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enderlovez · 2 months ago

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How To Never Stop Being Sad

Spencer Reid x Female Reader WORD COUNT: 2900+

Summary: After the death of your parents, you have nobody to talk to, nobody to turn to for help. Spencer wants to help, but how can he when you don't want him to?

Content Warning: readers parents are dead, brief description of a car accident, insinuated abuse, readers dad was an alcoholic, readers mother was a drug addict, mentions of heroin and being high, mentions of overdose, self-blame, intentional sleep-deprivation is insinuated, metaphors about demons and God, prescribed drugs and irresponsible mixing of drugs and alcohol, reader is depressed and lonely, suicidal ideation, references to self-harm (nothing happens and it's not explicit)

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Repeat to yourself that they're not really gone Time has proven that fooling yourself into believing a lie Is the most effective way to deal with things You have no control over

Realistically I know it's not really my fault.

I've made it clear time and time again that I never wanted to see them again, and yet, their car went off that bridge when they were on their way to come see me.

I was on my lunch break when I got the call. My parent's car had driven off a bridge into a river. My dad was intoxicated so he didn't see the truck driving head-on at them until it was too late to do anything but swerve off the road, and they found that my mother had a substantial amount of heroin in her bloodstream.

Enough to overdose, had she not died in the accident.

It's not my fault, I know it's not my fault...

But I can't help but think that maybe if I had been a little more clear about what I wanted from them, or better yet, sucked it up and stayed in contact, things might've turned out a little bit differently.

Growing up with a drunk dad and an addict mom was never easy, and it was a relief to leave home the moment I turned eighteen and move across the country, but they're dead now. They're my parents.

They were my parents.

What kind of girl kills her own parents?

Now I just try not to think about the bad stuff. Pretend that they're safe at home in Washington, still distanced from me, but breathing.

But they're not. Now they're just hunks of decomposing flesh six feet underground, like they never even existed in the first place.

Trying to convince myself otherwise only makes it hurt more.

Keep listening to the mixtapes they made you Overanalyze every single word you hear 'Was this a sign that things were going wrong?' No, no, you were the one that cared too hard, not them

My mom was much like me in the way she never really had any friends, partly because she didn't want to burden them with her addiction issues, but mostly because she never had the time.

'Hi, it's Rachel. I can't answer the phone right now, but please feel free to leave a message after the beep! BEEP — only kidding, that wasn't the real beep."

She sounds so chipper in her voicemail, but I know the truth. I was there when she recorded it, sitting right next to her on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate in my hands, she was high out of her mind the entire time.

It's one of my best memories of her — the only fond memory I have, actually, because it was the first night since I was a toddler she actually realized I was even in the room with her.

A low bar, but one I happily set for her.

I was a child, after all, what else was I supposed to think? All I knew was that Mommy was finally paying attention to me.

'Hi, it's Rachel. I can't answer the phone right now, but please feel free to leave a message after the beep! BEEP — only kidding, that wasn't the real beep.'

'Hi it's Rachel. I can't answer the phone right now, but please feel free to leave a message after the beep! BEEP — only kidding, that wasn't the real beep.'

'Hi, it's Rachel. I can't answer the phone right now—'

She may have been a terrible mother at times, but God do I miss her voice.

And sometimes I wonder if this little moment together was the real her breaking through the drug-induced haze she seemed to be in at all times. I wonder if this was a sign that she cared enough to make some changes for my sake, possibly run away from Dad with me.

For the love of her only child — her daughter.

But I know that's not the truth. I was always the one who loved her, not the other way around, and that's the way it always has been.

She was just a little delirious.

Stay up every single night staring at your phone Either attempting to gather up the courage to turn these demons, These constant reminders of your loneliness Into nothing more than a bad dream Or praying just for one second You could feel the warmth of equally returned love

Most nights I don't even go to bed anymore. Instead I lay on the bathroom floor with the light switched off, the bright light of my phone illuminating my face.

I'm not doing anything on it, just staring at my home screen, as if that'll fix all my problems for me.

I think I'm too far gone to even be fixed.

Maybe it would be better if I just... didn't exist anymore.

It's a thought that frequently crosses my mind. My coworkers never speak to me enough to be considered my friends, yet they're the closest thing I have to them. My parents never had another child, and they themselves were only children, so I have to family I can talk to.

Really, when you think about, there's not that many people that would care if I were to die tonight.

But I'm already shattered beyond human comprehension. I don't want to be seen as weak, too.

So here I am — not religious in any sense of the word, but silently praying to anything that might be listening as I stare blankly at my phone screen. To bring anyone along that'll keep me from being completely alone, anything that'll give me a reason to continue living.

A person to love me. Just for a moment or two, just enough to keep me here a little while longer. To free me of the burning chains shackling me down.

Only God could relinquish these demons, is the conclusion I come to, and for a single, morbid moment, a thought crosses my mind —

What if that relinquishes me, too.

Go out for coffee four times a week by yourself Always bring your notebook, never stop writing Leave little comics and thank you notes with your tip Watch them smile as you get in your car

Coffee doesn't mix very well with the antidepressants I'm on, it makes me all anxious and jittery. But the pain of the adrenaline racing through me at all times, it's like an addiction.

I hated coffee when I was younger. Still do hate the bitter taste of the stuff, but the effects it has on me are like a drug.

Coffee doesn't mix well with the antidepressants I'm on, it makes me anxious and makes it harder to sleep at night. But the pain of having to keep my eyes open, it's like an addiction.

I hated coffee when I was younger, and I still do hate the bitter taste of the stuff, but it's effects are like a drug.

The worn pink notebook in front of me is open, its pages filled with my thoughts and whatever random ramblings I come up with that I have nobody to share with.

It's the only way I can properly get my thoughts in order, having them written down. It's what my therapist suggested I do. Not going out for coffee, but sitting down and journaling. And she said that being kind to others might lead to more self-acceptance.

It won't, but surely there's no harm in trying.

Lately, I've been leaving little thank you notes with my tips as I leave the café I frequent. I have to admit, it lightens my mood a little to see the smile on the workers' faces as they tuck the little pieces of paper into their pockets, but I wouldn't say it makes me feel any better.

Not about myself, anyway.

Still, I continue to leave them on the table for whoever cleans up my mess to find, car idling out front until the smile brightens their face.

Talk down to yourself whenever possible 'My life is shit because I deserve it, right?' You must have done something really bad It's nearly impossibly for you to cry now

There are times that I wonder if I'm worth all the trouble.

I'm so battered and damaged and broken, there's really not much point trying to put me back together.

There's this one man I work with — Spencer — who I think is trying to undo all the hurt. He's extremely intelligent and a profiler, so I think know he can see everything that's wrong with me.

And I hate it, more than anything.

I hate being so vulnerable in front of someone, that's the one thing he doesn't seem to realize. The discomfort I feel when he watches me, peels my psyche apart piece by piece like I'm some kind of project.

But the thing I hate the most is how much I enjoy his presence. I've had friends in my life, but they're few and far between, and they almost never want to deal with me.

Spencer is unlike anyone I've ever met. He doesn't seem to mind the extra weight I carry on my back or how it's often hard for me to communicate — doesn't care that I'm practically never okay.

I've told him so much about myself, more than I've ever told anybody before, practically everything I can think of. Never having someone to talk to leads to major oversharing, but he doesn't complain, just quietly listens.

The one thing I don't bring up much is my childhood, but I'm sure he can deduce that it wasn't very good, from the things I've already said.

'Sometimes, I wonder if maybe I deserve this,' I told him once, face blank of any emotion as I typed on my computer. He never commented on that, but responded with a non-question of his own.

'You never cry when you talk about this stuff,' he'd mentioned one time while he was sitting in my office with me, eating his lunch as I worked. 'Generally speaking, when someone's talking about something that upsets them, the natural reaction would be to cry.'

I wanted to tell him that nothing about me is natural.

'Suppose I just don't have any tears left.'

And in true Spencer fashion, he rattled on about how you physically can't just run out of tears.

Avoid your friends for weeks even though They're the only sense of consistency you have left in your life If they really wanted to see you they'd come, but they won't Who cares?

Spencer is my friend, there's not doubt about it. He does his best to make me feel better about myself when I'm down, which is all the time, and horrifyingly enough, it works.

Horrifyingly enough, I hate the feeling of it.

So, for that very reason, I've been avoiding him whenever possible. It's been weeks now, and the only time I've seen him is when he shows up at my office before I can rush out for my lunch break. His sad puppy-dog eyes only work to make me feel worse, as I leave.

My address is with the rest of my information, which is (strangely) quite easy to access. Admittedly, I've been hoping that he'll find it and show up at my door. That he'll care enough to make sure I'm okay. That he likes being around me enough to come see me himself.

But he never does.

I can't really blame him for that, though. I think I would do the exact same thing, if I were in his shoes.

The truth is that I miss him, more than I've missed anyone before. I miss his constant ramblings about things too complicated for my understanding, and the sympathy he shows me when I share just a little too much about my life. It's comforting, and that disturbs me.

Why does that disturb me.

I don't want his comfort to disturb me as much as it does.

Allow yourself to lose interest in the things you love Watch as you begin to take a backseat To the world around you, don't fight it Become a secondary character in your own motion picture

Spencer is standing outside my front door.

Why is Spencer standing outside my front door?

"Why are you here?" I ask, more snap in my tone than I mean to have.

He doesn't flinch at my hostility, holding something out towards me with a small smile on his face. "I thought you could use the company, so I brought you some food," he replies, as if it's the most casual thing in the world for him to be here. "We don't have to talk, but I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone."

I'm always alone, though.

The hidden meaning in his words is not lost on me, but I don't say anything about it — I don't want you to do anything to yourself, so I'm here to keep an eye on you whether you like it or not.

I hesitantly take the warm dish into my own hands and step aside so he can come in. My apartment is a mess, enough to color my face with embarrassment, but he says nothing as he sits on my couch and looks around the place. He's never been here before. Nobody's been here before, nobody except myself.

So just... nobody, then?

Spencer is the first person here, ever.

It's clear when he spots the easel in the corner, a half-finished painting on the canvas upon it.

"I didn't know you like to paint," he says softly as I sit on the couch beside him, peeling the foil off the top of the ceramic dish. I'm not quite sure what it is, but it looks homemade, and smells better than any of the takeout I've been eating recently.

He watches me curiously as I stand to grab two plates and two forks from the kitchen.

"I used to like doing a lot of things," I mutter, dropping back down beside him and handing him a plate and a fork. "There's not much I like doing anymore."

Painting, reading, writing — you name it and I've probably enjoyed doing it at some point in my life.

"That's understandable. You've been thorough a lot," he says. A faint smile flits across my mouth before it evaporates again. I place my plate onto the table, appetite next to gone, and let myself curl up onto a ball, pressing my face into my knees as I begin to silently cry.

I have been though a lot, but I barely ever cry about it anymore.

This is the first time I've cried in months, and it's in front of Spencer, the only person I have left now.

I don't want to scare him away.

He doesn't say anything, gently rubbing my shoulder for a short moment before removing it and (presumably) putting some food onto his plate. I want him to touch me again, to comfort me.

"You should eat something," he says, using his thumb to carefully lift my head and handing me a plate. I'm not hungry, but I take it from him anyway and place a small bite into my mouth.

But most importantly Drown every single one of your feelings in old stolen rum Learn to love the taste of it dripping down your throat Find comfort in the warmth coming from your stomach You're drinking bottled love now

It was never my intention to end up in the same situation that my father found himself in most nights, laying limp in an armchair with a half-empty bottle of whiskey in my hand.

As a child I'd promised myself it'd never get to this point — promised myself that I'd never turn to alcohol like he did, scared to hurt the people I love the way he hurt me.

But here I am, and I'm ashamed of myself.

Spencer is standing across the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. I don't know why he's even still here. Most people would run for the hills the second they hear how messed up I really am, let alone when they actually have a chance to see it.

He's probably so disappointed in me — isn't everyone? Disappointed in the... miserable creature I'm turning into.

It's not like I can stop, though. The fuzzy feeling in my head is the only thing that can take me away from it all nowadays, the warm tingling in my stomach bringing me more comfort than anybody in my life ever has.

Not for the first time, I wonder if this is what it feels like to be loved.

"It's a bad idea to mix drugs and alcohol," he says. I don't know why he cares so much about what I do. Nobody ever has before.

"It's none of your business," I slur, words barely coherent.

"Mixing antidepressants and hard liqueur increases the risk of overdose and blackouts," he sighs, pushing off the wall and stepping towards me, "so it actually is my business."

'Please help me,' my mouth begs to say. 'Please don't let me end up like him.'

Anger bubbles up inside me instead. "Piss off, Reid."

And for some reasons beyond my comprehension, he doesn't.

Spencer doesn't leave.

And I think I might be kind of in love with him.

You don't need other people to drive away your loneliness You just needed to find a way to talk to it

#spencer reid x bau reader #spencer reid oneshot #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid #content warning #depressed reader #sensitive topics #self harm #enderlovez

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whousestypewriters · 9 months ago

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i don't even know your name - jameson hawthorne x reader

pairing: jameson hawthorne x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, kissing + like running away from the police

a/n: hehe my first tig fic! and my first on this account. i had this little idea at exactly 12:26am in the middle of revamping this blog and wanted to write it i shouldve gone to bed, so sorry if this is crap - sleep deprivation is reallll. its also unedited-

part two: you again??

ok so technically you did steal a car.

but come on, the seven police cars driving after you is just a little bit excessive. especially since its not even a decent car... from a junkyard - which to be honest you're still surprised it even started. no even cares about the damn thing except for you and the junkyard owner who apparently has a vendetta against you.

you've met the guy twice, he's a stinky old man who spends most of his days wasted and drunk. and he's never once paid attention to you sneaking in and out basically living in the car you've just stolen. sorry, borrowed.

the red and blue flashing lights bring you back to your current situation and you wince when you shift gears and swing almost violently around the corner into oncoming traffic. swerving around the honking cars and bright lights you manage to merge back into the right lanes and push forward trying to put distance between you and the cops.

you slip through the cars not even caring about the other people at this point. you just need this car. getting a job these days is harder then it seems and you'd just been offered a job with really good pay and the only requirement was you needed your own car to get to and from work.

so seeing as you're an eighteen year old homeless girl with little to no money, temporarily borrowing this car seemed like a really good idea - until it wasn't of course.

pulling over on the side of the road you decide to abandon the car and try to get away on foot - you can always catch the bus right? following the flow of the crowd you swirl your way through checking over your shoulder every few seconds, not even noticing the fact that you've gone up steps and entered a large line until the security guard calls out to you.

"hey kid! ticket?" swinging around you look up to the stern guard.

"pardon?"

"where's your ticket?"

"oh..." you trail off and the guard steps forward.

"miss, do you have a ticket?"

"....no?"

stepping forward the guard starts to reach for his gun. "miss i'm going to need to ask you to leave."

looking behind you, you try and work out your best escape route from the now approaching police men and the menacing guard at your back.

"uh yeah i'm leaving now," you say swinging around and slipping under the guard and bolting through the doors.

you enter probably the grandest entry room ever. its like straight out of a movie with the grand staircases and people in elegant clothing, unfortunately you don't get much time to admire everything with security and police on your ass.

pushing past the shrieking guests aside you run through the crowd to the next room, straight into the middle of... a dinner party.

great.

this is just great.

"GET HER!" the one of the policemen yells from behind you. you take off again rushing past women in fancy dresses and men in tuxes trying your very best not to step on any of their outfits - because hey, you may be homeless dressed like a middle aged man, but damnit you can appreciate a good outfit.

running into a hallway you panic slightly, choosing a random door and slamming it shut. trying to get ahold of your breath you close your eyes and rest your head against the door, taking deep breaths.

a throat clears from behind you and you practically jump out of your skin.

"hello."

"holy shit! doesn't anybody knock these days??" you shriek.

you look around the office trying to find the owner of the voice but to no avail. the office seemed plain enough a large plush chair behind a mahogany desk with sofas and book shelves adorning the sides of the wall.

"hello?" you look around the office again, bending down to check under the desk.

"look up," the voice comes again.

looking up you see the shadow of a boy sitting on the overhanging ledge of the bookshelf.

"who are you?" you ask eyeing the door and wondering if you still have enough time to get away before the police arrive.

"i think we should really be focusing more on you." the boy's voice vibrates through the room. he leans forward to the point of almost falling off the edge but somehow still staying on.

"i'm not important," you say, then motion up to him. "you'll fall."

"i can assure you i won't." for a moment the boy just lingers there before launching himself off the bookshelf and landing on the floor in front of you. "and besides you've piqued my interest." he strolls over to the desk and casually leans against it as if he wasn't a freaking godlike person.

seriously that bookshelf had to be at least three and a half meters tall!

the boy - now that you can see him better - is also godlike in his looks. its devastating how handsome he is. he's around your age with soft brown hair that seemed to be styled when the night began and had fallen across his forehead and his eyes. his eyes were like emeralds sparkling in the moonlight. suddenly you're favourite colour is green.

"now tell me again, who are you?" he grins - its an awful grin, the type that makes you want to die because its so beautiful.

swallowing the lump that formed in your throat you push the words out. "as i said, that's not important. what is important is that you forget you ever saw me."

the boy raises an eyebrow flashing another grin. "i'm afraid i can't do that."

"why?"

"because you are quiet unforgettable."

you freeze for a moment, then roll your eyes. "is that what you tell every girl who barges into a room to hide?"

"ahh so you're hiding?"

clenching your jaw at that slight bit of information you let slip, you nod.

"from?"

"who do you think jackass? i'm dressed like a 1950's street urchin and just crashed probably the most fancy dinner party i'll ever see, so really, who do you think i'm hiding from? fucking peppa pig?"

a loud bang comes from down the hall and you swing around wishing you had ran instead of talking to the mystery boy.

"come here." his voice snaps you out of your panic.

"what?"

"come here, you don't want to be caught? get over here."

narrowing your eyes at him you move closer to him. "what are you gonna do?"

he stares at you for a moment. "can i touch you?"

"WHAT?"

"not like that, god. that's where your mind went? no. i was just being respectful before i kissed you."

that you pause at. "you're going to kiss me?"

"well, with your permission of course."

"you don't have it."

the boy pouts playfully. "why not?"

"because believe it or not, crashing dinner parties and kissing random strangers who's names i don't know isn't something i do on a regular basis."

"well if you don't want to get caught...." he trails off.

"ew so what if i kiss you, you won't give me up? you think you're that good do you?"

"sweetheart, i am that good."

"not helping your case."

"if i kiss you it hides your face, none of them would ever try and cross me," the boy offers grinning again - does he ever stop smiling? seriously its harmful to look at someone this good looking for this amount of time.

"cause you're just that good right?"

"you're a quick learner."

the commotion from outside comes closer and you tense up weighing your options. goddamnit you're gonna have to kiss him.

"fine you have my permission," you huff. "just don't rat me out."

"i would never."

the police must have reached your door because they knock twice asking if someone is inside that they come out now.

"fucking hell," you mutter. "i cannot believe i'm doing this. i don't even know your name."

"don't worry you're in good hands," the boy says his voice low. he wraps his arms around your waist looking at you to make sure its okay.

"if you don't come out now we're coming in!" the voice from outside yells banging against the door twice more.

"by the way, the names jameson," the boy says before he seals his lips to yours and the door is ripped open with men pouring in.

but you hardly notice it. the boy's - jameson as he called himself - lips are warm as the press into yours. its soft but searing sending tingles through your brain. every thought or protest you had fell out of your head and your hands shoot up into his hair as he tightens is own arms around you.

you're so lost in the kiss you don't even hear the men behind you clearing their throats awkwardly.

pulling away jameson looks at you for a moment seemingly just as stunned as you are before he pulls your head to his chest and rests a hand on the back of your hair keeping your face hidden.

"yes?"

"have you seen a girl; brunette, around your age, wearing a black cocktail dress run through here or past here?" one of the officers asks avoiding eye contact.

"what did you say she was wearing again?" jameson asks.

"a black cocktail dress." these are like the worst policemen ever.

"well... yes-" you tense, this is it. this is where he rats you out, motherfuc-"but she went down the hall and through to the ballroom probably hiding in the crowd."

nodding each of the policemen leave the room and storm their way down the hallway. "uh sorry about interrupting you two as well," the last one says on his way out.

when its safe you pull back from jameson and thank him.

"its not over yet," he grins - seriously who decided he should be this handsome? and takes your hand leading you out the room and down the hallway. "follow me."

you slip out through the now empty entryway and run down the stairs together. this feels suspiciously like a romance novel. when you reach the steps you pull jameson to a stop. "wait don't you have to go to this dinner thing?"

"if it means not spending time with you, i'm okay with missing it," he winks.

"nope, you're not trying to flirt your way into being an outlaw with me," you tease.

"it was worth a shot."

smiling up at the boy who let you go free tonight you reach up on your tip toes and place a soft kiss on his cheek. "i'll be seeing ya jameson."

you slip out into the night leaving jameson on the steps. leaving behind the dangerous feeling that you could lose your heart to that boy.

at least you won't see him again.

[taglist] @nqds, @nuncscioquidsitamor-14, @lxvebelle [if you wanted to be added or removed lemme know!]

a/n pt2: i hope you liked it!!

#jameson hawthorne #jameson winchester hawthorne #jameson x y/n #jameson x you #jameson x reader #jameson hawthorne x reader #jameson hawthorne x you #jameson hawthorne x y/n #the inheritance games #the hawthorne legacy #the final gambit #the brothers hawthorne #the grandest game #౨ৎ : my works .ᐟ

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whumperly · 8 months ago

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Whump Symbols Masterlist

Send one or more of the following for receiver's muse to discover sender's muse... (or include a 🔄 for the reverse!)

😈 ...being tortured.

🩸 ...bleeding out.

🦴 ...with a visibly broken bone.

🪡 ...patching, stitching, or cauterizing their own wounds.

🩹 ...beaten and left to die.

😵 ...unconscious.

🪑 ...collapsed or unable to stand.

⚡ ...being electrocuted.

🔍 ...suddenly returned after having gone missing.

🍽️ ...dying of starvation.

🥤 ...dying of thirst.

🕳️ ...fallen into a deep pit, hole, or ravine.

⛰️ ...dangling from a ledge.

👐 ...being strangled.

🔪 ...stabbed.

🔫 ...shot.

🌊 ...drowning.

🚬 ...covered in cigarette burns.

🤕 ...covered in bruises.

🫗 ...poisoned.

🥃 ...drunk.

💊 ...drugged or overdosed.

🐴 ...whipped.

⭕ ...branded.

🐍 ...bitten or stung by a venomous creature.

🤧 ...severely ill.

😨 ...having a dangerous allergic reaction.

🤰 ...suddenly going into labor at a bad time.

🔇 ...mute from trauma, shock, or conditioning.

🧍‍♂️ ...paralyzed.

🙈 ...blinded.

❓ ...suffering from amnesia.

💥 ...caught in an explosion.

🔥 ...trapped in a fire.

❄️ ...suffering from hypothermia.

🥵 ...suffering severe heat stroke.

📸 ...being publicly humiliated.

🗣️ ...being verbally assaulted.

💪 ...being physically assaulted.

💋 ...being sexually assaulted.

🪢 ...bound and gagged.

⛓️ ...chained up.

‼️ ...forced into a stress position.

🐶 ...collared and kept like an animal.

⚠️ ...having a panic or anxiety attack.

👹 ...experiencing sleep paralysis.

🛌 ...having a nightmare or night terror.

👁️ ...severely sleep deprived.

🛞 ...unable to drive safely or at all.

🚙 ...struck by a car.

🛻 ...in a car accident.

🏚️ ...trapped beneath a collapsed structure.

💣 ...with a bomb strapped to their body.

🚨 ...arrested and taken to jail or prison.

🚑 ...rushed to the ER.

⚰️ ...buried alive.

💀 ...on the verge of death.

🪦 ...dead.

Feel free to change whatever you like to make the wording more specific for your muses or desired scenario!

#uncut version per request!#askbox

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thatawkwardmoth · 5 months ago

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See, y'all I know I'm right with this one and y'all can't argue on it.

Scott Summers definitely uses his kids as a way to dodge every outing ever. He's an awkward introvert with an extrovert wife and girlfriend (and that's canon!). Homeboy would a hundred percent use any of his kids as an excuse to not go with. To not have to socialize that night.

He'll have a nice night at home with Nathan while Jean (and/or Madelyne) goes to a nice outing and get away from the baby. It's a win-win, he gets to stay home, they get to resume life as it was pre-baby.

He'll gladly spend all night playing dolls with Rachel and chasing her through the mansion, going on the usual dreaded bedtime fight if it means he won't be stuck in a crowded club or bar. He loves his team but dealing with drunk and loud and all over him is worse than dealing with a sleep deprived toddler.

He'll take the day to drive Megan to her dance classes and her riding lessons and sit in on them both. To cheer her on and to get out of whatever brunch Emma hinted at. Another win-win.

He'll spend the whole day with Ruby clinging to his legs as he makes plans and grades his students' work if it means he doesn't have to go out to whatever crowded venue Emma is doing business in. He'll opt out of that and deal with the tiny blonde demanding his attention.

It's an easy win for him, I repeat again and again. It helps him be a better dad and spend time with his kids. Be present and not have them pushed aside by his job and the hero gig. But also, it gives him brownie points in the woman's eyes because they thank him for letting them have time away from the kids (they know his tricks, he can't do it too often, they're telepaths) and he also gets to avoid having to awkwardly stand in a corner or next to his partner, trying to keep up with the conversation.

#x men #scott summers #x men comics #summers family #rachel summers #megan frost #ruby Summers #nathan dayspring #nathan summers

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humanitys-strongest-bamf · 6 months ago

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Drunk | #LeviMonth2024 Fluff Drabble

✧ word count ➼ < 800 ✧ notes ➼ roommate!levi, levi taking care of you after drinking ✧ comments ➼ levi month entry for august 25! ✧ content/warnings ➼ alcohol obvs, but nothing sexual, just levi taking care of you :) ✧ join my levi month taglist here!

{{ August 24 (Crime + Secret Relationship Part 1) | August 28 (Crime + Secret Relationship Part 2) }} Masterlist

You had the weekend off, so you spent the night out with some friends. Having just been dropped off at home since you were far too inebriated to be able to navigate home from the bar on your own, you stumbled in through the front door after finally getting your keys in order.

Your eyebrows furrowed together as you noticed the lights that were still on despite the fact that it was well into the night. Your blurred gaze eventually fell onto Levi. You blinked at your roommate in surprise, not having expected him to be there.

"...the fuck are you doing here?" you asked, your words slightly slurred.

You were too far gone to be able to tell, but there was a subtle hint of concern that appeared in Levi's eyes the moment you stepped through the door while barely keeping your balance. He had known that you had gone out partying, but the fact that you were coming home this inebriated was something he had not been expecting.

"I live here, dumbass."

His tone was flat, with an emphasis on the insult that betrayed how agitated he truly was inside.

You didn't immediately respond, having forgotten that he had insomnia, despite the fact that you had been living together for a few years already.

"Oh."

Levi let out a barely audible groan as he set his phone down and stood up from the couch, crossing the room in a few strides to meet you where you were at.

"What happened?" he asked, concern evident in his voice despite the stern look on his face. He reached out to gently take your hand, helping you to steady yourself as he led you to the living room.

"Was just out with friends!"

He raised an eyebrow at your nonchalant response. Even for you, this was a bit much.

However, knowing that you could take care of yourself at the end of the day, in addition to the fact that it wasn't actually any of his business, he let the subject drop, focusing instead on guiding you over to the couch.

Once he got you seated safely, he swiftly went to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water for you.

"You didn't drive, did you?"

"Of course I didn't drive, dumbass," you grumbled as you returned his insult. You sipped on the cold water, with the shock of the liquid immediately beginning the process of sobering you up, even if it was just by a slight amount.

He sighed in irritation, giving you a second to get your bearings before tapping on your shoulder to get your attention.

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you felt him gently tug on your arm to get you to stand up, wrapping his arm around your waist to help support you.

"I'll be fine," you insisted. "I'm not that drunk."

"Sure you aren't," he grumbled under his breath as he began dragging you towards your bedroom, kicking open the door since his hands were full with keeping you steady.

Ignoring your protests, he ushered you into your room, gently laying you down onto your bed before switching on the lights. Even in his sleep-deprived state, he could tell that you were far too drunk to be on your feet.

The hygiene enthusiast in him was tempted to drag you into the shower so you didn't feel like ass in the morning, knowing that being in alcohol-reeked clothes in addition to being hungover only compounded into one another, but he also didn't trust you in the water in your current state—and he certainly wasn't going to bathe you without your consent.

He knew that it likely would have been fine if he had left you on your own. Yet, he found himself growing increasingly protective over you and your well-being. A part of that came naturally from having lived with you for so long, but he knew that there was likely some other reason underneath the surface that he just didn't feel like diving into yet.

Before he knew it, you had fallen asleep. The edge of his lips slightly turned up at how quickly you had gotten settled in after stumbling in through the door. He threw the blanket over you so that you were at least somewhat covered before dimming the lights and leaving the room, bracing himself for the overwhelming hangover you were almost guaranteed to have the next morning.

#: @shayewrites @littlerequiem @i-lev-you @humanitys-strongest-brat @mostlilo @dustbuniesworld @levisrations @ebechnasheim @moonchild-angel @jayteacups @bipolargatto @samackermaan @deepzombieyouth @levkuna @levisfavoriteteashop @ackermanswifee @ae-chidori @2dsimpomg @anti-cupid

#levimonth24 #levi x reader #tw: alcohol #levi ackerman x reader #levi heichou x reader #captain levi x reader #levi fluff #levi #levi ackerman #levi heichou #captain levi #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin #snk

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alexsoenomel · 1 year ago

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Random Dean Winchester Headcanons:

Dean not letting you drive Baby. Too protective over his car. You would beg him but he would always say no. He let you once though – on your birthday – but ended up regretting when you almost crashed into a tree.

He loved drinking coffee with you in the morning in silence. It was your morning ritual. Coffee and then everything else.

Loved discussing music with you, especially during road trips. He would even let you pick the next song, just because he thought your taste was awesome.

Being overprotective and possessive. If someone hurts you – they're dead. If someone flirts with you – they get a polite fuck off. If they continue? They get a punch in the face.

He loved the way you would look at him whenever he would wear a suit. You loved pulling his tie and giving him a sweet little kiss before work, telling him how handsome he looked.

He loved sleeping next to you. He loved the smell of your hair and how it lightly tickled his face. He also loved being the small spoon every once in a while – he felt safe next to you. He would still put his gun under his pillow though; old habits die hard.

Dean loved when you would play with his hair, especially before bed since sleep deprivation was his best friend.

Random dates. He loved taking you out on random free days. Dinners, drinks, star gazing, night drives – he loved spending time with you.

He wasn’t much of a reader, but he loved when you would read him your favorite books. Sometimes he would read it to you, the sound of his voice was like a lullaby for you on bad days when you couldn’t sleep. You would use him as a pillow as he would read to you until your light snores filled the room.

Arguing. You would argue mostly while working. You were both stubborn and impulsive so poor Sam always had to be the voice of reason. He wanted to keep you safe and you wanted to hunt.

Jealousy. You would get jealous. Dean was a good looking man and other women would try to get his attention and of course it never worked. He would just ignore them, but that still didn’t ease your jealousy. You would grow silent, anger written on your face and he would of course tease you, making the situation worse – for him.

“Be careful, she’s going to come and steal your man,” He told you once, after a waitress left her number on a napkin.

“Be careful,” you started as you kicked him in the shin under the table, “next time I’m kicking you where you like my face the most.” He groaned in pain and Sam almost choked on his coffee.

Bickering. Because he was a little shit and you were his little shit. Two sides of the same coin, actually.

Kisses, lots and lots of kisses. He loved kissing every inch of you, taking his sweet time, slow, sensual and tortuous. You would whimper under him every single time.

Holding hands. First time he held your hand was while driving home after a ghost almost took you out. He lectured you after Sam successfully burnt its bones, told you how reckless and stupid you were for jumping in front of him. Then he realized you almost died – the thought scared the living shit out of him.

He was a switch, plain and simple. Sometimes he loved calling you his dirty little slut, making you scream his name over and over, but other times he just wanted to admire your body as you would ride him. He loved when you were in control.

Praise kink. That man loved being praised. “You feel so good, baby,” was his favorite.

He would smile whenever you would call him handsome.

You were his sunshine, darling and sweetheart. He would call you by your name only when he was pissed.

He loved you more than anything, but at the same time he thought he didn’t deserve you.

You told him I love you first, drunk on whiskey after a successful hunt. Sam was sick that day, so it was only you and him. He didn’t say anything at first, instead he kissed you and took you home. He made love to you that night and between kisses the words slipped. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

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atimeofyourlife · 3 months ago

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So tired, but I can't sleep

Buck couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this tired, been this fatigued. Well, at least when he wasn't recovering from illness or injury. The fatigue when he was recovering from the lightning strike was something else altogether.

It was at the end of a 24-turned-30 hour shift, on account of a call to a five alarm fire coming in shortly before shift change. It had also been one of those shifts where sleep evaded him. He'd tried the bunk room, but he'd ended up just tossing and turning, eventually giving up and heading up to the loft, so the others could at least make the most of the downtime and actually get some sleep without his restlessness disturbing them. Which didn't help when they were called to the fire.

By the time the 118 were released from the fire, Buck was barely able to hold himself upright, even needing help into the engine. But he had reached the point where he was almost too tired to sleep. He tried leaning back with his eyes shut on the way back to the firehouse, hoping that even a little rest would help. He knew he wouldn't be able to drive himself home like this, knowing the statistics of how bad it could be to sleep while sleep deprived. That it could be as bad as, or even worse than drunk driving.

When they got back to the station, he opened the door to stumble out of the engine, when a pair of strong and sturdy hands were there to help him down.

"Tommy?" He mumbled, blinking up at his boyfriend. "Why're you here?"

"Eddie and Howie texted. Said you might need someone to drive you home." Tommy explained.

"Hey, Eddie practically needed to lift you into the engine and you needed me to fasten your seatbelt." Chimney replied at Buck's glance.

"Come on, let's get you out of your turnouts and changed so I can get you home and in bed." Tommy started to help him out of his turnout coat.

"You always like to get me out of my clothes." Buck aimed to give Tommy a sultry look, but it failed with how much his eyelids were drooping.

"Behave, Buckaroo." Hen warned on the way to the locker room and showers.

Buck pouted but allowed Tommy to guide him across the floor. He wasn't much help in getting changed, Tommy taking charge to strip him out of his dirty uniform and change him into sweatpants and a hoodie.

"Come on, Baby." Tommy helped Buck back to his feet and wrapped an arm around him on the way out to his truck, taking most of Buck's weight so he only had to move his feet.

"Tommy?" Buck whispered as he was buckled into the passenger seat.

"What is it, Evan?"

"Thanks for coming to get me."

"Of course. I'll always come when you need me."

"Love you." Buck mumbled as he drifted off.

#whumptober2024 #no.29 #fatigue #911 fic #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy fic #tevan #atimeofyourwrites

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azsazz · 1 year ago

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Break Up in a Small Town

Modern!Cassian x Archeron Sister!Reader

Summary: Based off of the song Break Up in a Small Town by Sam Hunt: You and Cassian have broken up and everything in town reminds him of you. It's inevitable that he sees you around, and it's hard for him to be okay when he sees you with your new man.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, drinking.

Word Count: 4,489

Notes: Small town Cassian giving me life rn.

_________________________________________

Cassian knew he would see you around.

It’s hard not to see someone he knows every time he leaves his house—the town has less than a thousand people for fucks sake. There isn’t a day that goes by where someone doesn’t stop to talk to him while he’s putting gas in his beat-down Ford Bronco or chatting him up while he tries to pay for his food in the drive through.

And normally, he welcomes it. He loves to shoot the shit with people he’s known since he was young. He’d run into Tarquin the other day at Walmart while he was picking up a rack of beer for tonight's party. He hadn’t seen the team captain of the high school football team since he’d heard Tarquin received a full scholarship to Ole Miss. He was the only one on their team to do so, though Cassian also had recruiters watching him at games. Thanks to a nasty red-flag tackle by Jurian which left his ACL torn during the championship game, they’d pulled their offers back quicker than a greased pig. Hybern High went all for nothing that year.

He still looked sheepish when Azriel’s mother had checked him out at the grocery store, even though he’s been of age for a few years now. Cassian’s cheeks flushed under her knowing look: she’d caught them more times than he could count when they were teenagers trying to find a way to sneak booze without her knowing.

The party is in full swing. Drinks are flowing and Kallias has taken over the speakers to play his mixtape. The bass is so heavy Cassian can hardly hear the words, but Vivianne’s vocals are grating, pitched too high and not on key with the rest of the notes. He shares a look with Azriel, who cringes, but clinks his beer against Cassian’s before throwing the whole can back.

Cassian follows suit, downing the cheap beer like it’s his job. It’s not his occupation, no, that would be working on cars down at Bryaxis’ Axles, but it’s pretty much his secondary one. He trails Azriel into the kitchen, wading through people gyrating on the makeshift dance floor. They round the counter laden with alcohol—tequila, empty fruity vodka shots that Mor has forced him to take with her, and some concoction of juices and multiple alcohols that nearly burned off his nose hairs when he smelt it—and make way for the fridge where he’d stuffed his beer. It better still be in there or there will be hell to pay.

“When’s Rhys coming down again?” Cassian asks, taking the beer from Azriel as he rises. He tries not to let his fingers brush his quiet friends. They’re marred and Azriel doesn't like when attention of any kind is brought to them, even though Cassian and Rhysand had never held it against him.

A house fire was the rumor around town. But Azriel had only set it straight with him and Rhys at a sleepover one night, when it was going on four in the morning and they were sleep deprived and drunk off their first beers. Maybe Azriel had thought they wouldn’t remember the next day, but there was no way Cassian could forget that his step brothers had taken the lighter fluid form the garage and set his hands ablaze because of their sadistic tendencies.

Azriel’s mother had taken him and moved as far as she could with the money she was saving up, but they’d only made it a few towns over, and Cassian is thankful. Azriel’s father had never shown his face in the years he’s lived here.

“No idea,” Azriel responds, stepping aside to let Thesean into the fridge. The fucker dips his hand right into Cassian’s box of beer, pulling one out before diving in for a second. Cassian grits his teeth but when the other man straightens he notices how glazed over his eyes are, and Cassian knows his threats won’t land. “You know he’s got that internship up in New York.”

Right, while Cassian could only afford to go to their local college, Rhysand’s parents sent him to the most expensive one they could buy him into. And Azriel’s had a job since he was a teenager, when hacking into cameras around town for fun turned into something that made serious money. He bought his mother a house and everything, even offered a room to Cassian, but Cassian wants to make his own way, even if he is living in a run down apartment across town. It’s his, and he worked hard for it.

“Shit, you’re right,” Cassian sighs. It turns into a full on glare when the backdoor shoves open and Balthazar stumbles through, arm wrapped around Emerie for support. The man’s eyes light up at the sight of him and Azriel, while Emerie parts with a sour look in his direction, slinking off into the living room.

“What’s up?” Balthazar slurs, leaning heavily against the counter. He looks like he might slide right off of it, but neither he nor Azriel do anything about it.

“Hey, Balth,” Az greets, popping the top of his beer so he has something to do. They’ll be trapped with the talkative man if they don’t think of an excuse to leave soon.

Balthazar’s eyes light up at the sound of the can cracking open, but neither of the men before him offer to get him one. No matter for him, he pulls a joint from the pocket of his jeans and a bat shaped lighter from the other, flicking it to life and setting the tip ablaze.

“You guys hear Feyre might be pregnant?” He says through a deep inhale of smoke. Cassian shares a look with Azriel, who never seems affected by any of the small town gossip. He never seems affected by anything, really.

His heart skips at the thought of Feyre. Not because of her and whoever the father of this maybe child might be, but because he’s reminded of you, her sister, the girl he’d lost. Gods, did Cassian fuck up royally when it came to you.

He takes the bait. Anything to get his mind off of you. “No fucking way.”

Balthazar smiles smug, holding the joint out their way. Cassian declines with a wave of his beer, but Azriel takes a hit, obviously uncomfortable with how crowded and rowdy the party has become.

“Yup. Apparently it was a one night stand with ‘the most beautiful man she’s ever seen,’” he bats his eyes like a simpering girl, voice pitched high in his best impression of the youngest Archeron sister.

Azriel answers through a puff of thick smoke, his voice already scratchy with it. “But isn’t she with—”

“Tam? Yeah, man, I thought so too.”

Cassian sighs, looking at his beercan. It’s full, so there’s no excuse for him to turn away and grab another. He’s wracking his mind for anything he can use as an excuse to escape the conversation, his night gone sour now that his mind is on you. It likely will be for the rest of the night too, and he’d rather sit on his futon and wallow by himself than to stay at this party.

“Speaking of Archerons,” Balthazar says, taking the joint back from Azriel. “How are you and—”

Fuck it, Cassian thinks, because Balthazar is totally drunk enough not to notice his full beer. “I think I need another drink,” he states, and Azriel glares as he abandons him with Balthazar. That man can gossip for hours, and luckily, silent old Azriel is the perfect listener.

“Isn’t the fridge right behind you?” he hears Balthazar ask Azriel as he retreats, but he doesn’t care. He shoves his beer onto the counter as he makes his way towards the front of the house where his Bronco’s parked.

He hasn’t had that much to drink yet, not even a slight buzz has kicked in, or it’s been dulled from Balthazar's painful topic of gossip. Cassian slips through the crowd as easily as a six foot five man can, girls trying to lure him onto the dance floor and guys clapping him on the back, rallying him for the next game of beer pong.

Cassain politely declines, reaching for the knob just as it pushes open and his heart stops.

It’s you.

His breath is forced from his chest by your beauty. You look amazing as always, hair done up to perfection and eyes alight with the shots you’d taken for confidence, a part of you knowing that you might see him here tonight. You’re laughing with Elain and Feyre who cling to your sides, and Nesta brings the Archeron clan to a close. Your steps falter and grin drops when you meet Cassian’s eyes.

Your mouth parts as if to say something, but Nesta’s interrupting and shoving you inside with a grumble and a curse spat Cassian’s way. His heart shatters again as he watches you walk deeper into the living room without a glance back at him.

He clenches his jaw and steps out into the cool night.

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

You haunt him.

It’s a week later and Cassian hasn’t stopped thinking about you. How…good you looked, glowing and laughing whole-heartedly with your sisters when he’s hardly been able to even get out of bed. You’re still burrowed too deep in his heart. Your eyes, your nose, your lips, your hands, your—

He knows you haven't left town, but it feels like you have, with the way you’re avoiding each other. And you seem to be a professional at it, since it's been almost two months since the night you left him. He was a fool to let you go, not fight for you the way you surely wanted because he had accepted failure all too easily. You had made more than one good point. Cassian can’t be what you need.

Cassian hadn’t seen you at the football game tonight. The Velaris Stars had made it to the championship game of the season and everyone in town had come out for it, as the only exciting event for all to enjoy.

He’d gone with Azriel, of course, and even Rhysand had responded to his video of the winning touchdown. The popcorn had been fresh and the air was jovial, the night ending on a high note. The team is going to state.

Fiddling with the stations on his radio at the red light, he doesn’t realize that you’ve pulled up next to him until your giggles filter through the cracked window of your car and his heart stops. He thinks he hears you sometimes, telling him to knock it off when he’s had one too many beers or makes an ill-timed joke. The height differences in your small car compared to his tall one make it difficult to look, but he sits straighter and cranes his neck to see out the passenger window, and yep. It’s definitely you.

In your white Nissan he knows better than his own car. That thing is always breaking down. His heart pinches in his chest when he’s reminded of the time you’d taken it out into the fields to go stargazing. It wouldn’t start and your phones had died. Instead of walking ten miles back to town, you’d asked him to stay up with you all night under the stars, laughing and kissing like it was your last night on Earth.

Cassian wonders who's working on your car now that you’re no longer together.

He doesn’t know why you’re laughing, but he revels in the sound of it even though he feels like shit because he’s not the one making those noises coming from your mouth. Cassian wears a soft smile, thinking about all of the good times you’ve shared, until he notices the hand on your thigh.

The smile falls right off of his face.

His knuckles turn white from how hard he grips the steering wheel. The bright red of the streetlight pours into your car but he can’t see the passengers face, all he knows is that’s a man's hand holding your leg and soothing over it with his thumb. His teeth grind.

You refuse to look his way. Surely, you must know that you’ve pulled up beside him at this Godforsaken light that for some reason will not turn the fuck green. No, they want him to sit here and see what he’s lost, how happy you are with someone new.

And when the light finally changes he can’t seem to move. He sees your fleeting smile as you take off and he’s left reading that silly bumper sticker Nesta had slapped on the back bumper when she was the one who owned the car, the ‘honk if you like reading smut’ in thick, bold letters laughing at him in the face.

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

The worst part about this breakup is, everywhere he goes reminds him of you.

You used to hang out with the same group of people but since the breakup happened Cassian didn’t want any of them to be stuck in the betweens of your fucked up relationship. He couldn’t even suggest trying to be friends because the thought of that alone made him want to throw up. He could never be friends with you, he doesn’t want to, because knowing you in the way that he did and not being able to touch you and hold you and fuck you like he did was much too painful. He kept Azriel in the breakup and let you have everyone else.

When he goes to the McDonald’s for lunch he sees the booth you’d spent almost two hours in, wrappers from ice cream cone strewn about the table because you asked shyly if he would judge you if you went back for a second cone and he grinned mischievously and asked if you wanted to bet on who could down more ice cream. He won, of course, but it had been a valiant effort from you nonetheless.

When he went to the library to return the book he hadn’t even cracked the spine of. He thought reading would help take his mind off of the breakup but Cassian didn’t have the energy. Gwyn was at the front desk, glaring up at him as he slid the book across the counter for her to return. The workspace was filled with art supplies, a post-it note with Feyre and your names scrawled on it and he remembered that the both of you host a arts and crafts day for the children in town once a month. Gwyn had caught his eye and shooed him away. Nesta would have been proud of the shy girl.

When he drives down the country curves, avoiding the crossroads to your house completely. All of the places he’d haphazardly pulled over when you were searching for a place to have sex. But there’s no privacy in these small towns so the back of his Bronco would have to do. It was spacious, but never the place he really wanted to take you in. He wanted to give you a proper bed and worship you like you deserved. If you’d only given him a few more years he would have his own place, though you merit a plush, large bed instead of his paper thin futon.

Cassian stops into Alice’s cafe. It’s fairly early in the morning, but the place is still packed because it’s one of the only restaurants in town. Somethings off about him today, though, and maybe it’s because his mind hasn’t stopped working overtime, trying to figure out who was in that car with you.

Why hadn’t he been driving? Did you want to drive or was he so pretentious that he wouldn’t take you around town? Does he even have a car? He can’t stop overanalyzing the situation and he’s sleep deprived. All he wants is a fucking coffee and the town doesn’t even have a Starbucks yet, so he has to park his car in the overflow lot and go inside. He doesn’t want to be bothered, but the cafe is crawling with townies, so it’s inevitable he’ll see someone he knows.

He doesn’t expect it to be you.

It’s not like you’re sitting in any of the booths that line his path to the ordering counter. His eyes seem to gravitate towards you no matter where you are, and your playful flirting is unmistakable. He knows, he’s been happily on the other side of that banter before.

Cassian’s gaze locks on you first. You look perfect, unfazed by anything happening in the loud cafe around you. Dishes clang together as the waitress gathers them. It’s Cerridwen, and her twin Naula is manning the espresso machine, Cassian notices when the waitress nods her direction, letting you know that your latte will only be a few more minutes.

“Take your time,” you reassure, eyes sparkling as they move back across the table. Cassian wishes that Cerridwen would move out of the way so he can see who you’re smiling at. “I’m in no rush.”

And then she steps away and his world comes screeching to a halt.

He knows who was in that car with you because he’s sitting across from you right now, a fox-like smile on his face.

Eris Vanserra.

The most pretentious of the Vanserras, if Cassian does say so himself. They’ve never gotten along, mostly due to the fact that Eris is a raging, rich, dick and he’s from the boonies. The Vanserra’s are some of the wealthiest folk in town, their father, Beron, a successful farmer. They own half of the land in this town and then some.

He knows that Eris can take care of you, money wise, but does the asshole please you in bed? He looks like he’s all take and not give. He knows that Eris has a working car, a nice one too, so he doesn’t understand why you were driving him around that night, but it doesn’t seem to matter at the moment when all of the thoughts racing through his head incinerate with his anger.

Cassian’s fingers curl into fists.

Of course it’s Eris. Of. Fucking. Course. It. Is. It couldn’t have been anyone else? Not Bron or Hart or even Lucien? The nicest of the Vanserras? Cassian knows he’s been in a steady relationship with Elain since they were in middle school, but still. Isn’t it weird to be dating the brother of your sister's boyfriend? Cassian sure as fuck thinks so.

This is utterly ridiculous and he’s raging. He needs to get out of here before he picks up your latte and brings it over to you, shoving Eris further into the booth so he can slam his hands down on that table and yell, “Why him?”

Cassian abandons the idea of getting coffee and spins on his heel, ignoring some of the people who try to greet him, leaving the cafe as quickly as he can.

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

“You knew?” he asks into the phone. The bite of pizza in his mouth turns to sludge and he feels betrayed, but he’ll let Azriel explain because surely his best friend hasn’t kept the fact that you’re seeing one of the Vanserra’s a secret from him.

Azriel shrugs, and something shuffles across the line. “I uh, I’ve been talking to Gwyn.”

Ah. So he’s finally trying to make a move on the fiery redhead from the library. He’s proud of Azriel on the inside, but it doesn’t reflect in his tone because he’s hurt by the subdued man’s actions.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“You never want to talk about her!” Cassian’s dumbstruck. He’s never heard Azriel so loud, irked by his sad nature. His mouth parts even though he doesn’t know how to respond but that’s more than okay because Azriel’s not finished yet. “It’s been months, Cass. You can’t expect her to wallow in sadness for the rest of her life.” And, ouch. That one felt like a direct shot at him. “She was bound to move on at some point and Eris treats her well enough, if that’s what you’re wondering.” It wasn’t, and that just stings more.

Cassian’s reply is quiet, throat tight. “I’ve got to go.”

Azriel sighs down the line, sensing he’s fucked up. “Cass—”

“No, it’s cool, Az. I’ve just got shit to do. I’ll talk to you later.” He hangs up on Azriel’s protest, making a face at the half eaten slice of pizza in his hand. Cassian tosses it back into the box and sits further back in his chair, running his fingers through his almost too-long hair.

Fuck. He can’t sit around and think about you and Eris together or he’ll actually go nuts. With a grunt he stands, swiping his keys from the bowl by the door. He has to work out his frustrations, and there’s only one thing that can help him with that.

He’ll go to work.

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱

“Cass?” Helion calls, “What are you doing here?”

“Just need to work off some frustration,” Cassian says, cringing at the hard edge to his voice. He flings his keys on the top of the tool box before slipping into his grease-stained shirt. He shoves his finger into the button to raise his car on the lift, snagging his safety-goggles from the shelf and sliding them on.

Helion appears, sliding back into the open doorway of his office, a teasing grin on his face. “You know, when I was your age, working off frustration meant—”

“Now’s really not the best time, Helion,” Cassian responds, taking his quarter inch wrench and walking beneath his car, examining the underside. He knows exactly what needs to be done, all of the parts that he can’t afford on his meager wages means that he has to purchase them slowly, one at a time, and it’s likely that the new parts will be worn in and rusted by the time he even comes close to finishing this project.

Fucking small towns.

“Girl troubles?”

Cassian shoots him a sour look that only makes the older man laugh. “Isn’t it always?”

“When I was young,” Helion starts again and Cassian rolls his eyes. The owner of the mechanics shop always starts his stories with variations of ‘When I was your age’ or ‘when I was young.’ It’s annoyingly endearing at the best of times, but right now, it’s down right infuriating, especially since Cassian wants to be alone. “I had a girl too. She was everything to me, and I had plans to marry her.” The older man's tone goes soft, longing, and Cassian pauses his work to look over. “A pretty thing, long, amber hair and all soft smiles…”

“What happened?” Cassian asks, but is weary, already sensing how this story might end.

Helion shrugs, as if after all of this time it doesn’t bother him. Clearly, it's not the case and Cassain wonders if this is his destiny, to end up like Helion, alone and longing for the woman he’s lost. His heart aches.

“She got away,” his boss answers sadly, eyes dull. “I couldn’t be who she wanted me to be, so she left me. Found herself someone better off than me.” Cassian wonders who it could be. Helion was born in this town and never left, never wanted to, but he’s not sure if it’s because the woman he is still so clearly in love with is here and he’s waiting for his chance to be with her, or if it’s because the man has nowhere else to go.

“Sounds similar to what I’m going through right now,” Cassian sighs, shoving his goggles up on his head. He’s clearly not going to get any work done, so he slumps into the extra chair by Helion's desk, a frown on his face. “Helion? Is there something you would do differently?”

The older man sighs, assessing him deeply. It makes Cassian shift uncomfortably in his seat.

And when he speaks, it’s exactly what Cassian needs to hear. “I would’ve gotten the hell out of dodge, had I been smart.”

⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱

The drink he had at Rita’s hadn’t been a good idea. His stomach is in knots, and the alcohol hadn’t helped loosen them in the slightest.

Is he really going to do this?

He had the entire night to think about his plans, his future. Had Helion been honest when he said that he should’ve left town to avoid the heartbreak that plagued him? Could skipping out actually help mend his aching heart?

It might be worth a shot.

Cassian’s backpack is light, stuffed with only the necessities. He’d called Rhys on his drive back to his apartment, and he’d offered him the second bedroom at his apartment for the summer if the Bronco could make it all the way up to New York.

It would be a change, a big one that makes his heart pound in his chest to even consider, but if fleeing town like a coward will help him heal from the breakup, it might be worth the shot.

He decides that he has enough money to make it to New York, and he’ll call Azriel when he gets there, or when he’s on the road and bored of seeing only the highway. He knows Az will be hurt, upset that he didn’t tell him in person, but he’s still mad at the quiet man for keeping your relationship with Eris a secret.

Azriel was being a good friend to you, that Cassian knows, but it still hurts. It hurts to think about Azriel hanging out with you and your sisters and their boyfriends, how he might even actually get along with Eris somehow. The thought of being friends with Eris Vanserra has always been foreign to Cassain.

He takes a last look around his apartment. Azriel will send down the rest of his stuff later, he knows it. His lease ends soon anyway, so if he’s going to leave town, now is the perfect time.

There isn’t anything in this apartment he’ll miss. He’d thrown away the things he kept from your relationship in a fit of rage when he found out about you and Eris. He’d regretted it immediately after.

Cassian loses a breath. A fresh start in a completely different state. This is what he needs.

He shuts off the lights and turns the knob one last time before stepping into the new chapter of his life. New York, here I come.

The streetlight spills through the open crack, illuminating the figure on the other side, hand poised to knock.

Cassian stills, hand so tight on the knob he thinks it might warp, the sight of you in his doorway a shocking surprise.

You’re twisting your fingers together nervously, shifting on your feet like you’re not sure what you’re doing here at all.

“Hey, Cass…”

#cassian acotar #cassian x reader #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #modern!cassian #azsazz

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