#My Acting Coach Nightmare | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoe4hotchner · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 5 - Cracks in the ice

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of nightmares, blood, stabbing, violence, fear, case-related discussions, mention of potential stalking/harassment, rivalry, use of Y/N, bitterness, failure, and career-ending behavior, mentions of the Olympics.

A/N: The number of videos and articles I’ve watched and read for the latter half of this chapter is insane… My cookies are going to be messed up for the rest of my life, and I’ll forever only get figure skating suggestions.

Masterlist

The investigation had taken a grim, unsettling turn since Leah’s tragic death, leaving an oppressive weight hanging in the BAU. Tension crackled in the air, thick with unspoken fears, and the mood had shifted from determination to something darker, much darker. You sat at the round, cold table in the conference room, the harsh fluorescent lights glaring down on you and the BAU agent's tired faces. Their heated discussions about leads and suspects echoed around the room, voices rising and falling, but none of it truly registered with you. You weren't really paying attention. The words blurred together, becoming distant murmurs as your mind raced, consumed by a whirlwind of disbelief, anxiety, and grief.

The upcoming competition had once been a beacon of excitement and pride, but now, now it loomed over you like an impending storm. What had once been your passion — your escape, your everything — now felt like an obligation, a chore tainted by the shadow of Leah’s death. You knew it would be the talk of the competition. And as much as you longed for and missed Leah, you were sad that an event like this — supposed to be filled with happiness and talent — would be tainted by such tragedy. The rink had once been your sanctuary but no longer felt safe, its ice stained with the memory of Leah's pool of blood. The thought of returning there filled you with dread as if each glide across the ice would be haunted by the echoes of what you had lost — what you could lose.

“Based on the victimology and the profile we’ve constructed, it seems likely that the unsub is someone who’s been involved in the skating community,” Hotch said, his voice was steady and authoritative. His eyes swept the room, making deliberate eye contact with each member of the team, ensuring his words landed with full impact. “They know the routines, the schedules — this is not a random act. It’s targeted.”

His words cut through the tension in the room, sending an icy chill down your spine. The thought that the unsub was not some outsider, but someone within your world, unsettled you deeply. The faces of familiar coaches, skaters, and staff flashed through your mind as you struggled to imagine who could be capable of such a heinous act. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising unease gnawing in your bones. This wasn’t just a case you had somehow gotten involved in anymore — it was personal. The world you had loved, the routines and schedules that had once brought you comfort, now felt like a trap, manipulated by an unseen hand. And the worst part was knowing that you or someone you cared about could be next.

“Let’s consider the patterns of behavior we’ve seen in previous cases,” Hotch said, guiding the discussion. “Unsubs with similar backgrounds often display obsessive traits. He could be lurking in the shadows, watching practices, studying routines, trying to find his next victim. He likely wants to instill fear within the community, and as far as he can tell, it's working.”

“Garcia,” Hotch called out. “Can you gather information on any past complaints or incidents involving the victims? Anything that stands out — arguments, jealousies, or even online disputes. This might help us uncover underlying tensions in the skating community.”

“On it!” Garcia replied, her fingers dancing across her keyboard. “I’ll start digging into social media as well, looking for posts or comments that could hint at underlying rivalries or tensions. You’d be surprised what people let slip online, especially when emotions are running high.”

You felt uncomfortable by the conversation between the analyst and Hotch, knowing fully well that although you weren't aware of any disputes or fights, the fact that she could dig up your whole digital footprint in a matter of minutes was terrifying. It reminded you of how vulnerable you were, especially in a world where everyone was connected yet so distant.

“Garcia, while you’re at it, could you also pull up any recent reports of harassment or stalking within the skating community?” Hotch asked. “Even if they’re not directly related to our case, they could provide context that helps us understand this unsub’s behavior.”

“Absolutely!” Garcia replied, already typing away. “I’ll prioritize those reports and see if anything stands out. If there are any patterns or common threads. You'll have them faster than you can say; Four fine fresh fish for you"

“Thanks, Garcia,” Hotch said with a nod, appreciating her enthusiasm. “Just remember to focus on cases that have happened in the last year or so. We need the most relevant information.”

“Got it, boss!” she chirped, her fingers a blur across the keyboard.

Turning back to the team, Hotch continued, “Let’s not lose sight of the potential victims. We need to ensure their safety first. Morgan, I want you to coordinate with local law enforcement to increase visibility around the rink during practices and events. Perhaps even set up a temporary command post nearby.”

Morgan straightened in his chair. “I’ll get on it right away. If the unsub thinks he can target skaters without consequence, he’s in for a rude awakening.”

As the discussion continued, theories and speculations flying around the room, a wave of frustration surged within you, crashing against the carefully constructed walls you had built to cope. It was becoming harder to keep those walls intact. Your once meticulously planned training schedule had been thrown into chaos, completely upended by the heightened security measures now in place. Extra patrols at the rink, agents stationed in the shadows, and constant check-ins from Hotch had become your new reality. What used to be a sanctuary — a place where you could lose yourself in the rhythm of the ice and the thrill of competition — now felt suffocating, the weight of the investigation always pressing down on your chest. With every passing day, it grew harder to focus, the pressure of preparing for the competition clashing with the ever-present fear that gripped not only you but the entire staff and skating community.

You felt trapped, caught between the urgency of the investigation and your desperate need to reclaim the life and the passion that skating had always brought you. Every time you laced up your skates, it felt like a battle to push past the fear, the reminders of Leah, and the nagging thought that the person responsible could be watching you from the shadows. You longed for the days when skating had been simple, pure, untouched by the dark realities that had suddenly invaded your life. But now, that world seemed distant, blurred by the same shadows that clouded your thoughts.

You leaned back in your chair, staring blankly at the scattered files on the table as your thoughts swirled like a storm cloud, dark and chaotic. You were sure that Hotch and the team broke every protocol by letting you see these files. The knot of anxiety in your stomach tightened with every passing second, twisting until it felt almost suffocating. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure of when the ground beneath you might give way.

You could feel Hotch’s gaze on you. And even as you tried to avoid looking in his direction, his concern was noticeable, etched deep into the lines of his face. There was no judgment in his eyes — just understanding, a reminder that he, too, had carried the weight of loss, fear, and duty. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to face. His presence, though comforting in its own way, was only a reminder of how far this had spiraled beyond your control, maybe even beyond his control.

You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, fighting the urge to get up and escape the tension in the room. It felt like everyone was moving forward, searching for answers, while you were stuck, paralyzed by the collision of your personal and professional worlds. The fear that had once been an abstract concept in your life now felt way too real, manifesting in the way your body tensed and your thoughts spun, unable to focus on your routine, your spins, and jumps — they craved precision, one that you weren't able to find. You clenched your hands in your lap, trying to ground yourself, but it was impossible to shake the feeling that everything was slipping through your fingers. You knew you needed to get back on the ice, to feel the cold air in your face. It was truly the only way you knew to ground yourself.

“Y/N,” Hotch said quietly, his voice slicing through the fog of your spiraling thoughts. It was soft but carried enough weight to pull you from the chaos inside your mind. “Are you alright?”

You glanced up, meeting his eyes. There was no demand for an answer, just concern. For a brief moment, the tension in your chest eased, though the knot in your stomach remained. You opened your mouth, trying to find the words, but they stuck, caught between the urge to let it all out and the fear of appearing vulnerable.

His eyes remained on you, he was patient, waiting for whatever response you could or would give.

You forced a smile. “Just trying to figure out how to train with all this going on,” you muttered, the words feeling flat, like an excuse that even you didn’t believe. They felt hollow, as though they were a weak attempt to cover the frustration and fear gnawing at you, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to find the right way to express the storm of emotions swirling inside.

The truth was, it wasn’t just about training. It was about trying to function while everything around you seemed to be unraveling.

Hotch’s eyes remained steady on you. You knew he wouldn’t push, but his silence felt like a gentle nudge, urging you to be honest with yourself, to admit that this was all far more than just about disrupted training schedules and competition jitters. It was about how lost you felt, how every part of your life had been infiltrated by fear, leaving you grasping at the last remnants of normalcy.

But you couldn’t admit that — not yet and certainly not to him. So you held onto that smile, fragile as it was, and hoped it would be enough to keep the conversation from delving deeper into your emotions.

Hotch’s expression softened as he took a step closer to you. The sharp lines of concern on his face seemed to ease, replaced by a warmth that made your heart feel a little lighter. “I know it’s difficult, but we’re doing everything we can to keep you safe.”

“Thanks, Hotch. I appreciate it.” You met his gaze, finding a flicker of hope in his unwavering support, and for that instant, the weight on your shoulders lifted for a moment.

As the meeting wore on, you found yourself stealing glances at him, captivated by the way he commanded the room, drawing everyone's attention to him. The measured cadence of his voice had a calming effect, making even the most intense discussions feel more manageable. Each time he spoke, it felt like he wasn’t just leading the conversation; he was anchoring the team, grounding them amidst the chaos of the investigation.

You could only imagine that this was how all their cases went.

You could see how his presence inspired trust and respect in his team and it made you acutely aware of the influence he had over those around him. The way he engaged with each member, listening intently and responding thoughtfully, fostered an environment where everyone felt valued and heard.

When the meeting finally concluded, you stepped outside into the crisp air, which hit your face like a splash of ice water, jolting you back to reality. The stark contrast between the stuffy conference room and the brisk outdoors was initially invigorating, a momentary escape from the weight of your thoughts. You had hoped for a moment of clarity in the cold, fresh air, a chance to catch your breath and regain your focus. However, instead of the relief you sought, it felt like the weight of the world settled more heavily on your shoulders, an almost tangible burden that threatened to crush you.

You took a deep breath, trying to fill your lungs with the fresh air, but it felt heavy with the remnants of your worries. As you leaned against the cool metal railing, you felt a mixture of frustration and despair. How could you prepare for a competition that could define your future when everything felt so uncertain?

“Y/N!” Hotch’s voice called out from behind you, cutting through the fog of your thoughts. You turned to see him striding toward you with purpose and determination. “Can we talk?” he asked, his tone laced with a sense of urgency.

You nodded, curiosity mingling with a flicker of anxiety. The way he approached you suggested that something dire was afoot. As he gestured for you to walk with him, you fell into step beside him.

“Listen,” he started, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I know things have been tough lately.” His expression softened. “I can see the toll it’s taking on you, and I want you to know that you don’t have to be as involved with the investigation if you don't want to”

You swallowed hard, the knot of anxiety in your stomach shifting as his words resonated within you. It was a relief to hear him acknowledge what you had been feeling, to know that your struggles hadn’t gone unnoticed.

But you felt a surge of frustration bubbling to the surface, a mix of anger and helplessness that threatened to spill over. “Easy for you to say,” you shot back, your voice sharper than intended. “You don’t know what it’s like to put everything on the line and have it ripped away from you. I can’t just sit around and do nothing while my entire future hangs in a balance!” Each word felt like a weight lifted, but you could see the flicker of surprise in Hotch’s eyes.

“I understand more than you think,” he replied, his tone shifting, revealing a vulnerability that you hadn't expected. A flicker of emotion crossed his face, something deeper lurking beneath the surface. “This job… it takes and it takes. And in the end, it takes a toll on all of us. But your safety has to come first. We can’t afford to lose anyone else.”

“I just…” you began, searching for the right words to convey the whirlwind inside you. “I’m trying to stay focused on my training, but it feels impossible with everything going on.” You took a deep breath. “I don’t want to let anyone down, especially not you or your team. I want to find Leah's killer.”

Hotch stopped walking and turned to face you fully, his eyes searching yours “You won’t let anyone down,” he reassured you firmly. “We’re all in this together, and I’m here to support you — like I do with my team — in any way you need. If that means stepping back from some responsibilities for a while, then we’ll figure it out.”

His words washed over you. “I just don’t want to fall behind,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “This competition means everything to me. It’s my chance to prove myself.”

“I understand,” Hotch said. “But remember, this isn’t just about the competition. It’s about you and your well-being. That’s what truly matters. The rest will fall into place once I catch the unsub.” He reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, and you felt a surge of gratitude for his support.

“It’s hard to let go of the pressure I put on myself,” you confessed, allowing a hint of vulnerability to seep through. “I’ve always pushed myself to be the best, and now... it feels like everything is slipping through my fingers.”

“It’s natural to feel that way, especially in times of crisis." He offered you a small smile. He straightened up, his posture shifting back to its familiar authoritative stance, his demeanor transitioning seamlessly from supportive to professional as he glanced at his watch. “You should get to the rink and start your practice. It’s important to keep up your routine in case the unsub is watching you. I'll have a few agents follow you from afar, just in case he decides to show himself.”

The following days blurred together as the investigation deepened, each one slipping by like a fleeting shadow while the team methodically narrowed down their list of suspects. Every morning felt like stepping onto a tightrope, the weight of uncertainty pressing heavily on your shoulders, making it harder to find your balance.

That morning, long before the sun had even risen, you found yourself at the rink, alone. The arena was dimly lit, with only the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above and the echoing silence of your skates cutting through the ice. It should have felt peaceful — you hadn't even been bothered to turn on your playlist — a rare moment where the world was quiet, and no one was watching. No coaches barking corrections, no judges sizing you up, no teammates glancing over with judgment. Just you, the ice, and the rhythm of your blades.

But something was wrong.

You took a deep breath, pushing off from the boards, the familiar glide of your skates over the ice normally brought you solace. Today, however, the ice beneath you felt foreign, unpredictable, like it had a mind of its own. You tried to settle into your routine, warming up with some simple crossovers, the scrape of metal against ice echoing in the air. But even that felt off, your feet slipping slightly as if the ice itself was rebelling against you.

You shook it off, heading into your first combination. A simple waltz jump into a loop. Your muscles should have remembered this — they’d done it a thousand times before — but the moment you took off, your timing faltered. Instead of a graceful arc, you landed awkwardly, your blade catching at the wrong angle, sending you stumbling. A soft grunt escaped your lips as you fought to regain your balance.

"Focus," you whispered under your breath, determined not to let frustration take hold so early in the practice.

You pushed harder, determined to shake the creeping unease from your mind. You launched into an Axel — a jump that normally felt so freeing, defying gravity for just a moment. But as you pulled into the air, your arms too tight, your rotation uneven, you came down hard on your right leg, the edge catching before your ankle buckled beneath you. You hit the ice with a sharp thud, the sting shooting up your side as you let out a breathless groan.

Pushing yourself back up, your hands shaking slightly from the impact, you shook your head. It shouldn’t be this hard. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were better than this.

Next, you tried a simple layback spin — something you’d mastered long ago. But as soon as you hit your entrance edge, you felt the wobble. Your leg extended behind you, your back arching, but the spin was unstable. Your free leg swung out too wide, and instead of holding the tight, fast revolutions, you slowed and lost your center, the spin breaking apart awkwardly before you had to step out, gasping in frustration.

The rink was supposed to be your sanctuary. The one place where you could escape everything. But today, it felt like you were battling against it. Every jump, every spin — nothing was landing. Nothing felt right.

You tried again. This time a lutz, but your entry edge wobbled, your weight shifting too far inside, causing you to pop the jump, barely getting off the ice before your feet hit the surface again.

"Come on," you growled to yourself, pushing harder, anger and frustration bubbling up inside you.

A triple-toe loop, then — something that you could do without even thinking on a good day. Surely you should be able to get this right. You gathered speed, your arms pulling in tight as you prepared to launch into the jump. But again, in mid-air, it fell apart. Your body twisted wrong, your arms lost their placement, and you came crashing down to the ice, landing hard on your hip. The sharp sting of the cold surface against your skin made you wince as the air rushed out of your lungs.

You lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You wanted to scream, scream out in frustration, not because of your inability to perform your routine, but because of everything surrounding you. Your life had become suffocating.

The rink, it was supposed to be your escape — the one place where the outside world didn’t matter, where it was just you and the ice. No matter how many times you told yourself to focus, your mind was elsewhere. Every jump was weighed down by the knowledge that someone could be watching, studying your every move, learning your routines. Every spin felt heavier, tangled with thoughts of Leah and the nightmares that had followed after her death.

The nightmares had started almost immediately after Leah’s death. At first, they were flashes — brief, jarring images that startled you awake, leaving you gasping in the dark. But as the days passed and the investigation deepened, they grew more vivid, more suffocating. You saw Leah on the ice, one moment she was dancing peacefully across the blank surface, the next her lifeless body was sprawled where you had found her, her eyes just as blank as the ice.

But in the dreams, she wasn’t alone.

The unsub was there, too.

He was always just out of reach, a shadowed figure standing in the background, faceless yet terrifyingly familiar. You never saw his face, but you could feel his presence — that sickening, oppressive aura that clung to him like a second skin. Sometimes, in the dream, you would skate toward Leah, desperate to reach her, to help her, but no matter how hard you pushed, the ice stretched farther and farther ahead of you. The more you skated, the further away she seemed, until the rink disappeared into a vast, empty hole, with only the unsub's shadow moving closer.

Other times, the dream shifted into something far darker — more visceral. You would see him there, standing over Leah’s crumpled form, his face still enveloped in darkness. His hand gripped a long, gleaming knife, its blade catching the cold, artificial light of the rink as he raised it high. And then, he brought it down, again and again, each strike tearing into Leah’s stomach. The sickening sound of the blade sinking into her flesh echoed in the arena.

Blood spattered across the ice in those dreams, bright red against the white, spreading in jagged patterns that stained the pristine surface. It splashed onto the unsub's hands, staining his clothes, but he didn’t falter. He just kept stabbing, over and over, as if possessed by a cold, mechanical need to destroy. You could hear Leah’s gasps for help, weak and broken, her body twitching with each new wound, her eyes wide in terror.

You were frozen, paralyzed with horror, screaming her name but unable to move. The ice felt like quicksand beneath your feet, holding you in place as the unsub’s violence escalated, each stab more vicious than the last.

The unsub never spoke, never showed his face. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t bear it any longer, he would stop. Slowly, deliberately, he would turn his head in your direction, as if he knew you were watching, as if this whole display was meant for you. The faceless shadow would lock eyes with you, his knife still dripping with Leah's blood, and you knew in your bones — he was coming for you next.

And then you would wake up, drenched in sweat, your heart racing in your chest, you always woke up before he had the chance to stand up, to attack. The feeling of dread never fully left you on those days. It clung to you like fog, following you throughout the day, weaving itself into every thought and every moment spent on the ice.

You slowly sat up, your body aching, your muscles stiff from the repeated falls. You sighed, brushing the ice shavings off your leggings determined to try again. Just as you were about to push off for another attempt, you felt you heard your phone ringing. You hesitated for a moment before skating over to the boards, your heart skipping a beat when you saw the caller ID.

Hotch.

The screen glowed with his name, and a knot tightened in your chest. You knew it couldn't be good. You quickly swiped to answer, lifting the phone to your ear. "Hotch?"

His voice was steady but carried a hint of urgency, instantly pulling your mind away from the nightmares. "Y/N, can you come to the Academy? We've made some progress on the case, and we need your input."

A rush of anxiety surged through you. “Progress?” You repeated, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Garcia found something,” Hotch continued. “It’s not definitive yet, but we think it could help us narrow down the suspect list. We’re also cross-referencing it with the harassment reports we pulled the other day. Your insight in the community could be key here.”

You exhaled slowly, a million thoughts swirling in your head, but none of them were clear enough to grasp. The idea of getting closer to identifying Leah’s killer — to identifying the man who had terrorized your thoughts — sent a jolt of adrenaline through you, but it was knotted in fear — fear of what they might find, of how close the danger could be — whether you knew him or not.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” you said, gripping the phone tightly, you tried to keep your voice steady despite the uncertainty brewing inside you.

“Good,” Hotch replied, his tone softening slightly. “Take your time. We’ll be waiting.” The line clicked off, and you stood there for a moment, staring at the phone in your hand.

You glanced back at the ice, at the grooves from your failed jumps, the scars etched into the surface. The maintenance guys would fix them before your return — they always did. Normally, you’d stay until you got it right, but today, none of it felt right.

You had somewhere more important to be.

Grabbing your skate guards, you slid them on and quickly packed up your things. As you left the rink, the echo of your footsteps followed you.

You hoped that maybe, just maybe, Hotch and his team were getting closer to stopping him.

The drive to the academy felt longer than usual, the rhythmic hum of your tires on the pavement did little to calm your nerves. The sun was still low in the sky, casting a golden light over the city as you sped through the empty streets. Your thoughts raced, bouncing between the nightmares that had plagued you all week and the urgency in Hotch’s voice over the phone.

By the time you arrived, the familiar sight of the academy’s structure grounded you just a little. You parked and quickly made your way inside, flashing your visitor's badge — Hotch had let you keep for the duration of the investigation — at security before heading up to the 6th floor where the team was waiting.

As you stepped through the door, you were greeted by the low murmur of voices and the glow of the overhead projector casting a map of the skating rink on the screen. You dropped your bag filled with your gear to the floor, not knowing why you had brought it inside with you — perhaps out of instinct. Hotch stood at the front, ready to begin the briefing.

“Y/N, thanks for coming in,” Hotch greeted you with a small nod. You took a seat at the table, your pulse still racing as you glanced at the team, each of them deeply focused on the files in front of them.

Hotch stepped forward, his gaze sweeping the room before landing back on you. “We’ve identified a former skater, Thomas Mercer,” he stated. “He has a history of aggressive behavior and a documented rivalry with Leah. His animosity toward her has been noted by others, both skaters and coaches.”

The name hit you like a slap to the face. Thomas Mercer. You knew him. Everyone in the skating community knew him. He had been a rising star, someone with undeniable talent, but his reputation had been marred by his temper and erratic behavior. Rumors of fights with other male skaters, shouting matches with coaches — it had all but ended his career. Leah had mentioned him once, briefly, but you had never given it much thought.

You swallowed hard, trying to process the information as Hotch continued.

“Garcia has pulled up records of confrontations he’s had at various skating events. Verbal altercations, threats — nothing that was officially reported as violence, but enough to paint a picture of someone who potentially holds a grudge to this day.”

You weren't sure if you believed it was him. No one had seen Thomas in years. It was like he had gone underground.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, a sinking feeling in your gut. “Leah never mentioned anything to me,” you murmured, trying to recall any conversation, any hint that this could have been brewing beneath the surface. But there was nothing.

“Don’t blame yourself,” JJ said softly, her eyes kind as they met yours. “People like Mercer are good at hiding their intentions until it’s too late.”

Hotch nodded, his expression unreadable. “Garcia is working on tracking his movements in the days leading up to Leah’s death. If he’s our unsub, we need to move fast before he finds another victim.”

“Do we have any concrete evidence linking him to the crime?” Rossi asked the same question that had lingered in your mind.

“Not yet,” Hotch replied, turning back to the screen where Mercer's picture had been pulled up. “But we’re working on it. Y/N, your knowledge of his career might help us fill in some gaps. Is there anything you can tell us about Mercer’s relationship with Leah or other skaters?”

You hesitated, searching your memory for anything that could be useful. “He was always… intense,” you finally said, choosing your words carefully. “Everyone knew he had a temper, but Leah never said much about him, she knew him better than I did. I think she tried to stay out of his way, but maybe that might’ve made him angrier. Leah had a reputation for being untouchable, and I've been told that that kind of thing usually fueled his anger. But there's been rumours, ever since I started training in the pavilion.”

Hotch turned his gaze toward you, his brow furrowed. “What kind of rumors?”

“About Mercer,” you replied, your voice steadied as you recalled the whispers you’d heard in the locker rooms at competitions. “People said he was bitter about not making it to the Olympics. He used to blame others for his failures. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had a vendetta against those who he thought stood in his way.”

Hotch nodded, the wheels in his mind visibly turning. “And Leah was a rising star. She likely represented everything he wished he could’ve achieved.”

“Perhaps,” you said, your heart racing at the thought. “He wasn’t just competing against her talent; he was competing against his past failures. I think that fueled his obsession. There were nights when I would hear him shouting in the rink after practice, cursing himself or others. He just never seemed to take responsibility for his actions. It was always someone else’s fault — but I was young, so I didn't think much of it then, I just thought that sort of anger followed loss.”

Hotch scribbled some notes on his notepad.

He gave a short nod, acknowledging your input. “We’ll look deeper into that.” He turned to the rest of the team, wrapping up the briefing as they gathered their files and began to disperse.

“Alright, everyone,” he said, his voice felt authoritative, resonating in the now-quiet room. “Let’s regroup in 4 hours to discuss our findings. Keep digging into the backgrounds of our suspects and monitor any new leads."

As the team nodded and filed out, their chatter faded into the hallway, you watched as they left, each one consumed by their thoughts and tasks. The room gradually emptied until it was just the two of you, the air thick with unspoken words. You need to tell him about Mercer.

Doubts gnawed at you. Deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Mercer wasn’t the unsub. Yes, he had a temper and a documented rivalry with Leah, but you remembered the last time you’d seen him — a shadow of himself, of the skater he once was, barely holding himself together — he had looked miserable. Since then, he’d become a ghost, disappearing from the skating scene, the traces of him in the pavilion slowly fading away, his trophies and pictures disappearing — It was like he had completely vanished off the face of the earth.

It didn’t sit right with you to blame him for Leah’s murder when he seemed to be fighting his own demons. The thought of him being capable of such brutality felt wrong, even if others whispered about his bitterness.

What if he was just a convenient scapegoat for the killer, making sure the unsub could still lurk in the shadows? What if he had nothing to do with it? You shook your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. You couldn’t let your emotions cloud your judgment, but the idea that an innocent man might be wrongfully accused weighed heavily on your conscience.

A man you had once looked up to.

With a deep breath, you looked up at Hotch. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

He nodded, pulling out the chair beside you and sitting down. The air was heavy with unsaid thoughts. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, his tone was gentle, his eyes searching yours for any hint of distress.

“I just… I don’t think it’s Mercer,” you blurted out, your voice shaking slightly. “As far as I’m aware, he doesn’t even live on this side of the country anymore. He’s been a ghost since the last competition when he successfully ended his own career with his temper.”

Hotch regarded you, processing your words. “I understand your hesitation. It’s natural to want to protect the community you care about. But the evidence we’ve gathered—”

“I get that,” you interrupted. “But what if you're chasing shadows? I mean, there are so many other skaters who could be more likely suspects. Thomas was always… erratic, but he never crossed the line into actual violence, at least not like this. Not to my knowledge.”

“So, you believe we should look elsewhere?”

“Yes!” You leaned forward, the intensity of your conviction spilling over. “There were so many skaters at his last competition. Anyone could hold a grudge against Leah — She did win the competition after all. Mercer was volatile, but he wasn’t the only one who felt overshadowed by her talent.”

Hotch took a moment to absorb your concerns, his fingers steepling in front of him. “I appreciate your insight. You know the dynamics of this community better than anyone. If there’s even a chance that Mercer isn’t involved, we need to consider other options, but we'll keep him on our radar just in case.”

Relief washed over you, but you quickly stifled it, wanting to remain focused. “I just want to make sure we’re looking in the right direction. The thought of it being someone else from the rink — it terrifies me — I can't put the thought past me that I might know them. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

“You’re right to be concerned. We will reevaluate our suspects and dig deeper into the skaters who were at that last competition. If there’s any chance that someone else was motivated to harm Leah, we’ll find them.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, feeling a relief of gratitude wash over you, although the anxiety still lingered deep down. “I just… I want to make sure we’re doing everything we can. I don't want the wrong guy to be harmed.”

He smiled slightly, admiring you for a moment. He admired how much you cared about the people around you, about your sport, about everything.

With that, Hotch stood up, his demeanor shifting back into work mode. “I’ll have Garcia pull additional records from the competition. Please stay safe for the time being.”

“Will do,” you replied, determination coursing through you as you watched him head toward the door. “And Hotch?”

He turned back, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.

“Just… be careful. I don’t want to see you or anyone from the team get hurt either.”

@love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon

113 notes · View notes

supergraphicgirl81 · 1 month ago

Text

With A Little Help From My Friends ⋆⁺₊❅.

Max Verstappen⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆

Formula 1 college hockey team social media AU! Instagram Edition

The tight-knit college hockey team, the Silver Blades, run by team captain Max Verstappen, isn't just about scoring goals—it's a chosen family. On and off the ice, the team has each other's backs, whether that's through college assignments, throwing awesome parties, or winning the championship together. Follow these overworked, tired, college students as they post through their day-to-day life.

With A Little Help From My Friends Masterlist ꩜.ᐟ Max Verstappen Masterlist ꩜.ᐟ

MaxVerstappen

liked by CharLeclerc, DanielRicciardo, and others

MaxVerstappen Study, study, cat!

View Comments

CarlosSainz Is that Jimmy or Sassy?

MaxVerstappen You digust me.

RandomClassmate Saw the engineering formulas and immediately found a cliff. (liked by MaxVerstappen)

CharLeclerc Jimmy is looking so grown, you know it's been a couple of years, maybe I should retry pet sitting him again?

MaxVerstappen He doesnt like you.

CharLeclerc MAX PLEAESE

OscarJP Will be running slightly late for studying, had to pick up cat food (liked by MaxVerstappen)

DanielRicciardo This is exactly why you take easy things like communications

Franco43Colapinto you are literally failing (liked by MaxVerstappen)

view all comments!

liked by ChargingSarge, OscarJP, and others

MaxVerstappen Mid-season team dinner to keep morale going, turned out great!

tagged OscarJP, DanielRicciardo, ChargingSarge, LewHamilton, YukiTsunoda22, Franco43Colapinto, CharLeclerc, CarlosSainz, Albono, and LandoNorris4

View Comments

GeorgeRus Er, I think you may have forgotten my tag?

MaxVerstappen Oh

MaxVerstappen Did I now

RandomFan Great season so far, things are looking good!!!!!!!

Albono About 95% certain you cropped me out of the team photo.

MaxVerstappen Mm, no, I don't think I did

Albono Max I can literally see i'm missing, I was there.

MaxVerstappen Hmm

LandoNorris4 GOD it's like being around the paparazzi 24/7 when I'm around you 🙄😩

LandoNorris4 max

LandoNorris4 max it was a joke please dontn give me any extra practices 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

MaxVerstappen Too late

ItsYourname something about a boy friendship will make me cry everytime (liked by MaxVerstappen)

MaxVerstappen Get help

view all comments!

liked by LandoNorris4, YukiTsunoda22, and others

MaxVerstappen God give me strength.

tagged LandoNorris4

View Comments

LandoNorris4 well

MaxVerstappen No.

LandoNorris4 in my defense☝️ i can land a backflip on land, i thought it would crossover onto the ice

MaxVerstappen WHY WOULD IT TRANSFER ONTO THE ICE??!?!?!??

Albono I might be scarred for life (liked by MaxVerstappen)

DanielRicciardo Never in my 10 years of skating have i seen such an act, consider me intrigued

LandoNorris4 you're welcome

DanielRicciardo I want to study your brain in a lab

ChargingSarge Good practice though, got some great lap times in and score hits 💥💥💥💥 (liked by MaxVerstappen)

MaxVerstappen Maybe the selling a piece of your health for better playing is true

ChargingSarge what

YukiTsunoda22 i will be seeing this in my nightmares, maybe for years to come (liked by MaxVerstappen)

view all comments!

liked by LewHamilton, ItsYourname, and others

MaxVerstappen TWOI TIME TREAM WINNRS HEALL YEAHHHHHH

tagged CharLeclerc, ChargingSarge, and DanielRicciardo

View Comments

LewHamilton Very well deserved, congratulations team! Led by a great coach

MaxVerstappen elwis im literallu sobbinh

CharLeclerc Hes not even exaggerting (liked by LewHamilton)

DanielRicciardo Can't beleve Silver Blades team captiain promotes drinking

MaxVerstappen DANILE I SQWER TO FUCK DI NOT RUIN HTHIS FOR ME

DanielRicciardo There are maccies cheeserburgers ont eh way (liked by MaxVerstappen)

MaxVerstappen oh my godf

LilyMuniHe Congratulations boys!!!!!!!!! (liked by MaxVerstappen, LandoNorris4, CharLeclerc, and Albono)

Franco43Colapinto pleas etake a shogt for me

MaxVerstappen your lietrally here

Franco43Colapinto msx jsur please (liked by MaxVerstappen)

view all comments!

56 notes · View notes

vickyvicarious · 9 months ago

Text

It was so near the time of starting that I had no time to ask any one else, for it was all very mysterious and not by any means comforting. [...] Whether it is the old lady's fear, or the many ghostly traditions of this place, or the crucifix itself, I do not know, but I am not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual. If this book should ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my good-bye. Here comes the coach!

Jonathan "understating my distress" Harker is back at it again!

He can't turn back. This is his first big job and it's a very big and important one. He doesn't even have a good reason to do as the landlady suggests and delay a day or two, since his host has paid for his spot on the coach and will be sending someone to meet him on the other end. Not to mention, no one is giving him any specifics whatsoever, so all he can really say to justify even wanting to stay back would be 'the locals were acting really scared'. It would just read as getting caught up in silly superstition, and again this is his first task after his promotion, this is stepping into the shoes of his boss, this is his livelihood. There's too many reasons to go.

But he starts out the entry saying "hm, this is a bit creepy" and ends by saying (in a roundabout way) "I feel a bit unsettled... if I die and this diary is all that's left of me, Mina this is a goodbye." Like!!! Imagine how freaked out he actually is here!

This is only the second entry. He isn't at the castle yet. The only contact he has had with Dracula himself is that little note from yesterday. And already Jonathan closes his entry with a farewell to Mina. The other times he does this are when he truly expects that he will probably die before getting to write again. (And yeah, he says "before I [reach Mina]" but I tend to think that's him trying to talk down his own reaction because again he doesn't know any reason to be this worried. Why else would his diary return before him, and with only two entries in it?)

He sounds amusingly mild. But "not comforting" and "not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual" apparently translate to "just in case I'm about to die, Mina, I love you." Even if he reasons to himself that he's just being superstitious as well, that he's being very illogical and it's just nerves, or maybe the idolatrous crucifix, that he's probably just unsettled after all the travel and the 'queer dreams' of the other night (definitely nightmares)... in this moment he's really distressed. His alarm bells are definitely ringing.

#dracula daily #jonathan harker #dracula daily spoilers

155 notes · View notes

yourdailykitsch · 1 month ago

Text

Taylor Kitsch Was Sleeping on the Subway Before He Was Cast in 'Friday Night Lights'

Taylor Kitsch, 43, is a Canadian actor best known for his roles in "Friday Night Lights," "Savages" and "American Assassin." He stars in the Netflix Western miniseries "American Primeval," which starts Jan. 9.

Beginning in the fourth grade, I loved talking in front of my grade-school classes. We had public-speaking contests, and I'd get up and tell improvised fictional stories.

Some kids spoke about penguins or polar bears, but I made up funny stories about nightmares. Classes often voted for me as their favorite, sending me on to compete on the assembly stage. If the audience there voted for me, too, off I'd go to compete against other schools.

I was a class clown, always trying to make people laugh. While I had zero interest in drama in school, public speaking planted a seed for acting years later.

My family first lived in Kelowna, British Columbia, but I don't remember much about it. My parents divorced when I was 1. My father, Drew, had been a race-car driver and then worked in Guyana diamond mines before going into construction.

Following my parents' separation, my two older brothers - Brody and Daman - and I lived with my mother, Sue. When I was 5, we moved to Anmore, a rural area north of Vancouver. My mom held a few jobs to pay the bills.

Three years later, my mother had a serious boyfriend, Peter, who was older than her. We moved into a double-wide, ugly blue mobile home with four bedrooms in a trailer park.

The surrounding area was forested, so I often played in the woods with my best friend, Paddy. All those trees and quiet provided me with a sense of calm and wonderment. The woods were an adventure and an escape.

Peter was a gentle soul and taught me to play soccer. When I was 12, he and my mom split up. I was a mess, angry, and not totally understanding. I was emotional when Peter and I had to say goodbye.

I insisted my mom drive me a half-hour to his house so I could spend weekends there. This continued for several months until I was told he'd died.

Peter was a big guy and incredibly athletic. He never yelled, and he taught me it was acceptable for guys to express their feelings. That was a huge help. As a kid, I was so freaking insecure. I didn't know where to put my energy when I felt things.

In high school, I was good in subjects I liked - English and history. The rest was a mystery. At the University of Lethbridge in Albert, someone told me to major in finance. I took a semester of macroeconomics, which was ridiculous for me.

After a year, I left. I was lost. I'd hoped hockey would be my ticket, but an injury at age 20 ended that dream.

Then my mom tricked me into meeting a modeling agent in Vancouver. He sent my pictures to IMG Models in New York. They signed me, and I moved there in 2002. While acting wasn't part of my grand plan, it seemed like a logical offshoot.

I took classes, but I was super cocky at first, which angered my acting coach, Sheila Gray. She kicked me out of class, and said, "Come back when you're ready to listen and study." That was the nudge I needed.

I returned to Sheila a few weeks later and dug in. My passion for acting grew as I uncovered my love of a challenge, leading to self-discovery and belonging. That's when I realized acting was more than just a craft. It was a career.

Most helpful were sheila's classes on improv and scene study. Chris Forberg, my friend and modeling agent who knew I was studying, saw that I'd stuck with it and thought I would make a better actor than model. He offered to introduce me to a few acting managers, and that's how I found Stephanie Simon, who is still my manager.

Though Sheila let me take classes for free, I didn't have a visa so I couldn't work. I lived on friends' couches, slept on the subway and coached clients on nutrition for cash.

Eventually, I went to Barbados and worked construction with my dad for nearly two months before returning to Vancouver. I bought a small car and drove to Los Angeles but had to live in the car. I soon returned to Vancouver again.

In 2005 I auditioned on tape for the TV series "Friday Night Lights" and was cast. The studio got me a visa to work in Austin, Texas, where the series was shot. That was my big break.

Today, I live in a wood-and-steel contemporary house in Bozeman, Mont. I also have a 22-acre property outside of town on top of a mountain that I'm developing into a foundation and a drug-and-alcohol healing retreat for veterans and kids.

Three months ago, one of my brothers was on Facebook and came across a photo of Peter at his 93rd birthday. I was shocked. Just before Christmas, we paid him a surprise visit and stayed for two hours. He was grateful. I left him a card thanking him for his influence on me. And for teaching me about kindness.

Taylor's Hike

"American Primeval"? I play a weathered loner who helps a woman and her son fleeing their past cross the violent West in 1857.

Your dad and mom? He passed last year. My mom lives outside of Vancouver.

Fireplace? It's a long, contemporary, black steel gas model. I turn it on every morning when I have my coffee.

Home splurge? I recently bought a nice Breville Barista coffee machine.

Bozeman too chill? If you're bored up here, it's your fault. I just went on a 7-mile waterfall hike. It helped clear my head after a long stretch on set.

#taylor kitsch

41 notes · View notes

annicht · 8 months ago

Text

i’m getting a little nervous

Atsumu Miya x reader | Angst

Warnings: self indulgent angst, Atsumu a little shitty, post timeskip

Songfic based on Nerves by DPR IAN. Highly recommend listening the song or watching the mv

word count: 1270

23:02h

Hi, how you doing?

I heard you seem to be happy now

Never in a million years Atsumu though he would sob so hard for someone

He never antecipated that his shitty behavior would draw away someone he loved so deeply

Although, his brother antecipated.

Since forever, Osamu knew that the raw words, the lack of tact, the uncaring demeanor and the obnoxious narcisistic behaviour would tire you out eventually.

And he alerted Atsumu, just as he did in high school.

So is safe to say the last person he could reach now was Osamu.

He know better than to hear a painful “I warned you, dumbass” from him in this state.

Not when he was still so vulnerable from this afternoon.

_____

13:43h

It had been three months of radio silence after the fight, and Atsumu was hanging on the thin thread of hope that you would come back to him. Just as you always did.

He didn't see it coming. But he wished he did.

While scrolling through the meaningless registers of people's lives, waiting for his coach, he saw the airplane window picture on your Instagram story, alongside the news that you were moving to another country.

Another fucking country.

Just like that.

Out of reach.

The ball fell. On his side of the court. The referee blew the whistle announcing that it was officially his loss.

But he never loses, how can it be?

He could feel the rush of adrenaline increasing his heart rate.

His body acted on his own.

He left his teammates confused at the gym and ran like he had never did in his entire life. Not even in a volleyball match to catch an unpredictable, difficult ball on the other side of the court. Not even in high school when he was late for practice, and the coach would scold him and double his warm-up laps.

His body ran towards a destination he knew all too well, apologizing to people he bumped into on the street until they all became a blur, and he gave up on his own awareness.

So you came around my house

And you left your marks with your fingertips

I'm sitting where you sat down

And now he's looking for something meaningless

The image of you picking that place because it was so close to both the MSBY practice gym and the office where you worked, and also had the best view of Tokyo at night, was burning somewhere in the back of his mind while his lungs worked double-time to keep up with his speed.

A couple of minutes of running, which felt like hours, he bumped gracelessly against the building door, opening it and fumbling inside.

Breathless, he almost broke the elevator button in his impatience, earning a glare from the doorman, who chose not to say anything due to the visible distress on Atsumu’s face.

Just like the mirrorless elevator, the hallway of the 13th floor seemed more claustrophobic than ever.

And the door of apartment 1307 no longer held the garland from last Christmas, the one you always claimed to forget there, but in reality, were just too lazy to remove, saying “Christmas is gonna be soon again” every time Atsumu pointed it out.

God fucking hell, he could swear he heard your voice in the back of his head, and he hated it.

His sweaty hands reached the doorknob. The door was unlocked, but the sight locked something inside him.

The bright, colorful, saturated walls you made him help you paint were now white.

It looked like a nightmare.

Each uncertain step he took inside the plain apartment was like a different stake driving into his heart.

The once lively space that echoed your goofy laughter and his loud one, but mostly your colorful warmth, was now nothing more than an empty shell.

His heart ached as he desperately clung to the fading memories of you.

Letting his sight scan the place, he spotted the small nook where you used to sit and read, the sunlight from the window casting a warm glow on the now vacant spot. The vision triggered a fresh wave of pain, his legs almost buckling under the weight of his grief.

He leaned his back against the plain white wall, sliding down to sit on the floor.

It was as if every inch of the apartment was screaming out your absence, the silence deafening.

He let himself drown in the sea of regret, each memory of you like a wave crashing over him, pulling him further into the depths of his despair.

And in that moment, Atsumu realized the full extent of his loss. Not just the loss of you, but the loss of the love and joy you brought into his life, the loss of the person he had become because of you.

And I'm sorry

I was hurting too much to know

That you were standing right there

And it hit him. All the times you were there for him when he was alone in Tokyo, way before his brother moved.

A country boy trying to reach his dream all alone. Trying to deal with the pressure all alone. Trying to handle the early stages of fame all alone.

But he was never alone.

He would cry comfortably in the crook of your neck while you combed his hair, soothing his soul.

“Breathe with me, baby,” you would say so softly to him when he was in the middle of some panic attack on a Wednesday night.

When the nightmares with the cameras, the press, and the fans woke him up, and you were just… there. Sleeping soundly. And his shaking figure would spoon you to scent the vanilla of your shampoo and calm himself down to sleep again, dreaming of taking you to the vineyards in Italy on his first vacation in-between seasons.

You were always there for him.

But he failed to remember when he was there for you.

You got a little nervous of running back to you

When you weren't there

____

18:33h

He didn't know how long he sat there, lost in his thoughts. But when he finally managed to pull himself together, the sun was already setting.

The view from the window was the same as he had seen so many times with you. But this time, it felt so different, so… dull.

Just like him now.

____

23:40h

He never anticipated that his shitty behavior would drive away someone he loved so deeply, even though Osamu anticipated it.

And now he was sobbing while his sore muscles were relaxing under the strong effect of the whiskey in his left hand.

His phone, forgotten all day in his pocket, was now in his right hand. His thumb purposefully ignoring all the missed calls from his teammates and his brother, to open a three-month-old chat.

Your picture almost made him throw the glass of whiskey against the living room wall. A picture that he took.

But he suppressed the bottled anger. His once unwavering steady setter hands, now trembling, typed away on a mission.

He wanted to be there for you at least once, knowing what’s best for you right now.

So against all the cells of his body pleading for your presence, he sent:

So many times I could've held on

How much I wished I'd never let you go

I still can't believe I left you alone

It tore me down to pieces, she’ll never know

70 notes · View notes

jisungsdaydreamer · 2 years ago

Text

Anti-Romantic | TEASER | CHAPTER 3 OUT NOW!!

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «SERIES MASTERLIST»

Pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!reader Genre: non idol au, fluff, smut, romcom, drama, opposites attract Warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content, dysfunctional relationships, taboo couples/relationship therapist and patient dynamic

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

As the most beloved dating coach in the sunny state of California, Hyunjin has dealt with all kinds of nightmares— from real desperate housewives and their indifferent husbands to toxic shotgun marriages doomed to fail— and he’s fixed them all. Dubbed the “Love Doctor,” Hyunjin has a PhD in both sociology and broken hearts. Every single day for Hyunjin ends the same: yet another flashy career success and to celebrate, sliding on his rose-tinted glasses and sipping on pink champagne, his perpetual poison.

That was all before you, of course.

For your entire life, you’ve been unlucky in love. From your endless unrequited high school crushes to your situationship who turned out to be gay, love has just never been in the cards for you. It’s all changed you from a hopeless romantic into a pessimist who doesn’t believe in true love. You now make fun of every couple you see, religiously watch wedding fails on Youtube, and absolutely hate romantic comedies.

But no amount of lackluster girls’ nights or hours thrown into your crappy job can fill the hole in your heart. You’re absolutely lonely. In one last attempt to give love a chance, you ditch your Tinder dates and decide to turn to L.A.’s famous “Love Doctor,” this hotshot relationship therapist all of your friends rave about.

Barrelling into Dr. Hwang’s office like a cyclone, you bring along your signature stormy attitude and want a remedy to your emotional dry spell, even though you still believe in your heart that counseling won’t work for you. You don’t expect, however, your new intimacy expert to be hotter than hell, definitely not a middle-aged woman ready to lecture you about putting out.

No, Dr. Hwang is more like the Grandmaster of love, the amorous warlock of the West Coast, and with the way he silently strips you with his bedroom eyes the moment you walk in, perhaps even the sex scholar of the Valley. As he slowly disarms your defenses, you do your best not to let him know of your inappropriate fantasies about him. But even worse than your impossibly vivid wet dreams, you’re falling in love with your fucking therapist. Or Hyunjin, as he so charmingly commands you to call him.

And you try to keep your feelings for him at bay, you really do. But Hyunjin just doesn’t give up, relentlessly tugging at your mind and heart and taking up every quantum of your life. Because after all, the Love Doctor loves a good challenge.

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

TAGLIST @army-stay-noel, @hwangjuhong, @chizumiyoshi

📢 ©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

274 notes · View notes

thatsmzbitchtoyou · 11 months ago

Text

Pretty Pointy Smile Chapter 2

Summary: Bucky was born different, and has been judged for it ever since. His father has had enough and sells him to the circus. The acceptance and love of his newfound family, and the beautifully fierce ringmaster, help him realize he’s not the monster everyone else made him out to be.

vampire!bucky barnes x curvy!reader This is set in more of like the 1950-60s/ish time period. Warnings: eventual smut, physical assault, a gun, a lion attack

Previous chapter Next chapter

It had taken a little over two months to configure the vampire act and get it practiced and rehearsed down to perfection. They had been able to create a large cage for which the “vampire” would be housed, the metal bars supposedly lined with silver to ward him off from trying to escape. Y/N would introduce him, pull off a large curtain covering the cage, Bucky would act like a feral animal, then Y/N would sacrifice herself as the source of his bloodlust. They came up with a story about how he could only feed from her because he was in love with her, so he wouldn’t want to hurt her. They would have a little sausage casing baggy filled with pigs blood from the butcher shop pinned up into Y/N’s hair, so that when he “fed” from her, he would just have to pull it from her hair and burst it with his teeth, making it look like she was bleeding. One issue they were running into was getting Bucky to come out of his shell.

“Come on, Buck, you gotta really let me hear it,” Y/N coached him as they blocked out the scene. “You’re hungry, haven’t been fed in days, desperate, you wanna get out so bad it hurts. I wanna hear you growling, screaming, open your mouth wide and just let it out.”

“I was told my whole life to keep my mouth shut, literally. You’ll have to forgive me for not knowing how to do the opposite,” Bucky griped, rubbing his face with his hands.

Y/N sighed, but nodded in understanding. “I know Bucky, I know,” she stepped toward him. She took his hands and held them as she looked up at him. “How about this? I’m your father.” Bucky blinked at her, his eyebrows furrowing at the mention of his father. “I told you to keep your mouth shut. I told you your teeth were disgusting. That you are the stuff of nightmares. I told you not to smile. I hid you away from the world because I was ashamed of you.” Bucky dropped her hands and started walking away from her as she spoke, not wanting to hear it. “I said you wouldn’t amount to anything. I said you weren’t worth the effort! That you were a burden!” Bucky’s face scrunched in agony.

“Y/N stop, please,” he begged, but she got in his face as he cowered before her.

“I said you had a deformity! I sold you to the literal circus! I couldn’t handle you, and didn’t love you enough to try. I GAVE YOU UP!”

“ENOUGH!”

Bucky’s voice reverberated through the tent and he shoved her away, stunning Y/N into silence. His breathing was heavy as he realized what he’d just done. He fell to his knees in the middle of the ring and cried, hanging his head into his hands, with heavy sobs wracking his body as he fully came to terms with what his father had done. Y/N watched him fall into himself, shocked that the quiet man had been able to make such a loud sound. She slowly approached him, sitting down in front of him and letting him cry it out. She gingerly reached out a hand and touched his knee, squeezing it softly. He peaked up at her, his eyes rimmed red and sniffling.

“Good job, Bucky. Just let it out. How do you feel?”

“Tired,” he answered quietly, wiping his tears away and sniffing harder. “But good.”

“That’s good. You did so good. Did you hear yourself? You echoed through the whole ring without a microphone. You can do this. You can let go of what your father said, what he wanted, and embrace this here and now. You are wanted here. We all want you here,” she paused, scooting closer to him. “I want you here,” she said, searching his eyes to make sure he was listening and understood. “We are your family now. Use that anger, that frustration with him, with the people that have hurt you, to fuel this act. You get to use your voice. Just open your mouth and do it.”

Bucky nodded, placing his hand over hers that still sat on his knee. “Thank you, Y/N. I really appreciate it.”

Y/N smiled brightly at him. “Now come on, give me a big toothy smile.” Bucky huffed a laugh and tried smiling. “Oh come on, you can do better than that. Show me those teeth.” Bucky widened his smile, his cheeks hurting from the effort since he hadn’t fully smiled for a long time. “There you go, what a handsome face you’ve got hiding under all that sadness,” she complimented him. Bucky blushed and looked away. “Okay, now let’s hear a scream,” Y/N stood, backing away and giving him the space to feel out how he wanted to do it.

Bucky stood and planted his feet. He looked up and let the anger bubble inside of him, the frustration and betrayal and fury rile him up. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The sound that erupted from his mouth was unlike anything he had done before, surprising and scaring himself.

Y/N even backed up a bit at the sound, looking impressed. “That’s it Buck! See I knew you could do it. Now hold on to that. Growl at them, sneer back at them, and give them that pretty pointy smile.”

It wasn’t too difficult for Bucky to act like he was in love with Y/N, seeing as how he was quickly falling in love with her for real. The act was a bit sensual in nature, with him holding her close and being right in the crook of her neck. She was also just too beautiful for words. The hair and the makeup and the ringmaster outfits, and those tattoos, it all screamed danger which she offset with a fun and fiercely protective personality.

Y/N had been nothing but kind and loving towards him from that first day. She showed no fear or trepidation of him or his menacing looking smile. She had welcomed him easily, introduced him to everyone, not just the acts but each crew member, knowing each of them by name and knowing about what was going on in their lives. It really was like a big family.

The hardest part of working in the circus, apart from the manual labor it took to set up and take down all the time, was the public. People would come in droves to get scared watching the acts, play the games and eat the food, but many times the crowds would become very hostile to the performers of the more strange or scary acts. With the rise of evangelism in many areas of the country that they were traveling through, they had to deal with Bible thumpers walking through and disturbing the peace, screaming during certain acts about saving the performers souls, and at times destroying property or trying to pick fights. Y/N had worked hard to make good relationships with the police of each city they visited, making sure all permits were in place and security was stationed around the park to remove troublemakers, but it almost always ended up happening.

The first night they would be doing the vampire act finally came. They had been marketing it along the road, putting it in the local papers and spreading the word as they traveled. Y/N felt like it was going to be a hit, and she was usually right. The ticket sales for the night were much higher than normal. Bucky was nervous, but he trusted her judgment and was willing to do his best to make it successful. As the show started and each act went on and off Bucky got dressed, putting in the red contact lenses and applying some powder to make him look paler as he listened intently, waiting for his cue to get into the covered cage.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you a new act!” Y/N’s voice rang out. Bucky quickly climbed in, crew members shutting the door behind him and making sure the big red curtain was covering everything. “I came across him on my travels through Transylvania,” she announced, the audience ooh-ing and ah-ing. “He almost got the best of me, but my charms were too much for him,” Y/N joked, making the audience laugh. The large cage was on wheels, making it so the crew could get it out quickly. They placed it in the middle of the ring. Once it stopped moving Bucky did as they had practiced. He let out a loud growl, then pushed against the bars on one side roughly. The audience suddenly hushed, a tangible fear spreading. “I present to you, for your fearful delights, the angel of death, the vampire, Azrael!” Y/N yelled as she whipped off the curtain. Bucky was momentarily stunned by the bright lights and played into it, as if he was afraid to be burned. The crowd was silent, until he moved his hands away from his face, then roared with his mouth wide open, fangs bared, his red eyes staring at different people in the crowd. Screams and gasps were heard around the ring as he twisted around like a caged beast. He would bang on one side of the cage then quickly retreat as if the metal hurt him, then would roar again.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, do not fear! The cage is fortified with silver laden metal bars. You know how vampires are about their silver…” Y/N taunted Bucky through the bars. He tried to lunge for her, but she stepped just beyond his grasp. “And besides, he won’t hurt me. For you see, he’s in love with me,” she gave him a lovesick look. There were some ah-ing noises through the crowd. Bucky put on his best tortured face, his eyebrows lifted and a frown on his lips. “Unfortunately, that also means I am the only one that can help him…” Y/N paused for dramatic effect. There was a rumble from the crowd. “I am the only one that can help him feed.” Shouts of protest were suddenly ringing through the tent.

“Fear not, my lovelies, for it is a sacrifice I am willing to make. For the sake of all others. Behold,” Y/N stepped in front of the door, taking out a key and unlocking it. Bucky stood back, looking at her like she was his prey. More shouts of protest rang out. Y/N pulled out a rosary from her pocket and held it up in front of her as she opened the door and stepped in. Bucky recoiled from the cross on the rosary, getting as far away from it as possible without touching the bars. “He will not hurt me. He will not kill me. For even godforsaken creatures such as these, love can conquer all.” She bunched up the rosary and threw it through the bars to a carny who caught it and held it up in warning. Other carnies came out with their own rosaries, encircling the cage and waiting. “Azrael,” Y/N called to Bucky, a beckoning hand drawn forward. Bucky eyed her, like he was sizing her up, then slowly stalked towards her. People were screaming at Y/N to get out, but she stood still. He circled around Y/N, and after drawing out a dramatic moment of staring at her, quickly reached out and grabbed her, pinning her back to his front, causing more screams. Bucky pulled her hair away from her neck, sneakily pulling the blood bag from her hair so no one would see while his other hand wound around her front to hold her by the neck against him. He took one more suspicious look around at the crowd and the carnies surrounding the cage, and with a low, creepy laugh sunk his teeth into the blood bag that he placed at the last second against her skin.

Y/N let out a choked gasp, her hands flying up to his wrist at her neck dramatically as the blood poured down her neck to her chest, staining her shirt. The audience erupted into screams. Some people fainted. Others were running down the risers trying to leave the tent or get to the cage to stop it from happening, other carnies having to stop them and reassure them it was going to be okay. Bucky pretended to suck from her, his hands gripping her tightly to him. After a few minutes the carnies started to reach their rosaries through the bars, flashing the crosses at Bucky. He quickly dropped Y/N, who staggered forward, holding her neck as she stumbled to the cage door. He recoiled away from the crosses but tried to reach Y/N as she shut the door behind her, locking it quickly. For added effect Bucky reached through the bars and grabbed her by the neck again, bringing her face close to his. “Azrael!” Y/N yelled, reaching her hands out to hold his face. Bucky froze, eyes wide, blood dripping from his face, his grip softening on her throat. “Until next time, my love,” Y/N said forlornly, then flashed her hidden rosary back in his face. Bucky recoiled again, yelping then gnashing his teeth together, showing the audience his wide bloody smile and laughing maniacally as he hit against the bars again. The carnies quickly wheeled out the cage, and as they crossed the threshold to the backstage area Bucky let out one more loud roar.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Calm yourselves, I am unhurt,” Y/N called out. “I will not become undead, for he did not suck me dry. We are all safe! At least…for now,” she warned, a mischievous smile on her face. “Now I must change,” she glanced down at her blood-stained shirt, making some of the audience laugh. “Do you think you can handle some more frights?” she teased. “Send out the clowns!!”

Y/N disappeared in the sea of clowns pouring out from the different entrances. She quickly rounded the corner to a changing area that was set up. She walked in and found Bucky in there already getting cleaned up.

“Bucky!! We did it! That was amazing, you did so well!” she ran up to him, cupping his face and shaking his head lightly. Bucky smiled back at her. “Did you hear the screams? It was like music to my ears. Oh that was great. I can’t wait to do it again. You are such a good actor!” she rambled on as a crew member came over and started cleaning off the blood and helping her change into a different outfit. Bucky looked away as her clothes were falling off, his smile not leaving his face. As much as he had been hated, mocked, belittled and feared his whole life for his fangs, he now loved how it scared people. Something about the fear was palpable and powerful, and he liked being able to have that kind of hold over people. He’d never been able to do much more than fight his way out of those bullying situations before. Now he could strike fear in them.

“Alright, I’m off. Bucky,” Y/N turned back to him as she adjusted her new outfit. He turned back to her, giving her a once over and appreciating the way it hugged her figure and showed off the tattoos. She reached her hand around to the back of his neck, pulling him in so his nose was touching her nose. “You were perfect. Now keep yourself hidden back here, relax, and enjoy the rest of the show, okay?” He nodded as he gave her a warm smile. She scrunched her nose as she nuzzled his nose, then straightened up and waltzed back towards one of the entrances.

**pic from Pinterest, it's an AI image, unknown "creator" or "artist"**

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #smut #vampire!bucky barnes #vampire #circus #circus fanfic #vampire!bucky barnes x reader #curvy reader #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #ringmaster!reader

52 notes · View notes

crazyfandomluver · 11 months ago

Text

I present my Posally aus and headcannons. Enjoy =D

Sally going to Olympus, or going to someplace where both Zeus and Poseidon are present in the same place, and the two brothers get into an argument. It goes live on HephaestusTV, for the channel ‘Two idiots attempt to insult each other’(The name is a work in progress). Sally gets tired after some time of it, grabs Poseidon by the ear in the middle of the argument, right when they’re at each other’s throats, and drags him away, and he does nothing to stop her. The other gods are beyond shocked and confused at how much Sally has the most powerful god wrapped around her finger.

“Who’s Sally Jackson???”

“Just the most powerful woman in the world who also happens to be a mortal.”

Sally showing Poseidon all the mortal things, like restaurants, dancing, parties, movies, making food, etc. Poseidon spends most of his time in the ocean, and he’s surprised and new to all of this. He’s a little self conscious about it, but he allows Sally to show him everything, and he makes mistakes pretty much every time. But he doesn’t get frustrated too often, because he has a love of his life, soothing him and urging him to try again.

Poseidon is sleeping(for/with Sally because gods don’t need sleep) and suddenly wakes up from a nightmare from past trauma about being eaten by his father. He immediately tries to act tough. Sally assures him that she is not his family, and he doesn’t need to hide his himself from her. She pulls him into a tender hug and Poseidon lets himself cry/be weak in front of her

“Gods don’t get therapy, Percy. The truth is that there’s a lot of screwed up things happening in their lifetime and they’re just expected to move on and forget about it without help. But as you know, sometimes it can be hard to get away from trauma.” “Even for the gods?”

“Even for gods.”

Poseidon realizing he’s in desperately in love as he watches Sally light up into someone for littering and leaving their trash all over the beach. As a king whose subjects are being killed by plastic, whose ichor is laced with oil due to his form representing the state of his domain, he appreciates seeing someone who protects the sea when he cannot

Sally loved to steal Poseidons shirt. He has like, only one or two, and Sally often steals them all. So he tried stealing one of Sally’s shirts, and it was too small on him. He realized this too late and he’s trying to take it off without breaking it. This is when Sally comes in the room, who promptly starts laughing her head off. Poseidon turns red and eventually realizes (because he’s a himbo and we love him for it) that he can just teleport away to a different part of the room, and he does, and the shirt falls to the floor. He waits for her to stop laughing, and just stands there, shirtless, tapping his foot every now and again, looking like a red tomato with a pout. She looks up after gaining control of herself for a moment, and sees his face, then immediately breaks into another fit, knowing that she was the only few who he’d let laugh at him like this

“…. You done?”

“… No🤣”

Percy is a pet dog that Sally got for her and Poseidon who Poseidon makes immortal. There is no forbidden child, Poseidon doesn’t have to leave because he can split his conscience without others noticing, and also there’s no rules against having relationships, just the kids. They live happily together because is that too much to ask for? (At least until Sally dies if she still decides to not join him. But I think she would in this au)

Poseidon comes to visit Sally every now and again when Percy is at school or at camp. They’ll watch movies together, cuddled up on the coach, with Sally already having seen most of them, but willing to watch them again, and with Poseidon enthralled and entertained by all the shows he hasn’t seen yet. He died on the inside when he saw Disney’s’ Hercules.

“Poseidon? What’s wrong?”

“… literally EVERYTHING is backwards…”

Poseidon taught Sally how to defend herself, even sometimes letting her use his trident since as a mortal, she can’t unleash the power within it.

~*~fin~*~ @posallys

#sally x poseidon #poseidon pjo #poseidon #pjo poseidon #sally jackson #pjo tv show #pjo series #sally Jackson x Poseidon #poseidon x sally #sallidon

40 notes · View notes

dribs-and-drabbles · 1 year ago

Text

Dead Friend Forever ep 10

I'm not sure how much I buy this version of events by Phee. It seems...too easy. But maybe it's because that would mean there is/are no other person/people involved (i.e. Non and/or Keng and/or White) and that would be disappointing. Nah, I'm holding out hope that this isn't the actual true events.

Yes, that IS the head of another person there with Tan and Top!

So Phee really did tell Jin everything...and then Jin admitted to posting the video...and they're ok with each other. They've found some 'comfort' in both being as bad as the other I guess.

I hate (LOVE) that I can't tell what is real/truth and what is part of the revenge plan 👀

So Fluke is finally including himself in saying 'we' hurt Non. *insert growth!gif*

How can they always act so cool about being in the middle of nowhere in the woods. You can literally die by being lost and walking in circles.

Again, I still don't know why Jin needs help to walk when it's his shoulder that's hurt 😂 It's like these actors and acting coaches have never been injured in their lives to know what it's like.

Haha yes! Someone else IS there and making other marks in the trees to fuck with Jin (and Phee?) 👏🏼

Top could get his arms out of those ropes easily, that's either a really sloppy filming error or these boys need to learn how to restrain someone better.

Oh White has the gun now does he? 👀

And how did Jin just fall over nothing? Oh I get it, the axe needs to be left there for someone to pick up later, right?

I don't think I've mentioned this yet but I can't stop thinking about how the end of their film is Jin running alone out of the house, implying he' a lone survivor, so I wonder if we'll get some kind of subverted parallel of that at the end of this nightmare for them all (which I don't think will be the ending of the series but I might be wrong - I don't watch horror so I don't know what 'beats the show needs to hit').

So everyone knows who's who and what's been happening (sort of)...and of course Fluke goes for the gun, which I guess needed to happen to take focus away from the Tan/New revelation.

Yes! Make Tee talk! Let's get new info!! And I want to know what Fluke did!!!

Of course Top can just stand up 🤦🏽‍♀️ Aaaaaand he's dead? Just from one shot to the stomach? (The severity of gunshot wounds vary greatly in bl -> we had Chart survive two shots to the back yesterday and Vegas survived multiple shots to his torso a few years ago but Top just keels over and is dead just like that? Oh! unless the gun has no live bullets but the drugs are making people think the gun/bullets are real???).

MOAR FLASHBACKS 🤓😍

So Khun Keng IS dead. I wonder how they got the photo of him and Non then...maybe photoshop?

OH MY GOD THE TRAILER FOR NEXT WEEK LOOKS SO GOOD.

Damn, I wish I hadn't caught up. Now I have to wait a week and I have a VERY busy wed-mon coming up with work 🤦🏽‍♀️😭

#dead friend forever #I don't trust ANYONE in this or ANYTHING I see #but one thing I can trust is that the show will surprise me #which I love #thank you everyone for shouting about this show so much #that I became just so intrigued that I had to watch it despite my ick about horror #THIS SHOW IS BRILLIANT

39 notes · View notes

emphasisonthehomo · 3 months ago

Text

My Half Assed Predictions for the Next Episodes of 9-1-1 on ABC

Eddie is presumed dead when in reality he was kidnapped by the [spins a wheel] Russian Mafia for some convoluted reason. As Buck is now Christopher's guardian, there is prolonged custody drama between him and Eddie's parents. This is treated as the resolution for the whole "my dad was cheating on his gf w/ a woman that looked like my dead mom” debacle. It is narratively confusing and does not satisfactorily tie up any loose ends.

I'm gonna go w/ a helicopter crash for Buck and Tommy. They have a vague discussion about their feelings and moving too quickly afterwards in the hospital, along with another Glee mention. Tommy is clearly on pain meds and probably too high for the conversation. They make out and all of the machines beep and there's a 'funny' scene were a nurse rushes in to make sure that Tommy isn't dying. Oops. This happens exactly one episode after Eddie comes back from the dead. There seems to be no lingering trauma about anything, except Tommy has a cast on his leg next time we see him.

Miscarriage plot line? Maybe? I'm just saying we all know something is gonna happen with Maddie and Chimney's baby. Anyways, it isn't handled well. Maddie is back to work and acting normal within two episodes.

Hen and Karen have another argument about work life balance. This time Hen's entire family is now somehow in danger again. Maybe it's a bank hostage situation. Maybe several cars crash into the house. Everything explodes. She and Karen have a tearful conversation about love and life and Making Time for the Important Things. They plan a family vacation. Next episode there is no mention of any turmoil, just Hen talking about National Parks that would be fun to visit.

Bobby wakes up in a cold sweat from an upsettingly vivid dream. Or was it a nightmare? It's the wrong side of midnight. He is an Olympic Gold Medalist for Figure Skating. Now retired, he's one of the skating coaches for the Minnesota Wild. His beautiful wife (Angela Bassett in a red wig) is awoken by his movement. She asks if everything is okay. "I had a strange dream," Bobby says, "I was a firefighter." "Sexy," Says Angela Bassett in a red wig. They kiss passionately. The screen fades to black. It's the ending scene of the series finale.

#aron's fic #911 #911 abc #miscarriage mention #anyways this is a JOKE i am JOKING

7 notes · View notes

fairsexynasty · 2 years ago

Text

—DIFFICULT THINGS

jamie tartt x lasso!reader

ONE. TOWNIE

summary: lucy moves to richmond with a memory that doesn’t quite forget what her dad did to her. however, ted is as happy as a goldfish.

warnings: cursing, unlikeable female protagonist, father issues, abandonment issues, resentment

a/n: welcome to this very new series i WILL finish. my love for this show has overtaken my time and i am very excited to be writing this. this chapter is set during “two aces.”

——————

Leonard Cohen once said, “There’s a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in.” But my world has been infused with the darkest of shadows. Everywhere I search is covered by a dark spot. It seeps into my life from my dreams, nightmares, and memories. I don’t think I was delivered by the hand of God, nor will I be expecting any blessing in the near future. It’s the hope that kills you.

I had that epiphany when I turned seven. No one had ever seen a child so jaded, so self-aware. When I learned that the father I wished for wasn’t that interested in fully being in my life, I accepted it entirely, for what it was worth. He’s popped in and out, coming in as quickly as he leaves, only sticking around for moments he deemed essential to me.

And the worse part is that he’s a good man—a good man with a daughter who felt evil.

I used to wish something terrible would happen to me. A broken collarbone. A car accident. Cancer. If something like that happened to me, I thought he’d return and stay for good.

But those things never happened. I’ve never broken any bones. I’ve never crashed my car into a tree. I’m perfectly healthy. And after all this time, Dad has moved on.

I have a half-brother. Thirteen or fourteen years my junior, it’s disgusting how I’m not too sure about the gap. I’ve never met him, nor do I want to meet him. I envy a child who cannot understand the weight of the word ‘father’ because he’ll always take it for granted.

When I crawl through my memories, I can see Dad crystal clear. He showed up to every one of my birthdays until age sixteen. That’s probably because my brother was old enough to ask and understand why Dad was leaving him. Dad came to my first dance, a father-daughter dance. It was one of the nights I honestly felt pretty. He and I danced the night away, stuffing our faces with candy and desserts and drinking our weight’s worth of soda pop. Dad taught me how to ride a bike. Although it ended with scraping my knees, he helped me up, cleaned my knees, and kissed each one. Dad drove me to my first day of high school. The morning went by quickly, but I can still remember the smile on his face as I waved goodbye to him and walked through the school doors.

I want to be thankful for what I’ve gotten from my dad. But he could have done so much more. Am I not worth the effort?

And it hurts to hate my mother as much as I do.

She could clean up her act for Dad, but once he was on his way home, she’d finally ease into consciousness. We would fight. She’d accuse me of not appreciating her. She’d belittle me and never congratulated me on my accomplishments. She’s manipulative. Controlling. Narcissistic. Evil. I know I’m no good, either. But women like that love confrontation. And she got the best of me every single time.

But I’m a grown woman now. I’m twenty. I have a life. A freedom I’ve never known. I’m trying to be honest, to prove I am everything Mom never thought I’d be. I’m trying to make Dad proud of me. Because everyone else is sure as hell proud of him, he’s Ted Lasso: a simple man with a simple plan who was pulled to spread his kindness in Richmond, England, by coaching their god-awful team. I watched the news with a frown as soon as they announced his new endeavor. If he got a new beginning, why can’t I?

And that’s why I decided to pack up my things and move to England.

I’ve been here before. My mother and I moved around due to her line of work. Whether it was Shanghai, Princeton, Kuala Lumpur, or Rome, I could never call those places home. I feel like Richmond is going to be different. I’m not hopeful. Just curious.

——

The park seems comforting. There appears to be a rhythm that compliments the people. Kids playing soccer, and shops opening for the day.

I sit and watch the world awaken. People pass me by as I sit on the bench, not one of them stopping their routine for me, except one.

lHis greetings were met with responses of “Wanker,” a word I found oddly endearing. He continued down the park trail, saying ‘good morning’ to me mindlessly.

I replied with a deadpan “Wanker,” which surprised him, given my American accent. He turned back, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

“Oh, my lordy-lord,” he muttered, smiling as he said my name, “Lucy.” He looks at me as if I’m a fucking unicorn. His eyes soften, and the smile that always reaches his eyes is suddenly on his face. “ Lucy !” he breathes out as if he’s too scared to say it louder like I’ll run away and leave.

“Hi, Dad.” He pulls me from my seat on the bench and envelops me into the biggest bear hug I’ve ever gotten from him. And those hugs are grizzly and unrelenting.

He lifts me off my feet and holds my head to his shoulder. “Oh, how I love you, Lucy girl. I can’t believe it!”

I groan, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Dad, please put me down. I'm not as tiny as Henry is," I say with a laugh. He puts me down with a smile, but there’s a flash of a solemn look on his face. I guess my mention of Henry has filled him with some semblance of guilt. I can’t tell if that satisfies me or not. "I think you're wondering why I'm here," I say, the false smile still on my face. "And the only reason is because I wanted to see you, Dad. I missed you," I add, trying to perfect the role of the doting daughter, even though it doesn't come naturally.

“Oh, I missed you too, Pumpkin. I’m glad you’re here.” He spots my luggage standing against the bench. “Looks like you’re gonna be visiting for a while, huh?”

I nod slowly, my gaze briefly shifting away. "Yeah, I am. Needed a change of scenery for a while," I admit, hoping he won't probe further into my true reasons for being here.

Dad nods, but I spot him scanning my face for any information I won’t outwardly tell him. Perhaps it’s a parently instinct, or maybe it’s just a Ted Lasso thing. The smile on my face doesn’t falter.

“So, how’s your mom?”

The question hangs in the air, and I can sense the curiosity in his eyes. I clench my jaw and roll my eyes in annoyance. "I really don't want to talk about her right now," I say firmly, hoping to steer the conversation away from a topic I'd rather avoid.

Dad gives me one of those fatherly smiles, understanding my need for privacy but also indicating he'll inquire about it later. "Alright then. How about we get you settled into my place? Don't care if you've found one already. I got you here with me, and you're not going anywhere, missy. I hope that's alright with you," he adds, his face hopeful as he waits for my response.

I acquiesce to his requests. It’s the least I can do. “Sure, Dad. I’d love to.”

He cheers with a fist pump, then wrangles me into yet another bear hug before I tell him he’s crushing my ribs, and he dramatically lets me go with a pout on his face.

I follow him down the streets to his apartment door. We enter, and it’s pretty lovely, yet it feels so hollow. There’s an opened jar of peanut butter on the island. I can tell he radiates joy as we unpack my things into an extra bedroom. I wonder how lonely he’s been without his son and wife.

Yeah. This is the least I can do.

——

After unpacking and settling in, Dad practically begs me to come to Nelson Road with him, and since I’m already feeling a bit guilty, I come along with him.

Upon entering, some guy with a full beard and eyebrows that make him look perpetually constipated looks at me. Well, it’s more of a glare. He walks up to Dad and me, not once taking his eyes off me. I narrow my eyes in response, shooting him a cold glare of my own. “Who the fuck is this? Don’t tell me Rebecca hired another fucking American.” His voice is deep and rumbling and full of snark.

"Seriously, do all British guys walk around with a stick up their ass?" I quip, but my remark falls on deaf ears. I catch the man clenching his jaw at my question. Ah, it seems he doesn't take kindly to being disrespected. One jab at his masculinity, and he's ready to go to war without a second thought.

"Roy Kent, meet my daughter, Lucille," Dad introduces, but I quickly interject, "Lucy to you." I emphasize my preference, not one to stand on formality. "Who the fuck are you, Roy Kent?" I ask, gauging his reaction as he looks between me and my dad, clearly trying to figure something out. I decide to clear the air, "Yeah, my mom isn't Michelle," I clarify, hoping to put any confusion to rest.

Roy's response is a simple "Oh," followed by a grunt as he exits the scene. My dad remains unfazed and carries on, guiding me towards the locker room with his arm casually draped around my shoulder.

"Coach Beard! We've got a new cast member!" Dad announces to the room as we walk out together, seemingly excited to introduce me to his colleagues.

A man with a book and a golf hat turns his chair around and observes us. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the fussbudget,” he says. “Hello, Lucy. I’m Coach Beard. I’ve heard all about you.”

I can't help but snort at the situation. "That's impossible," I retort with a snarky tone. Coach Beard finds my reaction amusing, letting out a chuckle, while my dad gives a slight frown, but I know a few jabs won't easily rattle him.

Suddenly, a strong voice breaks the chatter, announcing, "Ayo, the gaffer's got another kid!" The rest of the men turn their attention to me, their eyes filled with wonder and intrigue. They excitedly chat, asking if they saw what they think they did.

Exiting the office, we step into the open room where my dad proudly introduces me to the team. "Fellas, I'd like to introduce you to my daughter. This is Lucy, everyone."

The players greet me with waves and hellos, except for one guy sitting on the bench, engrossed in his phone, occasionally laughing. I point him out, asking, "Who's that?"

"Jamie Tartt. Hey, Beard, what's the deal with Jamie?" my dad inquires, and seemingly out of nowhere, Jamie appears beside us without making a sound.

Beard responds, "Says he can't practice today. Says he's hurt."

I observe my dad's face dropping with disappointment as he turns to walk out the door and over to Jamie, concern etched across his features.

The whole situation was intense, and I couldn't recall ever seeing my father this angry before. It seemed like there had never been an opportunity for him to get this worked up until now. Watching him unleash his frustration on Jamie reminded me of my mom, who had her share of heated moments. While my dad appeared to be justified in his outburst, Jamie's disrespectful behavior only reinforced my 'British men suck shit' theory.

Feeling overwhelmed, a tingling sensation crept into my head, and my heart raced with the familiar signs of an impending panic attack. I needed to escape, so I swiftly turned on my heel and walked out of the office, trying to distract myself by fiddling with the rings on my fingers.

Wandering aimlessly down the halls, I searched for a private space to catch my breath and calm down. Passing a laughing man, a short guy carrying a laundry bag, and a stunning blonde woman who seemed out of place here, I stopped in my tracks when I heard my dad's name mentioned in a hushed conversation.

"Rebecca, I don't think Coach Lasso will be too thrilled about you trading Jamie away.”

“Higgins, listen to me. I don't care if Lasso is trying to get through to Jamie or if he begs him to come back. Jamie is not returning, and that's precisely what I need," she asserts before abruptly changing the subject, "Now, let me go hunt down my biscuits. They're late."

Realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Dad is being sabotaged. All this time, I believed he was here to make a positive impact on the team, but it turns out they see him as nothing more than a joke. Stepping away from the door, I attempt to make a quick exit, only to collide with a statuesque woman who towers over me.

She glances down at me, exuding power through her stature and fashion, but I'm not intimidated. "Why, hello there, whoever you are. Are you lost?" she inquires.

Ah, this must be Rebecca. The woman who plans to screw my father over. I can't help but roll my eyes at her. "No. Just looking for the bathroom," I retort.

Rebecca gestures towards the sign, displaying her passive-aggressiveness. "Well, it's just around the corner. Right where the 'bathroom' sign is," she points out.

"Cool," I respond nonchalantly, not letting her faze me. "Oh, and by the way, my name's Lucy. Thanks for hiring my dad to coach!"

I catch a flicker of terror in Rebecca's eyes before I walk away, grinning to myself. Drama seems to follow me wherever I go, even in Richmond. Old habits die hard, I suppose.

——

After my quick trip to the loo, I wander over to the dog track, where Dad and Beard stand, closely observing the team's training session. I can't help but chuckle at Jamie's predicament as he wears a penny and sets up cones.

Dad notices my arrival and playfully calls out, "Oh, there you are, Waldo! What were you doing?"

His attempts at humor fail to catch me off guard. While I understand his references, I refuse to engage in the corniness. "Nothing, just using the bathroom," I reply with a mischievous grin, not willing to spill the beans about Rebecca's scheming ways. "Oh, and I met Rebecca. She seems nice," I lie sarcastically, well aware of her conniving nature.

Before Dad can respond, a rather handsome player approaches us gracefully. "Hello there. Sorry, Coach Lasso, but I couldn't continue practice without introducing myself to our guest," he says with a charming smile. "My name is Sam Obisanya. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lucy. The other players and I were wondering if you'd care to join us on the field for a few minutes. We'd like to have some fun at Jamie's expense. Is that alright?"

I return Sam's smile and reply, "Uh, sure. But I haven't played in years, dude. Not sure I'll be any good among you professionals.”

Sam brushes off my concerns, reassuring me, "Oh, that's alright, Lucy. I'm sure Thierry will let you score a couple of goals. Come on!" With that, he guides me towards the field, announcing to the team, "She said yes, you guys!" Their enthusiastic cheers fill the air.

As we assemble for a quick game, a guy with a buzzed fade named Isaac addresses me, confirming my name, "Alright, Lucy, is it?" I nod, and he explains the teams, "We're gonna split into five and five, and you're gonna play with the lads who ain't got a kit on."

"Sounds good," I respond with enthusiasm. I turn to the guys without kits, and each extends a hand for a handshake. I go down the line, shaking hands with each one. There's a short man with curly hair, Bumbercatch, followed by a tall fellow with a broad smile, Jan Maas. Then, a highly energetic man named Dani Rojas greets me, not wasting any time to exclaim, "Football is life!" right in front of me. The last guy, a mousey brunette named Colin, completes the line-up.

Quickly getting into formation with my newfound teammates, they place me front and center for the play. I'm facing off with Sam, who gives me a friendly smile. At the sound of the whistle, we both dash for the ball, but I swiftly take control and dribble it down the field. Roy Kent charges towards me, determined to tackle the ball away, but I outmaneuver him with a quick juke, causing him to land on his ass. The guys react with astonishment, and suddenly, the game shifts from Sam's gentle start to full intensity.

Isaac rushes towards me, sporting a determined expression, but I pass the ball to Dani Rojas, who's open and ready. Dani drives it down the field, but as soon as he spots an opportunity, he passes it back to me. With precision, I shoot the ball into the goal, leaving the goalkeeper stunned as it whizzes past him.

The entire team stands in complete silence, including my dad and Coach Beard, who are both staring at me with their mouths agape. The momentary hush is broken by Jamie Tartt, who teasingly remarks, "Ay, wanker's kid just got you real good, lads." He winks at me, provoking a gag from me followed by a flip-off.

Isaac can't contain his excitement, exclaiming, "Shit, bruv! You just broke Roy Kent's ankles!"

Roy growls behind me, clearly not pleased with being outplayed. "You got fucking lucky, kid," he grumbles.

I don't back down, confidently replying, "Luck's got nothing to do with it. Either you're cursed or you just ate shit, Kent."

I have to admit, Richmond has exceeded my expectations thus far, but I won't let it get the best of me just yet.

#fairsexynasty #ted lasso x reader #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x ofc #ted lasso fanfiction

119 notes · View notes