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cherryy-slushy · 2 years ago

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I Will Never Fall in Love Again~ Yandere!Jason Dean

TW: Violence, cheating, abuse (alcohol related), smut?, alcohol, drugging, using (using a person for something), bad mental health. (Also I may change to personal pronouns halfway through I apologise in advance.)

Part 1!

Part 2

Enjoy!

Your an average person. You have a normal amount of friends, a bit of childhood trauma but an average life now, average looks and average grades. You’re no Heather. But, recently you started to wish more and more that you were. And here’s why.

Y/N has English first class, she was tired as any sane person would be. Your teacher was also majorly upbeat for 8:50 am on a Monday morning. What is she hopped up on?

Y/N looked over to her side. Great Christine isn’t in again. She rolled her eyes knowing this class is going to drag on because of the absence of her friend. She isn’t entirely close with Christine, but she still helps her get through English without loosing the plot.

She snapped out of her trance when she heard her name get called on the registration.

“Y/N?”

“Here”, She said in a blank tone.

“Perfect”, the teacher replied in a chirpy tone.

As she went back into a daydream she kicked back into reality when she heard a knock on the classroom door. Jesus Christ you know it’s a bad class when you find any way to not listen for one second.

She looked to the door as it opened. Through the open door came a deviously handsome boy. I’m talking a guy that would have girls swooning.

“Ah you must be Jason!”, Ms Fleming chirped. “Yep, that’s me”, he replied back, clearly trying to be polite but just sounding sarcastic. Y/N tried so hard not to snort at this.

In the corner of her eye she saw Veronica sawyer. Veronica shifted in her seat suddenly intrigued by the stranger. I turn my head to face her and roll my eyes. I don’t dislike Sawyer, she’s lovely, but it is pretty shitty that she dumped her only friend of nearly 11 years to be a part of the “popular” gang.

I face back up to where the boy and Ms Fleming we’re stood.

“Y/N, Christine isn’t in today is she?”, Ms Fleming asked. “No, she’s not”, I respond, remembering the tragic disappearance of my friend. Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic but this class sucks ass. I need someone to help me through the day.

“Perfect”, she said clapping her hands together, “Jason, go take a seat down there next to Y/N. Y/N raise your hand please.”

I raise my hand a small bit but not too high. Jason starts walking down the class and plomps his bag down next to the edge of the table. I try act nonchalant even though inside I’m dying. I return to scribbling incoherent nonsense onto a refill pad.

In the corner of my eye I see him look at my face and then down to my refill pad as he cocks his eyebrow.

Shit I forgot to change the page…

The sheet I was using was a page another friend of mine and I used to pass each other notes in science class. So yes, there is a massive…willy.. on there…. A very graphic image of one too..

I quickly snap the refill pad shut and pretend to listen to Ms Pauline Fleming ranting about S.E Hintons writing. She was talking about hawkes harbour.

“Im more an outsiders guy myself”, I hear a deep yet somehow high voice whisper too me. I look over at him and see him looking up at Ms Fleming.

“You’ve read the outsiders?”, I asked with a small smile starting to appear on my face.

“Have I read the outsiders? Well duh. Who hasn’t darling?”, he replies back with a small chuckle.

“Tell me, are you more a Ponyboy or Johnny person”, I asked. You can tell a lot about someone from their favourite characters movie.

“Dally”, he replied. “May not be the answer you were looking for but it’s an answer.”

I like this guy

We spoke about the outsiders for a bit longer and before I knew it the bell rang. We both started to stuff out stuff into our bags and before either of us could say anything Veronica Sawyer swoops in.

“Hey. I’m Veronica, Veronica sawyer. What’s your name?”, she asked with a polite smile. “Greetings and salutations, Veronica, Veronica Sawyer. I’m Jason, Jason Dean. JD for short.”, he smirked back.

Oh fuck, am I gonna have my heart broken by this boy.

I started getting bored of them because let’s be honest, who would want to stand there and listen to the boy she’s already starting to have feelings for talk to one of the most beautiful girls in school who is clearly swooning for him and he is clearly swooning for her. Doesn’t seem like a very fun conversation too listen too.

As I walked out I looked back to see if he noticed I left. Nope. He didn’t. Great. I kept walking down the hall and into my next class. Today is going to drag on.

#jason dean #jamie muscato #ryan mccartan #christian slater #heathers the musical #heathers 1989 #heathers #veronica sawyer #jason dean x you #jason dean x reader #follow #tumblr #like #stephen sanchez #never fall in love again #Spotify

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nerdraging4point0 · 1 month ago

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Power Play // Chapter 11 // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Tropes and tags: hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, PinV, public adjacent sex, rough sex, minor cnc dynamics, multiple POV, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, aggressive hockey players, possessive male, protective male.

Fanclub: @tearfallpixie @ladyveronikawrites @beaker1636 @missduffsblog @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @rumoured-whispers @sorrowsofsilence @sundamariis @letmeadoreyoux @lilrubles @shilohrosechicken @mysticdoodlez @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @deathblacksmoke @somebodyels3 @missduffsblog

Shout out to @flowery-mess who has been loving this series at every turn! Thank you 🙏

Sarah's POV

We stepped off the bus in Orlando, just outside the towering ice rink, I could smell the muggy salt of the air and the humidity hit me like a truck. The game wasn't for several more hours, but our team's media and PR representatives were already in full swing, eager to capture crucial pre-game moments of the players entering their new territory before they hit the ice.

I hadn't traveled with the team all that often, opting to stay home for most games. But this time, things were changing. The Otters, a newly formed team in the Orlando area, were in need of more players to help build up their roster, and a new nurse position had opened up. It was an opportunity I couldn't pass up, even though I hadn't really told anyone about it, except for Jack. I knew my father would likely try to persuade me to stay by his side, which, if I'm being honest, hadn't been so bad lately. But then there was Noah - the complicated, brooding asshole who had been the source of so much tension and unspoken feelings since the season started. Ever since our stolen moment in the supply room, he had become distant, barely looking at me or speaking to me, and his aggression on the ice at the last game had been more intense than I'd seen in a while. Maybe, I thought, this move to a new team, far away from the drama and the complicated situationship, could be the fresh start I needed, the chance to finally find some clarity and peace, away from the emotional turmoil that had been weighing me down.

As I stepped into the bustling entry dock, I took my spot next to Veronica and Ashley, the public relations manager and our social media extraordinaire. The air was electric with anticipation as the players began to file in, each one acutely aware of the watchful eyes and cameras trained upon them. Ashley was animatedly pointing and leaning in close to her assistant, instructing her on the ideal angles and lighting needed for the best social media shots. From what I could overhear, her assistant would be responsible for capturing the still images while Ashley herself moved in to secure high-quality video footage.

The players, who had endured this routine countless times before, entered the dock with a practiced nonchalance. They moved with an effortless grace, spacing themselves evenly and resisting the urge to hurry through the gauntlet of media attention. It was almost comical to watch these towering, broad-shouldered athletes attempt to affect an air of casual indifference, as if tall, handsome men in tailored three-piece suits strolling through a throng of cameras was an everyday occurrence.

Sanchez was the first to catch my eye as he strode in alone, his left hand casually tucked into the pocket of his sleek gray suit. His dark hair was styled back with a liberal application of gel, giving him a polished, sophisticated look, and his face was clean-shaven, allowing his Rolex to take center stage on his wrist. As he passed our little trio, he turned his head slightly, lowering his sunglasses just enough to lock eyes with me before giving a subtle wink and pushing the frames back up his nose. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his blatant display of cockiness - he was the epitome of an athlete who truly believed he owned the team.

Veronica leaned in close, whispering in my ear with the same tone of disgust that I felt, "He thinks he runs the show, doesn't he?" We watched as the rest of the team filed through, each one distinct in their own way. Ruffilo and Pierce walked side-by-side, engrossed in a deep conversation, while Nick's dark hair was neatly tied back in a clean bun, his charcoal suit devoid of a tie. In contrast, Pierce had opted for a periwinkle suit that perfectly complemented his sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

As McClain and Sanders glided past, their shoulders brushing together in perfect sync, I could barely tear my eyes away from the captivating scene unfolding before me. Noah and Karlsson, the dynamic duo, strolled by playfully shoving one another, their pearly white smiles lighting up the room. I had expected Noah to don a classic black suit, perhaps even mirroring Karlsson's ensemble, but the two had decidedly gone above and beyond for their grand entrance. Noah's lithe frame was impeccably fitted in a rich, wine-colored suit, the three buttons fastened neatly as his black shirt peeked out ever-so-slightly at the collar. In contrast, Jolly's dark navy ensemble was left intentionally unbuttoned, the tails of his jacket open as he casually slid his hands into his pockets, forgoing a tie and leaving the top buttons of his shirt undone for a relaxed, effortless look.

Veronica's sultry voice suddenly broke my train of thought, her bottom lip slipping between her perfectly veneered teeth as a cherry red gloss glistened on her lips. "Now that's a media shot," she purred, her gaze fixed intently on the stylishly dressed players. Grateful for the distraction, I quickly reached for my buzzing phone, relieved to see the number for the Otters medical director displayed on the screen.

The sudden interruption provided the perfect excuse to extricate myself from the uncomfortable situation I had found myself in. Hastily excusing myself, I hurried to answer the call, eager to shift my attention elsewhere. To my pleasant surprise, the caller was none other than the medical director for the Otters, the opposing team we were playing against. "Good afternoon, Ms. Brody," the director greeted me warmly. "We noticed the team arrived safe and well, and I was wondering if you might have time to meet with us now, rather than waiting until our originally scheduled 4 o'clock meeting?"

Without hesitation, I eagerly accepted the invitation, practically sprinting towards the locker rooms as I hung up the phone. Weaving my way through the throngs of players, I made my way down the hallway, following the director's detailed instructions to locate the home team's lounge and the conference room where they awaited me.

Just as I was about to reach my destination, I was stopped in my tracks by the familiar voice of Pierce. "Hey, where are you headed in such a hurry?" he inquired, his brow furrowing with curiosity. Caught off guard, I hastily concocted a flimsy excuse about needing to meet with the medical staff to stay up-to-date on the latest care and treatment protocols. The words felt clumsy and unconvincing as they left my lips, and I could see the skepticism etched across Pierce's face. "Okay, well, make sure you take notes," he replied, a hint of teasing in his tone. "We like having you around, wouldn't want to lose you 'cause of an error or anything."

As I watched him rejoin his teammates, a curious mix of emotions washed over me. Pierce's parting words had struck a chord, leaving me feeling unexpectedly touched. It was the first time I had heard any of the players express that they genuinely enjoyed my presence and valued the work I did. In that moment, I found myself reluctant to continue on to the meeting, my previous eagerness replaced by a newfound hesitation and a desire to linger in the warmth of Pierce's unexpected acknowledgment.

I made my way into the conference room, my palms sweating and heart pounding, I couldn't help but feel completely out of my element. I shook hands with each member present, gave my best smile taking a seat across the table from them. Here I was, a highly qualified and experienced nurse, the panel before me was an intimidating one - a group of stern-faced doctors and athletic trainers, all of them seasoned veterans in their fields. I tried to sit up straight and appear confident, but inside I was a bundle of nerves. What did I have to offer? Sure my academic and rotation skills were some of the best in my class, and I recently had some hockey experience. I had spent years honing my skills, earning certifications and accolades, but now all of that felt inadequate as I faced this daunting interview. The head doctor, a broad-shouldered man with a graying beard, began firing questions at me rapid-fire, grilling me on my experience with athletic injuries, my familiarity with the unique demands placed on professional athletes' bodies, and my ability to think quickly and adapt in high-pressure situations. I did my best to respond articulately, highlighting my extensive trauma training and my calm, level-headed approach even in the most chaotic circumstances. But I could see the skepticism in their eyes - these were people who pushed their bodies to the absolute limit every day, and they needed someone who could keep up.

As the interview progressed, I found myself increasingly unsure of my chances. The team trainer, a stern-faced woman with piercing eyes, seemed particularly unimpressed by my answers. I worried that my personal background with the current team's coach would be seen as a weakness, that they would view me as someone who wouldn’t have gotten the job without her father.

As the interview finally concluded, a sense of dread and self-doubt began to creep over me. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had utterly botched the entire process, completely failing to showcase my true skills and capabilities. All the confidence I had mustered up beforehand had evaporated, replaced by a crippling insecurity that left me longing to retreat back to the familiar comforts of my team. With heavy steps, I made my way through the bustling locker room, bypassing the lively camaraderie and boisterous music that normally would have lifted my spirits. Instead, I felt isolated and out of place, my sole focus being to reach the small, tucked-away office where my dad and Jack were waiting.

The moment I stepped inside, their eyes immediately locked onto me, and I could feel the flush of embarrassment creeping across my cheeks as my glassy eyes betrayed the inner turmoil I was experiencing. My dad, sensing my distress, reached out with a gentle concern, using the childhood nickname he hadn't uttered in years - "Firefly, what's wrong?" I took a deep, steadying breath, struggling to hold back the sniffles that threatened to escape as I recounted the disastrous interview.

"Daddy, don't get mad, but I thought I would be a good fit for the Otters as their head nurse. I had an interview scheduled for four o'clock, but they moved it up to just forty minutes ago. Daddy, it was brutal - I felt so out of my league, and I'm convinced I didn't answer any of the questions right. I feel like I absolutely fucked it up." The words tumbled out, laced with disappointment and self-doubt that I couldn't quite shake.

As Jack quietly excused himself and retreated from the office, shutting the door behind him, I felt tension settling in the air. My father, his brow furrowed in deep contemplation, gently placed the stack of papers he had been reviewing down on the desk before him. Taking a long, steadying breath, he turned to face me, his gaze conveying a mixture of concern and affection. "Is being here so bad?" he asked, the weight of his words hanging heavily between us.

I swallowed hard, my heart racing as I struggled to find the right words. "No, daddy, that's not it," I replied, my voice trembling slightly. "It's just...I'm an adult now, and I don't want people to think that I only got this job because you're my dad. I don't want them to think that, because you're my father, I can get away with whatever I want." The admission spilled forth, my fears and insecurities laid bare before him.

My father's expression softened, a gentle smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Sweetie, I didn't pick you because you were my daughter, although that would be reason enough," he said, as I wiped the tears from my cheek. "I picked you because your skills were exceptional. I've seen your grades, your clinical evaluations, and I've heard nothing but great things from your professors." He held up a hand, silencing my attempt to argue. "And don't even try to tell me they said those things because I'm your father. I had Jack call, and no one knew you were my daughter when we spoke to them."

Stepping around the desk, my father enveloped me in a warm, comforting embrace, his strong arms offering a sense of security and reassurance. "Sweetie, I'm sure you nailed it. If they extend the offer, I advise you to do what you think is best - stay or go. Either way, your daddy is proud of you." His words, spoken with unwavering conviction, soothed the anxieties that had been weighing so heavily on my mind, and I found myself melting into his embrace, my fears slowly dissipating as I basked in the unconditional love and support of my father.

Noah’s POV

The sweat chills my forehead as we battle in the heat of the game, muscles burning with the exertion. My left calf throbs with a sharp ache - sometime in the first half, my leg had stretched out too far as I dove for the puck, the sudden overextension pulling at the tender muscle. But there's no time to nurse the injury, not when the Otters are pressing us so relentlessly. They may be leading us by a mere two points, but their seamless teamwork and razor-sharp communication puts our own disjointed efforts to shame. Our captain seems disinterested in coordinating the team, preferring to simply bark orders and expect us to fall in line without any real guidance. One small fuck up and he's quick to berate us, his face twisted into a snarl behind the bite guard clenched between his teeth. I can see the tension in every line of his body as he carves furious paths across the ice, desperately trying to regain control of the game - a game that seems to be slipping through his fingers despite his best efforts. The Otters may have the advantage in skill and strategy, but our own internal discord could very well be our downfall if we don't find a way to come together as a cohesive unit, and soon.

Players from both teams converge in a frenzied scrum at the end of the ice, their skates carving up the frozen surface as they jostle and shove for position. The Otters' center and his flanking teammates are locked in a desperate search, their eyes scanning the chaos for any opening, any sliver of space they can exploit to get a shot on goal. In the midst of the melee, McClain is zeroed in, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the puck as if it were a venomous rattlesnake coiled at his feet, ready to strike. I try to keep track of the elusive rubber disc, but in the heat of the moment, Sanchez comes barreling through, shoving past me and nearly knocking me off balance and onto the ice. Just as I regain my footing, Jolly glides up behind me, lending a steadying hand and helping me find my edges again as the players crash violently into the boards, all of them clawing and scraping in a fierce battle for possession of the puck.

The deafening roar of the crowd quickly gives way to a stunned, eerie silence as the sickening sound of the violent collision echoes through the packed arena. It's a chaotic blur of bodies and jerseys as the players collide, limbs tangling together in a violent frenzy. Suddenly, fists are flying and a wooden stick is snapped in half, the pieces clattering to the ice as the referees rush in to try to separate the brawling athletes. Teammates frantically scramble to pull their players back, desperate to deescalate the ugly situation.

"Charlie!" one of the Otters players shouts out in anguish over the panicked screams of the crowd, and as the bodies clear, my eyes catch the horrific sight. The fallen center lies motionless on the ice, his limbs twisted at unnatural, sickening angles. A dark, ominous pool of red is spreading beneath his left arm, the crimson liquid contrasting against the white ice. The crowd watches in a stunned, horrified trance, the only sound a hushed, disbelieving whisper escaping my lips: "Fuck."

The scene was nothing short of harrowing, as all eyes remained fixated on the crumpled, motionless figure lying on the frozen surface. In a frantic blur of movement, the medics rushed to him, their swift actions cutting through the eerie stillness that had descended upon the arena. The spectators, gripped by dread, waited with bated breath.

As the officials carefully surveyed the ice, assessing the aftermath of the recent scuffle, one of the referees suddenly caught sight of something that immediately piqued his interest. Peering down, I noticed a faint trail of red leading away from the Otter's center, the faded lines disappearing beneath the skates of my own teammate. Sanchez, unbothered, stood calmly with his stick resting casually on the frozen surface, his eyes locking momentarily with those of the officiating crew. And with a sickening, almost taunting sneer, he turned and began making a beeline straight for the penalty box.

***

"What the fuck was that, Sanchez?" my accusatory question hung in the air, laced with the bitterness of a game that had slipped through our fingers. The injury earlier had been the turning point, the moment where everything unraveled and our hard-fought efforts came crashing down. With their center replaced, the Otters had seized the momentum, and try as we might, we just couldn't regain footing, sinking deeper into the agony of defeat.

“What the fuck was what, Sebastian?” he growled at me.

Following the end of the game the rest of the team, still clad in their sweat-soaked uniforms, confronted him relentlessly, voices raised in a cacophony of outrage.

"You fucking brutalized him!" one teammate shouted, the accusation hanging heavy in the air as Sanchez, freshly showered and changed, met their gaze with a defiant shrug.

"Did you see me brutalize him?" he sneered, shrugging his shoulders as he drawled, “It was an accident.”

"Bullshit!" Pierce screamed from across the locker room unwilling to accept Sanchez's nonchalant dismissal of the incident that had cost them the game. Faces were ready and adrenaline was high, I was about to pull back and sock my fist into his smug face when coach barreled into the room.

"Sit the fuck down, all of you!" he bellowed, his voice booming through the tense silence. Collectively, we scrambled to obey, eyes locked on the coach as we settled onto the bench. Coach's hands twisted and clenched, his eyes bulging with barely-contained fury. "That was some bullshit out there," he spat, his words laced with venom. "You played like thieves, not like a team at all. This is NOT how I trained you."

Nick, unable to hold his tongue, suddenly blurted out, "It's all Sanchez's fault!" The accusation hung in the air, drawing a swift retort from Sanders. "Coach, I think Sanchez should be in trouble for this, not us!" he countered.

But coach would have none of it, his booming voice silencing the bickering. "I don't want to hear the blame game!" he bellowed, his face flushed a deep crimson. Turning his gaze to Sanchez, his expression hardened. "Sanchez, your playing for this season is under review. Pending Owens' injury assessment."

At the mention of Owens, a hush fell over the team, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily. I could barely choke out the words past the rage in my throat. "How is he?" I asked, my voice trembling. Coach’s expression softened ever so slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his features.

“At the moment, can't feel his fingers. Sarah and Leo are helping the nursing team with him before sending him to the hospital.” Coach took a deep shaky breath, “I want everyone to shower, pack up and be ready to go. No talking, I want silence. You are all punished, as of this moment you are no longer an NHL team on the way to winning the cup, you are now a rookie team who could learn some manners through discipline.” he stormed away leaving the rest of us sitting in guilt ridden silence. The air in the locker room was thick with tension and unease as we sat in stunned silence, the weight of Coach's words hanging heavily over us.

My heart raced, adrenaline coursing through my veins, as I stared at the spot where he had stormed out, his booming voice still echoing in my ears. I couldn't believe it - one moment we had been riding high, on the cusp of victory, and the next everything had come crashing down around us. Sanchez gripped his gear bag, tossing it over his shoulder as he left the locker room.

“I hope Sarah and Leo can help him.” Jolly's low, hushed voice carried through the silence.

“She’s good, she’ll figure it out.” My little fox knows her stuff. I had full confidence that she was the one who could uncover the truth. She was sharp, determined, and wouldn't rest until she got to the bottom of this. I knew she had the skills and the drive to dig into Owen's medical report and find the evidence we needed to take down Sanchez.

“We need a new captain.” Nick declared, the team collectively nodding their heads.

“We should take a vote,” Pierce offered “Give it to Coach when we get back to Santa Monica.”

“Sanchez won’t go quietly,” McClain warned.

“We need a solid replacement if we are going to go for that target.”

The debate soured and I drowned out the voices, ignoring it all as we each took our showers. The walk back to the bus, and arriving at the hotel was coated in deadly silence. Jolly and I made it to our room and I tossed my gear off in the corner, Jolly flopped on the bed kicking his shoes off letting them fly across the room. I stared at my bed, hands in my pockets deep in thought. My little fox. I hadn’t seen her, felt her, talked to her in weeks-had I fucked it up? My eyes glanced over at the NDA agreement hidden secretly in my backpack. I didn’t need to read it.

The journey back to the hotel had been cloaked in a stifling silence, the weight of unspoken thoughts and unanswered questions hanging heavy in the air. Reaching the hotel, I tossed my gear aside carelessly, the thud as it hit the floor barely registering. Jolly flung himself onto the bed, kicking off his shoes with a frustrated huff, sending them flying across the room. I stood there, hands jammed deep into my pockets, my gaze fixed on the empty mattress before me. The memory of her - my little fox-lingered, a phantom presence that I hadn't been able to reach in weeks.

Had I truly messed things up this time?

My eyes darted to the backpack where the NDA agreement lay hidden. I had signed it the night I got it. I didn't need to re-read the terms; they were seared into my mind. Now, with Sanchez's unsportsmanlike outburst threatening to bring the relentless media vultures circling our team once more, I knew I would need to rely on that NDA to cover my tracks - and hers. Any hint of scandal, any whisper of impropriety, would no doubt be dredged up and paraded before the world as if our team were some twisted reality TV spectacle. I had to protect myself, had to shield us both from the consequences should our clandestine relationship ever be exposed. That NDA would save me from being fired by the coach, certainly, but it would do nothing to stop him from hating me as her father.

But you know what, I didn’t care anymore.

#bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian #noahsebastian fanfic #noah sebastian smut #hockey romance #hockeyromance #hockey!au #hockey #hockeyplayer!noah #hockeyomens

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