#nothing is going to be wrong with me. again.

[gutsby]

Cowboy Killers

Pairing: Cowboy!Joel x Reader

Summary: On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Warnings: 18+. Drunk-Assholes-to-Enemies-to-Lovers. Oral (m!receiving). Road head. Age gap. Daddy kink.

Note: My favorite sub-genre of country music is ‘I’m Gonna Fucking Kill My Husband,’ and I think Miranda Lambert’s ‘Gunpowder & Lead’ is a perfect representation of that.

Word count: 4.1k

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and forget.

Forgive and—

“I’m about to lay this motherfucker out,” you announced.

Across the line, your friend laughed.

“Yeah? You see him?”

Of course you saw him. Who else would be wearing a Carhartt flannel and jeans in ninety-four degree heat? Not a soul in this world but your friend’s own lying, piece of shit, hopefully-soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, you guessed.

The game that Old Fuckstick Miller had decided to play tonight was a dangerous one—he was dumb as shit, and you were drunker than a skunk. He was dating your best friend, and she was not present at the Tipsy Bison to see the barefaced clusterfuck taking place before you now.

She was home, over thirty minutes away. He had told her that morning he would be working late, and not to wait up. You were here, at the bar, approaching one A.M. with a Redbull Vodka clenched in either fist and a Texas-sized frown on your face, seeing the very same man with his hands all over a woman that wasn’t your friend. You’d wanted to puke as soon as you saw them. You knew you could never trust a man who claimed to be an Austin native and couldn’t name a single George Strait song.

Your friend had only been dating the guy for a month, and you’d just seen his face in pictures up until now, but from what you could see less than twenty feet in front of you—slightly blurred from all the drinks you’d had—this guy was him. A dick. There, cheating on your best friend.

And no man would get to do that and walk out unscathed if you had anything to say about it.

Your grip tightened on either one of your fizzy drinks and, barely managing to cradle the phone between your head and your shoulder, you gestured over to another friend.

“Dave. Take it,” you said, words slurring a little.

Dave York cocked an eyebrow but said nothing as you passed him one of your RBVs and shimmied off the barstool. By the time he was able to pose his question, your ass, your phone, and your one remaining drink were already wobbling the other way. Vaguely, you heard him:

“Where ya headed, hon?”

You turned and raised your drink, then seriously doubted he would be able to hear you over the blare of the music, but yelled back anyway, ‘I’M GONNA KILL SOMEONE!’

The age-old pro-forgiveness aphorism continued to thump in your brain as you made your way over and began to contemplate every feasible method of murder.

A gun in the face would’ve been too simple—and besides, you’d never owned or shot a firearm in your life.

Poison could be fun, but from the way you were approaching the man now, you seriously doubted he’d ever let you get within a mile of his drink. You nudged the phone closer to your ear and took a sip from your own.

“Closing in,” you told your friend simply.

She’d already given you the go-ahead to execute the confrontation and beat his ass any way you pleased after the fact. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ you’d finally get to encroach on this little loved up scene at the other end of the bar. The man had had his back turned to you, and the stunning redhead hanging off his neck, likewise, had no idea what was coming. You smiled.

“Promise you won’t go to jail this time?” your friend said.

“Will you bail me out again if I do?” Your grin got bigger.

“Well, duh.”

“Good deal. I’ll be the shitfaced inmate with ‘Fuck Men’ tattooed on her forehead. Wait for Travis County to call.”

“I love you, psycho.”

“Love you more.”

You ended the call.

And you were fully ready to end this man’s life when you saw him lean in to kiss the woman’s neck—that was sick.

You weren’t thinking straight. You weren’t seeing straight

You yelled out, ‘He-e-e-ey, honey!’ without blinking.

The couple turned.

As soon as the man had done a full 180, you flung your drink in his face and made sure the cup struck his nose.

“You cheatin’ FUCK!”

He flinched, sprayed by your vodka-infused energy juice.

The music overhead was loud, but not so deafening as to prevent the bar from hearing your shriek. From the front of the room, a band was playing ‘Gunpowder & Lead,’ and you couldn’t help but feel the song had been fate.

“What the f—” the adulterer started, evidently stunned.

You knocked the Shiner Bock out of his hand and spat:

“Working late, are we?!”

And spilled another patron’s beer reeling back.

“Got a little caught up on the way home?”

Gesturing toward the green-eyed beauty to his left. At first, the girl fixed her stare on you as if you’d sprouted another head, but then, by turns, she was tilting it to him.

“You have a girlfriend?” she hissed.

Cheater McFuckstick was wiping his beard with his hand

Shaking his head.

“Hell no, I ain’t never—”

“LIAR!”

Channeling your inner Representative Wilson circa 2009, you let your mouth fall open and stared at the big, burly man like the Congressman had once done to President Obama all those years ago. The semi-stranger in front of you was far less composed than his political counterpart.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” he snapped.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

“Is she your girlfriend?” would-be mistress said, shrill.

“NO!” you and been-knew asshole yelled together.

You saw the man’s nostrils flare, and at the same time, the woman beside him departed. Quickly. A few people around you cleared the way, while others still stared, gawked, and murmured amongst themselves. The Miranda Lambert cover band continued on without a hitch, though you could tell there had been a stir in the crowd. They probably thought the worst of it was over.

They thought wrong.

“You’re a dick,” you seethed, unrelenting.

You almost expected the man to turn and leave.

You thought wrong.

“You’re a cunt.”

And the man chucked a stray whiskey sour in your face.

The $15 spirits splattered on your skin like the meanest insult of all. His aim was better. Though he didn’t let go of the cup, as you had with him, he did make sure to coat the whole of your twisted look with the liquor, and once it landed, he had had the nerve to do something else, too.

He brought the glass to his lips then drank what was left.

“How’s it feel?” he sneered.

You stood in wet, sticky silence for half a second; arguably, you’d earned that cocktail to the face.

On the other hand, who the fuck did he think he was?

You grabbed a random can of Keystone Light and flung it at his chest to give him a hint—and catch him off-guard.

“You’re a bitch, Tommy Miller!”

“Wh—”

“Maria’s my best friend, you absolute f—”

“What—”

“—and you cheated on her for what? All so she—”

“What did you just call me?!”

“A BITCH!”

“No, the NAME!”

“TOMMY MILLER!”

“I’M JOEL!”

Oh.

Oh.

You and Joel were shortly escorted out of the bar.

Joel’s name, and a trace of bourbon, were still fresh on your tongue when you found yourself stranded in the middle of the Tipsy Bison parking lot two minutes later. You leaned into a car beside you and held your stomach.

“Someone drop you on the head as a baby?” Joel barked.

Presently, for you, the world was tilting sideways, and your head was throbbing at a nauseating tempo.

“Go around slingin’ drinks at any old man you—”

Green. Green must’ve been the color of your face as you braced your hands on your knees and assumed a stance as if to scream at the ground. Rather than expecting any noise to ring out, though, you had only to squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto a hunch for something much less pleasant. And viscous.

Reeking mostly of Red Bull and regret, if you had to guess.

Joel took a big step back, and then he took another.

“Da-a-adgummit, girl, what the—”

He turned away just in time to miss the sight of you emptying your guts on the ground, but not quite fast enough to be spared the sounds of you retching. They were loud. Joel Miller was known to be a largely imperturbable force around these parts, but even he was made to feel queasy hearing that. Out of habit, he clapped his hand to his own gut and stumbled off. He stared at the bar, then at his car, then at the gravel crushed under his feet for what felt like the longest time. Then his gaze lingered to his lower half, and he thought:

‘Please, please don’t gimme no daughters. Please.’

He was forty-five. The time for making babies and raising daughters to be anything like a woman of your ilk was probably long past him. All the same, he kept his gaze on his crotch and sighed. Balls, you better not betray me.

When he heard the crunch of rocks, he turned around.

“HEY!”

Oh, no. No. Not tonight.

You were staggering to your car, keys in hand.

“Hey!” Joel called again, jogging after you.

It seemed the second shout had done him no more favors than the first. You were fumbling to get the key inside the door, and you looked as determined as ever.

Over your shoulder, you tossed back, careless:

“You ain’t the boss of me, Tommy Miller.”

You got the key to turn. You opened the door. You were just about to climb inside what looked to Joel to be the ugliest Dodge Ram pickup he’d seen in his life, when he grabbed your arm.

“It’s Joel,” he growled. Pinching your elbow tight as he tugged it back, “And you ain’t driving anywhere tonight.”

Somewhere in front of him, tilted away from his line of vision, you must’ve been grinning, because the next thing he heard from you was the scoff of a laugh.

“Oh yeah?”

Joel flipped you around to face him.

“Yeah,” he snapped.

Feeling a bit like a kid for mimicking your tone.

What were you, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You couldn’t have been a patron of a place like Tipsy Bison for very long, or else he would’ve recognized you tonight.

Then again, you struck him as the type to have had a fake ID since you were fifteen, so he really couldn’t know.

“I’m twenny-wuh-un,” you slurred up at him, exaggerated, once he’d made you step down from the running board and onto the ground. Answering his last unspoken question with the same, sleepy grin as before. Then lifting one of your hands to wag a finger in his face, “I can drink legal anywhere I want to in this country.”

“Not there,” Joel nodded to the interstate.

You looked to where he’d gestured and whistled. Standing and staring, like he had done to his crotch.

“Well fuck me-e!” you said next, dragging out the sound a childish amount, “You the law or somethin’, Mr. Joel?”

“Ain’t no cop.” Joel rolled his eyes.

You kept smiling. Then you turned on your heels.

And instead of trying to climb back into your truck, you sauntered off—in what direction, Joel couldn’t tell. You were more so bumbling about, turning in circles like the world’s most scantily-clad, semi-intoxicated ballerina. And then you stopped. You put your hands on your hips.

“‘Cause I’m the law,” you resumed in a slow, deliberate drawl. The twang you used was mostly feigned, “And you cain’t beat the law. Don’t nobody get away with that, not even a bunch’a Alabama smart alecks, believe you me.”

Joel didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. The man was Texas born and bred, and you knew it.

He communicated as much by pinning you with a wide, bewildered stare, and something in that seemed to amuse. You stared back, making your eyes bug out too.

“It’s a quote from a movie,” you said, after a beat, “You’ve never seen Fried Green Tomatoes before?”

Joel couldn’t say that he had.

Joel reckoned there was a lot more than just movies he didn’t share in common with you. Miss Twenty-One. Barely a year past the age he’d been when he’d moved out of the house and tried to make a living on his own.

This woman, this girl he saw twirling out in front of him now probably couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with the instructions written on the heel if he’d asked you to. Joel shook his head and moved his feet, frown etching deep.

“Alright, princess. Up.”

You didn’t seem to understand, until he’d lifted you. Up.

You were thrown over his shoulder and carried to a truck much nicer than yours in less than fifteen seconds or so.

“Stinks in here,” you said as soon as he’d set you down.

Then, sniffing the air—and grinning:

“Aw, hell, Miller…you smoke?”

Joel wished he’d said no.

Wished he’d rolled his eyes and told you to pipe down, stop asking him questions. It would’ve made the drive a whole lot easier, and more peaceful. Nowhere near as painful, either, if he were being perfectly honest—the strain in his jeans had already gotten to be more than he could bear, and all you’d asked for was a pack of smokes.

“They call ‘em Cowboy Killers,” you said, matter-of-fact.

“I know what they’re called,” Joel grumbled in reply. Flicking the radio on and hoping to find a tune that would drown out the too-lovely, cloying voice you’d assumed as soon as you thought you might win a cigarette off of him. More chatty now than ever.

And for one, blissful moment, Toby Keith had you beat. The calm was fleeting. As soon as ‘Who’s Your Daddy’ started to drift through the car’s old speakers, you reached across and turned the knob to the left.

“Gross,” you muttered.

“What?”

“Got a light?”

“Blow me.”

Joel’s harsh, clipped tone was deliberate. The way he’d made himself mean—meaner than he’d been around a woman in a long, long time—was a choice. He couldn’t let your faux sweetness win him now. Not after you’d thrown two drinks in his face, mocked his truck, and foreclosed any possibility of getting laid by way of all your publicized infidelity philippics and shit-talking. Giving in to your charms from where you sat in the passenger seat now would only sink him further in his own esteem. Simply put, Joel’s ego couldn’t take it.

“Okie doke,” you said presently. Shrugging.

“Now keep your—HEY!”

Joel nearly swerved his truck off the road and into a ditch. Your deft little hands had slipped into his lap—and started palming his crotch through the denim.

He’d just managed to right the vehicle before jerking a look your way, staring at your hand, then your face:

“What the fuck was that?!”

“You said ‘blow me,’ Joel!” you huffed, and you seriously appeared as distraught as he was, “Sorry for listening!”

Joel grit his teeth with all the force of a cold steel trap.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts.” He gripped the wheel even tighter.

“I’m aware.”

“Where the hell do you live, anyway?”

You told him.

Your hand slipped down to the seat beside him.

And just as Joel let out what felt like the tiniest sigh of relief—he knew where that was, and the address sounded vaguely familiar—he yelped again. This time, he managed to keep control of his truck, but it was hard.

Your fingers had returned, and they were kneading the bulge under his jeans. Joel flushed from head to toe.

He didn’t have so much as half a mind to make you stop. He didn’t want to see you slink back over to your side of the car. But you were twenty-one, and he was forty-five. And you were both under the influence to some degree. And he was driving, for fuck’s sake. Shit like that only worked in dreams—not on a highway in a town like this.

He turned the radio dial to 75. At length, he heard it loud:

‘WHO’S YOUR DADDY? WHO’S YOUR BA-A-A-ABY?’

He saw you cringe.

“C’mon, Joel,” you groaned, “That’s…yuck.”

The fingers of the one hand kept digging, rubbing, but the other reached out and turned the music down again.

Joel shifted in his seat, feeling the pleasure start to bloom from the pit of his stomach, but not wanting to let you off that easy. Briefly, he looked from the road to you.

“What? You got a problem with Toby Keith?”

“I got a problem with anyone sayin’ ‘daddy’ like that.”

You unzipped his fly. Popped the button of his jeans from underneath the soft shelf of belly hanging over it, and held him, finally. You could only cup his erection through his boxers at that point, but the friction was enough to send a shiver through the whole of the old man’s body. He hadn’t been touched like that by a hand that wasn’t his own in…he couldn’t remember how long. He sighed.

“That why you’ve got your hand down the pants of a man old enough to be your father?” Joel quipped.

He couldn’t help it.

Your hand only gripped him tighter. From the passenger seat, you’d leaned over and started crawling. Scowling.

Your knees swiftly planted themselves on the old, upholstered cushion of the bucket seat, and you slipped a touch beneath the waistband of his underwear. With a hand that was smooth and soft and eager to please, you wrapped your fingers around that base and leaned in.

“You sound like you want me to say it,” you whispered.

Under your hand, he pulsed. His gaze stayed on the road.

“Don’t make no difference to me, sweet pea,” he said, and was amazed how even he was able to keep his tone:

“But those ‘Cowboy Killers’ you wanted…”

Your fingers curled tighter. Your head sank lower.

“…they don’t come cheap, y’know.”

Oh, you knew. He saw a smile snag at the corners of your lips as you brought them to his lap, and he had to force himself to look at the road again. It was empty and dark.

The tarmac stretched out for days. The fields rolling past warned sternly, ‘Don’t let her win,’ and something more in between each tree seemed to invite deliberation—remembrance, maybe. Joel was far too focused on the feel of your mouth to give the woods a second thought.

You’d worked the first inch between your lips in a slick, obscene sort of kiss; you made room for just the head and then toyed with a bead of precum leaking out of his slit. You licked it, squeezed the shaft in your hand, and hummed while the first real moan rumbled through him.

Joel turned to putty with just that flick of your tongue. He didn’t have to see your face to know he was losing.

On the wheel, his grip grew tighter, and he choked out:

“Ain’t your fuckin’ lollypop, kid.”

Then, dropping one hand to push down on your head—make you take him to the back of your throat in one go.

“Daddy wants you to suck him like a big girl, hear?”

At the base of his cock, he felt you gag. From the bottom of his heart, Joel knew there was no sound sweeter than that. He ran his fingers over your skull and tapped gently.

“If you want those smokes,” he told you—and really, with all the warmth and moisture of your mouth enveloping him now, he’d had to try to sound rougher than he was, “You’re gonna do what daddy says and suck him right.”

You gagged again, then squeezed his denim-clad leg with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his member.

Joel yanked you by your hair and made you look up.

Your cheeks were already smeared with spit and tears. Much to his surprise, he found your eyes alight and soft.

Suffused with desire, too, from what he could see.

“Yes, daddy.” You grinned up at him.

Joel knew if he let your gaze stay on his a second longer now he’d either crash his car, blow his load, or fall in love—and he simply refused to let you succeed on any of those fronts, so he shoved your face back down.

You sucked him obediently. Greedily. Mouth growing more pliant and wet by the second, as if your jaw and salivary glands had contrived to get him as close to release as possible, as quickly as they were able.

Joel took a left onto a road he had only a dim recognition as being connected to yours, and he got that feeling again. You were bobbing your head, taking him further, flattening your tongue along the bottom of his member when his pleasure swelled inside him. At the same time, he felt a sense of dread. His hands were shaking on the wheel. He didn’t dare steal a look down to the sweet, soaked, perfect little mouth sucking him dry, because he knew that feeling would only strike twice as hard. He had to cum, or make you stop, or bring his truck to a halt.

As it was, he felt five tiny crescents sink into his thigh as you gripped him tighter, and a noise bubbled up in your mouth. Your breathing went shallow, and your lips stretched wide—you were trying, and succeeding, in deep-throating his thick, throbbing, much-too-old-for-a-girl-her-age member down close to your windpipe, and Joel could feel it. He hit his blinker, not thinking, and saw a sign that marked your street. Trepidation hit him again.

Fully, this time, in a feeling that was more like terror.

He didn’t have another second to question it, either. By the time he had the old, lone farmhouse in his sights and his heart nearly halfway up his throat with fear, your own throat pulsed, and opened the last two inches to him in. Your nose found their home in the rough, grey, wiry hairs at the base of his belly, having swallowed him whole, and Joel quickly sensed the start of what he knew too well.

He came down your throat in one, two, three, four, five long spurts, and didn’t let his foot off the gas even once.

He saw your house, approaching closer now, and paled.

No fucking way.

You’d wanted to skip the whole way up your drive.

Spit still drying on your cheeks, cum resting comfortably in your belly, and a smile as bright as the sun on your face as you waved to the F-150 pulling off toward the road, you’d never felt more alive—or smug—in your life.

“Is your dad…Lucien Flores?” Joel had asked no more than a second after his dick slipped out of your mouth.

“The one and only.”

Somehow, his face got even paler. His jaw visibly clenched, and his palm hit the top of the wheel. Hard.

It was then that you’d learned your father had hired Joel Miller on as a full-time ranch hand sometime last week.

He’d remembered the address, vaguely, but didn’t connect the dots until he’d pulled up in front of your house and damn near punctured your windpipe with his pulsing dick from how fast he’d jumped up—and cum.

His spend had almost shot through your nose with the force of it, but you didn’t mind. Once he’d revealed the wild, gory, and admittedly hilarious details of his newfound employment, you were too busy laughing your ass off to care if he’d torn your throat in two with his dick.

“So you really are a cowboy, then,” you’d said, giggling.

Joel had scowled. Rolled his eyes. Practically turned the color of a tomato when you leaned in and kissed him.

Now you were waving to him from your front door.

Joel’s truck was slow to go. The taste of him was fresh.

And there, weighing light in your back pocket while you said goodbye was a brand new pack of Marlboro Reds.

2:21 AM

You were safely in bed. You checked your phone.

Aside from fourteen missed calls, you saw:

1:09 AM – Maria

DUDE

1:09 AM

TOMMY JUST CAME HOME

1:09 AM

THAT’S NOT HIM AT THE BAR

1:13 AM

IT’S JUST JOEL!! HIS BROTHER!!!

1:13 AM

ABORT ABORT ABORT

1:42 AM

DAVE SAID YOU BEAT JOEL UP???? CALL ME

1:54 AM – Dave York

Ur gonna fuck that old dude aren’t u

[nastybuckybarnes]

Date Night

Pairing: dbf!Bucky X Reader

Summary: Bucky makes a big mistake.

Warnings: Angst, Language, yea sorry

Word Count: 1.7K

A/n: teehee whoops. im gonna have a ghost one coming out soon for you guys, and then maybe some more teddy bear picnic but we'll see

~*~

"Hey kid, wanna grab a beer and watch the game with your old man? Or are you too cool for that?"

You grin at your dad and slow your steps, glancing at the hockey game on TV.

"Where's Bucky? I thought he was your game night date? He finally realize hockey sucks?"

Your dad gives you an offended look then rolls his eyes playfully.

"Nah, he had to cancel last minute - he's got a hot date tonight."

He wiggles his eyebrows at you, unaware of the fact that those six words have flipped your night upside down and caused knots to form in your stomach.

You don't remember having plans with him tonight.

As casually as you can manage, you head into the kitchen, pulling out your phone and tapping a quick text over to the man in question.

'Not coming over tonight?'

It's read within the same minute, and then the telltale three dots pop up before his message spawns.

'Sorry baby, not feeling too hot.'

The knots in your gut are quickly crushed by the boulder that settles there, and you need to take a few careful breaths to stop yourself from crying in the middle of the kitchen.

~*~

"Everything okay, James?"

He huffs out a sigh and glances up from his phone, smiling weakly at the woman across from him.

"Listen, Dot... I can't tell you how grateful I am that you managed to make such a beautiful cake in such a short amount of time. And, while I'm flattered that you'd want to go out for dinner, I had you make that cake for a woman who means... quite a bit to me. I don't want to make things awkward but I do want you to know that I'm out with you tonight as a friend and nothing more."

The woman across from him blinks blankly a few times, then takes a sip of her martini, stands up, and leaves the table.

Bucky watches helplessly as she leaves the restaurant without another word, dropping his head back for a moment as he feels onlookers stare.

It takes a few minutes for the waitress to come back, but by the time she does, he's got a wad of cash ready for her and his keys in hand.

He all but runs out of the restaurant, a new lightness in his shoulders like a weight has been lifted from his chest.

Immediately, he grabs his phone and shoots a quick text off to your dad.

'Room for one more?'

It takes a few minutes for your dad to respond, which Bucky uses to put on his helmet and straddle his bike.

'Date not going well?'

Bucky chuckles softly.

'Something like that. I'll be there in five.'

He swipes out of the conversation with your dad and then clicks on the only pinned conversation on his phone.

'I'm feeling a bit better now, gonna pop by for a bit.'

With that, he locks his phone and brings his bike to life, eager to be in your presence again.

Your phone vibrates, pulling you from your pity party, and you frown at the text on it.

You turn your phone off and drop it face-down on the carpet, ignoring this text the way you've ignored the last three from him.

You can hear him downstairs chatting with your dad as if he's done nothing wrong. As if he wasn't out with another woman less than an hour ago.

Grinding your teeth together, you decide that enough is enough, and it's time for bed.

At the very moment you open your door to head to the bathroom to get ready for bed, Bucky decides to raise his fist to knock.

Your eyes meet his and, for a moment, you forget that you're mad. You forget everything.

And then he opens his stupid mouth.

"Hey, what's with you tonight?" He asks gently, reaching forward to grab your hand.

You yank away from him and take a step back, levelling him with a steely glare.

"How was your date?"

You watch as he deflates, as his face falls and his shoulders slump forward the tiniest bit.

"Sweetheart, it's not what you think, I swear."

"Oh Jesus Christ," you murmur, pushing past him and heading downstairs to watch the game with your dad. At least down here he can't talk to you.

He can't try to justify him willingly going on a date with another woman.

Well, not until the game's over, at least. And it seems like it's only a few minutes before your dad is yawning, turning the TV off and heading upstairs to go to bed himself.

This leaves you alone in the living room with Bucky, tension building with every silent second that passes between the two of you.

"Honey, I had to," he finally whispers, breaking the silence.

You whip your head around, mouth dropping open in disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

He holds his hands up, a desperate and pathetic attempt at pleading with you, begging you to hear him out.

"It was the only way for me to get your birthday cake. Dot is an old friend from high school and... she wanted a date as payment for the last-minute cake," he explains quietly.

You purse your lips, nodding as if it all makes sense now.

"Oh, I see! So, not only do you admit to forgetting my birthday, but you also agreed to go on a date with a woman who has had a thing for you since high school! Buck, that is so not okay on so many different levels!" You exclaim in a whisper.

The last thing you need is your dad overhearing any part of this conversation.

"I know. That's why I left. I told her I couldn't, that the cake was for someone important to me and that I was only having dinner with her as a friend."

You shake your head at him and rise to your feet, unable to stay still while he spews nothing but nonsense at you and expects you to forgive him.

"You shouldn't have even gotten me that cake if that's what she wanted as payment! You should've told her to stick it and then you literally could've gotten me a Starbucks cake pop. I don't need fancy cakes or expensive things, James, I thought you knew that." Your voice gradually loses its anger, disappointment and exhaustion taking its place.

"I know but... I wanted to do something special for you." He looks like a kicked puppy, and it takes a serious amount of self-control to hold on to your anger.

"My birthday was special. Even without the cake it still would've been special. Especially if I'd've known it would mean that you would be going on a date with another woman in order to get it."

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry," he pleads, reaching for you again only for you to shake your head and step away.

"No, Bucky. Sorry doesn't fix this. Can you imagine if the roles were reversed? What if I had to go on a date with a guy who's been wanting me for over a decade just for the perfect steak? And then, what if I lied to you about it and you found out from my dad that I was out on a 'hot date'? A date with someone that the general public would deem more appropriate for me to be with? Someone who would fit me better. How would that make you feel?"

He stands there silently for a moment, fists clenched tightly as he imagines everything you just said.

He imagines you laughing on a date with another man, a young man, a man far more appropriate for you to be with. He imagines sitting waiting for you, only to find out that you're out getting hit on by some young punk who wouldn't know how to please a woman like you. His imagination runs wild, to the point where he can almost feel steam billowing from his ears, but all he says is

"Shitty."

"Shitty?" You laugh, "Try worthless. Embarrassed. Humiliated. At least that's how I felt. And-and maybe I'm just reading too deep into this. Maybe this 'exclusivity' that I thought we had is one-sided."

"It's not," he interrupts quickly, taking a step forward only to pause when you step back again.

"Maybe I just thought things were more serious than they were," you continue, eyes stuck on the ground as your thoughts spill out before your mind has a moment to realize what you're saying.

"They are serious-"

"Maybe we should just stop... whatever this is that we're doing."

Silence hangs heavily in the air when you finish speaking, and you feel tears sting at your eyes when he says nothing.

You count thirteen heartbeats before he finally says something.

"Is that what you really want?" He asks softly, his voice discouraged.

Slowly, you raise your eyes to his.

"What even are we?" You ask breathlessly, a single tear sliding down your cheek. "What are we doing?"

"You're my girl."

You sniffle and shake your head.

"No, I'm your dirty little secret, that's what I am. And I'm tired of it. I wanna be something you're proud of, not something you have to hide," you whisper, your chest aching with the weight of your confession.

Bucky's heart breaks at your words, and he wants nothing more than to scoop you up in his arms and kiss away any insecurities you have in your relationship. If you can even call it that.

"I am proud of you, sweetheart, beyond proud. I can't even put into words how I feel about you," he whispers, desperate for you to understand just how much you mean to him.

"Why haven't you told my dad about us yet?"

The silence that follows your question is answer enough for you, and you nod.

"I... I think you should leave," you finally whisper, hugging yourself and keeping your gaze locked on the ground.

He stays rooted in place for a long moment, testing your resolve, waiting for you to break. When you don't, he takes slow steps toward the door, waiting, praying for you to change your mind.

But you stand firm.

Never able to deny you, he leaves you standing alone in your kitchen, your dad peacefully asleep upstairs while your entire life gets turned upside down.

[entitled-fangirl]

Meek.

Cregan Stark x Baratheon!reader

Summary: Cregan is determined to be a different man for his betrothed than the men in her family.

Warnings: poor treatment of women, sexism, cursing, talks of sex, making out

A/N: Based on TWO asks!!!! Also--- not proofread😯

Masterlist

....................................................

Everyone knew the absolute torment that house Baratheon put their women through.

They were cruel to them, not caring for anything but their own pleasure. That was well known.

When Cregan was betrothed to Lord Baratheon's second eldest daughter, he wondered how she'd fair under the Northern weather.

Lord Baratheon didn't even bother to see her go, sending her off to the Wolf with just her handmaidens and guards to see her safe to Winterfell.

Cregan stood at the doors, his shoulders back in a display of northern pride. He was beyond grateful to rid the sweet woman from the ungrateful Baratheons.

The moment her horse stepped through the gate, his people were attentive to her, taking her belongings and beginning to carry them into the castle.

She watched them with widened eyes, confused by their kindness. Cregan quickly stepped down the stairs to her, "Welcome, my lady."

Her head snapped to him and looked down at him from her horse. She said nothing in fear of saying the wrong thing.

He reached up and gently pulled the reigns from her hands. The leather slid from her grasp slowly. She dared not to intervene. 

Once he had the reigns in his hand, he pulled on them, walking the horse further into the yard and closer to Winterfell.

She merely let him as she held to the saddle. 

Cregan felt a small smile grow on his face. She was a curious thing. It was too bad she wouldn't voice her thoughts. 

As he looked up at her, he decided then to change that. He would get her to open up one day.

He tied the reigns off and held out his hand to her. "Let me help you." She reminded him of a skittish doe, ready to run at any sign of danger.

Her shaky hand reached out, and she swung her leg over the horse. She stared at him expectantly.

He let go and grabbed her waist, holding her as he slid her down the horse's side and placed her on the ground.

"Thank you, Lord Stark," her soft voice finally spoke.

He swore he'd never heard anything sweeter.

How the Baratheons could bare to mistreat her, he'll never know.

…

He told the North that he was in no way going to rush the marriage. So she stayed in the Winterfell walls unwed so he could understand her more before becoming one.

He felt like he owed her that. 

She deserved to be known. 

She had become a little more comfortable around him, beginning to slowly speak to him about only the things that were essential to say aloud.

The two walked the grounds together, a routine they had developed over time. 

"I wish you'd speak about things that don't matter," he finally mentioned. He peeked over to her to see her reaction.

Her brows furrowed as she stared in front of her, "I don't understand."

"I didn't mean it in that sense I suppose." He reached up with his free to stroke the hair on his chin in thought of what to say. "I want to know the things that you worry I'll find unimportant. Does that make sense?"

She hesitantly shook her head.

He sighed softly at how to correct his words. Finally, he shrugged. "I want to know you."

"You do," she countered quietly. 

"I don't," he smiles as he brushed hair behind her ear, "but I'd like to."

She sucked in a sharp breath at his touch to her face. The men in her family were far from this gentle. "I assure you there is nothing of interest to me."

"There is, I'm sure. I'll find it."

She nodded, "Whatever you wish, my lord." She began to walk again.

He pulled her back, "Not so quickly." He reached down and pulled both of her hands into his. "Don't say what you wish me to hear. Say what you are thinking."

"Why would I do that?" She asked innocently. 

He cursed under his breath but didn't let her see the way his jaw clenched. "It matters to me. Your thoughts, I mean."

She stared at their intertwined hands, "Even the unpleasant ones?"

"Especially the unpleasant ones."

It was a strange concept for her, but she nodded as her brain began to truly consider what he was asking for. 

He smiled in relief, still holding one hand and beginning to walk again. "Let us start with simple matters. Perhaps… your favorite novel?"

Her head snapped to him, "I don't… I…"

His thumb rubbed over her knuckles, "I know you have one. I've seen the way book pages soak you in like water."

The question had been a sensitive one. She shrugged in a fake nonchalant fashion and kept walking, "I don't have one."

He hummed lowly, a small warning. "Don't lie. Just say what it is."

"I… I don't remember the name of it," she finally admitted. 

He accepted that answer. "I see. What was it about?"

Her big eyes looked up at him, debating what to say. "It was… a fiction."

He smiled, "I see. There can be enjoyment in fictional novels, can't there?" He waited to say what else she would say. Each new piece of herself she revealed to him, he treasured like a precious stone.

"Well… it is the only one I've read, I'm afraid," she smiled weakly, eager to change the subject.

"The only?" He asked in pure shock. "The only one?"

She nodded, keeping in a certain side of herself. "It was left behind. Father has it."

"Ah," he said finally. 

…

That evening, he wrote to Lord Baratheon, urging him to send her favorite book. He was straight to the point, telling the man he could send the novel to earn Stark's forgiveness for avoiding the wedding.

…

A few weeks later, a letter arrived addressed to Lord Stark. He almost ripped it out of the maester's hand in concern when he saw the Baratheon sigil in the wax. It was a thick roll, only making his concern spike.

He pulled it open, revealing a few pages that fell from his hand. 

Book pages.

Ripped book pages. 

He picked up one with a shaking hand. He began to see red as he looked back up at the maester. "What is the meaning of this?"

The maester held out his hand, "Allow me to read this for you, my lord."

Cregan handed the letter to him as he began to gather the few book pages that were sent to him.

The maester's face turned white. "He dares to disrespect you."

"Do not tell me these are what I believe them to be," he growled lowly.

"I'm afraid they are."

Cregan's hand slammed the papers onto the desk in pure rage and stormed out of the room.

…

Cregan swung his sword with a fury. His sparring partner could hardly keep up, but he knew his Lord just needed to get out his anger.

His partner was grateful when Cregan's betrothed interrupted them.

"Cregan?"

Cregan faltered, freezing in place and turning his head to her. "Yes?" He asked with a surprisingly soft voice.

She wrung her hands nervously. "I… Forgive me. I shouldn't have interrupted."

He stood up tall, handing his sword off to his partner and waving him off. "No. Please. Tell me what you need."

She hummed and let out a deep breath. "I've been thinking."

He nodded, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Aye…"

"I'm ready to marry you."

He sucked in a sharp breath. "What?"

"I- I want to marry you, Cregan."

He saw the absolute nervousness that radiated through her frame to admit that to him.

He stepped to her, "You're sure?"

She nodded. "If you still want me."

He stepped further to her in urgency, "Of course, I do. Never think that I wouldn't."

She stared at him, now unsure of where to go from there.

Cregan smiled. "Shall I set a date for the wedding then?"

Her eyes lit up. "Would you?"

"I would. And I shall. We shall have it two weeks before Winter strikes. I will leave for the Wall not long after. Would that suffice?"

She looked down at her hands. 

"What?" He tilted his head down, hoping to get her to look at him. "Did you wish for after winter? That could be quite a while."

She had worked herself up just to admit wanting to marry him. How could he expect her to do more?

"Talk to me, pretty girl."

She'd never been called that before. It made something inside of her stir. 

"It's so far," she whispered.

He felt a chill down his spine at her small confession. He gulped as the anger left him completely. "Sooner then?"

"Sooner."

He nodded, biting his lower lip in deep thought. "Aye. Soon then."

A bright smile pulled at her lips. "Thank you, Cregan."

He grinned back. "Of course. Now, go on," he tutted playfully, "Your betrothed must finish his spar."

Red came to her cheeks, "Right. Right, of course. Excuse me, Lord Stark-"

"-Cregan," he quickly corrected.

"Cregan."

He watched her leave. There was a slight skip to her step now that he hadn't noticed about her before. 

Perhaps she was finding happiness in Winterfell.

…

The wedding was a large northern celebration. The bannermen and families came  from miles around to witness their Warden's wedding.

Everyone was too kind. It was beginning to worry her.

"Quite the feast, I'd say," Cregan smiled at her as the two sat at the high table. 

Her hands immediately reached for her chalice of wine.

And she didn't stop for the entire night.

…

"Let us retire," he suggested when she tried to refill her cup again. His hand reached out and gently placed it over hers. "It is getting late. And before you fret, the bedding ceremony will not happen. It is only you and I."

Her eyes softened in surprise, not expecting him to say that. "One more glass for courage?" She slurred slightly.

His brows ticked down for only a second before he composed himself. "Courage isn't needed for this. Are you truly this nervous?"

"I'm perfectly content," she huffed. 

The crease between his brows returned. That was uncharacteristic of her to speak in frustration. Had the wine affected her? "Then let us go, hmm?"

She nodded, setting her cup down. "Very well."

He stood, offering his hand out to her. She took it and stood, trying to hide the slight falter in her first step. She moved her hand up to his bicep, letting him lead her from the banquet hall.

Entering their chambers, she sat on the bed. "Will you have me on my back or shall you take me from behind?" She asked bluntly, no hint of embarrassment or hesitation to her.

Cregan hand on the doorknob faltered. He locked the door and turned to her with shock on his face, "What was that?"

"Which way do you fuck, Lord Stark?" She asked in the same tone.

He shook his head with an amused chuckle. He stepped to her, reaching down and pushing her chin up to look at him. "I will not be fucking you tonight." He watched her posture change, a relaxation coming to her. "Why would you ask something so crude? It's unlike you."

"You wanted me to speak my mind, and I have," She stated in frustration. 

"You certainly have," he commented. "But I have a feeling that the wine is twisting your words. Tell me why you indulged in so much wine tonight."

She shrugged, "Why do you care?"

He gently pulled her chin back up, "I care about you."

"There it is." Her nose twitched. "I don't know what to do when you say things like that."

He stood straight, "You didn't answer the question."

"Fine!" She stood up and stepped around him, "I drank so much because I have never known a man to be as kind as you and it frightens me."

"Frightens you? How so?" Cregan was beyond confused. He turned to watch her.

She stepped to the fireplace and buried her hands in her hair in frustration. "I've never wanted to speak my mind to anyone until I met you, and now I fear I'll say something I shouldn't and ruin it all. Do you know what that feels like? To know that one wrong word could send you back to…" Her voice faded off. 

"I don't. And neither do you, because regardless of your words, I'm not going to send you back there. You're a Stark. The Baratheons are only a name now- if you want them to be, that is. If you want to truly be a Stark in name and heart." He offered. His calculating eyes watched her closely now, frowning at the tugging of her hair.

"Even after I've indulged myself in wine and ruined our wedding to the point that you refuse to consummate the marriage with me?" She turned to him and only then did he see the glimmer of the tears that sat in her eyes. 

"You did not ruin anything. But I will not sleep with you as long as you are not fully aware of your actions."

"I am aware," she huffed.

"We shall see in the morning." The slightest amused smile come over him. "I promised to take you to bed one way or the other. Perhaps tonight, it is only to sleep and nothing more." He walked to her. "Turn around. Let me undo your laces, stubborn woman."

She did as he asked, pulling her hair over her shoulder. "Will I regret this tomorrow?"

"The marriage or this particular conversation?" He asked. "If it has to be one, I hope it is the latter. I personally enjoy the former."

She hummed, pulling her outer dress down once Cregan had untied it enough. Layer by layer, she threw each piece to the cloth chair not far from the fire. 

Cregan's careful hands untied each string they came across. 

Silence filled the room, and she broke it with a small sniffle. Her voice was much softer now, "Do you believe my father didn't want to be here? Is that something you believe?"

Of course, he believed it, but he wouldn't say it. "I'm not sure. Do you, sweet girl?"

She hummed, "I do."

That surprised him. "Ah. Do continue speaking your mind, please. Do not let me stop you."

"He has a particular hatred for women. I'm not sure where it started. When he had a firstborn daughter rather than son, my mother was fearful for the girl. I was second. He married us off without a second thought. Dare I admit to you that he signed me away to you without truly reading the document?"

Cregan placed his hands on her clothed hips and spun her to face him.

No wonder she came here so fearful. She was mistreated from the beginning. He stared into her eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle. He reached up and brushed his fingers on her cheek. "How could a man ever hate you?" He asked with a barely heard voice.

Her heart jolted, "I have never felt love before. Is it supposed to feel this warm?"

Cregan let out a joyful laugh as he ran his hands through her hair. "I want to say yes, but you're near the fire. And the wine is coloring your cheeks. We shall revisit this when you are well. Let us get you to bed."

"Bed? Right." She pulled herself from him and moved to the bed. She tucked herself under the covers.

Cregan's smile stayed. "Are you warm enough for the night?"

"Yes, but… are you not staying?"

He shook his head. "I don't want you to wake in a fright if tonight's details blur in your mind. Waking beside me may be startling for you."

"No! I-" she looked around the room in thought. "I want you to stay. I want that."

His head tilted. "Alright. If you want this. But know that nothing will happen to you while I stay here tonight."

"I can live with that," she admitted as she laid on the bed completely.

Darkness filled the room with Cregan blew out the candles, and the bed dipped down as he laid on it. 

…

In the morning, she awoke with a groan. The sun was burning her eyes. 

"Ah, you're awake," Cregan's voice commented from across the room.

She sat up and rubbed at her eyes until they were raw, determined to get the feeling to fade. When she did, a headache began to erupt.

"Easy," he chided as he walked to her. He reached to the nightstand and held a cup out to her. "The maester made a tea to help with the pain."

She sipped it gratefully. "I had the strangest dream that I'm fearing is true," she said with a groggy voice.

He watched her with a glimmer in his eyes. His hand reached to her and smoothed her hair down.

She peered up at him. She wondered how someone could be so thoughtful.

"Tell me something," he said as sat down at her side. "If that's alright."

"Anything," she whispered. Her eyes flickered to his lips. 

"Is the warmth still there?" 

He watched her face began to near his. She placed her hand on his leg to help her lean over to him. "I believe I love you," she admitted gently.

He smiled and leaned the rest of the way to her. His lips kissed her softly and slowly. 

Before she could truly react, he pulled away again. The grin on his lips returned, as were his hands in her hair, "I was going to gift this to you yesterday, but I believe today is a better day for it."

"Oh," her shy demeanor returned and she set the cup down.

"Don't fret. You'll adore it. Or… I hope you do."

She watched him get up from the bed, beginning to dig though a drawer in his closet. 

He returned with a book in his hand. "It took some time, but I believe it was worth it."

She reached out and took it, examining the cover. She only stared at it for a moment before her eyes lit up. "Is this-?"

"Your favorite novel? It is." His head tilted back and forth, "Or, at least, I believe it is."

"This isn't the same copy as the one with my Father," she remarked.

"No, it's not. I tried to recover it but was unsuccessful. I hope this copy with be worthy of your happiness."

"Oh, Cregan," she mused. "It's… it is too much. I don't understand."

"It is a wedding gift. Do not think twice about it. You haven't the feignest idea of how far I would go to please you," he admitted.

"I've never had someone do something so selfless on my behalf." She hugged it to her chest, "Tell me how you managed it."

He smiled, content with the way she cherished the book. "I admit that I wrote a letter to your father, asking for the book. I was sent ripped pages in return-"

He faltered at the way her face fell.

"-But," he continued, "I sent the pages off to three well-read men and promised them anything to the man who found the novel it belonged to. It took a while, and I feared I would not have it in time, but alas, one of them found it. And here it is."

"What did he wish for?"

He frowned slightly, "Don't fret over that. Just know that it is all handled accordingly."

She pulled it from her chest to look at it again to guarantee that it was indeed real. "You are the most spectacular man I've met." She looked up at him. "I don't know what I have done to deserve you, but I shall spend my entire life thanking the gods for you."

"It is only a novel, my girl."

"It is much more than a novel."

"Then you'd hate to see what else I'd get you to only see a smile come to your lips."

She leaned over to him again as before, "May I kiss you?"

"Of course," he smiled. 

She grinned and pushed herself into his lap completely, pulling her body as close to his as she could, careful to not hit him with the book still in her hand. 

She finally connected their lips with a heavier intent than they had shared before.

He groaned against her and wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm certain," she panted against his lips, "I love you."

"My girl, I've loved you since the moment you arrived in Winterfell."

She pulled away from him completely. "W… What?"

"Since that day," he said as he brushed his thumb over her cheek. "I've been quite sure that I love you."

"You feel warmth when you are with me?"

"When I see you, I want to keep you beside me. I want to hold and kiss you until you're dizzy. I want to watch you sit and read until you become one with the sofa," he chuckled, "I want to see your joy as much as I can. I want you."

"You're unlike any man I know."

"That's alright. Isn't it?"

She chuckled as full relief flowed from her, as if only now accepting that she was safe here. "What a silly question, my lord."

He tilted his head playfully. "My lord?"

"It was my attempt at a jest," she admitted sheepishly. "Was it a poor one?"

"No," he countered. "I was just not expecting it from my meek wife. Perhaps she is not as meek as I once thought."

She laughed again, "Perhaps. We'll see, won't we?"

He kissed her cheek, "I cannot wait." He spoke in her ear, "But for now, be gone. You have a novel to read, don't you?"

Her eyes lit up and she clambered out of his lap. "I do! Oh, I do!"

Cregan watched the woman run to the cloth chair by the fireplace and sit, pulling her book open in a rush to absorb its words.

He chuckled and stood as he began to dress, "I'll fetch you for dinner. There's breakfast on the table from earlier. I expect you'll be content until then," he teased.

She looked up and nodded, "I will."

"Read closely. I expect to hear a summary at dinner of whatever chapters you consume."

She grinned from ear to ear as he left.

………………………………………………….

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver,

[jockwrites]

DIE FOR ME - p.b

warnings: sexual content (reader receiving, strap LOL) angst if you squint, cursing, pet names? i guess?

a/n: not spell checked & english isn’t my first language, lmk how i did :-)

"good God."

those were the last words you heard Paige say before she stormed out of your apartment.

previously, the two of you had been arguing over the fact that for these past two weeks, you'd been suspecting cheating.

today, the topic had been brought back up when she came to your apartment late after practice. even though she'd told you she would be there immediately after. honestly, you just couldn't understand what's been keeping her away from you so fucking late.

you wanna decide to call it a night after she just stormed the fuck out, but you need to find out what's been happening. that's when you decide to find out for yourself.

you put on a jacket over your shorts and tee, grab your keys and head out.

while walking, you decide to check her location. and what do you know, it’s off.

this pissed you cleannnn off. & with your pace becoming faster and faster with each second that passes, her dorms come into view. you don’t waste a second getting into that building.

you hurrily walk to the elevator, eager to get up to that room.

as soon as you make it, not only do you knock once, but twice. and not a single peep heard from behind that door.

as you begin to knock again, the door opens. and it’s her. you’re outraged, angry, so many words to describe your feelings as of right now.

“why the hell is your location off,” you bickered, “and why didn’t you answer the door when i knocked the first TWO times?”

paige just stood there. she didn’t say a word, and this is what made you more frustrated.

as you’re going on and on about how furious you are, paige grabs you by the arm, pulling you into the apartment. she doesn’t say a word to you.

she pushes you against the wall, kissing your neck. and this, this put you into a trance you probably wouldn’t be able to get yourself out of.

her touch becomes more aggressive as you push on her chest, trying to get her to stop. right now you’re serious. but she’s irresistible

“are you pushing me away?” paige whispers into your neck.

“so now you wanna talk..” you scoff, breathing heavy.

“there’s nothing to say. you’re just delusional. you get these petty accusations, put them onto me, then expect me to just sit there and take it.” she slides her hand dangerously low down your shorts.

“i don’t expe..” you’re cut off by her fingers sliding into you.

“i don’t understand why you wanna start shit so bad,” her words sharp, vibrating into your neck as her kisses go lower and her pace increasing. “because if you want me to be a ‘bitch’, i can.”

“you just..” she grabs your right boob, groping as her fingers curl into you while kissing your jawline, leaving hickeys that’ll probably be there for the next day or two. “you just think shit is a game. it isn’t.”

“paige.. that’s not-“ you moan breathlessly, your words cut off by her lips colliding with yours.

“no no.. i know exactly what you’re trying to do.”

you love it when she’s like this. all mad & messed up when it comes to you, damn.

“maybe we should just drop it.” you begged, the pleasure and anger she’s bringing to you becoming overstimulating. you don’t know if she’s mad or horny. maybe both.

“you’re such a fucking brat,” she jeered, “you start shit but can’t finish it.”

her fingers are now pumping faster, her other hand coming up to the side of your neck. she’s practically choking you.

arguing and sex isn’t something you thought you’d been missing out on, guess you were wrong.

“fuck. paige. im sorry, i wasn’t trying to.”

“there’s no time for apologies. you did this shit.” she huffs, pulling her fingers out of you.

she licks them clean, looking you dead in the eyes. you’re left with an unfinished orgasm and now you’re aching for her touch. all that’s left is to see what’s she gonna do next.

“go.” she tempted.

“what? where?”

“in the fucking room. go.”

you walk to the room, opening the door. you see her messy bed, clothes on the floor, shoes everywhere and her phone. the phone you’ve been eager to check.

you sit on the bed, taking off your jacket. you slip off your shoes and throw them in a random corner while waiting for paige.

she walks in the room with nothing but a sports bra and white basketball shorts. she looks good, but heated.

she starts to walk toward you slowly with that look. that look, as if you’re some kind of prey.

“you done being a brat?” she whispers.

“i wasn’t being a brat in the first fucking place,” you sassed. “you’re just crazy.”

that’s when she walks over, pushing you down onto the bed. she’s hovering over you, angry and tempted.

“you thinks it’s okay to just act like a bitch all the time? accusing me of shit you know damn well i haven’t done?” now she’s mad. you’ve pushed her to her limits.

“take them off” she snarled, her eyes roaming to your shorts.

you quickly abide, slipping off your shorts. you already know the timing she’s on.

she takes off hers as well, revealing the purple strap harnessed to her.

“what. is that.” you panted. she’s never fucked you with a strap-on before, her fingers and mouth is just enough for you.

“what do you think it is?” she’s trying to be funny but you’ve never experienced anything like this before. you’re a virgin to “dick.”

“i’ve never- done this before.” you manage to breathe out. even though it’s scary, you want it. you want it to be with her, nobody else.

“you wanna do it? we don’t have to baby.” she gazes at you softly. it’s so attractive how she can go from mean to sweet. you love it.

“yeah, but only with you.” and as soon as those words left your mouth, her eyes went from a bright blue to grey.

she pulls your panties down your legs, revealing your soaked pussy.

“so wet for me already baby,” she purred, “not like this for anybody else hmm?”

“no, never.” you breathed as paige rubbed the tip of the plastic over your wet clit.

“fuck,” she urged “you know you can be a bitch sometimes?” she slides the strap into you, going at a slow pace.

“fuck- mm, i know pai..” you can’t manage to get words out at this point. the pleasure is unbearable.

as her pace speeds up, she grabs your legs, pulling them over her shoulders & around her neck.

as she hovers over you while fucking you senseless in missionary, she pulls her right arm over to rub your clit.

“you think i’d do this with another girl? huh?” she groans.

“HOLY SHIT. paige oh my-“ you whine.

“fuck,” she says, her pace speeding up. “you think im out here fucking other bitches senseless?”

she speeds up, pounding into you with the purple plastic. she removes her hand from your clit, inserting the thumb she used between your lips.

“fuck paige! shit im gonna cum” you moan.

“answer me. you think im doing that shit?” she growls.

she starts to go faster and faster, pumping in and out of you like a mad man.

“no pai- FUCK!” you panted.

“based on those fucking accusations,” she heaved, “you seem to be pretty stuck on that fucking- fuck. stuck on that ‘cheating’ shit.” she groaned. with every second that passes, she speeds up. seems like she’s angry.

“paige. im gonna CUM. OHSHIT” you whimper. the pleasure is starting to become overwhelming.

“then cum baby.” she leans down, whispering in your ear.

paige speeds up more and more, hitting the spot that makes you release all over “her.”

“you okay baby?” she says, collapsing beside you.

“you’re good at that.” you breathed.

she turns over to look at you, pushing your hair behind your ear.

“i love you, so much. you see the shit i just did? wouldn’t be caught dead doing that to someone else. i’d die for you.”

a/n: hi im stopping here bc idk what else to write. this isn’t rlly that good so if u have requests or suggestions (constructive criticism) i’d be happy to take them! ty for reading if u even made it this far, byebye

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

PR disaster

Hey guyss, I hope you enjoy this one-shot. Franco is one of my favourite drivers so it was time that I wrote something for him :)

From the moment Y/N was hired as Williams' new PR manager, she knew the job wouldn’t be easy, especially with Logan's departure. Managing a driver's exit was never simple, and controlling the public narrative seemed like her biggest concern. However, she quickly realized that her true challenge came in the form of Franco, the young talent who had taken Logan’s place in the team.

Franco wasn’t just an exceptional driver; he was a whirlwind of energy and charisma. For the fans and the press, he was a breath of fresh air, full of charm and wit. But for Y/N, he was a constant source of headaches. Whether he was flirting with journalists, posting cheeky comments on social media, or creating unnecessary drama, it always ended with her cleaning up the mess.

"Y/N, did you see his latest post?" One of her assistants burst into her office, waving a tablet in the air. Another post. Another reckless comment from Franco.

Y/N groaned. Of course, he couldn’t help himself. She had spent the last week trying to reign him in, explaining time and time again that his social media presence needed to be professional, not a flirt-fest with every reporter and fan that interacted with him.

"This needs to stop," she muttered to herself, standing up from her desk. She stormed through the paddock, her frustration building with every step.

When she found Franco lounging near the team garage, chatting up a group of reporters—no surprise there—she called his name sharply.

"Franco. A word." Her tone left no room for argument.

He flashed his signature grin, excusing himself from the conversation and strolling over to her. "Hey, jefa," he said casually, as if nothing was wrong. "What’s up?"

(Hey, boss)

“What’s up?” she repeated, her voice laced with exasperation. “You’re what’s up. I just had to deal with your latest ‘incident’ on social media—again.”

Franco shrugged, leaning against the wall with an easy confidence that only made her more irritated. "Ah, it was just a little fun. People like it when I’m myself."

Y/N crossed her arms. “Flirting with journalists isn’t being yourself, it’s being reckless. You need to tone it down. This is a professional environment, not… whatever you think it is.”

He raised an eyebrow, his playful demeanour never faltering. "¿Estás diciendo que no te gusta que sea encantador? No puedo evitarlo si soy irresistible." (¿Are you saying that you don't like that I'm charming? I can't help it if I'm irresistible.)

Y/N frowned, her Spanish rusty but enough to pick up on something. "What?"

Franco grinned wider, sensing an opportunity. "Nada, nada," he said, though his eyes sparkled with mischief. "You know, maybe you should try smiling more. You’re always so… serious." He tilted his head, looking her up and down in a way that made her feel like he was studying her every reaction. "Me gusta más cuando te ríes… tienes una sonrisa preciosa, ¿sabes?" (Nothing, nothing) (I like it better when you laugh … you have a beautiful smile ¿you know?)

Her brow furrowed. Okay, that part she definitely understood, and it only made her more determined to get her point across. “This isn’t about me, Franco. This is about you being impossible to manage.”

He leaned closer, his tone dropping just slightly, enough to make her feel the warmth of his presence. "¿Imposible? No, jefa. Imposible sería si intentaras resistirte a mis encantos. Aunque… lo estás haciendo muy bien." (¿Impossible? No, boss. Impossible would be if you tried to resist my charm. Even… if you are doing it well)

She blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “What did you just say?”

Franco simply smiled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You know, if you want me to be more ‘professional,’ we could… work out an agreement.”

“An agreement?” she asked, wary of where this was going.

He nodded, stepping just a little too close for comfort. “Sí. I’ll behave. No more trouble. But… on one condition.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “And what’s that?”

Franco’s grin turned almost predatory, though still playful. “You go on a date with me.”

Her jaw dropped. "A date?"

"Sí, una cita. You know, dinner, maybe some wine… you can lecture me all you want. But I think you’ll find I’m much better behaved when you get to know me… fuera del trabajo." (Yes, a date) (… out of work)

Y/N could feel her face heating up, partly from the absurdity of the situation and partly because Franco’s intense gaze was starting to get to her. “You’re joking.”

Franco tilted his head, eyes sparkling. “¿Parezco que estoy bromeando, jefa?” (¿Does it look like I'm joking, boss?)

Y/N stared at him, her mind racing. There was no way he could be serious. This was just another one of his games, another flirtatious comment that she needed to brush off. But as Franco stood there, grinning like the cat that got the cream, she realized he wasn’t backing down. His eyes were locked on hers, waiting, full of that infuriating confidence.

“Absolutely not,” she snapped, turning on her heel to walk away. But as she took a step, Franco called after her.

"Well, I guess I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing then… Maybe tweet a little something extra for the fans later."

She froze, clenching her fists at her sides. This man was impossible. She could already picture the chaos his next social media stunt would cause. The endless calls, the damage control, the headaches…

Y/N spun back around to face him. “Fine,” she blurted out, her voice filled with frustration. “You want a date? You’ll get your stupid date. But only if you promise—promise—to behave.”

Franco’s grin widened, looking almost triumphant. "¡Perfecto! I knew you couldn’t resist." (¡Perfect!)

She narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms. “This isn’t about ‘resisting,’ it’s about making sure you don’t ruin the team’s reputation. One dinner, and you tone it all down.”

Franco nodded, still smiling like she’d just handed him the world on a silver platter. "You won’t regret it, jefa. I’ll be a perfect gentleman." (boss)

Y/N scoffed, turning away once more. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

As she began walking back to her office, she could hear Franco’s voice calling after her, his tone teasing and undeniably smug. "No te preocupes, jefa. I’ll be on my best behaviour… unless you want me to misbehave a little." (Don't worry boss.)

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small, almost begrudging smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. Franco was trouble, and she knew it. But for some reason, as infuriating as he was, she couldn’t help but feel a spark of something… interesting.

Grumpy or not, she’d agreed to the date. And she had a feeling this was only the beginning of whatever madness Franco had in store for her.

Here's part 2

[itneverendshere]

the first relapse being the most scariest thing you’ve seen. sarah’s even calling you about him like “dads trying to get his doctor on the line just in case he od’s”

added this to what i'd already summarized in this ask!! hope everyone enjoys the angst 😔🫂 it’s a little long (around 7.1k)

death by a thousand cuts - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: substance abuse.

Ward’s sitting at the dining table, barely glancing up from his phone when Rafe walks in. His jaw clenches. That look—so cold, so dismissive—always sets something off in him.

“What’s wrong?” Rafe asks, already knowing this isn’t just a normal night.

Ward doesn’t answer right away, just sighs like Rafe being here is another weight on his shoulders. “Your mother called today.”

Rafe freezes.

He doesn’t have to ask which mother. Ward’s new wife has nothing to do with this. His real mom. The one who left.

He tries to stay calm, but he can feel his blood pumping, “What’d she want?”

“She says she wants to see you. You and your sisters.”

Rafe’s eyes narrow, his heart pounding harder now. The audacity of it. She always did this—popped back in when it was convenient for her, like they were just part of her life she could pick up and drop whenever she felt like it.

When was the last time? A couple of years? Before that? It doesn’t matter.

“No. I’m not doing this again.” 

“Rafe—”

“No, I said no.” The anger wells up fast, a familiar burn in his chest. He stands there, fists clenched. “She’s full of shit, dad. She doesn't give a fuck about us. So, no. I’m not seeing her.”

Ward looks up, calm as ever, but there's that edge in his eyes—the one that always makes Rafe feel like a little kid who’s stepped out of line. “You’re overreacting. She’s still your mother.”

“My mother?” He lets out a bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. His fists tighten at his sides. “She left. She fucking left us. She’s not my mother. She’s just some lady who couldn’t handle shit.”

Ward stands up now. “Watch your mouth.”

“Watch my mouth?” Rafe barks back, stepping forward, his anger boiling over. “I watched her leave me every time she got bored or freaked out. And you—you didn’t do shit!.You just let it happen. Let her walk out over and over.”

“That’s enough, Rafe.”

But he's not done.

He’s too pissed to think straight. “What? You gonna defend her? You’re the one who let her fuck me up like this! You—”

“Stop blaming everyone else for your problems,” Ward snaps, his voice rising. "Grow up. She left.  And you’re still standing here acting like a child over it.”

Something inside Rafe cracks. His chest tightens like someone’s squeezing the air out of him. "A child? You don't get it. You never got it. She fucked me up. She fucked all of us up, and you're still acting like it's nothing." His mind is spinning, flashing back to all those nights he was too high to breathe, too strung out to care if he woke up the next day. He feels like he’s suffocating, the anger burning too fast. “I’m not doing this again, dad. I’m not.”

Ward’s gaze turns cold. “She’s trying now. That has to count for something.”

“Trying? Trying?!” Rafe grits out, stepping forward. All those years, all those broken promises, all the times he was left wondering what the hell he did wrong to make her leave—and now Ward wants him to sit down like it’s a fucking family reunion. 

“I don’t care what you think about it, Rafe. This isn’t up for discussion. You will see her, and that’s final.”

“No. No fucking way!” He shouts, his voice shaking as he steps closer to Ward, fists clenched. “You can’t make me do this. I’m not going to sit there and pretend like everything’s okay when she’s the reason I turned into the mess I was. And you—” His chest heaves as he fights to find the words, his throat tight. “You’re just as bad as she is.”

Ward’s eyes narrow dangerously, but he continues, “Every time she left, you didn’t do a goddamn thing. You let her walk all over us. You let her leave me, leave us, and you never said a word. You’re a shitty father, just as bad as her."

Ward’s face darkens, a storm brewing behind his eyes. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

“I’ll talk to you however the hell I want,” Rafe fires back, stepping even closer, eyes blazing. “You didn’t stop her. You never protected me. You sat there and watched her fuck me up and then turned around and blamed me for it. Like I was the problem.”

“You were the problem,” Ward snaps, “She didn’t know how to handle you, and neither did I. You were a fucking disaster, Rafe. And that’s on you.”

“No. You two were and are the fucking problem because you can’t let go of her.”

Ward takes a step forward, “This isn’t about you. It’s about your sisters. Sarah wants this. Weezie deserves a chance to know her mother. It’s not all about your issues, Rafe. Grow up.”

“Grow up?” He feels like he’s suffocating, “You think I’m the one who needs to grow up? 

“Enough. You will meet her, or you can leave this house right now.”

All the work he's put in, all the shit he's tried to fix, feels like it’s slipping right through his fingers. He can’t be here. Not like this. He’s out the door before he even knows what he’s doing. That itch beneath his skin is back after years, that’s how much control his parents have over him.

Rafe’s hands are still shaking as he gets into his truck, slamming the door harder than he means to. It feels like he can’t get enough air in his lungs, and his thoughts are spinning, they’re all crashing into each other at once. The fight with his father keeps replaying in his head, louder and louder, until he can’t hear anything else.

He’s gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white. His dad’s voice, cold and cutting, telling him he’s the problem. That he’s always been the problem. His hands are shaking worse now, trembling like he’s about to snap, and there’s only one thought pounding through his mind: He can’t go to you like this.

The thought of walking through your door, this messed up, makes him feel sick. You’ve seen him at his worst before, but this… this feels different. He can’t let you see him like this—not the old Rafe. Not the one who almost lost everything.

You don’t need to see that. You don’t deserve it.

He knows where he can go instead. Somewhere he shouldn’t, somewhere he swore he’d never go again. But right now, it feels like the only place that makes sense. His head’s spinning, his body buzzing with leftover adrenaline and anger, and he just needs it to stop.

So, he turns the key in the ignition and drives. It doesn’t take long to get to Barry’s. He knows the back roads by heart, even though it’s been years. He pulls up to the small shack Barry calls home, the lights still on, music thumping faintly from inside. It’s like nothing’s changed. The same rundown place, the same shitty cars parked out front, the same smell of smoke and spilled liquor lingering in the air.

Rafe sits there for a minute, gripping the steering wheel, breathing heavy. He shouldn’t be here. He knows that. 

He climbs out of the truck, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking, and heads toward the door. The second he steps inside, the familiar smell of stale beer and weed hits him like a wave, bringing back memories he thought he’d buried.

Barry’s lounging on the couch, a joint hanging from his mouth, lazily flipping through channels on the TV.

“Country Club!”, Barry drawls when he notices him, smirking around the joint. “Now this is a surprise. Didn’t think I’d ever see you walk through that door again. Thought you were all clean now, with your pretty little girlfriend.”

He tenses at the mention of you. But he can’t walk out now. Not after what just happened with Ward. Not when everything inside him feels like it’s about to blow.

“I just need something,” Rafe mutters, avoiding Barry’s eyes, already regretting this but not enough to stop.

Barry raises an eyebrow, amused. “Something, huh? You know, you’ve got a real habit of showing up here when you’re all fucked up.” He laughs, low and mocking. “What’s the matter this time? Daddy issues again?”

His jaw tightens. “Just give me what I want.”

Barry leans back, flicking ash onto the floor. “You sure you wanna go down that road again, man? Thought you were past this shit.”

“I don’t care,” Rafe snaps, his voice low, shaking with frustration and something darker. “You know what I want. Go get it.”

There’s a pause, and for a second, Barry just looks at him, sizing him up. Then, with a shrug, he gets up, disappearing into the back room. Rafe waits, heart pounding in his ears, staring at the floor, trying not to think about what he’s doing. About what this means.

Barry comes back a minute later, a small bag of coke in his hand. He tosses it onto the table in front of Rafe, “Knock yourself out.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the bag, his fingers already moving on autopilot as he pulls out his wallet and shoves a roll of cash toward Barry. He knows this is stupid, reckless. He knows this is going to hurt you, more than anything else. But ll he wants is to forget. Just for a little while.

His hands stop shaking the second he takes that first line.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀

You’re already drained when you step through the front door of the house, kicking off your shoes and throwing your bag onto the couch. The sticky summer air is clinging to your skin, and all you want is a cold shower and to crash in bed. 

The day’s been dragging—work was a shitshow, and all you’ve been thinking about is Rafe. You haven’t heard from him since this morning, which isn’t weird, but there’s been this nagging feeling in your chest, like something’s off.

“Hey,” Monica calls from the kitchen as you grab a glass of water and lean against the counter. She’s scrolling through her phone, half-distracted. Milo’s at kindergarten.

“Hey,” you mumble back. “Everything alright?”

She shrugs, not looking up. “Yeah, mostly.” She pauses, frowning slightly, like she’s trying to piece something together. “I think I saw Rafe’s truck earlier. Over by Barry’s place.”

You blink, trying to process what she just said. “Barry’s?”

“Yeah, you know. The guy who used to sell—Whatever.” Monica shrugs again, more casual than you feel. “I was driving back from work, and I swear it was Rafe’s truck parked outside Barry’s house.”

Your stomach drops. Instantly.

“You’re sure?”

“Looked like his truck,” your sister says, “Thought it was weird. Figured maybe he was helping someone out or something.”

But you know better.

A cold sweat breaks out over your skin. You’ve heard Rafe talk about Barry. Back when things were bad—really bad—he was the one who kept him hooked, who kept pulling him deeper. He told you everything about those years when he was drowning in addication and Barry’s name came up more than once.

And if his truck’s outside Barry’s, you know something’s wrong.

It’s like a pit in your stomach, this gnawing feeling that’s been sitting with you all day. 

“What? Why’s that such a big deal?”

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady, but it’s impossible. “Rafe doesn’t… he doesn’t go there anymore. He hasn’t in years.”

Monica frowns, finally understanding. “Oh. Shit. You think something’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, already pulling out your phone, fingers wobbly as you open your messages. You scroll through the last few texts from Rafe, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Except the silence. He’s usually better at checking in, especially when he knows you’ve had a long day. But today? Nothing.

You stare at your screen, debating if you should call him. But deep down, you already know something’s happened. He wouldn’t go to Barry’s unless things were really bad.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” your sister offers, but her voice is hesitant, like she’s not sure. “Maybe he was just stopping by. It doesn’t mean—”

But she doesn’t finish, and you don’t need her to. You know what it means. You feel it in your bones. He’s back in that dark place—And he didn’t come to you. He went to Barry instead.

Why didn’t he come to you?

“I need to go,” you say, your voice coming out more panicked than you’d like, but you can’t help it. Your heart’s racing, your mind is spinning, and the only thing you can focus on is Rafe. You’re grabbing your keys off the counter before your sister can even answer.

“Wait, what? Where are you going?” Monica asks, a bit alarmed now, but you don’t have time to explain.

“I need to find Rafe.”

Your sister steps forward, “Is it really that serious? I mean, maybe he’s just—”

“He’s not just anything,” you cut her off, shaking your head. “If he’s at Barry’s, it’s bad.”

Rafe had told you everything about his past—every ugly detail about the years he spent losing himself, the drugs, the fights, the constant mess of it all. He had opened up to you after your first time together. And for the past two years you’d seen him, the real Rafe, the one who tried so damn hard to be better.

And now? He’s slipping. And you weren’t there.

Your mind is racing as you drive. You think about how good things have been with him—how far he’s come. He’s not the guy he used to be. He doesn’t party like he used to, doesn’t need to numb everything with lines of coke or bottles of whiskey.

He told you about his time in rehab, how scared he was of becoming that version of himself again. But something must’ve happened.

Something big. 

Why didn’t he tell you?

The thought is suffocating. You know him—he’s reckless and impulsive sometimes, but he’s been so careful with you, always making sure you never had to see the side of him that scared him the most. He’s opened up about his struggles with anxiety, about how he sometimes still smokes weed to take the edge off, but this… this is different. 

This is worse.

It had to be Ward. He’s has always had this chokehold on him, making him feel like he’s never good enough. And whenever his mom gets brought up—whenever she’s even mentioned—it messes with him in ways you can barely understand. She’s the one person who could make him spiral, and Ward is the one person who could push him over that edge.

You slam your fist against the steering wheel, frustrated.

He’s dealing with this alone, and now he’s gone back to Barry. To coke. To everything that almost killed him before. You pull up to his place, your stomach churning. You can see Rafe’s truck parked haphazardly outside, and your heart skips a beat. He’s here.

He’s here, and he didn’t come to you.

You sit there for a moment, gripping the wheel, trying to calm yourself down, trying to figure out what the hell you’re even going to say when you see him.

You get out of the car and practically run toward Barry’s door. You know this place, know the people who come here and what they’re looking for. You’re pretty sure your dad spent half his life here, when Barry’s dad still ran the business. 

You don’t even knock. You push the door open. Barry’s on the couch, looking up lazily when you walk in, and you see Rafe—sitting in the corner, eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched.

He looks like a ghost.

Barry snickers from the couch, taking a drag from his joint. “Well, well, look who it is. Didn’t think I’d see the two of you here together.”

“Shut the fuck up, Barry,” you snap, glaring at him before turning your full attention to Rafe. “What are you doing here?”

“W-What?”

“Baby, look at you.”

He tries to stand, his movements slow, like his body isn’t responding the way he wants it to. His eyes are bloodshot, unfocused, his pupils blown wide, and he’s swaying slightly, barely able to keep his balance.

“I just... I needed to clear my head,” he mumbles, the words slurring together. His hand goes to his hair, but it’s shaking, and he can’t even look at you. “It’s not—”

“It’s not what?” You feel your heart breaking with every word, the cracks widening as you take in the mess of him, his clothes disheveled, his face pale, his hands twitching.

He stumbles again, trying to step toward you, but he’s so high he can barely stand. “I didn’t want... I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he rasps out, finally meeting your eyes for just a second before looking away. “Didn’t want you to... think I was still... still that guy.”

“You’re not that guy anymore,” you say softly, even though right now, he looks too much like that guy. “But you’re acting like him.”

His head drops, and he looks down at the floor, his shoulders sagging, defeated. “Didn’t know...what else to do.”

“And you didn’t think to come to me?” Your voice breaks on the last word, “You went to Barry instead of me?”

“Hey now—"

“I told you to shut the fuck up,” You almost scream in Barry's face, your chest rising with each breath you take. Rafe can't stand to look you in the eyes right now. He can't see the disappointment.

“You always know what to do. You call me. You come to me. Why would you run here? Why would you go back to this?” You glance at Barry, who’s watching the whole scene with a smirk on his face like he’s enjoying every second of your heartbreak. “You’re better than this. Get in the car. We can talk about this.”

But he shakes his head, his breath shaky. “Can’t… can’t be with you right now.”

“Why?” 

 “Just… too much. Hurts too much.” He looks down, guilt washing over him. “Didn’t want you to see... this.”

“Then get in the car. We can figure this out together.” Your voice cracks, the hurt pouring out.

He hesitates, shaking his head again. “I… can’t.”

It pushes something inside you.

Maybe you’ll regret it later but now it’s all you can think about. If he doesn’t want your help, he doesn’t want you. And if he doesn’t want you right now he doesn’t deserve to want you when he’s better. 

“You can either get in this car and fight with me, or you can stay here. But if you stay—”

“Y-You’ll leave?” He’s looking at you despite the fog in his brain, not sure if he’s hearing you correctly, “Leave me?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“E-everyon leaves right?"

He’s never said anything like that to you before.

“I’m not leaving you, but if you stay here, with him,” you jerk your head in Barry’s direction, “I can’t help you. I can’t pull you out of this if you don’t want to get out.”

You know you can’t fix this for him. He has to make the choice. His eyes dart toward Barry for a second, and Barry just shrugs, clearly not giving a damn about anything but his next hit. 

“I love you, but I can’t watch you destroy yourself.”

For a second, you think maybe you’ve gotten through to him, because his eyes soften behind all that darkness. But then he shakes his head again, looking at the floor like he’s already made his decision.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he mutters, barely audible. “But I don’t know how to stop.”

Your heart breaks a little more at that. “Yes you do, baby. You do. You just need to believe it.”

If he doesn’t come with you, you’re not sure where this ends for him. He’s stuck, frozen in place, trapped by whatever’s going on in his head, and you realize that no matter how much you love him, no matter how much you want to save him, you can’t force him to choose you. You can’t make him get in the car.

“You have to decide,” you say quietly, voice breaking. “Me or this. You can’t have both.”

Rafe looks up at you, eyes glossy, and for a second, you think he might actually say something — something that will make this all okay, something that will bring him back to you. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, torn apart by his demons, his lips pressed into a line. You feel the pit in your stomach grow deeper.

“Okay,” you nod, barely holding back tears. “I guess that’s my answer.”

You turn and walk out the door, your heart shattering with every inch of distance you put between you and him. You don't look back, because if you do, you know you’ll drag him out yourself, and you can’t do that. Not now. But as you get into your car and grip the steering wheel with your entire strength, the sobs come anyway.

You don’t want to leave him. God, you don’t want to. But he didn’t choose you. Not this time.

Rafe doesn’t even register the sound of the door slamming behind you. It’s like he’s watching everything happen from somewhere far away, his body numb, his mind completely blank. You said something, you were upset—he knows that much—but the words never really hit him. They just floated around. He sinks back down into the chair, staring at the floor, heart racing but completely detached. The room is spinning a little, his chest tight, but he can’t feel anything. Can’t let himself feel anything. It’s better this way. Safer.

You left.

He knows that happened, but it doesn’t mean anything right now. He can’t process it. Not in this state. Not when the drugs are still in his system, making everything feel like it’s underwater. He blinks a few times, trying to get his brain to catch up, but it’s not working. It’s just static.

Barry’s voice is somewhere in the background, laughing about something, but he doesn’t hear him either. It’s like the world’s on mute. His body’s still buzzing from the high, fingers twitching, muscles tense, but inside? Inside he’s empty.

Hours pass, maybe. Time doesn’t exist here, not when he’s this far gone. The light changes through the window, but it could be minutes or days for all he knows. He drifts in and out, his head heavy, eyes closing, but sleep never comes. Just darkness. Maybe he did too many lines.

At some point, he wakes up—if you can call it that. His body feels like it weights two hundred pounds, his head is spinning, his mouth dry and sour. He blinks against the light, his vision blurry, trying to figure out where the hell he is. 

It takes a second for everything to catch up. To realize he’s at Barry’s.

And then, it hits him all at once. You.

You were here. You were mad. And then you were gone.

His chest tightens, a sick, sinking feeling crawling up his throat. He sits up too fast, his head swimming. Fuck.He rubs his hands over his face, trying to calm his breathing. His thoughts are still sluggish. You left. You walked out, and he… he didn’t stop you. Didn’t even try.

Why didn’t he stop you?

Before he can think too much about it, Barry saunters in, a smug grin on his face, holding a beer in one hand, a joint in the other. He takes one look at Rafe, slouched and disoriented, and lets out a low, mocking laugh.

“Well, well, well,” Barry drawls, leaning against the doorframe, clearly enjoying every second of this. “Look who’s finally awake. You done fucked it up, Country Club.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything. Can’t.

Barry raises an eyebrow, taking a drag from the joint, shaking his head. “Damn, man. Thought you were smarter than that.”

Rafe just stares at the floor, his stomach twisting. He can’t remember exactly what he said to you. But the look on your face… he can’t forget that. The disappointment. The hurt.

Barry chuckles, settling down on the couch across from him. “What was it? You running your mouth again, or did she just get tired of you being a fuckup?”

The shame is settling in now, creeping up his spine. He doesn’t want to hear this. Doesn’t want to hear anything. But Barry just keeps going, like he’s enjoying watching him fall apart.

“Should’ve seen it coming, man,” Barry continues, “Girl like that? She was bound to leave eventually.”

If he felt strong enough he would’ve punched that joint out of his mouth, his teeth following next. Who the fuck did he think he was to talk about you like he knew you.

He knows Barry’s just trying to get under his skin, but it’s working. He feels sick. He presses his hands against his eyes, trying to push it all away, but it’s no use.

“You done fucked it up, Country Club,” Barry repeats, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “And now you’re right back here. Same old Rafe.”

Same old Rafe. He told himself he’d never end up here again. He swore he was done with this. Done with Barry, done with the drugs, done with the guy he used to be.

But now? Now he’s right back where he started. And the worst part? He let you see it. He doesn’t know how to fix this. Doesn’t know if he even can fix this. But the one thing he does know? He should’ve crawled after you.

Rafe doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t need to. His hands are already moving, reaching for the small bag of coke on the table. His fingers tremble as they close around it, the weight of the plastic barely registering in his hand. 

Barry watches him, that same smug grin never leaving his face, taking another drag of his joint, exhaling a cloud of smoke with a low chuckle. He’s not surprised. Not at all.

"Of course," Barry mutters, shaking his head in amusement. “Of course, you're takin’ that shit with you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t fight him. He can feel Barry’s eyes on him, feel the judgment radiating off him, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not anymore. 

Not after everything he’s already fucked up. He stuffs the bag in his jacket pocket, standing up on shaky legs, the room still spinning a little as he stumbles toward the door. His mind is on autopilot, moving without him, as if the drugs are the only thing holding him together. 

"Attaboy, Country Club," Barry calls after him, voice dripping with condescension, laughter bubbling up from deep in his chest. “Just keep runnin’. That’s what you’re good at, right?”

Rafe’s hand tightens on the doorknob, his teeth grinding together, but he doesn’t turn back. He can’t look at Barry—he can’t look at any of this—so he does what he always does.

He walks away. He doesn’t think. He just keeps moving, out of the door, out into the night, the bag burning a hole in his pocket.

It’s been two weeks since you last saw Rafe.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ˏˋ°•*⁀

Two weeks of silence, of unanswered calls and texts that sit there on your screen and make you cry every time you look at them. You told him you’d leave, but you didn’t mean it. You never meant it.

You just needed him to fight. For himself. But he didn’t.

And now, you can’t stop thinking about him. It physically hurts.

Every morning you wake up with this heavy impossible ache in your chest, and it only gets worse as the day goes on. You keep wondering where he is, if he’s okay, if he’s even thinking about you or if he’s too far gone to care.

You miss him. God, you miss him.

Now you don’t even know where he is. If he’s still spiraling or if he’s hit rock bottom.

You’ve barely been able to keep it together at work. Every time you try to focus, that image of Rafe in his absolute worst slips in, and you never get anything done. You’ve called in sick twice, just to stay in bed and cry, because you can barely breathe.

You’ve reached out to Sarah a few times, trying to understand what’s going on, but she doesn’t know much either. "He’s off the grid," she’d told you last time, "Doesn’t want to talk to anyone."

That was a week ago.

And now you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone, debating if you should try one more time. One more call. One more text.

Because this can’t possibly end this way. 

He’s the love of your life. 

Sarah’s name flashes on the screen, and you nearly drop the damn thing. “Sarah?”

“Hey,” You can hear it immediately—something’s wrong. “Are you home right now?”

Your stomach drops, “Yeah. Why? What’s going on?”

You can hear her take a shaky breath. “It’s Rafe. He’s, shit, it’s bad. Like, really bad.”

 “What do you mean, bad? Sarah, what happened?”

“Dad’s trying to get his doctor on the line,” she says, her voice cracking. “Just in case he ODs.”

Your blood turns ice cold.

“He’s not picking up,” she continues, her words spilling out in a rush, like she’s trying to keep herself from breaking down. “Dad’s freaking out, and Rafe—he’s not making sense. He’s been on a bender for days, and now he’s just... he’s not there. I don’t know what to do. I thought maybe you could—”

“I’m coming,” you say, cutting her off, already standing, your body moving on autopilot.

You hang up before she can say anything else, grabbing your keys and rushing out the door. The drive to Tannyhill  feels like it takes forever as your mind comes up with worst-case scenarios. You’ve seen Rafe struggle before—you’ve seen the dark places he’s been—but if Sarah’s calling you, if Ward’s getting a doctor involved….

You barely notice you’ve already parked the car, barely notice the front door swinging open as you run inside. The house is quiet, too quiet.

Sarah’s standing by the staircase, her eyes red and puffy. She doesn’t say anything, just nods toward the living room.

And that’s when you see him.

He’s slumped on the couch, his body limp, his eyes half-open but glazed over, like he’s not even seeing what’s in front of him. His skin is pale, clammy, his hands twitching every few seconds, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looks like half a version of himself, his breathing shallow and uneven.

Ward’s pacing the room, his phone pressed to his ear. “I don’t care if he’s busy, get him here now. He’s going to fucking die.”

“Rafe?” you call, stepping toward him. But he doesn’t react. Doesn’t even flinch. He just stares ahead, eyes unfocused, like he’s not even aware you’re there.

Sarah’s standing behind you now, her voice low, “He won’t talk to us. He’s too far gone.”

You sink down beside him, your heart breaking at the sight of him like this. You reach out, hesitating for a second before gently placing your hand on his arm.

“Rafe,” your voice wavers. “Baby, it’s me. Please… please talk to me.”

But there’s nothing. Just silence.

His head lolls to the side, and his eyes meet yours—but it’s like looking at a ghost. The person you know, the person you love, isn’t there. Not right now. Not in this moment. And it kills you.

You keep whispering his name, pleading for him to wake up, to do something, but nothing works.

Ward's still on the phone, pacing like a caged animal, his voice a angry hum in the background. His eyes flick over to you every few minutes, but he doesn’t say anything. Sarah’s standing off to the side, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes red and puffy from crying. You can see how scared she is, and you’re glad they got Weezie out of the house before she could see this. 

After what feels like an eternity, the front door bursts open, and a doctor rushes in, followed by a paramedic with a bag of medical equipment. The doctor, some guy Ward must have on speed dial for situations like this, doesn’t waste any time. He kneels down beside Rafe, checking his pulse, his pupils, his breathing.

“This is bad,” the doctor mutters, shaking his head. “He’s lucky he’s still breathing.”

Lucky. 

The paramedic moves in, setting up an oxygen mask, checking Rafe’s vitals, and it feels like the room is spinning. You try to stay calm, try to keep your hand on Rafe.

Ward finally hangs up the phone and stands there, watching as the doctor works. “Is he gonna be okay?” he asks, his voice strained because god forbid he shows more emotion.

The doctor glances up, his expression grim. “We need to take him in. I’m stabilizing him, but if this had gone on any longer, we’d be having a different conversation right now.”

You feel like you're going to be sick.

The paramedic starts prepping him for transport, and you stand there, helpless, watching as they move him onto a stretcher. His body looks so limp, so fragile. They’re talking about taking him to the hospital for observation, but all you can hear is the blood pounding in your ears.

Ward steps forward, he watches his son being carried away. For the first time, you see it—real fear in his eyes. 

“I should’ve seen this coming,” Ward says, his voice shaking. “I should’ve stopped it. This is my fault.”

You feel something snap inside of you.  “I’m sure it fucking is.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there like a fucking idiot. Sarah is beside you now, her hand on your arm, gently pulling you back. “Let’s go,” she mutters,“We should go with him.”

You nod, swallowing as you follow her out of the house, leaving Ward standing there alone.

You climb into your car, Sarah beside you, and you both sit there for a moment in silence, watching as the ambulance pulls away, taking Rafe with it.

“I’m scared,” Sarah admits. 

You close your eyes, and nod. “So am I.”

You have to remind yourself to breathe. She sits beside you, staring straight ahead and neither of you says another word.

The hospital is quiet when you arrive, eerily so. You both rush in, Sarah at your side, searching for the emergency room and after a bunch of paperwork and hurried conversations, you’re finally led to the waiting room. The doctor said they’d keep you updated, and you sit down on those stiff, uncomfortable chairs, the waiting begins.

Minutes drag by like hours. You try to text or scroll through your phone, anything to distract yourself, but you can’t focus. Every time you close your eyes, all you can see is Rafe. It’s like your brain is stuck on replay, and you can’t shut it off. Sarah’s over there biting her lip until it’s bleeding. Every now and then, she looks at you, like she’s about to say something, but then she doesn’t. And you don’t either. You can’t. What the hell would you even say? It feels like you’re both waiting for the worst possible news and just pretending you’re not.

After what feels like forever, the doctor finally comes through the doors, and Sarah and you jump up at the same time. 

The doctor sighs, and he looks tired, like this isn’t the first time he’s delivered news like this today.

“We stabilized him,” he says, “He was really close to an overdose, but we got to him in time. He’s still unconscious, but his vitals are stable for now. We’ll keep him under observation for at least 24 hours.”

You finally take a deep breath, but it’s shaky, and it doesn’t feel real. 

Sarah doesn’t even hesitate. The second the doctor says Rafe’s stable, she’s heading towards his room, like she needs to see him, to make sure for herself that he’s really still here. You don’t follow her, though. Your legs feel like they’re made of concrete, if you move, you’ll just collapse right there in the hallway.

As much as you want to be with him, to hold his hand or just… see him breathing, you know you can’t handle it. Not right now. You’ve spent the last two weeks trying to hold it together, and this is the first time you feel like you can finally breathe. Like you’re not suffocating with worry.

What you need more than anything is to get out of here. To just breathe, to close your eyes for more than a minute without the image of him passed out, strung out, burned into your brain. You need sleep. You need to feel something other than panic. He’s gonna be okay. Maybe not perfect, maybe not healed, but for now, he’s alive. 

The next day, you finally gather the courage to see him. You feel like you might throw up at any second. You stop outside his room, staring at the door for what feels like forever, trying to convince yourself to go inside.

He’s lying in bed, looking like he barely walked out of this one alive, but he’s awake. His eyes meet yours the second you step inside, and you feel like you’re going to start crying at any given second. 

“Hey,” You manage to say, You don’t trust your voice to be strong enough to say something more.

Rafe blinks, like he’s surprised to see you. His voice is rough when he speaks, cracked from everything his body’s been through. “You came.”

“Of course I did,” He’s genuinely shocked. As if he thought you’d just walk away from all of this. From him. You swallow hard, taking a step closer to the bed. “Of course I came, Rafe.” Your voice is soft, barely holding together. “Where else would I be?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes flicker away from yours, settling on the IV in his arm, like he can’t stand to look at you. 

“Sarah called me. She was scared. She didn’t know what to do.”

Rafe’s jaw tightens, but he still won’t meet your eyes. “She shouldn’t have,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, barely there.

“She shouldn’t have had to, Rafe. You scared the shit out of her—out of everyone. And I’ve been sitting here for two weeks, waiting for you to say something, anything, and you just—” You stop yourself, your throat closing up, and you bite your lip to keep from crying. “You almost died.”

You can see his chest rising and falling slowly, and for a split second, you think he’s not going to answer at all. That he’s just going to keep shutting you out. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he says quietly. “I didn’t want you to see how fucked up I am.”

Your heart breaks all over again because you’ve already seen it. You’ve seen every part of him—the good, the bad, the absolute worst. And you’re still here. You’re still standing in this stupid hospital room because you love him. He shakes his head, his hands gripping the edge of the blanket like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You step closer to the bed, sitting down carefully on the edge, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe. Just a little bit.

“Don’t say that,” you reach for his hand. He flinches at first but doesn’t pull away when you lace your fingers with his. “You’re gonna be okay. We’ll get through this. But you can’t keep pushing me away. I need you to let me help you.”

He closes his eyes, his face twisting in pain, “Ward wanted us to meet mom and I just—”

You’ve never fully understood what his mom meant to him, or maybe what losing her did to him, now you do. That deep-rooted pain that always seems to haunt him when he talks about her is stronger than you’ve ever seen before. 

“I didn’t want you to see this mess. I don’t want anyone to. I’m a fucking disaster. Every time I try to fix something, I just make it worse. I just—” He breaks off, his jaw clenching like he’s trying to swallow down the rest of his words, the ones he can’t say out loud.

“You spent years sober, that’s not easy,” You scoot closer, wrapping your arms around him carefully, not caring if he feels like a mess or if you’re being too much. You just want him to feel like he’s not alone. “Baby, I know you’re hurting,” you murmur into his shoulder, “But I’m not going anywhere.”

“You should,” He confesses, “I hurt you.”

“You have,” you admit, “But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving. I’m not gonna give up on you.”

He looks away, like he doesn’t believe you, like he’s waiting for you to just walk out of that hospital room and never look back. But you don’t.

You tighten your grip on his hand, "You don’t get to decide that for me.  I’m still here because I love you. Even when you push me away.”

“You shouldn’t love me,” he whispers, like it’s some kind of fact, like it’s already been decided.

You shake your head, leaning in closer, your hand resting on his cheek. “But I do, Rafe. I always will. Even when you don’t think you deserve it, we’ll figure it out, together, okay? One step at a time.”

He nods, barely, but it's something. It’s a start.

[themultifanshipper]

Do you think you could do something like this

https://www.tumblr.com/themultifanshipper/759431110157631488/quiet-innocent-reader-x-lando-like-lando-finds

Maybe with Oscar ( love your writing)

If Oscar had to describe your sex life in one word : Vanilla.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that! God knows how much the two of you enjoyed the sex you had. You weren’t very experienced when you met Oscar, and you were quite a shy person.

Which is why Oscar was so shocked when he found what appeared to be a list of your kinks just sitting there when he got up to make his morning coffee.

Fun fact, this request was sent over a month ago, and i only have a couple more to do before i can get to my own stuff lmao

Warnings: innocent reader, Smut, PinV sex, rough sex, dirty talk, mention of lots of kinks n stuff

He hadn’t meant to get a glimpse into the inner workings of your sexual psyche, but really, who leaves something like that on the kitchen counter???

As he read it over and over again, his cock twitched in interest and got progressively harder until he put it down, the words seared onto his brain forever.

He tried to have a cold shower but just ended up jerking off furiously to completion imagining doing all the things from your list.

But as soon as he got out of the shower and dried off, he realized he was still achingly hard. He decided to put on a pair of his loosest joggers and go about his day while he waited for you to come back from work.

It wasn’t easy, but he managed to answer a whole two emails, internally debating the moral implications of communicating with his bosses while sporting an erection.

Then he jerked off again.

It did take the edge off for a bit, but every time he thought about it during the day he couldn’t help but fist his cock at the thought of all your filthy fantasies.

When you got home, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, and you did your usual routine: shower, skincare, dinner with a glass of wine, followed by watching something with Oscar, the two of you huddled up together on the couch.

That’s when you started noticing Oscar’s behaviour.

It was very subtle, but you could tell he wasn’t at all focused on the movie, periodically fidgeting around uncharacteristically. Oscar was usually very settled, and tonight it was like he couldn’t keep still for more than 30 seconds. You also noticed his breathing was irregular, often getting shallower as he fidgeted.

Oscar couldn’t care less about what was happening on the screen, his brain was focused on the same thing it had been all day, that damn list.

And he’d been hard all day, which certainly didn’t help his internal crisis.

“Oscar” you sighed, pausing the movie “Talk to me, tell me what’s going on with you tonight”

“Nothing’s wrong, why would there be something wrong?” his mouth said, but his flushed cheeks were proof that he was hiding something.

If looks could kill, the one you gave him would have certainly done the trick.

“I… full honesty?” he asked quietly.

You nodded “Full honesty”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Okay, but you can’t get mad at me”

You narrowed your eyes at him “That’s not a promise I can make, but I’ll do my best”

He bit his lip before taking your hands in his.

“I uh… I found your list”

You just stared at him. “What list?”

“This one…” he took the piece of paper out of his pocket where it had been burning a metaphorical hole in his hip ever since he’d found it.

He handed it to you, but you didn’t need to unfold it to know what it was. I was a bright pink piece of paper that had been ripped out of your diary the night before.

You completely froze, panic overtaking you.

“Oh my god. Oscar…” You couldn’t look him in the eyes as you tried to explain “you weren’t meant to find that I’m so sorry! I was going to throw it away this morning and I guess I put it down and completely forgot about it. Fuck- please don’t think I’m weird or whatever and just forget about it, okay? Please?”

You put your head in your hands and whined in distress. This couldn’t be happening. Your loving boyfriend had just learned about your depraved fantasies, and he was never going to see you the same way again.

“I can’t forget about it baby, I spent the entire day jerking off about it”

You head snapped up to finally look into his eyes, your jaw hanging in disbelief. You could tell he was dead serious and your gaze slowly trailed downwards towards his pants, where you could tell he was hard, then back up to his face to find him biting his lip so hard it was turning white.

“you-  what?”

“Sweetheart, I got so hard when I read it, I almost got in my car to come and get you from work. I want to do every thing on that list with you” he leaned closer to you and whispered “Every. Single. Thing.”

His arm wrapped around you and pulled you closer to him, lips coming to brush against your neck. “especially number 3…”

You glanced at the list, seeing what he was referring to and gasped.

“Oscar!”

He chuckled into the crook of your neck.

“Who knew you were so dirty, hmm? Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“I- I didn’t know how to ask” you stuttered as he nipped at the skin of your shoulder.

“That right? Well ask me now, then” he said and you frowned in confusion.

“What?”

“Ask me. Go down the list, and ask me to do those things to you…”

His lips trailed down your body and his hands pushed you to lay down on the sofa as you spluttered in confusion. “I don’t- what?”

“What’s the first thing on the list?” he asked, he knew of course, but he needed to hear you say it.

You blushed, checking the list.

“Choking…”

“Then ask me to choke you”

You shuddered as his mouth continued downwards and his hands spread your legs, one of them pushing your flimsy pyjama shorts to the side to expose you to him.

“Oscar what-“

“I want to see how wet you get just from saying it, go on then.” He ordered and you keened as a finger dipped through your barely moist folds.

“I want you… to uhm” your blush deepened and Oscar smiled at you condescendingly.

“Go on baby, you can do it”

You gulped.

“I want you to choke me” you squeezed your eyes shut at the admission, but Oscar was having none of it.

“Now fucking look at me and ask me again”

You gasped and your eyes flew open to look at him.

“I want you to choke me!”

“Good girl” he stroked your thigh “Next thing?”

You glanced at the list still clutched tightly in you hands.

“Spanking.”

Oscar cocked his head to the side. “What about spanking?”

Your jaw clenched, the fucker knew how to get what he wanted.

“I want you to spank me”

He smiled and nodded for you to continue.

“I want you to fuck me over the balcony for everyone to see” you said, and Oscar’s pupils dilated as he used his fingers to spread you open for him.

“Yeah? Want everyone to see how fucking filthy you actually are?” You whined as his thumb came to dip inside you briefly before rubbing it in slow circles over your clit.

“I want you to degrade and praise me…”

He felt like he was barely holding on to his sanity at this point.

“That’s so hot, fuck.” He palmed himself through his sweats “You want to be my good girl yeah? Want to be my good little slut? Only thing you’re good for anyway…”

You whimpered, his words making your whole body heat up, and took a deep breath before continuing.

“I want you to fuck my mouth”

He had to grip himself through his pants to ground himself, your words having an enormous effect on his composure.

Where had his sweet little innocent girlfriend gone?

“I’ll fuck your mouth baby, make you fucking drool for it, god you’d look so pretty taking me down your throat”

You were definitely wet now, and he took the liberty of sliding a finger inside you and hooking it upwards just to watch you squirm as he rubbed that special spot inside you.

“I want you to tie me up and force me to take it” you said breathlessly.

The noise he let out at that was animalistic as his wide eyes found yours and his jaw went slack as he pulled his pants down just enough to get a hand around himself.

“You have no idea how hot you’d look all tied up and helpless under me baby, it’s making me so hard just thinking about it..”

You moaned as he added a second finger inside you.

“I want, fuck- I want you to use me, and fill me up with your cum whenever you want”

“Shit.” He hissed “Fuck baby, I’m going to fill you up so good, you'll see…”

“Please”

You hadn’t realised how close you were getting, but Oscar’s expert fingers were making you delirious as you continued.

“I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk, want to cry from how good you feel inside me, wanna beg for your cock”

Oscar growled and pulled his fingers out.

“Then beg”

He settled over you, putting his weight on you, his dick resting against your folds as he panted into your mouth.

“Beg for my cock, slut”

You were so fucking turned on. Dominant Oscar was something new, but so, so incredibly hot you would have done absolutely anything to have him inside you at that moment.

“Please, please Osc, I need it. I need your cock so bad, please!”

He growled and slid in to the hilt without warning, making you moan into the heated kiss he was currently giving you to distract you. He was thick and the stretch was delicious as his cock dragged along your walls, making you see stars.

He started a deep, hard pace and his hips slapped against yours, obscene sounds filling the room.

“Fuck baby, so fucking wet for me. This what you wanted all along? For me to fucking ruin you on my cock?”

“Yes, Oscar, fuck!”

He chuckled darkly.

“That’s a good girl, so fucking tight, You’re getting close aren’t you? I can sweet your sweet pussy clenching around me, trying to keep me inside...”

He gripped your hips harder and angled his thrusts upwards, nailing your g-spot, and you were a goner. White spots danced in your vision as the pleasure overcame you, cunt spasming around Oscar.

“Perfect, perfect cunt. And it’s all fucking mine” he growled as he finally spilled inside you, filling you to the brim and forcing a pathetic whimper out of you at the new feeling.

Oscar had never come inside you before, and it was insanely hot. The feeling of your slick, hot walls pulsing around him was pure heaven and he couldn’t wait to test everything on that list.

After you’d regained your breath, you chuckled silently to yourself while stroking Oscar's back.

If this is what you got for leaving your list out, maybe you should tell Oscar about your box of toys in the in the back of your closet…

[reidswhre]

notes 4 you ; spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: fluff! best friends in love

You were gathering your things from your desk while wondering what you were going to have for dinner. You hadn’t left any food prepared, and honestly, you didn’t feel like cooking, but nothing that a food delivery couldn’t fix.

“Hi.” Spencer smiled at you from in front.

“Hey, you.” You smiled back while slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Are you heading home?” He asked.

“Of course, I’m going home, where else would I go at this hour?” You teased him.

“Oh- I don’t know- I- well.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought maybe you could come to my place, I’m making pasta.”

“Your place? Oh God, sure! I’d love to.”

“Really?”

“Of course!”

You used to go to Spencer’s place often, and he to yours. You’d have dinner, watch a movie or two, and talk a lot. You spent all day together at work, but given the tragic cases you dealt with, seeing each other outside of work felt peaceful, a nice atmosphere that you both created.

You liked him a lot, and you were sure he liked you too. There were always moments when everything felt tense or you sensed something stronger than friendship between you, but neither of you ever acted on it.

“I missed it here,” you said as you entered Spencer’s apartment.

“Did you?” He asked as he watched you head straight to his bookshelf.

“Are you kidding? I love this place; it’s so cozy, so interesting, so lovely, so… you.”

“Do you love me?” He gave you a playful look as he set the groceries on the table for dinner.

“Of course, I do, silly.” You rolled your eyes and picked up the book on the coffee table. “This one’s new.”

“Yeah—actually, all those piled over there are new.” He pointed to a stack of about five books to your right.

“Oh, can I borrow this one when you're done?” you asked, grabbing one from the pile.

“You can take any of them, really.” He gave you that closed-lip smile.

“Wait, you’ve read all five already? You said they were new!”

“I read fast.”

“Of course you do.” You rolled your eyes again, smiling as you skimmed through the book.

“By the way! I finished reading that book you recommended, your favorite, remember?”

You felt a wave of happiness wash over you. “You’re kidding! I didn’t even know you bought it! How exciting! What did you think?”

“It was pretty good, though I think the dialogues in the book show some deficiencies in terms of plausibility and conversational dynamics. This homogeneity in the discourse negatively affects the characterization and pacing, creating a sense of stagnation in the dramatic development.”

You were left speechless, which made you laugh a little.

“What’s so funny?” He furrowed his brows.

“You just severely criticized my favorite book!”

“I didn’t criticize it severely!” He defended himself. “I thought it was good! It has memorable lines, and it’s very romantic. I just think the dialogue could’ve been better, that’s all.”

“Sure, everyone’s entitled to their opinion, even if yours is wrong,” you teased.

“Hey!” Spencer feigned offense.

You laughed, and Spencer chuckled a little too.

“You can keep that one too.”

“No, no, don’t worry. I have that book in every edition that exists.” You laughed. “It’s my favorite for a reason.”

“Yeah, but—I thought you might want this one.” Spencer walked over to the bookshelf in front of you and pulled out the book from a drawer.

The book was filled with sticky notes. You glanced at it and saw it was covered with annotations everywhere.

“I—well—I made notes while reading because—I don’t know—I wanted to give it to you. I thought you’d like to see how I was doing as I read it.” He looked a bit nervous.

You looked at him and then back at the book. You were so surprised that no words came out of your mouth, which only made Spencer more anxious.

“No—you don’t have to keep it—It wasn’t my intention to make you feel like you had to read it, I didn’t even ask if you wanted it, I’m really sorry!”

“You’re sorry?” You raised your eyebrows. “Sorry for giving me the best gift anyone’s ever given me?” You smiled broadly.

“What? You want it?” He sighed in relief.

“Are you kidding? This is incredible.” You threw your arms around him in a hug. “I love it! I can’t wait to see what you wrote.” You pulled away from the hug to skim through the book.

“No! Don’t do that!” He placed his hands over the book so you couldn’t read it. “Read it at home, okay?”

“Why!? I want to read it now.” You laughed and moved the book out of his reach.

“The thing is, I—you know—I wrote a lot…” He looked away.

You gave him a knowing look. “Of course, that was the idea, wasn’t it? I’m well aware,” you said teasingly.

“Sure! But… I didn’t just write what I thought about the book.” He looked at you. “I highlighted and underlined things that reminded me of you, and… I wrote you a few things. Just—read it later, okay?”

Suddenly, you felt a bit nervous, your stomach flipping. What did he mean by writing you a few things?

“Oh sure… yeah—sorry.” You closed the book and tucked it under your arm.

“It’s okay! Forget it.” He smiled sweetly. “Help me with the pasta, yeah?”

You smiled back. “What?” You pretended to be offended. “I came here to be treated like a princess, not to get my hands dirty!”

“Stop complaining!” He teased you, and you laughed.

You returned home around midnight, hung up your jacket, and left your keys on the table. Eagerly, you pulled the book out of your bag and sat down on the couch to take a look.

You saw some of his notes.

What’s this supposed to be? This guy’s an idiot. >:(

Oh, that was sweet! Extra points for him!

She’s funny, just like you.

you and me :) It was next to a paragraph describing a black cat and an orange one playing around.

I’m reading this on the plane, and you’re asleep i miss you :(

I seriously hate this guy, who raised him!?

You looked really cute today. You’re always cute.

There were countless more notes, all in his handwriting.

You had no intention of sleeping until you finished reading them all.

[hencheri]

18+. mdni.

pairing: mean toxic bf!haechan x fem!reader

warnings: noncon, toxic relationship, gaslighting.

wc: 1.2k

.

you're watching a movie in the living room, but you're distracted, focused on your thoughts instead of the flashing screen in front of you. it's 3 a.m. and you can hear haechan playing video games in your bedroom.

he hasn't talked to you for hours, hasn't said a word or even looked in your way. it's bothering you a lot. you have a constant knot in your stomach and your heart accelerates at the mere thought of haechan ignoring you.

you hate when he does this, it makes you feel bad. so fucking bad.

you get up from the couch, going to your bedroom. you push the door open, hesitantly walking in. you need to talk to him.

"hyuck?"

he stares at his computer's screen, pressing down on the keys of his keyboard, concentrated on his game. he has his headset on, maybe he hasn't heard you.

"johnny!" haechan calls into his microphone, "quick, come save me."

"hyuckie..." you stand beside him and you know he can see you from the corner of his eye. you bite down on your bottom lip, waiting for an answer that doesn't come.

he continues to play like you're not there. it upsets you so much, could he not be petty for once?

"we need to talk, please," you demand, still trying to get his attention. you know he hears you now since he's quiet.

a few seconds pass before he replies back, "we have nothing to say."

you sigh, exasperated. there are plenty of things you need to discuss about actually, and not just what happened a couple of hours ago. it makes you cringe thinking about the previous events, but you can't just brush it off, especially when haechan's still sour about it.

you were both in bed about to go sleep soon. he made a move, touching your hips up and down, pressing his crotch against your butt. you weren't in the mood, so you told him to stop. he didn't at first and you pushed him away, which really offended him.

he then turned on his pc before you could say anything and you went to the living to watch a movie, a poor attempt to forget about this ridiculous fight.

"but-" you begin, a little annoyed, "we do."

your voice is covered by johnny yelling something to haechan, once again ignored by your boyfriend. "here, here, here! i need to heal you," he yells back, fingers hurriedly pressing down on the keys, "shit, these guys are rough."

"hyuck-" you try, placing your hand on his arm, but he grabs your wrist before you can and shoves your hand away.

you frown, hurt by his action.

"what? we won!?" haechan exclaims, brows shooting up in surprise. you hear johnny talking back without deciphering his words. "ah, they missed the base," he laughs, "yeah, it was close."

he removes his headset and puts it on his desk. but he still decides to not acknowledge you, even when his game is done.

"please," you beg a bit desperately.

"what's the matter?" he sighs loudly, throwing his head back against the headrest of his chair.

"haechan! you've just ignored me the whole night! you can't always do that," you explain to him even though he'll probably only understand what he wants as usual.

he rolls his eyes, "yeah and it's always my fault, right?" he says.

"what- no, that's not-"

"it is," he affirms. he turns his head to you, "every time we so 'need to talk' it's about how i'm wrong, how i shouldn't do this or that, how i should just agree to everything you say and shut my mouth."

you're agape. is this really what he thinks you do? that you only want to complain about him?

"that's not true," you deny, "hyuck, i just want us to communicate, it's important."

he scoffs, "no, you're always the one talking. you don't actually want to hear what i have to say." he looks at you like he's hurt and you start wondering if he might be right. are you really that self-centred? "that's not really what i call communication, you know."

"do you ever ask yourself how i'm feeling? how constantly being rejected makes me feel?" he questions, his gaze not leaving you.

"i don't constantly reject you," you rectify. "sometimes i'm simply not in the mood to sleep with you..."

haechan winces upon hearing your words. "because you are for others?"

your eyes widen and your mouth falls open. that's not how you should have said it. "no, that's not what i meant-" but your boyfriend cuts you off, rising up from his gaming chair.

"yeah, no," he shakes his head, "you know what? i've had this feeling that you don't love me like you say you do." he goes around you and you follow him, wanting to reason with him, but he isn't done talking yet.

"we haven't fucked in days and the only thing you let me do is jerk off with your hand. how- how should i interpret that, huh?" haechan sounds genuinely hurt and upset, but that was never your intention to make him feel this way. how could he even doubt your love for him?

"hyuck, please, sit down," you ask, wrapping your hand around his arm to pull him back against you, but he slips away from you.

he turns around and faces you. "are you seeing someone else? is that why?" he suddenly bursts out and you're totally shocked.

"what? no way, how can you think that!?"

he approaches you and this time, you're the one stepping back until the back of your thighs hit the edge of the bed. you look up at haechan, heart beating faster and faster.

"you're not denying it," he points out, now only a few inches separating you from him. "you're cheating on me... how can you be so fucking heartless?"

you shake your head from side to side, gulping down. this isn't true. you've always stayed faithful to your boyfriend, but the knot in your throat prevents you from speaking up, eyes swelling up in tears.

he clasps his hand around your bicep, digging his fingers into your flesh, pulling you flushed to his chest.

"i can't believe it," he breathes out, "my girlfriend is a fucking whore."

you're still in shock when he crashes his mouth on you, smacking his lips to yours and pushing his tongue inside. your whines are muffled, weak hands pushing on his chest to get him off of you, but to no avail.

you fall on the bed and haechan crushes you with his weight, trapping you under him. you squirm around, not liking the way he doesn't listen to your protests and how he forces himself on you.

his lips descend to your neck, planting quick kisses as if he's in a hurry, going down to the valley of your breasts.

"hyuck, please, stop," you cry, but he doesn't listen.

his fingers hook into your shorts, pulling them down with your underwear, too. your breath is caught in your throat, only exhaling when you feel the familiar push of his cock inside of your unprepared pussy.

"you're mine," he moans, the squeeze of your cunt around him making him frown, "when will you finally understand it..."

[shariasweet]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚attention

p.sunghoon 𝒙 f.reader | this work of fiction contains smut ⟡ mdni.

wc ::: around 1.5k sharinote ::: nothing much ! im going to try and make a comeback :( i missed you guys :0 this is like pointless and ranty {1:plot 3:smut}

unbeknownst to him , you're feeling needy upon your boyfriend's return. sunghoon promises you his attention , however , when he can't make good on said promise in a 'timely' manner , you take matters into your own hands.

you gently tapped the heels of your feet against the ground. ‘hoon…’ you softly murmured glancing up to stare at your boyfriend. it was embarrassing — needy wasn't even the word to describe how you felt... more like desperate.

you were desperate for your boyfriends attention.

sunghoon had only returned home a couple of days ago , yet he was already working again. this time he sat in the corner of his bedroom , sleeves rolled up jotting down notes as you sat , idly sinking into his bed.

recently , his schedule had been crowded with so many shoots and promotions — yours on the other hand remained empty: you went to class , listening to far too many lectures before heading into work and coming home to your big , empty bed — wishing you could call your precious boyfriend to come over and snuggle you into the duvet.

that’s not all though. you’d wanted to call him oh so many times.

more than 60% of those time with your fingers pushed inside the warmth of your fluttering cunt as you fucked yourself to the thought of him.

‘sunghoon.’ this time you spoke a but louder , the gentle rocking of your feet came to a halt as you stood up waltzing towards his still busy figure. ‘baby , are you even hearing me?’

he stopped — sunghoon slowly tilted his head up , facing you. ‘what do you mean , sweetheart?’ genuine confusion painted his features as you let out a defeated sigh. ‘i… it’s nothing. s-sorry to interrupt. keep going.’ concern washed over him — noticing your solemn tone. ‘you sure , pretty girl?’ nodding , you cracked a sheepish smile , walking completely out of the room and into his living room.

what’d felt like hours had passed of you sitting alone , feet still gently rocking.

you’d wondered how many pages he’d wrote down now — how many melodies he’d listened to , or how long he’d been sitting there smoothly bouncing his knee as his eyes darted from the screen to his paper.

desperate… you’d reminded yourself. wrong as it felt , when he’d invited you over you were expecting more — more than a couple of hugs and soft kisses.

would it really hurt… if you silently dipped your fingers beneath the waist of your shorts and just ever so slightly touched yourself? not that he'd be doing that for you anytime soon.

just enough to get off until sunghoon frees up… it’s not like he’d be done soon. right?

wrong.

as soon as your fingers breached the barrier of your cotton panties , carefully running along your slit — your boyfriend’s footsteps approached. blissfully unaware , as he stood watching you from the living room’s entrance.

you continued , frantically gasping and pushing the tips of your fingers between the walls of your fluttering cunt. you were already sticky — left hot just by watching him work.

‘mpf! hoon…’ squirming , you whined. slowly you slid the full length of both your ring and middle fingers inside of yourself. ‘a-ah…’ a deep exhale rushed past your lips as you attempted to bite back your moans — fingers repeatedly curling further into your sticky , drooling heat. arousal pooled into the palm over your hand. you'd attempted to mimic sunghoon's scissoring motions with your fingers. however , it only resulted in your fingers sloppily thrusting between your gummy walls as you clenched around seemingly nothing.

not that holding back was any use... still in the doorway , stood your boyfriend. sunghoon’s pants seemed to shrink , suddenly suffocating the tent bulging from his pants as he repositioned . he groaned. ‘fuck.’

again , your small pathetic pleas poured into his ears: tiny please please pleases and more hoonie’s. he couldn't take it — listening to your cute cries only turned him on more.

‘are you having fun?’ he’d finally had enough. his cock straining against his briefs as he walked toward you. the condescending tone of his voice brought you to a halt , ripping your fingers from your pussy.

you tripped over your words ‘m… it’s not… n-no.’ desperately , you hid beneath a nearby blanket.

‘no…’ a smile spread across his face as he got closer and closer — swiftly snatching the blanket from your body exposing your naked lower half. ‘look at that , honey… you’re soaked — leaking all on my couch.’ sunghoon frowned. ‘m sorry hoon…’ shame crept over you as you tried covering your face.

‘aht aht… no need to do that now.’ you could feel the warmth of his hands wrapping around your wrists. ‘don’t hide , sweetheart… is there something you wanted to tell me?’

you glanced up at him — eyes glossed over as you batted your eyelashes at the man before you. ‘n-no…’ you squirmed — his hold on your wrists was firm as you felt another one creeping up your side. ‘no? so you didn’t want my attention? ‘s why you’re touching yourself in my living room? calling out my name like you're in heat , sweet girl.’ sunghoon mockingly cooed , his face now hovering above you own as his breath fanned against your skin.

‘should I leave you then and let you continue..? not help you out?’ shit. you’d been caught. however , you'd be lying if you said you didn't want any of this. both of you knew your fingers couldn't compare to anything sunghoon could do. 'no!' the word rushed past your lips. 'no... hoonie 'want you to help me. please...' you were so frustrated that tears breached your eyes. 'aw , my special girl.' his hand flew to strongly grip your jaw. 'did you miss me?'

you nodded. 'i bet , huh?' he began to trail kisses down your face — kissing away your tears before his lips reached your jaw. sunghoon hungrily left a trail of ravishing kisses from your jaw to your neck to your collar-bones. as he reached the top of your shirt , before you could blink it was being yanked over your head. 'mmm...' you hummed , as he continued kissing down your breasts and trailing down your stomach. 'were you good while i was away? did you touch yourself f'me , baby?'

quickly , you nodded again. sunghoon's rich laughter suffocated you as he continued pressing meaningful kisses along your thighs. 'good girl.' he dove into your cunt , nose rutting into your clit as he split you open on his tongue. almost instantly , your fingers became tangled in his dark locks.

whilst you mewed and tugged at his scalp , he made out with your cunt… his soft lips were searing against your skin — fingers digging into your flesh as he held your thighs apart. ‘mh! hoon!’ you let put a squeal as he folded you in half… tongue still greedily lapping up your arousal as he tongue-fucked your leaky cunt. it plunged between your fluttering walls made you shiver , back arching into his embrace.

‘feel good? ‘got all my attention , my sweet girl.’ he hummed sweetly. the vibration sent a wave of shock and pleasure coursing through you body as you let more whining pleas rush from your throat. sunghoon’s lips came up to gently suction your clit as he allowed two fingers to slip inside of you. they dug deeper and deeper within you , searching for that sweet spot buried between your legs in a scissoring motion (much like you had earlier tried to replicate).

as the tips of his fingers kiss said spot you can feel waves of satisfaction crashing over you — the knot in your stomach finally snapping , untying itself. ‘s-shit…’ you squirmed, watching as sunghoon got up.

his chin drenched with slick as he took deep breaths — a smile dancing along his lips. ‘c’mere , sweetheart…’ his hand slid behind your head , you could feel the warmth radiating from his sticky palm as he cupped your cheek. ‘ahhh…’ he teased.

sunghoon lowered a sloppy open mouth kiss onto your lips. the both of your mouths molded against one another. it was a passionate , meaningful kiss that left you chasing his lips as he pulled away. ‘more… fuck , baby… please i want more.’ your arms tightened around his neck — still chasing the sweet tang of yourself left on his lips.

‘relax , y/n. i’ll give you more.’ peck. ‘s’much as you want , yeah?’ one of his hands grabbed your own. slowly he directed your hand down his body — his collarbones , chest , and toned stomach. finally you stopped… feeling something hard beneath your touch. ‘feel that? that’s how fucking hard i am — how hard you got me…’ you tuck your lip between your teeth , eagerly nodding along. ‘feel it…’ you agree. ‘want you so bad… i missed you s-so much while you were gone , hoon. I just wan’ to feel you.’

‘good , baby.’ he cooed , tucking your hair. ‘cause i was planning on letting you.’ he carefully lies you back down before yanking his pants down — cock heavy as it stands against him.

your eyes grow large , watching as you generously strokes himself a few times. pump after pump. the precum adorning his tip drips down the base of his shaft — making it slippery and wet. ‘ready?’ sunghoon grabs your waist — shuffling you closer towards him as he lifts your hips. ‘…yeah.’ with your mouth watering you reply. you nervously await to feel him bottom out inside of you.

he aligns himself with your entrance before slowly pushing his head in. ‘fuck! s’tight as ever , pretty…’ both his hands come to snake around your waist. ‘ohmygodohmygod! hoonie , baby , pleaseee…’ he slams his hips into your own , fulling sinking the length of his thick cock inside of you.

you can feel him throbbing inside of you — your walls clenching and fluttering as he gives you time to adjust. ‘awnnn!’ you whine out , feeling as he slowly drags himself inside of you before roughly ramming back inside.

‘missed your precious little cunt!’ his balls slap against your ass as he continues to fuck into you. ‘s-such a sweet pussy , r-right? y-you’re mine?’

sunghoon felt himself becoming lost — pussy-drunk as he continued to mindlessly babble. ‘yours!!!’ he threw his head back and his hands firmly pawed at your sides — bruising your waist. ‘fuck! agh… s-sunghoon!’ you reached out for him with your nails clawing into his back — only causing him to fuck you harder. you could practically feel that leaky-mushroom tip kissing your cervix.

he bucked into you at a wild , and relentless pace.

‘aw shit… damnit , im ‘gonna cum..!’ he cried. ‘want it inside? stuff you full of me… that way you wont ever miss me again. how ‘bout that baby..? always be full of my cum so im always with you.’

sunghoon laughed watching as you desperately hic-upped. ‘yes! yes! please… ah! cum inside , i’ve been so p-pati… ungh!’ and just like that your boyfriend was pulling yet , another , orgasm from you. the two of you shuddered as he rode out his high. you could feel his cock draining inside of you — once heavy , thick ropes of salty cum painting your walls.

with one final thrust , he pulled out. he watched in awe as your cunt twitched — sticky hot liquid dripped out. ‘ah , ah!’ you hitched as sunghoon took his fingers , pushing his cum back inside of you.

‘always with you.’ he chuckled once more , placing a kiss on your temple before carrying you into the bathroom to get cleaned up.

{additional note!} i dont actually do a wc so i dont know how long this is! hopefully its not too rambly hehe :3

[wordsarelife]

—mine

pairing: theo nott x fem!reader

summary: your’s and theo's relationship throughout the years

warnings: canon typical violence near the end, mentions of the war, blood and death

note: feel free to request stuff for the christmas calender!!

theo was startled by a sudden voice who called out his name, he turned around, the book he was about to push into the empty space still in his hand. 

"nott" you had muttered, arms crossed and the surprised expression on his face when he turned around had almost made you lose it. you quirked a brow at the missing reaction. "i guess you don't even know my name?" 

"sorry" theo winced and you could see how umcomfortable he was simply because he knew nothing about the person standing in front of him. 

"don't feel too bad" you shrugged. "didn't know yours until you borrowed my favorite book for four weeks and i had to beg madam pince to tell me the name of the person who had it" 

"well, sorry again" theo held the book in your direction. "you can have it now, if you still want it" 

you completely ignored the book, until theo sighed and put it back in the empty space on the shelf where it belonged. "guess not" he muttered to himself. 

"so, tell me, theodore nott" you followed him back to the table with his things. "what tempts a guy like you to borrow a book like that?" 

"well, without meaning to insult you, i'd say it is more male literature than female isn't it?"

"you're a moron if you really think something like female or male literature exists" you sat down in the chair across from him. "i wouldn't declare sherlock holmes as male literature, more preciously i would say that most boys are too daft to even understand half the things arthur conan doyle mentions and to your information i'm taking great insult to whatever the hell you just said"

"geez" theo's eyes had widened, he found you a bit odd, annoying even, but he couldn't help but feel all the same intrigued. "like what you just said isn't an insult. most boys are too daft, huh?" 

"maybe daft is a bit too harsh, i admit that" you rolled your eyes, a smile on your lips, "but i'd say most are too impatient to read those books, yes"

"well, you're not wrong about that" theo nodded "i can't remember the last time one of my friends touched a book that wasn't part of a class" 

"that's quiet sad, i'd say"

"i agree" theo smiled. "so, now that we're on the same page, do you mind telling me your name? i feel like i deserve to know it"

"no" you grinned just as the smile vanished from his face. "i decide when you deserve to know, theodore nott" you left him sitting there, speechless about the sudden rejection. 

you never actually told theo your name. he only found out when you managed to borrow the memoirs of sherlock holmes for two months straight. 

the next time that the two of you talked was a few months later, at the beginning of december. snow had fallen and the hogwarts grounds had turned into a beautiful white landscape. 

the snow was poudry, but you managed not to slip as you made your way through it. your body tightly wrapped in layers of clothing, the thick ravenclaw scarf almost reaching up to your eyes as the falling snow hit your face. 

"not the right weather for a stroll, is it?" theodore nott had caught up to you, not exactly spotting the right outfit for the wuthering cold. 

"well, i know there's a reason you're a slytherin and not a ravenclaw, but i would've expected you to be just a little smarter, nott" 

theo looked down on his clothes just as you did. "i was actually just going for a smoke"

"in the middle of a mild snowstorm?" you quirked a brow. "i'd say it's not the right weather to be doing that either"

"you're a real know-it-all" 

"tell me something new, nott" you rolled your eyes "it's exhausting to always be right, you know?"

"i bet it is" theo shrugged sarcastically. "there had to have been a reason you got sorted into ravenclaw"

"well, as said before, i can see why you weren't" you shrugged with a grin. 

theo sighed. "another dig at the outfit, really?" 

"well, considering you're standing here discussing with me and getting yourself wet, i'd say i'm allowed to keep judging your outfit" 

"fair point" theo nodded and you were surprised he gave up so easily. "are you coming or what?" he asked, ready to walk back inside.

"no" you shook your head "you go ahead though, wouldn't want you catching a cold, who would faint during potions then and entertain the rest of the class?"

"hey, that was one time" he called, as you walked away "how did you even hear about that, we're not in the same potions class?"

you just shrugged and send him a smile over your shoulder. he was standing in front of the doors to the castle, soaked from head to toe and you had to admit, theodore nott was a (beautiful) sight for sore eyes. 

it wasn't like you minded theo's company, but you noticed how he started hanging around the places you frequently visited during the weeks to come. 

theo had it especially easy when he realized that you stuck to your routines during the week, making it impossible for him to miss you once he had figured it out. 

monday and wednesdays after class were spent in the library, doing homework or reading a book from your list. tuesdays you helped madam pomfrey in the infirmary, healing minor injuries or filling up medicine cabinets. thursdays were reserved for your friends, playing card games or just spending time together in the common room, you always found something to do. 

fridays were flexible and you often decided what to do spontaneously. sometimes you did a little tutoring, on other fridays you helped madam pince sort through books and put them back where they belonged or you continued reading the book you had begun reading that week. saturdays and sundays were for remaining homework, hogsmeade visits and drafting letters to send back to your family on the start of the next week. 

"you're not being slick, you know that?"

it was a friday and you were putting away books, when theo kept lingering around you, like he had done that past week. 

"what?" he asked, looking up from the book in front of him, a confused tone to his voice, clearly trying to mask that he knew exactly what you were talking about.

"well, i was sure you knew stalking was considered a legal offence" you noted.

"stalking?" he repeated. "i'm not stalking you"

"now, you're not not stalking me, are you?" you send a tight-lipped smile in his direction. "i do admit that it might be a question of definition, though" 

"aren't you a bit full of yourself if you think i would be stalking you"

"that was offensive" you rolled your eyes "and i'm pretty sure i'm not imaging you turning up everywhere i went this past week. and considering i didn't know you until a few months ago, i'd say that you only started doing that recently"

"well, i didn't"

"okay, you didn't" your shrugged and turned back to the shelf, reaching for another row of books from the trolley beside you, before you pushed them in a row one after the other. 

theo furrowed his brows, surprised by you just letting him get away like that. he knew he wasn't being slick, hell, he even knew that he was behaving like a stalker. you weren't wrong in the slightest and theo felt a bit called out by your words. but on the other hand, you hadn't said anything about being opposed to the idea that he really did go everywhere you did.

you waved at him, before you pushed the trolley into the next row of shelves. it didn't take long for him to follow, already making a decision in his mind. 

"go out with me" 

if he had startled you, you didn't show it. you didn't even blink at his suggestion, rather ignoring him like he was a fly on the wall, as you continued reaching for books on the trolley.

theo pushed the trolley to the side and stepped into the empty space. the next time you tried to reach for a stack of books, you touched his chest instead. 

"you're still here, nott" you noted the obvious. 

theo had to admit that he was a tad bit unsettled by your ignorance. he wasn't sure if you really hadn't heard him or if you just ignored the question, because he had made you uncomfortable. 

"you know, normally stalkers don't look so scared" you smiled mischievously. 

"i'm not stalking you, but i can understand if my company made you uncomfortable and i apologize if i have gone too far"

"you're a bit weird, you know that?"

"this is a serious topic, y/n" 

you smiled at the honesty in his voice and sighed. "do you really think if you were making me uncomfortable or i was scared of you i would continue to speak to you?" 

"well, no—"

"i'm not a child, theodore nott, i can voice when i'm annoyed, but i respect your manners" you smiled "and if anyone follows me around like a lost puppy, i'm glad it's someone with at least a little intellect"

"little intellect?" theo repeated offended. 

"you might be smarter than i thought, but you're really bad at this" 

"i know" 

"well, would you now let me sort in the rest of these books? you're kind of in the way"

theo, nodded, the disappointment flashing over his features just like a wave of water. "i guess that's a no" 

you waited until he had stepped aside and pushed the trolley back in it's original position. your hands reached for the row of sherlock holmes books and you held them up at him like a trophy. "that means yes, obviously" 

theo spent exactly three days brainstroming what to do for your date. his friends tried their best at helping him, more than interested to finally hear something about the mysterious girl theo had been infuriated with these past weeks. 

"is she that hideous?" blaise asked on the third day of theo's hard thinking.

"what?" theo raised his brows, he had been too deep in thought to even hear his friend.

"blaise just asked if your girlfriend was hideous, i'd hit him if i were you" mattheo shrugged, stiring the pot. it had been a particular slow morning and he had to admit that it would be quiet entertaining to see blaise and theo fight each other. 

"five galleons on blaise" enzo added, before theo was able to say something. 

"have a little faith in him" pansy said next to theo. "he might not look like it, but the boy has a wicked right hook"

"this is just embarrassing" draco threw the newspaper down in front of him. 

"what?" pansy giggled "the newspaper or that theo and blaise are going to slap each other even more stupid"

"take a guess"

"guys" theo sighed, annoyance already taking over the worry that was bubbling inside him. "i'm not going to fight blaise and y/n is not my girlfriend"

"no yet" enzo wiggled his brows.

"y/n, huh?" mattheo said with a mischievous smile.

"oh god" all colour drained from theo's face. "please tell me the two of you didn't hook up with each other"

"close to it" mattheo shrugged. "she tended to my wounds in the infirmary once and i could tell she had the hots for me"

"wasn't she the one who said you had the charm of a troll and the brains to match?" blaise offered with a smirk.

enzo's mouth almost hit the table infront of him by how fast it flew open. "that was y/n?" he giggled.

theo had to smile. "that does sound like something she'd say"

"she sounds lovely" draco nodded sarcastically "but at least she never saw mattheo naked. that does make her at least a little likable"

"i already love her" pansy quickly said, before draco could continue his judging. "seems like she knows how to handle little annoyances" 

"i'm not a little annoyance"

"yeah" theo nodded "you're a quite big one, actually" 

theo couldn't tell what had led him to the idea for your date, but he had known in that moment what the both of you should do. 

"so hot chocolate was your huge idea?" you smiled as you sat down in the booth across from him, the server already putting down two mugs with steaming hot drinks in front of you. 

"i saw how your friends gave you their hot chocolate packages after dinner and figured this might be something you liked" he shrugged "and before you call me a stalker again, i'm just very attentive to those around me"

you giggled as the grandma at the table next to you send you a worried glance at theo's words.

"he's harmless" you laughed in a way to assure her. 

theo managed an awkward wave and the woman turned away quickly.

"well, it seems those around you are very attentive too" you giggled. 

"i'm sorry" theo tried to hide behind his mug, feeling a tad bit ashamed at the awkward encounter, but having to laugh at the same time. 

"don't be" you smiled honestly "rather tell me something i didn't already find out by snooping around"

"you snooped around?" theo exclaimed surprised. 

"i had to get even, after you found out everything about me" you shrugged "i met this lovely boy, i think he goes by the name enzo, who told me a whole lot about you"

"oh god, no" 

"quite interesting to hear about all those things from someone who has no interest in sleeping with me"

"what? i don't—“

"so you don't intend to sleep with me?" you smiled. "don't be ridiculous, theodore nott"

"i'm just not used to being this straightforward, admittedly"

you completely ignored the surprise swinging in his voice and went on with your story. "enzo did give me some exciting information and i wanted to talk about one thing in particular"

theo was ready to close his eyes and open them back up after you had screamed and left him sitting alone at the table. he had to admit that he wasn't particularly proud of his dating history (or lack of) before he met you and he was sure you weren't happy about that either. 

"before you say something" he interrupted you, before you were able to let the words slip past your lips. "i'm not like that anymore, i was young and not interested in a relationship and just wanted a bit of fun—"

"what are you talking about exactly?" you asked, a susprised smile on your face. 

"that wasn't what you wanted to talk about, was it?" theo asked and you shook your head giggling. 

"i mean, don't let me tell you what to talk about" you managed to say between your laughter. "we can talk about your previous hookups if that's something you'd like to discuss"

"i'd rather not" theo shook his head and his cheeks turned rosy. 

"fine" you smiled "now back to my question: how did you manage to play out that prank on professor binns in our third year?"

theo's features relaxed at the simple question and he smiled, recalling the memory. "so it all started with a ridiculous idea from mattheo and me getting roped into something stupid again"

you spent the rest of the night talking and ordering one hot chocolate after the other. there was not one second of awkward silence, even as theo brought you back to your common room. 

"i had a lot of fun tonight" theo smiled, hands sinking into the pockets of his trousers. 

you had admired how well dressed he was when he had come to get you in the afternoon. 

"me too" you said honestly. "i can't wait for the next one"

"so there will be a next one?" 

"don't be ridiculous, theodore nott" you smiled, before telling the password to the eagle ontop of the door. "of course there will a next one" you slipped into the common room and away from the smiling boy in front of it. 

"are they weirder than you?" 

the voice startled theo, as he was standing in front of the shelf in the library. he turned around, not surprised that it was you who had asked that question. you mostly started your conversations in the middle, without so much as a hello or some kind of warning. 

"what?" theo wasn't sure what else to ask.

"you friends of course" you shrugged, like that had been obvious "we've been together for a month and i've never even met them" 

"well, you have met them" theo corrected. "like in the hallways or during dinner" 

"you know what i mean, theodore" you rolled your eyes. "i don't think a grunting sound could be classified as me meeting someone"

"that's just blaise, honestly" theo muttered "but pansy waved to you during dinner more than three times now"

"theo" you pushed "either something is completely wrong with them or me and i'd like to know what it is, now" you sighed, before you added "just say if you're ashamed of me or something, i know i can be a bit rude to people i don't know"

"tesoro" theo sighed "i'm sorry that i let you think that. they're just annoying, that's all"

"and you thought they would scare me away?" you smiled, touching his cheeks with your hands. "you stalked me for weeks and i'm still dating you, aren't i?"

"that's never gonna be funny" he called after you, as you walked out of the library. "fine, breakfast at the slytherin table for you tomorrow" 

"aye, aye" 

"she's not hideous" was the first thing you heard when you sat down at the table the next morning. 

"well, you aren't either, zabini" you smiled, not even fazed by his assumption. "even though theo warned me about you" 

"burn!" enzo called, exchanging a high five with pansy. 

"i'm so glad we finally get to meet" pansy smiled. "i've just been waiting to have another girl around, it sometimes gets to much with all the testosterone"

"i don't know how you manage, honestly" you smiled.

to say theo's friends and you hit it off immediately would be an understatement. it took approximately ten minutes for you to become part of the group. enzo and you had been friends before, unlikely study partners, after you had helped him on a potions assignment once. pansy was ready to keep you by her side for the rest of the year and even blaise took a quick liking to you.

mattheo and draco were harder to break. mattheo, still having a pretty hurt ego about you turning him down the year before, was sure that you were just dating theo to get back at him for whatever reason and draco was just not interested to have any relationship past a simple hello and goodbye. 

you didn't mind their antics, even if theo repeatedly apologized for it. 

yours and theo’s relationship lasted for exactly two years. theo broke up with you one day after your anniversary.

the break up was painful, the fight that followed even more and still, you held him that evening, both of you understanding the severity of your situation and the war that was waiting to happen.

“theo” you cried, rushing through the ruins of the courtyard just months later. 

you had been on different sides after all. you had followed harry potter into the war and theo had been bound to his father and to the promise the man had given to the dark lord. just like draco, mattheo, pansy, blaise and enzo. 

your friends had gotten lost in the fight and despite not being supposed to, you were desperately screaming for them. 

you ran back into the castle, not having found theo outside. you send curses at the death eaters that tried approaching you, having more luck than an actual plan. you were simply determined to find him. 

you were thrown down to the ground as the doors of the room of requirement suddenly appeared and flew open. just as quickly as they had opened, they closed again, spitting out people in the procress, before the fire was tamed behind the doors. 

harry potter, hermione granger and ron weasley were standing up from the ground slowly, black powder darkening their cheeks and clothes. 

it took a moment for you to realize who the other two people were, as you quickly got up from the ground. 

draco was breathing just as heavily as blaise was, both trying to fill their lungs with air. 

“oh god” you mumbled, before you finally started moving, your legs guiding you into the direction of your friends, falling into their arms and pressing them close to you. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry” you cried. 

blaise and draco held onto you just as tight, not being able to let you go as they cried into your hair.

“be honest, draco” you said when you broke the hug, completely ignoring the trio next to you. 

“theo” draco muttered, knowing what you were talking about immediately. blaise and him exchanged a look. 

“is he dead?” you asked, heartbreak already burning in your limbs and throat. you were ready to mourn, ready to lose your life just like him. he had died for the wrong cause, but you hoped, heart heavy in your chest, that death was more forgiving than his life had been. 

“we don’t know” blaise finally said. “we got seperated in the halls, theo—he was looking for you i think”

“i have to find him” you muttered, touching each hand of the boys in front of you. “stay safe” you kissed both of their cheeks, before you turned on your heel, running down the corridor opposite of where you had come from. 

“theo!” you called once more, running up the stairs and through various hallways, hopeless to ever receive an answer.

“y/n” a voice called and you almost crumbled from the surprise it reached you with. hope was hard to keep and you had thought, really thought, that he was dead. 

theo wasn’t dead, but close to it. he was laying on the ground, his back against the wall, while the rest of his body was bathing in his own blood. his cheeks were empty of any colour, lips dry and almost blue as he looked up at you with tired eyes. 

“oh god” you muttered in shock, slipping onto the ground beside him, your uniform soaking up the blood like it was water in the lake. your hands touched his chest and the big glass shard that was stuck inside of it. theo hissed in pain. “sorry, sorry” you whispered. 

“they surprised me as i came down the corridor” he explained. “i was looking for you”

“you found me now” you whispered once more. 

“i don’t think they meant to do this” sweat dripped from his forehead. “they were kids, not older than fourteen, but they left and they took my wand”

“oh god” you repeated as you shook your head, holding his face in your blood soaked hands and kissing his lips softly.

“i thought you were dead” tears slipped over his cheeks and you shook your head crying. 

“i’m gonna help you” you said quickly, before reaching for your wand and using it’s magic to extract the glass from theo’s body. he was winding on the ground, the pain probably unbearable. but you had to do this in order to help him. he would heal, he would survive and that was all that mattered to you in this moment. 

“i don’t want to fight” theo cried “not for them, not against you” 

“i know, my love, i know”

the healing had begun, slowly but surely his wound closed up, only leaving behind the blood around you and the worry on your face.

“come on” you said, as soon as he looked less pale. you took his hand and he followed you through the corridors of the castle, standing next to you when you had to fight death eaters, even beginning to send curses himself. 

“you don’t have to fight, theo” you called over the loudness of the fight. “confringo! i don’t want you to fight against him” 

“i’m not leaving you” theo called back, his voice nearly drowned out by the deatheater across from him, who was screaming curses and uttering threats about theo’s betrayal at the same time. “he doesn’t mean anything to me”

“what?” you send the deatheater flying against the wall, effectively knocking him out. your wand was now facing theo's death eater too.

“i don’t care for my father” theo said, before he too send the man flying. “i only care for you and your well being”

you made sure it was safe, before you pulled him in and kissed him so passionately that you almost forgot you had ever been apart. “don’t ever let me go again, theodore nott” 

“i wouldn’t dare, y/n l/n” 

you took his hand, walking back into the entrance hall, looking if you were needed anywhere. that’s when you saw them coming over the bridge. 

“he’s here” you said, pushing theo behind you if there was really anything you could do to save him. “he’s—“ you paused, as the both of you walked closer up behind the rows of people already standing in the courtyard.

“harry…?” your voice was quiet, as you adressed the boy you had put all your hope in. someone you hadn’t known well, not well enough to be on first name basis, but what did it matter now that he was. what was he?

“harry potter is dead!” voldemort announced loudly, while the deatheaters broke into laughter. 

ginny weasley dashed forward with a heartbreaking scream. “no! no!”

“stupid girl! harry potter is dead, from this day forth you put your faith in me” you looked down onto the ground in front of you and then back at theo, who looked like he was being painfully tortured by voldemorts words. he too had set his hope into harry.

“it’s done” you said softly. “the war is over”

“we lost”

“harry potter is dead!” voldemort repeated once more “and now is the time to declare youself. come forward and join us.. or die”

your ears were drenched out by the wailing sound in your head. it was loud that you missed everything neville said. you pressed your eyes close, wishing to be anywhere else. to be free from this destiny, but you knew you could never just leave. you wouldn’t be able to leave all these people behind. 

it was theo‘s voice that woke you from your half sleeping state. the word he muttered was foreign on his tongue, but ignited a flame inside of you immediately. 

“harry”

your eyes snapped open like a gun shot had rung through the air. but it wasn’t the sound of a gun. it was harry potter, who was running and firing spells at voldemort. you just had seconds to react, before the fight broke out again, no end in sight. 

you had never thought to be happy that a war continued.

but continuation meant that you hadn’t lost yet. there was a chance to win as long as harry potter was alive. 

when voldemort finally dies, it’s nothing like you ever imagined. he bursts into the air, pieces by pieces disappearing until only his wand is left. 

the deatheater in front of you let’s his wand fall to the ground and you don’t have any interest to finish the job as you sank into theo‘s arms. content is flashing through your body and immediate tiredness is dragging you down. theo holds you as all your weight crashes against him. 

you‘re tired of fighting and of war and death and fear. there is nothing in your head, apart from the thought that you will never have to endure all of that again.

theo and you went away after the war.

you travelled europe for a year, before you came back to hogwarts to finish the school year you were still missing. 

theo got a job at the ministry, you started working at hogwarts. he proposed to you the day that you signed the contract. 

your wedding was beautiful. pansy and luna were your bridesmaids. draco and mattheo were theo‘s groomsmen. all of your friends were there. you had even invited the golden trio, it was only thanks to them that the both of you were still alive and able to celebrate your connection.

“you lost your bow again, robin!” theo picked up the little pink bow and clipped it to his suit, knowing that your daughter was way too busy to even hear him call for her. 

“maybe you should just give up” you suggested, picking up luke who was softly hitting your leg, seemingly tired of walking. 

“but she looks so cute with it!” theo protested, the disappointment sipping from his voice as he pushed the trolley through the wall. 

“it‘s no use if she always loses them” you shrugged. “what is it? like the tenth one you’ve gotten her in the past month alone? just wait until she’s older, love”

theo sighed, but nodded at your suggestion. 

“grace, robin” you called, looking around the people in front of you to spot your girls. 

“well, lucky you’ve got me” mattheo popped up next to you, robin in his arms, as he threw a wink in your direction. 

“why are you even here, mate?” theo asked annoyed “you didn’t have any children the last time i checked”

“well, theres still a few women we’re not a hundred percent sure about yet” pansy joked as she appeared in front of you. “hey sweetheart” she kissed your cheek, before she took luke out of your arms. 

“haha” mattheo rolled his eyes. “i was just accompanying my nieces and nephew’s like a good godfather and uncle should do”

“nope” theo shook his head. “you’re still not grace’s godfather, one daughter of mine has to be enough, riddle” 

“yeah, yeah” mattheo shook his head, clearly not caring about anything theo said “we’ll get there eventually”

“no, we won’t, that’s the point—“ 

“hello nott” blaise greeted, draco following, scorpius and grace behind him. you sighed in relief, glad you daughter had not gotten lost.

“blaise” theo nodded, while you went around the trolley, hugging both men. 

“amazing style choice” blaise pointed against his chest and theo's eyes fell down on his own chest, having completely forgotten about the bow he had pinned there. “looks great on you, mate”

“it’s robin’s”

“sure, keep telling yourself that” blaise said with a sarcastic smile “i heard denial is a river in egypt, y/n”

you giggled, but promptly stopped when theo elbowed you. “you’re my wife. mine” he muttered between clenched teeth, but clearly joking. 

draco took a look on his watch. “there are places we have to be, aren’t there?” he set a hand on both scorpius’ and grace’s shoulder, who were talking to each other excitedly.

“of course” you nodded, following your friends to the platform and hugging your daughter so close, as if that might make her leaving a little less hard. “stay with scorpius, sweetheart. stick together, the both of you” you advised. 

“i think isaac was trying to safe a department for the three of you” blaise told you daughter, who smiled gratefully. 

“yes, mum” grace nodded, before you swapped places with theo, who was already crying. 

“write to me every week, honey!” he declared. “stay far away from professor trewlaney and close to your mother as soon as she’s back at work”

“theo” you shook your head “she should have space to develop” you watched grace and scorpius board the train, waving as it slowly left the station.

“i’ve seen people develop at hogwarts!” he shook his head “it lead to a pregnancy in your case, tesoro”

blaise and draco choked on their spit simultaneously.

“that was after i became a teacher and you know it, dear husband”

mattheo held robin away from him, to take her in fully. “were you made there too?” he muttered, more to himself than anyone in particular.

“mattheo!” draco, pansy and you scolded loudly. 

“hey guys!” enzo appeared behind you suddenly, startling all of you. “oh no, they’re already off, aren’t they?” 

you nodded sadly, feeling sorry for the poor bloke who couldn’t arrive on time if his life depended on it.

“half an hour too late” draco exclaimed with a look at his watch. “as always”

“well you know the traffic is being a bitch” enzo slapped a hand to his mouth, before he took a quick look at evie next to him. “sorry, love. well everything’s been a b-word since jacky started forcing me to use muggle transportation.”

“i do not envy you one bit” mattheo shrugged.

“well, evie” enzo shrugged “the train is gone, but i hear that the weasleys have this super cool car, that—“

“no!” you shook your head, taking the little girls hand in yours. “i’ll take her!” 

“so get-together at yours or what, nott?” mattheo asked “gonna have to know which of your kids were conceived in hogwarts” 

“mattheo!” all of you scolded at the same time.

[m0nnypie]

DATING DEKU (BUT BEING KATSUKI'S SISTER)

Warnings: just Deku being fool for reader, 'n Katsuki being a jealous brother.

synopsis: You're dating this cute green-haired boy, but you're related to that stressed-out blonde bitch 💔

- Well, it's obvious that you've known each other since you were kids. And according to both parents, you've shown that you liked each other since you were young (Katsuki says that's stupid)

- Because you were a year younger, you didn't go to U.A. with them. But that doesn't mean you didn't spend time with Deku.

- To be honest, Katsuki did everything he could to keep you away from Deku. Saying things like "he's a loser, and we're amazing" and "you're my sister, you shouldn't hang out with a nerd like him". But it's not like you listened to the blonde. Since you didn't want the blonde bothering you, you continued hanging out with him, even in public.

- But that stopped after Katsuki simply called his friends to beat up the green-haired one. You literally stopped talking to the blonde for a whole month, and that worried your parents, because besides affecting Katsuki, they could hear you crying every night, saying how stupid Katsuki was. In the end, you guys resolved it after he promised he wouldn't bother Deku anymore. Not that he kept his promise.

- After what happened, you started sneaking out with Deku. Whether it was going to his house, or going to play somewhere, when you knew Katsuki was going to train. And it's obvious that he never told you about Katsuki. That's why, the day he arrived all hurt, you almost had a fit.

"WHO HURT YOU?"

Sometimes he forgot that you were capable of screaming as loud as Katsuki.

"I-it was nothing!"

"NOTHING? DEKU YOU'RE ALL HURT!!"

He simply held your hand and smiled.

"It's okay! No need to worry! I already told you."

The simple contact made you blush. It was funny how children dealt with affection.

- Over time, you started to drift away. It wasn't that you hated him, but most of your time was spent training with Katsuki. So in the last year, before the two of them went to U.A, you barely saw Deku.

- You were on good terms with Katsuki. That is, until you found out that he never really left Deku alone. The moment you walked into the classroom in a rage, he thought it was strange. But as soon as the blonde felt you attack him with all your force, he was in shock.

"DON'T YOU EVER COME NEAR HIM AGAIN! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME YOU SHIT?! I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE MY BROTHER"

you pulled Deku with you, leaving behind an extremely angry blond, yelling that he didn't care about you.

That afternoon, Deku comforted you while telling you that everything was going to be okay. But you didn't believe it.

- Obviously things got weird between Katsuki and you. Especially because you would stay in the same house for months before he went to U.A. And even though your parents tried everything to make things work out for you, nothing worked. He was too proud to do anything, and you had too much anger built up to be on good terms with him.

- You continued to be close to Deku. Staying with him all day now, and threatening anyone who dared to look at him the wrong way. And even if he said he didn't need all that, you just told him to shut up. You two became really close after that.

- At the time, when he would just disappear sometimes, you were really worried. Even though you didn't have much time, as you were busy with your own training.

- Of course, when you found out he got into U.A. you wanted to celebrate. When you brought up the subject of the quirk, he got all weird, so you let it go.

- At the same time, you and Katsuki still haven't made up. Neither of you wanted to apologize, you were too proud for that. And now, it would be even harder with him at U.A.

- At first it was really strange, when you didn't see Deku as often anymore. Even though he always called you every night, and sent you messages all day long.

- He was saying how wonderful U.A was. That he had met All Might (he said he told you about it, and you almost had a heart attack). You were so excited for him! (and for Katsuki even though you wouldn't admit it). But of course things changed when he was kidnapped.

- As soon as you found out about the kidnapping, your first instinct was to call Deku. You were desperate, and he tried to calm you down by saying he would fix everything. That's when you had your first fight.

"IT'S NOT GOING TO BE OKAY, DEKU! HE'S BEEN KIDNAPPED!"

"You need to calm down... I told you! I'll find a way! You need to trust me!"

"A WAY, DEKU?! MY BROTHER WAS KIDNAPPED BY THE LEAGUE OF VILLAINS! IT'S NOT SIMPLE!!! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? HUM? UNTIL A MONTH AGO YOU DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A QUIRK"

the silence that fell was deafening.

"I'm going to hang up."

"(Name) Wait-"

You hung up on him, you knew what you said to him was wrong. But your concern for your brother's life was greater than any guilt. You ignored all his other calls for the rest of the day.

- As soon as Katsuki came back. You punched him in the face. Well, brotherly love, right? But you didn't let go of him for a whole week.

As soon as you met the blond again, with the weight of your fight and the worry you felt, all you could do was punch him.

Everyone was shocked, your parents, All Might who you didn't even realize was there. Even Deku wasn't expecting it. Of course, Katsuki didn't take it personally, certainly not. But before he could yell something stupid, he felt you hug him.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

He simply gave you an ironic laugh and hugged you back. He didn't like hugs, but he knew he couldn't deny you that.

Well, now everyone was really in shock.

- Well, they gave you a week to stay with Katsuki (With All Might asking for it, it became easier for it to happen). No one had ever seen this hot-headed blonde treat someone well, so when they saw how he treated you (despite still having the insults), everyone wanted to meet the grumpy blonde's dear sister. And he hated the idea, although he wasn't the only one. A certain green-haired boy, perhaps, was quite sullen.

- Of course when you saw Deku, the first thing you did was apologize. It was funny that even though you were as proud as your brother, when it came to Deku, things were simpler and easier. He obviously accepted your apology, you spent an entire day together, with Katsuki obviously hating every second of it.

- Well, the rest of the year was tense too. With all the fights and stuff. The only times Deku could relax were when he was with you.

- It didn't take long for him to realize that he was in love with you. Because of course, with his friends making jokes about it, it was hard to hide it. He had no intention of confessing, he didn't want to ruin his friendship with you. But of course Uraraka, Mina and Denki thought otherwise.

- After coming up with a plan to make you two finally confess, everything went wrong. Katsuki was suspicious, so he simply wouldn't let go of you the whole time. Until, of course, the guys decided to bring All Might into the plan (bros are determined). Somehow, they convinced All Might to distract Katsuki. So when you were finally alone, he got nervous, not knowing what to do. And before everyone could intervene to help him, they saw you kissing Deku.

- Obviously you started dating. Everyone was happy for you, your parents thought Deku was adorable. But of course one person didn't like it. A certain blond guy was totally against your relationship. But not that he would do anything other than threaten Deku, saying that if he touched a single hair on your head, he would end up underground (he takes threats seriously). Anyway, he would always be in the corner complaining, not that you care.

- The best thing that could have happened was when you started at U.A. Many nights, he would sneak into your dorm. You would have lunch together, walk hand in hand through the hallways. He would train with you (you loved it when training turned into a kissing session, which embarrassed him). Anyone who looked at Deku would realize how much he loved you, even Katsuki knew that.

- Most of the make-out sessions were initiated by you. Sometimes in the bedroom, during training, or during breaks. One time, you almost got caught. He almost died because he thought he would get caught, while you could only laugh.

- Every time you went home, you always took Deku with you. Katsuki hated that. You also went to his house a lot, his mother adores you! She loves showing you pictures of him, which makes him embarrassed.

- You two love to sleep cuddling. One time you were cuddling on the couch kissing, and Katsuki decided to get between you. You were sulking, and Deku didn't know where to hide his face. Poor Deku if Katsuki knew more.

- Even if Katsuki doesn't admit it, he trusts Deku. And he'd much rather you date the green-haired boy than any other guy.

SERIOUSLY I'M SO OBSESSED WITH THESE TWO!! I HOPE Y'ALL LIKE IT!!!

'N SORRY FOR MY ENGLISH!!!

[leilohsstupidgaystuff]

You know what I would have loved in Days of Future Past? Hank snapping and yelling at Erik, about what Charles went through in the past 10 years.

Erik: You sacrificed your powers so you could walk?

Hank *putting on autopilot and storming out of the cockpit* You fucking asshole! So what if he did? What do you care? Shouldn't you be glad? Aren't you happy you don't have to put on your stupid helmet again? Shutting him out again? Breaking his heart even more? You made him already feel guilty about having his powers, do you really have to make him feel guilty about not having them? You have no right to talk about his legs like that. You shot him and then pulled out the bullet, I mean how little common sense do you have, to do such shit?

Charles: Hank, it's alright...

Hank: No. Nothing is alright. Don't you dare say that anything is alright, not after the last fucking ten years. *turning to Erik again* Do you have any idea of what you did? Not only put you on that stupid helmet and killed Shawn, which Charles felt by the way. -Oh you didn't know? Strange, and I thought you two were so damm good in talking about your feelings- Not only did you shot a bullet exactly at his spine and pulled it out again. No you had to take Raven with you. His only family left. The only nice person there was, in his fucked up childhood. You took her with you and left him alone, in pain and with the feeling that his powers were something wrong, the only mutation you shouln't be proud of. So yeah, excuse him for not only taking the opportunity of being able to walk again, but to shut his so damm hated power down. And don't even get me started on your fucked up relationship. Do you honestly think, we belived that you two were just really great friends? What do you think happens, when you break the heart of someone, who loved you so deeply, in such a cruel way? Not just someone, but a telepath, with a range of emotions we can't even grasp to understand. That they stay as cold as you? That they just keep going?So again; excuse him, excuse him for having emotions, for falling into a depression and for getting addicted to drugs and alcohol. Now would you do us all the favour of having a little bit of emotional intelligence or shutting the fuck up, asshole?

Logan: *grinning* I just rememberd why I like you.

[sencrose]

— READING BETWEEN THE LINES

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader

tags: dc, noncon, fingering, forced orgasm, pwp, use of pet names (sweetheart), suguru being condescending lol

wc: 1.4k

summary: Breaking up with Suguru doesn't go as well as you had hoped.

a/n: idk what possessed me ngl! writing warmup that got out of hand ig lol. dividers by @/adornedwithlight! ao3 link here.

This is always the worst part, the anticipation of the unknown. You dragged Suguru into a private corner of the monastery, stating that you needed to talk to him about something important. Part of you hopes he won’t notice that something is clouding your mind, but another part of you knows how perceptive he can be – of shifting eyes, a nervous shake of the leg. Anything he sees can be interpreted and used against you. It’s just too much for you, to constantly live under his judgment and surveillance.

Once inside the room, you ask Suguru to sit down in an armchair in the corner, because when he’s at a lower height you can convince yourself he’s not nearly as intimidating as he actually is. He almost looks normal when you look down at him. But then his amber eyes catch yours, and you feel like a deer in headlights.

Breath, hold, let it out slowly.

“I think we should see other people,” you say, nearly hushed.

Suguru takes a moment to pause, before looking up at you with a smile. It’s not the reaction you wanted.

“You think?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice, “you wouldn’t do all of this to tell me you’re thinking of doing something.”

He’s right; you don’t like that. It only makes you uneasier, inhale shakily and exhale just as unstable.

“We should see other people,” you sigh, a knot tightening in your chest. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, opting to stare down at the ornate patterns on the carpet, anywhere but him.

“Where’s your spirit?” he asks, pouting and high-pitched, as if he’s talking down to a child, “you sound horribly unconvincing.”

You were foolish to ever think you would have an advantage against Suguru in a war of words. He’s always a few steps ahead of you, quick to retort any thought that takes days for you to mold and craft. Still, you do your best. This would be the last time anyways.

“W-we should see other people,” you repeat, attempting to sound resolute only for your voice to betray you, wavering like a tree branch in a windstorm.

“We both see plenty of people here,” he says, leaning back into the chair to sink into the fabric, his posture even more relaxed than before, “I don’t see why you dragged me in here to say this.”

For the first time, frustration overwhelms your nerves, swirls in your chest and manifests into something loud and impulsive.

“Suguru, I’m breaking up with you,” you blurt out. 

An uneasy silence permeates through the room, and you feel the need to smother it. Unfortunately, any semblance of a coherent thought, much less a sentence, eludes you.

“Tell me what you really want.” Suguru says, the first to break it. You start to think the silence was better.

“I am.”

“No, you aren’t. I know you aren’t,” he says so matter-of-factly you’re close to believing him, “say it again.” Suguru shifts in the seat until he’s leaning forward, hands intertwined and planted in his lap.

“N-No, you’re just messing with me,” you say, backing away from him.

“That should be my line,” he sighs, standing from his seat. He takes a step towards you and your heart trembles. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just-”

“Nothing’s wrong but you want to break up?” he interrupts, crossing his arms as he glares at you.

“No, I mean-” you fumble your words, unsure how to mitigate the situation. Suguru takes another step towards you, and you take another one back.

“Mean what?” The corners of his lips upturn, and you both know he has you cornered.

You stand there, finally at a loss for words. Even if you were able to articulate your thoughts, you know that Suguru would twist them in his favor. 

“See? You don’t even know what you want,” he says, condescension dripping from his words before he softens his tone into something gentler. The way you would speak to a wounded animal. “But it’s okay, because I do.”

Suguru takes the opportunity to close the distance, taking your hand into his and pulling you into a kiss. His lips crash into yours and you writhe under his touch, desperately pushing him away. But all you get is an arm latched around your waist, the sensation of your bodies pressed together in a suffocating heat. His lips finally part from yours, and you rush to turn your face away from his.

“Suguru, please stop,” you whimper.

“Why? You’ll just lie again,” he answers, his hand reaching for your chin to turn you towards him, “don’t you know how much that hurts me?” he asks, voice too sweet to be genuine.

You do your best to keep your eyes away from him, the only form of protest you can afford right now. He’s unphased by it, releasing his grip on your chin to lift the hem of your skirt and trace the undeniable wet spot on your underwear.

“And it seems like your body is more honest than your words,” he whispers dangerously low in your ear, as if it’s a dirty secret he had the privilege of uncovering. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction but you don’t have much of a choice. 

He pulls your underwear down, lets it fall unceremoniously onto the floor. Before long, his fingers find your clit and you wince at the contact. You bite down on your lips when he starts drawing lazy circles, not wanting to give him any more ammunition to use against you. 

“You don’t actually want to leave, do you?” he whispers sweetly, and it makes your breath catch for all the wrong reasons. His fingers slowly but surely pick up the pace, and it gets harder to choke back your moans. You attempt to maneuver yourself away from his touch, but that only makes him press himself harder against you, tightening his grip against your waist. 

“You’re just misbehaving because I haven’t given you enough attention, right? Then I’ll give you all the attention you want.”

“Suguru, please, I don’t want this,” you cry, and it’s nowhere close to convincing, too high-pitched and whiny.

“We’ve got to work on your communication skills, sweetheart. They’re a hallmark of a good relationship, you know. And I only want the best with you,” he coos, almost songlike. His fingers build up to a steady pace and you feel your muscles involuntarily tighten, prepare yourself for the climax to come. 

“We can even try it now. Tell me, how does this feel?” He slips a finger in and you writhe under his grip.

“Suguru, stop!” you squeal, tears forming in your eyes, making the colors of the room blend and blur together. 

“Don’t think that’s the right answer,” he says in that patronizing tone again, and you can hear the pout in his voice. As punishment he slips in another finger, and within moments he’s bullying the spot that has you crying from pleasure like he’s done so many times before. Your fingers grip around his arm, nails digging into his skin and leaving crescent indents in his skin, but Suguru is nothing if not determined.

“I just don’t see why you’d want to leave when I do all of this for you.” The arm around your waist finally releases, only for his other hand to trace the curves of your body until it reaches your clit. He starts building the pressure again, slow circles to contrast against the rapid pace of his fingers.

Your breathing destabilizes as your muscles tense up again against your will. You know you’re getting close, which means Suguru knows as well. 

“Let it all out for me, sweetheart,” And you do, body shivering and walls clamping around his finger like a vice. The rush of heat and pleasure running through you is too much, and you fall back onto old habits, closing your eyes and moaning his name like a mantra as he guides you through your climax. Suguru only pulls himself out of you once your breathing stabilizes, when you finally come out of your postorgasmic daze and the tears start running down your cheeks.

He gently holds your face, rubbing the tears with his thumb before laying a soft kiss on your cheek.

“If this is what you wanted, you should’ve told me. Spare me the theatrics next time, okay?”

[lovecla]

TAKE YOUR PAIN AWAY | quinn hughes.

00.3. your last day with quinn

➴ warnings: mention of a restrictive diet, constipation.

➴ word count: 1.7k

➴ author’s note: this was supposed to be a cute, hurt/comfort chapter but. i listened to madison beer while writing this so things took a turn and now it’s just depressing. at least there’s still some hurt/comfort here :,)

౨ৎ

2017, SEPTEMBER.

YOU were having the worst day ever.

It was a Friday, and one of those days where anything that could possibly go wrong, went wrong. First, you woke up at half-past five with a fever that made your entire body shiver. Your pajama was glued to your body, sticky with sweat. You sat on the bed, immediately regretting it because your head started spinning and suddenly you needed to throw up everything you’d eaten for dinner last night.

You felt like shit even when you managed to shower, sitting on your bathtub and letting the tears fall from your face. You felt so tired. It had already been a very stressful week, with your Mom forcing you to attend castings and auditions, making calls here and there so you could get the jobs she wanted for you, controlling everything you ate and drank.

On top of all of that, Peter and Quinn were leaving for college and you were sure you had never felt so alone before.

Quinn became your favorite person in the entire world when you both met four years ago. He was so important to you, and even though sometimes your heart didn’t understand what exact feelings you had for him, you needed him in your life.

The friendship you’d built over the past four years meant the world to you. How he took care of you, and how he tried to balance his career with still trying to be present in your life. How he would always ask about how you were doing in school, or about your dreams and wants. How he had introduced you to his family and how Jim and Ellen were nice to you, letting you come over to do your homework with Jack or Luke.

How sometimes you’d find Quinn practicing in their homemade ice rink, and you’d watch him for hours, impressed by his moves and skills. How sometimes you’d notice his hair falling out of the helmet, the sweat decorating his face and his blue, greenish eyes that would stare at nothing but the puck.

So when you found out he was leaving for Michigan? It hurt more than anything else, even if you were extremely happy for him.

You got out of the shower, feeling your body hurt everywhere. You were thankful that your classes didn’t start until next week and you didn’t have any auditions today so you could just jump right back in your bed.

Which was exactly what you did, sleeping like the dead after letting your tears fall for a bit more.

You woke up a few hours later, with a soft touch on your arm. Opening your eyes and immediately feeling them getting wet, you saw Quinn standing beside your bed.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” he said, smiling. “Maria let me in. You didn’t come say goodbye to me.”

Your sick, tired brain took a little while to process what he was saying. Until you looked at the digital clock that sat on your bedside table, reading 11:34 a.m., Friday, 6 September.

Fuck.

You tried to get up, but your body still felt heavy. You were still shivering underneath the covers and your throat hurt.

“Maddie?” You could see he had stopped smiling.

You tried to smile, feeling the need to reassure him. “I’m sorry. I forgot to set an alarm,” you lied, trying to get up again and, thankfully, succeeding this time. “I’ll be downstairs in just a minute. Sorry.”

Getting up didn’t exactly mean success, since your legs failed after five steps and now you were on the floor, with your knee hurting like a bitch.

“Maddie, what,” Quinn said, quickly coming to your rescue, like he often did. You had a headache? Quinn had the right medicine for it. You hurt your finger? Quinn wrapped your hand with a bandage. You were hungry? Quinn was already in the kitchen making your meal. “What’s going on? Are you sick?”

“No, just— I just woke up.” You didn’t know why you kept lying to him and you felt like shit, but it was his leaving day. The Hughes were moving back to the US, so that Jack and Luke could join the NTDP in Michigan and Quinn could go to UMich. And it couldn’t get worse, not really. “I’m fine.”

“I can tell when you’re lying, Madison,” he hissed, angrily. You frowned. Quinn had never gotten angry at you, not even when you managed to ruin his hockey uniform with glitter. “You’re sick. Did you eat?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, as he walked you to bed again. “I am fine, Quinn. It’s just constipation or whatever.”

“Stop acting like this is nothing, Madison.”

“Stop calling me that,” you frowned, annoyed for no real reason. You were going to miss them so much.

“It’s your name, isn’t it?” He raised his eyebrow.

“Why are you being so mean?” You whispered, feeling your eyes tearing up again, the fever making you shiver.

He stopped scowling for a second, softening his eyes at you. He sat beside you, placing his hand on your thigh, which you promptly grabbed. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be mean. It’s just— I hate when you act like what happens to you isn’t important.”

You squeeze his hand, feeling less cold now.

“You’re like my little sister, so watching you sick is just as upsetting as it is with Lukey or Jack,” he chuckled, laughing like he hadn’t just shattered your feelings right there.

You didn’t know exactly what you felt for him, but you knew for a fact it wasn’t that silly admiration you had for him when you were little. You were fifteen now, and just when you were supposed to crush on the boys at your school, you were always comparing them to Quinn instead. And Quinn is always better than them.

Not to mention that he’d been getting cuter. He was losing his teenager features and it didn’t help it with your little infatuation for him.

Hearing him confirming that you were nothing but a family member to him stung. This was definitely the worst day of your life.

“Right,” you whispered, releasing his hand and wrapping your arms around your body. “I don’t think I’ll be able to go downstairs and say bye to you all. I’m sorry for that.”

“We’re only leaving at night so don’t worry. We’ll make sure you’re feeling better until then.” He replied, getting up.

“Where are you going?” You asked, confusion taking over your face.

“I’m gonna ask Maria to make some soup for you while I go look for some cold medicine,” he put his hands inside his jeans pockets, something he did often, and smiled at you. “Do you think you’ll be fine here for ten minutes?”

You nodded, watching as he poked your cheek before leaving your room.

You laid down for a while, trying to organize your thoughts. You still didn’t understand what the Hughes leaving meant to you, only that you’d miss them like they were your own. Because for a while, that’s what they were.

You must have snoozed again because next thing you know, Quinn was shaking you lightly again. You opened your eyes, staring at him.

“Maria made you chicken noodle soup and I brought you juice and pills,” he pointed at the tray on your desk, smiling.

You got up, sitting up against the headboard, and thanking him as he placed the tray on your lap.

“Mom would probably kill me if she knew I’m eating noodles,” you joked, coughing loudly. Ugh.

“I won’t tell her a thing, promise,” he quickly said, sitting on the chair beside your desk, resting his hands on his knees, as he watched you eat. “Can’t believe we’re actually leaving.”

You chuckled. “Yeah.”

“You will come to visit us, right?”

You placed your spoon inside your bowl again, staring at Quinn’s face, trying to memorize all of his features at once. His upper lip, slightly thinner than his bottom one. His wavy, brown hair, messy and untamed, so beautifully shaped. His eyes, darker than Luke and Jack’s, but still bright and vibrant. His nose, big and cute and your favorite feature on his face.

Oh, you were going to miss him so much.

“‘Course I will,” you mumbled, shoving the last spoonful of soup into your mouth. Lying to Quinn always felt wrong. “I’m… I’m gonna miss you,” His eyes softened, and before he could speak, you continued. “You made my life so much easier. You and your family are so important to me so thank you.” You felt your eyes watering, and you looked up. No crying in front of anyone.

“Oh, Maddie,” he got up, removing the tray from your lap and putting it back on your desk, so he could sit beside you. “There’s no need for tears.”

You tried to give him a reassuring smile and tell him you’re okay but you only managed to let more tears fall from your eyes.

He placed your head on his shoulder, pulling the blanket until it reached your chin, covering you completely. Then, he gently grabbed your hand underneath and held it tightly.

“I’ll be only an one hour flight away, Maddie. Our house is your house too.”

You sniffled, feeling your body starting to hurt again.

You wanted to tell him that you didn’t want him to leave, that you needed him in your life and that you loved him. A young, unripe love that made your chest hurt every time you thought about it.

But you knew that you were just being selfish. Ever since you met him, you knew Hockey was his life. It is his favorite thing in the world, and it means a lot to them.

So you would never tell him anything. No. At least one of you deserved to be happy.

“I know,” you mumbled. “Can I take a nap?”

He chuckled beside you. “Yeah, ‘course. Not before you take your medicine though.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding the rest of your face under the cover, hearing Quinn’s soft laugh.

Little did you know you’d keep that sound safe and secure in your heart, for the rest of your life.

[katebishopsbaefy]

Shoot Me

billie eilish x reader

𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚

summary: you and billie both get your periods at the same time and are the definition of miserable

word count: 1219

You roll over with a groan, pressing your face back into your girlfriend’s side, clutching your stomach. You feel her arms wrap around you. She obviously wanted to feel you as much as you wanted to feel her.

You and Billie had been unfortunate enough to get your periods at the same time, so now here you lay, sprawled on your bed, clutching your stomachs, groaning occasionally. Somehow you’d managed to not only lose track of your heating pads, but you’d also completely run out of pain relief medication, and neither of you felt well enough to drive to the store to get some.

Billie gently kisses your forehead when you press into her. She grunts as she reaches one arm over to the nightstand to check her phone, muttering out a low “shit” upon seeing the many texts and missed calls from her brother, who she was supposed to meet up with today.

You rub your eye and look up at her. “What’s wrong?” you mumble.

She swings her arm back over to hug you tighter, deciding to deal with Finneas later. “Nothing,” she whispers, starting to rub your back. You hum at the touch. “How’re you feeling?”

You grumble out something about feeling like shit, but it comes out muffled due to your face pressing further into her. Your hand finds its way underneath her loose t-shirt in search of more comfort.

This time, she hums at your touch. The weight of you laying on top of her serves as a weighted blanket, and although it’s comfortable, it doesn’t do much for her cramps. “This sucks,” she states. You hum in agreement.

Your short conversation is interrupted by multiple aggressive dings from her phone. She groans again and reaches back over, checking the new texts from her brother.

“Who’s that?” you ask.

She lets out a huff. “Finneas,” she mumbles, “I forgot I was s’pposed to meet up with him today.”

You whine and grip her tighter in response. “Mmm, don’t leave me.”

“I don’t think I could go anywhere even if I wanted to,” she says, giggling quietly at you.

She hadn’t realized that she forgot to respond to him yet again, getting distracted by you, until the sudden alarm of her ringtone and buzzing of her phone forces her to finally respond. You both jump at the sound before she answers. You can hear a faint “hello???” from the other end.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to ignore you,” Billie says, exhaustion lacing her voice. “I’ve been asleep all day, me and y/n have the worst cramps ever.” She shifts a little and waits for Finneas to respond. “Actually yeah, that would be super helpful if you have time.” Another pause. “Can I send you a list?” Short pause. “Okay, great, see you later.”

The loss of her warmth makes you groan as she flips you off of her to sit up. “What’d he say?” you ask.

“He said he has some time, so he’s gonna pick some stuff up for us,” she responds. Taking your shared blanket with her, she gets out of bed. You groan for probably the 500th time, but she ignores you and grabs your arm, effectively dragging you out of bed too. “Come on, we’re gonna go sit on the couch.”

“Just shoot me instead,” you mumble. You clutch your pillow to your stomach and trudge your way down the hall with her to the living room. 

She laughs at your remark. “At least we get more time to hang out,” she says, gently bumping her hip with yours. You smile at her and bump her back.

It feels like an hour has passed by the time you make it to the couch. You flop down, immediately leaning into Billie’s side, and you feel her do the same. She sits up for a moment to wrap you in the blanket again before snuggling back into you. “Wanna watch something?” she asks, to which you shrug, and she flicks on a random channel.

You completely lose track of time sitting with her. You have no idea what show’s playing, being too distracted by her hands, which you had taken into your lap. Fingers laced together, palms pressed, her warm hands warming up your cold ones. You’re so spaced out playing with her fingers that you don’t realize you’re starting to fall asleep until she giggles at you.

“Sleepy?” she asks. You look up at her, noticing her eyes starting to droop as well.

“No,” you whisper, reaching a hand up point at her jokingly, “are you?” She shakes her head.

At some point, you had both begun to shift around, so uncomfortable from your cramps. When Finneas arrives at your place, he finds you passed out, sprawled on one side of the couch, gripping your pillow. Billie hogs the blanket on the other side, and your heads meet in the corner. He smiles and snaps a quick picture to send to you later. 

He quietly makes his way over to your kitchen, careful not to make too much noise with his bags. Ice cream, chocolate, and other comfort foods are unloaded into the fridge. Despite how quiet he tries to be, the soft rustling is enough to wake Billie, who quickly sits up and pads over to him, dragging her blanket behind her. “Hey, you don’t have to do that,” she says quietly.

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. Go sit back down.”

“But I feel bad,” she mutters. She plops down onto a seat at the kitchen island, resting her head on her arms.

Finneas slides her a container of pain medication over the table, which she gratefully accepts, downing a couple of pills. “If you wanna do something…” he says, rifling through the bags, “go pop these in the microwave for a minute.” He pulls out two stuffed animals, unzipping them from the back to take out the pad to be heated up. Billie audibly sighs at the sight.

“Oh my God, you’re literally a life saver,” she breathes. After heating them up, she makes her way back over to the couch, where you’re still sound asleep.

“Y/n,” she whispers, gently rubbing your shoulder to wake you up. Your eyes flutter open and you smile at her. “Hi, my love. I’ll trade you,” she says, referring to the pillow you’re still clutching. You gratefully switch with her, pulling the stuffed toy to your stomach and letting out a breath at the relief it provided. “Better?” she asks, kissing your forehead softly as your eyes close again.

You hum. “Thank you,” you say to her, and, louder this time, “thanks, Finneas.”

He and Billie talk for a little longer, deciding to make up the work they were supposed to do another day, and she thanks him excessively, to which he shrugs every time. Then he leaves, leaving the two of you alone again.

As she sits back down, she pulls your head into her lap. Her hand in your hair, yours on her back underneath her shirt. A few short minutes later, your fingers stop tracing patterns into her skin, and she knows you’d fallen back to sleep. She scoots around, getting more comfortable before falling asleep too.

No matter how shitty you felt, she always made you feel better.