#taylor swift drabble

[meltinglikeasugarcube]

Gp reader and taylor are in a relationship. Taylor decides to surprise reader by wearing the lover bodysuit for sex.

WARNING: THIS IS FILTHY!!!

Title: DO YOU FEEL BETTER NOW?

Word Count: 2553

Pairing: Taylor Swift x G!P Reader

Rating: Explicit

The door shuts behind you with a thud that echoes too loudly in the silence. You peel off your coat and kick your shoes into the corner, your body moving like it’s done this a thousand times. The muscles between your shoulders throb from standing too long under artificial lights, smiling through conversations you barely registered.

Personal shopping was supposed to be a stepping stone. Something temporary. You never imagined it would become the entirety of your days. Now it’s all tight smiles and people too rich to speak in complete sentences, all of them clutching desires they don’t understand and expecting you to make sense of them. It’s not fashion. It’s customer service with better lighting. And today had been a particularly difficult day.

Taylor called earlier. Her voice helped, soft and certain, familiar in a way that made your throat tighten. You tried to sound okay. She didn’t buy it. Of course she didn’t. You know she heard it in your voice, the cracks you couldn’t disguise.

You end up on your living room floor, staring up at nothing. The version of you that used to thrive under pressure, who could improvise a runway fix with a single safety pin and a borrowed belt, feels distant. You don’t hate who you’ve become. But you don’t recognize her, either.

You don’t hear the door open at first. The sound is too soft, swallowed by the noise in your head. But then it clicks shut, and your body jolts upright.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

Your heart kicks like a warning. You scramble to your feet, still groggy from lying on the floor too long, the fabric of your clothes wrinkled and sticking in places they shouldn’t. You turn the corner, every nerve braced.

Taylor is standing in your doorway.

No warning. No text. Just her, glowing like something conjured from a memory that never quite left you alone.

Your mouth falls open. You blink, but she doesn’t disappear. She smiles; real, quiet, impossibly present.

Your breath leaves you in a stutter.

“Oh my God.”

She takes a single step forward, and your body moves without thinking. You close the space between you in seconds, but when you’re inches from her, you stop, suddenly unsure if touching her will break whatever spell this is.

“You’re really here,” you whisper, voice barely holding together.

“I’m here,” she answers softly, her hands sliding up your arms. “Couldn’t stand it anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes stinging.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I did,” her tone cuts through whatever protest you thought you had. “I had to.”

She leans in and kisses you and it’s not tentative, not soft. A firm press, lips parted just enough, mouth warm and familiar. Your hands find her waist, and she sinks into your touch, her body flush against yours for the first time in far too long.

You don’t realize your hands are shaking until she pulls back and takes one in hers, lacing her fingers through yours, grounding you.

“I missed you,” you murmur, voice rough with restraint.

She nods. Her thumb brushes the inside of your wrist.

“I know, my baby, I know,” she tilts her head softly. “Me too. You have no idea how much.”

Your body wants to drag her to the floor and stay there for hours. But she has other plans; you can see it in her eyes, the flicker of something controlled, simmering just beneath the surface.

She leans in again, presses a kiss to your jaw, then your neck. Her voice drops.

“How long do we have?” you ask. She only has a small bag in her hand so you know she won’t be staying long.

“About two hours,” she mumbles sadly then sighs.

“You flew in just for—”

“For you,” she strokes your cheek with the back of her fingers. “God, you’re trembling.”

You feel yourself blush. She steps back, just enough to scan your face, her gaze slipping down your body and then back up. A look passes through her—something like decision. The mood shifts. She straightens.

“I have something I want you to see,” she says, voice suddenly low, more commanding. You raise your eyebrows. She presses a kiss to your temple. “Go to your bedroom, please.”

“Uh, why?” you ask, half-laughing, dazed.

She tilts her head, eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable.

“You’ll see.”

You look at her for another beat, trying to read her, but her expression is cool, composed. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, and back toward the bedroom, feeling the anticipation thick and electric, humming just beneath your skin.

You sit at the edge of the bed, hands between your knees, your pulse spiking in strange rhythms. You’re expecting food. Maybe a gift. Something small. Something comforting.

You’re wrong.

When she enters the room, she’s stripped down to one of her tour costumes—the pink and blue one that you love so much. Her legs look impossibly long, her skin glowing in the dim light.

You swallow hard.

She moves slowly, eyes never leaving yours, then kneels between your legs, her hands spreading your knees apart with gentle pressure. Her palms rest on your thighs. Her gaze drops to the bulge already forming beneath your jeans.

“I wear this one all the time ‘cause of you, you know?” she says, voice almost teasing, her hands moving to unbutton your fly.

You don’t respond. You can’t. The moment she drags the zipper down, your cock is nearly fully hard. She slides your jeans and briefs down enough to free you.

“Look at you,” she whispers. “Kept thinking of you on the flight here. Kept thinking of having you inside me.”

Her fingers wrap around your shaft and squeeze gently, base to tip. You suck in a breath as she strokes once, twice, then leans in and presses her tongue to the head, lapping at the precum like it’s nothing. Her eyes stay on yours as her lips part and she takes you into her mouth, wet heat wrapping around you inch by inch.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hand finding her hair. “Taylor…”

She hums around your length, and the vibration makes your knees twitch. Her tongue swirls, tracing the underside, then she sinks lower, her lips sliding down until you feel the back of her throat constrict around you. Your hips jerk, and she lets it happen. She pulls back, her mouth wet, her lips shiny with spit.

“You don’t have to hold back,” she murmurs. “I can take it.”

You groan, breath stuttering as she dives down again. You thrust up, slowly at first, then harder. She relaxes her throat, takes you deep, her hands gripping your thighs for balance. You can feel the mess on her chin, your cock thick and slick from her mouth.

Just before you come, she pulls back again, breathing hard, saliva connecting her bottom lip to your shaft.

“No,” she says, voice ragged. “Not yet. I need it inside me.”

“Tay—”

She stands and peels off the bodysuit in one motion. Nothing underneath. Her breasts bounce free, nipples pink and stiff, her stomach taut, her thighs gorgeous. You don’t even have time to react before she climbs into your lap.

“I’m sorry if I’m like a dog in heat,” she murmurs, pressing her slick cunt against your cock, grinding slow. “I’m losing my mind. I’ve been thinking about this for so long.”

A half-laugh escapes you, breathless.

“I don’t see any cons about that.”

Then she lowers herself, slowly, letting your length press between her folds. She rubs against you in long, teasing drags, her slickness coating every inch. The head of your cock catches at her entrance over and over, but she doesn’t let you in yet. Her breasts sway with each movement, her mouth falling open, eyes glazed.

On the fifth stroke (or maybe the sixth, you lose count) she lines you up, takes a breath, and sinks down.

You both moan. Her heat engulfs you inch by inch. She moves slowly, until she’s seated fully in your lap. You feel everything, the squeeze, the twitch, the pulse. You grip her waist hard enough to leave marks.

“So tight,” you groan into her neck.

She whimpers, her hands braced on your shoulders as she begins to move. Her hips roll in circles, building rhythm from nothing, finding the pace that makes you grunt low and helpless beneath her. She throws her head back, her back arching in a fluid curve, riding you in deep, gliding thrusts.

“You feel�� so… fucking… good,” she pants, each word syncing with a slow grind down. You dig your fingers into her waist, guiding her faster.

“I’m not going to last,” you warn, unable to stop yourself.

“Don’t pull out,” she whispers near your ear, her breath hot.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I need to feel you dripping out of me,” she gasps. “I need to feel you all day, knowing you want me…”

“I want you so badly,” you shiver, trembling beneath her. “I wish I could stay inside you forever.”

“Yeah?” she mumbles, her pace quickening.

“This right here,” you manage, voice guttural, “is what I was made for, I’m sure.”

Taylor lets out a breathless giggle and you thrust up hard. Her hands brace against your chest as your rhythm turns frantic. The room is filled with wet sounds, skin against skin, and the rising whine of her voice.

She tightens around you, back arching again as she comes with a sharp cry, her pussy clenching in pulses. You’re seconds behind. You slam into her one last time and come hard, deep inside her, holding her still while you empty yourself with ragged moans. She stays with you through it, her body shaking, head buried in your neck.

After, you lie back, still joined, your hands smoothing over the sweat on her spine.

She lifts her head, cheeks flushed, eyes soft.

“Are you feeling better now?” she whispers.

You laugh loudly and roll your eyes.

“Am I feeling better now?” You say it in the same tone she used. “I’m killing myself when you leave.”

[criminalamnesia]

ok but price and simon could give such tolerate it vibes.

him with a younger partner. he finds your naivety and youth charming. you look up to him, and you can’t believe someone older and wiser is with you.

you met him when he was on leave, and things started getting serious after a few months, but then he was facing deployment again. so, with teary eyes and a broken heart, you watched him leave and promise you’ll write every day.

he chuckles and nods his head, placing a chaste kiss to your hair before slipping away.

you do write him everyday, and at first it’s endearing how worried you are. you don’t know what’s happening, and you’re so concerned— and he appreciates that. find it charming, even.

he comes home from that first deployment and you’re there, waiting with a battle hero’s welcome. streamers and balloons and a fucking cake you baked yourself on the dining room table of his flat. you, beaming brightly and clutching your hands together in glee, waiting by the door.

he laughs it off, tells you he appreciates it, but it was unnecessary. you tell him you think he deserves more.

time passes, and the charm of your naivety and doting loses its shine. you’re boasting to all your friends about your man, how amazing and strong and brave he is. and he tolerates it, laughs it off.

the next time he comes home from deployment, you’ve decorated your now shared flat. the whole nine yards because it’d been a longer deployment. his favorite meal, hot and fresh on the table. a bottle of his favorite liquor.

he can’t help but be annoyed. it was cute at first, and now he doesn’t understand it. he doesn’t care for the festivities— he’s done things no man should be proud of, yet here you are, celebrating him.

he doesn’t want to fight, so he tolerates it. puts on a smile, eats a few bites of dinner, and slips away for the evening. you frown but don’t question it.

soon it’s like you’re living with a shell of the man you loved. he’s quiet. gone a lot. barely affectionate. when the two of you talk, it usually ends in an argument. he won’t introduce you to any of his friends.

you still shower him with love, talk his ear off about plans and your day and whatnot, and he nods along absentmindedly.

your friends tell you he doesn’t deserve you. you’ve basically become a live-in housemaid that he occasionally fucks. you don’t believe it at first, but you come to realize it’s truth.

your love should be celebrated, not tolerated. you should be with someone who loves you as much as you love them.

the next time he’s on deployment, you move out. pack all your shit into a u-haul and move in with a friend for the time being. leave a note stained with tears on the dining room table.

he gets home from deployment, expecting what’s become normal. you, waiting anxiously by the door, jumping into his arms as soon as he’s inside. the smell of dessert or his favorite dinner wafting from the kitchen. balloons and streamers and confetti.

the house is dark when he steps through the door.

part two here, part three (ending version 1) here, part three (ending version 2) here

[slytherinsimp12]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊ 𝓖𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓱 ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊

Pairing: James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: James Potter was charming, mischievous, captain of the quidditch team and very popular among the girls at Hogwarts. He had a certain talent for making his presence aware , a charisma that was unmatchable. You didn’t have many friends, no matter how hard you tried, people never seemed to acknowledge you. To put it quite plainly, you were the polar opposite of James. You spent years trying to push out and ignore any romantic feelings you had for him, because come on… there is no way he even knows you exist…. Right?

Warnings: Mild swearing and kissing/ making out.

Author’s Note: Hi my loves, this is part 1 of a mini series called- Gold rush. I will keep updating, as fast as I can. If you like my work, feel free to send in requests and leave comments 💌. Happy reading xx. Part 2 and Part 3 out now! (Comment to be added to the taglist)

The lively chatter of students filled the corridors. Golden light shone on the cold, aged walls. The air was heavy with the scent of old books, dust and a hint of magic. You made your way towards the dungeons, just in time for Potions class. You were fairly late; your usual spot was taken by another student. You scanned the classroom, looking for a vacant seat. Unfortunately, there was only one, at the very front of the class.

You settled in the empty seat, when you noticed the boy sitting next to you. His messy black hair was overgrown, and ruffled in a way that looked purposeful. His hazel eyes appeared large beneath his round glasses. James Potter was unreasonably attractive, that wasn’t a secret. You spent your first few years at Hogwarts trying to deny it, but it was of no use. You tried telling yourself his good looks didn’t make up for his arrogant and vexatious personality. He was insufferable.

You hated the way he paraded around the school, hands casually tucked in his pockets, increasing his voice by a few extra decibels whenever a pretty girl walked by. You hated the way he effortlessly drew attention to himself as soon as he walked into a room. And what you hated the most, was when he would catch your gaze lingering on him for a little too long.

“Good morning students. I will be assigning you your partners from now onwards. You will stick to these arrangements for the rest of the academic year.” Professor Slughorn announced, earning disappointed groans from the whole class.

“I have learned my lesson after the ‘incidents’ young Mr. Potter and Mr.Black have caused.” He continued, causing wide grins to spread across James and Sirius’ faces.

Slughorn spent most of the lesson reading out the pairs he had made. You were growing impatient, he hadn’t called out your name yet, maybe this was the perfect opportunity to finally make a new friend… and you know, make it last this time.

“Mr.Potter and Ms. Y/L/N” The professor called out.

You have got to be kidding me, you thought to yourself, a horrified look plastered across your face.

“Why that face, love? I don’t bite” James said turning towards you, then to Sirius and letting out a laugh.

You rolled your eyes and left class, saved by the bell.

The next day, you decided to spend your free time in the library and catch up on some homework. Immersed in your work, you almost didn’t notice the figure walking towards you.

“Feeling studious, are we?” James asked, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward.

“I was, until you came along.” You mumbled, mostly to yourself, as you stared packing your things up.

“Wait, where are you going?” James asked.

“I’m sorry, is there something in particular you want from me?” You snapped.

“You’re my new potions partner aren’t you? I thought we could study for the upcoming test together.” He said cooly.

“Right… well, I’m y/n.” You said, extending your hand.

“You’re kidding right?” James asked, with an almost offended expression.

“Why would I be kidding about my name?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Bloody hell… I know who you are y/n!” James exclaimed. “Third year, Defence against the dark arts, fourth year transfiguration and history of magic and fifth year, divination and astronomy. Those are all the classes we had together, do you not remember?” James continued.

“Oh- um… yea, I guess.” You said, dumbfounded. You remembered. You obviously remembered. How could you forget? But the real question was, how in Merlin’s Name did James freaking Potter know who you were? Did you hit your head and fall into an alternate reality, where you were one of the bimbos he noticed?

It had been a week since that unforeseen encounter with James. He would wink at you during meals or purposefully walk too close to you in the corridors, just enough for your shoulders to brush. He would pretend like he didn’t notice you, but you could feel his stare penetrate when you weren’t looking.

The following night, you woke up in a cold sweat. Your stomach was churning with nausea; it must have been the puking pasties a girl named Marlene gave you.

You were in desperate need of fresh air. Careful not to wake your dorm mates, you slipped out of bed, not caring that you’re in your pyjamas and decided to take a stroll around the castle. You had to be really cautious to not get caught, you didn’t want your house to loose points. You made your way to the dungeons, as it had a lovely view of the black lake.

“Light them up before Filch comes!” A voice whispered.

“What if the Slytherins wake up!” A shrill voice filled with fear added.

“Leave if you must , Pete! But do not ruin this for the rest of us.” You could recognise that voice anywhere.

You peaked your head from the corner of a wall, spotting James and his group of friends, ‘the marauders’, they called themselves. How cheesy. They were in-front of the Slytherin common room, with what seemed to be dung bombs and fire crackers in their hands.

‘Bloody hell. They’re mental.’ You thought to yourself.

“Shit! Run!” One of the voices shouted.

The crackers exploded, creating loud sounds and a strong pungent smell. From a distance, you could see Filch running towards the mess. Suddenly, you felt someone grab you from behind. Before you could shout, their hand covered your mouth. You turned your head to see James signalling you to be quiet. He pulled you into a hidden corner as Filch scoured the surroundings, looking for the culprits behind the mess.

He released his hand from your mouth.

“What the hell! What are you guys doing! Have you absolutely lost your minds??!!” You whisper shouted.

“Y/N Y/L/N, are you following me?To answer your question, no our minds are very much intact. Just a bit of sweet revenge on the Slytherins. Nothing special.” James smirked.

You noticed just how close the both of you were standing. You could feel his warm breath on your cheeks. You could see the soft curve of his lips and the slight flush in his cheeks. You could hear his heart racing.

He lifted his arm, gently brushing a strand of stray hair away from your face.

Whatever gap was there between the two of you, was closed by James. His lips crashed into yours with an intensity that set your skin on fire. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. All the years of pent up emotions you felt for James came rushing. He pulled away from the kiss to catch his breath, the overwhelming force left you reeling.

“Prongs! Prongs, where are you?” A voice hissed.

“Shit.” James said, through clenched teeth.

“Prongs?” You asked, smirking and raising an eyebrow.

“It’s Sirius. I’ve got to go. Will you be able to go back to your dorm on your own?” James questioned.

You nodded.

“Catch you later, y/n” He said, flashing you that famous James Potter smile.

That alone was enough to make your heart melt.

(All rights reserved, ©)

[wchswift]

─── SO HIGH SCHOOL

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: As teenagers, you and Dean had a whirlwind romance before everything fell apart. Years later, you reunite—and it’s like high school all over again.

contents! mutual pining, teenage love, soft, flirting and touching, stupid in love dean, mdni 𖤐 18+

word count: 2.8k

𝒟ean masterlist !

Dean was the first and only real love you had.

Well, not exactly real. And maybe not exactly love.

He was the good part of your day. That person you knew would be there. The person who made school possible and tolerable.

Dean was always known for his charm, for his way with girls. For always having them. But the moment Dean joined your group of friends and you two became even remotely close, it was as if something, a connection, that you didn't know could exist, finally made itself present within you.

It wasn't something verbalized, something explicit. But as soon as you had your first kiss, there was no one else. No other girl in school had a chance with him. He wouldn't let you go, and much less took his eyes off you.

Everything felt so real. Even if it was just between the lines.

He was the best "relationship" you ever had. The best moments and the best treatment you had from a boy were with Dean Winchester.

And then just as it all began, suddenly he wasn't there anymore.

One night you two were together in the back seat of the car and the next morning he was gone from town, without any explanation.

And when you were seventeen, that was the last time you saw Dean.

You and Dean were sure you would never see each other again. You were teenagers, it was normal. People come and go from school all the time, it was common to meet people at school and then never see them again, never find out how they are.

This is what you and Dean thought things would be like. Just a memory that would fade in time. Never having to worry about looking each other in the eye again.

But when was anything ever simple in Dean Winchester's life?

A case never ended up being just a case.

The small town didn’t exactly scream "monster hotspot," but something was definitely off. Three people had vanished without a trace in the past two months, all last seen at the same place—a cozy little diner on Main Street that doubled as a bookstore. The place was old-school charming, the kind of spot with checkered floors, the scent of fresh coffee in the air, and a tiny bell over the door that jingled whenever a customer walked in. Nothing about it screamed "supernatural danger," but Dean had learned long ago that the worst things often hid in the most ordinary places.

“Alright, so we got three missing persons, no bodies, and a common location,” Sam said, flipping through his notes. “No signs of struggle, no EMF spikes, no sulfur. If it’s something supernatural, it’s keeping a low profile.”

Dean tapped his fingers against the Impala’s steering wheel, squinting at the diner across the street. “Or it’s just smart. Maybe a witch, maybe something we haven’t seen before.”

Sam sighed. “So, the usual—talk to employees, check out security footage, dig through lore?”

Dean smirked. “Aw, you're so smart, Sammy.”

With that, they climbed out of the car and crossed the street, the bell over the door announcing their arrival. The place was warm and inviting, filled with the quiet hum of conversation and the soft crackle of pages turning. Dean barely had time to take it all in before his gaze landed on someone behind the counter.

He recognized you instantly. There wouldn't be a day that he wouldn't.

You were busy jotting something down, focused on a customer, completely unaware of him—at first. Dean’s stomach tightened, his pulse kicking up. It had been years, but damn if you wasn’t still the same girl he remembered—just sharper, more grown-up, but still you. The girl who had once snuck out of your house to meet him, who had laughed against his lips under the Friday night stadium lights, who had looked at him like he was worth something—until he left without saying goodbye.

When you lifted your head, ready to serve the new customers, that’s when you saw him.

For a second, just a second, your eyes met, and he saw it: the flicker of recognition, the moment your heart probably dropped into your stomach the same way his had.

To this day, Dean always remembers the way you used to look at him. The sparkle in your eyes, the way they seemed to smile, emanating happiness and trust.

Just seeing you made him feel as if he were in high school again.

And now? Now you were standing behind the counter, your apron tied around your waist, a pen tucked behind your ear, looking at him like you weren’t sure whether to punch him or pretend he didn’t exist.

Dean opened his mouth, but for once in his life, words failed him.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you finally muttered, eyes narrowing.

Sam cleared his throat. "Uh, Dean—?"

“Yeah, yeah, I got it, Sammy.” Dean snapped out of it, forcing a grin. “Long time, no see, sweetheart.”

"Didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Winchester.” Your voice was calm, even, but there was an edge to it, a quiet challenge. "Guess life’s full of surprises."

Dean exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah… guess it is."

Sam, ever the unfortunate third wheel, glanced between them and shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, we’re actually here about the disappearances. We’re—"

"FBI?" you cut in, lifting a brow. "Do you want me to believe that you two are FBI?"

Dean had to bite back a smirk. Of course you weren’t buying their act. You had always been sharp. Always saw right through him.

Sam hesitated. "We just have a few questions."

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the counter before jerking your chin toward an empty booth in the corner. "Fine. Take a seat. I’ll be over in a minute."

Dean watched as you turned on your heel, disappearing into the back. Only when you were out of sight did he let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face.

“Well,” Sam muttered, “that wasn’t awkward at all.”

Dean ignored him, eyes still locked on the door you had just walked through.

Yeah. This case just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

Only to get better, when you return, you decided to act as if he didn't exist. There was no sign of recognition on your face. No lingering shock, no flicker of emotion. Just cool, effortless professionalism, like you didn’t just have the wind knocked out of you moments ago.

A notebook is in your hand now, the pen twirling between your fingers as you slide into the seat across from them. Your eyes flick briefly to Sam—acknowledging him first, like Dean isn’t even there.

“So,” you say, tone even. “What exactly do you want to know? If this is about the disappearances, let me say I don’t know much. Just that they all came in here before they went missing. We gave their names to the cops already”

Dean leaned in, arms folding as he tilted his head slightly. “You always this helpful, sweetheart?”

The nickname made your eye twitch—barely.

You finally, finally glanced at him, and for a second, all he could see was the fire behind your gaze.

“I try my best, agent.” Your lips curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Anything else?”

Sam cleared his throat, glancing between the two of you, clearly picking up on the weird energy but too polite, more like too damn confused, to say anything. “Uh—right. But anything else you might’ve noticed? Strange behavior? Anyone bothering them?”

You exhaled through your nose. “Not that I remember.”

Feeling that with all this tension he wasn't going to get anywhere, Sam decided to stop there. “Alright, I think that’s all we need for now, then. If you remember anything else, let us know.”

With a nod, you began to rise from your seat, your body moving almost instinctively as you embraced the end of the conversation. “Sure thing."

As Dean watched you walk back to the counter, he couldn't believe you acted as if he wasn’t even there. However, if you thought that was the end of it, you were mistaken. Now that Dean had found you again, he wasn’t planning to just walk away. Not this time.

“Dude,” Sam muttered, voice low, snapping Dean out of his reverie. “What the hell was that?”

Dean exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “It’s complicated.”

Sam frowned. “Yeah, no kidding. You gonna fill me in?”

Dean didn’t answer right away, just watched as you disappeared through the swinging door behind the counter.

He used to love watching you walk away. Now it just felt like he was losing you all over again.

After a beat, he pushed up from the booth. “I’ll be back.”

Sam sighed. “Dean—”

But Dean was already moving.

The back door of the diner led to a narrow hallway—one he knew you’d taken to get a breather. It was quieter back here, the hum of conversation fading into a dull murmur.

And sure enough, there you were.

Your hands braced on the edge of a small counter, eyes closed, breathing deep. He knew that look. Knew you were trying to steady yourself, get your walls up before he could knock them down.

Too late.

“Still not gonna look at me?”

Your shoulders tensed at his voice, but you didn’t turn. “What do you want, Dean?”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms folding. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe a little acknowledgment? A hey, Dean, long time no see. Thought you were dead or in jail—”

“Wouldn’t have been surprised.”

Dean let out a sharp breath, a humorless smirk twitching at his lips. “Yeah, well. Didn’t end up that way.”

Silence.

You reached up, rubbing your temple, like talking to him was physically painful.

And hell, maybe it was.

After a beat, you finally turned to face him, arms crossing. Your eyes were sharp, guarded. But there was something else beneath it. Something raw.

“Why are you here, Dean?”

His chest ached at the way you said his name. Not like you used to—soft, familiar, like it meant something. Now it just sounded… tired.

“Job brought us here,” he said, keeping it simple.

You studied him, unconvinced. “And what? You thought, hey, let’s stop by and ruin her day while we’re at it?”

Dean huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, because that’s what I wanted. To see you look at me like I’m a damn ghost.”

You flinched. It was quick—so quick he almost missed it. But he didn’t.

And suddenly, the fight drained out of you. Your gaze dropped for the first time since this whole thing started, fingers tightening against your sleeves.

Dean’s throat worked.

He could push. Could try to get you to really talk, break down that wall you were building brick by brick.

But the way you looked right now? Like you were holding yourself together with nothing but sheer will—

He couldn’t do it.

Not yet.

Instead, he exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Look. I don’t know how long we’ll be in town. But I think we’re gonna be crossing paths whether you like it or not.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t answer.

Dean nodded, stepping back. “Just… don’t pretend I was never here, alright?”

And with that, he walked away.

He didn’t see the way your jaw clenched, the way your fingers curled into fists like you were stopping yourself from reaching out—

Didn’t hear the breath you let out, shaky and uneven, as soon as he was gone.

You knew this wasn’t the end—couldn’t be. Deep down, you knew that your story with Dean Winchester was far from over. And you knew that the moment he decided to see you again, he would pull you close once more, weaving his way into your heart until you could never imagine leaving his side again.

Weeks passed.

Looking back, you weren’t sure when exactly everything shifted.

Maybe it was after Dean came back to the diner and made you listen while he told you the truth—even though at the time you were sure that the man you once loved was completely insane.

But maybe it was when you started helping with the case, and somewhat believing him—not because you wanted to be a hunter, but because you wanted to be with him.

Or maybe it was just inevitable. Like gravity pulling you back into his orbit, like you never really had a choice in the first place.

All you knew was that, suddenly, it felt like before—like sneaking out past curfew, like warm summer air and stolen kisses in the Impala, like every love song that made your chest ache.

Only now, you weren’t kids anymore.

And Dean Winchester had never been the kind of guy to love halfway.

Which was how you ended up here.

Sitting in a diner, trying to pretend like Dean’s hand wasn’t sliding up your thigh under the table.

Across from you, Sam exhaled sharply through his nose. His patience was wearing thin.

“Dude,” he gritted out, glaring at Dean. “Can you stop touching her for five seconds?”

Dean, the picture of innocence, took a sip of his coffee. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sammy.”

Sam’s expression was pained.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, but when Dean leaned in—his lips brushing your ear when he definitely didn’t need to be that close—you swatted at his chest.

“Dean.”

“What?” He smirked, not even pretending to be sorry. “Just admiring my girl.”

Sam muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like I hate this.

But it only got worse from there.

Dean was relentless.

His hands were always on you—an arm wrapped around your waist, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt, palm resting low on your back. He kissed your temple absentmindedly, whispered things that made you flush, smirked when he caught you looking at him like you still had a teenage crush on Dean Winchester.

Because you did.

You always had.

Later, at Bobby’s, the three of you sprawled in the living room—Dean practically wrapped around you on the couch, arms snug around your waist, his breath warm against your neck.

Sam was across the room, doing some research on his laptop, eyes glued to the screen as if sheer focus could block out the absolute nonsense happening beside him.

Dean, completely unbothered, nosed at your temple. “You cold?”

You weren’t.

At all.

But you hummed innocently, just to see what he’d do.

Dean, ever the problem, tugged you closer, his hands sliding beneath the hem of your sweater, tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin.

You shivered.

He felt it.

And he smirked.

“You’re shameless,” you whispered, biting your bottom lip to repress a smile.

Dean nipped at your jaw. “Yeah?” His lips brushed your ear, and God, you felt it everywhere.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet, meant just for you. “Wanna know somethin’?”

You swallowed. “What?”

Dean shifted, his mouth so close his breath fanned warm against your skin. “First time I saw you? When we were stupid teenagers?” His hands traced higher, fingers barely grazing the edge of your bra. “Damn near forgot how to breathe.”

Your stomach plummeted.

“Dean.”

“Mm?”

Your heart hammered, but you fought to keep your voice steady. “Sam is right there.”

Dean pulled back just enough to glance at his brother—who was clearly tuning you out, laser-focused on not acknowledging this entire situation.

“If he has a problem, he can get up and leave.”

You swatted at his chest, biting back a laugh, but when you turned to face him, his expression shifted—no teasing, no smugness. Just him, looking at you like he was seeing you all over again.

His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up.

And just like that, you felt seventeen again.

God, what was it about him that made you feel like this?

That made you ache?

Dean’s lips parted, his gaze flickering down to your mouth.

Your breath caught.

He grinned—slow, lazy, devastating. “You gonna let me kiss you, sweetheart?”

You were sure your heartbeat was so loud.

Sam made a strangled noise in the background.

Dean groaned, dropping his head back against the couch. “Jesus Christ, Sammy, just leave the damn room.”

“I'm living here too,” Sam deadpanned, not directing his gaze towards you.

Dean huffed, shaking his head before turning back to you—his eyes darker now, filled with something deep and warm and completely unshakable.

You swallowed, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.

This man knew what he wanted and, boy, he definitely got you.

But God, Dean Winchester was so much. And he had been from the start.

And you were so gone for him.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

lina's notes: I should have posted this a long time ago lol, but it didn't turn out exactly how I wanted and I was a little unsure but I hope you liked it <3

taglist: @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids @bettystonewell @rositaslabyrinth @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @freeluigihesbae (if you want to be removed or added let me know <3)

[yourauthorjen]

꩜ᝰ.ᐟ YOUR CAMERA ROLL AS JOAQUIN TORRES’ GIRLFRIEND

⋆⭒˚.⋆

ever since joaquin had gifted you your first camera, the candid of photos never stopped. at first it had been a quiet gesture, something wrapped in brown paper and twine, placed beside your coffee cup one sleepy morning. you’d blinked at the unfamiliar weight of it in your hands, then up at him, confused and still halfway tangled in the blanket you had stolen from the couch.

he had bought it at the downtown store— the exact same one you had been eyeing ever since you saw it. now, you just stared down at the compact silver body of the camera, the weight of already fitting in your hands before you’d kissed him hard. the camera was pressed awkwardly between your chests, and he’d laughed against your lips, but your happiness was unmatched with your newfound joy to pass time.

after that, you took pictures of everything.the pattern of rain on the window, the soft curve of joaquin’s jawline, the way his face scrunched up in concentration when he read his file reports. it wasn’t hard to tell that he was your favourite photo subject— but he never complained. just let you click away, sometimes posing, other times just watching you with an amused expression.

"your camera’s gonna get tired of me," he teased one evening as you were sprawled out on the floor, trying to frame a shot of him stretching on the couch, hoodie riding up slightly, dim lamp casting golden light over his skin.

"that's a big fat lie," you replied stubbornly, "and we both know that."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

but that didn’t mean joaquin didn’t take his fair share of photos too.

at some point you had caught him fiddling with your camera when you had left the room, only to scroll through the roll to find several unexpected candids of you—you standing in front of a sunset, you shying away from the camera a hand covering your face, and several more of blurry polaroids of you all dressed up to go out.

he never admitted it though, just shrugged with a thoughtful smile on his face.

there were several more that night. you and joaquin had gone to a party hosted by a mutual, but several of your friends were there. one of them had taken a specific interest in your camera and wanted to take a few photos. eager to get rid of the weight of it sitting at the bottom of your bag, you handed it over and dragged joaquin onto the dance floor.

though, somewhere in the middle of that evening with drunk, neon chaos, your friend had captured a few precious moments of you and joaquin. a few shots of you playing beer pong, a few of you swaying together to the music, and your personal favourite— joaquin with his hands cupping your face as you mashed your lips against the sweet and toxic taste of his, while your fingers clung to his shirt desperate for more.

he had saved that one, tucking it into the back of his phone case.

but you adored it. you adored his smug little grin when you tugged him closer to kiss him, to feel his warmth radiate against your body, and you adored that he got you that little camera to save all the love and memories that you had together.

you cherished every photo, hanging them up on a thin pieces of string with clothing pins, and attaching it onto the wall of your living room. and sometimes joaquin would stand in front of it, admiring the row of plastic films with a small shine in his eyes. you would join him, squeezing his hand before he spun you around and pressed his mouth to your hair.

"loving you, is the best thing i've ever done."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

didn't read the note on the polaroid picture, they don't know how much i miss you.

i wish i could fly, i'd pick you up and we'd go back in time. — taylor swift, the very first night

[seilahdiaries]

୨ৎ you and everything french. 𝐒. 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒

. . . four times you’ve tried catching Soda’s attention, and the one time you did.

imagine ! જ⁀➴ ⋮ ⌗ 𝓯! reader warnings . . . none

🪽 tysm for the recent likes! i love you all and i hope you guys enjoy thiss, guys i love writing a silly reader. listen to the song while reading! now playing . . . i can see you - taylor swift

you’re not exactly sure when your crush on sodapop curtis started.

maybe eighth grade, the year he got taller and when you started noticing little things— like the way his voice changed when he laughed or the way his pretty eyes sparkled when he did something he wasn’t suppose to.

despite that, you guys never really talked. it was always just mere you dropped this, or do you have a pencil? nothing that would mean he noticed you or thought of you in another way other than just his classmate.

then sandy happened— and you told yourself you were fine with it, ignoring seeing them hold hands and make out in the hallways. and you were respectful, you stopped writing his initial and yours with a heart, you hummed songs instead of romanticizing every word he said, and you waited. waited till it went away.

and it almost did. until it didn’t.

when a few months ago, a spur of events came and they were no longer together anymore. and you— sweet and slightly delusional— felt the tiniest of hope and decided it was the right moment. felt that maybe this would be it.

this year would be it, is what you told yourself. except you were a soc. and he’s a greaser. and your friends— charlotte may and blaire kavinsky weren’t exactly cheering for this relationship.

blaire had even frowned when you brought up, “i’m not saying he’s a bad guy,” she reasoned, “i’m saying greasers can be trouble.”

charlotte just pursued her lips and told her, “when you do this, wear the white ribbon in your hair— the one that makes your eyes look soft.”

people tell you you’re pretty, you wear dainty clothes, people smile at you in the halls and boys even offer to carry your books just so they could smell your perfume. but none of them are him.

and this time you’re gonna try, really try.

and now, while you’re halfway through history and your pencil snaps. the tip sliding into the corner of your desk.

you stare at it for a second, when an idea pops in your pretty mind. then glancing sideways.

he’s right there. one row over, one seat back.

you glance once again. he’s leaning forward on the desk, the curve of his sharp jaw resting on the palm of his hand. he’s not even pretending to take notes, just watching the window like he’s not sat in history class, just somewhere else entirely.

your heart picks up a little, you’re not wearing the white ribbon today. but your hair is blown out, and your sweater is a soft pastel, you feel okay— brave enough.

you turn in your seat slightly, and in a mere whisper, you whisper, “hey.. do you have a pencil?”

he blinks out of his day dream, looks at you. his eyes are warm, and a little sleepy. but without a word, he reaches into his bag and pulls the pencil out.

bitten, stubby and no eraser. the wood at the end splintered like someone got bored and took their frustration out on the poor pencil.

he passes it over without looking twice. you take it, and just as your fingers coated with a milky pink polish brush his, you hear a sound— a pfft from in front of you. charlotte.

you bite the inside of your cheek, offer a quiet, quick “thanks,” and try to act normal. you immediately glance up, her shoulders are shaking.

of course she’s laughing.

it was charlotte’s idea.

“you should absolutely write him a note,” she said, standing in your room the night before with her arms crossed.

blaire, half-asleep on your bed in a lilac silk robe, muttered “this is a bad idea.”

but you did it anyways.

pink stationary and little gold hearts in the corners. you wrote it curled on your fluffy rug at midnight, with vanilla cashmere lotion on your legs and the ronnettes playing softly.

and because you’re you, you lightly sprayed the paper with your perfume.

just a little, so if he opened it, he’d know. and it would smell like sweetness and daydreams.

you, charlotte, and blaire showed up early to “help” your english teacher organize the class library. which really meant the two of them distracted her while you tiptoed over to the shelf, find the copy which you thought was his and slip the note inside.

and when third period came, you sat with the two girls in the front left corner, pretending not to look over at sodapop, who’d sat with his friends in the way back.

he looked tired, you noticed. but your heart was pounding.

while you were in a conversation with the girls, a boy you didn’t even know— skinny, glasses and fluffy hair walked up to the front of the room.

handing her something— something pink. it caught your eyes for a second.

the teacher squinted at it, “oh?”

the boy smiled, “i think someone lost this, i found it in my copy.”

then, without any remorse, she read it aloud.

“you probably won’t notice this, but i notice you. everytime you smile i fall in love all over again. i’m not brave, but maybe this is enough.” “—p.s if you ever want to walk me home, just say the word.”

you felt your entire soul drop to your stomach, you froze.

someone let out a howl, others clapped and sodapop? soda laughed. all bright and boyish just like you said in the note and definitely not in love with you.

blaire was wheezing, charlotte looked like she was biting the corner of her lip to keep it from making it worse. you sat there, hand half over your mouth and with the nastiest side eye ever known.

“atleast you made him laugh?” charlotte said with no help.

the smell of your perfume lingered above everyone like a cloud of sweet and feminine. the worst part was he never even looked at you. or did he recognize that perfume?

a pleated white tennis skirt that fluttered with every breeze, a matching sweater draped over your collarbone and your hair loosely pulled back in a soft low ponytail that brushed against the middle of your back.

you were playing doubles at the country club after school, a friendly match between you and spencer— a tall, preppy friend that was definitely not your type, but easy to be around— and blaire and charlotte on the other side.

things were going well and you were about to serve again when you heard a voice— faint, familiar.

you turned and there he was.

sodapop curtis in a black t-shirt and dirty jeans. walking with steve and laughing at something with his head tilted back. he wasn’t looking at you, not yet atleast.

your stomach dropped so fast you almost dropped your racket, but your grip tightened, now or never.

you stepped into position, and tossed the ball up. your form was great, elegant even. you swung—

smack.

a shriek.

blaire dropped her racket and doubled over, hands flying to her face.

you stood frozen for a full second, eyes wide, mouth open.

charlotte burst into laughter. and spencer let out the loudest “OHHHH!” you’d ever heard. followed by a wheezy “what was that?”

your hand slapped over your mouth, “ohmygod— blaire— im— im so sorry!” you cried out, abandoning your racket and running to the net. “i wasn’t—i didn’t mean— i swear i didn’t mean to!”

“you almost sent me into another dimension.” she groaned out from behind her hand.

“do you want ice? a milkshake? i’ll buy you a million. name anything. anything.”

charlotte finally calmed her laughter down and crouched down beside her, gently nudging her shoulder “atleast you’re not knocked out.”

you were kneeling now, right infront of her, frantically brushing hair from her cheek, full of worry and guilt. and sodapop— he was the last thing on your mind now.

until blaire said it, muffled and slightly incoherent.

“he saw.”

you blinked, “what?”

blaire raised a brow. “sodapop. he looked over and laughed. so did steve.”

charlotte nodded, trying to suppress the sudden giggle that threaten to slip. “he definitely saw. probably thinks were insane.”

you sat back on your heels, cheeks flushed.

“great,” you deadpanned, “my reputation is violence now.”

blaire grumbled, “he better fall in love with you. my cheeks already swelling.”

you groaned into your palms, “i’m never showing my face on this court again.”

you had started the day cute, you wore your cable-knit ralph lauren top, your hair soft and loose again, catching sunlight like honey. the iced coffee you sipped on had extra vanilla, just how you liked it.

you, charlotte and blaire had wandered into the boutique on fifth that always smelled like sugared cookies and tulips. fashion magazines sat by the register, racks were stocked with cute and comfy sleep wear sets, frilly tops and baby pink silks.

“ooh, this,” blaire gasped, holding something sheer and ridiculous. “put this on. immediately.”

“you’re kidding,” you replied, already laughing.

but you did— and the next one. and the next.

soon, your dressing room was filled with chiffon and pastel. you did twirls in every outfit, the curtain whipped open dramatically each time and the sounds of charlotte and blaire hollering and laughing filled the time.

you were mid-spin in a soft pink tulle dress that made you practically float, layers of ruffles around your knees and the back only half-zipped because you’d given up trying. when blaire said—

“wait, wait, hair up. you really need to let the neckline breathe.”

“i don’t have a tie.” you whined, staring into the mirror.

blaire immediately spotted a silver clip— meant for closing snack bags but nonetheless grabbed it.

in one messy swoop, your hair was pulled into the worst bun of your life and clipped up with the plastic chip bag clip. loose pieces framed your face at odd angles. “oh yeah, this is totally it.” charlotte declared, legs kicked up on the plush bench and macaron from the sample plate halfway in her mouth.

“pose. right now. give me…” blaire thought for a moment, “bridal ballerina.”

so you did. standing on tiptoe infront of the dressing room mirror, arms raised. laughing and ridiculous, your cheeks were warm from all the twirling.

and just then— the bell above the door chimed.

you didn’t think anything of it, until charlotte froze mid-laugh.

“um,” blaire said, sharply. “..don’t freak out.” her eyes wide.

you blinked, “what?”

you turned around. and there he was. sodapop curtis.

standing by the front desk with a perfectly neutral expression as he talked to the sweet old lady receptionist, glancing around as if he didn’t just walk into your personal crash scene, until they paused. on you.

you didn’t even think before you dove behind the nearest cardigan rack like your life depended on it.

you crouched there, heart in your throat and frozen among the sweater vests and moist rose air from the humidifier.

you could hear everything— the soft music, the buzz outside, his sweet voice and the girls whispering near the dressing room.

you barely breathed until the bell chimed again and the door closed.

“okay,” blaire said, appearing above. “you can come out now.”

you peeked before standing up slowly, dazed.

charlotte leaned back on the couch, sipping your coffee. “he didn’t laugh.” she said, eyeing you. “didn’t look twice, or look amused.”

you stared at her, “..what do you mean?”

“he just looked,” blaire shrugged, “picked up a skirt. paid. then left.”

you were quiet, staring down at your feet.

“maybe he thinks i’m weird.”

charlotte blinked, “you are weird, you literally froze then threw yourself into the sweaters.”

“not helping,” you groaned.

you layed down on the couch with a dramatic sigh, layers of tulle surrounding you like cotton candy. blaire brought you your chip clip and a macaron, placing it on your stomach solemnly, like a lost possession.

you didn’t even laugh.

the event had finally calmed down. something with fundraising for the clubhouse garden, but when the chocolate fountain came out— no one really remembered.

your once- perfect makeup didnt survive the chocolate, even with charlotte warning you not to lean in so close. but you laughed it off.

it didn’t matter, anyway. you’d stopped caring since the boutique embarrassment. you had spent so long trying— years! not just four times. and not once had he ever seen you, not the way you wanted him to.

and now you found yourself here— barefoot in patchy grass and under a dusky lavender sky. your fingers were sore from picking up tiny foil stars and tissue paper confetti— spencer was suppose to help you while the rest of the club mingled inside.

but he ditched.

at this point, you gave up and collapsed into a patio chair, one leg tucked beneath you, sipping lemonade from a small, flimsy styrofoam cup.

your long white sundress, feminine and romantic blew with the small breeze with delicate straps and a neckline just shy of sweet. your kitten heels sat forgotten a few feet away from the porch steps. and your previous blowout fell flat from the humidity, clinging to the sides of your face.

the porch was quiet now, the crickets sang in the bushes and your eyes unfocused. even when there was a small thud from nearby, your rosy lip caught between your lip blissfully unaware.

“s’nice out,” came a voice from the slight shadows.

you blinked. sodapop.

your guess was he jumped the fence, sneaking in.

he walked up to the porch, hands in his pocket. you had barely seen him since the boutique but yet— you didn’t find yourself sitting straighter, tucking your hair behind your ear or licking your lips. you simply looked at him.

“didn’t know anybody was out here,” he added, glancing sideways at you. “figured everyone was inside playing bingo with the mystery meat.”

you let out a small snort before you could help it.

his smile ticked up, just a little. a subtle one, like as if you blinked you’d miss it. “are you good?”

you helped up your cup, “barely.”

“messy hair. no shoes.” he nodded with mock-seriousness. “brave woman.”

you laughed quietly. there was no butterflies, no trembling fingers. you weren’t trying and it all felt so normal, and maybe that’s why for once— it worked.

he didn’t sit beside you, but leaned against the porch railing a few feet away.

he looked at you again, a little longer this time. then, like it just came to him— “i like your dress.”

you blinked. “oh. thanks.”

a pause came over, you were tired. frizzy. and messy. you glanced at your light pink nails wrapped around the cup.

“i thought you thought i was weird,” you said softly.

soda blinked, taken off guard. “what?”

“never mind.” you shook your head, already regretting it.

but he tilted his head, continuing to just.. look at you. then said, “i don’t.”

you looked up, startled by how his voice genuinely sounded so gentle and sincere. but before you could say anything else, charlotte’s voice came from inside, muffled from the walls and hollering your name.

you exhaled, almost disappointed.

“guess i should—”

“see you tomorrow?” he asked.

you looked up at him again, he didn’t smile. not fully. but there was something in his eyes— and it was the look that you’ve been dreaming of since middle school.

you nodded, “yeah. see you.”

and he simply stepped back into the shadows, on his way to cause some trouble. but what you didn’t see— was the quiet, soft smile you got out of him when he turned away.

and then blaire popped out of nowhere, “charlotte’s been looking everywhere for you!”

there was a quiet, lazy smile on your face with flushed cheeks. did you finally do it?

[etherealily]

𝕊𝕀ℕ // ​🇳​​🇦​​🇹​​🇪​ ​🇯​​🇦​​🇨​​🇴​​🇧​​🇸​

My other Nate fics. If you have the time.

No one seemed to like the cliffhanger, so here's a draft that I converted into a bonus chapter.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Warnings : Dark. NSFW. Drugs. Contains brief explicit content. MDNI for this part alone. Closest thing to sm*t I've ever written (and will write).

Part 1 : Whiplash Part 2 : 9 Lives Part 3 : Blessed Part 4 : Shards Part 5 : Eighteen

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

════════════════════ ⋆🚩⋆ ════════════════════

Nate had never been more pissed in his life. Ever. You'd blatantly disobeyed him. Well, not technically. No technically, you hadn't been told anything, but he'd have figured you weren't so dense as to go and visit Shane motherfucking Crestin in the motherfucking ER !

Honestly. It's like you had one braincell and all it told you was to piss him off.

And fuck him. He definitely saw that in your eyes the last time.

Or was that the molly?

Probably the molly.

But whatever. The fact was, you wanted to fuck him, and he wanted to fuck you, and he had no idea why you wanted him out of your life if that was the case. Wasn't that fate? Two people want something so bad, they should end up doing it, no? Not going and visiting the reason they couldn't do it in the ER.

Yeah, he decided.

Yes. They. Should.

════════════════════ ⋆🚩⋆ ════════════════════

He'd figured you would avoid him like the plague, anyway. So he didn't care if it reached you or not that he was helping McKay host a party. So imagine his surprise when, after about two months of no contact, you showed up at his party.

"Whoa."

You frowned. "Excuse me?'

"What happened to 'get the fuck out of my life, Nate?' What, were you just full of it?"

"Dude. If me being here bothers you that much, I'll just fucking leav-"

"Jeez, don't be a baby, short stuff.", he cooed, patting your head before slinging an arm around you. "C'mon, let's do shots."

"Hey, whoa, whoa, none of this friendliness."

He rolled his eyes, removing his hand from you. "Fine. C'mon. I missed you."

And the problem was, he did. He actually fucking missed you. Which was the weirdest thing to happen to him since... well, birth. It wasn't anything in particular, it wasn't even the fact that you were easy on the eyes.

He, like a fucking simp, just liked you being around him.

With as much trepidation as a sycophant scorned by his master, he gently, reverently, offered you a shot. "For old times' sake?"

You rolled your eyes, taking it from him. "For old times' sake? Like, the time you got me drunk at school?'

He smiled, his hand slowly back around your shoulder as he tugged you closer, kissing your temple. "We could always go back, y'know?", he murmured next to your ear. "Get high on the bleachers again."

"No."

"C'mon, we haven't hung out in two months. Ditch these fakes. I'm the fun one, anyway."

Jesus.

He took a long drag of his vape, the smoke bombarding your face. He proferred it to you and frowned when you declined. "Why not?"

"I don't vape."

"Are you one of those bitches that says 'smoke a real cigarette'?"

"No, I don't smoke at all."

He rolled his eyes. "We're going to the bleachers."

It was weird, to say the least, the air between you two back at the bleachers. You sat, looking up at the sky, the grass, anywhere but his eyes, and he sat with his head on your lap.

Silence covered the two of you until he sighed. "Can we just pick up where we left off?"

"And where was that?"

"With me almost eating you out."

You scoffed. You wouldn't have done that if you thought he was being serious. You wouldn't have done that if you were entirely sober. But you didn't and you weren't, so you scoffed. "Right. Yeah. Sure."

"I'm not joking. You're making this harder than it needs to be. There isn't any ulterior motive, this is just... boy meets girl. Boy likes girl. Girl likes boy-"

"Debatable.", you muttered, but he ignored it.

"-Boy wants to fuck girl, girl wants to fuck boy, boy fucks girl. Why are you adding shit? Do you want drama? Is that what this is? Because we could do drama. I could do drama like you've never fucking seen before!"

In Nate speak, that meant he had a big dick and he wanted you to know.

"Look. It's just too complicated. You've- there's too much-"

"Forget it all. 'Kay? Just you and me.", he replied immediately, sitting up.

"Because you quote-unquote 'love' me."

"Exactly that." His lips found yours, and surprisingly, this time, you actually had a spine and pulled away.

"What the FUCK?"

Huffing, he rolled his eyes and stroked your cheek as he shifted and knelt down. "Can we skip the part where you scream 'what the fuck, what the fuck' and push me away and get to the part where you admit you want me? I've had a long day."

Seeing him down there did nothing to make you feel safer.

"Nate-"

"Jesus fuck, Y/N, please, just, for the love of god-", he muttered, as if you were being an inconvenience at the moment and not him, the asshat on his knees. "Would you just relax?"

"Look, Y/N. I love you.", he said, and his hands slowly slid up to the hem of your shirt, his thumb rubbing the skin right under it. "Let me show you."

"You don't love me. Stop saying that."

"Fine, then. I want you. And stop telling me you don't want me, like it's a mortal sin or something.", he warned, gripping the backs of your thighs.

Sadly, you couldn't entirely blame this on the molly this time.

It definitely contributed to the decision, but mostly to the fact that it made every single touch of his explode with a robust... flavour that you couldn't replicate even if you tried.

He smiled up at you so softly you'd think he was on his knees to propose. But no. Instead of opening up a little box, he opened the fly to your pants.

"Can you look at me, please?"

You sighed, looking down. "What?"

"You really don't look like you're against this. I'd even go so far as to say you want me, but you're too much of a pussy to admit it."

You did want him. BUT. You were against this. Because it was wrong. But you were letting him kiss up your thighs, bite at your lower abdomen.

Meaning it was the world according to Nate and it both infuriated you and turned you on.

FUCK.

Hums came from both your mouth and his, and before you knew it, your fingers felt nothing but the locks of his hair, pulling so hard there was no way he wasn't in pain. And he must have been, because gently, so seamlessly, he trailed his hand up to yours, removing it from his hair and interlocking it with his own.

But he didn't pause. His tongue continued doing... well, whatever the hell it was doing that made you want to stab the Earth for being able to produce Nate Jacobs as well as praise it for... well, being able to produce Nate Jacobs.

"You're a virgin?", he asked, breathless, raising a brow in incredulity.

You'd be lying if you said your brain even registered his question - registered anything but his tongue and lips.

"Are you a virgin?"

"Why? Don't tell me this is still a test to see if I'm easy or not-"

"It's not.", he assured, reaching up slowly, and then kissing your cheek of all fucking places. One of his hands trailed back down and into you while the other one immediately closed your mouth, though you had no idea why. It was a fucking desolate high school football field. No one was going to hear anyway.

He grinned, pressing his forehead against yours as he added another finger, curling them as he worked into you. "Shh, shh, shh.", he murmured, after probably feeling the results of you trying not to lose your shit beneath his palm.

"See? We go great together."

You screamed. But it didn't quite carry.

He frowned in confusion for a moment when you made a muffled noise and then muttered an 'ah' as he gently removed his palm from your mouth.

"That's not..."

"Hm? That's not what?"

You could have killed yourself right there, because he smirked is what he did. He smirked when you couldn't finish (and barely even start) your sentences.

"That's not even remotely..."

You were stalling. That was clear. Why? You didn't know. There was no logical reason. He was already fucking inside you, there was no point in backing out of this now.

But there was reason to hesitate.

He sighed, licking his lips and shaking his head in disappointment, brushing hair from your face. "Hey."

"What?"

"If you don't fuck me right now, I will lose my shit. I will cut myself. I will play Russian Roulette again. That work for you?"

Oh, this sick, sick, sick, SICK motherfucker.

════════════════════ ⋆🚩⋆ ════════════════════

Why you did it? Question for the ages.

You should've said no. You should've gone home. You didn't go home, though, not even after the fact. You probably should have.

Instead, you found yourself back at Fezco's store. Not voluntarily, either, it just seemed your car was as drained as you were, and you forgot to fill it back up.

"Rue?", you called out into what you imagined to be an abyss. Her voice appeared like light at the end of a tunnel. "Hey."

"You high?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I need someone to pick me up."

"Maddy's not free?"

"I didn't check."

"Well.", she groaned, shifting around, clearly in some sort of drug-induced discomfort, "You should. I don't wanna kill you, y'know, you mean so fucking much to me."

The sarcasm in her voice was mildly hurtful, but hey. At least she cared enough not to kill you.

More than Nate had ever cared.

"Okay."

So, of course, you called Cassie. Because no fucking way were you calling Maddy to come pick you up from the store owned by the local dealer, which was suspiciously close to the party thrown by her ex.

The car ride with her was smooth and lovely and peaceful. Because she was smooth and lovely and peaceful.

"You think your car will be safe, out there, all night?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I told Fez. He knows what to do."

"Y/N, I... I've noticed you've been off, like, the last term or so."

You did not need her therapy session right now.

"Nah, I'm fine."

"You're not.", she chuckled, nervously, shaking her head as she slowed down at the red light. "You seem on edge. I think it's cause of him."

"Him?" WHAT? How the fuck did this ditz know?

"Yeah. Like, I don't know, maybe you're in love with him, and you think it's, like... forbidden, because he's a bad influence or something, but you just kinda look... strung out. Like there's a huge secret you're keeping."

She was supposed to be clueless about what was going on around her. Isn't that the thing they say about hot blondes?

"Love? In love? With who?"

"Fezco, of course. I get it, he's a dealer, but he's also hot, and I guess, let's face it, he's quite nice for a criminal."

Oh, thank god. The dumb blonde theory stands.

"I'm not in love with Fez."

"Then why are you so... off?"

"I...", you sighed, deciding to stick to the truth as much as safely possible. "I got in with some bad people during spring break."

The look of concern on her face made you want to apologize and buy her whatever she wanted, or maybe even confess to every fucking sinful thought you'd ever had.

"What? Oh, my god, what? Like, hard drugs and shit?"

"More like guns and shit."

"Y/N, WHAT?!"

"Yeah, it was fucked up, but I'm out of it now, though, so you don't have to worry, okay, Cass? I'm peachy. I'm great, honest! Hey, it's turning amber."

She frowned, turning back to the road in front of her. "You sure?"

You'd never been more grateful for Nate throwing the lamp to your right rather than your left.

You'd never been more grateful for Nate giving you a hickey on your right rather than your left.

You nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, though."

"So. Did you... you went to his party, right? Did you see him? Did you guys talk?"

It took you a moment to figure out that she was talking about her ex.

"McKay? Yeah. Yeah."

"How is he? Did he mention me?"

"He's, um... he's doing fine, I guess. He looks like he misses you, but you know him. He probably won't tell me."

"I just... maybe we... I just want to, um... fix things."

"You should."

"You think?"

You nodded. What the fuck else could you do to distract her from the fact that if she took one look down, she'd see Nate blowing up your phone? "Yeah, you guys were great together."

You instantly cringed. Because that was what Nate had said about you and him. "See? We go great together."'

"I don't know if I want him back, or what. What do you think?"

That I just fucked Nate Jacobs. And that the molly was only half of it. That I'm going to kill myself.

"I think... I think you broke up for a reason, Cass."

She nodded, and the rest of the car ride went in pleasant silence.

Then she dropped you home.

And Rue was waiting for you.

════════════════════ ⋆🚩⋆ ════════════════════

"You're pissing me off. What is this, blackmail?'

"Yeah. It is. I saw you two in the bleachers, and if you tell people I'm not sober, I'll let it slip that you let Nate Jacobs inside you."

Keep your calm. If you show even a tiny sign of accepting that she was right, you're dead meat. "It was a psych project. He had just finished a practice, so we sat there and finished some work."

"With tequila?"

Silence. Okay. She was not talking about tonight. She was talking about the gun-night. This was salvageable.

"Funnily enough, Y/N, according to what Lexi told me, there's been no 'psych assignment-slash-project.'"

"Rue-"

"So you've not only been lying to all of us, you've been betraying Maddy. And you've done Jules so wrong.'

"Look, you don't even know-"

"Then tell me."

So you did. You told her about the Instagram story, you told her about the Russian roulette, hell, you even told her about the dinner and the scar. What you didn't tell her about was the sex. The mind-blowing guilt-inducing sex.

"But I saw you kiss him on the bleachers."

"I was drunk, Rue. I'd have let the fucking janitor kiss me."

"Look, Y/N, those are my terms."

"You're asking me to lie to everyone about your health, your wellbeing! We're all looking out for you, Rue! Y'can't just blackmail me into not doing right by you."

"As nice as that is, the fact still stands that you fucked Nate."

FUCK!

"Rue, please-"

"He doesn't even fucking want you. He wants to get back at Maddy, and you're too fucked out to see it!"

"Rue, you're crossing the li-"

"I bet that fucking him was the only thing you've been doing this whole time. What, did you fuck him when Maddy was with him?"

Rue laughed after you slapped her and that definitely told you she was so high she couldn't even feel it. "C'mon. Grow up.", she scoffed, tucking hair behind your ear. "Girl code's not important anymore, is it? We're all eighteen - adults - now."

WHY must everyone always do that with your hair? So fucking condescendingly, too?!

"Rue, I didn't fuck Nate Jacobs."

"Then why is he blowing up your phone? Yeah, you think I didn't notice the name on your screen?"

"He blows up my phone because he's a psycho- I told you about the Russian Roulette thing and the gun and the slit wris-"

"Yeah, but you said you asked him to leave you alone and he did. Why would he break no contact? What could've happened?"

"Rue, I am not going to help you fake sobriety in front of your family- I- Rue, what is that?"

She frowned, looking down and following your line of sight. Her bag. The front zip. A needle. She looked back up, deadpan. "Fent."

"RUE! YOU CAN'T EXPECT ME T-"

"Look, Y/N, I like you, I do. There's no reason for you to worry, okay? If you could be quiet, your life will go on as it always does. No reputation loss, no guilt, no embarrassment."

"This will kill you! I can't do that to you, Rue, please!"

"But you can do Nate Jacobs?"

You were genuinely about to strangle this fucking trapper cunt.

"Think about it."

What, had she gotten lessons in blackmail from him?

════════════════════ ⋆🚩⋆ ════════════════════

That night, you were too fucking exhausted to even question why Nate was knocking at your window. You just opened it for him. You just let him kiss you. You just let him tuck your hair behind your fucking ear.

"I have a question."

"What?"

"Did you visit Shane in the hospital?"

Okay. No way he could have found out about that. You didn't tell a single fucking soul.

"Huh?"

"I beat him up for you. 'Cause he was saying you fucked when you didn't.", he said, his voice oddly calm for a man betrayed.

"I didn't ask you to!"`

"Please.", he scoffed, clapping sarcastically. "Biggest cop-out of the century."

"I didn't!"

"He was calling you a slut, basically. As if you'd just give it up to anyone." What, like he knew you that well?

"Hundreds of people say hundreds of shit about me every fucking day! What am I, supposed to set you on them?"

"You could."

You scoffed.

"I'm being serious. You could say "'sic 'em' " and I'd beat them to a bloody pulp.", he informed, brushing hair over your ear again. "Say it. Tell me someone to beat up. I'll do it. No matter who it is."

"Nate. I didn't ask you to do any of this. I asked you to leave me alone, and you did the opposite!"

"You're acting like I showed up, fucked you, and then just left!"

He clenched his jaw, his grip on the piece of hair he just pushed behind your ear, now shifting to the rest of your hair. "No, cunt. I said 'I love you'. Or did you conveniently forget that?"

Oh. Right. THAT.

"What? You're suddenly acting like a pussy, baby, what's up with that? Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't remember. Don't be a pussy. C'mon, tell me. Oh, yeah, wait a minute, you can't."

"You didn't mean that. You wanted to get what you wanted, so you-"

"You think I say shit like 'I love you' lightly? You think I throw that word around?" Yes, he did, but you didn't need to know that. He decided to deploy the trauma card.

"You've seen what my parents are like. You think I'd abuse the words 'I love you'?"

"I guess not-"

"Yeah. EXACTLY."

Ooh, you were putty in his hands and he almost got a semi because of it.

"Look, okay, fine, Nate, that- that was out of pocket, but you can't expect me to-"

"But I do. I have never lied to you. Have I? I've blackmailed you and threatened you and, fuck, yeah, I've stuck a goddamn gun down your throat, but when have I ever lied?"

"So you're saying you 'love' me and I have to just accept it."

"I'm saying I love you, and you have to just believe it.'

And god help you, you somehow did.

"Rue's blackmailing me."

He mock-gasped. "You're cheating on me, then."

You couldn't help the chuckle that left your lips. Him being so calm in the face of danger should make him look foolish in your eyes, not admirable.

And the molly excuse was being held up by string the breadth of dental floss, honestly.

"Does she use firearms as well? Did you think about me the whole time?" He was clearly trying to make you laugh, and it was working.

He kissed your forehead. "What did she blackmail you for?"

"For or about?"

"Both."

"For : keeping her relapse a secret from everyone. About : the gun-night at the bleachers."

"Okay, so the choice is clear."

"What?"

Nate Jacobs had scared you when he'd said he loved you and when he'd said he'd kill himself for you, but he'd never scared you as much as he did with what he said next.

"We just sit back and watch that bitch OD."

[girllblogging777]

𝐶𝑅𝐴𝐷𝐿𝐸𝐷 𝐼𝑁 𝐶𝑂𝑀𝐹𝑂𝑅𝑇

↳ mattheo riddle x academic overachiever fem!reader (dating, fluff)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 0,6k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : mattheo comforts you after you get a bad grade

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

you stared at the parchment, your chest tightening as you looked at the red mark on top of it : A, for Acceptable. you were used to getting O’s for Outstanding or maybe E for Exceeds, but this… this was a complete failure for you. you were top of the class, an overachiever who always aimed for perfection. you had no room in your life for mediocrity, but today, you felt like all of your efforts hadn’t been worth anything.

your classmates had already moved of from their respective grades, getting up and chattering about the latest gossip while packing up their things. you remained frozen to your seat, drowning in your thoughts. how could you let this happen ? how could you mess up like this ? you’d spent so many nights studying, so much time preparing yourself, and for what ? the poor word “acceptable” written in crimson ink, mocking you everytime you glanced at it.

before your negative thoughts could get any further, you felt a familiar presence settle next to you. you looked up to find your boyfriend standing next to your desk, bag on his shoulder and frown on his face. mattheo riddle knew you too well, he was the only person that saw through your act. “what’s wrong, baby ?” he asked in a soft voice, his brows slightly furrowed.

you didn’t even say anything, handing him the parchment with shaky hands. he took it from you and scanned it over before letting out a small sigh at the grade, “this ?” mattheo questioned, sitting down on the chair next to yours. “this is what’s got you so upset ?”

you bit your lip and took a deep breath, nodding. of course, the two of you had completely different standards for grades and you didn’t expect him understand. after all, this wasn’t really considered a bad grade to anyone other than you. “i’m just not used to getting “acceptable”, it’s the first time it’s ever been that bad. do you think i’m gonna fail this semester ? what if-“

“woah, stop,” interrupted your boyfriend in a firm but gentle voice. he brought his chair closer to yours and took your hand in his, bringing it to his lap. “you’re good enough, baby. hell, good isn’t even an appropriate word to describe you. you’re the smartest girl i know, one bad grade can’t change that.”

you tried to protest but mattheo wasn’t having it. he draped an arm over your shoulder and looked at you straight in the eyes, speaking up again. “you’ve been working so hard, you need to cut yourself some slack. you need to put less pressure on yourself, you can allow yourself not to be perfect all the time. it doesn’t mean anything about your worth.”

“cmon, let’s go somewhere else.” he said when you didn’t answer, getting up and grabbing your hand again. you were still a little down but his words had managed to make you a feel a little bit better, so you simply nodded and grabbed your stuff, letting him lead you out of the classroom. he didn’t let go of your hand until you two reached your usual spot by the black lake, the cold breeze brushing against your skin.

your boyfriend sat down on the grass against the tree, pulling you onto his lap and wrapping his arms around you. “i’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your soft hair. “just relax and stop thinking about it, kay ?” you buried your face in the crook of his neck, each one of his words of affirmation soothing you even more.

“my smart girl,” mattheo muttered sweetly in your ear, admiring you with the softest gaze you’d even seen. “you’re so beautiful, so perfect.” you smiled, kissing his jaw delicately in return. he chuckled, “i love you, you know that ? you’re the best, nothing can change that.” the brunette flashed you one of the reassuring smiles he only saved for you, and it managed to make you forget about everything else.

“thank you” you whispered, the words muffled against his chest. he whispered back, holding you a little tighter to let you know he meant it, “always, love.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : this is for the burnt out gifted kids aka “this is me trying” kins (me fr)

unfortunately i’m gonna be less active on here now that summer has ended, but keep leaving requests and writing suggestions in my inbox !!!

please comment and reblog ! tag list (comment if you wanna be added) @tateshifts @redeemingvillains @helendeath @jolly4holly @larmesdevanille @dexoq @reys-letters @shiftingwithmars @shiftingwithleah @fbvreadingblog @moonlightreader649 @bellatrix-lestrange5 @sp7-mr @icantkeepmyplantsalive @chelawrites @myunperfektstorys @iris-qt @yikesitslush @clar2aa @deadsnakey @deadghosy @slut-for-fictional-men

[grenadehearts]

you're so gorgeous, i can't say anything to your face!

authors note: e.kirishima x f!reader.. (yes the title is referencing a taylor song) m.list here and commissions are open!

You were utterly infatuated with the muscled redhead who had just waltzed into the bar, the purple hue of the strobe lights dancing beautifully across his tan skin.

And when you saw the scars adorning his arms and hands, you knew you were fucked.

As if that wasn’t enough, he just had to stalk his way toward you—long legs, long strides, straight in your direction.

Oh, and you were totally not prepared. Your hands were clammy, your eyeliner was definitely smudged—shit—and he was getting closer. Panicked, you shot up from your seat, drink in hand, and sprinted to the bar, away from your booth.

"Fuck."

The curse left your lips just as your drink sloshed over, spilling all over the man in front of you. And when you looked up—oh, you were sure God himself had turned this into your own personal hell. Because there, standing in the flesh, was the red-haired, muscle-bound man.

A string of muttered "please kill me, please kill me, please kill me" spilled from your lips as he leaned down, cocking his head to the side.

"What was that?"

And when you looked up—thump.

You bumped heads with him, the sound somehow audible over the crowded, loud room.

Yep. You were definitely never leaving your house after this.

Instead of saying sorry—or even acknowledging him—you turned and ran.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you speed-walked away from this stupidly gorgeous man.

But persistent, he was.

He jogged after you, fingers wrapping around your forearm. "Miss!" he called, voice firm but not unkind.

You twisted, trying to slip away, but in your haste, your heel snapped.

And down you went.

You barely registered the pain in your ankle before you hit the floor, your purse spilling open, its contents scattering across the ground.

And—oh, my god—before you could even get your bearings, before the hot, wet tears threatening to spill could even be blinked away, there he was.

All 6 foot of him, crouched in front of you, rough, calloused hands carefully gathering your scattered belongings. His brow furrowed in concentration, and—fuck—he looked gorgeous.

And you? You couldn’t even speak. 

Then, as if the universe wasn’t already cruel enough, he turned to face you, kind yet devastatingly beautiful as he offered you a hand.

And the dummy—the stupid, terrible, awkward dummy—you were, you covered your face.

But, annoyingly perfect as he was, he simply placed his hands over yours, his voice impossibly gentle as he asked, "Is this okay?" before slowly moving your hands away from your face.

And then, the final nail in the coffin:

"You’re so pretty. Don’t hide yourself."

And just like that, you lost it.

Wet, heavy tears spilled down your cheeks, leaving you looking like a raccoon—flushed cheeks, pink nose—and you were sure a snot bubble just escaped as you hiccuped.

His face turned beet red as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "Um… uh, shit. I’m sorry. Did I—did I do something? I’m—uh, not really this forward, and uh—" He trailed off, looking at your sniffling, snot-nosed mess of a face before groaning, palming his own face with a dramatic sigh.

"Oh no, I’m such a douchebag," he muttered into his hand. "You’re in such a vulnerable moment, and I just—geez, man, I’m sorry. But you were just so pre—"

Before he could finish, you scooted closer, cradling his rough, calloused hands in your softer ones. His shirt was still damp from the drink you’d spilled on him, but you didn’t care. You gently pulled his hands away from his face and murmured, "Don’t hide yourself, too, cute."

And yeah, maybe you were never this forward. Maybe it was the drinks.

Or maybe… just maybe, it was because he had seen you sprawled on the floor—a pathetic, heaving mess—and still called you pretty.

His eyes widened, the dark rouge of them deepening, as a blush spread across his face. Then, to your utter surprise, he ducked his head and buried his face into the crook of your neck, letting out a muffled groan.

You giggled.

Then, the voice low, warm his breath brushing against your ear, as he mumbled:

"I’m Ejiro Kirishima."

[venusbyline]

I dropped your hand: Boyfriend!Nate Jacobs x Female!Reader

-> SUMMARY: ❝ Nate knew he was a fucking coward who didn't know how treating you the way you deserve. ❞

-> heyyy i wrote this while i watched the All Too Well: Short Film (by Taylor Swift), so i did it based on that AMAZING dialogue between Sadie Sink and Dylan O'brien. it's definitely my favorite mv since the release.

⚠️: Angst and Fluff, Open Ending, arguing, cursing, gaslighting mentioned, established relationship, Nate's typical sexist thoughts, unhealthy relationship, Nate's a bad boyfriend (as usual), Based on a scene from All Too Well: Short Film, no use of y/n.

"Fuck... are you kidding me? Stop looking at me like that, that's so fucked up." Nate grumbled hoarsely the moment he watched your pretty eyes fill with tears.

You pretended being tough and you snorted then, turning your body to look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, starting to wash the makeup that still remained on your face. But Nate knew you better than anyone. He knew your mask of indifference just didn't match those reactions a little while ago. After all the yelling, you had no reason to lie and pretend like you didn't even want or need an apology.

Nate knew he fucked up everything at that party. He shouldn't left you alone surrounded by other drunk stupid guys, the ones you didn't even know. He also shouldn't ignored you when you sat next to him and his friends. But the worst moment was when he dropped your hand and mocked you as a fucking clingy girlfriend when you tried holding his fingers again.

Damn, he shouldn't have done a lot of things. He knew he had been an asshole to you. He was an asshole to a lot of people, but at least he used to try his best not to disappoint and hurt you. Something he failed most of the time... like that night.

"Hey, hey, hey! C'mon, baby... You know I don't wanna fight with you, princess." He tried hard to hide his trembling voice, his throat burning from drinking hours before and then yelling aggressively at you, also gaslighting when you tried to explain your feelings.

"Nate..." You warned as he hugged you from behind, his strong big body practically covering yours, putting his arms around your collarbone in an soft way so he could kiss the top of your head and look at you two in the mirror at the same time.

"I'm sorry, baby... I dropped your hand." He left a kiss on your hair, enjoying your shampoo's good smell and kissing there again. "Hey... I'm serious, okay? I'm really sorry, princess."

He gently took you by the shoulders to turn you around and face him, so he could dry your crystal tears with his long fingers, seeing you give him a slight embarrassed smile. Nate felt his chest ached with fault at not being able to let off steam.

He would always rather you crying because you thought you weren't good enough for his womanizer but rigorous bad boy reputation, than admit that he was only afraid of looking like a vulnerable and weak man around the other people... a hopeless romantic, madly in love with you. Nate Jacobs was a fucking coward and he knew that.

[meltinglikeasugarcube]

hear me out. a one shot/blurb

bottom like utterly pathetic vampire taylor

Title: DESERVE IT

Word Count: 2519

Pairing: Taylor Swift x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit

You're shit at denying her. You always have been.

Those sharp teeth, that sweet spoiled voice, the way she asks like she already knows the answer. You fold the second she starts. You think you're holding back but you're already gone, falling to pieces before she even touches you. She begs, and you break. Every time. She sinks her teeth in, literal, cruel, but it's nothing compared to how deep you get under her skin. It's you who makes her twitch. You who makes her lose whatever composure she pretends to have. You make her feel like screaming. And when she does, you let her. You never tell her no.

But she's being unbearable this time.

She keeps texting. Keeps demanding. Tells you to drop everything and come. Tells you the jet's already on the way. Wants you to stop your life and fly to some random city in Europe just to let her fuck you until she's done and you can't breathe. Which, sure, sounds good in theory. But it's the way she does it that gets to you.

Like she's owed it.

You go. Of course you go. But not without a plan.

You wear something impossible. Lingerie that barely counts as fabric. Thin enough to see through, tight enough to hurt. You forget where you're even going until you're standing in customs and see the word Germany on the glass and suddenly everything clicks. The cold is brutal. It stings through your coat, down to the bones.

You're still trembling when you knock on her door.

She opens it fast. No words. No warning. Just grabs you by the coat and pulls you inside. The door slams behind you and her mouth is already on your neck. Hot and open. Desperate. Her hands don't waste time. She's already pushing the coat back, already pressing into you like she could crawl inside. You feel her breath hitch and her teeth skim your throat and it's not gentle. It never is. You know what's coming. You feel it before it happens.

"Fuck," she says, sinking her fangs in.

You don't flinch. You don't gasp. You don't move. You're used to this. The pain comes in slow pulses, the warm pull of blood leaving your body matched by the obscene, wet sound of her drinking. She stays there too long, and when she finally pulls back, her mouth opens again almost instantly. She bites you a second time, lower on your neck. This time she drinks less. Her head lifts slowly, pulling back to see you.

Her eyes are red now, blown wide and wild, blood running in delicate trails down both sides of her mouth. You feel your pulse hammering in your chest, like it's trying to make up for what she's taken, but you stay still. You keep your spine straight.

You exhale once and then reach for her mouth with your thumb, wiping at the blood as if it's casual, like you're cleaning up a mess someone else made at your table.

"Not even a hello," you say, voice low, even. The blood smears under your touch as you drag your thumb across her lower lip, and then lower still, letting your hand trail down until you're wrapped around her throat. Your grip is slow and sure and she feels it. Her eyes widen—not with fear, because she doesn't need to breathe, not really—but with something close.

"I—" she starts.

"Shut up," you tell her, pushing her backward with one steady movement. She doesn't resist. She lets you guide her deeper into the room, stumbling a little as she goes. She's still caught in whatever haze fed that hunger. Her knees hit the edge of the bed and you press her down into it, firm, hand still on her throat.

"That wasn't very nice, was it?"

"I just—" she starts, voice breathy, thin.

"Just what?" You press harder now, just enough to hold. She looks up at you with that glittering look that you love so much. You tilt your head slightly, watching her.

"You thought you were owed this?"

You slide the coat off slowly, letting it fall open just enough to show what's underneath. The lingerie clings like heat, black and barely-there, the kind of thing made to be looked at and ruined. Her eyes drop immediately, like gravity, her breath catches, mouth parting without thought. You don't give her the time to process it.

"You really thought I'd get on a plane and you'd just get it?"

Your hand presses harder at her throat. It's not about pressure. It's about control. And even though it won't do anything to her physically, you feel it in the way her body stills beneath you. She's nervous. Not performative, not bratty. Real. You can tell. You always can.

"Answer me," you say and your hand slides from her neck to her jaw, fingers firm, dragging her closer until her lips are almost against yours.

"Yeah," she says, voice tight. You click your tongue, head tilting slightly.

"So fucking entitled," you murmur, breath landing against her cheek. "So fucking spoilt."

You take two steps back and watch her. Her body's trembling, not from cold—you know she doesn't get cold—but from you. From this. From what you do to her. That thrill that takes over when she's not in control.

"Get on your knees," you say, nodding toward the floor, your voice flat. "Beg for it."

There's a flicker of hesitation, not resistance, just that moment of her pride folding in on itself. She swallows hard, then lowers herself, knees touching the ground. The shift in her is immediate. Being beneath you feeds her ego in the most twisted way—being made to submit, told exactly what to do. It's her drug and you're the only one who knows how to cut it right.

She looks up at you, pupils wide, mouth still slightly open.

"Please, baby," she whispers, voice small and so full of need it's almost sweet.

Almost.

You step back into her space and grab her jaw again, fingers tight, forcing her eyes back to yours.

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me," she breathes, low and cracked, the words already desperate.

"Say it again."

"Fuck me," she says clearly this time, each syllable pushed out like it costs her.

"Beg."

You press harder, thumb digging under her cheekbone.

"Please," her voice shakes. Just one word and it sounds like it's breaking her.

You click your tongue, unimpressed.

"I'm afraid I need a bit more than that."

Your hand drops from her face, slow and intentional, and you step back. You don't rush. You let the silence stretch. Let her feel the space between your bodies like a punishment.

"Let me see those perfect tits."

She moves fast, blouse pulled off in a second, breath hitching, her teeth sinking into her lip like she's trying not to whimper. Her chest rises, bare and trembling. You watch her like you're inspecting a gift.

"Beg, Taylor," you say, low and even.

She looks up at you, eyes wide, face flushed, devotion plain across her expression like it's the only thing keeping her upright.

"I need you to fuck me, please," she says, the words spilling out too fast, too loud, almost like she's ashamed of how badly she means them.

"Fuck you how?"

Your eyes don't move from her chest. You don't blink. You don't pretend to be polite.

"Need you inside," she shivers, voice going soft at the end.

You drag your gaze back up. You take in everything.

And then you shake your head.

"I don't think you deserve it."

Her bottom lip trembles and she moves without speaking, crawling forward until she's at your feet, hands resting lightly on your thighs like she's asking permission just by touching.

"Let me prove it to you," she says, voice small, already pleading.

You push her hand away.

"You don't deserve it," you say again, slower this time, colder. "Climb onto the bed. Get on all fours."

"I—" she starts, but you don't let her finish.

"Now."

That shuts her up. Her mouth closes. She nods once and turns away, doing what she's told. She positions herself perfectly—knees spread, ass in the air, waiting. You take your time approaching her, watching the way her back arches, how her breath skips when you get close.

You step in behind her, fingers reaching for the hem of her skirt, and you push it up, exposing her fully. Her panties are thin, already soaked through. She lets out a sharp whine the moment you touch them, like she's embarrassed by how obvious it is.

You hook your fingers into the fabric and pull it to the side slowly. She arches even more, thighs trembling.

"Look at you," you mutter, voice rough at the edges, a shiver running down your spine when you see how wet she is.

You slide one finger along her slit, slow, dragging it up with the lightest pressure, just enough to make her gasp. The sound she makes is too loud, too raw.

You bring your fingers to your lips and suck them clean with a hum.

"You don't deserve a single second of this. But I do."

"Please," she says again, barely above a whisper, and her legs tremble beneath her.

You don't give her a response. You grip the waistband of her panties and drag them down in one smooth movement, letting them fall around her knees. She doesn't move, just breathes harder. You use two fingers to spread her open and look at her.

"So fucking wet," you mutter, and slip one finger inside, exploring the way she clenches around you like she's trying to drag you in deeper.

"P—please," she whines, voice cracking as she shifts her hips.

You pull out just as slowly, then reach up and pinch her clit between your thumb and index finger, giving it a firm squeeze. Her whole body jolts. The sound she makes is loud, nearly broken.

"You're so fucking lucky I can't help myself," you mutter, more to yourself than to her, and you drop to your knees behind her, pressing your mouth against her without waiting.

Your tongue circles her clit, then sucks it in with just enough pressure to make her gasp. At the same time, you slide two fingers into her, thrusting deep, feeling how tight and slick she is. You work her like you know exactly what she needs, like her body was made for this. And it was. At least when she's like this—face down, ass up, wet and shaking like the only thing she's ever learned is how to beg.

She moans loud and without shame, her voice cracking with every breath. You curl your fingers inside her and keep your mouth moving. The sounds that fill the room are a mess of obscenities. Her hips push back into your hand like she's chasing something, and her words come out between gasps, scattered and helpless.

"Please, please, please," she murmurs like it's a prayer, her voice barely above a whisper, broken and repetitive, slipping out of her mouth without thought. Her body is trembling hard now, thighs shaking as you keep fucking her with your fingers, dragging them in and out of her soaked cunt with steady pressure, your mouth still locked onto her clit. She's coming apart in layers, too desperate to hold herself up properly, hands gripping the sheets, forehead dropping forward like her neck's lost the strength to hold her.

You feel the shift before it happens, the way she stiffens all at once, breath catching in her throat, her back arching so sharply it looks like she's trying to escape the feeling. And then she breaks.

The orgasm hits in full silence at first. Her whole body shudders violently, pussy clenching around your fingers as the wave pulls through her in slow, punishing pulses. She makes a sound then, sharp and cracked, somewhere between a moan and a sob.

You don't stop. Not yet. You keep moving your fingers inside her, slower now but deep, making her feel every second of it as her body starts to fall apart around the pleasure. Her legs buckle under her and she slumps forward onto her elbows, still panting, hips twitching every time you touch her clit with your tongue. She lets out a desperate whimper and twists under you, overstimulated, wrecked.

Eventually, you stop. Pull your fingers out and lick them clean without looking away from her. She stays where she is, ass still up, face buried in her arms, breath shaky and uneven.

There's a pause. A strange quiet. And then, softly:

"Are you angry at me?"

Her voice is small. Cautious.

You sit back a little, watching the way her back rises and falls.

"No," you say, calm and clear. "But I'm not done with you."

[maybankslover]

teenage dream II- drew starkey

drew starkey x younger!singer!reader

warnings: angst, age gap [reader was 19-drew 29 / reader was 21-drew was 31 / reader is 22- drew is 32], mention of sex, angst.

summary: now that it's over, was she only his teenage dream?

playlist: teenage dream and vampire by olivia rodrigo / suburban legends by taylor swift

a/n: @droppedyourhnd inspired this when she said suburban legends reminded her of them

he stalked her now and then, when she blocked him she also removed him from every social media she had him in from her public instagram to all her private accounts but as her public account remained the same he made use of it. she changed, seemed happy and it made him happy to know she seemed like that after everything that went down. [instagram profile]

and she was, most of times, she hoped touring and singing the songs she wrote about him would help her heal but she still had nightmares about him, woke up in the middle of the night sweating and longing for a body that made her mad and turned her blue. she hated how much she missed him even after a year and a half, hated him for moving on, hated everything.

and she hated that she couldn't avoid seeing him, as two raising starts in the industry, it was invetible to happen but she delayed it as much as she could until they asked her to sing and present her songs to the public as some kind of monologue.

so there she was stunning in a long dress, he was on front row, a girl by his side but she recognized her as his sister.

"good night everyone!" she smiled. "i hope you're having a splendind time."

his sight fixated on her while his sister, filmed her already wispering to him how he needed to do something so she could meet her.

"so i was asked something unusual tonight, something that if you know me i don't really do." she made a movement, already practiced like everything that would go down on that scenario. "oh hi harry!" she signed a phone his was while modulation a silent 'call me', making everyone laugh. "i'm sorry harry styles is right there, so as i was saying they asked to give bit of context about what i'll sing to you tonight." she rambled a little while walking around, avoiding to look his way at all cost.

"so i wrote this about a little love story i heard once of course." she pushed her head a little with her palm, making everyone laugh again. "a little love story that never saw the light of the sun, this girl got hidden by her boyfriend for two years can you believe it? what a dick right." she smiled at the camera that was placed in front of her while she returned to the place she was supposed to stand to sing. "hidden by who she thought was the love of her life, don't let anyone screw you over. this is suburban legends." she was handed her guitar and the musicians started on que.

everything she sang sent him on a spiral of visions, memories flying through his brain.

from the times he turned around his phone, so she couldn't see anything that went through it but he knew she knew. she only ignored it, afraid of what she would find afraid she was only a joke to him. he lied but she lied to herself, after all if a girl loves you she'll just lie to herself.

flashback

"this will be only for a while right?" she asked one night, six months into dating while he held her in his arms making her feel put together.

"yes baby just for a while." he didn't know why he continued to lie to the girl he had grown to love.

end of flashback

he got exposed the second she said '1950's gymnasium' in front of his sister.

"drew." brooke whispered, tearing her sight from the girl in front of them to look at her brother.

but he answered, just like he didn't answered all of her pleads in tears.

flashback

"i need a reason" she cried in front of him.

"baby..." he tried to reach for her right cheek but she pushed him away.

"no! no! no!" as she paced around her apartment collecting everything she could see in sight that belonged to him. "get out i want you out right now." the mascara from an earlier photoshoot smared all over her pretty face.

"baby please let's just talk." he followed after her only to be pushed back in the chest with many of his things.

"no! i want you fucking out now." she shouted for the first time in a year and a half.

he stood stunned in front of her.

"out!" she opened the door for him and waited for him to leave while rubbing her eyes with the palm of her hand.

the door closing with a loud bang behind his back, a heartbreaking sob leaving her chest.

two days later he knocked on her door and she let him in. he was too polite to break her heart so she did it for him.

end of flashback

"you don't knock anymore and I always knew it, that my life would be ruined." she directed her sight to him for the first time in the entire night, making him feel how she felt for so long, staring into his eyes while she finished the song.

vanishing from the stage leaving his sister shocked from what she thought she discovered. 1950's gymnasium as the one drew showed her pictures and not long after y/n posted pictures there too, she found it weird but thought it was a weird coincidence.

as they went home, drew knew what she wanted to ask.

"before you ask, yes brooke, yeah and i fucked up. don't ask about it."

"won't do it, you're the biggest asshole on earth." she said sharply to her brother.

"i know."

text

unknown number 'i'm sorry baby.'

unknown number 'i still love you'

y/n 'leave me the fuck alone'

y/n 'what else do you want to break?'

y/n 'there's nothing else you took everything from me. leave me alone.'

you've blocked this contact

while he stared at his next message going not delivered, he wished he could go back to the start. he would do everything again, holding her hand in public, kissing her infront of his family but he couldn't knock on her door.

they would never become suburban legends.

taglist: @chenslucy @gillybear17 @imliterallyamirrorball @nichmeddar @gillybooboo @julczimozart @bellbottombabe @silkylovey @droppedyourhnd @jaydaaasworld @congratsloserr @carrerascameron @m1santhropicc @wearemadeofstardust0 @chiaraanatra @rlalliehayes @ijustwanttoreadlols @sunny1616 @theoraekenslover @isaidoop @ethanthequeefqueen @rafesdrew @loverdrew

[slytherinsimp12]

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡ 𝓖𝓸𝓵𝓭 𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓱 , 𝓹𝓽-2 𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡

Pairing: James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: The day after you and James share a kiss, he invited you to watch him play quidditch. You get jealous seeing him with another girl. You meet his friend group. Things don’t end well.

Warnings: Lily is mentioned as James’ friend for the sake of reader x james,( I love jily), Cursing , Rude Sirius, Angst towards the end.

Author’s note: Hi cuties xx. I hope you enjoy pt.2. I’ll be posting pt.3 soon. Feel free to leave comments or send requests if you have any suggestions/improvements/ ideas for this pt and pt-3. Follow me to keep up the updates. <3.

Part 3 (finale) uploaded!

Part 1 and Part 3

————————————X————————————

You woke up to the sound of your dorm mates bubbling over today’s quidditch match. Your head was throbbing with pain; you barely got any sleep last night. Then it all came crashing back to you, the late night stroll that lead to your kiss with James Potter. Bloody hell. Did it really happen? Or was it just an extremely vivid dream. Dubious about the accuracy of your memory, you got up and quickly got dressed , and headed to breakfast.

The great hall was filled with the chatter of excited students; they were all raving about today’s match. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Well that explains the dung bombs last night.

Your palms were sweating with nerves, you were so not ready to see him yet.

Right on cue, you spotted James sitting with his friends, and stuffing his face with food.

“I’ve got to fuel up for the match. D’you think having this amazing body was easy?” James gloated coyly.

Your stomach filled with butterflies, how pathetic. There James was, an arrogant git, attacking his food like there was no tomorrow. Yet, you couldn’t help let out a small smile.

“Y/n!” James shouted across the hall.

Your face flushed red out of embarrassment. You tried looking away , but it was too late. James jogged over to you.

“Hey pretty.” He smirked.

“Hi.” You said plainly.

“So, today is the quidditch match. You coming to see me play?” He grinned.

“Uh… I don’t know. I’m not really a sports kinda person.” You told.

“Oh come on, just come to see the legendary James Potter in action, love.” He pleaded.

Merlin, how could someone be so obnoxious yet so charming.

“Tone it down a notch, ‘prongs’. “ You teased, making air quotes.

“I’ll see if I can come, i’ve got a lot of reading to catch up on.” You continued, walking away before he could reply.

The encounter left your stomach rumbling. Thanks to that idiot James, you couldn’t even think about keeping down any food right now.

You hated how James left you feeling. You didn’t like anticipating your face in a red flush, you didn’t like seeing double vision in a rose blush, and most of all, you didn’t like feeling vulnerable by the mere presence of someone, let alone a boy. A boy that half the school is in love with.

Going to the quidditch match was a bad idea, letting James in was a bad idea, it went against everything you told yourself from your very start of Hogwarts. Yet, you found yourself doing exactly that.

You decided you could spare a few minutes to watch the quidditch match. You gaslit yourself into believing you were going for the sake of ‘enjoying and learning the sport’, and not for James. You made your way into the Y/H stands, trying your best not to be noticed by the messy haired Gryffindor chaser. Although, you hardly doubted he would notice you from 50 feet above.

The match dragged on for 3 whole hours, and you were appalled by the fact that you stayed the whole duration. You watched a handful of matches your whole life, but this one, this one was different. It had something to do with the fact that, James was so effortlessly good at what he did.

Gryffindor won even though Slytherin’s seeker caught the snitch. They were leading by a 100 points, and James had thrown the quaffle into the hoop more than 20 times. Even you knew that the victory was mostly his doing. The Gryffindor team jumped off their brooms, and started jumping with excitement, adrenaline pumping through their veins. You wanted to congratulate James, it was the decent thing to do, right?

As you were walking up to the ground, a red headed girl beat you to him. She hugged him rather intimately, and placed a kiss on his cheek. Your stomach churned. Maybe it was the nausea from not eating or maybe it was seeing that girl being so close to James, you didn’t care. What were you doing? Coming to a quidditch match for the captain of the Gryffindor team? You didn’t expect him to notice you, then why were you so offended when he didn’t? Without thinking, you ran out the filed, wanting nothing more than to forget about the stupid match, the stupid kiss and stupid James fucking potter.

The following night in the library ,you were drowning in a pile of books, struggling to finish all your assignments.

“We need to stop running into each other like this.” A voice whispered into your ear from behind.

“Although, you seem to be more interested in running away from me than into me.” James continued. Well you’d be damned. He did in-fact notice you at the match.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you mumbled, refusing to turn around and look at him.

“C’mon, love. Don’t be coy. Why did you run away like that? Still flustered after last night are we?” He pressed.

“Piss off, Potter.” You spat, trying to walk away.

“Wait! Don’t be like that. Do you want to talk about what happened last night, is that it?” He asked, gripping your wrist, stopping you from walking away.

“No. Clearly you’d rather talk to that red headed girl you were being so ‘friendly’ with earlier. I get it, the kiss was no big deal. It’s cool” You lied.

“No big deal? Ouch.” He said, removing a fake arrow from his heart.

“That red head earlier was Lily Evans. She’s my good mate. Trust me, you do NOT need to worry about Lily, plus I’m certain she’s got a thing for Snivellus.” James explained.

“Snivellus?” You questioned. What is up with him and these stupid nicknames?

“Long story. Anyway, why don’t you join me and the lads in the Gryffindor common room tonight. We’re celebrating the win.” Was James asking you to meet his friends tonight? No way. There was only one person you found more insufferable than James, Sirius freaking Black. He was obviously going to be there.

“Um- I- I have uh… errands-“ you tried to come up with an excuse but James cut you off.

“I’ll see you tonight.” He said, as he winked and disappeared into the dark.

A few hours after dinner, you reluctantly made your way into the Gryffindor common room. Everyone seemed to be asleep. The room was dimly lit, with cosy sofas arranged next to a roaring fire. You spotted James , Sirius, Remus , Peter, Lily and Marlene sprawled in front of the fire place.

You cleared your throat, making your presence aware.

“Y/n! You came!” James greeted, pulling you into a side hug.

After introducing you to the group, James insisted you sat right next to him on the sofa. At some point during the night, his hands found their way to the small of your back, tracing gentle circles on it. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were starting to enjoy yourself. But that didn’t last long.

Sirius insisted on playing a game of Truth or Dare, where he mostly targeted you. You managed to dodge most of the questions, which really pissed Sirius off.

“Ok. Fine. If you’re not going to answer any of the questions, Y/n, why is it that you have no friends? Why do you walk around alone and eat alone all the time like some depressed loser.” Sirius said bluntly.

Heat spread from your ears to your neck. Your face burned with embarrassment. That did it.

“Fuck off , Black.” You flipped him off , as you stormed out of the common room.

“What the hell, mate?” You heard James say.

You were walking so fast it could be considered running.

“Y/n, wait!” James called after you.

You tried to ignore him, but he caught up with you in the corridor because the stupid stair cases decided to move, again.

“Y/n…I’m so sorry. Ignore Sirius. He can be a real dick.” James said.

“Hey, look at me.” He tilted your head up to meet his eyes. They were filled with regret. He probably regretted calling you tonight. What was he thinking? Did he expect his friends to like you? In what world would that be true? You saw how they picked on people like you. How they bullied those different from them. Why did you expect anything else?

“What are you thinking?” James asked, brushing his thumb against your cheek. He was standing extremely close to you again. Practically hovering. Before you could answer, he pulls you in, locking his lips with yours. A sudden warmth spreads through your body. You close your eyes, the subtle pressure of his hands on your waist sending jolts of electricity down your spine. This was wrong. Stop. Pull away. You thought to yourself, but your body wouldn’t comply. You kissed him back with more aggression than you anticipated, running your fingers through his hair. After what felt like an eternity of pure heavenly bliss, James pulled away.

“Should we head back?” He asked.

Then you came back to your senses. Reality was a harsh slap in the face. Deal with it now, so you’re not left wretched later.

“I can’t ,James. I can’t do this. I don’t know what I was thinking. I thought I could handle your friends, the crowds and the constant attention your around. But, truth be told, I really can’t. It’s all too much for me. You’re too much for me…you’ll probably be fine, maybe even better off without me. This was a big mistake.” You said, gesturing between the two of you.

For the first time in history, James Potter was left speechless. His face was engulfed with hurt. You didn’t want to hurt him, but it was better him than you.

(All rights reserved, ©)

Tag list 💞:

@colouredbyd , @d1lf-loverrr , @dollysh

[soulsforsales]

Jason Todd x Swiftie Reader <3

(Pairing: Jason Todd x fem! reader who's a Swiftie!!)

(The mood board is simply for the ✨aesthetic✨ and has nothing to do with what the reader looks like!)

The first time Jason woke up to "Cruel Summer" by Taylor Swift blasting in your living room, he could swear he woke up in the wrong house. But nope, there you were, wearing his shirt that kept falling off one shoulder, using the spatula as your mic while you twirled and swayed barefoot in the kitchen.

"Taylor Swift, seriously?" Jason had asked, leaning against the doorframe, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low and his hair a mess.

And you had given him a look that could kill a man, "You got a problem with it?"

Jason immediately shook his head, palms raised. "Nope, not at all, just came to get coffee." With that, he picked a cup and kissed your forehead while you continued with the biggest smile and screamed the bridge of the song like your life depended on it.

This was new. To Jason, at least.

But seeing you like that—free, unguarded, singing off-key and performing poorly executed dance moves —did something to him.

Eventually, Jason picked up on your obsession with Taylor Swift. "Swiftie" is what you called yourself, and despite the face he'd made at that, Jason thought it was cute. (Honestly, anything you do would be cute to him, so whatever.)

Jason realized that Taylor Swift wasn't just a singer or a role model to you. She was someone more. Someone who'd pulled you through your hardest times, someone who'd been there when you felt alone, even if she was just singing songs on a screen. And Jason was grateful for that. He was grateful that you had her when he couldn't be there yet.

And the way you talked about her and her music? Oh, Jason was almost jealous of her, of Taylor Swift, of the smile she put on your face. (Stupid, right?)

Jason had noticed the absolute golden spark in your eyes (and heard your squeal) when she announced the "Eras Tour." He also noticed the spark diminish when you realized there would be no concert in Gotham, because, let's be honest, who would willingly come to this city?

You'd sulked about it, cursed Gotham, but you survived.

So, Jason, being the amazing boyfriend he is, decided to understand what exactly made you so obsessed with Taylor Swift in the first place.

And, despite contrary belief, Jason did have enough social media presence to know about her. Jason knew Taylor was kind, talented, famous as hell, and almost legendary.

He knew that you and Dick screamed to her songs in the car (honestly, Jason was not at all surprised when Dick knew every word to "All Too Well: 10 minute version." But, like, who even listens to a ten minute long song??), he knew that she made upbeat, badass songs that you danced to on the couch, what he didn't know was that she also made songs that you listened to when you sobbed at 3 am, clutching a pillow to your chest.

No one warned Jason that he would listen to "Archer" while casually cleaning his helmet and end up staring at the wall for straight fifteen minutes because he was never supposed to relate to that stupid song so deeply!

No one warned him that he would start liking it.

But, hey, if anyone asked, Jason could just drop the "my girlfriend is a big fan." Right?

Besides, the glow on your face when he unexpectedly sang the "Love Story" bridge with you made it all worth it.

But then, of course, Tim had to peek into his phone during a Patrol briefing while he was scrolling through edits you sent him sometimes and yell, loud enough for everyone to pause and stare, "IS THAT TAYLOR SWIFT ON YOUR PHONE?"

And the very next moment, Tim snatched the phone from Jason, launching straight into his Spotify and muttering something about blackmail.

Jason was sweating, Bruce looked exasperated (as ever), and even Damian smirked.

Dick, Steph, and Cass? They were proud.

When Jason got back home and narrated the incident to you, you laughed until your stomach hurt.

He watched you with the fondest, stupidest smile and realized he would do anything to have you laugh like that.

So, to Jason, it was just as worth it as listening to Taylor Swift while he bashed criminals' heads in.

(Notes: Let me know if you would like a continuation of Jason taking you to the “Eras Tour!!!”)

[lovesincerely]

just a little treat for my lovelies ༻ꨄ༺

₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹

Mattheo knew it was for the better. However, that knowledge wasn't enough to push away the ghosts of the past. He knew you deserved better, so he ran. Without a word, he left. 

He chose to do it during the graduation ceremony at hogwarts. You were always a studious student and took all the honor classes so he didn't doubt how long you would be at the ceremony. He knew he had long to pack all those years of memories. Seven years with you, packed in a suitcase the size of his upper body. He had to leave, he kept repeating that to himself, trying to convince himself he was doing you both a favor. He packed up every single item of his belongings, which wasnt alot. He wasn't the type of guy to buy things he wanted despite having the money to do so. 

He didn't even leave a note which tore you to pieces. He debated leaving something behind, closure of some kind. Yet he knew better, knowing it would only cause you to want to look for him even more. Walking out of his empty dorm with only a small suitcase, he sighed. He couldn't help himself as he walked past your dorm, so he decided to slip in and look around one last time. He felt his heart shatter as he saw a teddy bear with a muggle graduation robe and hat on. He knew it was for him, you were a gifter, buying gifts for every occasion. Somehow he always used to convince you to take them and keep them for him. He set his bag down and ran his fingers over your pillowcase. He looked around the room before his gaze settled on the polaroids of you both. Sitting by the black lake on a picnic blanket for your birthday. He couldn't help himself, slowly picking it up and slipping it into his pocket. Without even thinking, he gravitated towards your closet. He opened the door, your scent lingering on your clothing pieces. His hand lifted, feeling heavy from the guilt. He slipped your favorite t-shirt off the hanger, lifting it to his nose and taking a deep inhale of your sweet scent. He couldn't get over the fact that after he left, that t-shirt would be the only scent of yours left available to him. He fastly shoved the shirt into his bag. Exhaling deeply, he turned and left. 

As he got into the train, settling into the seat you two always sat in. where you two had first met, and now where he left you. As the train slowly started up and got chugging down the tracks he swore he could feel a large part of his soul leaving as he left you behind. He didn't feel lighter as most people did when they left their past behind, he felt heavier. Maybe because you weren't supposed to be his past, but his future. 

₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹

It was only two years later, but every day felt like a burning hell without you. He was laid back in bed, no blanket, no pillow. He didn't think he deserved comfort after leaving you, his ultimate comfort behind. Looking over at the clock, it was four am. More specifically, 4:07am. He couldn't sleep for the life of him, he could feel you. Maybe he was going crazy, but he swore he felt you in bed with him. Tangled up, softly snoring like you used to, without a care in the world. He missed you, he missed you with his whole being, or at least, what was left of him after leaving you. He knew why he left you like he knew the back of his hand, he wasn't good enough for you. He never would be, he could go through years of therapy or years of community service yet he would never be half the man you deserved to grow old with. He just missed you and wished he was a better man. A better man.

[vikspretty]

dance with me

in which neither you nor spencer can sleep, so you dance

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x reader

tags: gn!reader (i think), they love each other (in secret), post season 2 reid but no specific season, fluff fluff fluff, confessions.

notes: my love, spencer reid. i love the idea of dancing in the refridgerator light (ts reference!) and spence seems like the kind of guy who would love to just hold his partner close and sway, kinda like how he did with maeve :(. i also really wanna run my hands through his hair while looking him in the eyes.

wc: 798

"Another show's off and runnin', Dance with me, cuz there's a storm a commin' Follow my boots, try to keep up, Dance with me, until sun up." — Kate Denson's "Dance with Me"

The knock at your door was unexpected, but from it being 2am, you knew there was only one person it would be.

You and Spencer had an unspoken tradition of turning up at each other's apartments in the middle of stormy nights. Usually there was some warning but tonight there was none.

Opening the door, you see Spencer, wet from the rain and bags under his eyes. Though you did not work with him, you were well aware of his job and how demanding it could get.

"Hey, can't sleep?" You ask, though you already knew the answer.

The only reply you got was a small, almost unnoticeable nod from Spencer. With no further thinking, you stepped to the side, opening your door wider to allow him in. You gave him a soft smile as he passed you, closing and locking the door behind him.

Without saying anything else, you started up some coffee and turned on some background music on your speakers while you waited for it. Meanwhile, Spencer had dropped his bag by your front door with his shoes and met you in your kitchen. The feeling of his arms wrapping around your waist from behind and his head burrowing in your neck was comforting.

You could tell something was troubling his mind - that was usually the reason either of you would turn up at the other's door - but rather than making him delve into it like you would know he wouldn't like, you decided to make sure he knows that you are there for him.

Without moving away from him, you turned yourself around in his arms to face him. You gave him a soft, knowing smile, meeting your hands together at the back of his neck.

In your dreams, this would be the part where you two kiss, but the fear of rejection prevented you from making it a reality, despite how much Spencer also wished to kiss you too.

Feeling a little flushed, you turned back to making the coffee before an idea came into mind.

You grabbed Spencer’s hand, who was just watching you from behind, and led him further into the middle of your kitchen.

“Dance with me?”

Spencer just nodded, hands coming to your waist again while yours met behind his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

The quiet and darkness of the apartment along with the low volume of the music was relaxing. You made eye contact with him, smiling at him yet again.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Your voice was soft and quiet, gently breaking the silence.

Instead of replying, he shook his head ‘no’ and looked down. You just nodded and continued to sway with him.

You wanted to say how much you wanted to be with him, opening your mouth to speak again, you closed it immediately, deciding against it.

“What is it?” Spencer asked. The question took you by surprise, not expecting him to have seen you prepare to talk. In his mind, you were going to end everything now, drained, exhausted and bored of him showing up then refusing to talk.

You took a deep breath and decided to just go with it. “Spencer, I’m so sorry, this is not what you need right now, especially with everything you’re going through, but I like you. To be honest I think I’m in love with you but I don’t want to scare you off too much,” you were rambling now, looking down at your feet, unaware of Spencer’s shocked but happy expression as you continued. “I am well aware you don’t feel the same and I don’t even understand why I’m telling you this but-”

The feeling of lips on yours shocked you. You didn't know how to act or what to do for a few seconds. When Spencer realised you weren't kissing back, he pulled back with a smirk, a complete 180 to how his face had been the entire time he had been with you tonight. "Sorry, you were putting yourself down and I couldn't take it anymore. I love you. I have loved you since the third time you let me in here at 3 in the morning. You let me in whenever I turn up with no questions then you don't push when I don't want to talk."

"I love you, Spencer."

Both with bright smiles now, you hugged closer, Spencer's hands coming up to the top of your back and his face in your neck. One of your hands ran through the hair on the back of his head while your other pulled him closer to you.

The both of you were quiet, basking in the love of each other while you continued to dance to the music in your kitchen.

so i know i said id make this one longer but it just didnt. i tried adding more but nothing would fit so here this is. i do kinda like the idea of this one but its just really short. either way, i hope you enjoyed and please send requests, the people i can write for are in my masterlist!

@cafekitsune made the dividers here!

thank you for reading!