#that was meant to be the point of this fic

[pboogerswbb]

TOO LOST IN YOU - part V

Paige Bueckers x bartender!oc

playlist, part I, part II, part III, part IV

Warnings: toxic!p, language, sexual themes, themes of cheating etc

Wordcount: 5.8k

A/N: WE ARE BACK! no smut in this one sorry ik you love it but i think this a bit of a turning point in the fic :) again pls send me feedback and live reactions! it's the best part of writing this series ANYWAY GO READ ty for everything you guys do

-

We’re both sweaty, my skin sticking to hers as we try and catch our breaths - that fourth round had really done us in. If it hadn’t been for me, I’m sure the blonde next to me would’ve gone for fifth. That damn athlete’s stamina. This had become a daily routine the past week, ever since our sleepover.

“You stayin’ over, right?” Paige asks, hand in my hair brushing through it gently. I consider it, the idea of falling asleep in her arms, getting to wake up being held tight by her warming me, but in the back of my mind there’s something gnawing at me. I’m pretty sure I had something to do tonight. Oh right. Jay. Shit.

Clumsily climbing out of bed and pulling on my clothes with urgency makes Paige let out a confused chuckle as she sits up, watching me closely. “Damn ma, chill, you can go if you want.”

“No, I just-” I mumble through my red knitted sweater, pulling it over my head. “I was supposed to see Jay.” In fact Jay had insisted we celebrate because it’s been exactly a month since we started seeing each other. I didn’t really get it. Maybe if we were actually dating, and even then just after one month felt… Excessive to me. But she had insisted.

Paige goes uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, a hint of something unfamiliar on her face as I pull up my flared yoga pants. I check myself in the mirror, mascara smudged over undereyes, lipstick all over my face and my perfectly styled blowout matted at the back - I looked completely fucked out. The hickey on my collarbone, and the smell of Paige’s cologne on my clothes didn’t help my case.

“Paigeee!” I groan at the reflection staring back at me, scrunching my face as I force my long brown locks into a high ponytail, but the blonde sitting behind me on her purple comforter remains quiet, eyes low and face stoic. It’s so unlike her I turn around, tightening my pony as I watch her concerned. “P?”

She finally lifts her gaze from the corner of her room to meet my face, smiling weakly. I could tell something was off, and it made my stomach stir. Before I can ask Paige leans her head against the wall behind her, looking to the ceiling and taking a deep breath.

“You sure you can’t stay?”

It sounds vulnerable, almost pleading if I didn’t know better. For a moment I waver, but instead I brush it off, turning back to the mirror and fixing my makeup while Paige watches on the bed.

“Nah, she wanted to celebrate our one month… Something,” I murmur, reapplying the maroon lipstick.

A deep sigh from Paige fills the room as she fidgets with her hands before bringing them up to her jaw, rubbing it.

“Why are you with her?”

“Huh?” I ask, turning to her but she won’t meet my gaze.

“You heard me, why are you with her?”

I’m baffled, astonished by the question. A blush rising to my cheeks I suddenly feel defensive for some reason - mostly because there was no good reason. Jay was nice enough and I liked her company. Sometimes. But at least I knew for certain she would never do what Paige had done to me in the past. Never.

“Because she’s good to me! How’s that any of your business anyway?” my voice rises as I ask, my arms crossing but Paige is quick to get up and walk over to me, pulling me into a hug.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, you right,” she quickly lets out, rubbing up and down my back and the anger immediately subsides. “Stupid question, sorry.” She sounds almost scared. I had never heard her sound like that. Trying to understand what it meant made my mind turn to mush so I focus on the way she kisses my forehead and holds my face, our eyes meeting.

“Thursday then? After my game?” Paige suggests, now kissing my neck, making me forget all about who was waiting for me. My eyes flutter shut as I hum, trying to answer.

“I can’t,” I murmur, Paige’s lips doing their best work as her teeth nibble my earlobe making me hiss. “Me and Jay are gonna come watch you play,” I admit breathlessly, making her pull away from me.

“Seriously?” She asks, brows furrowed in annoyance. I shrug, unsure why she was so upset.

“I’ve been beggin’ for you to come see me play and nothin’? But for Justine…?”

“It’s her birthday! I promised I’d do what she wanted!” I argue, my voice rising the tiniest bit once more.

Paige looks at the ground and shakes her head frustrated, breathing heavy through her mouth. I couldn’t help but feel a little bad, I never in a million years thought she cared this much about me seeing her play. I didn’t even care about going with Jay. Honestly, I just wanted to see Paige in her element. I loved listening to her talk about ball, the way her eyes sparkled with knowledge and passion. She might be a piece of shit and an asshole but I really admired her resilience and ambition. If Paige was anything it was incredibly focused and dedicated. Sometimes to her own fault, I thought.

“Besides I bet Claire or-”

“Clara.”

“Right, Clara, will be there to watch you play!” Her name tastes sour in my mouth.

“I don’ care about her, want you watchin’ me!”

“Well I will be watchin’ you!”

“With Justine!” Paige groans with a roll of her eyes, her hands waving around as she speaks. I watch her bewildered when it hits me. She’s jealous. Paige Bueckers is jealous.

“You’re jealous?” slips from my mouth with a confused scoff, making Paige freeze. She looks at me for a moment, debating, then shaking her head.

“No. I just- I don’ wanna talk about it, I don’t wanna fight,” she sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingers. There’s a hint of defeat in her voice which makes me waver. My annoyance and confusion slip away as I watch the way her blue eyes soften. 

“Let’s not fight Val, please.”

“Okay,” I hum and let her pull me into a hug. As her nose buries into my hair, for a second I think she’s smelling it, inhaling carefully - but I must be mistaken. She had never done that before.

“P I gotta go,” I murmur against her chest, not wanting to but knowing Jay was growing more and more suspicious as time passed. Frankly, we still weren’t exclusive so none of this was technically cheating. Still, I hadn’t told her. I had convinced myself that eventually I would. I just don’t know when.

“I’ll walk you,” she whispers, making me chuckle.

“Yeah that wouldn’t be sus at all huh?”

Paige grins, looking down at me. “Just tell her we’re fucking around.”

With a furrow of my brows I shake my head. “Nah.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Paige is smirking smugly now, staring into me. “Oh because then you’d have to tell her how I fuck you better than she do?”

I blush and roll my eyes. I wasn’t about to admit she was right.

Pushing her off me, I grab my bag from the floor and give her one last glance. She reaches her hand to my jaw and holds it, pressing a tender kiss to my lips making my heart flutter for a second.

“Text me when you’re there ma,” she murmurs against my lips before letting go and opening her door for me.

“I will.”

Waving bye to Jana and Allie too who I’d become friendly with this last week, I walk out of the dorm into the chilly evening, February still forcing me to wear my white puffer jacket. I wrap it around me tightly as I hurry towards Jay’s dorm, trying not to think myself to the grave over Paige’s behaviour  - loving, caring, a different Paige than I knew last fall. I almost wish she was the same as she used to be, the careless player who didn’t let me sleep over or get to know her roommates. Because now I had what I had always wanted from her. Except it wasn’t a dream come true. It was terrifying. My heart wanted to give in, to let myself feel. But I was horrified of what she could do again, how she might hurt me this time.

I’m still in my thoughts when I reach Jay’s door, knocking on it urgently. Before I can even lower my hand, she opens the door, a frown on her face.

“You’re late.” she says, letting me in nevertheless. The room is lit with candles, homemade dinner gone cold on the plates and a bouquet of flowers in a vase - my heart sinks. Not because I missed out on what Jay had planned, but because I didn’t want this. Not from her. I felt like a piece of shit for thinking that this was way too much. But it’s true. 

“Fuck Jay, I’m so sorry. I got caught up at Ted’s. I didn’t know a Tuesday night would be this busy,” I chuckle trying to lighten the mood, seeing a teddy bear with a big red bowtie sitting on the couch, giving me the creeps.

“Whatever Val,” she sighs, clearing the plates away. I watch, not sure what to say.

“Your roommates, where-”

Jay turns to me, tears in her eyes. “I paid them both to be out tonight, to make tonight special. But you didn’t even come.”

“I’m here now!” I say, walking over and grabbing her hands. I never knew what to do when someone cried, I wasn’t the consoling type, I was the advice type. My friends didn’t come to me to be comforted, they came to me to know what to do next. I always had a plan. But this was way out of my comfort zone. I hated when girls cried because of me.

“Look, I’m sorry, it was so busy. I didn’t even realise I was late,” I lie, looking straight into her blue eyes. It’s hard, I don’t like it, but the words slip from my lips more easily than I thought. 

Jay pouts and nods, wiping the tears from her eyes. “It’s not your fault just… next time call.” Her voice is weak. I really felt like an asshole. I had to end it with Paige, I knew I did. I just simply couldn’t. My heart didn’t let me for some reason.

“Okay, I’m sorry Jay. C’mere.” I pull her into a kiss, but it feels wrong, icky almost. She kisses me back though, her hands wrapping around my waist. I catch a whiff of Paige’s cologne on my sweater.

“Let’s order pizza, okay?” I ask against her lips, not wanting to open my eyes and face reality, the tugging of my heartstrings. I felt like I was being ripped apart, stuck between crossroads. I could feel myself falling for Paige. I knew it by the way my heart ached when we said goodbye, the way my eyes were constantly looking for her in a crowd. I was falling for her, yes. But the moment I admitted that the fear would come roaring in, like a tide, ready to bury everything underneath it. She had so many tools to hurt me, so many that she was unaware of. God if she knew how I felt I’m sure I’d never heard from her again. It would ruin everything. Being with Jay was good, secure, the right thing to do. Even if I didn’t feel half as much for her, my heart didn’t flutter for her - at least she couldn’t break it either.

-

Be you. Be great.

I watch the text from my dad flash on my screen, sitting in front of my cubby, legs bouncing nervously. I already knew we’d win today - we weren’t playing anyone special. An attitude Geno would surely smack the back of my head for, but it’s simply true. It wasn’t the upcoming game making my finger tap nervously against the back of my phone, it was the text I had typed out, my finger hovering over the send button, making my stomach flutter.

Miss u Val

“Yo warmups!” KK snaps me out of my trance, my finger accidentally pressing down on the send button. Shit. Now Valerie was gonna know I miss her. 

Sure it had only been a couple days since she was last in my arms, but being away from her made my heart ache. Usually the more I saw a girl the less I wanted to see her. Valerie, however, seemed to have the opposite effect. I couldn’t get enough. Guess it had something to do with the “feelings” I had for her.

“Shit you scared me,” I chuckle, my cheeks turning red as I hide the screen which KK does not miss. She grins at me, elbowing my shoulder teasingly.

“You texting Valerie?”

“Yooo,” I roll my eyes but don’t deny it, a sly smile forming on my face. Raising my brows and scratching the back of my head I look at the shorter girl standing in front of me. “She’s comin’ to watch tonight.”

“Oh forreal?”

“With Justine,” I scoff, standing up to join KK in heading in for the warmups, my jersey on, hidden underneath the warmup clothes. She snorts and shakes her head.

“Crazy work to name a child that,” She laughs.

Nodding, I snort a little. “That’s what I’m sayin’ like.” I might joke, but Justine was the one getting to bring Valerie to a game. Not me. I would take a stupid name like that too if it meant I got to do that.

“You jealous?” KK asks, noticing the way my teeth grind together. I quickly shake my head, not very convincingly, but flexing a little to make up for it. “Nah, I’m the ultimate rizzler remember? Nothin’ to worry ‘bout.”

Truthfully? I was a little worried. Taking a deep breath I try to push that feeling away as we enter the court, the seats slowly filling as the crowd makes their way in.

“Bro just tell her how you feel,” KK murmurs as we both stretch, watching some of the girls running around the court.

Her words make me scoff, how naive. “It’s not that simple,” my voice is stern. No one seemed to understand the pressure I was under, not even my best friend. To even suggest something like that felt insane. I couldn’t tell Valerie. Not with a natty on the line, not with all this pressure. 

Besides, what then? She feels the same and we date? I’d make a shit girlfriend, I know it. I was too selfish, an asshole. I wasn’t girlfriend material. Not for anyone as special, as precious as my Valerie. All she did was complicate things. Even now, my head was spinning with the thought of her. As if I don’t have to be at my best, have my head in the game in like an hour. God, I need to get a grip. Maybe I deserved to lose today. I was unfocused, a disappointment.

“Girl you’re an idiot,” KK sighs as we jog up and down the court. My eyes are immediately looking over the student section when her golden brown hair glimmers in the light like a beacon just for me to find her. She’s sitting in the third row, legs crossed in a mini denim skirt, much too short for the weather outside. An oversized black sweater reveals her left shoulder and collarbone, the mark I had left visible to everyone. Bold. I suppose Jay must have thought it was her doing. Boy if she knew. Part of me wanted everyone to know she’s mine. Only she wasn’t.

It’s not just Valerie’s hair, but the gold dangling on her wrist as she brushes her hair back, the rings decorating her fingers and the earrings contrasting against her dark locks that make the whole place shimmer, all because of her. I simply can’t look away. My twisted fantasies of having some sort of ownership over the brunette is quickly interrupted when Justine’s hand wraps around her shoulders and I notice the blonde girl, kissing Valerie’s cheek. My Valerie’s. I nearly trip over my feet, making KK laugh out loud - her laughter echoing around the court, taunting me.

-

“Guys what the hell is wrong with you, we should be up by 20 at this point against a school like this? That was the worst offense I’ve seen in my who-”

Geno’s scolding is ear-piercing as I sit in the dressing room next to the other girls, my elbows leaving red marks on my thighs as I lean against them and wipe the sweat dripping down my neck. My chest heaves as Geno takes turns chewing off each of us, dreading for my own turn.

We were only leading by four pathetic points, and had to struggle even for that. It was all my fault, I already knew. I didn’t need Geno or anyone to tell me that. I was unfocused, making bad decisions, causing turnovers - I even missed a free throw for the sole reason that just moments before I had seen Jay’s lips pressing into Valerie’s. God, just the thought was making me feel sick.

“Paige,” Geno’s stern voice snaps me out of it, my eyes lifting to meet his. But all he does is shake his head, and it’s even worse than him yelling at me. I wanted him to cuss me out, anything else.  “You know,” he simply says and I nod. I did know.

At least now I had the confirmation of everything I had suspected all along. A girl was nothing but a disturbance, a hitch in my plans. I can’t believe I had let myself do this, get distracted because of some girl. A classic fool. And I was about to make a fool out of my whole team too.

Once Geno leaves and gives us some time before the third quarter, I check my phone, my repentant thoughts quickly subsiding when I see the texts.

i miss you too p

fuck you look hot in that jersey

okay biceps you looking swole? when have you had time to hit the gym that much

wish i could come spend the night

My heart flutters, all of it is flattering sure. But it’s the first and last message that get me to take deep breaths. She misses me. She wants to spend the night with me. The weight on my chest eases up.

U should come over after

i can’t

promised jay

Fuck Justine 

Just come up w sumn

you really miss me that bad?

So fucking bad baby

Going to ted’s after the game

ok i’ll figure something out

Something about the texting and the adrenaline from the game made me bolder, more honest.

Valerie?

yeah?

U look gorgous

Gorjes

gorgeous?

Shut up it’s hard to spell :(

student athlete who

Gotta go warm up

paige?

Yeah?

go kill em

-

It’s hard to miss the moment the Huskies walk in, all in a big group in their navy blue Uconn trackies laughing and hyping up the blonde in the middle, whose face is scrunched up as she tells them to chill. I knew Paige well enough that she didn’t mean any of that, she loved the limelight.

All of the second half of the game Paige had been glowing on the court, completely unguardable, the star I always knew she was. With her help the Huskies had won with a 20 point lead despite the rough first half. I could’ve watched her forever. Every shot, every pass, every block had me on my toes, and I swear I was always the first one to jump to my feet to cheer for her. I forgot about the crowd, even Jay next to me. On the court it might as well just have been Paige Bueckers, I wouldn’t have noticed the difference.

“Babe, tell Alex I’m right!” Jay interrupts my thoughts, forcing my eyes to snap from Paige to her sitting around a table with some of her friends, a red partyhat on her head for the birthday celebration.

I blink stupidly, having missed the whole conversation.

“Shots for everyone!!” I hear Paige yell behind me, forcing a crooked smile to grow on my face.

“Uh sorry I couldn’t hear you,” I admit, glancing over my shoulder hoping the tall blonde would notice me eyeing her. She was too busy leaning over the bar, clearly eager for the drinks.

Jay giggles and presses a wet kiss on my forehead. “You’re so cute,” she murmurs. I nearly vomit. 

Suddenly claustrophobic from her closeness, I brush Jay’s hand away. “I need another drink.”

“But you still have some-”

I quickly down the rest of my vodka soda, before standing up and taking quick steps in my boots towards the group of really, really tall girls surrounding Paige, flutters in my stomach growing with each step.

“Valerie!” KK is the first to notice me and wrap an arm around me. The sound of my name makes Paige’s head snap towards my direction, the smile on her face only growing wider when she sees me. Without thinking and before I can stop her, Paige is wrapping her hands around my waist and spinning me in the air, giggling, her head on my shoulder.

“Oh my God put me down!” My command is not cogent, the chuckles making me less convincing. Paige obeys anyway and lets me go, both of us glancing towards the table where Jay is sitting, still immersed in conversation with her friends. Feeling bold, Paige’s hand rapidly slides down my back to my ass, groping it harshly before letting go. The fact that Jay could see only makes me want her to do it again. Maybe I should see a therapist.

“Val I know you’re not working but can you make the Shirleys pleaaaase,” the blonde in front of me begs, her pleading blue eyes almost getting to me. “They’re fire.”

“No! I’m a free woman tonight!” I proclaim, leaning my elbows against the bar. Paige does the same, her side pressing into mine sending jolts all over me. 

“Fine, whatchu drinkin’ ma?” she asks. “Vodka soda?”

“With crush-”

“Crushed lime, I know.”

Paige orders the drink, paying for it without making it a big deal in any way. I always found her smoothness so incredibly sexy. Right now as she stood there, elbows on the bar, chewing on her bottom lip, shower fresh and beaming from the win, I swear I had never felt so attracted to her. It wasn’t just pure lust, but something else too. Something more.

“That third quarter,” I start, the praise immediately causing a smirk to grow on the blonde’s face.

“Yeah? You watched me?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

I smile too, looking down to my feet. “You were born to do that.”

When our eyes meet again there’s a hint of something vulnerable and genuine in Paige’s expression. All the other noise seems to quiet down, leaving us in our own bubble, just us two. It bursts quickly when I feel a hand wrap around my waist. I know who it is before I even look, evident by the pure annoyance on Paige’s face.

“Hey babe are you fangirling over here?” She jokes, kissing my cheek. I pull away a little but Jay’s a few too many drinks in to notice.

Paige quickly smiles and shakes her head, sipping her drink. “Nah, I was. She makes the best dirty Shirley around, trust.”

I stare into her blue eyes, secretly enjoying this little game we were playing. Tiptoeing the line between strangers and something more.

“Yeah she insisted on getting me a drink for all the times she’s been yelling into my ear to play Drake,” I tease back, my mind immediately going to the many nights Paige had made her way behind the bar, one time even getting on her knees on the disgusting, sticky floor and begging me to let her play a few songs. From the smirk on her face, I know Paige is thinking the same.

Jay’s eyebrows shoot up watching us, clearly surprised. “Hm. No one told me you two know each other that well.”

“I mean we don’t, I just know she works here,” Paige quickly corrects, her brows furrowing as she points to me. “Your name’s uh… Vivien?”

“Valerie.”

Paige and me both smirk a little, Jay missing it completely. 

“Riiight sorry,” Paige grins, sipping her drink and turning to the blonde next to me. “Sick hat.” She’s being sarcastic.

“Thanks man, it’s my birthday,” Jay answers, a little flustered at the attention she was getting from the girl in front of us.

“Damn, happy birthday,” Paige says politely, patting Jay’s shoulder in a manner only I knew was condescending. 

Excusing herself, Paige leaves me and the blonde girl by the bar, every cell in my body screaming to follow her.

“Paige Bueckers just wished me happy birthday,” Jay says in awe.

-

The girl whose waist I’m holding, kissing my neck might as well not exist - I barely notice her. My stare is locked on Valerie and Justine, giggling and dancing in the corner of the packed bar. They look happy. 

A pang of guilt washes over me momentarily. Here’s Justine who, yeah sure is short, but really seems to like Valerie, takes good care of her. And maybe Valerie would learn to be happy with her if I just let her. The nauseating images of them adopting a dog together, getting married, raising children and growing old with each other flash through my mind. It’s enough to cause a tremble in my lower lip, my eyes welling up. The ache in my chest was trying to tell me something I wasn’t ready to admit.

“Can we go back to yours?” Clara hums, her teeth nibbling on my earlobe when a single tear rolls down my right cheek. I quickly wipe it off, my eyes finally turning to the girl next to me. To my relief she’s too busy trying to turn me on to notice my red eyes.

“Not now Clara,” I murmur, my voice barely audible over the music and chatter.

The girl’s face scrunches up in annoyance as I push her off me, gently but with a firm hand.

“What’s your problem? You’ve been like this all night, it’s like I’m not even here.”

“Not now.” I rub the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes and trying to take calming breaths.

“If you don’t want me he-”

“I don’t want you here Clara, I didn’t even ask you to come.”

There’s a moment of heavy silence between us, the girl next to me staring at me with wide eyes, hurt written all over her face. I wasn’t strong enough to fight how I felt anymore. It was time to face my feelings, even if it scared me.

“This is over, okay?” I admit, my gaze meeting Clara’s. She blinks at me slowly, processing. I feel like I should say something, explain myself. But nothing I could say would make it better so I stay quiet.

In silence, I watch Clara hop down from the bar stool and look at me one more time.

“My friends were right about you.”

With that she leaves Ted’s and relief washes over me. I grab my phone, and type out a text.

I’m sorry but I can’t see u anymore, just got too much going on

I copy and paste it, sending the words to each girl on my roster, not bothering to wait for any responses before deleting their numbers. Zoe, Jenny, Sofia, all gone. It was almost exhilarating, the way my body worked before my brain could catch up. Glancing to the opposite corner of the bar I finally catch Valerie’s eye. I nod my head towards the bathrooms before heading in myself. She’s quick to follow, leaving Justine behind. It was time to be brave, the kind of person who deserved Valerie.

The bathrooms are tiny, both of us making the space more cramped when I let Valerie in, locking the door behind us. Before she can say anything, her big brown eyes blinking at me, I’m kissing her. Not with any other agenda except aching to feel her lips on mine. My left hand cups her face, right hand holding her body close to me by her waist. Hungry for more, my tongue slips between her lips.

“Paige…” Valerie’s voice is soft against my lips, her breathing heavy as her hands hold my hips. 

“Shh,” I hum, my hands gently brushing through her hair as my kisses turn from hungry to loving, our lips slowing down in their dance. After a while we both pull away breathless, our foreheads resting against one another. Before my brain catches up, the words spill from my mouth.

“Leave her.”

Valerie’s brown eyes widen as she leans her head back to look at me.

“I- huh?” 

I swallow, thinking about doubling down for an instant. No. This needs to be it. Be brave Paige.

“Justine. Leave her.” There’s a hint of anxiety in my trembling voice, but the way I stare at the brunette girl in front of me lets her know I’m serious. Her expression is hard to read, the cramped space muffling the sounds of the world outside. In this moment it’s just us. Frankly, I had no idea what I was doing. I might really screw us up now. Lose her forever. But I didn’t have any fight left in me. It was bound to happen.

“Why?” she asks, her dark brows furrowing a little.

I scoff lightly, taking her hands in mine.

“Why? You know why.”

From the way Valerie blinks at me confirms that she did know - this wasn’t just sleeping around anymore, this had gone beyond. We both knew.

My thumbs smooth over the soft skin of her petite hands, the red polish decorating her nails, the chunky gold rings cool against my fingertips. I was trying to be patient, giving her time to process. But the pounding in my chest was making me lightheaded, the anxiety making my cheeks turn red. I felt vulnerable, exposed, terrified. Yet, I don’t speak or hurry her.

“No, stop it.”

Before I realise what’s happening, Valerie pulls her hands away from me, her eyes full of suspicion. My stomach stirs as she reaches for the door but I stop her.

“No, wait, please Val,” I plead, hand on the door handle.

“I can’t do this again,” Valerie cries out, her eyes filling with tears. I reach to wipe them away but she moves back from me. It breaks my heart.

“No ma, ‘s not like that this time. I left Clara, I left all of ‘em. Fuck all of ‘em ok? I don’t want ‘em!” My voice is desperate, chasing the brunette’s brown eyes as she avoids my gaze. 

“I need some air,” she murmurs, unlocking the door. However she doesn’t get far before bumping into Justine’s chest, standing right outside the bathroom eyeing both of us.

All three of us go silent as the blonde girl stares dumbfounded. 

“What the fuck is going on?” She slurs, alcohol evident in her voice.

“Jay I-” Valerie starts but Justine is quick to flip around and take hurried steps towards the exit. I follow the brunette out of Ted’s, the parking lot quiet on a rainy night.

“Jay, please wait! Let me explain!” Valerie pleads, grabbing Justine’s hand but she pushes her away, forcing the brunette to stumble back a little. My fingers flex with anger as I step between the two girls.

“Whoa, yo nuh uh,” I say sternly, shaking my head at Justine who’s looking at me like she might actually jump me. I wasn’t worried, I could take her. “Don’t touch her.”

The blonde scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You can’t tell me not to touch my girl!”

Her girl? I feel anger rising from my gut, heat ascending to my neck and cheeks. I step into her space, looking down at her as I do. 

“Don’t you get it?” I chuckle, an arrogant smirk on my face, basking in the way she had to tilt her head up to look at me. “Val’s not your girl.”

“Paige-” Valerie’s voice is careful behind me, her hand gently reaching for my forearm.

“You wanna know why she been too tired to come over? Because she’s been in my bed, getting fucked like she deserv-”

“PAIGE!”

Valerie pulls me back by my arm, her eyes wide and furious as she looks up at me. The adrenaline was making me bold, I wanted the world to know she’s mine. No one else’s. My Valerie.

“Fuck you both.” Justine slurs, heading back inside the bar, clearly not the fighting type. Deep deep down I wish she had jumped me just so I had the excuse to punch her at least once for calling Valerie her girl.

The brunette lets go of me and scoffs, shaking her head as she starts walking away from me. Suddenly coming to my senses, I follow behind her apologetically.

“Ma, wait.”

“Paige what are you doing?” She cries out, a desperate frustration evident in the way she speaks as she turns to look at me.

I step into her space, hands itching to touch her. Better not. Not right now. Biting my lower lip I sigh and shake my head.

“Sorry it just pissed me off hearing her-”

She’s not listening but profusely shaking her head, eyes squeezing shut.

“I don’t understand you, I don’t get what you want from me!” She bursts out. My hands come to hold her shoulders, taking it as a good sign when she lets me.

“I want you Val,” I finally admit. Not just to her but to myself.

“But what does that even mean?!” She’s clearly frustrated, tired of the confusing cat and mouse game we’d been playing since we met. I was tired too.

“Look ma, I’m done with all the other girls, and you’re done with Justine. I dunno what that means but-”

“But what? We date? Become girlfriends? Then what?” She spews. I rub my forehead and eyes with my hand, feeling my head spinning. Maybe I hadn’t thought this through.

“Maybe-”

“Until you find the next girl you wanna fuck? Or freak out again?”

“No Val not this time-”

“How do you know?” She asks, a hint of desperation in her voice, looking for any sign that this was a risk worth taking.

“I uh,” I mumble, my skin turning hot, bringing my hands behind my head, rubbing my hair, trying to soothe myself.

“How do you know, Paige?!” Valerie screams, her big brown eyes pleading with me for a reason. Before my brain could catch up my mouth’s already forming the words. The words I had not had the time to admit to myself yet - that feeling that had been gnawing at me for weeks now. The twist in my gut, the dizziness in my head. I finally understood.

“Because I love you Valerie!”

-

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[felassan]

David Gaider on Cassandra (the last of these retrospective character threads), under a cut for length:

"This is the last of the (major) characters I wrote during my time on Dragon Age. I could go into others, and considered moving onto Stray Gods... but I feel like fewer would be interested, and I honestly can't keep up the pace. So let's make this the last, for now. So, yeah. Cassandra. We knew early on that Cassandra would come into DAI as a companion, along with Varric, that this was part of what DA2 set up for the sequel. Now, I'd written Cassandra's short scenes in DA2, yes, but I wasn't her writer for DAI. Initially, she was Jennifer Hepler's character. By mid-project, in fact, Cassandra was more or less fully written. Jennifer did a great job - solid character, solid quest. The sticking point, it turned out, was her romance. Now, to be fair, Jennifer told me straight up when we began that writing romance wasn't her forte, but she'd give it a go. The problem with the romance as she wrote it wasn't in its execution but more a clash between the character as Jennifer envisioned her and the requirements of her being a romance. See, I mentioned previously that a romance arc inherently limits the kinds of stories you can tell with a companion. Many responses I got can be summed up as "lol skill issue", but consider this: a companion romance isn't a fic you can just throw up on AO3. It's an investment of a lot of resources. If a companion has one, most of their resources need to be devoted to it - it's not "now let's ALSO add a romance"."

"That means it needs to take priority in who they are as a character and their arc. What's more, they need to be *appealing* to a big chunk of the player base - or at least someone we can imagine being broadly appealing, anyway. Thankfully, there are still many many stories this can accommodate. 😊 This, however, wasn't one of those. Was Cassandra a fascinating character? Absolutely. Her romance, though... Well, Jennifer DID warn me. She'd written Cassandra as a serious, self-righteous, pious woman who put the Inquisitor on a messianic pedestal. Romancing her meant changing her view of you. You did this by being... pushy. Jennifer didn't mean it to, I'm sure, but sometimes it came off as, at best, negging. At worst, a bit harassy. And Jennifer would have fixed it. This was a 1st draft, and the issues - while serious - were something a skilled writer like her could handle. No problem. Thing is, Jennifer left. You may not remember, but this was around the time a bunch of GamerGate dudes decided Jennifer was somehow responsible for ALL of BioWare's faults. Oh, the power she wielded! She, a writer, could even command the combat Bio made! The result was a LOT of ugly harassment. 😞 Is this why she left? You'd have to ask her, but it undoubtedly didn't help. The important thing is, she left - and there was nobody as senior nor as superhumanly fast as her to take over any unfinished work. This is where Patrick Weekes comes in: a solid, senior writer who could fill her shoes."

"It was great timing - not only did Cassandra need a writer, I'd slowly fallen more and more behind. It was clear by that point that I'd never be able to write Dorian AND Cole AND Solas as planned. They needed to pick up two. And I let them choose the ones who interested them, like all my writers. Patrick taking Solas was no surprise, and while I had Big Plans for Solas in the future I knew at least he'd be in good hands. I was reeeeaaaally hoping Patrick would then pick Cassandra... but they wanted Cole. My baby. Who I created in Asunder. I grumped, but Patrick clearly loved the character. They had ideas for Cole which... yeah yeah, sounded cool. Fiiine. 😅 Now I had to figure out what *I* was going to do with Cassandra. We couldn't move the romance to someone else, all the other female characters were well underway, and I didn't know the character well enough to fix her with tweaks. That meant a re-write. I didn't WANT to erase all that good work, but I needed to start from scratch. Yet how? A pious, self-righteous character was already a risk in terms of romantic appeal. There are only a small number of traits sorta considered universally unappealing but they're on that list. In this instance, Cassandra already being a known character helped. I came across a webcomic (by aimo, I think? AHH I wish I could find it now) that made a joke about Cassandra reading Varric's books. Off-hand, no basis for it, but funny. 😆 And I thought: YES. THAT'S IT. THAT'S WHAT I'M MISSING."

"I sat down and wrote the "fangirl" scene, just to test it out. Everyone loved it, and it served to change my image of who Cassandra was - a view of the inside, at the idealistic and awkward passion she felt, for so many things... AND the Maker. "Yes," I thought. "I could fall in love with this." Who knew Cassandra could be funny? Not anyone, coming out of DA2, yet here we were. It worked so well and her voice came so easily. Miranda Raison was game ofc, and amazing. Though Caroline did gripe that, if we ever met more Nevarrans THAT accent meant we'd have the Tali Problem all over again. 😅 Cassandra's romance is burned into my brain as the time when we THE most awkward conversation with the animators ever. See, that moment during the sex scene on the picnic blanket when she leans back and... there were suddenly these strategically-placed candles, juuuust covering the Sordid Bits. Thing is, they were so obviously placed just to do that. Plus, we'd already decided to do full nudity in DAI, hadn't we? WHY WERE THEY EVEN THERE? Turns out, the nudity thing was still pretty new to the team. They'd forgotten and put the candles there almost as a reflex. So prudish. So Canadian. 😂 I do find it kind of funny that, these days, what I mostly hear about Cassandra is from female fans upset at me because she wasn't a lesbian option. I mean, right? Who wouldn't want that? Technically not my decision, but I guess I WAS behind the companions having set preferences so... fair enough?"

"Some of them do take it to an entitled place, though, like Cassandra *should* have been a lesbian. Why? Because she looks like one, apparently, and that that's a bit of stereotyping which feels... odd? But it's not as if lesbian players are spoiled for choice left and right, so again: fair enough. It did lead to the best end credits VO perhaps ever, and overall I'm pretty happy with how Cassandra panned out. Things never end up like you expect, right? But such is game dev lyfe. 🥸🖖 Did you know Cassandra was THE most-romanced DAI character, by a good margin? Least, by a good margin? Dorian."

[source thread]

User: "Did you have any hand in her writing for Dawn of the Seeker?" David Gaider: "No, none. Nobody at BioWare had any hand in Dawn of the Seeker, outside of maybe Mike approving the script or direction? Only he could say for sure." [source]

User: "Was Miranda a specific casting choice by anyone on the team (similar to your picks for Merrill/Fenris/Solas), or was she simply a lucky find? I loved Miranda on the BBC series "Spooks", so I was very pleasantly surprised to learn she voiced one of my favourite DA characters" David Gaider: "I don’t remember how Miranda was cast. Auditioned, I expect, and she had a good “steely warrior voice” which is surprisingly uncommon among actresses. The accent she made up was all her, as well." [source]

User: "What's the Tali Problem?" David Gaider: "When Tali was the only Quarian, the actress doing a made-up accent was fine. Once there were others… do we get them all to mimic her? That’s a tall order!" [source]

User: "I'd say Solas is the most popular nowaday, but you need to be such a specific race/gender combo + most straight guys wouldn't go for him, i get hes not on top of the list, but I'd have expected Josephine over Cass." David Gaider: "You can’t go by how fans online talk about playing the game. There is almost zero correlation between the playstyles of the vocal hardcore and the masses." [source]

User: "I was a Dorianmancer. The cut content in Trespasser DLC was sad to read, it definitely felt short/abrupt for Dorianmancers. Anyway to share what was cut at all?" David Gaider: "I don’t know what was cut out of the conversation, as I never played it. I just heard about it after the fact." [source]

User: "Those end credits are truly incredible. Do you remember who wrote them? I'm guessing a combination of Mary Kirby & you?" David Gaider: "I wrote them, but I recall the entire team kind of took part in brainstorming the pieces of it." [source]

User: "I’m very curious- Do you know what direction you would have taken Cole and his story if you’d kept him?" David Gaider: "It's hypothetical at this point, but I suspect I would have been less willing to lose the serial killer aspect... or, at least, would have made that transition occur as part of his arc in DAI. Yet that's easy to say from this side of the divide. Who knows, really?" [source]

User: "With Cassandra you created one of the best characters in DA history." David Gaider: "Personally, my favorite response of hers is where she gets mocked for loving romance and she comes back with a retort about how it's a strength - how loving something and striving for the ideal takes courage. To me, that's central to her core." [source]

User: "inquiry: did you not write any of the Awakening characters?" David Gaider: "I wrote Anders, Justice, and Nathaniel in Awakening - but it was such a hurried project, my memories of it are pretty much a blur. "Yes, I worked on that" is almost all I can say about it, I'm afraid." [source]

[star-eyed-angels]

The Masked Ballerina

Mafia!Yunho x ballerina!reader

angst, light fluff 6k

TW: mentions of fighting, abuse, violence, swearing, weapons. As usual, please let me know if I missed something.

Please read at your own discretion.

Where Yunho's search for excitement leads him to the Ballet.

AN: Heavily inspired by the Ice On My Teeth MV. In my mind this exists in the same universe as my Mafia!Hongjoong fic. The chess lore goes hard in this one. Enjoy lovelies ���

Also in case anyone cares, the song reader dances to is Masquerade Suite: Maskarad at about 1:18 is when Yunho starts tapping and 1:23 is when he sees their face

MASTERLIST

It’s very rare that Yunho goes out alone. Normally he travels with his guards, a new rule put in place after the Wooyoung incident. He understands its another layer of protection in case someone decides to get a little too close. especially if one of their enemies decides to put a hit out on him. Which of course has happened more times than he can count, but his guards don’t let anyone get within talking distance. It's always kind of fun to him. Watching some dumb soldier try to charge at him. Part of Yunho wishes his guards would just let them through. That way he could have a little fun. Just the thought makes his hands twitch. God is he aching for a good fight. But he knows that would never happen. They would never allow it. It’s their sole duty to protect him. One of their eight bosses who are far too precious to lose. 

Yunho sighs at the thought. His breath coming out in front of him in the cold night air. He knows it's silly to want to get into a bit of trouble. With the power he holds he should be excited at the people who bow before him. But he can't help but want something more. A change of pace. Like tonight and his new habit of sneaking out once he knows the others are busy or sleeping. It started on a whim, his restlessness driving him over the edge. It was normally pretty bad, but this night he swore if he didn’t do something he would go insane. He found himself creeping down the hallway, waiting for just the right moment when he knew the guards would step away before making a dash to the street. He spent the next few hours wandering the city. The solitude was refreshing, not having anyone hovering over him. While it gave him a little rush the first few weeks , the thrill has already started to fade. His little nights out becoming something too close to a routine. 

He’s done his best to spice it up a bit, trying to find different routes. But with legs as long as his, there’s only so much he can do before he’s seen it all. The more he dwells on it, the worse he starts to feel. He tugs the hood of his sweater farther over his head, huffing in annoyance. With his mood slowly souring, he thinks it’s best to run back home. He finds himself turning towards the dark alley. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that he gravitates towards the shadows. He’s always been his skill, hiding in the shadows until he strikes. Of course nowadays he’s more of a boss, giving people his orders. And while it’s nice, can anyone really blame him for missing the action? I mean he’d even be happy to even do a simple hit. Give him a rookie task, hell he’ll take anything at this point. He realizes he sounds a bit like an addict. But God would it kill to have just a bit of excitement in his life? 

He turns to walk into the alley. He's so distracted he doesn't pay attention to the figure hiding in the shadows. 

“Hold it.” a voice calls out.

He’s pinned swiftly against a wall. A small breath knocked out of him, as he stumbles into it.

Yunho looks down to see a gun pointed at his chest. He’s so caught off guard it takes him a second to register what he’s looking at. His eyes trail up the arm holding the gun, finding a masked figure in front of him. At Least a head shorter than him and clearly in way over their head. 

He looks up at the sky, a baffled smile finding its way onto his face.

This isn’t what I meant.

If Yunho didn’t know any better he’d think he’s in a comedy movie. One where he’s the bud of all the jokes. 

“I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you,”

Ah yes the tiny thief. 

Yunho looks back down, the person digging the gun into his chest. He only blinks in response.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” they snap, “Just give me your money and no one has to get hurt.”

Yunho grabs the hand holding the gun, nudging it out of the way. 

“I don’t have any money. Now if you’ll excuse me-” he starts to say, but is swiftly cut off.

“What? Are you stupid, I said-”

Yunho rolls his eyes, any other night he’d probably entertain the idea of a brawl. But tonight he’s tired and just wants to be back home. This person clearly either doesn’t know what they’re getting themselves into. He supposes it’s the plain clothes he chose to wear out that make him somewhat unrecognizable. That and the fact that he doesn’t have his usual entourage hanging around him. 

Before they can get another word out he grips their arm, raising the gun up to the sky. He tugs the thief towards him, forcing them to stumble into his chest. They gasp in shock, grip loosening on the gun with the movement. Yunho pulls it away with ease, disarming it and dropping the remaining bullet in a single breath.

“What the fuck,” the masked figure says, clearly bewildered.

They look up, staring wide eyed up at him. It’s only then that Yunho takes notice of their eyes. One a normal color. And the other a stark contrast. Gray in color, mirroring the dark clouds above the pair. The snow continues to fall around the two, silence filling the air. It's in this brief moment that he’s able to really look at them. In the small window of the ski mask he sees the bruises around their eye, the skin clearly swollen and discolored with a black eye. It's easy enough to guess that a person must have given it to them, he’s seen enough beatings to know. As bad as he feels, he doesn’t have the energy for this. 

“Look. It’s been a long day. I’m tired,” he starts softly. 

Yunho calmly lowers their arm, dropping the gun into their open palm. He takes a step backwards, de-escalating the situation. 

“I’m just trying to go home,” 

The thief looks down at the gun in their hand briefly. They glance back up at him, eyes now teary. 

Yunho gives them a tight lipped smile, gently letting them go. He walks past them, the thief, turns only able to watch in shocked silence. Yunho only makes it a few steps away before he feels the need to stop. He can’t explain it, but there’s a nagging tug he feels in his mind. 

He turns to face the thief, who stands there silently, still watching him. They somehow look smaller like this, vulnerable, defeated. He thinks back to the bruising he saw underneath the mask. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know something is more is going on than just a petty crime. 

“For what it’s worth, I hope whatever it is you’re going through gets better,” he says sincerely. 

Despite the actions of the masked figure, he understands what it’s like. Desperation is an old friend of his. A friend that led him down an uncertain path, that thankfully ended in his favor. But he knows it isn't that way for everyone. He gives them one last smile, hoping it conveys more than what his words would.

“Have a good night”. 

With that he turns around continuing to walk down the alley. The thief continues to watch him go, watching him disappear into the cold night.

Yunho’s walks don’t last another week. He’d been able to squeeze in two more days of walking before he’d given up. Far too bored. The short-lived adventure was nice while it lasted. But again he finds himself looking for something else, something outside of his normal routine. 

That's how he finds himself squished into a small seat, front row to a ballet Jongho had been begging to see. Something very common for their household. He’d only tagged along because Seonghwa had to miss it, a last minute meeting with Hongjoong and another group.

And while this isn’t his usual thing, he will admit the show is quite good. To his right, San is clearly not as impressed, He’s only become more restless as the first hour passed by. Now practically squirming in his seat. He leans forward in his seat, glancing around at the others.

“Do we have to sit through this whole thing?” San asks, doing a poor job at whispering. 

“Shhh,” Jongho says from his left side. 

“Is it at least almost over?” he prods.

“Shhh!” Jongho shushes, louder than the first time. 

“But it's boring,” he says, having given up on whispering all together. 

Jongho leans forward in his own seat, shooting daggers at San. 

“It’s not boring, you just don’t know how to appreciate art,” he snaps. He gives one last glare before turning his attention back to the stage. Mingi snickers from his seat on San’s right. 

San pouts, sulking back into his seat. Yunho can’t help but smile at the exchange. He nudges his shoulder, leaning closer to him. 

“Lighten up, it’s not that bad. I’m sure you can find some part of it to enjoy,” Yunho whispers. Mingi grins leaning over as well. 

“The dancers are quite pretty," he says, nodding towards the stage.

Yunho rolls his eyes as San perks up at the mention of the dancers. It’s like he’s just noticed their existence after the past hour. 

“Not what I meant, but to each their own I guess,” he chuckles quietly.

San pays him no mind. Now hyper focused on the performance, or performers, in front of him. 

Yunho watches the dancers, enjoying how easily their movements flow with the music. He recalls the dream his teenage self had of dancing. He was quite good at it too. He even had a scholarship waiting for him, hell he’d all been packing to leave for school. But alas life doesn’t turn out the way it does in movies, now does it? 

A series of hiccups and stumbling led him to where he is now. One eighth of the biggest family in the country. A rook in a set so carefully crafted, that nothing could stand in its way. Never in his life did he think he’d end up here. But when he glances on either side of him, seeing his brothers makes him think that there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Despite the performance in front of him, he finds his mind wandering, still longing for something new. Anything really. He knows he sounds ungrateful, bratty even. But goddamn would it be nice for a sliver of excitement. 

Fate is funny with her timing as per usual. Clearly having enough of Yunho’s whining she’s intending to smack Yunho right in the face with his desires.

At that moment the dancers step forward right to the edge of the stage. Bodies dipping into a bow with the sway of the music. The costumes glint with the stage lights, drawing Yunho’s attention back to the present. 

Yunho ignores the low whistles undoubtedly from San and MIngi. He does his best to refocus on the performance. He taps his fingers along to the music, counting the beats of the dance in his head. 

It truly is comical the way the way the music builds, unknowingly leading Yunho to his fate. 

The dancers look up at the next beat and Yunho comes face to face with the person in front of him. A ballerina with an eye color that wouldn’t shock anyone, if it weren’t for the other resembling dark storm clouds in the sky. A set of eyes that he’s only seen once, but he could never forget. Yunho feels his heart skip a beat, a small smile tugging at his lips at the memory.

Now this is exciting.

Yunho also takes notice that the bruising is nowhere in sight. Aside for some light swelling, it’s practically invisible. He presumes it’s whatever makeup and other styling that’s required for the show. The dancer takes no notice of Yunho, clearly engulfed in the performance. In three beats the dancer is off, prancing to the other end of the stage. Yunho’s eyes now glued to them. A moth to a flame, a spark. 

Yunho continues to watch, taking notice of the way they glide. As if they were a wind up toy, made only to dance across the stage. The costume only adds to the image. While Yunho knows each costume is made to fit like a glove for every performer, this one is different. For this ballerina it doesn’t appear to be made, but to simply be a part of them. Everything about the way they bring the performance to life looks so effortless. This clearly suits them, in his opinion. 

The performance ends in a flourish, the audience erupting into a deafening applause. The dancers gather on stage, taking their final bows. Yunho glances on either side of him. Jongho no doubt will stop the conductor and offer his appreciation. San and MIngi both speak in hushed whispers, already planning their approach with whatever dancer that's caught their eye. But Yunho only has eyes for one dancer. He easily slips away from the others, off to meet his masked ballerina. 

“That bastard, that’s what he did to you?” Minji asks, turning your face in her hands gently. 

When you’d removed your makeup she’d all but elbowed her way through the others leaving for the night. She’d all but dragged you into her own dressing room, a murderous look in her eye as she scanned your face. After a bit of fussing, you reluctantly tell her about your interaction with your director. How after a bit of back and forth he’d swung his fist, leaving you with a swollen eye. if looks could kill, you’d swear Mr.Hak would be dead if he were in the room with the way Minji glares. You’d done your best to hide it from her, knowing she’d react this way. 

You grab her hands, pulling them away from you. 

“I’ll be fine, it’s nothing a little makeup can’t fix,” you say calmly.

She makes a face immediately, a lecture forming on the tip of her tongue.

“I know what you’re going to say. But you know I can’t leave. Not yet at least.

“I know. But that doesn’t mean you let him do this to you either y/n,” she says bitterly. 

“It was my fault, I kept pushing it and-” you don’t get to finish, Minji cutting you off.

“Like hell it was! I don’t give a fuck how long he’s been in charge, Hak has no right to be doing this to anyone,” she fumed, face growing red with each word. 

"Minji. I promise I’m okay,” You say soothingly. She sighs, taking a few calming breaths. 

“At Least let me give you something. I don’t have much, but hopefully the money will help you out,” she says, starting to walk towards her bag. You grimace, the thought of taking from her when she’s struggling just as much as you makes you feel sick. 

“You will do no such thing,” you say. You walk over to her, stopping her from looking through it.

“But-”

“I’ll find a way to make it work. You know I always do,” you say, giving her a small smile. Minji contemplates, before giving in.

“Fine, but please tell me if you need help. And I don’t care who he thinks he is, you say the word and I’ll kick his ass myself,” She says. 

That gets you to laugh, rolling your eyes. 

When you first started, you'd learned rather quickly that Minji was hot-headed. Fierce in a way that you weren’t. You think perhaps that is why she befriended you so quickly, sensing you’d need a backbone of a friend. Minji was like an older sister. Someone who wanted the best for you, even if her way of showing it could be a little over the top. But you loved her regardless. 

“Thank you Minji, really,” you say, pulling her into a hug. She hugs you back, holding you close. 

“Okay, well I’m heading out hun,” she says, letting you go. She slings her bag over her shoulder.  

“Get home safe,” you say, opening the door for her. She flips the lights off, leading you back out into the hallway. 

“You too. Don't stay here too long,” she says, giving you a pointed look. 

“I won't,” you say.

You walk her until you reach the door to your dressing room. She stops, turning to give you one final hug. With one last squeeze, you let her go. She gives you a final wave, before turning and leaving. 

When she’s out of sight, you sigh, shoulders dropping. You’re quiet as you open the door to your dressing room. You flick on one of the smaller switches, the lights of your vanity illuminating the room. 

You walk over, dropping yourself into the seat unceremoniously. You glance at yourself in the mirror, looking over the black eye for what feels like the hundredth time. The memory of that night, playing in your head like a loop. When you’d first graduated from your arts program you’d been so excited to start your career. It had been hell to make it through. Your heterochromia made it a nightmare to be a dancer. Every audition and casting left you feeling defeated. Each director or choreographer turning you away due to your condition. You’d had to claw your way to performing on a stage, fighting tooth and nail to just be given a chance. It was exhausting but it was worth it. Or at least you thought it was. 

Now as you stare at yourself in the mirror, the version that stares back at you is almost unrecognizable. How could you have ended up here? This couldn’t possibly be what life had in store for you, could it? Suffering for the sake of doing what you love? You could already see the way this vicious cycle was eating away at you. Cracking your soul into pieces bit by bit. You needed to get out. But only a miracle could save you at this point. 

You shake your head, doing your best to shake the thoughts with it. You lean down, tugging the shoes off your feet, and the tights along with them. You groan as you sit back up, muscles still sore from the performance. With a small grunt, you take the last bit of your outfit off, throwing the top to one of the chairs across the room. This late in the night you know you’re one of the only people left in the building, leaving no reason for you to rush to get dressed. You pull your robe down from the corner of the vanity, sliding it onto your shoulders. 

“That was a lovely performance,” a voice calls out, making you jump out of your skin.

You whip around clutching your robe closed as tightly as possible. 

A figure emerges from the shadows slowly, coming to stand a few feet in front of you. 

In the dimly lit room, you can make out the features of a man. He easily towers over you, dressed in all black like a shadow come to life. 

You recognize him as one of the men you tried to rob a few nights back. It takes you a second, with his appearance being a stark contrast to the man who stumbled upon you in the alleyway. Here he looks put together, black suit, hair pushed back, and expensive watch gleaming on his wrist. It's then you take notice of the insignia on his coat. The A against his heart is simple. A circle surrounding it, stitched in a darker shade of black. But the sight still makes your blood run cold. 

Holy shit, you’d tried to rob a member of Ateez, the most powerful family in the country. As if your luck couldn’t get any worse. Part of you wants to laugh at the entire situation, but the fear you feel keeps you rooted in place, scrambling for any escape.

“I didn’t think ballerinas were the type for armed robbery,” he hums thoughtfully. 

You subtly shift your hand to the side of your chair, fingers trembling as you reach under the armrest. 

“This is a private dressing room, you need to leave,” you say, doing your best to appear calm. 

The man hums, reaching into his pocket. He pulls his hand out, holding it in front of him. 

“Looking for this?” he asks.

Your heart sinks at the sight of your knife in his hand. He twirls it with ease, flicking it open to insect the blade. You press your hands into your thighs, swallowing nervously. 

“Please, I’m sorry. I don’t want any trouble,” your voice trembles as you stare up at him. He turns his attention back to you, taking in your fearful demeanor. 

He smiles, making a show of closing the knife slowly. He carefully sets the knife down on the shelf beside him, being slow in his movements. You eye it suspiciously, glancing between him and the knife.

“Don’t worry I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk,” he says calmly.

You nod slowly, still eyeing him warily. He nods back, still keeping his distance. 

“Do you know who I am?” he asks. 

Of course you know. Everyone in the country knows his name along with the other seven. The rook who stands in front of you is not to be messed with. 

“Jeong Yunho,” you answer.

The way you say his name sends a bit of a thrill through him. He likes the ways it rolls off your lips. 

“Hmm so you do know my name,” he says tilting his head to the side.

You can only give him a small nod. He begins to walk around the room examining the interior as he goes. You can’t help but keep your eyes trained on him. While he promised not to hurt you, you’d be stupid not to be on guard.

“Did you know who I was the other night?” he prods. 

“No,” you answer quickly. You were desperate, but not desperate enough to mess with him. You curse your past self for being so oblivious. He chuckles, the sounds sending a shiver down your spine. 

“It takes guts to step to a man twice your size like that,” he says, recalling your stupidity. He turns his sharp gaze towards you, further pinning you to your spot. 

“But considering I can see the way you're shaking, I think there’s something else,” he says.

“What were you looking for when you came at me?” 

“Nothing, I- I wasn’t looking for anything I swear,” you say a little too quickly. 

Yunho glances at your swollen eye, letting out a sigh. He knows you’re lying, but he can’t blame you. There was no doubt he was a man to be feared, but right now he needed you to trust him. 

“Look. I can tell you’re smart. So I know you wouldn’t have just decided to mug a stranger for fun,” he says, coming to stand in front of you once again. 

“So what is it that you need, sweetheart?” He says softly. 

You contemplate answering him. If he were here to hurt you, he would have done it already. He clearly wasn’t the type of man to waste his time. Despite your better judgement you choose to trust him. 

“Money. I needed money,” you say quietly.

He tilts his head thoughtfully. The movement kind of reminds you of a puppy. If you weren’t partly terrified, you’d think it looks kinda cute in a way. 

“You don't make enough, dancing?” he asks curiously. 

“No, not really,” you say, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you. 

“And the black eye, is that part of it?”

You freeze, looking at him in fear. Instinctively you wrap your arms around the edges of your robe, tucking it tightly against you. He notices the way you curl in on yourself. His gaze softens, offering you a sympathetic smile. 

“I’m not here to judge you,” he says softly. 

“They’re from the director,” you confess, quietly. He nods in understanding. He hesitates clearly wanting to say more. After a moment he clears his throat.  

“May I?” he asks, nodding towards your face. 

You think for a moment, before giving him a small nod.

He’s careful as he steps forward, doing his best not to startle you. He leans down, one hand coming to lean against the back of your chair. You feel goosebumps rise against your skin, as he lowers himself to be eye level with you. His other grabs your face gently, tilting your face from one side to the other. He’s delicate with the way he handles you. Strong hand gentle as he holds your chin with his fingers.

“He did this to you?” He asks finally, warm voice fanning across your face. 

“Yes,” you answer, scared to speak too loudly. You feel your skin grow warm the longer he scans over your face. His cologne invades your sense with the proximity, it feels intoxicating in a way you can’t describe. 

His face hardens, a look of anger flashing across his features. It scares you for a moment. But something about the look makes you want to soothe him.

“I asked for more after our last performance. He usually never aims for the face. I just wouldn’t drop it,” you explain, thinking back to a few nights ago. 

Yunho is quiet, eyes scanning over the marks carefully. A fierce need to protect you burning inside him. He can’t explain it, but there’s something drawing him to you.There’s something about you he just can’t shake. A pull so strong, he doesn’t think he could fight it if he tried. Though he doesn’t think he’d want to anyways. He also takes the time to really look at you, finding you even more attractive up close. He’s already seen your eyes, but seeing them up close and personal, he can’t help but find them more alluring. After another moment of admiring you, he lets your face go, still keeping his proximity. 

“Is it just you? Or are there others?” he asks.

“A few. Most of them quit before the first season is up. But some of us can’t,” you answer.

He only nods, clearly thinking something over. The gears turn in his head quickly, looking for a solution to your problems. After a moment, you see a twinkle appear in his eye. A mischievous twinkle that excites you, if you're honest with yourself.

“What’s your name?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“Y/n,” you say softly.

“Y/n”, he repeats. 

The way your name drips from his lips, sends a jolt through you. 

“Will you let me help you, Sweetheart?” he asks. 

You don’t know what it is about him, but you find yourself trusting him. How crazy it is to trust a man like him. He could hurt you, with a snap of his fingers you’d be destroyed in an instant. But he could also be your miracle. You suppose you have nothing more to lose at this point.

You give him another nod, this one determined. 

“Good,” 

“Come with me,” he says, offering his hand out to you. 

Going against every rational part of your brain, you take it. His hand is warm in yours. Something about it feels right, his larger hand holding yours ever so gently. Yunho thinks the same as he looks down at you. He’s so used to holding weapons, things that cause pain. But your hand fits so perfectly in his. Like it’s natural, like it was made to be there. He gently pulls you up from your seat, ready to take his new found excitement into action. 

“Come in,” a voice barks out from the door in front of you. 

You grimace, glancing at the men behind you. Yunho stands with three of the other members of Ateez, who you were introduced to. After getting dressed, Yunho led you to the others, who all looked at you with curious gazes. From there he had explained his crazy plan to all of you. Or at least you thought it was crazy. The other three didn’t even bat an eye. Jongho even looked excited, beaming at the plan laid before him. 

Yunho looks down at you as you give him a small nod to enter. You open the door, walking inside. The other three follow you in. Mr Hak, your company director doesn’t bother looking up. He continues going through the work in front of him, only pausing to take another drag of his cigarette. The door clicks shut behind the last member. 

“Who is it?” he barks out again.

“It’s y/n, sir,” you say, eyeing the men behind you again. 

Your boss scoffs, rolling his eyes at the sound of your voice. 

“This shit again. Look I already told you, you work for me got that? Everything you make comes to me. I own you. Now get out of my office before I-” he starts, voice booming in the small office.

He finally looks up, mid rant, doing a double take at the scene before him. His face goes pale at the sight of you and the four men that tower behind you. You don’t blame him. The sight of them had you shaking where you stood. 

“Gentlemen, what a surprise. To-” he pauses, having enough sense to extinguish the cigarette.

He stumbles out of his chair, hastily coming to the front of his desk. He clears his throat as he does it, clumsily dropping into a deep bow.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asks nervously. 

They take over easily, polite smiles on their faces. 

“Mr Hak, is it?” Yunho starts, eyeing the man before him.

“We just wanted to stop by. And bring our praises for the show,” he says adding a touch of sweetness to his voice. 

“Yes, a spectacular performance indeed,” Jongho says, clapping his hands together. 

“Thank you, we do our best,” Mr Hak says, sounding far too prideful. The response makes you roll your eyes. 

Jongho hums, eyes sharp as he watches Mr. Hak. 

“Of course. And that’s why we’re glad to be buying it off of you,” he says casually. 

You do your best to hide the smug grin at the way your boss reacts. 

“Buying?” he asks, clearly confused.

“Yes the theater, the shows, the performers. All of it. 

“While I appreciate the offer, it's not for sale,” he chuckles. 

“Nonsense,” San says, stepping forward. 

He stalks towards Mr. Hak’s desk. Confidence leaking through each of his strides. 

“I think you’ll find we’ve arranged a rather gracious deal, isn’t that right Mingi?” he states, glancing over at the taller member. Mingi hums in agreement, coming to stand next to San. Similar to Yunho, he towers over everyone with ease. The closer he gets, the more Mr. Hak shrinks in his spot. With the four in front of him he’s easily surrounded. Like an animal cornered. 

“We have, but if you feel as though it needs some rearranging we could always have Hongjoong Hyung stop by. I’m sure he can squeeze in a few moments with his busy schedule,” his voice calm, but the implication clear. 

You swear you see your boss’ heart stop as his eyes go wide. He lets out a nervous laugh, quickly waving his hands in front of him. 

“That won’t be necessary,” he says quickly. 

Smart choice, you think to yourself. Even an asshole like him wouldn’t be stupid enough to go against what the men behind you ask. Especially Kim Hongjoong of all people. There was no dealing with Kim Hongjoong. You’d heard the stories of those he visited, none had ever lived to tell of their exchange. That thought sends a shiver of fear through you. 

“Good, then we have a deal,” Jongho says, clearly ending the conversation. 

“Our men will escort you out,” he says, snapping his fingers. The door opens once again. Two guards walk in calmly, looking to the trio for orders. 

“See to it that Mr. Hak collects all his belongings,” San orders, no longer smiling. 

“He should have no need to return to this building after tonight,” Yunho adds, throwing a pointed look at your ex-boss.  

The guards nod, moving towards your Mr.Hak quickly. With orders in place, the others begin to file out of the room. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Jongho calls out over his shoulder, continuing to walk out without a second glance. 

Yunho sets his hand on your shoulder, nodding towards the door. You follow him and the others out of the room. You glance back to see Mr. Hak warily eyeing the guards. You continue watching until the door to the office closes behind you. 

The members continue walking down out into the foyer of the theater, .leading you outside

“So you’re really buying the theater?,” you ask, breaking the silence. 

Jongho shugs, glancing up at the bright sign above the building. He has a soft glance in his eye as he eyes the theater appreciatively.

“I practically come here every other week, it was bound to happen eventually,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. 

“Will you close it?,” you ask warily.

“Of course not,” he chuckles. 

“And the other performers?,” you probe, Minji crossing your mind along with all the others, 

“They’re jobs are safe, they will have the choice to stay or seek employment elsewhere. But no one will be forced to leave, you have our word,” Yunho says, soothing your worries. 

You nod, letting out a shaky exhale. For the first time in months things were looking up for you. You were free of Mr. Hak, and you could continue to do what you love without being miserable. 

“I can’t possibly thank you enough,” you say, emotion creeping into your voice. 

You bow to them, taking a moment to wipe at the tears building in your eyes. The four smile at you, being unable to find you anything but adorable. 

“We're not as scary as we look,” San says, throwing his arm around you in a friendly manner.  “Well except maybe Mingi,” he says, glancing at the taller man. Mingi glares, reaching over to swat at him. San ducks out of the way, moving between Yunho and Jongho. 

The action causes you to giggle. Maybe they were right about not being as scary as they look. Something about their presence felt comforting. Part of you wished you could get to know them a little more.  

“So I guess this is goodbye then?” you ask somewhat disappointed.

“Well we do own the theater now, so we’ll be seeing you around,” Yunho says a little too quickly. You don’t notice the way his ears grow red at his mini outburst. The others do. Each of them giving each other knowing glances as they slowly make their way further down the street. Yunho mentally facepalms, knowing he’s never going to hear the end of this later. The next moment makes it worth it however.  

You laugh, the twinkling sound making Yunho’s heart race in his chest. God was he screwed. 

“I suppose that’s true,” you hum in agreement, a knowing look in your eyes. Something about seeing the tall man bush had the butterflies fluttering even harder in your stomach. 

“So I’ll see you around?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“I look forward to it,” you say, smiling brightly. With that you turn and walk down the street. You offer goodbyes to the others, before making your way across the street, an extra skip in your step. Yunho watches you go, content to watch you leave. Something telling him the adrenaline he feels is here to stay.

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 11

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending, but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind, and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

A bitter taste in your mouth and the pulsing in your head were cruel reminders of the hangover. You sat on the bed, holding your slightly warm forehead as the room spun gently, flashing disjointed glimpses of the previous night in your mind. All you could recall was asking to stay home alone after having a few drinks with your friends.

A groan escaped your lips as your eyes landed on the grotesque mess of your room—of your house in general. An absurd urge rose to deal with the unpacked boxes still holding your belongings and the suitcases stuffed with clothes.

There was no point in keeping those bags packed as if everything could return to how it was with the snap of a finger. You needed to accept that this was your new life, and there was no use fighting it.

After stepping out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your head and a toothbrush clinging to the side of your lips, you searched for clothes amid the piles on the floor. Tossing skirts, dresses, pants, and socks into the air, you paused when your fingers brushed against a T-shirt at the bottom of a box. Closing your eyes, you caught its scent—it hadn’t changed. Slipping it on felt like being wrapped in his arms again, if only for a moment.

A few items later, you found a locked wooden box. Glancing around, you spotted pliers among your nail accessories and pressed the tip against the padlock until it popped open. Inside were hundreds of printed photographs—every single one of just the two of you.

It had been so long since you smiled like that. If you didn’t know every detail of his face by heart, you might have thought those weren’t even the two of you in the pictures.

Old napkins with autographs scrawled on them—every one you’d signed for him after bar performances. He’d kept them all. Your fingers traced the messy handwriting you used to have, and a silly smile graced your face.

“So this is what you’ve been wanting back,” you muttered to yourself before putting everything back in the box. “Should’ve burned this crap when I had the chance.”

You had thought that burying the box deep beneath your clothes would also bury the memories that came with it. Ever since he turned his back on you without even hearing what you had to say the night before, you’d tried to think about anything but him.

"Alright, Noah. You did the right thing not listening to me," you grumbled, heading to the bathroom to spit out the toothpaste, rinse your mouth, and stare at your reflection in the mirror. “I do everything better on my own anyway.”

Gerard was still a weight in your life, a burden you wanted to cut loose as quickly as possible. But to do that, you needed to act, no matter the cost. Bad Omens had no shadow of new material for the album, which meant more time with him hovering over everyone.

That had to change.

Barefoot, feeling the cold floor beneath you, you walked down the hallway, fingers sliding along the banister, which echoed with that odd, creaky sound. You began pacing back and forth, pen in hand. A kind of anxious energy grew inside your chest, but ideas slipped away like sand through your fingers.

There was nothing. No melody, no line worth keeping. As if nothing inspired you anymore—unless you were high.

The thought was a spark. You knew what you needed to do.

The instant the first line disappeared beneath the swipe of a card, the world transformed. First came the heat, spreading through your body like a controlled wildfire. Then, space seemed to stretch, as though the walls were made of rubber, and your perception opened up like an infinite fan. The world was no longer the same.

Now you could see sounds.

The first sound came from the simple scratch of fingers against a metal surface, a tiny rhythm that echoed and vibrated in your head like thunder. That was all you needed. You sat cross-legged on the floor, pulling paper toward you. A melody began to take shape, hesitant at first, but soon you were sketching each note with precision.

With each new line of powder, the music gained another dimension. The beat in your head morphed into something visceral, something real. I watched you turn into it... The phrase seemed to emerge from somewhere deep inside, and you scrawled it with such force you nearly tore the paper.

Another line. Another phrase.

Every moment you returned from the haze, something new took form:

"This life was all it had to be Designed but not for you and me..."

The lyrics spilled out like a confession, something you might not even have known was there until that moment. Every chord you strummed on the guitar in your living room, every word you breathed out with your cigarette smoke, felt more intimate, more deranged. The riff grew intense, and you let yourself dance alone, fingers gliding over the strings.

The rhythm of the pen against the paper merged with the pounding of your heart and the sway of your hair as the melody gained its identity. It felt as though you were carving out a piece of yourself, tearing it from raw flesh to transform pain into music. The ending came like an explosion.

"The empty husk of a flawed design There is nothing else left inside Within the silence of this illusion Is there anything more than human?"

Slowly, you let go of the pen, leaning your head back, breathless, as sweat dripped down the back of your neck. At that moment, the front doorbell rang. You had a song. This time, a real song, not the trash you had presented at the label. You definitely had a song.

"Anything human..." Jolly seemed to toy with the words that named the song for a moment. You got excited as you gave a quick demonstration, and he looked thrilled with the idea from the start.

“What do you think?” you asked, nodding toward him as you removed the guitar from your lap. “There are some elements that could be interesting to add to the final result, like a slightly more electronic base. You know?”

“It’s a damn great song!” he exclaimed enthusiastically, raising his eyebrows, and your shoulders finally relaxed. “But I’m a little concerned about your creative process…” His eyes swept across the mess in the room before landing back on you. “Okay, we’re way behind on delivering the album, and we don’t have much…”

“We don’t have anything,” you interjected to correct him. “We have nothing yet, and Noah doesn’t seem too worried about it since all he ever does is criticize what I make.”

“But the problem is, every time you get hyped during a creative process, it messes with your head. And I’m no idiot, girl—I know your little tricks to keep yourself inspired. If having a quick album is going to cost me a band member, I’d rather stay at square one!” he warned, pointing his finger at you.

“I can handle it myself, okay? Now let’s get back to the music and the band!”

“It really is a good song.”

“I need you to tell Noah that it was your idea and that you wrote it alone.”

You barely finished the request before Jolly adjusted his posture on the sofa, looking confused.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you know that when he’s sulking about something, he manages to turn it into nothing more than a pile of garbage in his eyes. That’s what he’s been doing with me,” you explained, trying to suppress a smile. “If you say I wrote this song, he’ll definitely discard it, and we’ll be back at square one. And I doubt that, like me, you don’t have your own reasons for wanting this album to be finished already.”

He considered your words for a moment. Reluctant as he was, he had to admit you were right, knowing his friend as well as he did.

“Of course, I’m not going to let him discard a song like this, but even if I go along with your suggestion, I still think it’s a ridiculous idea,” Jolly said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the sheet of paper again to analyze your work. “Did your idea of talking to him not work?”

“He’d rather face the devil in his true form than see me in front of him, Jolly.” Propping yourself up on your hands, you stared at him with a pout. “Noah decided that I don’t exist, not even within the band’s boundaries. It’s like I’m really not there, and that’s fine.”

“Fine?” he asked, tearing his attention from the sheet again.

“I feel like the best thing he can do for himself is stay away from me. We can deal with it, right? But if he thinks I’m going to leave my band because of him and our personal issues just because he’s decided he can keep interfering in my life, he’s dead wrong.”

“You’re so stubborn I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you two were made for each other.”

“You’re wrong. Terribly wrong, Mr. Joakim!”

He clearly didn’t believe your words, judging by the ironic huff and eye roll he gave before returning his attention to the song’s lyrics on the paper.

The studio was enveloped in a comfortable dimness, with faint lights reflecting off the perfectly aligned instruments. The silence preceding rehearsal was almost ceremonial. Noah stood before the microphone, adjusting his headphones while the others exchanged glances, aligning themselves to start.

“Alright, let’s go.” His voice cut through the air with firmness, but there was something in the way he held the stand, in his eyes avoiding direct contact.

The first beat was like a held breath, the bass pulsing gently before the smooth guitar chords emerged, as if asking permission to exist. Noah tilted his head, closing his eyes for a moment, feeling the music flow within him before he began to sing.

His voice was hoarse, laden with emotion, every word cutting through the silence like a blade. He held the notes with precision, but there was a controlled desperation, a longing that was impossible to ignore. The others instinctively adjusted, following his lead. The drums entered like a racing heartbeat, while the guitar intensified, driving the music to something more visceral, rawer.

“That was fucking good!” he said with what seemed like the shadow of a smile at the end of the song, giving Jolly a quick handshake. “You nailed it, but I didn’t know you had something in mind; we could’ve worked on it together.”

Jolly’s gaze darted between Noah and you, and after taking a deep breath, he simply shrugged. “I was just as surprised at how quickly this song landed in my lap.”

“With a few adjustments, we’ve hit the tone for the new album. It feels like it’s finally easier to know where we’re heading,” Noah declared, still with his back to you. You rolled your eyes at the sheer amount of obviousness he spouted. From this angle, it was amusing how flustered he got when he wasn’t the first to figure something out.

“I have another idea!” You raised your hand, waving it enthusiastically, the excitement coursing through you undeniable. You shifted your weight back and forth, catching everyone’s attention except his. “Each track’s intro could contain a coded message, like clues to the central story. Since you love being a trailblazer, I thought of using your voice, Noah. What do you think?”

From this distance, you could see his hand clenching the microphone tighter than necessary. He recognized that euphoric tone and the insatiable urge to provoke him—he knew you were high.

“I think it’s a good idea!” Ruffilo chimed in.

“Me too. Actually, I already have an idea for how it could start,” Jolly added, pulling the same thoughtful face he always did when brainstorming.

“I’ve never heard a dumber idea in my entire life,” Noah said softly, placing the mic stand back in its spot, still refusing to look at you. “Don’t tell me you want to burden us with this melancholic nonsense like the last thing you produced?”

“I asked for your opinion on the idea, not your permission,” you retorted sarcastically.

Noah grunted as if hearing you was physically painful.

“You’re right—some projects shouldn’t see the light of day, like that song of yours. But I don’t get why you’re so offended when creating useless things has always been your specialty.” You shrugged, sitting atop the sound output box. “Just look at your desk drawer—how many songs has Bad Omens released, and how many were actually written by me, Jolly, or you?”

“What the fuck are you talking about!” he snapped. “You talk like you’ve done everything by yourself all these years!”

“Guys, I think that’s enough for today, right?” Folio chuckled awkwardly, jumping off the drum set as he noticed Noah tense up.

“The math doesn’t add up, Noah!” you mocked. “So, every time you refer to something I wrote, just open your drawer and count how many of your songs actually made it out of there.”

Silencing him in his moments of arrogance was one of your greatest talents, and nothing satisfied you more than that. “Honestly, Jolly’s voice would work much better for this intro idea. Who’s in favor?”

Your neck stretched as a triumphant smile spread across your face when everyone, except Noah, raised their hands immediately. He glanced at each of them, as if silently promising vengeance, and the sweetness of defeating him was palpable.

“Then it’s settled, folks!” you cheered, clapping your hands with a satisfied grin.

Gradually, your smile faded as he slowly turned around, his expression dark, especially around his eyes. His breathing came in measured scales, as if it was difficult for him, and as his eyes locked with yours, you stood up. You were ready to stand your ground if necessary, but there was no way he’d win this time.

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

All the guys said simultaneously. “Man, I’m starving. Catch you later.”

They disappeared in the snap of a finger, leaving her alone with the very reincarnation of the devil in the form of a man. Noah approached with slow steps, and the wind deliberately brought his scent. Even at this reasonable distance, he seemed to emanate enough electricity to make the hairs on her arms stand on end.

“Well, look who broke the little silence game.

“You’re pathetic.”

“That line is mine, hey!” you pointed out.

Another step, and Noah was too close, leaning his body down so they were at the same height. He braced one hand against the wall. You tried to step back, but the speaker right behind you limited your movement, forcing you to step to the side—nothing that stopped him from following you like a bloodhound. If he cultivated a good sense of hearing, he could probably hear how your heart was pounding against your chest from the proximity of your faces.

“Every time I’m talking to you, I want you to look at me,” he ordered, lifting my chin so that my gaze left his sculpted lips and locked onto his blazing eyes. “Congratulations.”

He said in a whisper that churned your stomach.

“I understand that liars have difficulty speaking while looking into someone’s eyes, but in time you’ll learn. Just like you’ve been learning to lie better and better.”

“Do you want me to thank you for the compliment?” you retorted in a biting tone as low as his and almost managed to crack the smirk on his rigid posture if he hadn’t corrected himself in time.

“They might all fall for this ridiculous talk of yours, but I know the song is yours.”

“So you admit you were praising a work done by me?” you asked, reducing the distance between you two. Your tongue moistened your lip as you heard him gasp from the short space between your bodies, and you couldn’t help but feel your skin tingle at the sensation of his eyes analyzing your face. “Still my number one fan, Noah Sebastian?”

He looked feverish, battling between gritting his teeth at your insolence and resisting being so close. Noah took another step forward, planting a single hand on your jaw, and your back collided with the wall, your hair scattering across it.

“Stop,” he growled without much confidence.

His closed eyes brushed the tip of his nose against yours as the compression of your bodies became stronger. You gasped as his leg pressed between yours and the pressure he applied to your jaw while dragging his face along yours was about to make your body explode.

Struggling against his hand and the alternating temperature of your body, you tilted your chin so that your lips came closer together. You could taste the flavor of his lips on yours, always soft and perfectly fitting as if they were made for this. Gently, the moment allowed you to brush against each other slowly, feeling the texture of his sculpted skin that seemed to remain the same after all this time.

But something pulled him out of the trance suddenly, and Noah grabbed your jaw again as he pulled you closer to deliver a message into your ear.

“Don’t seek me out with an intention like this again unless you’re capable of remembering what happened the next day,” he said in a rigid tone as he released you.

Your body cooled so quickly that you guessed you were a little stunned.

“And that shirt is mine. What happened to the story that you’d gotten rid of everything that belonged to me?”

You were furious. After the ecstasy, the excitement, and all the strange things that messed with you whenever you wore this crap, fury was the stage that seemed to linger the longest when it took over your body. Arms crossed, you watched him walk away as if nothing had happened. In fact, he was satisfied with having tied the score.

He had managed to humiliate you.

“Want it back?” you asked and saw him glance over his shoulder.

“Of course I do.”

Nodding and biting your lips, you uncrossed your arms, and without breaking eye contact in his direction, you grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it off completely. Luckily, you were wearing a matching lingerie set, and your sweet smile only deepened as you crumpled the piece and threw it against his wide-eyed face.

“Wait!” he called out, trying to follow as you strutted out of the studio. “Where do you think you’re going like that?”

“Home!” you replied as if it were obvious, shrugging as you stepped through the door.

Outside, the guys were eating, and their jaws dropped, along with slices of pizza from their mouths, as they saw you walking around in nothing but your underwear and boots.

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!” Noah roared, trying to keep up. “Get back inside and put some clothes on, now!”

“Or?” you challenged him, the wind sweeping the strands of hair from your face as you walked backward and flipped him off when he didn’t move. “Like I said: You’re pathetic.”

“What are you laughing at?”

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline

[poledancingdinos]

Mission: Impossible - Talk to the Girl

Pairing: Captain Syverson X OFC

Word Count: 2870

Warnings: Fluff, Flirting, Implied PTSD, Implied Smut

Taglist: @summersong69 @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha​ @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @rosecentury @shellyshellshell @winter2112rose @secretdream2 @toooldforobsessions @wa-ni @valacircareads @missemrose @liecastillo @identity2212

Masterlist

Sy tried his best to look like he was having fun but it was a little hard to do when the loud thrum of the music was grating on his nerves. The upbeat pop song sounded nothing like gunfire or explosions so why did it put his entire body on high alert?

He glanced around the room for the millionth time, taking note of every exit and where each guest was seated now that the meal was over and people had switched chairs to mingle with other tables. If this was what retirement brought, then maybe he would have been better off going back.

During his surveillance of the room, his eyes lingered on the pretty bartender who’d appeared in the corner when they had opened up the bar. She’d caught his attention immediately, looking pretty in her simple black dress and serving everyone with a smile that made his heart ache a little whenever it wasn’t directed at him—which was every time since he hadn’t had the guts to go get himself a drink even once that evening.

His last beer had been empty for over an hour now but none of the guys at the table had gotten up so he hadn’t been able to bother them for a refill.

Not realizing he’d been openly starring for longer than socially acceptable, Sy didn’t hear his name being called until it was followed by a hit to the shoulder.

“Just go talk to her, man.”

“Who?” Sy asked, feigning innocence.

TJ, the groom and one of Sy’s best friends, shot him a look that told him he’d been busted and wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Go talk to her. Maybe the promise of a good lay will wipe that frown off your ugly mug and you’ll stop scaring off my wedding guests.”

The problem was, Sy had this feeling like that girl wasn’t meant to be just a one night thing, and he had no idea how to go about finding out if that was true. It wasn’t like he’d never gone home with a stranger in a bar. He was just used to the girls being the ones to show interest first.

“Okay, clearly I’m gonna have to spell this out for ya.” TJ cleared his throat, putting on a serious air and leaning in closer to Sy. All the boys around the table had cut off their conversation, focusing on their exchange.

“Your mission: libation retrieval. You will need to make your way fifty feet south of your current position at which point you will make contact with the person of interest. Now, this is where it gets tricky. You will need to be very mindful of what you say or this op could blow up in your face. The code word is ‘hi’.”

Sy couldn’t help but smile and flip his middle finger at the other man.

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

“And you’re being a pussy. Guess that’s why we make the perfect pair.”

He was right, Sy did need to put on his big boy pants, go order his own damn drink and talk to the beautiful woman.

Standing, Sy nervously straightened his tie and readjusted his suit jacket. He felt the entire table’s eyes on him as he crossed the room, moving around the outside of the open space that served as a dance floor. Sy considered a variety of opening lines but when he finally reached the counter, the cute bartender spoke first.

“What can I getcha? Shots, a beer, something sweet?”

Sy rarely drank anything other than beer but he wanted to keep her talking and a one word answer wouldn’t accomplish that.

“What do ya qualify as something sweet?”

The woman finally flashed that gorgeous smile at him, pushing a little pamphlet across the counter. “I can make all the classics or I have a few signature cocktails.”

Glancing through the menu, Sy hummed as if in deep contemplation. “I think I’ll stick to a beer but I wouldn’t say no to some other kind of sugar.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at him, attempting to conceal the smirk pulling at her lips.

“Isn’t the rule at these things that best man is supposed to go home with the maid of honor?”

“The maid of honor is happily married to one of the other groomsmen. And she’s also my sister.”

“Ah. Let me guess, your younger sister and her friends always lurked around you and your friends growin’ up until one day y’all came home from college and suddenly they were the ones who had your friends’ attention?”

Shooting an amused look at his brother-in-law over his shoulder, Sy realized he had six pairs of eyes watching him like he was some show animal.

“Yeah,” he admitted, turning his focus back to where it belonged, “that’s pretty much what happened with my sister but the groom only joined the group after our first deployment. He stayed, I went back. It’s probably also the reason why I am the only member of the wedding party who isn’t married.”

Subtle Sy. She opened her mouth to respond but a high-pitched voice cut off any words before they were formed.

“Uncle Sy, Uncle Sy!”

Sy spun, catching his god-daughter as she jumped into his arms and making a show of almost falling over. “Woah, princess! You’re growin’ so big, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep catchin’ ya.”

The little girl giggled, tugging playfully on Sy’s beard like she always did.

“Mama said I can have a juice or a fizzy drink!”

Sy looked at his sister who nodded in confirmation. He wouldn’t have put it past the sneaky five-year-old to tell a little white lie to manipulate her uncle.

“Well, which didja pick, juice or fizzy drink?”

“I want something pretty like Mamaw.”

He knew the ones. His mother was a big fan of those internet bartending videos and ordered drinks purely based on aesthetics. The problem was that most of those drinks got their color from the various alcohols mixed in.

“You know,” the woman chimed in with a warm smile towards his niece, “I have a menu here with lots of pretty drinks.” She pulled a second pamphlet from behind the counter, holding it out and leaning in conspiratorially as she stage-whispered, “I keep it hidden because it’s not for grown-ups.”

Sy locked eyes with the little girl in his arms and she grinned like the cat that got the canary, nodding furiously. Accepting the menu, Sy held it up for his niece to see.

“What do ya think, princess? The red one is real pretty.”

The red one was a Shirley Temple and seemed to be the one which was the least likely to give his god-daughter a sugar rush before bedtime, but she shook her head, instead pointing at the one below it. “I want this one!”

“Ooh, that’s one of my favorites too!” the woman declared.

So much for no sugar rush. There was a one hundred percent certainty that his sister would give him shit for his choice but he was not about to be the reason her daughter had a tantrum at her best friend’s wedding.

“The lady has spoken. We’ll have a Unicorn Waterfall, please.”

She got to work, rimming a glass with something purple then adding some bubblegum pink syrup and ice. On top of that, she placed a large chunk of blue and pink cotton candy and on the side, she filled a separate carafe with lemon-lime soda.

“Alright, sweetie, all that’s left is to pour the soda over the cotton candy. Do you think your Uncle Sy would help you do it?”

He didn’t miss the fact that she paid enough attention to remember his name.

“Oh! Please, please, please, Uncle Sy!”

“Sure, that sounds easy enough.”

Both glasses were pushed closer to him and Sy picked up the little carafe. His niece placed her tiny hand over his, eyes wide as he tipped the carafe and the clear liquid melted the cotton candy. The resulting drink was pink on the bottom and slowly transitioned to a deep purple without a trace of candy in sight.

His niece squealed and clapped, squirming so much Sy was afraid he might drop her for a moment. 

“Okay, Hailey Mae, what do you say to Miss…” Sy paused, raising an eyebrow towards the woman of his dreams.

“Grace.”

“What do you say to Miss Grace?”

“Thank you, Miss Grace.”

“You’re very welcome, sweetie.”

With a grateful smile, Sy pushed the carafe back towards Grace and put his niece down on the floor. When he straightened, his beer was ready and waiting by his niece’s glass.

“I want to carry it, Uncle Sy.”

“Alright but two hands, okay?”

Hailey Mae tipped her chin, a look of stern concentration taking over her face as she carefully took the glass from Sy. It seemed Grace had thought ahead, making the drink in a plastic cup. The worst that could happen was a spill or a stain on the dress she would have outgrown by next month anyway. As much as Sy wanted to hang back and talk to the cute little lady who had just stolen his heart, he had to follow his niece to make sure no one accidentally bumped into her as she slowly waddled back to her mother.

To his great dismay, Sy was then immediately stolen away by his great aunt and wasn’t able to go back to the bar. Every time he broke away from one group of people, he was pulled into another mindless conversation.

Before he knew it, the evening was winding down, most of the guests had returned home and the wedding party retreated to their rooms at the hotel by the reception hall. Most of them lived less than an hour away, Sy being no exception, but the groom’s parents and siblings had come from out of town so the hotel stay had been a way of giving the newly joined families a little more time together before they all went home.

“She’s cleaning up, it’s now or never,” Sy’s brother-in-law said from behind him as he watched Grace wipe a metal shaker with a microfiber towel.

“To do what? Bring her up to my room?”

“I was going to say get her number but yours leads to sex tonight and mine means waiting until at least tomorrow.”

Sy just kept staring at her.

“You do remember how sex works right? You take that shrimp in your pants and you slip it in a woman’s—“

“I get it,” Sy growled. He did not want to hear whatever version of the birds and the bees he was about to spew.

“Good, now go get your bartender.”

Sy took a deep breath and made his way to the bar before he lost his nerve. He arrived just in time to see Grace heave a crate of liquor into her arms and immediately stumble backwards. Luckily, the fridge kept her upright and prevented her from causing a giant mess.

“Woah, ya need help with that?”

Grace gave him a relieved smile, managing to set the box on the counter.

“How is it that it feels heavier now than when I got here?”

“Maybe because you’ve been slingin’ drinks all night and you deserve a break,” he answered, picking up the box. “Where am I takin’ this?”

“My van is parked out back. We need to go through the service corridor.”

She picked up a case of syrups and moved towards a door in the corner of the room. Sy followed without question appreciating the view of her ass in that dress.

They crossed another large metal door and were greeted by the cool night air.

“This is me,” she said, setting her box down on the asphalt and digging her keys out of the bottom.

Once the van was opened, Sy set his case in the trunk then picked up the one she had carried and slid it in beside the first.

“You got anything else to bring out?”

“No, that’s all of it. The venue provided most of the equipment, this was all that was left of my stuff.”

This was it. Sy could either man up or never see this woman again.

“You know, it’s pretty late. Might not be such a good idea to drive anywhere tonight.”

“Is that so?” she asked, cocking her hip as Sy took a step forward.

“You could always come up to my suite. I could make ya a coffee or you could get a bit of rest before drivin’ back.”

“Your suite, huh? Are ya tryin’ to use your wealth to get laid?”

“No, I’m tryinʼ to use my friend’s wealth to get laid. But I’ll settle for usin’ my natural charm to get your number.”

An amused expression lit up her face at his honesty. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, smiling at the ground for a second before looking up at him from below her lashes.

“You’re right,” she said with an exaggerated fake yawn, “I’m really tired after workin’ all evenin’. It would be irresponsible of me to drive back tonight. I wouldn’t want to fall asleep behind the wheel and cause an accident.”

“No, ma’am it would not. And I’m all about bein’ responsible.”

The incessant ringing of the phone pulled Sy out of a deep sleep. It eventually stopped but the reprieve lasted for all of ten seconds. When it started for the third time, Sy muttered a curse under his breath and rolled over to the other side of the bed to pick up the receiver.

“What?” he barked.

“Damn.” It was his friend Mack’s lazy drawl coming from the other end of the line. “I was sure that you bein’ late to breakfast meant you’d gotten some last night but that tone tells me different.”

“Well fuck you too. I’ll be right there.”

He slammed the phone down and stretched out with a groan. Only then did he realize that he’d just rolled from one side of the king bed to the other completely unobstructed.

Sy sat up, taking stock of his surroundings. His suit was hung neatly in the closet when he was sure he’d thrown it haphazardly over the chair. Or near the chair. He was butt naked, which, had he been home, would not have been strange, but he didn’t make a habit of free-balling it on strange sheets.

On the up side, the evidence suggested he hadn’t hallucinated his night with the sexy bartender. On the down side, Grace had snuck out without so much as a goodbye.

There was no time to sulk, however, because he was expected downstairs with all of his nearest and dearest. When he stepped into the restaurant, he had approximately a five second warning before his favorite princess was in his arms.

“Uncle Sy, you’re late!”

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” he carried her to the only two empty chairs, settling her on her booster seat. “I forgot to plug my phone before goin’ to sleep so I didn’t have any alarm to wake me up.”

“Forgot or passed out with it in your hand and a fresh load coolin’ on your chest?”

His sister kicked Mack under the table but his niece didn’t hear a word. She’d already picked up a purple crayon and set about drawing a unicorn on the paper place setting.

“It’s okay, Uncle Sy, I forgive you.”

“Well thank you, little lady, that’s mighty gracious of ya.”

For the next two hours, Sy did his best to put Grace out of his head and focus on the people around him. He still made a mental map of the room, the exits and the position of all the guests around the table but, without the loud music, he wasn’t nearly as on edge as he had been the night before. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t haul ass back to the relative peace of his room once the meal was over.

After being constantly on guard for sixteen straight hours the day before and only getting a few hours of sleep, he was ready to get back home to Aika and give his mind a rest in familiar surroundings.

Once he finished packing up his things, Sy moved to the nightstand to retrieve his cellphone. He hadn’t been lying about forgetting to plug it in the night before. When the device turned on again, there were a dozen missed calls and texts from his friends trying to reach him before breakfast.

Dismissing all the notifications, Sy slipped the phone in his pocket and reached down behind the nightstand. He’d been trying to retrieve his charger, only his hand brushed something else instead.

As it turned out, the something in question was one of those notepads that hotels left by the phone. And that notepad had the sweetest words Sy had ever read.

Had to get the van back for an early job. I hope that won’t keep you from calling. Grace xxx

And there below her name, were the ten most perfect digits in the world.

[stosmanthus]

I’m ready. I’m ready for my ZoLu jealousy rant. Part 1 of 2.

[BTW, this rant is also a behind-the-scenes look at the madness that came over me when I wrote the unsubtly titled fic, “Four Times Zoro Did Not Get Jealous (and the One Time Sanji Confronted Him About It).” Prior reading of the fic is not necessary for enjoyment of my insanity analysis.]

At its core, I believe jealousy arises from 1. a special regard and 2. insecurity. You don’t get jealous over someone you don’t care about. And if you’re confident in the other person’s feelings for you, there’s not much to be jealous about.

With our resident swordsman, he definitely holds Luffy in high regard, meaning there would be reason to feel jealous over Luffy. The question then becomes, has Zoro ever been given a reason to feel insecure about his place in Luffy’s life?

My stance on this is a solid NO.

I believe Zoro knows his worth, partly because he has ALWAYS worked hard to earn his place beside Luffy. He trains constantly and goes above and beyond to do everything he can to stay by Luffy’s side and be Luffy’s “wing.” And Luffy has shown time and time again that he trusts Zoro implicitly in pretty much everything except for directions. Zoro is Luffy’s voice of reason, moral support, enabler, and rabid attack dog rolled into one muscular package. Luffy appreciates the crap out of Zoro, and he has never hesitated to show it. He calls for Zoro first, is always delighted to see him, and gives Zoro the Sabo face-glomp treatment (TM) after just two weeks apart. Yes, all Straw Hats are created equal, but I’ll fight every One Piece fan to defend my view that in the eyes of canon Luffy, Zoro may just be a tad more special.

My point is, Luffy has never given Zoro a reason to be jealous, and Zoro is secure enough in his position within Luffy’s life that he doesn’t feel threatened by anyone else. He’s been petty, sure, like his insistence that he is worth twice as many men as Sanji, but I do think that is just Zoro’s competitiveness. Because why on earth would Zoro be jealous over Luffy? Who can even come between them??!

Don’t get me wrong, I like to indulge in a jealous Zoro fic any time. In fact, if you know any, send a link my way pls! At my core, however, I don’t think Zoro is the jealous type. Not over Luffy at least. Shippers of other Zoro pairings? You do you.

However! There’s always a caveat. I do believe Zoro gets possessive, but in the way that all Straw Hats get possessive over Luffy. Because Luffy is theirs. And when Luffy nearly kills himself to save a whole kingdom, I think they get a little protective over their captain, and they’d want to keep him to themselves for a while. Ultimately, they know they can’t. Luffy is meant for the world to love, and all the Straw Hats know this. Zoro knows this more than anyone, having been THE FIRST.

So at the end of an adventure, when the fight is over and adrenaline leaves him, I think Zoro frets and anguishes so much that he wants to lock up his captain in a room where nobody else can take another piece of him, because Luffy has given enough, dammit. But Zoro doesn’t do that, because Luffy would not want him to.

In summary, the conclusion of my book report is that no, Zoro doesn’t get jealous.

(But what about Luffy?! That’s coming in Part 2. I need to first write another 1000 words of my next fic.)

[hl-obsessed]

link to original manip

✨ fics i've read in November ✨

.🌸🌸🌸.

Roman Empire by Speechless

(E, 11k) One day Louis answers Liam's phone while he is in the shower. That's how he meets Harry, Liam's friend who moved to Italy just a while ago. And that's how Liam loses ownership of his phone.

*

“Do they sleep on the other side of the bed in Italy?”

He hears Harry laugh for a moment.

“I sleep right in the middle,” Harry replies. “Because no one will marry me.”

Louis bites back a little smile.

“Have you asked enough people?"

“The old lady walking her dog, just now.” Harry confirms. “She said no.”

Tastes like Strawberries by @sadaveniren

(E, 5k) I’m stressed. I’m nesting and demand cuddles. Come over

Harry frowned and double checked who the text was from. Yup, it still said Louis - Grad, which meant it was from Louis from his grad school.

aka Louis texts Harry by mistake. It works out

✨ Until the Pearls Get Lost by @londonfoginacup

(M, 25k) London, 1933. Harry Styles, alpha, elusive bachelor and happy third wheel to his coupled friends, receives a visit from one Liam Payne, begging for his help.

Liam’s childhood friend Louis is about to become the talk of the city; left at the altar because the mating bond was rejected, Louis will spend the rest of his life in an institution unless Liam can find someone to take him in and care for him as he recovers. Most omegas with failed bonds are never the same again.

With rumours swirling around about the reason for the rejected bond, Harry gives in to Liam’s pleas. He hasn’t the slightest idea how that decision will shape the rest of his life.

Bloom Just For You by @sunshineandthemoonlight

(E, 7,6k) Marcel decides to get straight to the point. "So I was wondering if you’d be interested in bottoming,” he says.

He glances anxiously over at his boyfriend in time to see Louis’ eyes widen over his mug of tea. There’s a choking sound, and all of a sudden Louis is coughing violently, trying to draw in a breath as his tea goes down the wrong way.

“Oh my– oh my god, Louis!” Marcel yells, panicked.

~

Marcel has never been happier; he has a job he loves, a boyfriend he adores, and a sex life with said boyfriend that exceeds his wildest of fantasies. But there’s one thing he and Louis haven’t yet tried in the bedroom. And he can’t get the thought out of his head...

No Surprises by @louislittletomlintum

(E, 21k) “I smoke socially, sometimes. Depends who I’m with,” Harry shrugged, taking another puff. Louis watched his soft little lips wrap around it and purse just slightly on the inhale. It wasn’t the first time he considered if Harry was perfectly made just to torment him.

“Hm. I won’t send you to jail for now, then. On crimes of fibbing,” Louis decided benevolently. He was about to open his mouth to spout off some other shite before he saw Harry had a bit of a pensive look in his features despite how his eyes were a little glassy.

“Lou,” he began, and god Louis loved that he’d earned that little nickname off of him. “Can I ask you summat?” Harry added, tapping the ash of the cigarette in the tray before taking another puff.

“You just did,” Louis smiled because Harry walked right into that one. “But I’ll give you another,”

“How did you know you were queer?”

or; an office au where louis is a loveable brat and harry is working himself out

You're Not Harry Styles (or are you?) by @bluegreen28fics

(E, 20k) Singer Louis Tomlinson finally meets his crush - ex-boybander Harry Styles - on a late night talk show after he recently released a hit single mentioning Harry. They hit it off and fall in love.

Play Pretend, Find a Friend? by @angelichl

(E, 40k) They had to pull back for air. Louis surveyed the guy’s face, in awe of his blown pupils and sharp jawline, the way their shared spit glistened on his lips.

“Hi,” he breathed. He blinked, and came back to himself a little bit, blushing at his own boldness. “Sorry. Is this okay?”

The stranger removed his right hand from the curve of Louis’ waist in order to cup his jaw, tilting it up to the angle he desired. He pressed their lips together, murmuring, “Definitely.” And then he kissed harder.

***

When Louis sees his ex-boyfriend kissing a random girl at a party, he acts out of blind jealousy. He kisses the first guy he can find. It turns into a thing.

✨💎 To Fight For Freedom by @snowy38

(E, 112k) It was snowing when he went down.

His sturdy and well-worn hiking boots were tied snugly to his socked feet; the knee-high thick black fabric keeping his legs warm to almost the point his pleated kilt rested just above his knees. Almost, because there was still a good four inches of skin bared to the elements.

His father had told him he had no need to wear the traditional uniform, but Harry knew better than to believe him. In fact, the only reason his father would say such a thing was because he would rather see him in anything other than an item of clothing which resembled a skirt. The reasons for his reservations may well be justified but Harry couldn’t think about that right now.

It was snowing and he’d been shot.

✨ Into the Woods (series) by mystic_believexx

(M, 44k) The one where the future Alpha of the Tomlinson pack imprints on the human, Harry Styles.

(warning❗this story is unfinished, last update in 2017. it's so easily to fall in love with it and have your heart broken 💔)

✨ amaryllis by @hattalove

(E, 146k) "Where are we?"

"Um. A little while out of London?" Niall tries, seemingly the only one willing to not be mysterious and provide Harry with information, and. Oh.

"London London? As in, the capital of England London?" he asks, just in case he'd misheard.

"No, the other London," Louis laughs, low and biting. He comes closer finally, the moonlight just enough to reveal a sharp-cut jaw and pale skin. "Sorry, Pup."

Nobody's ever called Harry a "pup". Frankly, he finds it quite insulting, but he lets it slide to try and comprehend his current crisis.

***

or the one where harry gets bitten by a werewolf. louis is the mysterious not-quite alpha, liam and zayn have Things going on, niall is their token human, and together, they watch a lot of TV.

'Sup by @mediawhorefics

(G, 6,7k) Gemma really wants her little brother to sign up for a dating app and get back in the game after a messy divorce. Harry thinks he’s way too old to swipe. They compromise to devastatingly embarrassing results.

Meanwhile, all Louis wants is to finish the play he’s been commissioned to write, but one of the regulars at his local coffee shop keeps distracting him.

***

ft. older larry, pushy gemma, harry being a disaster gay and silver fox louis.

Can't Imagine You Without The Same Smile In Your Eyes by @galacticlarry

(T, 4k) It’s been over a week since Harry’s first semester at university began, and he has had zero new exciting friendships or noteworthy experiences, just a bizarre dream that keeps waking him up in the middle of the night.

What happens when the boy with the pretty blue eyes from his psychology class catches his eye and starts occupying his mind?

Art of seduction by harrysprostate

(E, 13k) “Besides, I have a fiancé.”

“Does your fiancé know where you are right now?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

“He knows I’m out with a friend.”

Harry blinked. “A friend?”

“What, engaged people can’t have friends?”

Harry chuckled at that and shook his head very slowly. He took his time to answer, even shifted in his seat and made sure that they were making eye contact first. “Oh Louis, we’re not going to be friends.”

Louis just smirked.

~or the one where louis is engaged but that doesn't stop harry from seducing him~

✨ my kingdom for a kiss (tonight you're on my mind) by leighbot

(E, 30k) “Oh fuck, I’m going to have to tell my mum,” Louis says, closing his eyes.

The silence stretches between them for a long moment until Harry starts breathing heavily. “I’m going to have to tell the Queen,” he says, “and my mum.”

 Or, the one where Zayn and Louis make a friendly wager and it goes too far, Harry's a baker with a heart of gold and really great hair, Liam is an overworked PA who just wants to enjoy his holiday and Niall is completely at ease, as always. An accidentally married AU mixed with a splash of modern royalty.

Still Dreaming ‘Bout You by @ireallysawanangel

(T, 3k) Harry doesn’t pay much attention to football. That’s proven even more apparent when the biggest football star in the UK walks into his juice bar and he doesn’t even notice. He does start to take notice when that football star keeps coming back.

✨ Just for Tonight (I can be yours) by @sadaveniren

(E, 42k) Harry, prince of Cestrescir, has been betrothed to Ludvic, prince of Yorvik, since birth. He'd accepted a loveless marriage as his duty to his country, until an accident threw him in the path of a gentle alpha

✨ This World's Ashes by @sunshineandthemoonlight

(E, 34k) The man stares at him, and all Harry can hear is his own heartbeat, racing.

Then the stranger turns away. He walks a few paces and bends down, picking up a large knife from the ground and shoving it into a pouch attached to his belt.

“I won’t hurt you, you know.”

Harry’s eyes snap up to the man’s face. He’s looking at Harry sincerely, palms held up as though in surrender. There’s still a knife in his right hand, though, so Harry is only slightly reassured.

Harry swallows to combat the dryness of his throat, and then says, “I won’t hurt you either.”

***

A post-apocalypse AU where Harry, battling his past as he survives in the woods, has learnt not to trust anyone except his dog. Then Louis crashes into his life, with his bright spirit and soft lips, pulling Harry from the depths of a loneliness he hadn’t realised he was drowning in. But there is danger lurking, and Harry’s not the only one wrestling with his past.

✨ no faith left to lose by @louieshalo

(M, 7k) Louis shoves an album booklet — Harry’s album booklet — into Harry’s hands, folded open to a familiar page. “I need you to tell me that that goddamn song is not about me.” His voice cracks a little in his vehemence, and ice fills Harry’s veins as he glances down at the creased page.

He doesn’t need to look closely to know what it is Louis is talking about — the title is printed plainly on the page, Second Chances, along with every incriminating lyric, line by line. It’s his most blatant offense off the entire album, probably; sickeningly indulgent and too obviously vulnerable to even defend himself against. The song is a surface-level dip into the fantasy world Harry toys with when the ache of loneliness gets to be too much in the middle of the night, the brief glimpse already toeing over the boundary he’d promised himself he’d set for his career.

Most damning, though, is the tiny embossed dedication at the bottom of the page;

“For who I’d be if I wasn’t afraid,” Louis recites, looking expectantly at Harry. “What the fuck does that mean?

***

or, the one where they miss each other more than anything.

.🌸🌸🌸.

part 1 (+50k) ✨💐 part 2 (30-50k) ✨🥀 part 3 (10-30k)

part 4 (< 10k) ✨🪷 part 5 (monthly rec) ✨💐

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Next time

“She killed me!”

“She does that.”

“But—the ballad. The road!”

“All a lie, I’m afraid. A little trick she uses to lure people to their deaths. Like a beautiful siren on the rocks, singing to passing sailors.”

“Um.”

“Yes?”

“You’re staring at her.”

“Am I? I guess I am.”

“Can she see us?”

“No. She knows we’re here, though. She always knows.”

“I’d like to give her a piece of my mind.”

“I can pass on a message, if you want?”

“Tell her she’s a despicable, wicked creature who deserves to rot in Hell.”

“Ooh, very harsh. I like it. So. Are you ready?”

“…No. But I don’t get a choice, do I?”

“Nope. Sorry.”

“There was more I wanted to do.”

“There always is.”

“…What happens next?”

“Come and see.”

*****

“Hi, Ags. One of them says you’re a despicable, wicked creature who should rot in Hell.”

”How incredibly unoriginal. Which one?”

“….uh.”

“Wow. You can’t even remember, can you?”

“...Maybe that one?”

“That’s a little insulting to the souls of the dead, not being able to tell them apart.”

“I see a lot of them. And they generally all have something nasty to say about you.”

“And that does hurt my feelings so. I cry about it every night. But you know, at the end of the day, I’m alive and they’re dead, and knowing that gives me the strength to carry on.”

“…you’re funny.”

”Looks like I can still make Death laugh.”

“Agatha…”

“Hmm?”

“…you know.”

“You miss me, you love me, you’re obsessed with me, that sort of thing?”

“Yes, Agatha. That sort of thing.”

“Hey, Rio, want to know something?”

“Probably not?”

“I wish I had never met you. I wish I had walked away the first time I saw you and never looked back. If I could take back every time I told you I loved you, I would.”

“What, all six times?”

“And only half of them real.”

“…stop.”

”Oh, that one hit, didn’t it? You were always so easy to manipulate. Please, my love, please. I love you so. Anything like that, and you’d do whatever I asked.”

“Yes. Because I love you, Ags, beyond all reason, even when I wish I didn’t. You can make me regret it, though.”

“Not half so much as I regret ever having loved you.”

“You do still love me, you know. You’re angry and hurt and taking it out on me, but you—“

“I don't. You can stalk me and obsess over me and follow me to the ends of the earth, but that part of me died the moment I buried my boy in the ground. I don’t think I can love anything anymore.”

“Beloved…”

“But if I could, I can promise it will never be you.”

“…All right, Agatha.”

“…That’s it? All right? I mean, that one was really vicious. I've been working on it all morning. I was hoping for a better reaction."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Crying or sulking or disappearing or something. …Not stabbing."

"I don't really know how to cry…Were you really working on it all morning? What incredibly cruel thing to say to me this time?"

"On and off. Around other things."

"…That's nice."

"What?! No, it isn't. It's the opposite of nice, that's the point."

"It's nice that you were thinking of me."

"...I honestly wonder what it's like to be you sometimes.”

"At the moment? Lonely."

"That wasn't meant as a question. But how can you be lonely? I'm right here."

"...you are very mean, beloved."

"Ah, there, that's better. More along the lines I was hoping for. Now shoo, I have other things to do, I'm a busy woman."

"Other things like what?"

"I'm sorry, are you under the impression that I'm going to share information with you, the being I hate most in the entire universe?"

"...Fine, Agatha. Have it your way."

"Wait!"

"Yes??"

"At least try to remember which one insulted me next time."

"...Really? That's what you—oh! Next time. Next...yes."

"Mmhmm. And I promise, eventually I will make you cry."

"I honestly don't think I can."

"Watch me."

"Always."

"...No, but really go away now."

"Yes, Agatha. Until next time."

"...See you then."

Want to read more witch fics? Here's a masterpost or go check out Death on Drums because I heard the 70s version of the ballad again and thought of it

[muzzlemouths]

Since you're working on a new fic/au, this might be a good time to ask: how do you start creating a new story? Do you start with an outline? Do you open a word doc and go in guns ablaze? What's the process on that I'm very curious

I sat on this ask for a couple days because I've been struggling with figuring out how to answer it, since the actual answer is that I don't have a process. Not one that sticks, anyway.

For DMD, I had a clear, concise idea in mind for how it would start, how it would end, and a few scenes that needed sorted in between. But the "outline" looks something like that one post:

Most of my fics that end in "?" for the final chapter look like this.

In terms of my oneshots and drabbles, I very rarely have any sort of outline in mind. I'll get an idea for a scene that I want to see, and I'll just start typing until it's finished. Anything over 3k words normally has me writing down some notes for direction, at least.

As for DFtR, due to the nature of that story (what with having three alternate routes) it was pretty much required that I write a full outline, otherwise I would undoubtedly lose track of some details.

My newest au, Easy As Pie (formerly Stardust Hotel) also has a full outline, though it is far more simplified than the one for DFtR, and acts more like guidelines for me to follow with only the necessary/important information established, which still leaves me with room for changes where/when necessary.

For example, here's an excerpt from that outline which has the main bullet point (What that scene is "About") and then a brief description of the room underneath that I can use as a descriptor, while writing everything else around it. That is, the dated appearance of the room is the main focus, and everything else that occurs in this scene will be written as a secondary focus.

Occasionally I'll also include brief phrases/conversation just to ensure that said lines make it into the fic, and so I don't lose track of what is meant to be happening in that moment. Those bits normally look pretty silly (at least to me). Here's one of them!

And that's my process! It's kind of a mess, but it works for me, so that's all that matters haha

[usmsgutterson]

We Could Leave The Christmas Lights Up Til January - S.R x reader

I am typing this authors note and feeling like the friend who's like "ITS CHRISTMAS" from the like. middle of the month forward when I'm actually the friend who reminds you how close it is to christmas or the new year bc I don't want to face that knowledge by myself and suffer well with others.

This was written as a through-the-years style fic. It'll have fifteen chapters which will correspond with the og fifteen seasons of criminal minds (I have not watched seasons sixteen or seventeen, please do not judge me lol) and three scenes per chapter, one set in November, one set on or around Christmas, and the last set at some point after it. The reader is also a fiber artist but if stuff relating to that comes up, I will make a note of whichever terms I need to.

Fic type - this is largely fluff!

Warnings - the reader in this has a slightly similar, but also somewhat dramatized version of my family dynamics bc I wrote this whenever the knit projects I was working on frustrated me and when writing the dynamics it just HAPPENED, but then I edited it so that the dynamics wouldn't hit SUPER HARD if I ever reread it. Otherwise, booze is mentioned a bit, and there is swearing present bc I apparently am incapable of writing a fic without dropping an f'bomb.

When you leave the office that night, it's half-past seven on a Friday in November. You and the rest of the team have the weekend off, and while Penelope and the others had gone out for drinks, you'd gotten back from a case in Miami that morning and had said no to the offer when she'd made it.

You had really just wanted to get home, if you were being honest. You told her you couldn't swing it because of plans already made with someone else, but Garcia didn't need to know that those plans were a glass of wine, Loops 'N Threads Classic Cotton and a crochet hook to work up some dishcloths in lieu of anything too expensive for your aunts christmas gift, or that the someone else you had plans with was your DVR so that you could catch up on the five episodes of Prison Break you'd missed because of the way that cases and work had been piling up.

She also didn't need to know that the wine your mother had given you would have a spot, or that after you were caught up with Prison Break you'd probably order and eat your way through an entire pizza from Antonios while watching a documentary about lemon sharks. Your Friday nights were your own, and even though you adored everyone on the team, you would seldom give up your Friday night ritual of doing a craft while watching whichever cable TV you needed to catch up on or whichever one the network of your choice had been running a marathon of, even if giving it up meant giving up dinner, drinks, and laughter amongst yourself and the rest of the team.

So, as you and Spencer are heading out—Spencer had declined Penelopes offer but hadn't specified his reasons as to why—he looks at you with a knowing sort of smile.

"Crocheting and Antonios?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

You nod once, lips pursing just a little while you mentally ready yourself for any oncoming judgement. "Mhm," you nod. "I have a bottle of red I wanna drink, so it'll be a tipsy crocheting night, I think."

"That sounds fun," he says. "Enjoy it."

"What're your plans for the night?" You ask. You've been with the team since six months after Spencer had joined up. You'd joined, under Hotch's wing, at the age of nineteen where Spencer had joined up under Gideons when he was twenty.

He shrugs. "I was thinking about calling my mom, seeing how she's doing," he says. "I try to call her at least once every so often and I do my best to write, but—it's just—"

"Maintaining those kinds of relationships isn't that easy," you nod. "I mean—my parents just live in my hometown so the circumstances are different, but I get it, even if it's to a lesser degree."

You don't really talk to your parents, and they don't really talk to you, and it's been that way since you went to the FBI Academy when you were eighteen. You came to DC after being hired by the BAU and they stayed in Maine, and things have been like that in the five years since you left the state.

"Your mom came around recently, right?"

You nod. "She was in town for a bit, but she came down while we were working on a case so I only got to see her a few times before she was heading back to Maine." She'd come up at the start of October, while you were working a case out of state, and she'd left six days after you'd returned from the case. In that time, you'd seen her at breakfast, lunch and dinner on three separate days. She'd left you the wine as a gift because she hated red and needed to pass it off, but you loved red wine so it was fine.

"Was it a good visit?"

"It was—well—it was fine," you laugh.

"That's the nicest way to put it?"

"Calling it fine is me being stellar," you laugh again. "Being kind, being gratiuitous, even. It was less than fine, but it could've been worse, and other visits of hers have been by miles."

Your relationship with your mother has been somewhat contentious since you were a teen, but she comes down once every few months and unless a case or something better comes up, you usually try to book Christmas off to spend it with your parents and sisters in Maine. This year, a bigger part of you than not is hoping that Christmas is disrupted by a case somewhere completely out of Maines reach, like Nevada or California or even the likes of Alaska, which has got to be some snowy hellstorm in the wintertime, though you can't say.

"You gonna go down for Christmas?" Spencer asks, laughing a little. He knows some of what your relationships with your family are like—knows that you and your mother have a difficult time finding common ground, knows that you and your father don't get along but have found some weird little middleground where you can exist without screaming at each other. He knows that you and your older sister are sort of friendly but only really mildly close, and that you and your other older sister don't talk often and see each other even less than the sparing conversations you have throughout the year—and he always looks at you kind of pitifully when your mother gets brought into the conversation, but there's been less and less pity as the years have passed, more sympathy.

"I don't want to," you laugh. "I really, really hope we get a case in Nevada or somewhere that even my mother wouldn't be able to justify asking me to drive down to Maine from. Like—I'd love it if we got a case in Alaska the day before Christmas Eve, honestly. I know it's not gonna happen, but—Christmas with them, my aunt, and my uncle? No. I can't subject myself to that without a whole lot of booze."

Spencer laughs, shakes his head a little bit. "You'll be fine," he says. "I won't hope that a case comes up at Christmas, but if one does, I'll buy you a victory tea."

"Why?"

"Because I know you love your family—you're hardwired to love them—but you hate Christmas with them, and I don't really like the thought of you being where you don't want to be because of family ties and guilt."

You laugh. "If it gets too dreary, promise you'll answer my call?"

"Yeah," Spencer nods. "Of course, but what if I call you first?"

"I will answer so quick," you laugh again, shrugging. "Seriously. Whether it's you or Hotch, I will take literally any excuse I can get to slip out from whichever room I'm in to the back porch just so I can talk to someone who isn't my aunt for a few minutes."

"Looking forward to that," Spencer says.

You smile, turning away as you do to hide it. It feels like an awesome ending to a mediocre day and you're grateful for that.

-

When your phone rings at five o'clock something along the lines of five weeks later, it's Christmas Eve. You've spent the last couple of hours alternating between cheap screw top rose and a jack and coke, occasionally swapping both options out for a hot chocolate that you spike with kahlua and a splash of baileys, and when your phone rings, the sound of it is a welcome reprieve.

You tuck a mug of boozed up hot cocoa into your right hand, answering the phone with your left as you dismiss yourself out to the back porch, standing amidst snow that's, by that point, a couple days old. A fresh coat is due to fall any day now, but by the time it does you'll probably already be back in DC.

"Hey," you greet. "How's Christmas on your end?"

"It's good," Spencer answers. "How is it on yours?"

"It's amazing."

"You've been drinking?"

"Jack Daniels, cheap rose, and the occasional spiked hot chocolate," you laugh a little. "It's making everyone more tolerable."

"Thats good," Spencer says. "Don't forget to drink water, though. It'll make you less hungover tomorrow morning."

"Yeah," you nod. "I've drank plenty of water—hangover headaches are fuckin' awful, and I don't feel like dealing with that tomorrow morning. A headache on top of dealing with my aunt? I couldn't put myself through that kind of torture."

"How've things been with you and your mom?"

"So far I haven't done anything to piss her off yet, which is surprising," you laugh. "Normally she's leaping down my throat the second I do something like use a tone that she thinks is amiss or defend my dad where she doesn't agree with him. I'll say something stupid and she'll yell at me before midnight though, I'm sure."

"Try to be a little optimistic," Spencer says. "I mean—just—take it easy. Don't do anything too nuts, okay? I know you well enough to know you have Prison Break on one of the DVRs in that house, and I also know that you know your own limits. Don't push yourself past them."

"I won't," you say. You know yourself well enough to know that you're probably lying, but you brought your needles and a skein of yarn so worst case you can just knit and keep your mouth shut, hopefully not miscounting any of your stitches in your drunken state. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I get in around ten on boxing day too, so—coffee?"

"Coffee," Spencer says. "Merry Christmas, Y/N."

"Merry Christmas, Spencer," you respond, hanging up the phone thereafter. You stay outside for another few minutes, drinking your hot chocolate, watching the sky and prolonging the time between then and your next interactions with your relatives.

Eventually, when you go back in, you're met with a sly look from your aunt and a suspicious look in your mothers eyes, while your father and uncle chat about current events and your sisters are busy in a game of Uno.

"You got a boyfriend?" Your aunt asks, her smile cheeky.

You grimace. "No!" You say, beelining for the kitchen and the bottle of Barefoot brand zinfandel. "No—it's—it isn't like that. A friend had planned to call and I didn't say no."

"Oooh, a friend," your mother teases. "That's quite vague, Y/N."

You nod, finishing the last sip of hot chocolate in your mug and rinsing it out, setting it in your favored corner of the kitchen counter and reaching for the wine glass you'd left in that same area.

"Intentionally so," you laugh. "You two are so nosy. I love you both to bits and pieces, but—it's not anything like what you're thinking. The friend is a coworker."

You reach for the bottle of zinfandel and pour an amount that just barely skirts the edge of avoiding being obscene, putting the cap back on and leaving it on the counter along with the rest of the alcoholic companions that will reside on the countertop until at some point tomorrow, when the drinks are switched out from booze and beer to soda and water.

"You two will be an item in five years, I guarantee it," your aunt says. "Seriously. You don't be vague about someone with your family unless there are feelings there, Y/N."

You laugh a little more, taking a sip of your wine and debating rummaging through the fridge to find the brownies that you'd hidden in the back of the fridge for when the drunken cravings kicked in.

"I've been vague with you people about women coworkers," you retort. "I've been vague about mentors who are older than Dad. I'm vague about lots of things."

"You should open up," your uncle says. "Nobody likes a closed off little snowflake who wants to appear mysterious."

"Trust is earned," the older of your two sisters retorts. "You have to trust people to want to open up to them."

"Do you not trust us?" Your mother asks, looking at you with pain in her eyes.

Not like I did when I was a kid, you think. "I do! I just—work life and family life are two separate things to me. If I were as open as you guys want me to be, telling you work stories and funny office anecdotes, you'd all want to hear less about my job."

"Being an FBI agent can't be that hard," your uncle retorts.

"You say that as a man who's never watched someone you love like a sibling get shot at," you retort. "You've never seen someones body missing parts, or seen someone who narrowly evaded a serial killer shaking with grief and with survivors guilt already starting to manifest. I love you all, but not one of you understands what it's like, and I wouldn't wish you did across a thousand lifetimes."

Nobody knows what to say, but the look in your eldest sisters eyes is clear—she's proud.

"Well maybe you should work in a different area," your aunt says.

"I wouldn't trade my job or my coworkers for anything," you respond. "The plus sides make up for the drawbacks tenfold."

Things go a little quiet after that, and you eventually grab the bottle of Zinfandel and retreat back out to the back porch, not caring how cold it is.

You stare at the sky for ages, drinking your way through the entire bottle of zinfandel as you do. You're half asleep when your phone rings again, and you pick it up as you make back inside, figuring the rest of your family had gone to bed as well.

"Hey," Spencer greets. "Just calling to check in again."

"Hi," you respond. "Everyone else has gone to sleep, I think—nobody is in the kitchen or the living room, and if I don't hit the hay I'll be dead on my feet tomorrow morning."

"Do you have any sports drinks around?" Spencer asks. "The elctrolytes in them will help replenish the potassium and the salt that you lose after a lot of drinking. Bouillion soup also serves the same purpose, and water is basically universally known as the one thing you should consistently drink between alcoholic beverages."

"My mother gets a twelve pack of the fruit punch Gatorade, puts it in the fridge and normally will make the drunkest of us chug a bottle before we conk out, so I'm gonna grab one and then chug it and head to bed. Thank you for calling to check in, Spencer. It means a lot."

You head for the fridge and keep to your word, opening it and grabbing one of the gatorades.

"It's no problem," Spencer says. "I've know you—how long now?"

"Four entire years," you laugh, closing the fridge and pressing your forehead against the metal door of the freezer on top of it. "Oh, God. Four years of working at the BAU. That is a surefire way to make me feel old."

"How old do you think you'll feel when you've been working there for a decade?"

"Absolutely, positively, ancient," you say. "Oh my God—thirty three? That is not an age I can picture. Asking me to picture that while I'm drunk feels like such a low blow, Reid."

"How about twenty-eight?"

"I'm starting to think you just like the sound of my voice," you retort, laughing a little as you compose yourself just enough to turn your phone onto speaker and set it on the counter. You lean against the counter and take the screw top off of your gatorade, sighing a little. "Are you asking me if I have a five year plan, Dr. Reid?"

"Yeah," he says. "Yes is the answer to both your statement and your question."

"Well, in five years, I'll be twenty-eight," you start. "I'd like it very much if I were still on the team, and if I am, that means nine years at the BAU. I'm going to get better at knitting and finally stop knitting things for people who don't offer to buy the yarn or otherwise compensate, I think. I make things free for ungrateful people too often. Maybe even adopt a kitten or take in a shelter dog. Fuck—Reid, I can't really even decide what I'm going to do in the next five minutes, let alone the next five years."

You chug the gatorade as you think about it—a bigger apartment would be nice, one that's closer to work would be nicer still. One with a good view of the city, maybe a library or a liquor store within walking distance, if not a Michaels or a Joanns.

You've always been more of a cat person but you have a ridiculously insurmountable softspot for greyhounds and pitbulls, so if you thought you could take in an animal in the coming years, you would have the knowledge and the background to give them a good home.

You'd maybe want to change up your hair color, if the drunken opportunity presented itself. A change in appearance feels like the sort of thing a person finds necessary at the age of twenty four, in the last year before the brain fully develops and stuff starts changing bit by bit.

"I think I'll still be on the team," Spencer says. "I know it. I love what we get to do everyday, Y/N. Helping people? Saving lives? We do good. We're good people."

"What else do you think about the next five years?" You ask, your voice quiet.

"I think I'll still be living in my same apartment, and that I'll still bicker and get into prank wars with Morgan," Spencer says. "I think I'll still play chess against Gideon on the jet home, and I'll still love to learn anything I can. I know for sure I'm still going to be trying to get you to watch Dr. Who with me, though I hope you agree to watch it after five years of attempts at cajoling you to."

You laugh, and the air takes on a somber kind of tone. "Maybe," you say. "Not likely, but maybe, Reid. Look—I'm going to go to bed so that I can just deal with tomorrows probable hangover head on, but thank you for calling me not once, but twice tonight. I really needed some company that wasn't a little bit of an asshole."

"Yeah, of course," Spencer says. "I—well—merry Christmas, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Spencer," is how you bid him adieu, hanging up the phone thereafter. You throw the gatorade bottle into the recycling and head off to the room you'd claimed, turning the tv onto a low volume and falling asleep with The Muppet Christmas Carol beginning to play in the background.

-

"How was everyones Christmas?" Garcia asks, practically buzzing with excitement as she comes out into the bullpen. Spencer is leaning against your desk, the two of you talking about nothing in particular when she comes around, and Garcia looks at you with a happy grin. "How was Maine?"

"It was Maine," you shrug. "Snowed. A lot. In turn, everyone in my family drank. A lot."

"Oh," Garcia shakes her head. "Too many people and too much booze is God awful."

You shrug. "My parents, my sisters, and my aunt and my uncle hardly felt like too many," you say. "And the amount of booze in which I indulged hardly felt like too much."

"You had a lot," Spencer retorts, looking at you skeptically. "I got a text Christmas morning, if memory serves—"

"A text to thank you for being so nice," You fire back, cutting him off. "Totally not asking you for hangover cures. I would never."

Spencer shakes his head, laughing slightly. You grin, taking a sip of the tea he'd brought you that morning.

"Yeah," he says. "I didn't get a text asking for the ultimate hangover cure-all. I guess I must've remembered it wrong."

Your grin widens, and you nod. "Guess so. How were things with your Mom?"

"They were great," Spencer says. "I had a good time."

"I'm glad," you respond. "Your mother sounds pleasant."

"She is," Spencer nods. "I'd hate to spend more than an hour with yours though."

"She's comin' here in June," you fire back, leaning back in your chair as your grin morphs from grin to smirk. "Be careful for the next six months, Reid, or I'll invite you to dinner with her, myself, and my father."

"That sounds like some form of mideval torture," Derek fires, laughing. Spencer shakes his head.

"Not if Y/Ns there," he murmurs. You take another sip of your tea to avoid seeming flustered to the rest of the team, and Spencer sighs when JJ comes around. You sit up in your chair, already anticipating her next words.

"We have a case," she says. "A series of deaths in Witchita. Briefing room in ten!"

You and Spencer exchange a look. There are only a few days left of it, but it looks like the last of 2005 is due to be a whirlwind.

[viaviavie]

Ok sorry I caught the brain worms and now I have to share them with you. I apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes and what not. I’m not a writer, I strongly prefer reading, and English is my second language. So feel free to ignore my ramblings.

So. Your “A painted white rose, still so red” fic. Wonderful thing. Love that Ace was dreaming about all of the horrors that would happen to him and his friends. And Yuu the one that is trapped in a time loop doomed to repeat every overbolt until they survive / make sure everyone else gets out unscathed.

That’s all well and good but… Ace and Yuu aren’t the only ones that have to face each overbolt.

Deuce always knew he wasn’t the smartest academically. Seven he’s barely passing his exams with the help of his house warden. But he isn’t dense enough to not notice his best friends weird behaviors.

He has caught Ace multiple times pulling the Prefect away from the group to talk to them in private. That in and of itself wouldn’t be so weird if they didn’t insist on him taking Grim for a minute while they talked. The others brushed this off but for some reason it stuck with Deuce.

This proved useful as during a lecture one of their classmates decided to mess around and almost blow up the classroom. Due to Ace and the Prefects quick thinking a majority of the damage was prevented.

Deuce always knew he wasn’t as smart as the Prefect or as annoyingly cunning as Ace. That didn’t keep him from being impressed by how prepared his friends seemed whenever disaster struck. It’s almost as if they knew it was going to happen.

He really starts to suspect something was up once the Prefect sent him an SOS in the middle of winter break. Once he met up with Ace to return to NRC to check up on them Ace was beside himself. Constantly checking his phone for any updates or always mumbling something about Snakes for some reason. Whenever Deuce tried to ask him what’s wrong or what Ace meant by that he’d always get waved off and or ignored.

When they finally, finally made it back to NRC and found the Prefect chilling with the Octavinelle Trio and the Scarabia dorm Deuce was confused. Ace on the other hand pushed past the crowd of people without another thought, on the way glaring at the Vice-House Warden of Scarabia.

(Why would Ace glare at someone he’s never even met before?) Deuce doesn’t need to wait long for an explanation to come, because it appears in the form of two familiar eals that explain that surprise, surprise another overbolt happened. (But how would Ace know that?)

Deuce knows what it’s like to have secrets you would rather not share with anyone. Really he understands. After all he also has things he only shares with his best friends if at all. But as he watches Ace and the Prefect reunite after all the stress of the past week he can’t help but feel hurt as he realizes that his best friends don’t trust him enough to keep their secret.

in reference to this post

ugh you just smashed my heart with an anvil— i love how it aches :)

(but i loved your rambling and your english was great! do drop by with those ramblings of your sometime, i adore it :DDDD )

Poor Deuce. A part of Ace thinks that Deuce is lucky that he isn't plagued with such nightmares, but never stops to consider that his best friend has his own inner turmoil. Ace, Deuce, the Prefect— they were always supposed to be a trio. And yet, this friendship has grown into a triangle, and Deuce sits at a point where his two friends had grown further and further away.

This weird sense of distant doesn't catch his eye in every loop. When Deuce feels out of place, however, it threatens to make him angry. There were certainly times when he has wanted to fight Ace for an answer, especially when he knows when Ace is lying straight to his face when the redhead was clearly bothered. Deuce never exactly confronts you, though. The Prefect has grown so tired of reacting and making mistakes to the point that you're just going through the motions sometimes.

To twist the knife even further, Ace and the Prefect never communicate about what is being foreseen in most loops until it's too late. Now, you have three different people tugging and pulling at one another to avoid the worst possible endings. Ace, who tries to prevent those Bad Ends from happening. The Prefect, who is still searching for more options and routes to take to survive the next overblot. And then there's Deuce, who cannot see ahead of the script and is forced to play along with the messes that Ace and the Prefect make. Ace would never confide in Deuce because he won't consider the idea that someone will believe in his crazy story. The Prefect can never confide in Deuce because it hurts to see him try to find a solution.

Nonetheless, no matter how hurt Deuce gets, his care for his best friends never change. Even when it ended with him hurt or dead in some loops, Deuce trusts both of you, even when the truth is something he would never hear.

That being said, I still think about the scene that I cut from the original. Contrary to what Ace thought, Deuce would have definitely trusted that Ace was telling the truth. That was why Deuce breaks out two blastcycles and was more than willing to help row a boat to get the Prefect as far away from the campus as possible during the events of book 7. You could only imagine how heartbroken Prefect was to reawaken back in that coffin, knowing that all the love that Deuce and Ace poured into you was now lost.

The Prefect has watched Ace and Deuce care for you for over a hundred loops now. There are time loops where the Prefect pushes aside those failures and puts up that smile as the process repeats itself again. There are also those time loops where the Prefect cries and cannot explain why when Ace and Deuce come to the rescue in the mines.

[darlingshane]

plateau

Jack Harper x F!Reader

Summary: Your relationship with Jack has reached a point where it feels like it's going nowhere. You're not sure what to do anymore to break through that wall he's put up. On a bad day, you decide just to give up altogether. If he's not willing to make an effort so aren't you.

CW: SPOILERS, heavy angst, drama, mention of child neglect, mention of harassment, mention of past relationships, snap judgments, smoking, heartbreak, but HOPEFUL ENDING, I swear.

LONG A/N: Yeah, you've read it right. I wrote a fic for Jack before the show comes out. I think I have enough insight from the book and the details I've found about the show to mix and match a story for him.

I kept some things from the book that are going to change in the show like Jack's niece. She's younger and has a different name in the book that I liked better, so I went with that version instead. Everyone is a little shitty on this story, including reader and Jack, which is on par with the book. And this is written in a similar way the book is. The first half is from reader's pov, and the other half from Jack's pov.

Word Count: 4,1k

— Links: AO3 // Masterlist

It's dark, windy, downright pouring like hell when you head out the door after clocking out of the inn you work at.

Opening your umbrella, you walk against the wind towards the corner that leads to the parking lot. A car passes by fast on your side, driving carelessly over a big puddle that splashes your legs. You turn back and flip him off, but the car is too far gone to see you.

When you bend the corner, you glance around to find his car. It's hidden behind an SUV, and you don't see it until two beams of headlights flash at you twice.

You rush in that direction, trying to avoid getting soaked, but it's impossible. By the time you reach the passenger door, the wind has made sure to push as much water as it could in your direction,

Drenched head to toe, you close the umbrella and climb into the car, yanking the door close as hard as you can.

“Fuck.” You toss the umbrella to the backseat.

“Good evening to you too, sweetheart,” he scoffs behind the wheel.

“Sorry. Just one of these days, you know?”

“Anything I can do?” Jack extends a hand to caress your cold neck. His palm is warm against your skin, collecting the raindrops that fell on you.

“Just take me home. I can't do this right now.”

“Are you sure?”

Without answering, you open Jack's glove box and find that pack of smokes he keeps at the back. He's tried to quit many times but keeps this one here from when the urge arises. You're not a smoker per se, but today you could really use one to calm yourself.

You stick one cigarette between your lips and reach out to the inside pocket of the jacket he's wearing to find a silver zippo lighter.

“Help yourself.”

Lighting it up, you take a long drag and hang your head back against the headrest, letting the smoke intoxicate your lungs before expelling it through your lips.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No. Not really.” You offer him a puff, and he hesitates for a second before picking the cigarette between your fingers.

“Why not?”

“Cause I don't wanna burden you. Besides, this works better if we don't talk, right? That's what you said.”

“I didn't mean it like that.” He passes the cigarette back to you.

“It's fine, Jack. Just drive.”

He tilts his head to the side, staring ahead at the mass of water pelting on the windshield with rage. The sky is violently struck by a massive lightning bolt, outlining in a blue electric shade the mountains that paint the landscape of Dahlonega.

You're sure he wants to protest or even explain what he meant, but he never does. Everything just hangs in the air between you two as usual. It's what you've come to know about Jack Harper. This is transactional for both, an escape from your miserable lives. But right now, this feels just as pathetic. You hate hiding like this, like you're a hooker he has to take to some clandestine dark nook around town to do unspeakable things. He's been divorced for two years and is still afraid of showing you around town, so people don't come to any assumptions. And you hate that. There was a time when you'd find yourself thinking this could become real some day. But it never comes. Your relationship has reached a plateau and if he's not willing to move up higher, then you'd have to move on without him… Eventually. There are things in your life that are keeping you from making that leap. Right now, being in this fixed place feels somewhat safe, even if it isn't where you want to be. Spending time with him, however that looks or means, is better than nothing.

Despite all that, you have bigger problems in your life than Jack being a dormant lover. One of them being your ex constantly harassing you to no end. Mostly via phone. But today he reached a new level of psycho when he showed up in the middle of your shift to ask you for money. He put you in a very difficult situation where you had to give him what you had in your wallet in exchange for him not making a scene. He also threatened you with plastering the building you work at with compromising photos he took of you when you were together. It was probably a mistake to bend up so easily to his extortion antics. You know that this would serve as precedent for him to do the same bit again. And you can't afford that.

Jack has made it clear before that he's not looking for that kind of relationship where you can freely confide in the other. He knows your ex is an asshole, but he has no idea to what degree. And right now, you wish you could tell him, cause you're running out of ideas to keep that fucking dumbass away.

The car veers through the streets, carefully moving under the unwavering storm. The old wipers whine against the glass, exerting themselves to keep the view unobstructed. Inside the car, there's nothing but a heavy silence, broken only by the thunderous roar of the rainstorm. On a night like this, you'd usually drive to your spot in the woods behind the train station or go to that motel in Gainesville if you can, it's always worth the drive. But tonight he's taking you home and doesn't press further on why you've chosen that. Sometimes you wish you could just yell at him, tell him you're drowning, and you're sick of him treating you like garbage, but you won't. Instead, a knot forms in your throat, bottling up all those words that are making your body hurt inside and out. You don't expect him to magically cure any of your imaginary ailments. You just want him to be willing to listen sometimes. That's all you need.

“You could come in, you know? Maybe stay the night?” you suggest when the car pulls up in front of your place, situated in the middle of a row of townhouses that look identical.

“Can't. I gotta check Zoe hasn't burned down the house.”

“How would she do that?”

“Pfft, you name it. Sometimes she leaves the stove on, or falls asleep with a cigarette lit on the couch. Came home once to find one of those hair curling sticks plugged, burning over a towel.”

“Hm, sounds like a handful.”

“I'd bring you with me, but—“

“She hates my guts. I know.”

It's not news to you that Zoe Harper despises you. You went to school with her at St. Hilary's Academy, and the two of you never got along. She was part of the mean clique along with Jack's ex-wife, Anna. Everyone was a target to them, including you. Zoe in particular still has a big hate boner against you, cause she never grew up out of that phase. Even in her thirties with a toddler, she's incapable of letting go of the fact that one of her ex-boyfriends in high school dated you after breaking up with her. She blamed it on you, of course, though you never met him after the fact. Just like your ex, she harassed you until the end of the school year, spreading unbelievable rumors about you. Luckily, everyone knew that was their shtick, and no one ever believed the insane lies that came out of her mouth.

“Is that why you're sleeping with me? To piss your sister off?” You can't help but wonder.

“No, she doesn't know about us. It doesn't take much to piss her off, so I'd be pretty dumb to go through all this trouble when I could just hide her glue gun.”

“Right. Do you think there'd be a time when you could stay? Or go on a date with me during the day?”

“Why are you asking me this now?” He deadpans.

“I don't know, Jack. I'm just wondering. I like you. You seem to like me. These are normal questions people have when they like someone, but I'm guessing from your expression that I have it all wrong.”

Silence. Again.

The man is a wall you can tear down, and you’re not sure why you still try or why you even care the slightless about him when he’s clearly signaling this is nothing but sex to him.

Your phone interrupts that unnerving stillness when it starts blasting a string of messages. Your ex. Probably drunk-texting the usual repertoire about how much of a bitch you are, as if he didn’t have enough with what he did earlier.

You glance down at the phone in your palm, reading the last troubling text he sent, and dare to ask, “say, hypothetically, if someone was harassing you, do you make an appointment with the police, or should someone just show up and report it at the station? How much evidence do you need?”

“What? Is someone harassing you?” He finally responds.

“No, it was just a hypothetical. Indulge me, just for fun.”

“Okay, if someone was being harassed for sure they should go report it. Guess depends on a few factors. You’d need to present proof of a relationship to the respondent, evidence whether it is physical, threats, stalking, harassment… You’d need an explanation of why you believe you’re in immediate danger to issue a temporary restraining order. Wouldn’t hurt to consult a lawyer, either.”

“That’s what I thought. Thanks.” You say curtly, grabbing your bag and tucking your phone inside.

“Is this what’s worrying you today?”

“No,” you shake your head as you reach for the door handle.

“Should I pick you up tomorrow?”

“No. I don’t think you should. Unless you change your mind about staying one night, you shouldn’t come around anymore, Jack. Take care,” you find yourself saying, rushing to leave the car at once. The way you shut the door serves as a period to a chapter that's run on for too long.

Now that you've said it, It’s definite. If he’s going to give you nothing but silence, then you’re not going to waste your time anymore.

Jack hangs his head down after watching you enter your house. There's nothing that he'd love more than to chase you and stay with you, but there's something inside that's keeping him from it. The fear of letting you down and screwing another relationship paralyzes him. That's why he's stunned every time you make an attempt to move forward with this. He has no doubt you'd be better off without him, so he'd rather let you down now than further down the line.

As he drives home, he can't get out of his obtuse mind the way your face changed when you looked at your phone and the hypothetical question that you presented him. You wouldn't be asking if it wasn't real, he believes. Maybe it's for you or for a friend, but he doesn't plan on letting that fall through the cracks like everything else in his life. If someone is harassing you, he can't turn a blind eye and let you get hurt or worse. So, he pins that thought to check on later. Though you've asked him to stay away, he can't disappear without knowing that you're okay.

By the time he parks on the driveway of his childhood home, it's stopped raining. He captures the TV glow through the window before heading inside.

His sister has passed out on the couch as usual watching one of those reality channels. Luckily, no cigarette in hand but a handful of empty beer cans clutter the coffee table between her array of supplies she uses for crafting. When he finds the remote, he switches the TV off and heads upstairs.

There's another light coming from the cracked door of Olivia's room when he climbs the staircase to the second floor. He pushes the door open to find his almost three-year-old niece having a party with her stuffies in the rug.

“Uncle Jack!” The little girl beams when he sees his face.

“What are you still doing up, lil bug?” he smiles, crouching down to hug her.

“I was hungry.”

“You didn't have dinner?”

She shakes her head, “mommy fell asleep.”

It's hard not to think badly of her sister when she does shit like this. He abstains from being judgmental, but tonight, he can't help it. All she has to do is take care of Olivia. She has no job besides selling cheap jewelry and clothes that almost nobody wants. What else is keeping her from meeting her daughter's basic needs? Really. It doesn't make sense to him. Her immaturity never left her, even after having a baby she still acts like a fifteen-year old. Some people don't deserve to be parents, and Zoe is one of them.

If it wasn't for Olivia, he wouldn't put up with Zoe's crap like he does.

He takes her downstairs and whips out something quick for her to eat. In a plate, he puts some chopped baby carrots, crackers, and cheese so she can snack while he fries some fish sticks and mixes some instant mashed potatoes. To be honest, he's not sure how much a toddler should eat at night, but he's going to let her have what she wants cause he's not sure when was the last time she had a full meal.

Olivia seems happy with his choices. She'd be a picky eater if she wasn't so hungry. She quickly devours everything he puts on her plate.

After dinner, Zoe is still deeply asleep in the same place while he helps Olivia to brush her teeth with her tiny brush he bought her the other day. It has a unicorn on the handle, which she adores.

When brushing time is done, he reads her a book and watches her fall asleep in record time.

Spending time with Olivia is lovely. It's such a beautiful picture, his heart aches for that part of him he lost. He was more than ready to be a dad, always hands on when he needed to during those short months she was on this earth.

With the weight of the world quickly settling on top of his shoulders, he retreats back to his room to see if he can put himself together the same way. He takes a shower and shaves the stubble on his face before slipping into bed. He closes his eyes, but after an hour, sleep seems to elude him. Something makes his stomach turn, and not because he's hungry. It's something else entirely. It's a gut feeling that tells him something is going on with you, and you’re not willing to tell him because he's kept you at an arm's length. God, he's such an asshole, he thinks as he flips on the bed to check the time on his phone.

It's late. But not terribly late to correct a mistake.

Jack quickly puts on some clothes without thinking, grabs his keys and phone to pay you a visit.

He makes sure Olivia's still asleep before heading out the door. Zoe is awake now on the couch, watching TV. She barely glances at him or acknowledges his presence when he lies to her, telling her that he was called to the station, that he’d probably be out all night.

The streets are empty and still soaked in a thick layer of water from the storm. He allows himself to drive a little faster now that he can.

Following another light, he knows you’re still up by the yellow glow filtering behind the curtains of one of the windows. He pulls up in the empty driveway of your house, and uses his phone to text you, typing he’s outside.

Jack waits for a minute before seeing the curtains move to show your face. He waves timidly and beckons you to meet him at the door.

“What are you doing here, Jack?”

“I thought about what you said and… Can we talk inside?”

“Are you sure? What would the neighbors say if they saw you here?” You mock him with annoyance in your tone. “Cause if Mrs. Greer sees you spending more than two minutes here, she’ll get the wrong idea. And you know how fast news travels around here.”

“Please? I just need a minute.”

Exhaling, you step backwards and open the door wider to let him in.

The TV is on when he enters the living room, and he's taken aback upon seeing the face of his ex-wife on the screen in the news segment she anchors at WSK.

“You don't have to say it. I'm pathetic.” You scoff, turning it off.

“You're not pathetic,” he's quick to reply.

“You know, I get it. She's smart and pretty, and everything I'd never be. I wouldn't blame you if you were still hung up on her. It'd explain a lot.”

It breaks his heart seeing you like this. Anna is part of his past that he’s definitely not looking to revisit. He’s not sure what you’re yet, but he’d never want you to think that you're anything less than amazing. That’s his fault for drawing this out.

“It's not that, sweetheart. I just think you deserve better than this, than me… I'm screwed up. I don't have anything to offer you right now. I know it, she knows it, too.” He vaguely gestures at the now-black flat screen, and pauses. “You think you want me, but you don't. It'll pass.”

“That's such s lame cop out. Why does every guy in my life think they know what I want or need better than me, huh? It's my choice to ruin my life if I want to. You don't get to decide. If you don't wanna be with me, that's fine, but don't say it's because I don't know what I want. Do you know what you want, Jack?”

His chin nods gently, staring down for a beat.

“Then say it.” You press him, folding your arms against your stomach. “You came back to talk, so talk.”

“It wouldn't work out between us.”

“That's not what I asked.”

Jack clears his throat. “It's not that simple.”

“Good things never are.” You keep hitting the ball into his side of the court.

“Fine! You win, okay?” His voice raises up, as all those unsaid secrets find a way out of his chest. “I can't stop thinking about you. Best thing in my life right now is when I get to pick you up and spend that little time together, and it's never enough. And I don't know how to do this anymore, how to be with someone. I don't wanna hurt you. And I can’t let my guard down again… what happened the last time… it can’t happen again…”

You see him choking up, overcome with emotion, as he trails off.

“Jack.” You bring your hands up to cup his jaw in your palms.

You open your mouth to say something else, but now it's you that gets to be speechless, so you just pull his face close, so his forehead falls on top of yours. He closes his eyes, and you close yours, letting the circling of your thumbs sooth the freshly-shaved skin of his cheeks. There’s really nothing you can say to ease the pain that he still harbors.

“It's okay,” you say after a long minute. “We don't have to rush into anything. We'll figure it out as we go. I just need you to talk to me, Jack. Just once in a while. You think we could do that? Be honest with each other?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he exhales, letting a small part of that heaviness he carries evaporate in the open space.

When he pulls his head back, you open your eyes as he places a kiss on your forehead, before locking his arms around you. His nose captures the scent of your hair while you tuck your arms around his torso.

Now that the air seems slightly clearer between you, he relaxes in your embrace for longer than he ever has. It feels like you’re holding him up, instead the other way around.

Something creeps back into his stomach—that uneasy feeling that wouldn’t let him sleep and that brought him to your door. He clears his throat to swallow the bittersweet taste left in his mouth of that sudden confession to change the subject and focus on you instead.

He hesitates to ask, but he has to.

“Hey. Do you think we could start now, being honest, I mean?”

“Sure.” You tilt your head back to capture his gaze.

“What you asked me about earlier in the car when I brought you home about harassing, I know you didn’t just ask for the sake of asking. Is there something going on, sweetheart?”

“Hm, nothing you need to worry about.” Your tone says the opposite as you suddenly pull away from his arms to busy your hands spreading the throw pillows on your couch evenly apart.

“Thought this is what you wanted. To talk.”

“This is not your problem, Jack.”

“That’s where you draw the line? Just cause it’s not my problem doesn’t mean I can’t help. I can see you’re scared, so—please, make it my problem.”

He watches you sigh with heaviness as you put the pillow in your hands down before grabbing your phone from the table.

After unlocking it and finding the text chain between you and your ex, you hand the phone to Jack so he can see for himself.

“Holy shit.”

He scrolls, dumbfounded, through a one-sided alarming thread of messages that are made of threats, degrading insults, intimidation, blackmail… You hardly ever reply unless he threatens you to do so.

“Have you tried blocking him?”

“Of course, I've tried. He shows up here if I do so. He likes to know that I read all the shit he sends. He gets off on it. He showed up today at work and I had to give him money so he'd go.”

This is more serious than he initially thought. He has to pull his eyes away from the screen after skimming roughly through over 50 messages that seem to keep going.

“You shouldn't have put this off. You could've easily got a restraining order with half of these.”

“I mean, he's never hurt me. At least there's that. He's like one of those dogs. He's all bark.”

“Yet.” Jack remarks. “He hasn't hurt you yet. What's this thing about a picture?”

“What do you think? I was stupid. I let him take pictures of me, you know… intimate pictures. Now he's saying he's going to put them all over town, so everyone can see what a slut I am.”

“You're not stupid, sweetheart. C'mere. Let's sit.” His hand points at the couch where you sit.

He lowers his backside on top of the coffee table in front of you.

“Keep these.” He puts your phone between your palms. “Tomorrow, we'll go to the station and you'll show them. I'll check with the inn, see if I can have access to the security feed.”

“Okay.”

“This is what you wanna do, right?”

You waver. “I suppose so. I just wish he'd leave me alone.”

“You gave him money. He's not going to leave you alone anytime soon now that he knows he can twist your arm like that.”

“I'm sorry I made it your problem.”

“Don't apologize. I asked you to.”

“So, what now?”

He tiredly shrugs his shoulders. “Guess we just wait and see what happens tomorrow.”

“Will you go in with me?”

“Yeah, don't worry. You're not doing this alone.” He gently cradles your hands in his palms, drawing soothing circles on your skin with his thumbs.

This is progress. It's scary, but it's a step in the right direction. He can't stay stuck red living the same day as in Groundhog Day. That's not living. This is it, holding you in his hands seems so simple yet so incredible.

Jack shifts in his seat on the table to sit next to you on the couch. His arms hold you closely as you search in his mouth something to put you at ease. He can't tell by the way your lip trembles that you're just as terrified. Perhaps not of this, you and him, but from that other situation you find yourself in. He provides a much necessary relief in the way his tongue gently massages yours. One of his hands is drawn under the hem of your top to find the warmth of your skin. It makes your hair stick out when the feather-light gliding of his fingers moves across the length of your backbone.

— credits: beautiful divider by @bernardsbendystraws

[copaline]

THE BRAIN ROT CONTINUES!

@man--eater (more radio demon butt please!)

@sunsetofdoom (the menacing continues)

@i-prefer-base-twelve (At this point I can't not tag you.)

@punedrr (ma'am you have abandoned your boy!)

@ancharan (Hehe, I know you were modding Skyrim last time but I'm calling you back to our dumpster)

@a-writing-otter (I did spot your previous posts and I loved what I saw)

No pressure to share but I'd love to see what you have! And as always, if you see this and want to join in, please do! Consider yourself tagged by me! The banner is free to use!

The last chapter one-shot spinoff of Horror Vacui called The Dealer and the Oracle!

It's a fix it fic that answers the question "what if someone had rescued a young 1982 Model Ford as he was being tortured by Bill?". Here's a little snippet of the upcoming Chapter:

If she were a gambling woman, Leaf would have compared it to a card game. Domesticity, Chaos, Order, and Equilibrium… Hearts, Spades, Diamonds, and Clubs, all of them gravitating around the same impossible man, vying for his attention. Hearts inevitably crumbled first. Ford was not made to keep his feet on the ground, he was a creature of wings. He was never going to settle down and have a family. No matter how earnest someone was or how warm a home Fiddleford made, Ford would always be lured away by the promise of the vast unknown. It could be argued this was to his own detriment, but even torn and bloody as he was, Ford still looked up at the skies unafraid. Spades was cruelest. Bill opened the floodgates of knowledge. He was excess to the point of bursting. There was no limit to the heights he could provide, just as there was no limit to the darkness he would wield. Chaos was selfish, irrational, and deceitful in its capacity to be both beautiful and deadly. To hold Chaos was to be consumed, and despite how badly Ford had suffered there was a part of him that embraced it still. He would have allowed Bill to burn him alive if only the demon had been capable of reciprocating such devotion. Diamonds’ words were sweetest. Jheselbraum was everything Bill was not. They were two creatures who embodied the counterbalances of the universe. She nurtured and tried to preserve even the things that were meant to be destroyed. She had entranced Ford with her gentleness and the softness of her voice. Someday he might find out just how empty and unsatisfying her platitudes truly were, but after surviving Bill, perhaps a long spell of hollow kindness was exactly what he needed. And then there was Clubs. Now there was a true idiot. She was capable of seeing every path and for some reason was still finding ways to purposely run into barbed wire. Equilibrium was Leaf’s place in the world. She was the path that burned a swath through the overgrowth and rebuilt broken roads. She was a creature of liminal spaces, the type that was easily forgotten, fading from existence until only the end result of her work remained. Leaf had no place in Ford’s story save as the set designer.

[the-one-and-only-taffie]

dude it's like you and I shARE THE SAME BRAIN LIKENASKJAMA AHHHHHHH

I have already gathered so many other headcanons about them and even a possible scenerio/fic type of deal, but I shall save those for another time

Anyway, the main deal about these two is that as much as they liked to pretend, they don't actually love each other. Main reason, they are at a point in their lives where they aren't capable of it. Sentinel cause he's looking out for #1. White because she doesn't have the experience, knowledge, or probably even the ability to love in the way necessary for a functional and fulfilling romantic relationship.

What the two see in each other isn't someone they would want to spend the rest of their immortal lives with. Hell, they don't even like each other most of the time. They just see each other as a way to boost their own egos and prove to themselves their inherent superiority. Sentinel is very aware that he only sees White as an item to bolster his status, especially when he has to legitimize his rule after betraying the Primes. However, he can't help expressing fondness for her, even if it's only when she does or says something that makes him look good in front of the populous. White, however, genuinely believes she loves Sentinel. Her love language is bringing out the best in people by correcting what she believes to be their flaws. This is what she did with The Diamonds, especially Pink, and it's what she'll do with Sentinel. She knows the way she treated them was wrong and that this exact habit of hers is what led to Pink running away. This is why instead of fixating on Sentinel's flaws, as you said, she'll instead shower him with compliments and encourage the behaviors she believes is good. She doesn't at all see how this isn't better. She's doing the same thing again in a different coat of shiny paint, but hasn't yet introspected and noticed this. So she keeps on, even when it drives Sentinel to madness and brings out the worst in White.

When you mentioned that she "proved herself to be terrifying when mad," I immediately thought about a scenario where they're arguing as usual, Sentinel is fed up with White's "critiques" while White is acting like the bigger person and speaking to him like a detached, observant therapist who is only missing a writing pad and a pen. Sentinel in his foolish hubris goes for a cheap shot, maybe pointing out that she failed her own family. White in what feels like an instant, her face goes completely red and she unleashes her temper in one fit of rage. She goes off the deep end and woaaaaah the look on Sentinel's face would be priceless! Her booming voice echoing off the walls, her stomping the floor so hard as she paces around the room making it shake like an earthquake (cyberquake?). Honestly the poor bot would be knocked over by the force of White's scolding alone and she'd still keep going. Once she's done, she'd go back to being calm like nothing happened and she'd go "Whoops, hehe, sorry you had to see me like that. What I meant was I thoroughly understand you and acknowledge your input. However, my dear, I strongly disagree. I still respect you and what you have to say. I didn't spook you too much, did I?" And Sentinel is trembling as he slides himself off the floor using the wall like "Oh, nah, I'm fine, totally ok, yup, great discussion there, haha, but i got a meeting to go to so im going to go like now" and once he's back on his pedes he books it out of the room. Sentinel makes a mental note to never piss her off that badly again. White Diamond continues on as if she didn't just scold her boyfriend like an impudent child.

On a more wholesome note, YES YES DOUBLE DECKER YES to Sentinel taking White Diamond to the surface of Cybertron! She asks many questions about it, some he doesn't provide answers to for classified reasons. Speaking of classified reasons, Sentinel always has Airachnid and his drones accompany them in secret to notify him when Quintessons are near and to help him steer her clear of anything incriminating. As she enjoys the view, White laments how in her empire's conquest to spread her view of perfection, she destroyed so many beautiful sights like the one she sees on Cybertron. Sentinel tries to cheer her up by telling her the planets after being colonized by gems must look just as wonderful, if not more, than the way they did before. She just says she appreciates his attempts at comfort, but she says she's learned better than to find beauty in the destruction of life. Sentinel rolls his eyes. I bet in White's attempts to come off as humble, she frequently dismisses or shuts down Sentinel's compliments, especially in regards to her past or the parts of herself she believes are flaws.

But yea on the more silly side I find it so funny how their attraction to each other supercedes their incompatiblity. Like "This glitch/clod is annoying but at least she/he is hot" LMAO. The only time they seem to be at their most functional is when they're chilling together in silence.

Back with more White Diamond x Sentinel Prime crackship nonsense baby!!!

Ever since I first thought about these goobers, I haven't known a single day of peace (mostly cause the ideas are just racking around in my brain)

So here's a list of headcanons I came up with for Prime Diamond! If you have any questions regarding this ship, my ask box is open. Double if you have any thoughts or anything to add, go on ahead! I hope y'all enjoy!

I may make a part 2 when I come up with more lol

For this relationship to even be possible (as possible as a crackship between two characters from completely different franchises can be), it will have to take place Post-Steven Universe Finale/Future when White Diamond is in her therapy, self-help guru era. And when Sentinel Prime is... alive.

Also, I have been trying to do research regarding this but since the results are so inconsistent, I'm gonna assume White Diamond is around 80 to 90 ft tall and Sentinel is around 60 (based on how he's double Orion Pax's height and apparently TF One Orion is around 33 ft tall). If you know their actual canonical heights or anything close to that, please lemme know!

As mentioned in a reblog, White Diamond would take an interest in Sentinel Prime as a sort of little DIY project. Though he tries to hide it, White with her supernatural intuitiveness can tell there's more to him than meets the eye (he's an asshole). Having been inspired by Steven to see the worth and beauty in imperfections, she wants to give someone like Sentinel a chance like Steven did for her. Though she is making genuine strides to improve upon her previous controlling and obsessive behavior regarding perfection, this aspect of her will resurface in her attempts "fix" Sentinel while in a relationship with him. She adores and finds much interest in his "positive imperfections," but helping him improve on his more negative ones wouldn't hurt, right?

Other reasons she developed an attraction to him is for the same reason all the Sentinel fangirls did: he's just so... pathetic. When he tries to impress her with stories of battles he's never fought in and gives her a tour of his treasure room full of artifacts he didn't discover, she can tell he's trying way too hard to impress her. She finds this cute and charming rather than douchey and desperate.

Sentinel Prime pursued her because, as stated in a previous reblog, "his diva ass was always going to try and seek out a gem fit for a king." He laid his eyes on an 80-90 ft giant alien rock woman and thought,"I need her." As any sane person would. She was supposed to be nothing more than another symbol of wealth for him to show off to the other elites and officials of Iacon City to further cement the royal image he works so hard to maintain. He definitely underestimated how overwhelming White Diamond can be, and I am not just referring to her height.

Sentinel would rather have his spark be extinguished than admit to this, but his stabilizing servos get wobbly at the idea of his alien girlfriend being so much taller than he is. His pride would never admit to this, nor would it accept someone taller than him accompanying him. He believes that as a "Prime," he is supposed to be much taller, bigger, and more imposing than those around them.

Whenever they make a public appearance, Sentinel insists that White shrink herself to a height more tolerable for his fragile ego. He bullshits an excuse about their buildings not being designed for a being as tall as she is. White obliges, but given how Iacon was built when the previous actual Primes were all gigantic and alive, she quickly figures his lie and confronts him about it. He'd just lie again and say he didn't want the other Cybertronians to be intimidated... by her beauty. Clearly, it's not because of some Napolean complex or something. Still, White in her patience era takes the compliment for what it is.

The "guy who doesn't like speeches" vs. "professional yapper" isn't a joke. Sentinel can't stand how much White Diamond loves to yap. She's the kind of person to have thoughts and opinions about anything and everything. Given that she doesn't breathe, she doesn't even need to catch her breath in the middle of speaking, so she can go on and on and on, much to Sentinel's annoyance.

He tries to get her to quiet down at times, but as White tends to do, she either doesn't hear him or straight up ignores him. Her monologuing, along with her height and just how shiny she is, is very overwhelming for Sentinel at times. The only good thing he finds about this aspect of his sweetspark is when she dotes on him and showers him with compliments and attention. As if a attention hungry fame whore needed any more of it.

Sentinel even allows White to indulge in her psychoanalysis, playing up the whole "tragic hero whose brothers and sisters perished in battle and now has to face the pain and weight of protecting his people alone" that she eats up. White does sometimes hit dangerously close to home, so Sentinel shuts her down before she could dig straight to bedrock and uncover the more unfavorable parts of himself he wants to stay hidden.

Speaking of staying hidden, the way White carries herself in public makes Sentinel was to keep her locked away in a jewelry box. White is excellent when it comes to using her words to inflict psychic damage or to build someone up. When it comes to social situations where charisma, relatability, and poise are needed, this is when White is at her most alien. She is not the most socially adjusted given that prior to the finale, she spent thousands of years hidden away in a world of her own delusions. She doesn't have much of a filter, something she has been working on to avoid upsetting offending others.

She has the habit of pointing out any interesting thing that catches her eye, especially about people, whether or not it's positive or negative. This has led to her unsettling the bots at best or offending them at worst. Sentinel then has to come in and use his charisma to difuse the situation and paint her behavior in a more positive light. Only for White to turn around and ask everyone if they ever noticed how Sentinel's wings move in accordance to his mood and how adorable it is. Everyone laughs. Sentinel is thoroughly pissed.

Sentinel definitely has more relationship experience than White Diamond. All of her knowledge comes from what she's heard from the gems that come to her for her advice or from that human show the little green Crystal Gem recommended (she can't remember her name). In her attempts to emulate the behavior of what she's heard of and observed, she ends up coming off as cringe at best or detached from reality. At certain points of the relationship, she even imposes certain "deadlines" on courtship behaviors she expects from Sentinel. All his previous relationships were private, casual flings. He only made this one public because bagging a bad bitch like White Diamond is an accomplishment he felt he had to show off.

This may come to bite him in the aft when her radiance catches the attention of other bots. On these occasions, he acts possessive and showers her with attention, gifts, and affection. He tells himself and Airachnid it's because he doesn't want her to outshine him in the eyes of the public. In reality, he gets jealous and doesn't want to lose her interest and, most importantly, her attention. As overwhelming and embarrassing as she can get, a twisted part of him really craves her attention.

In private, Sentinel can flip flop greatly in how he treats White. On some days he leans on her for support and wants her to pet his wings while he vents about all the dumb, annoying bots he has to fraternize with and all the boring meetings he has to attend. White occasionally interrupts him with advice or her own views on the situation, which frustrates Sentinel. On other days, he's completely detached, not even bothering to give her the time of day. He is at his most consistently sweet and romantic when they're both in the public eye, performing grand gestures of love. This intensifies when they're on camera.

They present themselves as THE Iacon couple, but Sentinel and White argue a lot about pretty much anything. More often than not, White is trying to advise him on how to improve himself and his city, and Sentinel kindly tells her to shut up and mind her own business.

They are both very prideful people who can't accept when they are wrong. White is more willing than Sentinel to admit to it and compromise. If she believes she is 100% in the right, she won't go down without a verbal fight. She has yet to figure out how to properly counter Sentinel's "NUH UH!" though. She believes this is normal and healthy as she hears time and time again how arguments are a sign of a functional relationship. White knows how in the past she never allowed anyone to express their grievances or criticize her. If they did, she'd twist their words to further force her own viewpoint or take control over their mind and body. Seeing Sentinel passionately argue back while White practices her listening skills and only sometimes speaks over him gives her hope that she isn't regressing back to her previous toxicity. No one has told her that disagreements are healthy and normal, but frequent fights and arguments are not. And the kind of hellish circles these two go in just ain't it

[museaway]

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[dykedvonte]

Killing Daisuke’s parents but also like feeling so bad for them.

Imagine your kid absolutely devastated to have to be sent away to some shitty internship but you think it’s for the best. You don’t hear back from the company for a while and just think it’s gonna take a while. It’s a long trip after all. Then those long weeks turn to long months and then you get news they haven’t had contact with the crew in a long time. You don’t know if you’re ever gonna see your kid again.

You don’t know if he’s coming back from a trip he didn’t want to even go on. That you made him go on. I’d never forgive myself.