drewinlace

[drewinlace]

Sorry for not posting a lot, I’m currently in the middle of moving out, my mental health hasn’t been the best lately and I’ve been taking a break. As soon as I’m done moving I’ll get right back to posting for you guys. 💕

[drewinlace]

You’re The Only Thing That Makes Me Feel Human.

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Prompt: “Doesn’t it scare you, loving something that could destroy you?”

｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧

It’s nearly 2AM when you hear the window creak open.

You don’t even flinch anymore, not when it’s him. Not when it’s Mattheo, shoulders tense and jaw clenched, eyes dark like he’s been fighting demons all night. Maybe he has.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there like he doesn’t know whether to come in or run. His hand is bleeding again. You sit up, silent, and reach for the salve you keep hidden in your nightstand drawer. you always keep it hidden because you always expect him.

“Let me see,” you whisper.

He doesn’t argue. Just lets you take his hand, lets you clean the bruised knuckles like you always do. He watches your face the whole time, his eyes are unreadable, but they’re burning. He’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at you.

And then he says it. Quietly. Almost like he doesn’t mean for you to hear it.

“Doesn’t it scare you… loving something that could destroy you?”

You pause. Your fingers still pressed gently to his wrist. Your voice is barely a breath when you reply. “No. Because you never destroy me. You only break yourself.”

His eyes close and when he leans forward, forehead resting against yours, breathing like it hurts, he says it like it’s a confession.

“You’re the only place I’ve ever felt safe.”

And you believe him. Because when he’s with you, he is.

[drewinlace]

u chris girls are lucky he’s feeding u.

matt come thru NEOW🙏 and yes I did save this to my phone to pretend he’s my bf SHUT UP

[drewinlace]

“I Didn’t Mean To” M.S

||| Summary: After your first big fight, Matt storms out, and you relapse into self-harm for the first time in a year. When he returns, full of guilt, he apologizes and holds you. Later, he notices your hoodie in the heat—and realizes the truth. He promises you’ll never face it alone again.

||| Warnings: Mentions of self-harm relapse, shouting, emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, swearing, heavy emotional themes

｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ

It started with something small.

You didn’t even remember what exactly set it off, a miscommunication, a bad mood, something stupid about a missed call. But it escalated too fast.

Matt had never yelled at you before. Not like this.

“Jesus Christ, why do you always twist everything I say?!” he screamed, voice ragged with frustration, hands thrown up. “You never fucking listen, it’s like talking to a goddamn wall sometimes!”

And then the door slammed. Hard.

You flinched, heart in your throat, breath caught somewhere between panic and heartbreak.

You hated yelling. The sound, the volume, the way it made your chest feel like it was going to cave in.

And just like that, all the progress you’d made, all the stability you’d built, it cracked.

Your hands shook as you sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed, hoodie sleeves tugged down too far as your mind spiraled fast. You hadn’t done it in over a year. Not since Matt. He made you feel safe. He made you feel like there was another way.

But tonight, it was like everything inside you snapped. You couldn’t stop it.

It was almost an hour before the door creaked open again.

Matt stood in the doorway, eyes bloodshot, guilt all over his face like it physically weighed him down.

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly, voice hoarse. “I don’t even— I don’t know what the fuck came over me. I just… snapped. And you didn’t deserve that. At all.”

You didn’t look up, but you didn’t pull away when he walked over and slowly lowered himself next to you on the bed.

“I would never… I swear to God, I didn’t mean to scare you. I love you. I love you so much.”

Your voice cracked when you finally said, “I know.”

And you did. You really did. Because the minute he came back in the room, he looked broken. And not just broken over the fight, broken because he knew what yelling like that could do to someone like you.

Eventually, you curled into him. He held you like you were something delicate, his forehead pressed to yours, arms tight around your body like he was anchoring both of you.

You didn’t say much after that.

The two of you climbed into bed in silence. The room was heavy, hot from the summer night outside and the lack of air circulation. Matt had already stripped down to his boxers, his skin sticky with sweat, and the sheets clung to him.

And then his brows furrowed.

“Babe…” he said, his voice low and hesitant. “Why are you wearing my hoodie? It’s, like, ninety degrees in here.”

You froze. Matt noticed.

The realization didn’t hit him all at once, it sank in slowly, painfully, piece by piece as he stared at you, then at your sleeves. The way they were pulled too far down. How you hadn’t taken it off once tonight.

His voice cracked. “No…”

He gently reached for your wrist — not grabbing, just ghosting his fingers over the hem of your sleeve. “Baby, did you…?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

He sat up instantly, cupping your face with both hands as his eyes welled up. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have yelled. I never should’ve left you alone. I knew better — I know better.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you leaned into him anyway, pressing your forehead into his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. I just… I didn’t know how to stop it once I started spiraling.”

“I’m gonna do better,” he promised, voice shaking. “I have to. You’re everything to me. And we’re gonna get through this. You’re not alone, okay?”

You nodded, and when he kissed your forehead gently, like a vow,you believed him.

You stayed like that the rest of the night. No words needed. Just two people clinging to each other under a warm blanket, holding on like it was the only thing keeping you breathing.

Because maybe it was.

[drewinlace]

HUSBAND!RAFE

MASTERLIST

RAFE x CATHERINE

~young, wild, and free

how i met your mother (18+)

charleston (18+)

backseat of a cop car

the camping trip (18+)

guess who's pregnant? (angst)

-teenage pregnancy

I love you (angst)

prom night (angst)

one bed, one bath, million fights (angst)

bradley (18+)

marry me (18+)

mrs. cameron (18+)

-mr. & mrs. cameron

laundry room (18+)

kitchen (18+)

baby shower (18+)

plumber (18+)

game night (18+)

MILF (18+)

birthday cake (18+)

ovulation (18+)

zoom call (18+)

neighbor (18+)

back home (18+)

football match (18+)

camping with the camerons (18+)

cookies and cream (18+)

dad’s fury and science (18+)

high on the beach (18+)

the birds and bees talk

[drewinlace]

“The First Time He Let His Guard Down.” C.W

||| Summary: Cole Walter never lets people in, not really. But it’s late, and you’re the only person who makes him feel safe enough to try.

||| Warnings: emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, fluff, Cole being bad at feelings, mention of absent parents (I know his parents are around in the show but it’s just for the plot)

||| Word count: 1,150

˚:･ﾟ✧｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ˚:･ﾟ✧｡˚:･ﾟ✧｡

It starts with silence.

The kind that settles soft over your bedroom like snow. No music. No talking. Just the quiet hum of the night and the creak of the house settling around you.

Cole doesn’t usually stay this late. He’s the type to make a joke, throw a pillow at your head, and disappear with some muttered excuse before it gets too real. Before he accidentally gives something away.

But tonight? Tonight he’s still here.

Sitting on your floor with his back against the side of your bed, long legs stretched out, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like he’s trying to disappear into himself.

You’re lying across the mattress above him, head hanging slightly over the edge, watching him. He doesn’t look at you.

“You ever think,” he says finally, voice low, “about how some people just… leave?”

It’s not a question he wants answered. Not really. It’s a test. A flicker of trust he might take back the second it’s acknowledged.

Still, you nod. Quiet. Careful.

“Yeah. I think about that a lot.”

Cole doesn’t say anything right away. His jaw clenches, but not like he’s angry. More like he’s holding something in.

You wait.

“I told Alex once I didn’t care when Mom left,” he mumbles. “Told him it was better without her. That I liked the quiet.”

You shift so your hand dangles off the side of the bed, fingers brushing his shoulder. “And do you?” you ask gently.

His eyes finally flick up to yours. “No.” That’s all he says. Just that. But it feels like everything.

Like a dam cracking open, not all the way, but just enough to let something through.

You sit up and slide off the bed, kneeling beside him. He doesn’t move away. Doesn’t flinch. His knee bumps yours.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” you whisper.

He exhales like that costs him something. Like it might undo him. Then, without saying anything, he leans into you. Not a full-on collapse. Not dramatic. Just enough.

His head rests on your shoulder. His fingers twitch like he’s not used to this, not used to being held.

You wrap your arms around him anyway. Gently. Steady. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

And maybe it is. For him, it always will be.

You don’t say you’re proud of him. Or that it’s okay. Or that he’s allowed to feel this way even though all of it’s true.

You just hold him. Because this is what he needs. The silence. The safety.

You.

And later, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, he’ll go back to being Cole Walter again. Sarcastic. Closed-off. Bulletproof.

But not tonight. Tonight, he let you see the boy underneath all of that.

And you’ll never forget the way that felt.

˚:･ﾟ✧｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ˚:･ﾟ✧｡˚:･ﾟ✧｡

I changed some stuff around, like the details, the look of it. I think I’m gonna stick with how this looks for my other posts.

[drewinlace]

i loved your cole and alex walter fics!! please write more for cole!!

Thank youuu, I’m working on some and have some in my drafts :)

[drewinlace]

One-Shot: “Call Time”

✧ pairing: Drew Starkey x actress!reader

✧ word count: ~1,100

✧ cw: slow-burn tension, mutual pining, fluff, behind-the-scenes setting, mild language

summary:

You’ve spent six weeks playing Drew Starkey’s on-screen love interest—and now, with the final scene wrapped and the cameras off, neither of you can hide what’s been simmering underneath.

｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ

The clapboard snapped shut.

“That’s a wrap on Scene 42!” someone called from behind the camera, followed by scattered cheers and a wave of relief that rippled across the set.

Your arms dropped from around Drew’s neck as the scene ended, but he didn’t let go of your waist right away. Not fully. Not yet.

You both stood there, still breathing like your characters—still caught in the kind of fake intimacy that didn’t feel very fake anymore.

“We should probably… you know,” you muttered, nodding toward the crew starting to disband.

“Yeah,” he replied, but his eyes stayed on yours. And his hand stayed on your waist. Just for one more second.

Six weeks. Six weeks of flirtation in the form of rehearsal lines and lingering eye contact. Of sitting too close in the makeup trailer. Of “accidentally” running into each other on break.

Six weeks of pretending not to care.

You finally stepped back, tugging your jacket tighter around your frame as someone handed you a water bottle.

Drew watched you. He always did.

“You’re still in character,” you teased, glancing at him from under your lashes.

He smirked. “Maybe I like her.”

You blinked. That was new.

“The character?”

“Sure,” he said, eyes flicking down to your mouth. “We’ll go with that.”

You swallowed. “Drew…”

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly quieter. Nervous, even.

“Look, I know we’re off the clock now. I know the job part’s over, and maybe this is dumb timing or maybe I should’ve said it before, but—”

You looked up, heart doing that stupid, fluttery thing.

“Say it.”

He didn’t hesitate.

“I don’t think I was ever just acting with you.”

Silence buzzed between you like stage lights. You stepped in, barely closing the space.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I don’t think I was either.”

He smiled—soft, crooked, real.

And then he kissed you.

Not as his character. Not for the camera. Just as him.

Off script. Off set.

Finally, off the clock.

｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ

[drewinlace]

One-Shot: “The Hoodie He Left”

✧ pairing: Drew Starkey x reader

✧ word count: ~1,050

✧ cw: breakup angst, emotional tension, comfort item, open-ended feelings

summary:

He left in a rush. You told him to take everything — and he almost did. Except the hoodie. That stupid, soft, too-big hoodie you swore you didn’t care about… until now.

｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡

You find it three days after he’s gone. Stuffed at the bottom of the laundry basket, sleeves twisted, half inside out.

Drew’s hoodie. The navy one with the frayed cuffs and the soft inside that smelled like him even after three washes. The one he always wore after long shoot days, when his voice was tired and his hair was messy and he’d bury his cold hands under your shirt just to make you squeal.

You told him to take all his stuff. You made him promise.

He kept everything else — the cologne, the charger, the leftover bottle of whiskey in your cabinet. But not this.

This one thing.

And you hate how your stomach twists when you pick it up. Hate that your fingers curl into the fabric before your brain even catches up.

It still smells like his apartment. Like pine and detergent and something warmer underneath it all — something like him.

You pull it over your head and just like always, it swallows you whole.

You wore it that whole night.

You don’t even mean to. It starts as a moment of weakness — just to see how it feels, just to remind yourself what he left behind. But you never take it off. You eat dinner in it. Brush your teeth in it. Fall asleep in it with your fingers curled in the hem.

You dream in it too. Not a memory — not quite. But something like it.

He’s standing in your kitchen, barefoot and sleepy, drinking coffee in that hoodie. He says your name and you say his back and it feels like it used to. Like you’re still his and he’s still yours and none of it ever cracked in the middle.

You wake up feeling sick to your stomach, you turn over to look at the time and let out a groan, 4am? You lie awake for a while before picking up your phone after trying and failing to fall back asleep.

You almost text him.

Once. Twice. Three times. The bubble opens and closes like a wound. You don’t say anything. You don’t even really know what you would say.

“Hey. You left something.”

“Do you miss me?”

“It still smells like you.”

You internally sigh and delete them all.

Three more days pass. Then a week.

You don’t take it off. Not when you’re home. Not when it rains. Not when you’re on the couch watching a movie he once made fun of you for crying over.

It’s stupid. It’s pathetic.

But it’s also the only piece of him you still have that hasn’t gone quiet on you.

Later that night. You’re curled up in it again, hoodie tugged over your knees, sleeves long past your wrists, and then your phone buzzes.

Drewie🧸 [1 new message]

“Hey, did you find my hoodie?”

You stare. Think. Hesitate. Then.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been wearing it.”

Three dots appear. Then stop. Then reappear.

Drewie🧸

“I almost came back for it.”

“But I kind of hoped you would.”

You don’t reply right away.

Instead, you bury your face in the collar and breathe him in. Breathe in what you’d hoped would’ve lasted forever.

[drewinlace]

Hii this is oddly niche so its ok if u cant do it but if you’ve watched victorious, the scene when cat and jade go with Andre and beck to sing at karokedokie. jade leaves for a sec and then a girls all over beck, and cats just like “he has a gf” and the girl “i dont see her” and then jade was like “turn around, now ya see her” in typical jade fashion. maybe could u do that with cat being sarah and john b being Andre and jade being reader and jj as beck. except not as toxic as jade and beck and he actually tries to shoo her away.

love ur work sm!! Sorry if this is too much

Hiii thank you for sending in this request, I actually LOVE victorious, it’s still one of my favourite shows, and don’t worry it’s not too much<33

｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡

🖤 Imagine: “Turn Around. Now You See Her.”

✧pairing: boyfriend!JJ Maybank x fem!reader

✧word count: ~875

✧cw: jealousy, possessiveness, brief confrontation, fluff ending

summary:

When you leave JJ alone for five minutes at a karaoke bar, some girl thinks she has a chance. She’s wrong—and you remind her exactly why.

｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡

JJ was leaning against the counter, sipping a drink and laughing at something John B said, eyes shining with that boyish chaos he never quite grew out of. Music pulsed low from the karaoke stage where Sarah was hyping up Pope to sing something painfully off-key.

You had ducked away for all of five minutes. Just five. And yet when you returned, there she was—some random girl, batting her lashes and twisting her hair between her fingers like it was the most original move in the book.

She was way too close to JJ. Close enough that if he shifted even an inch, their shoulders would brush. And JJ, bless his dumb golden heart, was clearly trying to lean away without making it obvious. His smile was tight, jaw flexing. Awkward.

Sarah saw you first, pausing mid-step on stage with the mic still in her hand, mouthing oh noooo dramatically. You ignored her.

You walked straight up behind the girl, arms crossed. She was giggling now—like JJ had just said the funniest thing in the world. You could feel the irritation curling under your ribs.

“He has a girlfriend,” Sarah offered helpfully from the stage.

The girl barely glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t see her.”

Oh? You smiled sweetly, venom laced through every syllable. “Turn around.”

She hesitated.

“Now you see her.”

JJ’s eyes snapped to yours, instantly softening with relief as he straightened up, already reaching for your hand like he needed to ground himself.

The girl looks you up and down “I don’t see much.” She then stands up like she’s ready to fight. Honestly, so are you

“Okaaay” John b says as he also stands up alongside JJ

The girl gave you a once-over and scoffed like she had any right. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just tilted your head and smiled a little wider.

“You girls gonna sing tonight?” She deadpanned, zero expression.

“Well we didn’t come for the buffalo nuggets.” You say offering a small tight lipped smile.

JJ slid an arm around your waist. “She’s not kidding,” he muttered to the girl. “You should go.”

Her expression fell. She turned muttering a “whatever..” and disappeared into the crowd.

JJ turned to you, all warm eyes and worried brows. “Hey, baby, I didn’t—she came outta nowhere, I didn’t say anything back—”

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “You looked real cozy.”

“I was panicking.” He said.

“You were laughing.” You said.

“That was a panic laugh. You know the difference.”

You fought a smile. “Mhm. Sounded like flirting to me.”

He groaned, pressing a kiss to your hair. “You’re gonna bully me about this forever, aren’t you?”

“Definitely.” You leaned into him despite yourself.

His lips brushed your ear as he whispered, soft and serious now. “You know you’re the only girl I’ll ever want, right?”

You melted. Annoyed, but melted. You sighed and tugged him toward the stage.

“Come on, loverboy. We’re up next. And I’m picking a duet.”

JJ winced. “God, not ‘Shallow’ again—”

“Better learn the harmonies.”

｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡

I hope this was good enough to meet your expectations! If there’s something you think could be better let me know please, I won’t take it personally! <3

[drewinlace]

LMAOOOOOO

[drewinlace]

💭 Drabble: “Quiet Hands”

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

CW: soft intimacy, comfort, implied emotional vulnerability, gentle touches, post-argument softness

Word Count: ~530

⸻

His hands are quiet when he touches you now. No grabbing. No pulling. Just soft fingers brushing the back of your arm, tracing invisible lines like he’s trying to remind you: I’m here. I’m not leaving.

You’re curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, sweatshirt sleeves pulled past your hands.

The fight wasn’t loud.

But it hurt.

⸻

Drew doesn’t say much when he sits beside you — just lets the silence fill the space like something sacred. Like he knows words won’t fix it, and maybe they’re not supposed to.

Instead, his hand finds your knee. Warm. Grounding. Still.

You don’t look at him. Not yet. But you don’t pull away either.

And that’s enough.

⸻

A minute passes. Then two.

Then:

“I hate when we fight,” he murmurs.

You nod.

“Me too.”

You finally glance at him — and the way his jaw is tight but his eyes are soft? It undoes you.

“I wasn’t trying to push you away,” you whisper. “I just… shut down sometimes.”

He nods, slow. Understanding. Thumb now brushing soft, lazy circles on your leg.

“I know,” he says. “And I’ll wait through it every time.”

⸻

That’s what Drew’s always been — patient in ways you didn’t know you needed.

Not loud. Not demanding. Just there.

With quiet hands and steady love and the kind of touch that doesn’t ask, just holds.

You slide closer. Your head finds his shoulder.

He lets out a breath you didn’t know he was holding and wraps his arm around you, fingers curling protectively at your side.

“Still mad at me?” he asks softly, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

You shake your head.

“No,” you murmur. “Just tired.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Then sleep. I’ve got you.”

And you believe him.

Because Drew’s the kind of safe that doesn’t need to be loud.

Just quiet hands and an open heart — and all the time in the world for you.

[drewinlace]

💭 Headcanon: Drew Starkey as Your Boyfriend

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

CW: pure fluff, soft domesticity, emotional intimacy, protective tendencies

⸻

🌙 He’s calm — and grounding.

• Drew doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. His presence alone is enough to make you feel safe.

• You could be spiraling about something small, and he’ll just say, “Come here.”

• Pulls you into a hug, lets you breathe against his chest until everything slows down.

• His love language is presence. Quiet, steady, always-there presence.

⸻

🩶 He’s an incredible listener.

• You’ll talk for fifteen minutes straight about something random and halfway through, he’ll go,

“Wait—so what happened after the thing with your friend from high school?”

• Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t fake interest. He genuinely cares.

• Remembers small things and brings them up weeks later like,

“Is your coworker still being annoying, or did she finally chill?”

⸻

📸 He takes pictures of you when you’re not looking.

• Like, a lot.

• Curled up with a book. Dancing in the kitchen. Laughing at something dumb.

• If you catch him, he’ll just grin and go, “You looked too good. I couldn’t not.”

• Has a whole photo album on his phone labeled only with your initials.

���

☕ He’s a soft morning person.

• Always wakes up first and makes coffee.

• Wears a hoodie and quietly pads around the kitchen, hair messy, voice raspy.

• He’ll hand you a mug and kiss your shoulder with a murmured, “Mornin’, baby.”

• If you’re still asleep, he’ll tuck the blanket around you and press a kiss to your temple before leaving the room.

⸻

🧠 Deep convos at 1AM.

• He’s not afraid of heavy topics.

• Late-night conversations about life, death, dreams, regrets.

• He’ll ask real questions and give honest answers.

• “What scares you the most?” / “What version of you would 10-year-old you be proud of?” / “Do you think we met at the right time?”

⸻

🛠️ Protective, but not possessive.

• Drew doesn’t need to mark his territory — but he notices everything.

• If someone flirts with you, he won’t cause a scene, but his hand will slide to your lower back, voice a little deeper than usual.

• “Everything good here?”

• It’s subtle. Controlled. But the message is clear: she’s not alone.

⸻

🎬 Always supportive of your passions.

• Whether you’re writing, painting, studying, or just talking about something you’re excited about—he’s all in.

• Shows up to anything you invite him to.

• Will hype you up like, “I’m dating the most talented person alive. No one else is even close.”

⸻

🛏️ And when the world’s too loud? He knows how to quiet it.

• Dimmed lights. Cozy blanket. His arms around you.

• “You don’t have to be anything right now. Just be here with me.”

• And when he says it, you believe it.

[drewinlace]

💌 Imagine: “You’re Mine. You Know That, Right?”

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

CW: jealousy, possessive language, tension, protective!Drew, soft intensity

Word Count: ~950

⸻

You didn’t think he’d notice.

The guy had barely brushed your arm. Just a casual laugh, a shared joke, a second too long of lingering eye contact.

But of course Drew saw.

He doesn’t say anything until you’re in the car. Quiet. Controlled. His hand on the steering wheel, knuckles tight.

You glance over.

“What?”

His jaw ticks. “He touched you.”

You blink. “It was barely anything—”

“Didn’t like it,” he mutters. Voice low. Dangerous in a way that makes your stomach twist.

⸻

You roll your eyes a little, teasing, trying to lighten the tension. “What, are you jealous?”

He doesn’t smile.

His eyes flick over to you, calm and unreadable.

“No,” he says, voice softer now. “I just don’t like people looking at what’s mine.”

You freeze, pulse hitching.

The air shifts instantly — thicker. Heavier.

“Drew…”

He pulls into the driveway, kills the engine, then turns in his seat to face you fully.

“You’re mine,” he says, steady and slow, like a truth you forgot but he’s reminding you of. “You know that, right?”

⸻

Your breath catches.

His hand reaches across the console, fingers curling around your thigh. Firm. Grounding.

Not rough. Just certain.

“Not because I own you,” he adds, voice softer now, eyes searching yours. “Because I chose you. Because I see you. Every version of you.”

You stare at him. Blinking too fast. Heart pounding too loud.

“And you think I’m gonna let someone else take that from me?” he whispers, thumb brushing slow, warm circles into your skin. “Not a chance.”

⸻

You exhale shakily, throat tight. “You really think he was trying something?”

Drew leans in, just enough that his voice is close, low against your ear.

“I don’t care if he wasn’t.”

“You’re mine.”

⸻

Your hand reaches for his, fingers lacing through instinctively. It’s automatic. Natural.

“I’m yours,” you whisper, eyes never leaving his.

His shoulders drop slightly, the tension in him fading just a little.

“Damn right you are,” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles like a vow.

⸻

Later, when you’re tangled up together on the couch, legs over his lap and your head tucked against his shoulder, he presses a slow kiss to your temple.

“Next time someone gets that close,” he says quietly, “I’m not gonna be so calm about it.”

You smile against his chest, teasing. “That wasn’t calm?”

Drew just chuckles, low and rough, his hand sliding under the hem of your shirt, fingers spreading across your back.

“You haven’t seen me jealous yet, baby.”

And the way he says it — it’s not a threat.

It’s a promise.

[drewinlace]

📚 One-Shot: “Bruised Knuckles, Softer Hearts”

Pairing: Sibling!JJ Maybank x YoungerSibling!Reader

cw: child abuse, alcohol mention, physical violence (non-graphic), emotional trauma, guilt, broken promises

Word Count: ~1.5k

Summary: You believed JJ when he said he’d be back before their dad got home. You really did. But he didn’t come. And now it’s too late.

————————————————————————

It was almost 9:30 when you started to worry.

JJ had said he’d be home by 8. Just a quick run to the Chateau, maybe dinner on the dock with the Pogues. He’d promised—promised—he wouldn’t be long. You both knew how dangerous it was to leave you home alone, not with the chance of your dad coming back. Not with how he gets after drinking.

But 8 turned into 8:30. Then 9.

And when you heard the front door open—keys fumbling, followed by a muttered curse and the unmistakable crash of a bottle hitting the floor—you knew it wasn’t JJ.

It was him.

You froze on the couch, blanket clenched in your fists like it could protect you. Your breath caught in your throat as the heavy footfalls grew louder, uneven, dragging. You could smell the liquor before you saw him.

Luke Maybank stumbled into the living room, eyes bloodshot and unfocused. His shirt was half unbuttoned, and he was already yelling before he even looked at you.

“Where the hell is your brother?” he slurred.

You swallowed hard. “I—I don’t know. He said he’d be home—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” you whispered. “I swear.”

He looked at you like he didn’t even recognize you. And maybe in that moment, he didn’t. He only saw JJ. Or your mother. Or some ghost of what he lost. Whatever it was—it made him angry.

Too angry.

His hand shot out, fast and mean, grabbing your wrist so tight it felt like your bones might snap. You cried out, tears springing to your eyes, but he only squeezed harder.

“You’re just like him. Just another useless mouth in this house.”

You yanked back, stumbling, breath hitching from the sting. “Please don’t—”

But he wasn’t listening. His backhand caught your cheek hard enough to knock you sideways, and you hit the floor with a choked sob.

It didn’t last long. It never did. Just enough to remind you who was in control.

Just enough to hurt.

And then, like always, he stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him, leaving you on the floor with the pain and the silence.

————————————————————————

You didn’t hear the front door open again until almost ten. And by then, you were curled up on the kitchen floor, hand pressed to your bruised cheek, your other arm cradling your ribs. Every part of you ached—physically, emotionally, everywhere in between.

“Hey, hey, hey—” JJ’s voice was breathless. He dropped to his knees beside you like gravity yanked him down. “Shit—what happened? What happened?!”

You flinched away from his touch, voice breaking. “You were supposed to be home.”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry—, I’m so sorry—”

“I waited, JJ!” You shoved him away, weak but furious. “I waited like you told me to. I sat here thinking you’d be back. I trusted you—I trusted you!”

JJ’s face crumpled, panic written in every line. He reached for you again, slower this time, hands shaking. “Did he—was it Luke?”

You looked away, blinking through the sting of tears. “Who else, JJ?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His jaw tightened, throat bobbing with a swallow that looked painful. You could see it—the rage boiling up beneath the surface, the guilt pulling him apart. He stood abruptly, pacing, fists clenched at his sides.

“I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”

“Yeah?” you snapped, bitter. “Before or after he does it to me again?”

JJ stopped dead in his tracks, like the words physically hit him.

He turned slowly, eyes glistening. “Don’t say that. Don’t—you can’t say that.”

You stood too, swaying slightly. “You left me here. You knew what could happen. But you still left.”

“I didn’t mean to—” his voice cracked. “I lost track of time, I didn’t think—I thought I had more time.”

You exhaled, cold and shaking. “You never do, JJ. Not with him.”

And for the first time, maybe JJ really heard it. The finality in your voice. The quiet heartbreak.

He crossed the space between you and dropped to his knees again, wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face in your side like he was twelve years old again and scared of the dark.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, again and again. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t hug him back.

But you didn’t push him away either.

｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡ ｡✧:˚:･ﾟ✧｡｡･:˚:✧｡｡✧:˚:･ﾟ

I cried a bit writting this..😓

[drewinlace]

Someone tell me where to go!

I’M TIRED OF SMUT, I WANT TOOTH ACHING FLUFF AND HEART SHATTERING ANGST.

[drewinlace]

How I look after reading angst as if it was me personally in that situation