging at mason’s forearm trying to grab his attention.
snapping out of the trance he was in, mason painted on a smile as he extended his arm out to you, trying to be respectful as he felt his focus drift down to your bare thighs, cracking a smile when he noticed your feet had mismatching pairs of trainers on.
“i’m sorry, mind went somewhere else right then ” he apologizes, engulfing your tiny hand into his immense one, trying not to focus on how smooth your skin felt against his callous skin or the way your sweet aroma engulfed his senses.
“no, it’s okay, happens to all of us. i’m y/n, oliver’s aunt” you introduce yourself, flashing an oscar worthy smile at mason who mirrored you. “thank you for keeping this geezer occupied.”
“nice to meet you, y/n. i’m mason. wa-it, you alr-eady knew th-at because oliver just shouted out my name.” mason rambled, nervously laughing when you threw him an adoring look as your eyebrows furrowed together trying to piece together what he was saying. “hey but no truly it’s no problem. oliver’s a great kid, you got yourself a future chelsea star here.” mason vocalizes, a beaming smile now directed towards your nephew.
“when he makes it big, i can only hope he doesn’t forget his favorite player and part-time coach.”
“one of my favorite players” oliver corrects, a toothless smile making another appearance. ”i can’t choose between you and pulisic. plus kante helped me score against thiago last match, so be worried, you got competition”
mason mocked hurt as he placed a hand to chest where his heart was, stumbling back to add the effect as if he had just been shot. the action caused a smile to return onto your face, something mason deemed as a personal victory.
“ouch, oliver, ouch.” he jokes, sticking out his bottom lip playfully as he soothes his chest to help mend his “broken” heart.
“favorite player?” you ask, confusion drawn across your face. “i thought you were just ollie’s football coach? you play in the premier league?”
before mason could get out a word, oliver let out a exaggerated scoff. bewildered eyes looked up at you as if you just confessed to killing the king of england.
“you’re kidding right?! please tell me your kidding, aunt y/n! how do you not know THE mason mount? money mase?! chelsea’s golden boy? player of the year two times in a row? do you not own a television or have internet?! do you live underneath a rock?” oliver shrieked.
you’d never seen oliver this worked up, his tiny arms were flailing around as he went on to tell you almost every little thing about mason’s stats as a football player. mentioning his hat trick that he scored against norwich city, how he was in nineteenth place for the ballon d’or, the list went on and on.
“okay, ollie i get it, i’m sorry.” you interject, holding up your hands defensively towards the six year old. you were sure he was going to lose his breath at any given moment from the rapid pace he was talking, chubby face turning red as he defended mason’s credibility.
“don’t apologize to me, apologize to him.” oliver insisted, pushing you lightly towards mason causing for you to dive into the broad chest of the footballer, hands breaking your fall as you collided into him.
“ollie!” you reprimand your nephew, removing your hands from mason’s chest as you shoot him an apologetic glance. mason’s face was a bright shade of ruby red as he tried to recompose himself from having your hands on him. “hey, well,i’m sorry for not knowing you who you were. he just referred to you as a coach so i got a little confused.”
“no worries, oliver only calls me coach because the little menace likes to sneak his way onto the pitch and train with us from time to time, insisting that if he is going to be a striker for chelsea one day he needs to train with the legends beforehand.”
you let out a dry laugh at your nephew’s antics, surprised at the fact he was only six and already knew how to properly worm his way into a situation that would work in his favor.
“what can i say? i get it from grandpa.” oliver shrugged, a cocky smirk painted on his lips as he readjusted his practice bag onto his shoulder. “can we go now? waiting for you has only made me hungrier than i was before practice ended. these snacks they are providing us with aren’t enough for a growing boy like me.” patting his stomach as he pointed to his mouth dramatically.
you nodded your head, you were also a little hungry yourself. not having nearly enough time to make yourself breakfast, let alone stop for something when making your way towards the bridge.
sending mason an appreciated smile thanking him once again, you followed close behind oliver as he quickly made his way out of the building, moaning and groaning the entire time about how he could eat an entire cow and because you were moving at such a leisurely rate you’d make the two of you late for catching the breakfast window at chick-fli-a.
“wait, y/n!.” mason had called after you, jogging up to where you had stopped when you heard your name being shouted.
“i was thinking mm-aaybe i could ta-ke you out, i mmean i’ve n-ever s-een you aro-und here before so i o-nly assume you’re ne-w to the a-rea. i d-on’t min-d, if you do-n’t m-ind or if yo-ur b-oyfrien-d do-esn’t min-d, i just kno-w some n-ice spot arou-nd that i’d lo-ve to sho-w you.”
mason was fumbling over his words as he had your full attention on him, your soft gaze burning a hole in the middle of his forehead as he saw an intrigued smile appear on your face when you caught on to what he was asking. he could only hope he wasn’t making a complete fool of himself, he felt like it was too soon but he positive it was love at first sight when it came to seeing you for the first time.
lips breaking into a smile, you adoringly let your head drop as another gracious laugh dripped out of your mouth. lifting back up to regain eye contact, meeting mason’s that were nervously looking at you as he fiddled with his fingers awaiting your response.
“i’m a local, mason. i have lived here all my life” you replied back amused“ and i don’t have a boyfriend.”
the smile you’ve grown to love in the small amount of time you’ve known mason appeared at the mention that you didn’t have a boyfriend, he tried to hide it but failed miserably since he felt like he just hit the jackpot.
“well since you’re a local, maybe you can show me around then, any good secret spots?” mason openly flirted, closing the distance between you two to grant his internal wish to be a little closer to you.
“well, they wouldn’t no longer be a secret would they?” you whispered
unashamedly flirting wasn’t something you did often, you usually were the one to recoil in embarrassment when an attractive guy approached you but with mason something in you was different,
you felt bold, nonetheless, crossing bounty lines that you set long before meeting mason. his eyes spoke a thousand words that his mouth couldn’t comprend just yet, as he gazed down at you, cherishing the small freckles that were dusted across the bridge of your nose.
“however, coach mason.” you had taken a step back at this point, creating distance between yourself and chelsea’s golden boy. “i don’t do football players, or coaches. so you’ll unfortunately have to get a different tour guide.” you confessed, crossing your arms around your chest causing your oversized t-shirt to rise a little higher on your thigh.
trying not to draw his attention towards the skin that had been recently exposed, mason let a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when you backed away.
“well what do i have to do in order to change your mind about football players and coaches?” he asked curiously, mason never felt this strongly about a person upon first glance and he wasn’t going to let you slip right through his fingertips so easily.
“i don’t know much about football but i do know athletes are no good and i pledged to stay far from trouble since moving back home.”
despite oliver's concerns, you didn't live underneath a rock. although you didn't keep up with football world, you did keep up with ongoing cheating accusations and drama that has aspired from females dating football players. you already felt like you had your fair share of heartbreak in your lifetime, so you were going to pass on the idea on a date with the greek god in front of you.
with that you turned on your heels as you made your way to the exit, adding a little more emphasis to your walk as you approached your nephew who was watching from the double-sided doors at your interaction with his “coach”.
“i’m not giving up that easily, y/n. trust me when i say i am a man of my word, you’ll be going on that date with me in no time.” mason cockily shouted behind you. dismissing him off, you wave your hand behind your head as you and oliver exited stanford bridge, a gummy smile painted on your face at mason’s declared mission. mason eyes never left your figure until you were outside the doors, hanging his head down as he tried to digest the interaction he just had with you. he was hell bent on getting that date with you, whether it meant tracking you down on the streets of cobham or enlisting your nephew for help.
mason was going to get that first date, and he was sure of it.
a/n: thank you to @mountttmase @mountpulisic @mounthings for taking the time to read my rough drafts, i couldn't thank you guys enough. this series has been so fun to write so far and i already have so many ideas i wanna bring to life for y/n and mason! i hope you enjoyed this as much as i did writing it.
taglist : @mountpulisic @alwaysclassyeagle
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celebrity skin. (part six)
pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader
word count: 6.2k
summary: moving on is not as easy as it may seem. unless, of course, revenge is in the mix.
a/n: this chapter also features steve harrington x popstar!fem!reader
content warnings: 18+, minors dni: suggestive & mature themes, adult language, post-breakup emotional hurt / very little comfort, minor use of pet names, mentions of recreational alcohol & drug consumption — if i missed anything in this chapter, pls let me know!
& psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.
celebrity skin. masterlist
Falling in love was not nearly as magical as you grew up to believe.
Turns out, not everyone is as lucky as your parents. Not everyone gets to find the person they want to be with and just live out the rest of their time together, just like that. No muss, no fuss… no pain.
And recently, all you’ve felt was pain.
Heartbreak caused by the man that’s done it before. You should’ve been smarter than to let him do it a second time, but lost in the chocolate of his eyes and the softness of his skin, you believed in the love you so desperately craved since you were a kid. You believed in his love. Believed he wouldn’t hurt you again, simply because he promised he wouldn’t. Hushed mantras in between the kisses he trailed along your jawline. “You make me the happiest I’ve ever been,” he’d repeat like a prayer. In reality, a fool is what he made you.
For the whole world to see at that.
ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST
EVEN HONESTY COULDN’T KEEP THEM TOGETHER
WHY HEAVEN AND HELL DON’T MIX
The list of borderline patronising, and also rather sexist, articles on the downfall of your short-lived relationship with the Corroded Coffin frontman haunted you for months. It didn’t help that they were all lies. Figments of journalistic imagination that only had one thing in common: you were nothing but a lovesick girl, and Eddie ever the conqueror of Hollywood’s elite. Gone was the title of America’s favourite popstar. Replaced instead by “Oh, you’re Eddie Munsons ex, right?”.
Your management team was scrambling to get out of this PR nightmare as quickly and effortlessly as humanly possible, because they didn’t grow your career to the superstardom level it was at, only for you to be regarded as an ex-girlfriend of someone far less popular than you. The team did everything, from pushing brand advertising campaigns forward, releasing a previously stashed single with no promotion, and even faking sightings of you with New York’s most eligible bachelors — (it was actually Val in disguise, more than willing to help).
While all of this was going on, you resigned to rotting away in bed.
The New York apartment you called home yet again, was cold in comparison to Eddie’s mansion. Every item of furniture, every decorative piece, all carefully picked out by you back when you first bought the place, seemed out of place. No longer bringing you the intended joy. You missed the blank walls of Eddie’s living room, the feel of the hardwood floors underneath your bare feet, the once unused kitchen, his display of vintage guitars. You missed his California King. Missed the way it would form perfectly around your frame every time your head hit the pillows. Most of all, despite desperately trying not to, you fucking missed him.
Eddie Munson was your downfall, yet every fibre of your being ached to be close to him once more.
Memories of your time with the metalhead flashed before your eyes every minute of every day that’s passed since he stomped all over your heart, making it bleed. What made matters worse, you were convinced Eddie didn’t miss you, didn’t think about you nearly as much as you thought about him, if even at all.
The reality couldn’t have been more different, but you didn’t know that because the morning Eddie broke you for a second time, his actions were accompanied by a conscious decision to stay out of your life for good. It wasn’t what he wanted. He just didn’t see an alternative, your grandmother’s threat ringing in his ears as the look on your face visibly changed in front of his very eyes from awe to despair.
In the months that followed the split, Eddie also thought about you all the damn time.
Everywhere he went, there you were. Or rather the ghost of you. A memory so vivid, he instantly felt nauseous. He screwed everything up for a second time and even if he wanted to somehow fix it, he knew the only way to do that would be by telling the truth, but even Eddie Munson wasn't an asshole enough to come between a girl and her Nana — no matter how evil the old hag was.
Instead, Eddie focused on his music.
The resounding success that was Honesty, a song about you, performed with you, made the pretext of spending day and night at the studio a little more realistic ‘cause “the band needs a few more songs to complete the album”, he’d say to Marianne. She knew the real reason behind the hours Eddie spent locked inside the recording booth was the sudden, and by all accounts, unexplained breakdown of his relationship with you. She also knew not to say anything.
By all accounts, things were going quite smoothly for Eddie. Sure he felt like a fucking prick for hurting you the way he did — yet again — and on most days, the guilt was eating Eddie alive, but his actions, and their unfortunate consequences, fueled an endless supply of songs he couldn’t deny were about you. Songs that would undoubtedly make the album the best thing Corroded Coffin have ever released. Shit. Did that also make him selfish? He wondered if it was fair that his creativity blossomed while you were hurting. He wondered if profiting off this heartache was the right thing to do. Would it make you more mad? Would it break you even more?
Then he saw it.
MISS AMERICANA MOVES ON
What the fuck.
-
“Did you forget that you promised to come help me shop for dresses?”
You groan at Val’s question, pulling the blankets over your head until your face is entirely hidden and a faint darkness envelops around you. This is your safe space now. This is where you wish you could stay for all eternity, but alas, the universe always seems to have other plans.
“Val,” you mumble under your breath, “I say this with all sincerity, please fuck off. I’m clearly in no shape to hold up to my promise, so just take my credit card and ask a friend to go with you instead. Please.”
She huffs, and even though you can’t see her, you know she’s rolling her eyes. Then, without skipping a beat, she does the exact opposite to what you asked her to do, opting to yank the covers off you entirely with a wicked grin.
“I am done letting you wither away, okay?” She states, “It’s been months of self-pity and I’m fucking sick of it. Everyone is sick of it. Jesus, he broke your heart, big deal. People get their heart broken all the damn time and you don’t see them wasting away in bed.”
“Because they don’t have the privilege to.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
“Nana calls you an ungrateful brat all the time, behind your back of course. I think you just proved her point.”
The sting of Val’s words causes you to visibly grimace, but you can’t say you didn’t deserve her hostile push back. You were acting like a brat. Saying the wrong things in the heat of the moment, you knew better than that. You were taught better than that. Just like you were also taught to uphold your promises, keep your word and do the things you said you would do.
With an exaggerated sigh, you stand, and for the first time in months, you go get dressed in something that’s not an overpriced pyjama set. Val cheers you on, proud of herself for being the person that could convince you to leave the confines of your apartment, even if it was only for one afternoon.
Fifth Avenue is a Manhattan staple. Stretching from Greenwich Village, where you grew up, all the way to Harlem, a secret favourite, if anyone ever asked. Personally, you opted to steer clear of Fifth Avenue as much as you could, though, being one of the most expensive shopping streets in the world, it made sense this is where Val asked Hank to escort you two. Especially, since after hours of browsing stores your little sister normally couldn’t afford on her own, your journey’s end is Saks.
“Tell me again why we’re dress shopping? You hate dresses.”
“Because, since you’ve pretty much turned yourself into a recluse, Nana asked me to join her at the upcoming charity function she’s throwing. Her one demand was that I need a dress.” Val explains, browsing through a carefully crafted selection of garments. “Preferably expensive.”
“She didn’t say anything to me,” you say, furrowing your brows.
“Like I said, recluse.”
You sigh. Nails, overdue a manicure, now at the brim of your lips, threatening to push through at any given moment. It was a bad habit. Something you’ve recently done a lot because speaking your mind clearly wasn’t good enough and only led to misfortune. This was the only way you could ease the anxiety surrounding the mess you’ve made of your life, as gross as it was.
“Well, I didn’t want Nana, or anyone else for that matter, saying I told you so, or thinking I had it coming since apparently I was the only person that had blinders on when it came to…”
His name got stuck in your throat like a bad apple. A choking hazard that brought tears to your eyes and caused your chest to heave suddenly with bated breaths. Clearly, you hadn’t gotten over him, otherwise you wouldn’t spend your days locked up in your apartment. What you didn’t realise though, was that you hadn’t said his name out loud since that fateful morning in his kitchen.
“Fuck you, Eddie.”
The vile tone behind those three words rings in your ears. Of course he deserved it then, there’s no denying that. He still deserves it today. If you were ever to see him at any Hollywood function, you’d either ignore his presence entirely or greet him the same exact way you said your goodbye: “Fuck you, Eddie.”. But for a split second, you feel sad that this is the way you remember his name on your tongue.
“We wouldn’t have made you feel worse, sis.” Val says, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “What do you think of this one?” She proceeds to steer you further away from your deprecating thoughts by holding up a simple red dress. Single strap, maxi length. Exactly the opposite of her usual style, primarily because it was a dress and Val always said she’d rather be caught dead than wearing something designed to limit her movements.
“It’s gorgeous,” you compliment, “Exactly your style.”
If she detected your tiny, white lie, she didn’t say anything. Although, judging by the elated look on her face, no one's opinion really mattered anyway. Not even the one she asked for. The one from her famous older sister.
“It really is, isn’t it? I’m gonna try it on.”
Wanting to see your genuine reaction to her wearing the garment, Val asks you to momentarily join Hank, and wait outside the private dressing suite. You giggle at her, missing the fact that this was the first genuine laugh you let out since Los Angeles, and step outside the heavy door without protest.
Hank greets you with a tight lipped smile, but doesn’t say anything. He never does. You liked that about him, especially considering everyone else in your life always had too much to say. Hank’s silence was like a breath of fresh air. However, unknown to you yet, this time, Hank should have been talking, saying literally anything, repeating any old story, ‘cause then, his deep voice would mask what unfortunately catches your attention next.
It’s not really a squeal, not really a groan either. It’s honestly not really any distinct sound, just something that echoes down the hall, reaching your ears and causing Hank to stop the tune he was quietly humming. Both your heads snap in the direction of the noise, just in case it is something you should worry about, like a paparazzo that somehow snuck in, despite the heavy Saks security. Unfortunately for you, the person that comes rushing around the corner is a lot worse than any ol’ shutterbug.
Suddenly, at the end of the hallway, in all her redheaded glory, appears Max Mayfield.
Recognition feigns across her features as her movements come to a halt the second she sees you perched up against the corridor wall. Her mouth parts in shock, proving that she’s clearly just as surprised to see you here.
Having never officially met, Max still knew exactly who you were. And not because of your fame, the articles about you and her brother. No. Judging by the look in her piercing eyes, Max knew you more intimately. She knew you from the stories that fell directly from Eddie’s lips. She knew details of your relationship that were kept secret from the public. Hell, she might’ve even known more than you.
You don’t get to ask her though. You don’t even get to say ‘hello’ because she glances behind her shoulder, your gaze following just as quickly. Holy shit, you think, knees now wobbling underneath you. If Eddie walks around that corner you might… Well, frankly, you don’t know how you’d react. You also didn’t really want to find out. Not now. Not here. Not like this.
So your fingers reach for the door handle and you’re just about to push it open, retreat back inside, when the person that’s with Max comes into view.
The disappointment that briefly rushes through you is unmatched. Even if you didn’t really want to see the rockstar, you still wished he was actually here. Instead, you’re now face to face with another brunette with hair just as wild as Eddie’s. Only his attire is different. The suit that’s perfectly tailored to his slender frame is also undoubtedly expensive. Armani, you notice.
“Jesus, when will you learn not to—”
He sees you then. The same exact look that Max is currently sporting spreads across his sharp features, so he must know you too. Difference being, you don’t know him.
“Oh shit. Sorry. We, eh, we were told no one was here.” He apologises, glancing between you and Hank, who’s posture is proper. Intimidating.
You step out in front of your bodyguard. An unspoken signal that says he doesn’t need to tell these people to get lost just yet.
“That’s okay,” you reply to the stranger, quickly weighing your options in terms of what the next words to spill from your lips should be. One more glance in Max’s direction solidifies your decision. If her brother is going to repeatedly break your heart and get away with it, you’re going to play dumb and pretend he didn’t really matter to you.
With a polite smile and a swift extension of your hand, you introduce yourself. First to the mystery man, then to Max. The redhead is slightly more apprehensive about the hand shake, but she takes your extended fingers in hers regardless before saying her own name, as if you didn’t already know it.
The guy you now know as Steve clears his throat.
“We’ll come back.” It’s simple. Meant to ease the awkwardness since the three of you clearly knew what — or rather, who — you had in common, but none of you seems willing to say the name aloud first.
“That’s okay,” you repeat, “Stay. We’re nearly finished anyway.”
And right on queue, Val calls your name from inside the private dressing room. You excuse yourself, leaving the two to exchange a knowing glance, and a whisper, undoubtedly about what they should do next.
Val, of course, looks breathtaking in the dress she picked out. Hand on your heart, you stare at your little sister in awe, wondering, probably for the first time ever, when the hell did she grow up so fast. And it’s an odd feeling that spreads through you. Pushing down the heartbreak momentarily, is melancholy for all the time you lost with your siblings because you were too busy being a star. It brings tears to your eyes, but you push them down quickly since you’ve been called dramatic enough for one day, and right now, it was all about Valentine.
“I think I understand why you’re always wearing skirts and dresses,” she says, spinning in front of the large mirror with the biggest smile on her face.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I feel like a fucking princess.”
A soft giggle escapes your lips. You agree with her sentiment, then add, “You look like mom.” Meaning it as the highest of compliments and her eyes twinkle at your words.
“She’s going to love this dress.”
You nod. “She’s going to love you in this dress.”
It’s decided, just like that. The dress is being bought and Val thanks you ten times over for offering to pay for it, along with a pair of Louboutins to compliment it. You tell her it’s the least you can do for finally getting you out of bed, then you tell her that you’re glad you did this together — biting your tongue when it came to the apology for missing so many key moments in her life, because again, this moment was about her, not about the guilt you suddenly felt for focusing too much on your career and too little on your family.
Using the phone inside the private dressing room, Val calls for one of the Sales Assistants to come up, and while you two wait, you leave her again to get redressed in her normal clothes.
Max and Steve are gone.
That’s the first thing you notice when stepping back into the corridor. Hank doesn’t say anything as to their departure, unsurprisingly. He does, however, hand you a receipt from a nearby coffee shop. There’s scribbles on the back of it: ‘MEET ME’, along with an address in Brooklyn.
“From the redheaded girl,” Hank admits.
-
Max Mayfield has tolerated a lot of shitty behaviour in her lifetime.
The list of people that hurt her, and the people closest to her, was quite long, especially for a twenty-something year old. But her upbringing had a lot more downs than ups, and because of that, for the longest time, Max considered herself to be the most unlucky person on the planet. So she blamed the people around her for it, because how else is a kid supposed to judge universal injustice?
To this day, she remembers every single individual that has wronged her in any way, along with the associated place, and most importantly, the how. Max was never entirely sure what she’d do with that information, but she stored it at the back of her mind regardless — hence her thick skin and inability to tolerate any sort of bullshit.
Which is why it sucks ten times more when it is the people close to her doing the hurting, with no rhyme nor reason.
If Eddie asked, that’s why she left you her address. If Eddie asked, that’s why she wanted to talk to you. He did the hurting. Then he spewed bullshit as to why he ended things with you. Max didn’t believe any of it. Anyone with half a brain wouldn’t believe it.
“I think she’s the love of my life,” Eddie announced one day, out of the blue.
He called Max every Tuesday, when it hit four in the afternoon for him. Usually, the two of them talked about Max’s adventures in New York. How she’s doing with her studies, what she’s been up to with her friends (old and new), and if Sinclair has been driving her crazy, which he usually is. The odd time, Eddie would drop in some details about his whirlwind of a life, though he never talked about dating.
That is, until her older brother met you.
Then he wouldn’t fucking shut up.
Max liked this side of Eddie. A truly happy Eddie. And the redhead knows, better than anyone, the rockstar hasn’t been truly happy in all the years he’s been in a set presence in her life.
So to say she was surprised when the news broke, NO MORE SWEETHEART FOR EDDIE MUNSON, would be a vast understatement.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Max questioned her brother.
“Nothing,” Eddie answered plainly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world, “turns out she wasn’t anything special.”
“Eddie,” Max breathed, “you’re acting like a prick.”
She heard a sigh on the other line. Defeated. A little annoyed. Maybe even… sad?
“Whatever,” he brushed the comment off. “Listen, Red, I really don’t wanna talk about this, ‘cause if I did, I would’ve told you it ended myself.”
“That’s another problem I have—”
“Let’s not, okay?” Eddie snapped. “I really don’t wanna deal with shit from you, on top of everyone else, okay? We were never a real item, so it’s not a big deal.”
Max dropped it then and she swore she’d never bring it up again, but then, she bumped into you. She imagined meeting you many times over. The girl that made her brother happy. She wanted to know that girl. She wanted to thank her.
When it all went to hell, Max thought she’d never get the chance. Especially since, seemingly, you seemed okay with the downfall of your relationship with Eddie, spotted out on dates all over New York City. For a brief moment, Max let herself hate you. Clearly, you weren’t upset, which means, clearly, you didn’t care about Eddie nearly as much as he would have believed.
But then she saw you.
Max noticed how your face twitched with recognition the second your eyes locked together, how your hands shook slightly when Max looked behind her shoulder, the brief disappointment when it wasn’t Eddie who came around the corner, and how you tried to plaster on a pristine smile when you introduced yourself.
And now that she saw you, one thing was clear. Eddie hurt your feelings. He may have even broken your heart. That sort of behaviour, Max couldn’t stand for.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” you say with a delicate smile.
Your moves are apprehensive when Max further pushes her apartment door open, allowing you into her home. She leads you down the long hallway and offers up the couch for you to sit, while she steps towards the kitchen cabinets to grab a couple of wine glasses.
In the time that Max opens up a bottle of Cabernet, you allow yourself to glance around the space. The furniture is all mismatched, definitely vintage, probably thrifted. There’s a fireplace, but you think it must be disconnected since instead it houses cream-coloured candles, all of different burn degrees. Otherwise, the decor is minimal, and it makes you think of Eddie and the empty walls of his Los Angeles mansion.
Though there is one prime feature. A framed Corroded Coffin poster, signed by all the members.
A faint smile circles your lips as you trail the details of the image. Though you haven’t been a fan before, having dated Eddie for a couple of months, you now knew the poster was from their first headline tour. The poor scribbles on an old photo, something that could one day be worth thousands. You’re sure though, that to Max, the value of this is priceless.
So your nerves bubble to the surface. Your leg starts to bounce, thumb back at your lips as you stare at the poster in front of you. The question of why exactly Max asked you to meet has been circling your mind ever since Hank handed you the address. It’s only intensified now that you are here. Now that you are looking at an A3 print of the brunette rockstar in his sister’s apartment. The guy that, despite your best efforts, you still cared for quite deeply.
“Here you go,” Max hails you back to reality by handing you a glass of wine. “It’s nothing fancy though, I eh, don’t usually host celebrities,” she tries to joke.
“Don’t worry about it,” you say and take the drink out of her grasp. “I-I actually prefer the cheaper stuff. Keeps me rich,” you try to joke.
Max seems to like your efforts ‘cause she huffs out a laugh while making herself comfortable on the armchair to your right.
“If only my idiotic brother carried the same principles as you,” she says. And just like that, the air is tense again. Your attempt at a joke is turned into an uncomfortable reminder of what the two of you have in common, and the reason for why you’re here tonight.
There’s a brief moment of slightly awkward silence. Then Max sighs softly.
“You’re probably wondering why I asked you to come.”
“The thought did cross my mind, yes.”
Max smiles, it’s small, yet genuine.
“Look, Eddie has never been one for chatting about feelings. That’s one of the things we actually have in common, which is probably why we’ve always gotten along so well.” She pauses.
“Full transparency, I don’t know what went down between the two of you. All I know is one day, he’s telling me how he’s crazy about you, and the next, I’m reading in the tabloids how it’s over and Eddie’s not willing to give up any reasons why.”
Your face falls momentarily. Something Max picks up on instantly.
“You thought I knew more.”
“That obvious, huh?” You smirk.
“Just a little.”
There’s another moment of silence.
“I’ll be the first to say that Eddie can be a bit of a dickhead sometimes. Especially recently, when the money started rolling in and apparently no one in Hollywood understands setting boundaries, his ego has grown for sure. But I also know what he’s been through. Hawkins wasn’t the kindest to him.”
“Why are you telling me this?” It comes out as a whisper.
“He hurt you,” she’s blunt.
You don’t mean to, but you scoff. “No offence to you, or your brother, but I’m sure I wasn’t the first person he’s hurt, and I certainly won’t be the last, so do you sit down with all his ex-flings?”
Max sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing down momentarily, as she drops her gaze to the wine glass in her grasp. For a moment, you think you came off too bitchy and a little dismissive, after all, she hasn’t made her intentions known yet. Your instinct is to apologise, but then she clears her throat and looks back up at you.
“You’re the only one he’s ever talked about.”
-
“Do you wanna hurt him back?” — Max's question dings in your ears like the alarm bells you should have heard when she first asked it.
Not now. Not the next night, after you had already agreed to her plan. After the plan was already in motion, you were simply just waiting for the other person to arrive.
Waiting for Steve Harrington.
This was all honestly a little too crazy, but again, you thought so a little too late. You should have been second guessing the idea the second Max presented it to you, like a pretty little gift, wrapped in a big bow known to most as ‘revenge’. Though last night, two bottles of wine in, you would have agreed to anything the redhead said. You did agree to everything ‘cause you realised that she just needed someone to vent her own feelings to, same as you.
She said Eddie didn’t want to talk about it, and she wanted to be sympathetic towards his feelings, but seeing you reminded her, he wasn’t the only person involved in this situation. She needed to talk to you. And honestly, you were glad for the opportunity, hence why you showed up at the scribbled address. Since all you got from your close circle was judgement, it couldn’t hurt to spend time with someone who’d refrain from commenting on how foolish you were.
As the night progressed, so did the topic of conversation.
The two of you had moved on from small talk relating to the person you both knew, and to the real reason Max asked you to come over: “Do you wanna hurt him back?”.
“I-I…” Clearly, the redhead caught you off guard, “Well, I-I haven’t really—”
“If you tell me you haven’t thought about it over the last few months, then I will say you’re full of shit, because no girl of your status gets her heartbroken so publicly, only to let the other person scot free.”
She moved from the armchair and sat back down next to you, then continued, “And I’m not saying this is about your career. It’s about principle. Taking away the fact that Eddie’s my brother, he’s an entitled rockstar who thinks other people’s feelings aren’t as important! Which personally, is just so baffling considering what he went through with Chrissy—”
“Who’s Chrissy?”
Max didn’t really answer your question, though the look in her eyes gave some of it away. Chrissy was, at one point in time, someone very important to Eddie. The name slipped out, you weren’t supposed to know it, that much was definitely clear. And you were smart enough to deduct that Max wasn’t going to tell you much else about this mystery girl, but maybe, whatever she had planned, would allow you to learn it from someone else. Maybe even Eddie himself.
“Okay,” you agreed, “What do you have in mind?”
That’s how you found yourself at Minetta Tavern, fifteen minutes early than agreed with Max ‘cause you knew you’d need a glass of wine before Steve arrived. There was a pit in your stomach. This whole situation was honestly so twisted, even for your standards. But you kept repeating to yourself how it was too late to back out now. Too late to call off this whole thing since the paparazzi you asked Holly to arrange were already lurking outside.
Steve shows up about ten minutes before the agreed time.
The hostess walks him over to your table and you immediately notice how nervous he seems. He still offers you a charming smile and bends slightly to your level, greeting you with a half-hug. When he sits across from you, he’s quick to order a Jameson on ice, and only when the waiter is out of sight, Steve looks at you.
“Even if this is a fake date, I do have to say, you look really beautiful tonight.”
A timid smile circles your lips at the unexpected compliment. “Thank you, Steve. You look rather handsome too.”
“Nah,” he brushes you off with a smirk, “Not to be overly forward, but I’m all sweaty after a whole day’s work. Wanted to change shirts. Ended up running late this morning, so I didn’t take a second one with me. Then I tried to bribe one of my colleagues to give me his spare shirt, so he told me he’d bet me for it with a game of pool, which I clearly lost. It was a whole thing.” Steve dramatises, the smirk ever present.
“Bet you’re regretting calling me handsome now, huh?”
“Not at all,” you reply honestly, “Actually, surprisingly, quite the opposite.”
He raises a brow. “Oh yeah?”
And you nod. “Not to be overly forward,” you repeat his earlier sentiment, “But I’ve never been on a date with someone that had a real job.”
Steve laughs. “I just told you I played a game of pool at work to win a clean shirt. That’s a real job to you?”
It’s rather effortless how he makes you laugh too.
“Well, I’m assuming that didn’t take the whole day, so for at least six hours today, you worked, no?”
Still smiling, he bops his head in agreement. “You got me there.”
Celebrating your mini victory, you take a sip of your wine.
“So, what do you do, Steve?” You ask after the waiter brings over his drink and takes your food orders.
“Wall Street,” he answers plainly.
“Shit,” you reply with a grin, “You’re so right. That’s not a real job.”
When Steve laughs again, you forget why you’re both really here. When he laughs again, the slight shake of his head causing his hair to bounce in compliment, you forget the circumstances surrounding your date. As the night continued, with every spoken word, every little joke and giggle, you end up forgetting a lot of things actually.
You forget to ask Steve why he agreed to do this with you. Forget to ask about Eddie and what their friendship meant to him, since he’s here, acting out a revenge plot. Most importantly, you forget to ask about Chrissy, who she was, and what she really meant to the rockstar.
This fake date with Steve turned into one of the best dates of your young-adult life.
Apparently, you two had a lot in common, more than you could have ever imagined. You both came from families that always lived above the norm, which in itself was a challenge only people from similar backgrounds could understand. Steve had said how the weight of the world was always on his shoulders whenever he was around his parents, and that’s how you felt with your Nana. Nothing was ever good enough, yet you kept trying to impress them regardless. He shared the privilege you’ve always felt, so you bonded. Without ever meaning to.
It wasn’t until after dinner, which Steve paid for, by the way, you remembered the circumstances that brought you here together. He seemed to understand the apprehensive look in your eyes ‘cause he was quick to offer to leave first, before you, and not with you — just in case you had second thoughts — but you just shook your head, Max’s question humming in your ears once again: “Do you wanna hurt him back?”.
“He really hurt me, Steve.”
The brunette nods. “Let’s go then.”
The next morning, Page Six features a spread about you on a date with “a mystery brunette”. In the picture, Steve’s got his arm around you, hugging you close, as the two of you push through the paparazzi to get into his vintage car.
When Steve calls your apartment a few days later, you ask him if he regrets being put on blast like that.
“No,” he answers quickly, “Real or not, I had a really good night with you. Which honestly made me think about all the possible reasons Munson might’ve had to do what he did.”
“What did you come up with?”
“That he’s a fucking idiot. You’re incredible.”
You damn well know he can picture the smile you’re sporting right now as you wrap the cord around your wrist, like a little school girl talking to her crush. If your Nana saw, she’d tell you to snap out of it. Although, unlike Eddie, Steve was exactly the type of guy she’d want you to end up with.
Intelligent, charming, kind — and those were just the qualities you learned in a single night. The more you thought about your not-so-fake date, the more you found yourself wanting to learn even more about the handsome brunette.
There were just a couple of other questions you needed to get out of the way before you asked Steve out on a real date. Things you should’ve asked the first time around, instead of getting caught up in the moment.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“If Eddie’s your friend, why did you agree to Max’s plan?”
There’s a brief moment of silence. Albeit, very brief.
“I guess the same reason Red even put this in motion in the first place.”
“Chrissy?”
You can hear him sigh into the receiver, but you don’t get to actually hear him confirm it, or ask any of the follow ups you should have actually asked him during your date, because there’s a knock on your door. Then again, only louder, more intense.
“Steve, I gotta call you back,” you say, attention now focused on whoever it was that’s on the other side of your front door and the eagerness behind their knocks.
“Sure thing, darling. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, someone’s just at my door. I’ll call you in a couple minutes, okay?”
“Okay,” Steve agrees, “Speak in a few.”
The next thing you hear are three beeps, so you hurry to put the phone back before approaching your front door. You don’t really think to check who it might be through the peephole, since there’s only a limited number of people that would get past your doorman with no prior notice. That was a mistake.
On the other side of your apartment door, drenched from the September rain, stood none other than Corroded Coffin frontman himself, Mr Eddie Munson.
Your mouth parts slightly in shock as Eddie slides his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, meeting your wide gaze. He tries to smile, though the corners of his lips don’t really move that far upward.
And you’re not sure how long the two of you stand there, just looking at one another. It’s only when one of your neighbours comes out of their apartment, into the shared corridor, that you snap out of whatever spell you had found yourself under.
The panic sets in.
He’s actually here. Eddie is standing in front of you. Now, Mrs McAllister has seen him, and she’s got a big mouth, yapping to the ladies at bingo about all your activities, gossip that somehow always travels back to your Nana — the last person you needed on your case, again.
So without really thinking, you slam the door shut.
Right in Eddie’s face.
thank you for reading! really appreciate the endless & continuous support!
celebrity skin. masterlist
& tagging some cool ppl that expressed interest: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @astheni-a , @bebe07011 , @aysheashea , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie
#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fic#eddie munson story#eddie munson angst#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#celebrity skin.
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miss americana & the heartbreak prince (b.r.b.)
note: if this fic looks familiar to you... well, that's because it's been here before. and the response was less than kind but i've cleaned a house a bit since then so it's coming back. remember that this fic is told with intertwining timelines and if you have something mean to say you'll get blocked. enjoy the read (or re-read!) :)
summary: The year Bradley left and the year he returned.
same mistakes
warnings: swearing, alcohol mentions, my general same mistakes warnings
word count: 4.9k
“It’s been a long time coming/it’s me and you”
You slip out into the warm September air from Sarah’s car.
“Bye! Have a good-”
The door shuts as you tug your bag higher on to your shoulder. You take a deep breath, beginning the walk down the stairs to the courtyard.
Almost immediately, the whispers begin.
“Did you hear-”
“Bradshaw won’t speak to her anymore-”
“Feel kind of bad-”
“How could she-”
“I hear her Dad put her into therapy-”
“Heard she kinda lost it-”
“Bradshaw is better off-”
You squeeze your eyes shut, willing to block the words out.
They didn’t know a single thing about you nor your family. They just knew what Bradley had reveled in telling them, with no care to the fact that you had to come back to this place.
You feel someone watching you, causing your eyes to fly open. Across the hall is Sienna and Ben, Matt and Madison, Andrew joining them from around the corner. And there, at the head of the group, is Paige.
Just a year younger than her older brother Lucas, Paige was someone who had spent so much time in your house. Where Bradley went, Lucas followed, and where Lucas went, so did Paige.
While Lucas graduated the year before with Bradley, you and Paige were in the same class together, had been since their family, also Navy, relocated to the Miramar base in the 4th grade.
Paige, who’d sworn she'd be caught dead before hanging out with the likes of Sienna and Ben, after you’d caught Ben cheating on you with the girl who was supposed to be your best friend just less than six months prior.
The bell ringing, signaling the need to head for your homeroom, does nothing to alleviate the weight of the year that you know is in front of you.
-
Bradley squeezes your hand as you walk up the steps of the house (read: mansion) April had rented for her birthday.
“You excited?”
You shrug, stepping closer to Bradley as an ocean breeze blows through.
“Are you?”
He nods. “It’ll be fucking amazing to see everyone. It’s been a few years since the whole group has been together. I mean I’ve seen Lucas and Paige any time we’re all in town, and Morgan has finally re-located back here, but I haven’t seen Andrew in like six or seven years.”
You swallow, feeling your nerves grow as you walk up the stone steps.
It felt like you were walking towards the death sentence of your relationship, uncertain about what (or rather, who) you would face on the other side of that heavy oak door.
Bradley rings the doorbell as he says, “Actually, Andrew texted me to ask if I was bringing you.”
Your stomach drops as you hear movement on the other side of the door. “Why?”
He shrugs. “The dude’s always been nosy. I think-”
You never know what Bradley is going to say as the front door opens, revealing a grinning April.
“Bradshaw!” She shouts, pulling him into a hug. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Happy to be here.” He says, words muffled into the girl’s shoulder. She lets him go, her smile equally as blinding when she sees you.
“You actually brought your girlfriend. Was starting to think you were hiding mini Mitchell away from us.”
She pulls you into a hug of her own, but it’s not fast enough, you catching Jameson Hall over her shoulder as he pokes his head around the wall to see who’s arrived.
You don’t miss the way his eyes widen and the way he chokes on his drink.
-
“Maybe you should join the cross-country team, I know tryouts are this Tuesday.” Ice says nonchalantly over dinner.
You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”
He shrugs. “It’ll be good for you to get out of the house, focusing on other… things.”
He says things in such a way that you know really means Bradley but no one was really willing to discuss his absence, not since that last night at Ice and Sarah’s.
“Plus, didn’t you get into running after seeing that grief counselor?”
Your Dad had put you and Bradley both into grief counseling when Carole passed in the spring, but you’d only gone for three sessions before seeing the old dude with an office that smelled like fish and a receding hairline had gotten to be too irritating as he tried to tell you how you were supposed to feel.
The only thing that had come out of the sessions was the suggestion of picking up an activity that allowed you to decompress and focus on other things. And you leaned into running, something that Slider teased you for doing willingly.
They didn’t need to know that every time you went a run, you went running to see if this would be the time you’d run so far you never came back.
“I’ll think about it.”
-
“Thanks for inviting us, April.” Bradley says, the girl shutting the door behind you as the two of you step into the foyer.
“Of course, I’m happy you guys came. You guys are earlier than the rest, you know how it is. Angelina and Jameson are in the living room-” She pauses as you both see the ill-hidden twitch of Bradley's lips. She holds up a hand, cutting off whatever he’s going to say. “Save it, Bradshaw. I already know.”
He shrugs. “Good.”
“Anyways, they’re in the living room and Alex is in the kitchen. Morgan and Paige are out by the pool, and Lucas and Andrew are on their way. I invited Ben and Sienna as well-”
Now, it’s your turn to raise any eyebrow. “April, that’s not funny.”
She gives you a weird look. “I wasn’t kidding, I-”
You sigh, letting Bradley’s hand fall. “I need alcohol if I’m gonna deal with the two of them.”
“Oh, c’mon, it was like two decades ago-”
“April.” Bradley says sternly as you turn, walking through the door next to you, avoiding the living room.
It takes you a few minutes to find the kitchen in the house, Alex perking up when you do.
“Hey mini Mitchell-”
“Why the hell did April invite Ben and Sienna?”
The question is rhetorical as you wrench the fridge door open, but Alex sighs. “Because my little sister has always cared more about being liked than being a decent friend. Hey, I hear you and Bradshaw are finally together. Congrats, that’s a long time coming.”
“Shut up Alex.” You mumble, popping the can open.
-
Your skin is sticky with sweat, but even that can’t stop the little skip in your step as you fish through your bag for your car keys.
You weren’t sure why you’d ended up trying out for the cross-country team like Ice had suggested, but it had felt so good to hear that you’d made the team.
Sure, they kind of accepted everyone who could run a decent mile pace but you aren’t sure that really mattered to you.
You finally had something that was yours.
Someone calls your name and you turn, catching sight of Morgan, the captain of the cross-country team for the last three years.
She offers you a beaming smile, tossing her bag into the back of the truck. “Congrats on making the team.”
You run her smile, feeling your cheeks go a little warm. “Thanks.”
She nods. “I’m glad you tried out. We don’t get a lot of upper-classmen trying out and I bet it can be kind of intimidating trying out for the team as a senior.”
You shrug. “Well, my godfather kind of suggested it. He thinks I need an activity, so…”
Her eyes are filled with mirth as she lets out a little laugh. “Makes sense. Say, uh, the other seniors and I are going to get ice cream. Would you want to join us?”
You begin to rock back and forth on your heels. “I don’t know…” You trail off, unsure if the invitation was genuine or a nicety.
Morgan was a leader as much as she was kind, why she had earned the role of Captain as a sophomore. She’d never let anyone feel unwelcome or excluded.
She shrugs. “It’s up to you, but we’d love to have you. If not, you should at least join us at the team barbeque at my house this weekend.”
You swallow. Dad was all about you making new friends and Sarah was always encouraging you to give people a shot so- what did you have to lose?
“Yeah, why not? My homework can wait a few more hours.”
-
You can hear people filling up the house as you stand in the kitchen, avoiding leaving and seeing people you’d rather not.
“Hey.” Alex whispers, glancing back out towards the source of the sound. “Now, you didn’t hear this from me, but Jameson filed for divorce last weekend. They haven’t told anyone yet.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Wait, why?”
Alex drops his voice even lower. “Apparently, Angelina slept with one of the Chippendales dancers on a trip to Vegas a few months ago. Jameson just found out.” Your eyes widen at the information and Alex nods. “Yeah, sometimes how we get them is how we lose them. C’mon, let’s go join the group.”
You follow Alex, despite the fact that you’re still reeling. “How am I supposed to pretend to be normal?”
He shrugs. “Just play along.”
The two of you don’t get very far before you’re intercepted by someone who looks oddly familiar to you, Bradley at her shoulder.
You blink.
-
“Senior night is tonight?” Your Dad asks as you step off the last step. You wince, turning to face him, the letterman jacket you’d be instructed to wear suddenly feeling too heavy.
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? This is so exciting-”
“I didn’t think you’d have time to go.”
He deflates at the flat tone in your voice, the paper crinkling in his fingers. “Well, I’d- I’d like to go if you want me there.”
“If you want.”
“Are- are you leaving right now?”
You nod, feeling the keys grow sweaty in your hand as you stare at your Dad, who seems to be growing smaller.
“Yeah. The meet is at 4, senior celebration at 6.”
“Well, I- uh, why don’t I meet you down at the school?”
“Sure Dad.”
-
“Hey!” The girl says brightly.
“Hi?”
A soft smile plays on her face. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Bradley sighs, taking your hand. He intertwines your fingers, the rough calluses of his palm comforting you as he does. “You remember Janie, yeah?”
Alex lets out a laugh and an “Oh shit.” from his place next to you, lifting his hand to try and hide it.
“Have you ever thought about minding your own business Alex?” Janie asks, a smile still on her face.
“Have you ever known me to?” He shoots back. “But, alas,” he sighs, “I have enough respect for these two to start now.”
Alex disappears into the crowd, as Bradley’s grip on your hand tightens.
“I was just telling Bradley how happy it made me to hear that the two of you were finally together.”
Janie and Bradley had started dating just weeks before Carole had shared her diagnosis with the two of you. She’d tried to see him through it, coming to the hospital and cooking and getting his missing homework assignments, but after months of things getting worse with no end in sight, she’d broken up with him.
In hindsight, Bradley hadn’t even been all that sad, saying it was a mutual decision, that he needed to focus on his Mom before he could focus on a girlfriend.
“I always kind of hoped, you know, that after Brad and I broke up, that the two of you would figure things out. I always knew you liked him.”
You swallow. “Janie-”
“No, no, it’s okay!” She exclaims, waving a hand. “Really. Even then, I knew, and honestly, I was okay with it. The two of you were meant for each other. It wouldn’t have been right if it had been me and Bradley who’d ended up together. It was always meant to be the two of you. ‘Bout broke my heart when I heard the two of you weren’t speaking to each other.”
“Thank you, Janie.” You tell her honestly. “That’s- that’s incredibly kind of you to say.”
“Well, I mean every word of it.”
“Yo, Bradshaw!” Someone shouts and all three of you turn to the sound of voices entering the crowded living room.
Bradley’s face lights up, his hand leaving yours as he goes to hug the man. “Andrew!”
“God, you’d think they were dating.” You mutter into your drink, earning a chuckle from Janie.
-
You and your Dad walk in silence out to your separate vehicles. Any conversation he’d tried to start after the meet had been ignored, you desperate just to get home after seeing who’d be in the crowd tonight.
Why couldn’t they all just fucking leave you alone? You hadn’t done anything, not to them, not to Bradley. They didn’t even like cross-country-
“Hey.” Morgan calls, followed by the sound of a car door opening. “Mitchell.”
You swallow as you turn, gripping your track bag.
“Hi Morgan.”
She watches you with guarded eyes, leaning up against the side of her truck. “You know, when you tried out for the team, I wasn’t sure what to expect. You know, Bradshaw didn’t have a whole lot of nice things to say about you, so I’m pleasantly surprised by how you’ve done this season.”
Your eyebrows furrow as you take a step closer. “You know Bradley? I didn’t know that.”
She nods. “Friends since freshman year.”
Horror dawns on you as your stomach drops. “And you ran to him the minute I joined the team. Everything that I’ve told you this season, everything I’ve confided in you this season as my friend, you turned around and told him?”
As Morgan more or less confirms your words, it feels like the bottom is falling out on your life. You swallow down the nausea rising in your throat, the burning feeling making it all worse.
“Why would you do that? Why would you do that to me?”
“Oh, mini Mitchell.” Andrew sighs, from behind you. “Always with that victim complex of yours.”
-
“So is it true?” Andrew says with a grin as he pulls away, leaving his hands on Bradley’s shoulders.
“Is what true?”
“You and mini Mitchell, man! Did the two of you finally make it happen?”
Bradley chuckles as he nods. “Yeah, yeah, she came with me tonight.” He takes a few steps back, nodding to you as he does. Andrew’s face lights up, hand outstretched as he does.
“Mini Mitchell! How’ve you been?” Your eyes flicker down to his hand and back up to his face.
“You really expect me to shake your hand, Andrew? Really, after everything?”
His face falls, confusion taking over. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I remember the last thing you had to say to me not being very kind.”
“Damn, it’s been like twenty years, can you not let that shit go? You hold a grudge as bad as Bradshaw. Then again, he’s fucking you, so I can kinda see why he let that go.”
Your eyes narrow as they shoot over to Jameson.
Why in the world was he choosing to get involved?
“Jameson, isn’t your wife cheating on you?” You ask, tilting your head. He falls silent, shrinking back into the couch. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.”
-
You turn, spotting Andrew leaned up against his car. His trunk is open, where Ben and Sienna are sat, Paige next to them. Lucas is leaned up against the opposite side of the car.
You shake your head, tears pricking at your eyes. “I’m being ambushed in the parking lot of my own senior night.” You say miserably, throwing your hands up in the air.
“Bradley has had one hell of a lot to say about you.” Lucas comments, folding his arms.
“You guys used to be my friends.”
“Kind of hard to be friends with someone as awful as you.” Paige responds. You can do nothing but look at them, tears already trickling down your face.
This felt like betrayal in the worst way.
And it was all Bradley’s fault.
“Look, the bottom line here, mini Mitchell, is that you’re just a bitch. You’ve done the worst things you could do to someone and you’ve never once taken accountability or responsibility for what you’ve done to him. You’ve never once apologized and you just expect us to let that all go?” Andrew heaves a dramatic sigh, pushing himself off his car. “Then again, everyone has always liked him more than we liked you. You’re like a leech we can’t get rid of. Life-sucking.”
Your feet move before you give them permission, turning as your Dad calls out. Your tears are burning, same as your chest, as you slam your car door shut, throwing your bag into the back with little care as a sob bubbles out.
-
“Whoa, the tension is high in here.” Ben jokes.
Your throat grows tight at the sandy-haired boy, the shiny ring on Sienna’s finger. Bradley steps back, pressing a hand to your shoulder.
April huffs. “This is what I get for having friends who can hold a grudge like nobody’s business.”
Sienna laughs lightly, moving to give the girl a hug. The tightness in your throat blossoms into your chest as Sienna’s vision pivots to you.
She says your name softly, offering you a smile. “Would it be wrong to give you a hug?”
“Twenty years no apology from you and you want a hug.”
Your voice crackles somewhere along the way as you cross your arms, hoping to protect yourself from her.
“Don’t tell me you're still mad about that.” Ben says.
“How could I not be? My best friend fucked my boyfriend while one of the people who raised me was lying in a hospital bed dying of cancer.”
“Well, if you aren’t gonna put out sweetheart, you shouldn’t be surprised I found it somewhere else.”
Your body fully recoils at Ben’s words, disgust ripping through you.
“Fuck you. You have no idea what I’ve been through, how badly what you did fucked me up. I did not deserve that.” You say emphatically, tears tracking down your face. You wipe at them to little avail, before straightening up. “Fuck this, I’m a fucking one percent Navy pilot, I don’t deserve this-”
“I mean, don’t you?”
It all goes silent in the room as everyone looks at Paige.
“I mean, it’s not exactly like the Navy’s fond of you. There’s a reason why your old team hated you so.” She says, a coy smile playing on her lips. “There’s a reason why that all played out the way it did. You’re no victim in all this, sweetheart.”
“Paige, shut up.” Bradley’s words are sharp. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that. You know nothing.”
She smirks. “I’d bargain I know a hell of a lot more than you do. And I’m sure that we’ll be able to talk about all of that, when you realize what the rest of us do that this won’t last-”
“Okay, wait, that’s enough-” April intervenes, but it’s too late, you already shouldering past the people in the house.
You’re trying to gulp for air when you finally make it outside, fighting off the sobs.
Bradley’s only a few steps behind you, offering hurried apologies. You shake your head, desperately swallowing around the lump in your throat.
“Please just take me home Bradley.”
-
You’re unable to stop the flow of tears as you dial the number scrawled out in Ice’s handwriting on the scrap piece of paper.
Ice had tracked down a number for “emergency purposes” though you aren't sure how. Still, now though, it didn’t matter as you sink to the floor of Ice’s study, unable to take it anymore.
You hear the line come alive and a muffled, groggy “Hello?”, a voice you never thought you’d hear again.
“Bradley.” You whimper. “I want you to come home. Please come home. I don’t want to fight any more. No one is gonna win here. Please, please, please God, please just come home.”
You hiccup as your sobs catch up to you and you think you can hear him let out a breath from the other side.
“Please B, I’m so sorry for whatever it is I did, please you have to believe me. Plea-”
The line goes dead.
-
“Why are you people always in my house?”
Fanboy turns, grinning at you as he clutches the spatula. Bob is next to him, stirring something on the stove. Your eyes flash over to Javy, who’s sitting at the kitchen table.
“You know when I gave you a key, this is not what I intended.”
“We’re making you breakfast, at least try to be grateful.”
You roll your eyes, giving him a look before joining him at the kitchen table.
“So how was the party last night?” Bob asks, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
You make a displeased sound in your throat, shaking your head. “Awful.”
“What happened?”
“Just… stupid shit. A bunch of kids from my high school were there, including these two Navy brats I grew up with and one of them said something kind of fucked.”
“What’d they say?” Bob asks curiously.
“Just something to the extent that I deserved what I got from my old team.”
Bob shakes his head while Fanboy pulls a face.
“Where do you keep finding these people?” Javy asks incredulously.
“They’re Bradley’s friends.” You say with a shrug, watching Bob and Fanboy turning back to the stove.
You realize belatedly they’re making eggs benedict, a favorite of yours.
“What did they say?” Javy asks, his voice a little lower.
You shake your head, signaling to him that you don’t want to talk about it. You chew your lip for a few minutes before you lower your voice, watching Bob and Fanboy carefully.
“I did some digging last night on the girl who said that, where she’d been stationed where she might have heard about that.” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Javy nod, showing you that he’s listening. “Her brother has always worked as an engineer, followed in their Dad’s footsteps, but she went a different route and worked in communications.” You swallow, looking at Javy. “She was there, on that aircraft carrier when we went down. She knew what they did.” You all but whisper as the pieces fall into place on his face. “It’s all still following me.”
-
The dinky little cell he’d gotten when moved out to UVA buzzed against his cheek. He blinks a few times, barely lifting his head up from the pillow to glance at the screen.
He didn’t recognize the number, but he knew the 619 area code meant it was a San Diego number.
He felt a tug in his gut against his better judgment and answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Bradley.” She whimpers. “I want you to come home. Please come home. I don’t want to fight any more. No one is gonna win here. Please, please, please God, please just come home.”
Please don’t cry, he thinks. Please don’t cry, because if you cry, I’ll cry-
She hiccups from the other line and his chest begins to ache.
He lets out a breath, mind whirring as he searches for something to say to her to make it all better.
“Please B, I’m so sorry for whatever it is I did, please you have to believe me. Plea-”
And then he remembers.
His fingers move before his heart realizes it, ending the call.
The screen goes dark as he slumps back against his pillows.
-
You hear the Bronco before you see it and you hear Bradley before you see him.
You’re standing in the kitchen, cleaning up the dishes from breakfast, the boys long gone.
You pause in your movements, as you wait for Bradley to say something, but he doesn’t.
“B?” You toss out cautiously, setting the soapy sponge down. “Is that you?”
He appears in the kitchen a moment later, looking haggard, though you can’t say that you probably fare much better at the moment.
“I’m so sorry.” He whispers hoarsely. “So sorry.”
Your eyebrows furrow as you wipe your hands off on a dishtowel, walking over to him.
“What? What are you sorry for?”
“I’m sorry that I hung up on you that night. You were in so much pain and I- I had no idea how awful they were to you. I had no idea what they had been saying and- and- and- here you were asking for help and I just ignored you. I was being selfish and I-”
“Bradley.” You whisper, reaching out for him. “What- Where is any of this even coming from? I’m not angry at you for that any more, you know that.”
“But I’m angry at me. And you should be too. What I did was fucked up and you just forgave me-”
“I did not forgive you overnight, you know that.” Your eyes search his, finally deciding to take his hand and intertwine your fingers. “B, I’m- I’m kind of lost. Where is any of this coming from?”
He heaves, his chest shuddering. “April called me this morning. Apologized profusely for how last night went, that she knew better than to stick you in that room with those people, that she should’ve known how badly they hurt you. But I didn’t- I didn’t know about them-” His breath keeps catching on his words and your concern grows. “I didn’t know about them showing up at your senior night.” He finally lets out in a hushed whisper. “I didn’t know.”
Your face falls as you squeeze his hand. “Let’s- let’s go sit on the couch.”
Bradley nods and you follow him out to the living room. He wipes at his eyes before sitting on the couch, you following behind him.
“I didn’t know what Andrew said. I had no idea they’d shown up there to taunt you. I- I- I- never would have let them get away with saying it.”
“They weren’t the only ones saying it.” You whisper. “Bradley, they just repeated what the whole school was.”
“And it was all my fault-”
“Bradley.” You say sternly. “I’m not going to sit here and say you don’t carry some responsibility in how it all played out. But I forgave you for all that. Neither of us were kind to each other in those years, you have to know that. I carry just as much responsibility as you do. And you’ve apologized, recognized that you hurt me. I’m not mad anymore.”
“So you can forgive me, but not them?”
“For the record, none of them except Morgan has ever offered me an apology. So I don’t know why I'd forgive them for things they aren't sorry for. Second of all, they have done and said things to me that you would never dream of doing and that’s what sets you apart. And yeah, maybe they’re right that I do know how to hold a grudge. I know that I hold what Ben and Sienna did to me a little too close to my heart, that them turning their backs on me cut deep. But I don’t hold that against you.”
Your fingers rest in Bradley’s curls as he sniffs. “I should’ve been there-”
“You’re here now. That’s what matters to me.” You take his hand again with your free one, gently kissing his knuckles as you do so. “I love you.”
His eyes water before he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing. “I love you too.”
You smile softly at him, pressing another kiss to his hand. “I know.”
The two of you sit there for a few minutes before you sigh. “Fanboy and Bob broke into my house to make eggs benedict this morning and there’s some leftovers I just put in the fridge. I can warm you up some if you haven’t eaten yet-”
“I don’t want you to think that we aren’t going to last.”
You pause, halfway up from the couch. “What?”
“What Paige said last night. That they think we aren’t going to last. I don’t think that and I don’t want you to think that either.”
You falter, sitting back down on the couch. “I-”
“It was bullshit and it’s not what I believe. I want us to last, more than anything else in this whole world. I know it’s only been just over a year but-” Bradley takes a shuddering breath. You’re my best friend in the whole world. I want you as long as you want me here and I know we’ve had our shit over the last year, we’ve had our fights and our people from the past but I don’t care about any of that as long as it’s you and me.”
“It’s always gonna be you and me.” You pause before sighing dramatically. “Well, maybe you, me, and a dog. If that’s okay.”
The corners of his lips twitch upwards, giving you a ghost of a smile. “Perhaps.”
#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw fic#top gun: maverick#top gun: maverick fic#same mistakes
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𓇢𓆸 Wildflowers under the summer rain
Chapter one: Orange Lilies
An introduction, a prologue to the actual story. Reader realizes that she’s developing feelings for Fyodor and thinks back to how their time together started. This chapter contains the essentials of y/n‘s backstory and what led to her and Fyodor working together. // The first five or six paragraphs take place a bit further into the story, then there’s a small time skip to the past and the story starts from there on.
Pairing: Fyodor Dostoyevsky x reader
cw: Mentions of PTSD, s*ic*dal thoughts, violence, abuse, a teeny tiny mention of smut if you squint.
You hated him.
Every fiber of your being shook with fury when your mind started to wander again, decorating the corners of your mind with pictures of him. If you lost your focus for a mere second, his familiar voice rang in your ears and his face was everywhere, even when you closed your eyes. That damn face; the almost sickly pale visage, with unflattering dark circles and that never-ending smug expression, that you’ve wanted to wipe off of his face ever since the day you first met him. Everything about Fyodor was infuriating, from his tiring preaching about God to the way he carried himself with a sense of superiority over you, no, even all of humankind. His presence made you sick, yet you craved it and felt even more on the edge than usual when he wasn’t near. Mindless gnawing on your fingernails, tapping your foot under your desk while you were working, a tightness in your chest that made you fear you’d suffocate; you felt restless, your brain foggy until he was somewhere, anywhere near you again.
And you hated how much you needed him, hated how you caught yourself staring at him when he didn't notice, hated how good his praise felt when you finished a task successfully. You hated how your words came out less harsh than intended when you wanted to snap at him, hated how you suddenly blushed when your hand grazed against his, your entire attitude softening like a boiled potato.
You internally scolded yourself when, after he walked past you, you inhaled his scent as deeply as you could and enjoyed it. Or, even worse, when your hands slipped between your thighs or under your shirt when you lay in bed at night, a slideshow of images of him playing behind your closed eyes. And when the ecstasy subsided and the clarity of what you’ve just done set in, a cocktail of shame, humiliation, and denial of your feelings rushed through your body and kept you awake for hours.
However, your confusing need for his presence was completely involuntary, of course, nothing you had any sense of control over. Because despite feeling a little less fidgety and under the weather, you found yourself to be no less irritated by him when he was near. After all, you still found him insufferable, right?
His tirades about creating a better world, when he made an effort to hold a conversation with you, have always made you want to vomit. Besides the fact that he was a textbook hypocrite, you had experienced the cruelty of the world you lived in first-hand, and hearing a man as pretentious and vile as Fyodor blabber about being the chosen one to rid the world of its sin and atrocity, caused you to shake with the urge to jump up from your seat and strangle him.
Because how could he even remotely understand the agonies of your existence? How could a person as wicked and indifferent as him comprehend what you’ve been through, let alone be the one to rid the world of such horrors? But in one regard, he was right. The world was a hideous place, a place where common sense, sincerity, and empathy were more rarely found than diamonds, and that realization has accompanied you since your childhood days.
You've been under Fyodor’s wing for months now, but the events before your time with him in the cold, poorly lit underground facility where the background work of his schemes took place, felt like they had happened just yesterday. Long before Fyodor, that merciful saint, managed to free you, an inmate of the high facility prison for ability users, called Meursault, you had met one bad decision after another and catapulted yourself deeper into the pits of misery than that monster, an abuser you didn’t even bother to view as a fellow human being, ever could. When you, even years after it happened, still felt his hands on your body, smelled his scent, and saw his face in every man that walked your direction, you made a choice that you prayed would finally bring you peace, even if it would only be for a single night. One night during which you didn’t wake up in a cold sweat, wanting to peel your skin off and hyperventilating until you fainted. One night during which you didn’t stare at your bedroom ceiling, wondering how many people would miss you if you were gone. You were willing to do anything to achieve that feeling of justice that the law failed to give you, a system that did everything to protect a man from the consequences of his actions, even if it was at the cost of a girl’s will to live.
That urge to get revenge was your last straw, that spark that kept you going. After years of being tormented by your bloodthirsty fantasies in which you returned all the suffering and came up with the most vile and unspeakable things, you finally managed to make them reality.
Your ability, a fickle one, hard to tame and a mystery even to yourself, came in handy. Your relationship with your ability was complicated, to put it mildly. You always knew that something about you was different, a little off, and you knew that it scared those around you who were aware of it. The ability itself was subtle but still harbored such force and intensity that you seemed to have an aura around you that made most people avoid you. This isolation, which was familiar to you all your life, left you no choice but to discover and explore your ability all by yourself, and although it always remained hard to grasp and even harder to tame, you soon figured out that it enabled you to not only make people feel weird about you but also to inflict tremendous agony upon others. Bitter and vengeful as you were at this point in your life, this realization caused you to feel almost blissful with excitement.
You figured out a suitable punishment for your abuser, and once your deed was done, he was nothing but an empty, broken shell of a human, a pile of flesh and bones that longed for nothing else but the sweet relief of death. But you were not going to grant him this, no, he needed to live with this indescribable pain and not be freed of its shackles.
As enjoyable as this unspeakable act was for you, you still felt unsatisfied. Breaking the monster wasn’t enough, no, there were many other people out there, even in your own life, who never got what they truly deserved. Drunk on that feeling of your newfound power, one victim became two, then three, then so many that you lost count. Wherever you looked, you saw injustice that you urged to do something about. However, it was naive of you to think that you’d get away with this purging. Since your ability left no signs of physical violence on the victims, and they all seemed to have been tortured with the same method, all traces soon led to the only possible culprit. You knew what reputation you already had, thanks to your ability, so it was no surprise that those who were aware of it were quick to snitch on you.
One thing led to another, and before you properly realized it, you sat in a ridiculous-looking, transparent, floating cube, imprisoned and surrounded by countless identical cells, in each one an inmate, one more despicable than another. As if receiving a life sentence for being an ”individual too dangerous and unstable to remain among civilians“, as they so eloquently put it, wasn’t bad enough, being in a place like Meursault was beyond humiliating.
Deindividualization by being given a number, constantly on display for guards and your fellow inmates to watch, even having your vitals monitored, made you almost lose your mind after less than a week. To the great amusement of the guards, who harbored nothing but contempt for the prisoners, you threw almost childlike hysterical tantrums after only a few days, you even stooped so low as to beg them for mercy, to free you. You didn’t belong in this place, you screeched, you did what was right, what the executive forces of the state failed to do.
Your misery only worsened from there, and after being mocked and ridiculed by the other inmates, who were delighted by your pathetic display of despair, finally being entertained a bit in this dull place, you even pleaded for the guards to just finally execute you, to end everything because you couldn’t take it anymore. But your wish wasn’t granted, of course, and you soon gave up trying to find ways to end it yourself, in your cell, as the damn cube offered no suitable solution.
You lost track of the number of days you spent in Meursault by the time Fyodor, or rather, a few of his subordinates, carried out their superior’s plan to get you, that infamous ability user, out of Meursault. Your doings didn’t go unnoticed by Fyodor, who seemed to have his eyes all over the world, and he was quite intrigued by your ability, curious how he could utilize it for himself, mold and shape you to become a perfect new pawn for his own shady schemes...
Next chapter
If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee ♡
Hio’s note: Thank you for reading the first chapter of „Wildflowers under the summer rain“, I hope you enjoyed it :) I’m very excited to share many more chapters with you, and finally get the ideas that have been brewing inside my mind for a while out now. If you think a content warning is missing, don’t hesitate to let me know.
© sigmoon
#don’t come for me because of the ‚orange lilies‘ please#i know they’re technically not wildflowers#but I want each chapter to have a flower as a title that suits the contents in a way#and orange lilies apparently mean both ‚hate and passionate desire‘ soooo#bungou stray dogs#bungou stray dogs x reader#fyodor dostoevsky#fyodor dostoyevsky x reader#fyodor smut#fyodor x reader#bsd x reader#bsd smut#fyodor angst#fyodor x y/n#bsd headcanons#bsd imagines#bsd fyodor#wildflowers under the summer rain#fics📖#🐀
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Seven
Aaron Hotchner x platonic!GN!reader
Summary: “No one should have to function like this. Someone should fight for you. You deserve for someone to fight for you.”
A/N: Apparently I just really like naming my work after numbers. Prompt from my poll a few weeks ago! Ya'll picked Hotch and I’m not mad about it at all! I don’t usually do dedications, but I think this is worthy of one. The piece revolves around physical chronic pain, but the emotions in this can be applicable to many situations: so to all those who need it, i hope you find comfort in this piece.
CW: Reader experiences chronic pain, feelings of unworthiness, takes medication
---
Seven.
On a scale from one to ten, your pain was a seven. On normal days is was a four, maybe three if you were lucky. You called your doctor if it was above a six for a few days and your medication wasn’t working. The only time it was worth it to go to the ER was when you reached a nine - anything less and they didn’t take you seriously. Today, you were at a seven.
With every breath, the oxygen that washed into your lungs fueled the fire that burned you from inside out. The medication that should have kicked in hours ago didn’t ease the sensation; you’d taken the pills in the middle of the night when agony woke you from your slumber. The drugs made you feel high out of your mind, but at least they worked. By the time you’d have to get up, the worst of the side effects would be gone and the excruciating suffering would have deadened itself to a more manageable ache. But not today.
Today, you sat at your desk in the bullpen, fighting back tears. With every slight movement you made the pain washed through your body like acid. All you could do was go on, wishing that you had taken the day off. You could have called in sick, but there was something about the pile of files on your desk that forced you to come into work; the longer it took to get a profiles out, the longer it would take to stop the killers and the more lives could be lost. You wouldn't let that happen.
If one was to put it simply, you always put the needs of others before your own. Your greatest blessing and your greatest curse in one.
A notification came up on your phone - a reminder that the team was gathering for a meeting. The walk from your desk to the conference room was less than 100ft, but even the idea of standing made you want to cry. It was painful to think about walking, and you honestly weren’t sure if you’d make it up those five stairs without throwing up. You’d made the journey before, though, even on bad days.
But today you had reached a new level of anguish. Through the past few months, the pain had been slowly intensifying - so slowly that you didn’t recognize it until you did. It was as if you were a child who didn’t realize how many seashells they had collected until they were halfway back down the beach, only noticing the extra strain when they didn’t have enough energy to carry the bucket any longer; the gradual desensitization to the weight caused it to go unnoticed until the body could no longer pretend that it didn’t exist.
Still, you gathered your papers like another beautiful shell to add to your overflowing bucket and stood to go to the conference room. Every fiber of your body screamed. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but you still stood from your desk. Every time your heel hit the floor, lightning struck through your body, and with every step the voltage increased.
When you found yourself at the bottom of the staircase, your breath was uneven, hands shaking ever so slightly. The metal of the railing was shockingly cold under your palm, not making it any easier to hide how raw your body was to any sensation. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, preparing for the painful ascent.
“(Y/N)?”
You paused and looked up to the man who stood outside his office at the top of the stairs. “Sorry I’m late,” you said. The waver in your voice would have gone unnoticed if you were anywhere else but the bullpen of the BAU. Nothing went unnoticed in the bullpen of the BAU.
Hotch tilted his head slightly- the action itself softened his entire demeanor. But you didn’t want him to be soft right now. You wanted him to tell you to get your ass to the conference room, that everyone was allowed to be late just once, that the team was on a deadline and-
“Are you okay?”
“I-” Your breath faltered before increasing in speed. “I-” The hand on the rail took on a little more weight than before. “I’m-” Your throat closed, unable to speak the lie you so badly wanted to tell, but couldn’t. One more attempt at a deep breath that was severely shallow. “No.”
And just like that, you began to fall apart. Your mind, clouded with pain, didn’t quite register what was happening. It could only pick out the small things; files no longer being in your hands, the sound of an old office chair’s wheels, the smell of a freshly pressed suit, and gentle hands guiding you.
“Sit down.” It was odd to hear your boss’s voice in such a gentle manner, but you were in no state to be shocked and in no position to deny his order. So you sat, resisting the urge to curl up in a ball as soon as you hit the seat. You tried to think about your breaathing once again, having to focus a little too much on a function that the body should do automatically.
“Here,” it was Hotch again, pressing a bottle of water into your hands. “Drink this.”
If you felt better you might make a joke about poison, but you didn’t. You instead, drank the water- room temperature. Somehow you managed not to spill it all over your shirt. Hotch gently took the bottle back and you heard him set it down on the desk.
When you opened your eyes, you were met by the sight of your boss looking at you with concern. You let out a sigh. You hated that look. Even though Hotch was well aware of your condition, it was different for someone to see you experiencing it in real time… shattering your idea that if no one ever saw it, then it didn’t actually exist. You never actually suffered.
“Do you have your medication with you?” Hotch asked.
“I already took the maximum dose,” you whispered, feeling the hopelessness weigh on your chest.
“I’ll take you to the ER,” he started, getting up from where he was sitting across from you.
“No,” you said, swallowing to contain the pain from escaping your tone. “I’m only at a seven.”
Hotch paused and sat down again. “What do you mean?”
“When you go to the ER they ask you to rate your pain on a scale from one to ten,” you told him. “I only go if I'm at a nine. Right now I'm at a seven.”
You met Hotch’s gaze. Even with its softness, it was still soul piercing. As if he was looking right through your eyes, reading the thoughts written across your mind.
“You’re in pain.”
“As long as I can function, it isn't worth the fight.”
“No one should have to function like this. Someone should fight for you. You deserve for someone to fight for you.”
A pause stood between you and your boss, his words hanging in the air long after he had finished speaking. Never, in your life, had you been confronted by such deep sympathy at once.
As a child, you had hidden your pain so well that no one would have ever known it was there unless you told them. The pain grew as the years went on, but every cry for help was shut down. Complain and you were a burden, other people had it worse, you weren’t worth the trouble. So you kept it to yourself.
Until now.
With tears in your eyes, you nodded at Hotch. He helped you rise from the chair, careful to support you without causing further pain. You stood carefully, clenching your jaw to keep from screaming.
The manila folders caught your eye. “My files-”
“Reid can handle your files,” Hotch said softly, as he helped you move slowly toward the glass bullpen doors.
“The meeting-”
“Morgan can lead the meeting.”
“There are consults-”
“Prentiss can do your consults.” Hotch opened the door for you.
“Are you sure?” you asked.
The question was deeper than it appeared on the surface; are you sure I can miss work? Are you sure I’m not bothering you? Are you sure I’m worth it?
Hotch took your hand gently. “Yes.”
#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x platonic!reader#aaron hotchner x gn!reader#hotch x reader#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds x y/n#criminal minds x platonic!reader#criminal minds x gn!reader
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Cause im a whore <33
König x reader (gender neutral) no specific anatomy mentioned, only nicknames like maus, schätz and liebling, ect ya get called ‘good little pet’ in German
Uhhhhh established relationship, generalized smut? It's been a uh… long long time since I've tried to write smut
Babe kneels for you 🫣
(I wrote this on my phone so the layout might be a little weird, my apologies)
.𝆤࿙࿙࿚๋࿙࿚ ⊱♡⊰ ࿙࿚๋࿙࿚࿚𝆤.▹ .𝆤࿙࿙࿚๋࿙࿚ ⊱♡⊰ ࿙࿚๋࿙࿚࿚𝆤.
.𝆤࿙࿙࿚๋࿙࿚ ⊱♡⊰ ࿙࿚๋࿙࿚࿚𝆤.▹ .𝆤࿙࿙࿚๋࿙࿚ ⊱♡⊰ ࿙࿚๋࿙࿚࿚𝆤.
König and you had been in an on again, off again relationship for roughly six months. Him being who he was and constantly having to be deployed made having a stable relationship hard, but the times where he was home, those times he never left your side and did all he could to make up for lost time.
After this specific deployment though, it was nearly a year long, it caused a slight strain on the relationship and while you loved König his side of the bed was getting- and staying cold for much too long, far too often and sometimes you just wanted someone to hold you. Someone to tell you things we're going to be okay when the day is hard. There were days, months even that König wasn't even reachable or couldn't talk for long.
So now König was home, neither of you were sure for just how long but he was going to make the most of it- Or so he thought. As he walked in the door to the shared apartment you were sitting on the couch, you looked stressed, on the verge of tears as you waited for König. The room was tense.
“Liebling? What's the matter?”
You sighed, wringing your hands as you tried to meet Königs eyes but failed to time. You didn't want him to see just how much you were hurting but you needed to get your feelings out before they boiled over and actually caused damage to something.
The tears had started to fall as you began to speak.
“I- Kö… You know I love you yeah? And I know, I know it's not your fault for this but, I need more. You're gone so much, and I miss you all the time. It's starting to hurt yaknow?”
König stood stunned, somewhere in the back of his mind he thought this might have been an issue at some point, his job wasn't made to have lasting relationships but he was trying his best. He had wanted this one to work more so than any of his past attempts at a relationship.
With a soft sigh he moved over to your side, kneeling in front of you, his hands placed over yours. “Mein Schätz, I know it's hard, I feel it just the same. But we both knew going into this relationship it would be hard, ja? I love you schatz, we'll be okay. Ich versprechen.”
You sniffled and nodded, taking your hands away from his to wipe away your tears, although worry still lingered in your eyes and König noticed that. So with his hands now on your thighs he began to massage them gently slowly working his way up till they rested on your hips. “Breath maus, I know I am gone often but that doesn't make my love any less. I am… enraptured by you. Let me show you, ja?”
Your breath hitched ever so slightly so König ran his hands up your thighs and you nodded slightly, but it was enough for König. He smiled and slipped his fingers past the waistband of both your pants and underwear, pulling them down and away from you, leaving you exposed.
“Brav klein Haustier~ So gut für mich ja?~”
You blushed, you always did. It didn't matter how many times König had seen you naked- or partially naked, or how many times he praised you, you always ended up a blushing mess from his words… and touch but he wasn't even really there yet, but your insides were already coiling and you pouting as he teased you.
You huffed as König grinned and began to slowly kiss up your thighs, lightly biting along your skin as he did making sure to leave marks in his wake- Your huffs and pouts soon turned into gasps and high pitched whimpers as you gripped onto the couch cushions next to you.
“K-König… would you stop teasing me? Fucks sake…”
He merely grinned and then buried his face in between your thighs, his hands on either legs to keep them spread apart for him, and ended up directly nestled towards your core. You could feel your heat and need rising as your hands ended up tangled in his hair.
You could feel his tongue, his teeth graze along your more sensitive areas, his stubble adding to the experience even more. Your back was arching off the back of the couch, soft and heavy pants mixed with mewls as your grip tightened of Königs hair left your mouth. Those sounds were like music to König and he wanted- no he needed more.
“König- König! Please!”
König chuckled and continued his assault. As he laughed and then spoke, the vibrations of his voice made your legs shake. “My name sounds perfect when you scream it like that maus~”
You whimpered and tried to close your legs, the feelings König was giving you starting to build and as you tried to pull away and only dived in deeper and gripped on your thighs tighter. Right now, he was focused on your pleasure and he wasn't going to stop until he'd made you cum until there wasn't anything left. You both needed that.
König kept eating you out as if you were his last meal, at this point he'd given up holding open your thighs letting your legs close around his head as he held onto your hips and moaned against you. Soon you came, all the building emotions from missing him only adding to your release. Your toys and fantasies couldn't hold a candle compared to the real thing that was your boyfriend.
After you came König pulled away, just for a moment to help your body through the aftershocks, saliva and cum dripping from his chin as he nuzzled your thighs and rubbed gentle circles on your hips with the pads of his thumbs.
“I got you liebling, you did so well~ But we're not done yet. I plan to make you see stars ja? Let me make you feel wanted? Bitte?~”
#konig cod#konig x reader#short story#smut#cod#oneshot#x reader#gn reader#konig x you#könig cod#könig#könig x reader
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Missed Communication [Time x Fem!OC x Malon]
In which Time has met his match in the least flattering way possible and Malon has custody of all the brain cells.
A.K.A Time and OC are idiots and Malon's their only saving grace.
Masterlist
Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise. Linked Universe is the fan creation of jojo56830.
---
This was not how I thought my first visit to Lon Lon Ranch would go.
Maybe a friendly greeting with Time's Misses, a few laughs with the boys and then a well placed excuse to escape the chronic awkwardness (and unease) that seems to dominate my every interaction with the Hero of Time these days.
Not. This. Whatever this is.
---
Our first meeting had been as normal and pleasant as any magic portal driven meeting could be. That is to say, not normal at all but pleasant regardless. Just really, really weird.
The older Hero and I had just clicked, despite this. His nonchalant deadpanned humor matched well with my well-placed instigation and soft-spoken wit. It helped that I was (physically) his age and boosted a maturity surpassing that of most of his charges.
Also, he was handsome as sin. Like, painfully pretty. Don't get me wrong, objectively all the boys were beautiful, but the mature set of Time's jaw and the faint lines around his eyes just stroked the woman in me.
Man has dilf himbo energy in spades. The whole damned package.
Malon was a lucky woman indeed.
The first few months of our aquatince was warm, simple and steeped in a growing trust that grew with each exasperated sideward glance and fond smile shared over the boys' heads. He was, in the truest meaning of the word, my friend. I dare even say a good one.
And then it happened.
That damned fortune teller.
The beginning of the end of our budding friendship. Stopped dead in it's tracks in less than the span of a breath.
I don't know what she'd told him that day, and he wouldn't tell, but it changed something fundimental in the bond I'd thought we'd shared. Now, he can hardly stand to look at me most days, let alone have a full converstion.
And I'm...just so lost.
It hurts, the sudden distance. So unexpected. One moment we're sleeping next to each other each night, whispering fondly about his beloved wife and my beloved pets, and the next an entire fire and six bedrolls lay between us.
But what can I do. He'd made his stance clear, silent though it may be, and who am I to cling to a friendship I was the only one harboring. It wasn't fair to him, and it most certainly wasn't fair to me.
So, I let it go. Just stayed in the back of the group where our paths wouldn't have to cross and began to forge new friendships among the boys. And honestly, I'm still enjoying myself among this gaggle of sweet, overly protective gremlins. Despite whatever misfortune (or miscommunication) caused this rift between Time and I.
Case in point, Legend might just be the funniest guy I've met in a long time and I'm glad I've had the opportunity to grow closer to him. Even if his words sometimes bite a little too close to home. Though Hyrule's quiet concern over the strained interaction between thier unofficial leader and myself often leaves me feeling guilty. His large, inquiring eyes and soft, sympathetic smile enough to shake a woman down to the bones.
Such sensitive boys, all of them.
I wish I'd had answers for them.
Especially when it all took an even deeper nosedive when Time recieved a letter from his wife. Standard fair but for the way his eye had hooded and cut towards me for just the briefest of moments, focused and cold.
Had I not been looking around the group as I had in that moment, I would have missed it entirely. But be it fate or luck (ill though it may have been) I had unintentionally made eye contact with him.
It was the first time in all my interactions with the Chain that I felt...
...afraid. Of him.
But it was gone as soon as it happened. Seemingly a simple misread flicker of the firelight, but for the way my heart stood cold in my chest for the rest of the night afterward.
And many more nights to follow.
So, upon exiting the portal to the wide pastures of a land I pegged to be Time's, I steeled myself. Against what, I wasn't sure, but I was on his home turf now and he certainly didn't seem to want me around. So, I'd imagine he'd take exception to my presence in his home.
But nothing could have prepared me for...
"Goodness! Why, aren't ya just the sweetest thing! All doe eyed and honey dew smile! Dear! Why didn't you tell me she'd be such a darling!"
Malon.
She took to me like a bee to pollen, a moth to light. She locked her arm with mine immediately and refused to budge, even as she embraced the boys one by one. Her dark blue eyes were glimmering (like the surface of deep water) and hair shining in the sunlight. Sun-kissed face glowing with wonder and delight. The freckles on her cheeks charming across her sweat slicked skin.
She was wonderful. She was beautiful.
I was terrified.
I couldn't bring myself to look in Time's direction. I didn't think my heart would survive what I'd find.
I was afraid to see that cold, focused eye ripping though my soul again, as though staring down an enemy.
I made my excuses early, feigning weariness, much to Melon's dismay. She took it well enough though. Called me a delicate, spring flower. Showed me to the guests rooms, offered me my own. I refused (I wanted to stay with the boys. She seemed charmed by the admission). Touched my hand with such warmth, was slow to withdraw.
I smiled at her, small but grateful, hesitant. My heart was hammering in my chest. The hairs on the back of my neck rose at the feeling of a stare on the side of my face.
She smiled back, seemingly eager for my tentative gestures of friendship. So very sincere, radiating the kind of adoration a person spends their whole lives searching for.
I didn't look to her right. I didn't look up nor over her shoulder. I kept my eyes on hers, entranced by their dark colors and the little sparks of life dancing within depths but afraid to tell her so.
She was absolutely gorgeous and I was so smitten and so very fucked.
I hoped my face didn't give me away. I prayed that my eyes didn't reveal my thoughts.
When her eyes crinkled at the corners, I knew I'd failed.
I bid them a good evening.
Even as I'd closed the door I could still feel his gaze on me.
I stayed in the room all that evening and all through the night. Four was sweet enough to bring me a plate of dinner, and I was once again so grateful to be in the company of such caring young men.
I really, really was.
That night I slept with Hyrule curled against my back, trying to be the best big spoon he could. Sky was at his, the whole damned ladle to encompass us both within his arms. Legend at our feet, his hand curled loosely around Sky's half rumpled sock and face scrunched in discontent, fingers occasionally twitching around the fabric.
I loved them all so much.
---
Then things got weird.
I exited the room the next morning before the majority of the boys had even left their bedrolls and found Time waiting at the end of the hallway. He was wearing a plain off-white shirt and dark pants.
He looked good. Relaxed, almost, but for the tension in his shoulders when he caught sight of me. The reminder was enough to tear my eyes from him and keep my gaze lowered as I moved steadily to walk passed him.
"Hey." The sound of his voice startled me, so long has it been since it was directed towards me.
He sounded awkward and I wanted to ease that awkwardness. I did not have the strength to, however. I was a coward.
And hurt. Very, very hurt.
Petty.
"Yes?" I eventually said after the stilted silence had carried on too long, unable to keep watching this strong man (this good man, still, for all we were at odds) struggling to continue.
His one good eye tried to meet my gaze, feather soft and regretful in my peripheral, so very vulnerable under my carefully blank stare fixated on his cheek.
"I know I don't deserve it, and you need not accept, but I'd like to properly apologize for the way I've treated you in the recent weeks." He finally managed, voice laden with an emotion I couldn't fully place but thought sounded suspiciously like grief. "If you'd allow me, may I please escort you to the kitchen?"
I wanted to say no. I wanted to stay silent. I wanted to be petty.
I wanted Sky to stop worrying about me. I wanted Twilight to stop repenting to me. I wanted Hyrule to stop fretting for me. I wanted Warriors to stop defending me. I wanted Wild to stop raging for me. I wanted Legend to stop hurting for me.
I wanted...I just wanted...
I just wanted my friend back.
I wanted to feel safe again.
"Okay."
I've always been such a fool for vulnerable men.
Tentatively, he offered his arm, eye soft and resigned from the corner of my vision. Waiting for me to reject him, I realized, wanting me to express my rage the only way he knew I'd allow myself. Wanting to be punished accordingly for having suddenly scorned my friendly gestures and inquiring whispers.
What a fool man. Such a damned idiot.
Guess that makes two of us.
I took his arm, fighting down the wave of unease and spite that pushed against my throat. His arm was warm and solid under my tentative touch, barely restrained power coursing under the cloth and skin. I'd nearly forgotten how his shoulders seemed wide enough to carry the weight of the world.
No. No I hadn't. In the quiet of the night, when the unease and uncertainty were strongest, sometimes I wondered if that might would one day snuff the light from my eyes.
I wondered if he'd cry in remorse afterwards. If he'd feel anything at all.
He wouldn't. He wouldn't feel a thing because he'd never do that and I knew it. Wouldn't have been fighting for breathing room between Sky and Hyrule's smothering heat if he'd had any intent to remove me from their lives. Wouldn't have been cradling Wind's small head between the soft valley of my breasts if he'd deemed me dangerous or unsavory or suspicious.
I may have fallen out of his favor, but he loved his boys with a fierce and zealous devotion. He'd never let harm befall them, be it body, soul or tenderly beating hearts.
He'd have cut me down long ago if he ever meant to. To spare his boys the pain of loss.
The kitchen was bright and smelled faintly of herbs when we entered, my arm still folded gently with Time's.
Malon was there, enchanting red hair down around her shoulders and eyes bright, despite the early hour. The faint crease lines of pillow marks reddened the soft curve of her cheek, stark even against the spread of her freckles.
She smiled at me, tired and fond, before pinning her husband with an intense, expectant stare. The set of her mouth and brow was carefully neutral, but the fire in her eyes gave away her true feelings.
She was mad. Not livid or spiteful or even disappointed, just mad.
She was scarier for it. I could tell she wasn't the type of woman to go off on a rampage and say or do anything that would deminish the validity of her own arguements or feelings. She was probably the type of woman to say exactly what she means and how she feels without embellishment nor doubt. She seemed the type of person you couldn't find fault in their anger, because it was perfectly supported by their words and actions.
Noticing this, I almost felt bad for Time and how thoroughly he was probably admonished to make him this compliant after weeks of silence and avoidance. Almost. Mostly I just felt a hesitant spark of validation and kinship with Malon, even as confusion and caution swirled in my chest.
Why? Why was this even happening in the first place? Why this sudden atmosphere around the couple?
They loved each other so much. They missed each other so much. Before- that happened, Time never shied away from expressing his feelings regarding his wife. Nor what she'd written to him in turn.
What happened? What did she see between Time and I that would bring her scrutiny down on her beloved husband? For a woman she didn't even know?
Time led me to the chairs closest to where Malon was leaning against the counter, loosening his grip enough for me to remove my arm from his. It seemed to be another conscious decision on his part, to not pull away and to allow me to be in control of our proximity. Honestly, it was sweet he was trying so hard, and had it been before all of...this, I certainly would have swooned at the effort he was making.
I steeled myself against the warm feeling trying to take root in my stomach though, and instead took a seat at the counter.
"Good mornin', darlin'. You sleep well?" Malon asked softly, eyes warm and sleep dry lips pulled into a tired but inviting smile.
I nodded, before managing to speak around the lump in my throat. "Yes. Thank you for having us, Ms. Malon. I apologize for retiring early last night. The road left me quite weary. You and your husband's hospitality is most appreciated."
I noticed a spark of something glinting in Malon's dark eyes, before it was soothed down with a bright smile. "Now, now! There's no need for that, dear! You're always welcome here!"
She looked to her husband then, and when I instinctively followed her gaze, I wasn't expecting what I saw.
His jaw was clenched, betraying the- false- smoothness of his brow and relaxed curve of his ears. He was upset, but trying to reign it in and project a calm front. The lines around his eye gave him away though.
He looked hurt. Gazing into Malon's eyes with a lost expression.
What was happening?
I couldn't take it anymore. This underline tension and these confusing actions and feelings being tossed over my head. Like fists full of powder clogging my senses.
"I'm sorry, but, please." I said softly, bringing their attention back to me. My stomach rolled, but I pushed on. "I don't understand what's happening right now." I kept my eyes averted. "Please just explain it to me, so I can understand how to fix this."
Silence.
I spoke once more into that silence. Voice tight with emotion and broken, useless pride as I continued.
"I'm sorry for this tension I've caused. I meant no harm. I just want to make amends for whatever I did to offend you." I looked Time in the eyes. The first time since that fateful night we locked gazes across the fire. "I'm sorry. Tell me how to fix this. Please, Link."
The warm slide of tears escaped down my cheeks without permission, my body no longer able to hold back the immensity of my feelings. The hurt, the confusion, the desperation. The pulsing, writhing, whispering doubt that was my fear.
Fear of this man's wrath and the power he so casually holds over me, a foreign woman with no means to properly defend or support herself in this strange, unfamiliar world. Who's very survival hangs by the thin thread that is the Chain's compassion and continued favor.
Fear of his every frown and unreadable silence. Of the loyalty the boys hold for this man and his words, his influence, his command. Of how quickly he can take it all away in a moment of displeasure or offense. This warm safety net of fondness and companionship I've built myself within the soft, welcoming hearts of the boys, nothing more than delicate silk webs weaved around his fingers. Allowed purchase by the grace of his will alone.
Fear of his overwhelming strength, his unrelenting fury in the face of opposition. Of his unyielding might and unfathomable abilities beyond anything my limited understanding of this world can comprehend. The raw talent he possesses, the potential he wields, like magic weaving themselves into mortal flesh.
My shoulders begin to shake, throat closing as I hide my face in my hands, fingers wetting with tears. The weight of everything crashing down like stones upon my chest and I'm overwhelmed by the fall.
I miss my world, my home, my family, my friends. I miss my independence. I miss the security of knowing how to survive in the world around me, of being able to support myself and choose whom I give myself wholly over to.
I miss the power to live without fear of others opinions or goodwill. To stare down those who would judge and scorn me with the confidence of a woman with a full time job and the money to back up her words. Her own apartment, her own bills. A phone and heating and water and food and furry little mouths to feed.
A woman assured of herself and where she stands in the world. I woman without fear.
The woman I used to be. Not this sniveling, begging shell of a creature clinging to life by the favor of a man. Who. Hates. Her.
Eventually, the tears ran their course and I finally became aware of myself again. Arms were around me, holding me against warm muscle hidden under soft cloth as my hands twisted into their long sleeve.
"I...I'm sorry." I choked, embarrassed and struggling to breathe through blocked sinuses. "I didn't mean to...to..."
I opened my eyes.
I realized, staring at Malon's blurred face twisted in compassion from across the counter, that it wasn't her holding me.
She wasn't the one holding me.
My breath nearly hitched in anxiety, stomach dropping in the cold void of my guts. My mind reeled with confusion, a thousand thoughts swirling through my head between one breath and the next. A cold sweat broke out along the nape of my neck, along my lower back.
I'd frozen, still clutching to the sleeve between my fingers and my shoulder tucked into a chest (firm, laden with dense, lithe muscle) that could only belong to one man.
This didn't make sense. Being forced by your wife to apologize was one thing, but to actively comfort the person you resented was something else entirely. I couldn't wrap my head around it.
I felt confused, wrong-footed, relieved. But mostly, I felt stupid. Because I didn't understand a damned thing that was happening right now or what had caused this sudden shift in Time's behavior.
Then Time started speaking, and it was like the entire world began to shatter and remake itself around me.
"I'm sorry. I didn't think- I didn't know-" He paused briefly, before taking a deep, fortifying breath and continuing. "I'm sorry I hurt you. That I put fear in your heart. It was never my intention. I hadn't even considered how the situation must have looked to you."
Another breath, the slightest tensing of his arms around my shoulders. "You always seem so calm and assured in everything you do. It didn't even cross my mind that you might feel vulnerable after everything that's happened to you."
My heart squeezed. All my insecurities, being laid out before me. One glance at Malon's knowing gaze and I understand where this sudden awareness must have come from.
Time continued, heedless of my newfound understanding. "I never once intended to cast you aside or let harm befall you. I care for you so dearly. Even if you had decided to reject my companionship, I'd still protect you all the same. I thought you knew that, but I was wrong. I should never have assumed you knew something I didn't tell you."
He sighed, but it sounded shaky in my ear. "I hadn't stopped to consider your feelings, before I sought to protect my own. And for that, I'm sorry."
The arms around me tightened, as though trying to impart the sincerety of his words with the action. He needn't have bothered though, because despite it all I believed every word he spoke.
If there was one thing I could always rely on, it was his honesty in matters regarding the heart. No matter how strained our friendship became, it was the one thing I knew he would not actively lie about.
But still.
"But I never did anything to you." I sniffed wetly, fingers digging into his sleeve as I fixated my gaze at the countertop where Malon's freckled hands were resting. "I don't understand why you suddenly felt the need to- escape from me." The tears wanted to come again, but I held them back. This was too important to lose focus. "Please help me understand. The fortune teller-"
Time groaned suddenly and Malon laughed with impish delight, a glint of mischief making an unexpected appearance in her eyes. The sound of Malon's laughter brought confused warmth to my chest, cutting through the thick turmoil muddying up my mind.
Awkward silence. Until Time sighed again. Deeply.
"She told me I'd find new and- passionate love."
What?
Wait, what?
I pulled away from his arms a bit, just enough to turn and peer at him through watery lashes, taking in his blurry visage. My brows pulled down and a look of disbelief no doubt found purchase on my face, mouth pressed in a tight line.
"That's it? Weeks of avoidance and radio silence because some lady in a tent said you'd get the hots for someone? And you just assumed that someone might be me?"
I couldn't believe it. All this time. Just because some lady happened to see us traveling close together and decided to play matchmaker? Really?
Of all the-
Wait a damned minute.
"Time?" I said, tone flat as I locked gazes with him. Dead serious.
He looked right back, though there was caution in his eye now along side the regret. "Yes?"
I leaned forward a bit, our already close proximity putting me squarely in his face. My could feel the spark of rightous rage taking form in my chest.
"You weren't having doubts about your marriage with Malon, were you?"
And suddenly there was no space between us, noses nearly touching, his stare so intense I almost pulled back despite still being trapped in his arms. I could feel the warm, damp spread of his breath against my lips and chin.
"No." He said with dead calm, the hard surely of his tone left no room for doubt.
"Good. Because if you were, you don't deserve her." I threw back, still giving him a hard stare.
Silence. He breaths smelled of coffee and something sweet coated over his natural scent. It made my gut twist in a not unpleasant way. It reminded me that his arms were still around me. How warm he was in the morning chill. How firm his muscles were against my hands and shoulder.
He grinned then, eye brimming with fae-like mirth as he rested his forehead against mine. It was the first time I've seen that beautiful expression in so long. My heart ached at the sight of it, warmth and sweet relief flooding into my heart like babbling spring water.
"There you are." He breathed lowly, eye closing as he leaned more into our point of contact. He inhaled deeply through his nose, shoulders relaxing. I hadn't even noticed until then just how tense they were. "I thought I'd ruined this."
"Hmm?" I hummed in question, still caught up in the rapture of seeing his smile again. Head foggy from our proximity, I felt the beginnings of fatigue settling into my bones from my earlier crying.
"My! Would ya look at that! You weren't kiddin' when ya said she had them lovin' eyes, darling!" Malon spoke up suddenly with barely contained glee, popping the bubble that seemed to exist around Time and I.
I pulled away hurriedly, realizing just how close Time and I had been. Sharing breath, foreheads resting against one another and our noses nearly bumping together. His arms around me and my body nestled into his chest. All of it completely inappropriate for the situation. Especially for being right in front of his wife!
And she sounded far too pleased with this whole thing. Like it didn't even matter that I'd just blubbered in her husband's arms and then touched my face to his like I had a right to.
The confusion was back. But this time, it pulled bright, sweet warmth to my cheeks as I stumbled to my feet. The gentle wink of butterfly wings swirled around in my stomach and Malon's delighted smirk only intensified the sensation, sending the flock up into my throat.
I needed to get away. I needed to think.
"I-I accept your apology, Time!" I stuttered out embarrassedly, fighting the blush I knew was trying to heat my face. "I hope we can talk more later, but I'd like time to think about what you said!" I explained a bit too loudly even to my own ears, nearly wincing at my own awkwardness.
Malon, having come from behind the counter, leaned against her husband's back, hands on his shoulders. She smiled sweetly, a complimentary expression to Time's amused grin. Both of them were haloed by the sun shining softly through the window behind them, like a Goddamned magazine cover.
Goodness, but do they make a beautiful couple.
No. Stay focused. Escape first and then figure out what the Hell is happening. Get yourself together.
"Have a good day, Time, Malon!" Time's lip twitched upward. My stomach squeezed. "Okay! Bye for now."
Then, I all but ran from the kitchen, leaving behind what may have been the last of my dignity. Behind me, Malon's sweet laughter chased me down the hall, alighting my face with hellfire.
And therein began my first official day at Lon Lon Ranch.
---
Because of the limited perspective of first person narrative, a lot of the finer details are implied rather then stated. So if something seems out of left field, it's because the OC herself didn't realize what was happening behind the scenes.
Now I must return to the shadows to rest.
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We'll keep this love in a photograph
Summary: You're dating I.N, but after taking a new job opportunity, things between the two of you crumble.
Pairing: I.N X gn reader
Genre: Right person, wrong time angst
Word Count: 1.4K
_ _ _
How did it end up like this?
You asked yourself that question over and over again while you flipped through the photo album I.N gave you for your second anniversary. The honeymoon phase caused you to take photos of every little moment the two of you shared.
Selfies with the two of you making funny faces. Teeth bared, wide eyes, with your hands frozen in fake claws. Tongues out with peace signs. Selfies with stolen kisses and bunny ears. Selfies where the two of you posed with your favorite snacks from the convenience store. Every date you had, you took, at least, five photos.
The sunset picnic, the zoo, the movie theater, a fancy restaurant you never went to until I.N showed you. As you flipped through the book of photographs, every photo reminded you of a certain time period. The two of you were glued to each other’s side whenever you could be.
At least, at one point in time, you were. That honeymoon phase faded away eventually. You knew it was a possibility, but you never expected it to turn into this. The skinship slowly became less and less. The hour long phone calls turned into a half hour and then drifted into fifteen before they stopped all together.
Frantic text messages filled with bad pick-up lines, emojis, awful jokes, and reminders of admiration disappeared. It was nobody’s fault, really. Unfortunately, life seemed to pull the two of you in separate directions.
You started a new job six months ago. A job opportunity you had been raving about for months. Every time it popped up, you hesitated to take it until I.N talked you into it. You were always passionate about your line of work and career driven. The only thing stopping you from applying to the job was Jeongin.
While he worked all day, you’d be sleeping at home. When he came home, you would be getting ready to leave for work. By the time you’d get home, he’d be getting up and around for work. The clashing of schedules meant time away from your boyfriend and you didn’t want that.
You dreamed of that job deep down, but you didn’t want to sabotage the relationship that brought you so much joy. Jeongin knew how much you wanted this job and how much you hated your old one. After you broke down crying one day after being screamed at by your old boss, he insisted the next time the job offer came around, you had to apply.
And so you did. You spent nearly an hour perfecting your resume and another hour creating a cover letter and a reliable list of references. You had more than enough experience in the field, so it wasn’t a surprise when you were called in for an interview.
One interview turned into a follow-up. The follow-up led to a job offer. There wasn’t any time to hesitate and you accepted it immediately. While beaming, you were wrapped in a hug by Jeongin and he congratulated you with your favorite bouquet of flowers.
It was all working out at first. Sure, you didn’t see each other much, but you did what you could to make it work. You planned your dates for the weekends. It worked out perfectly until it was announced his band was going on another world tour.
You were thrilled for him. He put his blood, sweat, and tears into his work. He loved seeing his fans and he shined brightly on stage. You were happy for him, thrilled even. It was a hard good-bye, but you knew he’d be okay.
He was gone for nearly three months and when he got back, things between the two of you were different. You lived together and you saw each other, but there was a large rift. Both of you were pretending it wasn’t there, but it was.
Make-out sessions lost their fiery passion. When you slept in your bed, the two of you slept on opposite sides of the bed as opposed to curling up together. The occasional breakfast in beds the two of you made for each other, they stopped one day, and had yet to remake an appearance.
The ‘I love you’s’ were empty and the spark was gone. The tour was the final nail in the coffin. You knew it. He knew it. Nobody wanted to address the elephant in the room. You hadn’t taken a photograph together in weeks.
You felt hollow as you flipped through the photos. The two of you knew you were putting off the inevitable. You had both grown used to the separation when you were away from each other. Sure you missed his presence and he missed you, but you already barely had the time to see each other as it was.
Jeongin walked by the bedroom and paused as he caught a glimpse of you sitting on your shared bed. A dull ache filled his chest when he realized you were skimming the shared photo album. He swallowed his nervousness and took a few steps into the room.
“I can’t remember the last time we took a photograph together.”
You didn’t glance up when you heard his voice. Your eyes lingered on a strip of photos that were taken in a photobooth in the mall. The photographs had been taken two weeks after you started to date. Your hair was longer and Jeongin’s hair color was blonde instead of brown; proof of a different comeback, different time, and a different era.
“I can’t either.”
He padded over to the bed and slipped on the edge beside you. He gently placed his head on your shoulder. You didn’t complain and continued to flip through the pages one by one. The memories rippled through you both and cut bone-deep. The aching and nagging feeling of what once was.
“Jeongin?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you ever miss us?” You flipped another page and swallowed the lump in your throat. “The couple we used to be.”
“I miss us every single day.”
Your voice trailed into a whisper. “What happened to us?”
“Life happened, I guess.”
“Do you regret telling me to take that job?”
He shook his head. “You’re the happiest I’ve ever seen you when it comes to your career, so no. Sure I miss you a lot, but you’re happy, and that’s all I can ask for. Happiness looks good on you.”
The corners of your mouth turned up into a small smile. You flipped through the last of the photo album in silence. You wondered if he could hear your pounding heart. Could he see the gaping wound that sat in it? The empty jagged hole that was the shape of him? Did he feel it too?
“I think it’s time to admit that we’re not the right people for each other,” you finally got out.
“Part of me doesn’t want to let you go.”
“We’re just hurting each other even more by playing pretend.”
“I know.” His eyes burned while he tried to keep the tears away. His rapid blinking didn’t do much to hide them. “I’m really going to miss you far more than I already do.”
You nodded in agreement. You felt so many things. You didn’t want this to end, but there was no fixing it. You adored your job and he loved his. Your co-workers had become a second family and he felt the same way about his band members.
“Can we try again in another life?”
“In another life, I’ll always be yours, I promise.”
A comfortable silence filled the room again as you slowly shut the photo album. You closed your eyes for a moment soaking up the weight of his head on your shoulder. Sure the two of you could be friends, but you might never be this close again. Your eyes reopened when he moved.
He grabbed his phone out of his back pocket and unlocked it. You raised an eyebrow at his actions. “What are you doing?”
“One more selfie before we go?” He glanced over at you with a soft gaze.
This was the man you fell in love with. Darkened eyes that turned into pools of honey in the sunlight. A smile so large that it caused your own smile to appear. His loud laughter caused your heart to beat quicker and a soft-hearted nature that radiated a calm serene sense of peace.
You nodded your head, “one more selfie before we go.” You gave him a small smile that was met with one of his own. His lips pressed together in a thin line and his dimples appeared. His eyes crinkled and he seemed happy you obliged.
He held up his phone for the final time and the two of you posed.
꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎
If you want to be tagged on future stories, let me know.
Requests are open.
#stray kids#stray kids fanfic#stray kids drabbles#yang jeongin#i.n skz#i.n x reader#i.n stray kids#skz imagines#kpop fanfic#fanfic writing#skz angst
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When You're in a Slump
The past few months I have felt like a person I don't recognize. At the beginning of February, I was in my happy, subby place. We put new rules in place, and I felt like I was thriving with them. We were connecting deeply through our D/s. Every part of me was on fire for him—eager to serve his every whim. I even asked him if he was going to get bored with being so satisfied...
By the end of February, I was in a slump. Work stress skyrocketed. Then I was in limbo for six weeks about a new job, marinating in uncertainty and insecurity. Then we mixed in travel and a few illnesses. Depression kicked in. I lost my motivation for just about everything. My sex drive plummeted.
The slump has led us to put some of our rules on hold—in particular, our newer sexual rules. I haven’t been able to follow most of them since the end of February. The touch/edging schedule, the plug requirement... I tried at first. I thought if I just pushed through, my desire would come back. But it just made everything worse. I would touch myself and feel nothing. Plugging myself felt invasive, not connecting. And feeling these things would make me feel broken and like a bad submissive. So we decided it was better to pause.
There doesn't seem to be any formula for fixing this. For a while, we wondered if the denial itself had caused me to hit a wall. Maybe I developed a negative association with orgasms that we just needed to get past? Monsieur tried encouraging me to orgasm during sex. But then I kept getting in my head about it, feeling like I'd disappoint him if I didn't. Now we've tried to remove all expectations from sex. We just see what happens. But still, orgasms are rare.
I'm still struggling to feel sexual at all. I hate feeling this way. I don't feel like myself. But I also know the problem is much broader than just sex. I'm struggling to want. I'm struggling to feel. So I'm trying to fix that problem, in the hopes that the sex part will resolve itself. Monsieur says I haven’t made myself a priority for a while now. I need to make room for myself and the things that nourish me before I can give any more of myself to others.
So I'm trying to run more and drink less. I'm trying to spend time in the sunshine and warmth, to have new experiences, to take naps when I want them. I'm trying to set healthier work-life boundaries in my new role. I'm trying to read my book out on the deck with the birds chirping around me. My hope is that if I work on the other stuff, it will create space for feeling sexual—or really, just for feeling in general.
Still, it's hard to feel out of touch with my sexuality and my submission. I'm sure they will come back in their own time. Both have always been so core to who I am as a person. But I miss myself.
And I know it's difficult for Monsieur. I see how he looks at me, like a starving man looks at a juicy steak. But I also see the concern in his eyes during our kneeling ritual. I see him searching my face for how I’m really doing. I see him opting for cuddles rather than sex, even though he knows I would do it for him. But he doesn’t want my acquiescence; he wants my full-hearted, enthusiastic submission. And I want to be able to give it to him.
Right now I feel so close and so far from the submissive I was in January. I remember being her. But I don’t know how to get back there. For now, I'm just grateful to have Monsieur by my side while I work to figure it out.
And when you're in a Slump, you're not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done. —Dr. Seuss
#pieces of this come from recent asks/comments#but putting it together like this helped me#maybe it will help someone else too#personal#sccwriting#D/s struggles
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By: Nickolaus Hines
Published: Oct 18, 2021
In 2016, the famous nun Mother Teresa was declared a saint by Pope Francis — but many people say she doesn't deserve it.
Ever since the Vatican made Mother Teresa a saint in 2016, the response has been controversial and polarizing.
In order for Mother Teresa to achieve sainthood, the Vatican had to recognize two miracles that the famous nun performed after her death. Pope John Paul II recognized the first miracle in 2003, just six years after she died in 1997. And Pope Francis recognized the second miracle in 2015.
The popes claimed that Mother Teresa performed miracles when she cured one woman and then one man of their respective tumors. However, these “miracles” have been disputed by some — especially since a doctor who worked on the woman’s case said that she had been treated with drugs.
But debates over Mother Teresa’s miracles didn’t dissuade the Vatican from moving forward with its plans. Pope Francis officially proclaimed Mother Teresa a saint on September 4, 2016. But the decision remains controversial, and the dispute over her miracles is just one small part of it.
Of course, Mother Teresa’s sainthood may seem well-deserved to some. After all, she cultivated a mostly sparkling reputation as a selfless humanitarian while she was alive. But in recent years, her image has lost its luster. And when you take a closer look at her story, it’s not hard to see why.
Inside Mother Teresa’s “Selfless” Intentions
Mother Teresa was intent on converting as many people to Catholicism as possible, even at the expense of the poor and sick.
No one builds a church purely for the love of God — especially in places like India where critical services, like hospitals, are lacking. Religious groups that erect churches in these areas do so not just out of the kindness of their hearts, but to increase the number of people who believe in their faith.
Like those missionaries, conversion — the Church’s key to survival — was Mother Teresa’s primary goal. And in the context of the Catholic Church, charity can be viewed as a self-interested act.
“It’s good to work for a cause with selfless intentions,” said Mohan Bhagwat, the head of a Hindu nationalist group. “But Mother Teresa’s work had ulterior motive, which was to convert the person who was being served to Christianity. In the name of service, religious conversions were made.”
And when The New York Times reviewed the British documentary Hell’s Angel, a film that highlighted some of Mother Teresa’s flaws, the paper concluded that she was “less interested in helping the poor than in using them as an indefatigable source of wretchedness on which to fuel the expansion of her fundamentalist Roman Catholic beliefs.”
Still, some argue that even if Mother Teresa had ulterior motives, at least the people she cared for were better off for it. But others who have actually visited and worked in her medical centers wholeheartedly disagree.
The Horrific Conditions At Mother Teresa’s Medical Centers And Missions
Though Mother Teresa’s medical centers were meant to heal people, her patients were often subjected to conditions that made them even sicker. In the same documentary, an Indian journalist compared Mother Teresa’s flagship location for “Missionaries of Charity” to photographs that he had seen of the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp in Nazi Germany.
“Workers washed needles under tap water and then reused them. Medicine and other vital items were stored for months on end, expiring and still applied sporadically to patients,” said Hemley Gonzalez, a noted humanitarian who briefly volunteered at Missionaries of Charity.
Gonzalez continued, “Volunteers with little or no training carried out dangerous work on patients with highly contagious cases of tuberculosis and other life-threatening illnesses. The individuals who operated the charity refused to accept and implement medical equipment and machinery that would have safely automated processes and saved lives.”
It wasn’t just volunteers who criticized Mother Teresa’s treatment of patients, either. In her hospice care centers, Mother Teresa practiced her belief that patients only needed to feel wanted and die at peace with God — not receive proper medical care — and medical experts went after her for it.
In 1994, the British medical journal The Lancet reported that medicine was scarce in her centers and that patients received nothing close to the treatment that they needed to relieve their pain.
Meanwhile, some doctors took to calling her missions “homes for the dying” since her Calcutta home for the sick had a mortality rate of more than 40 percent. But in her view, this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
In response to all the criticism, Mother Teresa allegedly said, “There is something beautiful in seeing the poor accept their lot, to suffer it like Christ’s Passion. The world gains much from their suffering.”
However, when it came to her own suffering, Mother Teresa apparently took a different stance. When she began experiencing severe heart problems, she received care in a modern American hospital.
The Questionable Company That Mother Teresa Kept Throughout Her Life
While neglecting the needs of the sick, Mother Teresa was also called out for rubbing elbows with several wealthy — and corrupt — world leaders.
This included Haitian dictator Jean-Claude Duvalier, who was eventually charged with crimes against humanity for his abuse of his fellow Haitians.
At one point, 60 Minutes released footage that showed Mother Teresa praising Duvalier’s wife Michele. In the footage, Mother Teresa said that she had “never seen the poor people being so familiar with their head of state as they were with her. It was a beautiful lesson for me.”
That wasn’t the only friendship that raised eyebrows. Mother Teresa also received $1.25 million from her friend Charles Keating.
Keating was one of the key figures behind the 1980s savings and loan crisis, brought about by housing market and loan speculation, which cost American taxpayers $124 billion. And while he was on trial, Mother Teresa wrote to the judge presiding over his case — seeking clemency for him.
“I do not know anything about Mr. Charles Keating’s work or his business or the matters you are dealing with,” she said. “I only know that he has always been kind and generous to God’s poor and always ready to help whenever there was a need. It is for this reason that I do not want to forget him now while he and his family are suffering.”
Though a co-prosecutor of Keating actually responded to Mother Teresa after his conviction — and pointed out that one of the people Keating stole from was a poor carpenter — he never got a response from her.
And that wasn’t the only issue related to Mother Teresa’s finances.
The Enduring Mystery Of Where Mother Teresa’s Money Went
Countless well-meaning Catholics gave money to Mother Teresa’s charitable organizations throughout the years, but many of them would never see their generous donations go toward good works.
Keating’s $1.25 million donation alone would seem large enough to lift all of those in her care out of poverty, but one volunteer said that “even when bread was over at the soup kitchens, none was bought unless donated.”
Once, after running up an $800 tab at a grocery store to feed people at her charity, Mother Teresa refused to get out of line until someone else paid.
A 1991 report in the German magazine Stern also estimated that only seven percent of the millions of dollars she received were used for charity.
But seven percent of what total figure, exactly? The world will never know. Nirmala Joshi, the leader of Missionaries of Charity who succeeded Mother Teresa, said the donations were “countless,” and there was only one person with the actual numbers. “God knows,” Joshi said. “He is our banker.”
One is left to wonder where all of that money was actually going — and what happened to it after Mother Teresa’s death.
Mother Teresa’s Views On Reproductive Rights
Though it’s not surprising that a Catholic nun would be against abortion, Mother Teresa still raised eyebrows when she discussed her stance while she was accepting the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979.
In reference to Bosnian women who had been raped by Serbs and who were seeking abortions for their unwanted pregnancies, Mother Teresa said, “I feel the greatest destroyer of peace today is abortion, because it is a direct war, a direct killing — direct murder by the mother herself.”
She also rallied against birth control, claiming that “natural family planning” would solve the woes of women who were not ready for a child.
What Mother Teresa did promote in the realm of family planning — like abstinence — didn’t help anyone, either. And despite abstinence-only education being proven ineffective, she still stuck by her claims.
But even though she gained some critics for views like these, Mother Teresa was mostly successful at avoiding controversy while she was alive. However, a glimpse of her “dark side” would slip through the cracks every so often — especially when it came to her infamous homes for the sick.
In hindsight, these issues are hard to ignore today. And it’s also difficult to understand why the Catholic Church decided to make Mother Teresa a saint. She may have been revered for helping the poor and the sick, but her practices ensured that they were mired in pain until their final moments.
==
Reminder: Mother Teresa was a sadistic fundamentalist.
#Nickolaus Hines#mother teresa#catholic church#catholic#religious fanatic#sadistic bitch#roman catholic#catholicism#fuck you mother teresa#fraud
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When September Ends (Teaser)
Min Yoongi x Reader
Summary: Six years after leaving your home planet, you’re forced to confront your past… and the one you left behind.
Teaser Word Count: 633
Genre: Star Wars au, friends to enemies to ???, angst, fluff
Teaser Warnings: mentions of minor character death, mentions of weapons
Notes: Thank you to @daechwitatamic and @the-boy-meets-evil for beta-ing this for me. you're both saints for listening to me complain about this fic for months.
“Thank you for coming, Captain Min,” one of the commanders says.
Didn’t really have a choice, Yoongi thinks. But it’s not like I had anything better to do.
“We’ve received your official request to return to duty,” the commander–Commander Vela, Yoongi notes, though he’s only seen the man a small handful of times. “All four of them. Given the circumstances, we wanted to give you the opportunity to discuss this in person.”
What is there to discuss? Yoongi wants back in. He’s bored, itching to get back out in the field. He’s exhausted, he’s not sleeping, but that’s nothing a little adrenaline can’t fix. If he stays here, sitting around, doing nothing, he’s going to go fucking insane. And truthfully, not doing anything feels like he’s letting the Empire win, like Kitt and Feeney and Jieun’s deaths meant nothing.
And he won’t let that happen.
But instead of saying all that, he says simply, “You need spies. I’m a spy. I don’t see where the issue is.”
Commander Vela hums, his attention falling to the data pad sitting on the table in front of him. “You’ve been through a lot, captain. Most men would, understandably, need to take time off to-”
“I don’t want time off.” Yoongi can tell his interruption isn’t taken well based on the grumbles that ripple through the room. But he can’t help it. If they would just listen to him, he could convince them that he was fine. Or, at least, that he would be fine if he could just get his life back to normal. “I’ve had time off. I want to get back out there. You need me back out there.”
It sounds cockier than he’d intended, but the sentiment is true. They’d just lost three of their best intelligence operatives. Yoongi knows they can’t afford to lose another.
“How can we guarantee you’ll perform to standard?” A Mon Calamari major pipes up from the corner, his gravelly, grumbly voice cutting through the rabble that Yoongi’s words have caused. “How do you know you’re ready?”
The question catches Yoongi off-guard. “I just do,” he answers, and though it feels like a feeble, desperate answer, his voice comes out cool and confident.
More of the committee speak up. Yoongi can feel his blood pressure rise as the questions come, both more probing and more asinine. How is he feeling? How is he processing? Is he still up to date on his marksmanship training (even though his marksmanship training was basically just here’s a blaster, go shoot stuff)?
He’s fine. He’s processing well. Why don’t you give him a blaster and stand at twenty paces, and you can check yourself if his training is up-to-date?
Yoongi feels like he’s being interrogated. Do they treat their Imperial prisoners like this? He can feel the heat on his skin, can feel the thrumming in his veins. He takes a deep breath to calm himself, forces himself to unclench his jaw. He can’t let them see how much the questioning has affected him, even if the effect is just to piss him off. If they think he’s anything less than perfectly collected, they’ll never let him back in the field.
A dark-skinned commander is halfway through a long-winded question about security protocols, and safety, and something else that Yoongi has lost track of when a voice rings out above the din of the room.
“This is ridiculous,” it says, and it takes Yoongi a moment to find the speaker.
His heart rate picks up, and he can feel his palms get clammy as he zeroes in on her. There, three seats to the left of Commander Vela. He’d know that voice anywhere. And when her eyes lock with his, the room stops, the rest of higher command doesn’t matter.
It’s you.
this fic has consumed 99% of my thoughts for several months now, and it's nowhere near completed, but I wanted to share what I've been working on and why I've not posted for a while.
I'd love to know your thoughts, whether you're excited, what you think so far. this fic is going to end up being massive, and I'd like to share more things along the way as I go, so I'd love to know if you're as excited about it as I am.
#yoongi x reader#yoongi#suga x reader#suga#min yoongi#min yoongi x reader#bts#bts au#star wars au#bts star wars au#min yoongi fluff#min yoongi angst#suga fluff#suga angst#min yoongi fic#suga fic#bts fic#bts x reader
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I was trying to pinpoint Touya's exact age when Endvr gives up on him and accidentally found something interesting
So, there's a four year difference between Fuyumi (born in December) and Natsuo (born in July), plus about a year between Fuyumi and Touya (born in January). So Touya and Natsuo are 5 years apart.
We know that Natsuo was born to dissuade Touya from training in secret. It takes nine months to carry a baby to term, so Touya was still 4 when Enji chose to have another child. It's a pretty tight schedule, isn't it? Quirks manifest at about 4, so that means Touya's training started immediately after his showed up, and ended just as quickly.
But how long did Touya actually get to be the apple of his father's eye?
Natsuo had to be conceived around October to have a birth date in July, so that gives Touya roughly 10 months with his dad's undivided attention.
But if we are to trust the clothing as an oblique hint of the passing of time though the seasons, it's actually less than that. The first time we see Touya protest that Enji's not making time for him anymore, he's wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt and shorts. It's probably summer/late summer. And his words make it sound like Enji's continued neglect is not a new thing, either, but has been going on for a while by then already.
The weather in October in Japan is still mild enough that they could be wearing short sleeves, but I'm inclined to say it's not yet fall at this point in the timeline because we have another sequence of events before Natsuo's conception.
The Todorokis go see a quirk specialist, and they're wearing long sleeves. So are Touya and Fuyumi when they discuss later:
It's light clothes, so my guess is that this is around late September at the earliest/early October
Next up in the timeline, it's summer again (July), Touya is now 5, and Natsuo's born. You can see it on Touya's face that the truth finally sinks in.
His reaction now makes more sense, when you consider that by then, he'd already spent a whole year trying to convince his father to look at him. Despite his diagnosis, despite seeing Rei's belly swell up again, the realization that he won't get his father back never comes. And how can it? Even at five, Touya had already spent longer chasing after his dad than he did in Enji's company. Let that sink in for a moment.
Plus, with the knowledge that all it took was barely six months at the longest for Enji to fully judge Touya's worth and subsequently cast him aside, this other panel makes a lot more sense, too:
Shouto was "already" five because Touya "failed" at delivering on his potential at the ripe age of four.
And now, for my favourite detail...
Toga's parents stopped tallying her height after she turned 3. Since quirks manifest at around 4 and they were repulsed by her fascination with blood, it's hinted that they stopped loving her unconditionally after she turned old enough to manifest one. It was so soon after that, in fact, that they didn't even get to mark her next birthday.
But more specifically, they stopped loving her when her quirk turned out to be something they couldn't control.
Sounds familiar yet?
Yep.
Touya and Toga both lost their parents' love shortly after turning four, and both spent the next decade of their life, up to middle school, trying to earn it back by being "a good child," only to ultimately fail at that, too
So... Do we think that Dabi saw those tally marks when he followed Toga to her house...?
Cause I think he did, and that's what prompts him to show her kindness for the first time afterward.
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hi again !! person who asked about part 2 4 the benoit blanc fic here !! thank u 4 agreeing 2 write it !!
k so here's my request : it's like half a year after part 1 , and benny n the reader r solving crimes together but they're like ... super awkward with each other . they don't dislike each other , in fact they want to be closer , but r really wants a parental figure but isn't sure how to verbalize that and benoit jus does NOT know how 2 parent.
but then when they r on a case , r gets hurt ( not 2 serious , but enough 2 be scary ) , and benoit realizes how much he actually cares about this kid . n then they have a really sweet moment n decide 2 try n get closer ?
thank you so much !! i'm super excited 2 read this !!
anything for benny
part one / masterlist
Benoit Blanc is lost. Usually, this is not enough to trouble him. Problems are only worthwhile if they take some time to parse out. Benoit has no fondness for pointless mysteries, games in which the end is clear from the beginning and the middle has no value at all. He has always preferred to amble along and seek out clues. That is his best method of solving, it always has been.
It is a confounded issue, then, that Benoit is lost now. He is not in the midst of a crime, nor locked within the confines of a good hoax. He is between jobs at the moment, which usually means that his problem-solving fingers should cease to twitch at his sides, that he would no longer be ready to reach for a hint that will let him catch a killer.
Benoit’s problem at the moment regards his apprentice. He took on a teenager to help him with his cases about six months back, Y/N L/N. They’ve been an excellent aid, no cause for concern there, but Benoit’s judgment is faulty in where he is meant to draw the line between work friend and real friend. Typically, he never runs into this problem because he keeps each case to itself with no overlap whatsoever. By bringing Y/N with him, he now has someone closer than an acquaintance.
The issue is that Benoit would like to go about making their dynamic a little less stilted but he has absolutely no idea how to do it. There are moments when he’s certain that Y/N would appreciate a little parental guidance, for a lack of a better word, but Benoit is few things and one of them is certainly not a father. Thus, he is left grappling with how to indicate that he would like to try having a more central role in Y/N’s life with absolutely no idea how to do it.
Benoit took the idea to Phillip a month or so back to limited success. His partner had been focused on the intricacies of some blasted sourdough starter, his attention more in line with tossing flour to the heavens and whatnot. Benoit had posed the concern of what to do with the L/N kid. Phillip had allowed him to ramble on during the feeding time of the sourdough starter, which was consistently scheduled as if it were some kind of beast in need of a kilogram or ten of raw meat.
Benoit cannot fault his partner for the importance of the sourdough, however. They all need a task, some project in which to throw their focus and only withdraw some time later, wholly spent and perhaps a different man. Phillip finds his outlet with baking. Benoit does so with the lives of other people.
Some would consider that to be a sign of their true characters, but Benoit tries to prioritize the people above the thrill of the hunt. That, in the end, is what he feels separates him from the gaudy treasure-seekers of podcasts and true crime shows. Although he does feel that he would make a superb advice host if the chance ever came along. Phillip has yet to catch on to the idea, but Benoit is giving it time.
The conversation was brief but sincere. Phillip had dashed about a cup of flour into the ominous bowl of starter, then turned to him with a sigh.
“You’re getting in your own way,” he had said simply.
Benoit had spread his hands. “Obviously, but how do I get out of my own way? It is difficult, sometimes, to find one’s path long enough to step aside and let the truth rush forward. Sort of like a child who’s just taken off their training wheels. They can go fast, of course, and wreak havoc throughout the suburbs, but, Lord, they should not be allowed to do so.”
Phillip raised a weary brow. “In this case, I don’t think the issue is that you shouldn’t be able to go fast. You just are afraid to let go of your inhibitions. They’re a kid, Blanc, not a piranha. Although God knows you’d rather investigate a piranha than deal with this.”
“It would be interesting to figure out how a piranha had managed to cross my path,” Benoit had mused. “That isn’t the point, though.”
“No,” Phillip said around another sigh, “it isn’t. You need to find the proper time, then tell Y/N what you expect, plain and simple. There’s no other way around there.”
Phillip was right, as expected. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the advice Benoit had wanted to hear. He would have preferred something along the lines of ‘don’t worry about it, how about you go take another case’ or even ‘wait for them to come to you,’ but life is hardly fair.
“Thank you,” Benoit had said at last, “and for goodness’ sake, stop pointing that spatula at me. I’m going to do it. No threatening necessary.”
Phillip had disagreed on that point, but that was hardly a surprise. Benoit had gone to bed that night wondering how he was going to find the right chance to explain his expectations for the situation between himself and Y/N. In the morning, he woke with a blessing.
Handwritten letters have long been Benoit’s favorite way of hearing about a new case. Typically, he can figure out half the evidence just from studying the correspondence. Is the information scribbled in a hasty scrawl or typed out to avoid giving anything away? Do they mention his prior cases from the papers, and if so, which ones? Are the stamps perfectly organized, the product of a great time for leisure, or slapped on the envelope just before the mailman came?
This letter is no exception. Already, Benoit has a few ideas percolating in his brain even before he starts reading the message. This is a call to arms, to be certain. A murder. A weapon. Several innocents all in the line of fire. An inheritance, ready to fall into the wrong hands. Yes, this is a case for him without a doubt.
Benoit explains the situation to Y/N when she comes back from school in the evening. They discuss initial motives, then agree to respond back in a most reasonable fashion. The police investigations start Saturday, so they’ll arrive early in the morning in the hopes of reaching the family before too much has happened.
The car is studiously quiet on the drive over to the crime scene. A few times, Benoit or Y/N will attempt to bring up a casual source of conversation, but they always seem to lose their nerve before true discourse can occur. Something will happen to make them hesitate, and then the ball is dropped and they’re back to silence.
Benoit is grateful to see the address of the crime scene before long, sparing them from another few unsuccessful endeavors. Half an hour later, they’re so lost in the tangled threads of this particular mystery that they don’t have much time to trouble themselves over small things like whether or not this whole apprenticeship deal was worth it.
By Saturday evening, Benoit feels that he’s got a pretty good hold on the case itself. It seems to be your typical run-of-the-mill inheritance snatch. A primary character is established, the man who would receive the largest cut of a will. They’re then framed for murder, thus ensuring that the bounty will instead fall to the second-in-line, a brother-in-law who only married into the family in the hopes of collecting this sort of bloody check. Very satisfying.
Sunday morning rolls around. After a final late night check with Y/N to make sure their facts are in order, the pair feels ready to present their findings to the police and distraught family. Benoit, always excited at the possibility of an audience, leads with his theory and watches the brother-in-law’s face twist with horror as he realizes he’s been exposed.
All is going according to plan, or at least it has been until the brother-in-law stands up and announces that he isn’t going quietly. The money has already been transferred to his account, much of it withdrawn, and he can live off of it for quite some time. The murderer moves to flee, but when the police start to block his path, he does the unthinkable and grabs Y/N as a hostage.
Benoit has no choice but to watch as the murderer leaves the house, gun pressed to Y/N’s temple as a guarantee that he’s going to remain untroubled. Benoit has been involved in quite a few murder cases over his time, and is no stranger to danger, but this is something altogether different. He is terrified, plain and simple. Terrified that he’ll lose his crime-solving partner before even a year has passed. Terrified that he’ll never get that chance Phillip was talking about.
It occurs to him now that Benoit needs that chance more than anything. If he does not speak with Y/N about the fact that he wants them to be better friends, to rely on each other more than the stilted dynamic they have going on right now, he will carry that regret to his grave.
It is good, then, that Benoit and Y/N had factored in the fact that the murderer would try to run and planned accordingly. The brother-in-law’s car only makes it halfway down the street before the tires abruptly give out and the vehicle screeches to a stop. Y/N was evidently waiting for that moment, because they fling open the door and dive out without a second’s hesitation.
Benoit sprints to their side, pulling them away from the car and towards safety. The police surround the car, and after a few tense seconds the brother-in-law comes out with his hands raised. Benoit only starts to relax once the killer is in handcuffs and he knows for certain that the situation is in the hands of the law.
He turns to Y/N at last, checking for signs of damage. “Are you hurt?” He asks, frantic.
Y/N shakes their head. “No, I’m alright. Just startled, that’s all.”
“You’re a brave kid,” Benoit manages, “I don’t know that many people who would be this unruffled after being taken as a hostage. It speaks to your character. It also reminds me how affected I would be if something worse had happened. You’re not a stranger, Y/N, you’re a friend. I’d like for us to believe in that.”
Y/N starts to smile. “More than normal?”
“Far more than normal,” Benoit confirms, “millions of miles beyond that point. The best partnerships are based on trust. I trust you, Y/N.”
“I trust you,” they respond, “that’s why I was alright. I knew that no matter what happened, even if the tire thing didn’t work out, you’d look for me.”
“You didn’t need me, though,” Benoit argues, “you had the situation handled just fine. You were courageous all by yourself and I am quite impressed by that.”
Y/N shakes their head. “I could be brave because I knew you were there. I trust you.”
“Alright,” Benoit says at last, “we’re good, then.”
“We’re great,” Y/N confirms.
Benoit thinks that he’s going to have to talk to Phillip about this. The plan has gone quite well indeed.
part one requested by @starlit-epiphany, your ideas are very popular around here
knives out taglist: empty for now!
#benoit blanc#benoit blanc imagines#benoit blanc x reader#benoit blanc oneshot#knives out#knives out imagines#knives out x reader#knives out oneshot#platonic benoit blanc#platonic benoit blanc imagines#platonic benoit blanc x reader#platonic benoit blanc oneshot
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Pretty average week this week as far as reading goes. Interested to see how next week goes as my partner will be back at work so might be less reading time.
Read this week:
Jily Week 2023 Drabbles by @kay-elle-cee
Complete (805), Jily, Rated T
Drabbles and Double Drabbles for 6/7 of the Jily Week 2023 Prompts.
And it feels like home by kay-elle-cee
Complete (1.8k), Domestic Jily fluff, Rated G
A little moment after a long day. The first moment of the rest of their lives. Or: James and Lily's first night in a flat that's theirs.
You are my heaven by @jamesunderwater
Complete (1.8k), Jily Reincarnated, Rated G
What, you thought all they got was a few years together? this is for anyone who has watched what dreams may come (1998) and it's a wonderful life (1946) and is also a pisces. 'cause you get it. written for the jilychallenge 2023 december advent calendar -- prompt: A is not dressed for snow, B lends a shawl, hat, gloves etc.
Call and Response by jamesunderwater (itsjamespotter)
Complete (6.6k), James Potter, Rated T
A series of vignettes showcasing how, despite his own personal tragedies, James Potter never fails to show up for the ones he loves – which might be his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. Set in a world where James and Lily never got together in school, the Marauders, now twenty, are fighting in the Order at the height of the war.
Promises To Keep by jamesunderwater (itsjamespotter)
Complete (1.1k), Dorcas/Marlene, Rated T
Marlene and Dorcas have run out of ways to say goodbye.
Midwinter Magic by @practicecourts
Complete (2k), Canon Divergent Jily, Rated G
Midwinternight is said to be different. a night on which Magic flows free and strong and the divides between separate worlds are as thin as ice, or so Lily hopes. She hopes that’s true because she can't go on like this.
Do you want to build a snowman? By practicecourts
Complete (2.9k), Jily , Rated G
A young James Potter feels a little lonely and there is snow outside so really he should be outside having fun. Eleven years later he finds himself home again, and the world outside very white. And yet again on a winter's day eleven years after that.
Mind Games by @mppmaraudergirl (ch.1-3)
WIP, Amnesia + secret relationship Jily, Rated M
A cauldron explosion erases the last six months of Lily Evans' life at one of the most critical times in her career. As she struggles to not lose focus on all she has worked toward, a nagging voice inside her mind urges her to piece together the tattered memories of her past.
The Road Back To You by mppmaraudergirl
Complete (64.8k) Jily Muggle AU, Rated M
This is a story about second chances. A story about coming home and finding friends who become family. And most of all, perhaps, it is a story about the inevitability of falling into—and out of—love, even when you fight against it.
And You Heard About Me (Ooh, We’ve Got Some Big Enemies) by @wearingaberetinparis
Complete (12k), Fake Relationship Jily, Rated M
Lily Evans is a Grammy-winning singer-songwriter and global superstar, who recently broke up from her latest and long-term actor boyfriend Amos Diggory. James Potter is a professional football player who plays as a forward for Manchester United and has never been quiet about his celebrity crush: Lily Evans. When Lily Evans thus plays at Wembley Stadium - a place he is more than familiar with due to his being part of the England team - he just has to go and see her perform, embracing his inner, besotted fan boy, while the woman on stage is completely oblivious to his presence. Or is she?
Quest for Camelot by @petalsinwoodvale (ch.3-5)
WIP, Quest for Camelot AU Jily, Rated T
All Lily has ever wanted is to be a knight, like her father, Sir Lionel. After Camelot is attacked and the magical sword Excalibur is stolen, she finds herself teaming up with James, a young blind hermit, as they embark on a quest to find the lost sword. Together, they face the threat of the evil Ruber, navigate challenges with a two-headed dragon and an ogre, and discover that they're more alike than they initially thought. Will they manage to return the sword to Arthur in time, or will they lose not only each other but also their dreams and the precious Excalibur?
Pinky Promise (Tummy Hurts) by petalsinwoodvale
Complete (3.1k), Hogwarts Jily, First Kiss, Rated T
He was just too smart for his own good. It’s what got him into trouble the most. It got Lily in trouble too. Turns out, she had a type, and arrogant jocks with good grades were it.
Toerag (Affectionately) by petalsinwoodvale
Complete (1.1k), Hogwarts Jily, Rated T
"You'd defend Lily even if she kicked you in the balls," Peter chuckled, prompting Sirius and Remus to conceal their knowing grins behind their food. "I'm a strong supporter of women's rights," James hastily defended himself, "including Lily's right to beat the shit out of anyone who irritates her."
Lying in wait by @missgryffin
Complete (part of short stories), Jily, Rated M
Randomly listened to some Hamilton over the weekend, ended up with "Wait For It" stuck in my head, and wrote this in a couple hours today. I think it's angst, but with a nice dash of crack? Idk 😅 But I hope it makes you smile! 🫶
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In February 2022, I was prescribed Seroquel for the second time after being off of it for three years (after first being on it for 12 years) to treat my bipolar disorder. I gained 17 kilos in two months and the medication was changed to Aripiprazole to control the weight gain but I kept gaining. By October 2023 I had gained total 26kg.
I saw my psychiatrist every month and every month I complained about the weight gain. His file clearly stated that I was anorexic when entering the hospital in December 2021 and it took two months for me to agree on starting the medication because I was terrified on gaining weight on the medication.
During all this time, I was told by both my psychiatrist and my GP that I should exercise more and eat less and the excess weight of the antipsychotic would go away. They both told me the weight gain was due to me eating more, even if I knew I wasn't eating more. In fact, I was sticking to my salads and even started a gym regime and still gained like crazy. I told them this, too, but was dismissed.
For the past seven months, I've put extra effort into losing the extra kilos. I've been working out at the gym four days a week for 60-90 minutes per session, walked for 45-60 minutes a day for six days a week, and eaten 1500 calories a day, and lost total five kilos. My personal trainer was mindblown for my lack of success.
This week, I finally book an appointment for a specialist to discuss the weight gain. My blood results came back pre-diabetic and insulin resistant, both something Aripiprazole causes. My TSH (thyroid hormone) has also increased almost out of the reference values compared to pre-Aripiprazole. My body mass index shows that my muscle mass is much higher than is necessary for a person of my height due to all the workout I've done as per recommended by my doctors, but the medication has totally destroyed my metabolism so my body is hanging on to fat like crazy. I'm literally a muscular fat person. I'm suffering from metabolic syndrome and my metabolic age has gone from 30 to 50 in less than two years. I am also heading fast towards a stroke and heart attack, and my cholesterol is skyhigh.
My message is: if you're put on antipsychotics, please have regular bloodwork taken. Your psychiatrist may not pursue them or advise you to do so, but your physical health may be in jeopardy. Exercise and healthy eating don't always help the case, even if the mental health personnel will have you believe so. I did exercise throughout being on the medication and had a healthy plant-based diet, yet my bloodowork looks anything but, all due to the antipsychotic medication.
#antipsychotics#anti psychotics#actually mentally ill#bipolar disorder#schizophrenia#psychotic disorders#psychotic depression
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