#I hate questions that want to know favorites. isn’t it enough to just show you instead? to share everything with you? why do you need one

[raekensluver]

sfw alphabet - harry lewis

masterlist | main masterlist

a = affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

harry isn’t the most openly affectionate person, but he shows it in weird little ways. playfully kicking your foot under the table, ruffling your hair, sending you cursed memes at 3am instead of “i miss you.” physical affection makes him flustered unless he initiates it, and even then he’ll brush it off like it’s no big deal - until you pull away, and he immediately pulls you back in.

b = best friend (what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?)

he’s the chaotic best friend that drags you into mess and then helps you clean it up. loud, reckless, hilarious - but he shows up when it counts. your friendship probably started from pure banter, one too many insults thrown at each other before you both realized you were spending every day together. he’s loyal in the way only someone who’s never had to say it can be.

c = cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

he pretends he hates cuddling. says it’s “too hot” or “you’re on my arm” until you move, and then suddenly he’s dragging you back with a grumble. he’s a blanket thief, a leg tangle-r, and always ends up wrapped around you by the morning like he’s been starved for it.

d = domestic (do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?)

he panics at the idea of “settling down,” but deep down, he doesn’t hate the thought. cooking? questionable. cleaning? chaotic at best. but he tries. if you live together, you’ll find odd little signs of love - your favorite cereal always stocked, a post-it note stuck to the fridge with a dumb drawing just for you, the bed half-made because “you like it like that, right?”

e = ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

messy. he’d avoid it for way too long, hoping it’d fix itself. when it finally happens, he’s emotional - maybe angry, maybe too quiet. he doesn’t know how to talk about feelings without laughing or shutting down, so it’d come out all wrong at first. but later, he’d text something raw and real, like, “i hope you’re okay. i did love you.”

f = fiancé(e) (how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?)

commitment is hard for him. not because he doesn’t care, but because he’s scared of doing it wrong. of not being enough, of hurting you, of being hurt. marriage feels far away, like something for other people - but if he proposes, it’s real. probably impulsive, probably unpolished, but full of heart. maybe he blurts it out while you’re brushing your teeth or during a stupid argument, like “well maybe i want to marry you, did you think of that?”

g = gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

he’s not naturally gentle - he’s loud, clumsy, impulsive - but he learns. with you, his voice drops without thinking, his hands soften. emotionally, he’s a bit of a disaster. avoids hard conversations, deflects with humor. but if you’re hurting? he’ll sit with you in silence, hand on your knee, like “i don’t know what to say, but i’m not going anywhere.”

h = hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?)

hugs make him awkward unless he really means them. quick side hugs are fine, but when he wraps his arms around you properly - arms tight, head buried in your neck - it means something. he only really hugs when he needs grounding, or when you do. and when you pull away, he always lingers just a second too long.

i = i love you (how fast do they say the l-word?)

very, very slowly. he feels it long before he says it. maybe it slips out in a moment of panic - after a fight, or when he thinks he’s about to lose you. it’s messy and a little rushed, like he’s scared of what it’ll mean. “i love you, okay? i do. i just didn’t know how to say it.”

j = jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?)

jealousy? oh yeah. he won’t say anything outright, but you’ll know. passive-aggressive jokes, too-loud laughter, throwing his arm around you in a way that’s definitely more for the other person’s benefit. later, when you call him out, he’ll sulk and mutter, “what? i just didn’t like the way they looked at you.”

k = kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?)

his kisses are chaotic. one second it's playful and teasing, the next it’s slow and desperate like he forgot how to breathe without you. he likes kissing your jaw, your neck, your shoulder when you’re not paying attention. he melts if you kiss his collarbone or the side of his neck - won’t admit it, but it gets him.

l = little ones (how are they around children?)

he’s…not great. awkward. stiff. he doesn’t know what to do with them. tries to talk to them like tiny adults and panics when they cry. that said, if a kid likes him? he will be weirdly smug about it. he’s not bad, just uncomfortable. it’d take time - and probably you holding a baby and looking hot doing it - for him to start warming up to the idea of being around kids more.

m = morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

chaotic. his alarm went off an hour ago and he’s still under the covers. blankets everywhere, hair a mess, mumbling something incoherent into the pillow. mornings with him are slow, grumpy, and full of accidental cuddles. he won’t wake up properly until you kiss his forehead and shove coffee into his hand.

n = night (how are nights spent with them?)

night is when he’s softest. when the energy dips and he’s finally still, laying beside you, thumb tracing circles on your arm. he’ll talk more then - quiet rambles, half-finished thoughts, whispered confessions that only come out in the dark. if he falls asleep before you, it’s always with one hand still touching you.

o = open (when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

he takes ages. he doesn’t trust easily, and he’s afraid of being vulnerable. he’ll make jokes to cover up the real stuff, push you away when you ask too many questions. but if you stay? if you don’t flinch when he starts to open up? it all comes out eventually, rushed and raw, like it’s been bottled up for years.

p = patience (how easily angered are they?)

he’s got a short fuse for everything - except you. video games? rage. technology? rage. but when it comes to your bad days, your spirals, your silences? he’s surprisingly patient. like the moment it’s you, all his bluster softens. “take your time,” he’ll say, even if he’s quietly panicking underneath.

q = quizzes (how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

he pretends he forgets - but he doesn’t. he remembers the dumbest, most random things. like what snack you only eat when you’re stressed, or how you pronounce certain words. he’ll act surprised when you bring something up, then casually hand you the exact thing you mentioned needing three weeks ago.

r = remember (what is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

he doesn’t talk about it much, but it’s something small - maybe the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder, or the night you stayed up with him during one of his worst spirals without saying a word. it’s not the loud moments. it’s the quiet ones where he realized, “oh. they’re not going anywhere.”

s = security (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

protective in the loudest, most ridiculous way possible. someone upsets you? he’s pacing the room, swearing vengeance, already halfway to the car. he doesn’t know how to fix things calmly - but he’ll defend you with everything he has. and when you’re protective over him? he acts like it’s no big deal, but it wrecks him. no one’s ever done that before.

t = try (how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

more than you’d think. he won’t talk about it, but he plans for weeks in advance. his dates might be messy, the gift wrap might be awful, but the heart is so there. he remembers what you like, what makes you smile, and he’ll go out of his way to make you feel seen - even if it’s just bringing home your favorite drink after a bad day.

u = ugly (what would be some bad habits of theirs?)

he interrupts a lot. curses too much. leaves socks in every room and gets distracted mid-task. when he’s overwhelmed, he shuts down completely. but he’ll always circle back, usually with a guilty smile and some sort of peace offering (read: snacks).

v = vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

lowkey vain. he’ll act like he doesn’t care, but he’ll redo his hair three times before leaving the house and absolutely checks how he looks in your phone camera. he loves when you compliment him though - it hits different coming from you.

w = whole (would they feel incomplete without you?)

he wouldn’t admit it, but yes. he’d go back to pretending everything’s fine, making noise so he doesn’t have to feel the silence. but nothing would taste the same, feel the same, be the same. it’d be like breathing with half a lung.

x = xtra (a random headcanon for them.)

he gets weirdly fixated on “your songs.” like, if something plays that reminds him of you, it’s your song now. he’ll replay it in the car, send you the link with no context, and casually say “this is so us” like it’s not the 47th time you’ve heard it that week.

y = yuck (what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

he hates being lied to - especially if it’s to “protect his feelings.” he wants real, even if it’s messy. performative behavior also grates on him - he’d rather you be weird and honest than perfect and fake.

z = zzz (what is a sleep habit of theirs?)

he talks in his sleep. full conversations. also hogs the blanket and sleeps diagonally unless physically restrained. but if you roll away in the middle of the night, he always pulls you back without waking up, like his body just knows you’re supposed to be there.

[mariasont]

Craving Like A Lungful - S.R

you ask spencer a question about breath play. he gives you a lecture, a safety demonstration, and a mind-shattering orgasm. in that order.

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, AFAB, reader wearing a skirt, breath play, choking (consensual), fingering, dirty talk, praise, experimentation, soft dom reid, power exchange, pet names, 75% smut and 25% love letter to spencer reid's fingers wc: 4.1k

He’s torturing you. Actually, genuinely torturing you. Spencer Reid, certified genius, closeted sadist, worst man on Earth. 

Except, well, obviously, he isn’t. You would qualify him as your favorite person in existence on any given day, and therein lies half the problem. 

Because right now, he’s just sitting there, reading, while his fingertips scrap absent-minded shapes along the slope of your neck. Each harmless pass managing to turn your thoughts to mush and bones to jelly. 

At this point, you’re convinced you’re less a person and more a limp collection of nerves slumped against his side, pretending (poorly, might you add) to watch a show you mentally abandoned about ten minutes ago.

You’re too busy contemplating just how blatantly you’d need to behave to distract him from those words and coax him into pursuits you deem far more exciting. Pursuits that involve significantly more touching.

His grasp on you briefly firms, just a heartbeat of strain if that.

You know it was surely accidental, but your body can’t compensate for the difference. You try to swallow the intrusion of indecent thoughts like sour medicine.

The dose doesn’t take.

You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be pinned beneath him, discovering firsthand the perfect contradiction that is Spencer’s innate gentleness and the strength you’re suddenly craving from his hands.

You’re not crazy for this, you reassure yourself desperately. He’s safe. He’s the literal personification of comfort, disguised in scholarly tweed and tender kisses. 

Fantasizing him into something rougher, a little less cautious... it doesn't cancel that out. It just colors it deeper. Some might consider it acceptable, even. Right?

“Spence?”

“Hmm?” He answers preoccupiedly, the pad of his finger wetting against his tongue before flipping another page.

“What do you, um… what do you know about breath play?”

You hate the way your throat tightens immediately as the question leaves your mouth. (The universe is a huge fan of irony, you’ve discovered.)

“You know I love when you ask me questions,” he begins slowly. “But something tells me this one isn’t purely theoretical.” His regard eases as his eyes track over your shoulders, now curving inward. “Am I right?”

“Yeah.” 

You could try to pretend otherwise, but you’ve come to realize, faking it is futile with Spencer. You’re sure he already knows. He’s had months to figure you out, and he treats that like a privilege — just one he’s very good at using to his advantage.

“Alright, sweetheart. Enlighten me. What exactly has you curious?”

You flap your hand, unsure what you’re even trying to say with it, and instantly feel ridiculous. Silly even. 

But Spencer smiles like he thinks you’re charming and suddenly your embarrassment feels a little less terminal.

“I guess like, what’s the science behind it? Is it an adrenaline thing? A psychological thing? Or is it just, you know… a thing?”

Spencer’s hand drops from your neck, sliding to rest on your shoulder instead. It’s not exactly abrupt, but it’s unexpected enough to spark a little twinge of disappointment that sneaks out in the form of a tiny frown.

You hurry to erase it, but not fast enough.

“I only moved my hand,” he clarifies, “because I don’t want to introduce any external variables into this discussion.”

You stare, brows pinching together. “External variables?”

“Yes.” He nods. “If I kept touching your neck while describing breath play, I'd risk subconsciously steering your reactions. Maybe stirring up curiosity, maybe aversion, or maybe something more complicated. Removing the physical cue ensures you form your opinion independently.”

You squint at him. “That’s… weirdly considerate. And possibly a tiny bit intense, Professor.”

“It’s an intense topic.”

“Oh. Right. Guess that tracks.”

He’s got that look now, that particular smile he only pulls out when you’ve made him laugh without intending to. You should feel annoyed. You’re not. It's more like lucking into treasure when you were content sifting through scraps. 

“Okay, so… think of it like this,” he starts, already slipping into that half-professor, half-boyfriend tone. “When you restrict airflow, even briefly, your body interprets it as a stressor. That triggers a fight-or-flight response. Your heart rate spikes, adrenaline kicks in, and your brain releases dopamine to counteract the stress.”

He pauses slightly, eyes searching yours to ensure you’re still with him. You are, mostly. Enough, anyway.

“That dopamine rush is what makes it feel so good to some people. It’s the same principle behind things like sky-diving or high-intensity workouts, the brain perceives a mild, controlled threat and rewards you with a chemical high.”

You open your mouth to interrupt but Spencer’s lips are already curling into a sideways grin, like he’s already one step ahead of you.

“And before you ask, yes, it’s completely safe when done correctly. The key is control. It’s never about actual danger, just the illusion of it.”

You hesitate for a second, then ask, “I mean… how do you know when someone’s doing it right versus, like, actively trying to murder you?”

“First of all, it shouldn’t feel aggressive or sudden. You should feel an edge of intensity without genuine fear or distress. Your body’s reactions shouldn’t tip over into panic or actual pain.” He leans forward, his proximity suddenly sharpened. “And secondly, it has to be with someone you trust implicitly. This isn’t the sort of activity you’d want to try after a few drinks at a questionable frat party.” He lifts a brow. “Selfishly, I’d much rather you not explore something this delicate with anyone but me.”

“Spencer.”

“Just being responsible, angel,” he says lightly, completely unrepentant as he dips forward, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’d hate to imagine you in the inexperienced hands of someone less qualified.”

You press your lips together, glaring in a way you hope reads as stern instead of hopelessly flustered. “Don’t make fun.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Which, given his shit-eating grin, is an outright lie. His hand finds your knee and squeezes. “Any other pressing questions?”

“Have you ever done it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” You fumble momentarily, grasping to find footing that doesn’t involve imagining him with someone else. “Um, so, was it — did you like it?”

He tugs your knee a little closer. “I think you’re asking because you hope my experience will give you some clarity about your own feelings.”

You freeze, because, well, yeah, that’s exactly what you were doing. And hearing it out loud makes it harder to dodge.

“The thing is,” he continues softly, patiently, “my answer won’t really help, sweetheart. My role is fundamentally different, both physically and psychologically, from yours. You're the one feeling the rush. I’d be the one carefully controlling it.” He tilts his head, studying your reaction. “What you need to ask yourself is how the idea itself makes you feel.”

You stare down at your hands, willing an answer to manifest. But the truth is, you don’t have one.

Everything you know about this is secondhand. The way your friends talk about it, joking over drinks like it’s no big deal. The way it’s portrayed in movies, always intense and dramatic. The way a passage in a book makes you pause, reread it over again, just to be sure.

But all of that is distant, safely removed from your actual life. None of it feels like you.

“It’s complicated,” you admit, squirming under his gaze. “It feels interesting in theory. Like, hypothetically exciting. But actually enjoying it? That’s still an enormous, intimidating question mark.”

Spencer’s eyes flick over you once, assessing, before he nods. 

“Alright,” he says. “Well, this is a safe, controlled environment. We can take it step by step, nice and logical, okay?”

You nod quickly — probably too quickly. Spencer’s mouth twitches, but he’s kind enough not to call you on it.

His hand moves back to one side of your neck.

“Let’s start by narrowing it down,” he continues, “If I touched you right here —” his voice dipping intimately, “— what’s the first thing you feel? Excited? Nervous? Both?”

Spencer’s hand is cold, just on the edge of uncomfortably so, but by now, you’ve learned to anticipate it.

The first time, he’d explained away the chill, intertwining your fingers while he launched into a gentle explanation about blood vessels, circulation, and temperature regulation, as if medical jargon might warm you up faster. Your dazed, crush-drunk state had earnestly tried to soak up every word.

The second time, however, there had been no hope of retaining anything. His fingers tracing circles around your clit, whispering against your neck something vaguely scientific — vasoconstriction, maybe? — the words entirely lost beneath your own breathy sighs.

Maybe some responsible corner of your brain caught it and tucked it away for later. But right now, all you can feel is the heat flooding your skin, surging up to meet those same chilly fingers, smothering any hope of remembering a damn thing.

You wet your lips. “Yeah, I…I think I like it.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow. “Think?”

You try to swallow, but it’s clumsy. Like your brain forgot how, his touch is so light, it barely registers, and you're honestly not even sure he is touching you or if your brain's inventing it, already drunk on the idea.

“I do like it,” you clarify quickly, ears burning. “But it’s not like you’re doing anything unusual yet.”

“That's because I’d rather ease you into it than overwhelm you.” 

His eyes remain locked with yours as he slowly adjusts his hand, four fingers resting on one side of your neck, thumb curving around to the opposite side. 

“And this? How does this make you feel?”

You don’t plan to react, but your breath tangles mid-inhale, catching on something sharp. Too fast in, not enough out.

Your fingers tap aimlessly against your thigh, unsure where to go, what to do with all this feeling and nothing to burn it on.

Spencer must notice, because a second later, his free hand finds yours, cold fusing with warm.

“I like the weight of it,” you whisper, barely trusting your voice. “Feels… assertive. In a good way.”

Spencer hums before leaning in, close enough for you to see where his lashes clump at the tips, impossibly dark. 

“Yeah, it probably does feel that way,” he says, thumb brushing under your ear. “Doesn’t mean I’m trying to take control. Just means I like knowing I have your attention.”

You almost laugh. He has your attention, your focus, your heart, and a few other things you probably shouldn’t name. But you just nod like he’s not entirely right.

“What now?”

“That depends on you,” he says. “We can take the next step, and I can apply gradual pressure to let you experience the sensation, monitor your response.” His eyes drag over your face. “Or we can pause. Talk it through. Or we can stop.” A squeeze to your hand. “There’s no wrong answer.”

“I want to take the next step,” you say, trying to hide the urgency. “But I might not react the way I’m supposed to.”

“There’s no supposed to,” he says, thumb sweeping over your wrist. “You don’t have to react in any particular way. We’re just exploring. No expectations.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Just… talk me through it?”

“Always.”

His fingers tighten. Just a little. Almost like a symphony getting louder, but one instrument, one beat at a time. You don’t breathe, just to feel it better.

“Let’s stay here a second. Let you get used to it.”

The size of his hand dwarfs your throat, fingers splayed wide directly over your jugular, encompassing delicate skin and fragile bone. 

You’re not blind to the strength of him. But what strikes you is the control he exercises over it. The ease with which he could hurt and instead chooses to draw out something else entirely. Every move angled towards pleasure, not power.

He’s studying you now. You know it without meeting his gaze. You can feel the scrutiny everywhere, razor-sharp eyes stripping back every layer you thought you were hiding. Measuring. Tracking. 

But you realize it’s more than just simple observation. It’s also craving, masked behind patience. 

“Still okay?”

You nod.

“Alright I’m gonna tighten a bit. Tell me if it’s too much.”

He thumb sweeps over your windpipe without closing off any air. Your thighs clamp together accordingly, locking around your joined hands.

Spencer laughs, not at you, never that, but with the same quiet pride he gets when one of his obscure theories turns out to be correct. 

Trust you to be another equation effortlessly solved by his clever fingers.

His hand slips from yours, redirecting to nudge your legs apart, stern enough that resistance doesn’t even cross your mind. 

As he nestles between your thighs, you wonder if maybe you were purpose-built for this. Shaped by fate into the perfect receptacle for Spencer. It’s not the most absurd thought you’ve had when it comes to him.

“You know why this works?” His voice dips into something possessive, fingers kneading into the plush give of your thighs, sliding upward, a constellation of goosebumps being left in their wake. “Because you like knowing I could keep you here, but also knowing I’d never have to.”

You’ll never understand it — how Spencer manages to reach into the depths of your mind, extracting the exact words there, murmuring them back to you as though they were born on his tongue.

Your hips shift restlessly beneath him, craving friction you hadn’t even consciously acknowledged, your skirt climbs higher, revealing inch by betraying inch of skin without an ounce of remorse. 

Spencer’s gaze falls instantly, eyes growing heavy, pupils expanding into endless darkness, mirroring the ache brewing inside you.

“I’m going to introduce something called intermittent restriction, okay?” he says. “That means I’ll apply pressure for just a few seconds, long enough for your brain to notice, but not long enough to make you light-headed. Then I’ll release. That cycle, restriction and releasing, triggers a rush of oxygen back into your system.”

His mouth finds your jaw, so softly that the rush of your pulse seems premature.

“Your nerve endings will become hypersensitive, responsive to even the slightest touch.” And just to prove a point, his fingertips slip between your thighs, tracing fire over already scorching skin. “This, for example,” he whispers, “will feel ten times as intense.”

The pressure on your throat fades as his hand shifts upward, finding a new home cradling the back of your neck, fingertips twining through your hair. 

You’re left staring at his mouth, every heartbeat a fervent prayer — kiss me, please, please, kiss me.

Then, slowly, he tilts your chin upward, sweetening your unspoken wish.

When he draws away, your breath trembles, coming in shattered fragments. Your vision dims slightly at the edges, leaving only Spencer in vivid clarity.

“Is that something you’d like me to do?��

“Yes,” you breathe, everything in you reaching. “Yes, please.”

He nods slowly, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“Good. You know the safe word, but if you can’t talk and want me to stop, just tap my wrist twice.” He demonstrates against your neck. “The second it stops feeling good, we stop. No explanations needed.”

His hand settles again at the column of your throat, fingertips fitting into the tender hollow beneath your jawline. He tilts your head back, and for a second all you can think about is how exposed you are. The weird crease on your collarbone. That one spot that gets blotchy when you’re turned on.

You wonder if he sees all of it. If he likes all of it. 

He looks at you like none of it surprises you. Like he expected every detail and already decided it was his favorite part.

“What if I do it wrong? Like, should I be —?”

“Hey,” he soothes, thumb gently rubbing slow circles against the underside of your chin. Gentle kisses trail along the line of your jaw toward your ear. “You can’t do anything wrong.” He catches your earlobe between his teeth, tugging. “Just relax and let me do all the work, angel.”

“Oh,” you exhale quietly as every part of you goes warm and liquid.

“That’s it,” Spencer murmurs. “There’s my girl. You ready?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, “love you.”

His smile deepens, fondness glowing through him as he bumps your chin with his nose. “Love you.”

His breath is minty when it brushes yours again, tinged with that strange clove candy he orders from some European site. You’re still trying to place it when his hand moves — and just like that, you’re out of air.

It should set off alarms, should terrify you, but strangely all it does is strip away the noise, everything crystallizing. 

It’s exactly like the first morning after you fell asleep beside him, waking up in tangled limbs, realizing you’d never truly rested before him, the world realigning itself in high definition, as though you’d finally found the perfect pair of glasses after years of blurry half-truths.

Time seems to move in slow motion, each elongated second stretching into something much more infinite. When his fingers ease up, you feel the air whoosh back into your lungs, somehow sweeter than before.

“Good girl,” Spencer praises softly, lips curving into a smile you can feel even with half-closed eyes. “How did that feel for you?”

You pause. “I think I need a little more evidence before I can give a definitive answer.”

You conveniently omit just how much you liked it. How every cell in your body is quietly pleading for him to do it again, and soon. Immediately, if possible. Though judging by the look in his eyes, you’re not exactly fooling anyone.

“Ah,” he chuckles softly, thumb stamping over your bottom lip, “spoken like a true scientist.”

“Well,” you breathe, “there are worse traits I could’ve picked up from you.”

His fingers squeeze around your throat once more.

You’re dimly aware that his other hand has taken up occupancy on your thigh. How long had it been there? Five seconds? Five years? 

Both seem plausible, neither important. It’s there, and your lower half is already chasing the feeling, searching in desperate little movements. Anything — his palm, the couch cushion, a miracle — would suffice to ease the fever spreading through your hypoxic brain down to the sticky heat between your legs.

His fingers skim down to the edge of your panties just as his grip on your throat dissolves. One sensation gives way to the other, making it impossible to know where relief ends, and desire begins.

You, however, don’t take the opportunity to gasp for breath. Instead, you chase Spencer’s lips, gifting him your last lungful of air in a kiss that is decidedly messy and anything but falling under the category of graceful. He takes your clumsy devotion in stride, hands moving to haul you tighter against him, slotting your legs tighter around his waist.

You pull back only when your body calls for it, not your heart. And when you do, your head spins a little, most likely oxygen-related, but it feels more Reid-related. 

His mouth lingers barely an inch from yours. “Take a deep breath for me, angel.”

One shallow inhale, and then it’s gone. But it doesn’t matter, because his fingertips are dipping beneath your panties in the same motion, stroking through your folds, dragging pleasure through you so intensely, you’re scared you’ll break apart right then and there. 

He was right, you’re so unbearably sensitive, nerves bursting open beneath his touch, each one catching like a spark on dry glass, spreading before you can stop it.

He clicks his tongue softly, clearly pleased. “Look at you, making such a mess for me.”

There’s nothing rushed about the way he moves, but your body doesn't seem to know that. Frantic anyway, trembling anyway, gasping like he himself is a trap you’ve willingly walked into. 

He doles out air like it’s been earned, a mercy, always paired to the slow tease of his finger gliding up and down your folds, spreading you open, painting your clit with everything he’s pulled from you.

He gives you just the tip of his index, barely inside, and then pulls back like he's punishing you for wanting more than he offered.

You’re soaked now. Slick enough that it’s starting to drip where your pelvis meets his thighs, a growing mess that’s probably already bled through to the couch.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he murmurs. “I wanna hear everything running through that beautiful head.”

“I’m not — there’s not much going on up there,” you confess. “Just need your fingers. ”

“You have them,” he says.

“Inside,” you whimper. “Need you inside.”

He releases your throat just as his finger slides in.

“That’s what you needed, huh?” He smirks. “You sound so pretty when you beg for it.”

And your body answers for you, clenching around the intrusion, like it’s trying to hold onto him, pull him closer, keep him.

You used to watch his fingers like a secret obsession. Long before he’d ever touched you. The slope of his knuckle, the faint ridge of old scars, the exact spacing between his middle and index finger — you’d count it, like maybe the detail meant something.

Now one of them is buried inside you, barely, and it’s already too much.

When the second slides in, it feels like being opened from the inside out. Again. Like every other time he’s had his fingers in you. Or his tongue. Or his cock. You’d think your body would be used to this by now. It never is.

A moan punches out of your chest unfiltered. Your hands reach up for something to hold, finding purchase at the overgrown curls at the nape of his neck, fingers tightening there.

He leans in, eyes half-lidded, voice hushed. “Always so tight for me.”

“Spencer…” You reach, fingers closing around his wrist, moving his hand back to your throat. Your voice comes out pleading, every bit as vulnerable as you feel. “Please?”

He stops. Breathes. Absorbs it like a gift he hadn’t expected to be given twice. But he doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t need to.

“So polite, baby.” 

Your next inhale gets caught beneath his palm. Your lungs stay empty, but your body lights up in its place. Pulsing. Drenched. Stretched open around his fingers. The sound of it is filthy, wet and messy and loud enough to drown out whatever noise you just tried to make.

You’re grinding down on him now, mindless, rutting against the heel of his palm like shame doesn't even exist anymore.

Your head is light, skin buzzing, orgasm barreling toward you like a tsunami you can’t outrun.

“I wish you could see yourself like this,” he murmurs, breath warm against your cheek.  “You’re so beautiful. Every single time.”

You want to answer. Maybe cry. Maybe laugh. Maybe beg. But your core answers first — vision goes spotty, thighs twitching uncontrollably.

And then everything clenches, cracks open and takes you with it.

There’s a second of silence, brain fogged with nothing but static. Heat, stars, white noise. You only notice his absence when your body jerks, still chasing pressure that’s no longer there.

Your hands find him clumsily, clutching at his wrist, trying to pull him back without a word.

“I’m here. You’re okay. Come here, angel,” Spencer says, already folding you into his chest.

Your face stays pressed to his shirt, breath still shaky where it escapes in uneven puffs. Spencer’s hands stay steady on your back, but you can feel his heart beating a little too fast under your cheek.

“Not gonna ask yet,” he says lightly, “but my brain is running a post-scene checklist at full speed. So just… squeeze my hand if anything feels wrong. Please.”

“What counts as feeling wrong?” You ask. His heart skips a beat beneath you, and you wince. “Not that I feel that way. I definitely don’t. I promise. I’m just curious.” 

He strokes your hair once, twice.

“You’re sure?”

You nod, eyes fluttering closed as you nuzzle closer, lips brushing his jaw. “Mm. Yeah. Just a little floaty. And in love with you. But that’s normal.”

“Floaty and in love,” he repeats, pretending to consider. “Dangerous combination. Might have to keep you under observation.” He kisses your temple, voice gentling, “But seriously, if you feel off in any way. Dizziness, fingertips tingling, even a little headache, I need to know right away, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” you say, squeezing his shirt. “And, um… totally unrelated… how long is the average recovery time before we can do that again?”

“Realistically,” he starts, “we should wait a while. Especially since it was your first time experimenting with that.” Your lower lip starts to just slightly. He grins. “But… if you were interested in cutting off my oxygen, I might have a few ideas.”

You don’t even get the chance to react. One second, you’re in his lap, and the next — you’re airborne, guided up, forward, and set down over his face like he’s been planning this all night.

You let him take your breath. Now he gives you his in return.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[norrisradio]

IN THE DETAILS

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ "Don't you think that maybe they are the same thing? Love and attention?" - Lady Bird (2017)

ᝰ PAIRING: oscar piastri x reader | ᝰ WC: 1.6K ᝰ GENRE: a case study: to be loved is to be known ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: requested by @princesspiastri007 ꨄ babe you have given me so many phenomenal ideas but this one.... grabbed my by the neck and didn't let go. sometimes, love is in the details...

send me an ask for my line by line event.ᐟ

Oscar knows you’re having a bad day before you do.

It’s not in the way you sigh or shut your laptop a little too hard, not even in the bite of your voice when you say you’re fine—though he catches all of that too. It’s in the way you make your tea.

Usually, you let it steep for three minutes. He’s timed it—curiosity at first, then just habit. You add just a little honey, enough to coat the spoon but not drip. Oat milk, two swirls, no more. But today, you dunk the teabag three times and toss it. No honey. Milk straight from the carton like it doesn’t matter.

Oscar watches all of it from the kitchen doorframe, shoulder leaned against the wood, still in his hoodie from media day, the one you stole two nights ago and returned this morning with a yawn and a kiss.

You don’t notice him at first. You’re too busy staring into the mug like it holds some kind of answer.

He doesn’t say anything. Just slips past you and pulls out the jar of honey, the spoon, the milk from the fridge that’s been open too long. You let him take the mug. You don’t ask questions when he remakes it properly. Three minutes on the clock. He hands it back to you warm and right, and that’s when you finally breathe.

“Thanks,” you mumble, curling into the corner of the couch.

He sits across from you, ankles brushing yours, arms folded loosely. He doesn’t press. You’ll talk when you’re ready. You always do.

Oscar has learned to read you in the quiet.

You chew your lip when you’re solving something. You bite your straw when you’re bored. You fiddle with your ring when you're overthinking, and you wear his hoodie when you miss him but don’t want to say it out loud.

He keeps an eye on how your playlist changes depending on your mood. Bon Iver when you’re homesick. That one ridiculously long Taylor Swift mashup when you need a cry. You claim you’re not predictable, but he’s learned your patterns like racetracks—memorized them turn for turn, heartbeat for heartbeat.

Oscar knows you hate crowds but love airports. You like being picked up from arrivals because it makes you feel chosen. He shows up every time, even when you insist you’ll get an Uber. He gets there early, waits with a sign that always says something different—once it said “Hot Person I Missed a Lot.” You blushed the whole ride home.

He watches how you always tuck your left foot under your right thigh when you're cold. How you pull your sleeves over your hands when you're overwhelmed. He carries spare hair ties in his pocket just in case. Buys extra lemon sherbets because you get weirdly nostalgic for them once every few months. He keeps your favorite lip balm in the glovebox of his car because you once forgot it before a long drive and sulked for two hours.

Oscar knows when you’re happy because your whole face goes quiet. Not loud like the movies say. Not bright and grinning and explosive. No, your happiness is softer. It's in how your shoulders drop a little, like you’ve let the day go. It's in the way you hum under your breath, off-key and careless, usually something stupid like the jingle from that grocery ad you hate but sing anyway.

He hears it before he sees it—that little tune trailing from the bathroom while you brush your teeth or fold laundry. It always makes him smile, even if he doesn’t know the words.

When you’re happy, you talk to things. The cat that always sits on your windowsill even though it isn’t yours. The kettle. The plants you insist are thriving, even though they’re mostly brown.

“Don’t give me that look,” you’ll mutter to a cactus, and Oscar will peek over the rim of his book, just to watch you argue with a plant. That’s when he’s sure: you’re okay.

But when you’re mad—

Oh, he knows.

There’s a difference between being mad and being mad at him, and Oscar has mapped that line like a tightrope.

When you're just mad, everything gets fast. You clean like it’s an Olympic sport. You open drawers like you’re trying to win a fight against gravity. You text your group chat aggressively and then toss your phone face-down, muttering “Ugh, whatever,” as if that clears the air.

Oscar stays out of your way on those days. He keeps your favorite snack stocked and says things like, “Want to yell into a pillow?” which you’ve actually taken him up on more than once.

But when you're mad at him? That’s different. That’s colder.

You go quiet—not calm, but too still. You answer questions with one word. You say “Oscar” like it’s just a name, not his. And you do this thing where you don’t close doors all the way—just enough to not be open. That’s the part that kills him.

He’ll sit with it. With the silence and the space and the ache. He’s not someone who pushes. But later, when the worst of it has thawed, he’ll crawl into your space and bump his nose against yours and whisper, “Still mad?” like a secret, like an offering.

(He always lets you win, even when you're not keeping score.)

And when you’re getting sick—

God. He catches it before you do.

You get stubborn about it, like your body could be tricked. You’ll insist you're just tired or cold or definitely not getting a sore throat, while Oscar is already grabbing the lemon and the cough drops and setting your favorite blanket out on the couch.

You get clumsy when you’re coming down with something—drop your phone, bump into corners, forget where you put your glasses. Your nose twitches when you sniff, and your voice gets this quiet rasp to it, like you’re speaking from underwater.

He never says I told you so.

He just bundles you up like you’re made of paper, presses a kiss to your forehead, and says, “You always get like this right before the rain,” even if there’s not a cloud in sight.

He reads you in the way people read their favorite novels—by heart, by instinct, by the dog-eared pages and the parts where the spine is softest.

Because you don't need to say it out loud.

You never really have.

He knows.

And that’s the point, isn’t it? Love isn’t in the big declarations. It's in the noticing. The remembering.

It’s in all the things you don’t have to ask for.

And Oscar knows when you’re in love. 

You don’t say it either. Not much, anyway. Not in so many words. But you do all the little things.

He notices. Of course he does.

You set your alarm ten minutes earlier when he’s home, just so you can make him tea the way he likes it. Something floral, but not overpowering. Strong, but not bitter. You pour it into the mug he always reaches for, the chipped one from Melbourne with the faded logo and the worn handle that fits his grip like it was made for him.

You let him ramble about tire degradation and strategy calls and wind tunnels, even when you have no idea what he’s talking about. You nod, lean in, ask questions. Sometimes you draw little race tracks on the corner of your grocery lists, and he finds them stuck to the fridge and stares at them longer than he should.

You pack snacks in his carry-on, even when he tells you not to fuss. Always the same ones: the protein bars he pretends not to like but always finishes. The mints he chews during press. The weird sour candy from your hometown that he claimed was “mid” the first time but now hoards in his glovebox.

He knows you always fold his hoodie and tuck it beside your pillow when he's away. You try to hide it, like you don’t want to seem too soft, but he’s seen the way you bury your face in it when you think he’s not looking.

And when he’s stressed—after a race that went sideways, after a flight delay or a wrong headline—you don’t ask if he’s okay. You just sit beside him, legs tangled up in his, and let him be quiet. You bring him orange slices, his favorite vinyl, your hand resting on his knee like a promise. Like I know. I’ve got you.

You kiss his shoulder when you pass him in the hallway. You whisper things like “drive safe” and “text me when you land,” and you mean it like prayers.

You don’t say I love you every day.

But you wait up for him every time. You press kisses to the back of his neck when he’s brushing his teeth. You memorize his schedule. You ask how he’s really feeling, even when he’s trying to hide it behind a half-smile and a shrug.

Oscar knows you’re in love because you see him.

The way he sees you.

You once asked him what he thought love looked like.

He didn’t know then. Not really.

Now he thinks maybe it looks like remembering. Like paying attention. Like making tea the way someone likes it, even when they forget how to make it for themselves.

Oscar doesn’t say I love you often. He’s never been great with words. But he watches you like you’re the only thing that makes sense in a loud, fast world.

And maybe that’s the same thing.

Maybe it always was.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Ex Step “Kids” x Reader

Where the man you're dating and soon to marry have their reservations about you. Considering you're closer to their age and their father has millions in his name...

Thinking about the Step-family in question being adults; well established and acting on their own from their aging father

Unknowingly letting him fall prey to you 

Walking Temptation with a hunger for deep pockets and a smile innocent enough to make anyone swoon

It’s a shock when the next time they see their dad for the holidays he’s got you on his arm

Just a little bit older than them (half his age) and with a giant engagement ring on your finger

“You like it? Your dad got it for me when we were in Dubai!” 

“Uh Dad can I have a word? Alone?”

Taniya, his eldest is the hardest to grill you

Being incredibly open with her suspicions about you

And she’s the most vigilant when it comes to reprimanding her father for spoiling you

“Dad think about it (Y/n) doesn’t need another sports car! You’ve already gotten them two!”

In no uncertain terms, you’re sure Taniya hates your guts

If the way all the restaurants your future husband has worked with for some reason can’t serve you has anything to say about it, that’s likely the case

But you don’t mind!

That way you can take your man to the best place to get croquettes

Yeah it’s sketchy but that’s what his bodyguards are for

The second worst is his youngest, Titan

Classic attention-hungry influencer son who thinks pranks on you are going viral because everyone enjoys your misery as much as he does

“Your misery” is the curious tilt of your head when you find the leather seats of your range rover decorated with glitter 

Doesn’t really bother you though, so you’ll show off your new interior to all your new followers on socials 

Wonder where they came from

Finally the middle son Tariq always forgotten but not quite estranged doesn’t seem to dislike you too much

After all, he did start coming around the villa more since you’ve moved in

“Oh hey (Y/n) I heard those flowers my dad got you went missing, it just so happens to work out that I brought you some.”

“Those are my favorites! How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. Anyway, I heard you got the latest VR tech, want to show me how it works?”

For a while you fall into a cycle with your fiance and his family

Eventually tying the knot in a luxurious venue in front of hundreds of masked billionaires

Of course, all your older husband’s kids decide to be civil

And all is well…until it isn’t

All too soon are the siblings gathered again when their father dies two weeks later

It’s all so sudden

With heavy hearts, their knowledge of his decline makes it better for the siblings to take on the funeral preparations

Begrudgingly Taniya takes it upon herself to try getting the funds from you, coming to the Villa prepared to argue

Instead, she’s met with one of her father’s most loyal bodyguards

Woefully opening the door

“(Y/n) has been too distraught to leave their bed since the…last hospital visit.”

“What?”

She would have expected someone like you to have been jumping for joy

Having tied the knot with a man who’d pay for any tuition you might’ve needed paid Taniya doubts it she expected you’d be as bubbly as others in your…profession

But instead of partying you were glued to the giant California bed clutching an old shirt of his

For once Taniya feels bad for you

“Uh hey (Y/n) I was wondering if you maybe wanted to come to the first meeting with the mortuary staff. We’re looking to pick a coffin and–”

Instead of something snarky or even an agreement, you throw a black card in her direction and pull the covers over your head

Barely smothering the crying sounds

“You know what? Maybe it might be best if I stay back here..with you.”

It’s all too easy for her to lend her shoulder as you wail about your late husband–her father

Its awkward for awhile and then it’s not

She weirdly looks forward to pulling your tear-stricken face into her chest she wore the v-neck for a reason while you discuss the funeral arrangements

Purposely making her meetings online so she can rub your back off screen

Finding that the lingering security guard–your unofficial butler is getting more and more on her nerves

Taniya doesn’t even realize she’s gotten this bad until she’s hoping the chandelier will fall on her brothers when they eventually show up

“Wow. You two are here. In-person…why didn’t you call?”

“I don’t need your permission to see (Y/n)! But you know I would’ve come sooner if my company wasn’t dealing with a major crisis by some mysterious corporate giant!”

“Don’t look at me, I told you working for a shady company would get you no where.”

“I cannot with you right now–”

“I also came-!”

“Shut up Titan.” “Please Titan we’re talking.”

Titan isn’t all that worried about his old man being dead except his allowance stopped

And technically he shouldn’t be staying in the Villa anymore…but his followers are asking questions

“And in here we have the–whoa crying widow alert!”

“W-what?!”

He gets a lot of hate for that one

And while his siblings circle around you like vultures he’s finding it hard to insincerely apologize so that you can do a follow-up apology video with him

He’s following you around so much and observing all your little quirks 

he worries it might be important when ‘apologizing’ so maybe he should record it…

Thus begins his long and greatly popular series of getting to know my dead dad’s spouse

He records as much as he can–what you eat, how you talk, how you whisper promises to the pictures of his dad you put up

It weirdly makes him question everything

It also has him posting to a new platform…a more hidden one

“Alright, guys! I actually got into their closet without issue we’ve just got to hope they won’t need to come in here anymore. OMG They’re back! I wonder what they’ll do…next. Uhm…sorry chat but I’m going to shut off the camera for awhile….I think this is just for me.”

Unlike Taniya who will hesitate, thinking of her father while cuddling up to you Titan does not think

Because after his copious amounts of stalking streaming with you

He's decided you will be his inheritance from dad

Clearly the old man wasn’t strong enough to handle you

So Titan would be the hero to sweep such a camera worthy beauty off their feet

Tariq doesn’t hesitate either 

he’s gotten over that the day he met you

Sure he misses his dad a lot less than he expected+ but he does miss the privacy he used to have with you

“Hey (Y/n) do you want to go out for a ride like we used to do.”

“Oh Tariq I’d love to but I already told Titan we’d do a muckbang with him.”

“And after that, we’re going to film our feet ASMR!”

“Titan I said I’d need to think about that–”

“What?! You already said no to the hot-tub stream, how much more of a Karen can you be?!”

“Okay okay, but I’d rather it not be live.”

“Duh, I may not ever want to post it.”

Tariq is so tired of everyone else realizing just how much you’re not like any gold-digger he’s ever known

In fact, you’re so bad at it that he doubts you were ever a gold digger in the first place

“Hey Tariq the lawyer had a question about the life insurance money, should I just write you a check or do I keep it? I’m so confused.”

“Wow uh, that’s a lot.”

“Yeah, but your dad always told me what to do with this kind of stuff. So what do I do?”

“Uhh, how about we open our own bank account and put it there!”

“Oooh like a married couple’s bank account?”

“Yeah just like marriage. It’s a little too early to ask right?”

Nonetheless, all three siblings are beginning to realize just how ‘bad’ of a gold digger you are

And they’re more than eager to show you the right way…as long as you change your allegiance to them.

Rules | Kofi | Masterlist

[vyyper]

hallo ! apologies for being an exceptionally random guest (i promise i’m friendly, my blog just isn’t set up yet), but i have a request for you if you’re interested :333

aven/kakavasha x reader. anything, literally anything with him in it—oneshot, hc, whatever…I BEG, there isn’t enough sfw content of him /nf, lmk if this is too general of a req :D

Aventurine Relationship Headcanons

a/n: honestly i could ramble on forever about him... he's one of my very favorite characters. but i restrained myself a bit! not beta read, mostly fluff and me word vomiting

-aventurine takes a long time to get comfortable and really open up to your relationship. vulnerability isn't something that comes easy to aventurine, and love is the most vulnerable thing to him. it terrifies him, how much he cares. surely, someone as awful as him shouldn't dim the light of someone like you. but be tender, be gentle, be patient, and gradually, he'll open up. the way his heart beats faster around you will gradually turn from a feeling he hates to one he loves the most.  

-i think he really is a loverboy through and through once he's able to be open!! showers you in compliments, partially because he likes to laugh at how flustered his flirting makes you, but mainly because he can't say enough how much he admires you. he hasn't had genuine connection in so long, so you're a true reprieve for him. he never wants to let you go, so he'll remind you exactly why as much as possible.

-likes to take pictures of you. he wants to hold onto every memory he can, and he loves to admire you. he likes to take selfies with you or have you pose for the camera, but his favorites are candid photos, ones where you aren't expecting them. there's something so enrapturing about you just being. you sleeping in your bed or on his lap, cooking some breakfast in the kitchen, scrolling on your phone across the couch from him, getting ready for your day...he loves it all. when he's off on some faraway planet, he'll look back at them, to get himself through whatever mission, remind himself he needs to get back to you soon.

-he likes extravagant dates just as much as laid back ones. whether it's whisking you off to a place you've always dreamed of visiting or staying in and binging movies, holding you close on the couch, he enjoys all time spent with you.

"i heard this movie's a bit of a scary one, so if you want to hold onto me i'll protect you...hey, don't glare at me! i'm just concerned, that's all..."

(the movie in question is a g-rated animated film. teasing little shit. you cling onto him anyway though to make him happy.)

-a bit of an unpopular opinion, but i think that while aventruine spoils you on dates, and also buys you plenty of things, one of his favorite ways to show affection even more than money is little acts of service. he does love to spoil you!! but his money is also a bargaining chip, and he has so much of it that spending on you too excessively wouldn't feel as genuine in his mind.

-so he does things for you. he loves to cook for you, for one. when he has the time he'll spend hours perfecting your favorite dishes. the kitchen is lively as smells drift through the air, warmth radiating from the stove as you two buzz with lively conversation. he'll call you over and spoon feed you a taste to make sure he's making it the way you like it, giving you a soft peck and swiping the extra at the corner of your mouth with his thumb after. there's something so tender about seeing your smile as you eat his meals, knowing it energizes you and makes you happy, warms you. It comes from his hard work, his hands, all for you, and he adores it.

he wears a silly kiss the chef apron and goes "i think you should listen to what the apron says and reward me, hm?" after he finishes. you roll your eyes hard but do it anyway, and he feels your smile against his lips.

-he also loves to do things like help you with your hair or run you baths or your laundry. if he happens to be home while you're at work, sometimes you'll come back to a super clean house, chores all done. you'll thank him a bunch then scold him for working on his day off, but he just laughs and silences you with a kiss before running you a bath. he'll happily let you reward him by washing his hair and rubbing his shoulders in the tub, though.

-that doesn't at all mean he won't spend on you though!! he loves spoiling you! i just think he won't overwhelm you with random, massive gifts. he'll buy you little trinkets that reminds him of you, get you some clothing from a brand you mentioned, restock your perfume/cologne, buy jewelry with gems in your favorite color, that kind of stuff. the price is never a problem, but he makes sure it's stuff you actually want, makes sure the gifts are personal.

-he buys you flowers a lot. will get you new ones as soon as the previous have wilted. if he's been away? he gets you a whole mini garden's worth to make for the weeks he's been gone

your jaw drops at the sheer amount he got you. you know he missed you, but nothing could have prepared you for this.

"what's that shocked look for? is it not enough? well, i can always get you more, if you really insist..."

he laughs when you shake your head rapidly and tell him absolutely not.

-speaking of being away, it KILLS him. he hates his job already and he misses you so bad!! texts you often, checking in on you and updating you and complimenting you and sending you money. prefers calling you when he gets the time because he wants to actually *talk*, will ask you to just ramble about whatever because he misses the sound of your voice :(

-aventurine's very physically affectionate. he almost always has his hands on you somehow. it's a way for him to show his love but also a way for him to reassure himself that you're really there, that you love him too.

-swings your arms when you walk together, holding hands. he'll feed you a bite of his food on dates, give quick little pecks, dangle his jacket on your shoulders, slide an arm around your waist.

-in the comfort of your home he's allll over you. wakes you up with a kiss, brushes his teeth while you brush yours with your sides pressed together. he'll always have an arm or two wrapped around you. he'll come up behind you and slide the shoulder of your shirt down so he can pepper kisses there, laughing when you let out a surprised yelp. he'll stay there, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, before taking your hand and dragging you to hang out with him on the couch

-loves cuddling. it's his favorite way to be with you. your head in his lap, a lazy arm wrapped around you, you lying on top of him, his head resting on your shoulder, spooning, sitting on his lap with your forehead pressed to his. sny and all of it, any and all of you. i think he has his favorites, though. he likes to rest on your chest, just by your heart, or bury his face in your neck, lips resting softly against your pulse. your heartbeat is the best sound, the best feeling in the world to him. steady, reassuring, a reminder that you're alive.

-shares his jewelry with you. helps you put it on, clasping necklaces and sliding on rings and bracelets. he'll admire you with the sweetest smile, tell you how beautiful you look.

"you're gorgeous...maybe i should just let you keep it all. it suits you better than me, anyway."

-he loves going to bed with you. He sleeps so much better with you by his side. sleep is when people are most delicate, most unguarded, so to be able to sleep with you is a sign he really trusts you. he HAS to be holding you in some way, whether it's pressing as close together as possible for warmth under heavy covers or a loose arm over you if it gets too hot.

-he doesn't usually have pleasant dreams. often he'll wake up in a cold sweat, or to you gently shaking him because you heard him talking in his sleep, and you couldn't stand to hear the tremble in his voice. he's mortified when it happens, but he grows relieved to have you near for it, even if he can never shake the embarrassment fully. sometimes he does need to be alone after it, excusing himself to another room if you're also up, thankful when you nod in understanding. but usually, he needs you. and you'll respond. you'll whisper reassurances, kiss his forehead and rub his back, securing him safely in your arms. he listens to your soft breaths and falling back asleep comes a bit easier. everything comes a bit easier with you guiding him through it.

-i think he loves his forehead and cheek and shoulder kisses, but he loves to kiss your wrist or the pulsepoint on your neck. again, he cherishes those signs that you're with him, and they're some of your most vulnerable spots, so he wants to show them the most love.

-loves kissing you on the lips too though for sure! your mouth is another thing he adores, your smiles and laughter and all the words that spill from them. whether it's quick pecks or making out, he loves it all the same.

-he just cherishes you so much :(( when he's finally comfortable enough to tell you he loves you, he'll start doing it frequently, as much as he can. it takes a while for him to get to that point but stay with him and he'll grow more open with you

[jazzyoranges]

Saw you take requests!! Can you do a fluffy Wednesday x Shape shifter!Reader (no smut please) where it's Wednesday's writing time but she can't think of ideas so reader turns into a cat and curls up on Wednesday's lap? Basically helping Wednesday by making sure Wednesday can't get up until she writes a chapter. Thanks!

Orange kitty - drabble

Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Words: 0.8k

A/n: i feel like we as a fandom haven’t been putting the orange cat x black cat trope in enough fics. this is me advocating for orange cat!r

“I feel your eyes on me, (Y/n).”

“I’m not allowed to look at my friend anymore?”

“It’s distracting. You’re inhibiting me from writing.” Wednesday isn’t fully lying. She just doesn’t add how you give her an odd feeling. An odd feeling she doesn’t like.

“Aww, do I make you nervous, Wens?” You laugh, deciding to ignore the glare she sends your way

“Keep talking and I’ll remove your voice box.”

“Please, I think you’d miss me too much” You roll your eyes, stretching on Wednesday’s bed

You turn into a cat as per Thing’s request, and you two start to play tag around Wednesday and Enid’s shared room. Thing happily bragged that you and him were better friends once. His hubris only resulted in Wednesday taking away his favorite lotions for an entire week.

The Addams girl huffs when she, yet again, makes a mistake on her typewriter. This was unlike her. The tiny trash can under her desk was nearing being full only after one or two hours of her failed attempts at writing. Wednesday put her hands in her lap after she realized her words only became futile

The abrupt stop of clacking keys makes you turn your head, giving Thing the perfect opportunity to tag you back on Enid’s bed. You quickly turn human again with almost a cartoon-ish pop, and ask Thing if Wednesday was allergic to cats

“She’s not, why do you ask?” He signs

“Do you think she’d kill me if I sat on her lap?” You sign back, not wanting Wednesday to hear

“As a human, most definitely. But if you were a cat maybe she’d tolerate you. No promises, though” Thing somehow shrugs using his thumb and pinkie finger as arms. God, you loved the weird appendage

“I can hear you two talking. I’d prefer if you’d leave me in silence.”

“Writers block?”

“No, I’m merely thinking of the correct words to use.”

“Maybe you should ask Enid for help. The woman can reach over the Twitter character limit in like… three seconds. Two if she’s really excited”

“Recommend such a horrid idea again and I’ll release you in my pen of hellhounds.”

“We both know I’d win” You cockily smirk, again ignoring what looks to be annoyance on Wednesday’s face. Then again, she always looked annoyed

“Your hubris is laughable. Let’s see how you suffice when your digestive system is ripped open.”

“Tempting, but I’d rather stay here with you”

You can only assume Thing listens with watchful… fingers? You execute your plan to him, and a quick pinkie-promise indicates he gets to bury you if Wednesday decides to kill you after the stunt you’re about to pull

“Hey, Wens?” The Addams doesn’t show any form of talking but you decide to keep going

“Did you know people say cats can lessen anxiety?”

The Addams hums in acknowledgement, so you continue

“Well, I don’t exactly believe it”

“And why is that.” Wednesday sighs. Sometimes she wonders why she indulges in you

“I dunno, just seems fake. I was wondering if you’d do an experiment with me?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Great! Thanks, Wens” You give Thing a quick wink after turning into a cat and hopping up onto her desk. Turning your head to the side as if you were asking a question, you looked at Wednesday for an answer

You were crazy, but not crazy enough to do something to make Wednesday hate you

For some reason, the Addams girl doesn’t even have a second chance to think before scooting back her chair. You’re about to jump into her lap with a paw over the edge of her desk, but you glance up to make sure Wednesday was sure. You receive a small nod

The action is enough to make you whisper a small “thank you” but it only comes out as a small meow

You circle around her lap for a good area to lay, and you quickly take your spot with a tiny smile that makes your eyes close. Wednesday scoots her chair back in, and she has absolutely no idea what to do.

Only when you start to purr a shiver goes up her spine. The vibrations are light, and something about you happily laying on her lap makes you chip away at Wednesday’s walls the tiniest bit. She contemplates where to put her hands before Thing scurries on top of you to scratch behind your ear. Wednesday shoots him a deathly glare in return, but your favorite Addams (don’t tell Wednesday) stays put

As if showing Wednesday how to pet a cat, Thing gets off of your back and points a finger in your direction. Hesitantly, the Addams girl copies the actions Thing showed her

And you? You were having an amazing time. Wednesday’s fingers were cold but every stroke of her hand was calculated. She took note of which spots you purred louder, and continued her movements

Fuck you and your ability to get what you want, Wednesday thinks. Of course your smug ass knew cats lessened anxiety. Of course.

But Wednesday can’t help being addicted to your tiny purrs and vibrations

With her left hand fondling your ear and her right on her typewriter, she decides maybe a cat could be arranged in her novel.

[shintaru]

m.list ♡ taglist ♡ inspired by

~ @dzvelinaskebiyars @bfwooin

Little fact this fic is 777 words

You didn’t have to say anything you never did. He just knows you and pain so well you’re both two sides of the same coin for him. He knows physically pain from all the abuse he endured from his father and his injury. He knows emotional pain from the betrayal of people who once counted on him turning against him, especially the ones he held closest to him and the ones you want the most recognition from. He never got any of that and it all ended in pain for him.

With you it’s almost no different. He has a hard time emotionally investing himself because he doesn’t care but deep down he’s afraid of building up trust again and wanting to feel close to only be betrayed and tossed aside like a used up toy when it can no longer provide entertainment. Yet he can’t stop himself from growing close to you and helping you. Cause as nonchalant as he pretends to be he cares maybe a little too much and to an extent he hates that about himself.

You’re like an injured puppy that is alone and he has to take home and save because he knows what it’s like more than anyone to be alone. That’s the one thing he hates the most, he can’t stand is to be and feel completely alone without knowing when that loneliness will end. So when he discovers that you feel the same way about loneliness he told himself he’d never allow you to feel alone again as long as you remain by his side too.

You were hiding away from the world at the rooftop of the building hugging your knees to your chest trying to wait out the pain. Somehow he immediately found you. He could see you’re hurting from something and he didn’t want to pry if you weren’t ready to share. So he didn’t bother making any jokes, deciding it probably wasn’t a good time for them. Instead he sat beside you and leaned against you laying his head on your shoulder letting you know he was there for you.

He took your hand in his and you both sat in silence. You knew who was beside you because when you disappeared when times got hard he was always the only one who was able to find you this time was no different. The silence remained until you started talking “Wooin why am I never good enough-“ you were asking but he cut you off mid question “don’t talk like that… whoever made you feel that way isn’t worth it fuck what they think” he replies.

You look up at him with tear stained eyes that make his heart drop everytime he sees them. “I told you not to cry over people like that” he says wiping your tears with his hands. He’s always a little aggressive with his crew mates when they mess up and especially with strangers and he has the same demeanor with you until times like this he shows a new side that’s surprisingly gentle. You’re positive you’re the only one that’s seen this side of him.

He stands up holding his hand out to you “come on let’s get our favorite snacks and we can rot in my bed together until you feel better” he says as you take his hand. You both hold hands exiting the building and while walking all the way to the nearest store to buy snacks. You pick some of your favorite snacks and he pays for them all and takes your hand again before exiting the store to head over to his place.

Once you enter his house he hands you a plushie he bought at the store without you noticing. It was a cute snake with big glittery eyes that made you laugh. He set up the snacks on his bedside table and he picked the movie anaconda and you’re not surprised by the movie choice. You lay on his bed still holding the gift he gave you. “I hope you’re not planning to cuddle that snake all night instead of me” he says, making you laugh. “Are you jealous of a plushie?” You ask him but he acts like he didn’t hear your question.

“Text me or come over next time you feel like this you don’t have to run away everytime I’ll be here when you need me” he says looking at you this time. “I promise I’ll come to you next time” you reply. “You better not break it or I’ll kill you” he says. You throw the snake plushie at him “just start the movie” you say.

[httpvomitello]

Enemies to Lovers: Peter Parker x Y/N Tom Holland

You couldn’t stand Peter Parker—until the night he saved your life, and you saw the boy behind the mask.

I hope you like it ~ ♡♡

The Mask Slips .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: You couldn’t stand Peter Parker. The golden boy act, the too-nice smile, the way he always seemed to be one step ahead in class—and just annoyingly perfect. But everything shifts the night Spider-Man saves your life…and you discover who’s really behind the mask. Suddenly, the boy you thought you hated isn’t who you thought he was—and your heart might not be, either.

peter parker x f!reader

Peter Parker was annoying.

Too smart, too smug, and somehow always there. Answering every question in class, volunteering for extra credit, grinning like he knew something you didn’t.

You didn’t like him, not really. You couldn’t stand the way he made your skin itch in frustration. Like the human version of static cling.

He always acted like the golden boy—sweet, polite, every teacher’s favorite.

You weren’t fooled.

“Can you not look at me like that?” you snapped one afternoon as he slid into the seat next to you in Chem.

He blinked innocently. “Like what?”

“Like you know everything.”

He smiled. “That’s just my face.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.

Peter Parker: 1. You: 0.

You both got paired for a group project. Of course.

He showed up to your place with his stupid smile and a folder full of ideas already outlined.

“Let me guess,” you said, crossing your arms. “You already did the work?”

“I just like to be prepared.”

“Is that what they call controlling now?”

He looked up at you, eyes narrowed, and for the first time, there was a flash of heat behind them. Not the good kind. The dangerous kind.

“Look,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to like me. Just try not to treat me like dirt when I’m literally trying to help.”

You were stunned into silence. It was the first time he ever snapped back.

And it shouldn’t have affected you.

But it did.

You’d stayed late at school, finishing the stupid project. Peter had left earlier, and you were glad—less awkward that way.

Walking home, you felt it.

That weird tingle on your skin. The kind of instinct that makes your stomach twist.

You were being followed.

You picked up your pace, cutting through an alley—shortcut. Bad idea.

A guy stepped out from the shadows. Big. Angry.

“Where you headed, sweetheart?”

You froze. Heart racing.

“I don’t want any trouble,” you said quietly.

He didn’t care.

He lunged.

You didn’t have time to scream.

But suddenly—he was there.

Red and blue. Webs and fists and fury.

Spider-Man.

He moved like a storm—calculated chaos. You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

The guy was down in seconds, groaning and webbed to a dumpster.

Spider-Man turned to you, breathing hard. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, shaking. “Y-yeah. I think so.”

He stepped closer, carefully. “You’re safe now.”

And then—you caught it.

His voice.

Familiar.

No.

No freaking way.

He saw your expression shift. “Wait—”

You grabbed the edge of his mask before he could stop you.

Pulled it up just enough.

And everything changed.

“Parker?” you breathed.

His eyes went wide. “Shit.”

You avoided him for three days.

Peter tried to talk to you. Texted. Left a note in your locker.

You didn’t respond.

Your world had tilted on its axis. The annoying, cocky boy you thought you hated had saved your life—and under the mask, he wasn’t smug or perfect.

He was scared. Tired. Bruised.

Human.

He wasn’t the golden boy. He was something else. Something real.

And you didn’t know what to do with that.

You didn’t mean to end up on the rooftop again.

But something about the quiet up here—the way the wind hummed through the buildings and the stars blinked overhead—just felt like the only place that made sense after everything.

You weren’t alone for long.

A soft thump behind you. The sound of sneakers on concrete.

You didn’t have to look to know it was him.

“Stalker,” you said quietly, still staring at the skyline.

“Hey, you’re the one always claiming this rooftop like it’s your own,” Peter replied, a little breathless. “I think I’ve earned visitation rights by now.”

You smiled despite yourself.

He came to sit beside you, careful not to get too close.

For a while, you both just sat there—shoulders brushing occasionally, silence comfortable in a way it hadn’t been before.

“I wasn’t lying,” he said softly. “About liking you.”

You looked over at him. The boy you’d spent years hating. Or at least…thought you did.

“I know,” you whispered.

He turned, his knees up, hands clasped between them. “I thought it’d be easier if you never knew. That if I kept being the annoying guy in class, you’d never look close enough to find out the truth.”

You watched the way the wind moved his hair, the slight tremble in his fingers.

“You saved my life,” you said. “And all I could think about after was… why you?”

Peter’s brow furrowed.

“Not in a bad way,” you added quickly. “I just—I never imagined it was you under the mask. And now I can’t stop seeing both sides.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked quietly.

“No,” you said, voice just as soft. “It’s kind of the only thing keeping me grounded lately.”

Peter turned his head toward you then. Really looked at you.

And suddenly it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the night.

You could feel your heartbeat in your fingertips.

“I was scared,” you whispered. “That if I let myself like you… it’d ruin everything.”

Peter’s voice dropped to a murmur. “Then we’d match. Because I’ve been scared for years.”

A beat.

Then his hand found yours. Slowly, carefully. Fingers brushing, tangling.

You didn’t pull away.

His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. “But only if you want me to.”

You didn’t answer with words.

You leaned in, heart hammering, breath shallow—and kissed him.

It was soft. Almost shy. Like you were both testing the waters of something that had been building underneath all that bickering and tension.

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your skin like you might disappear.

You deepened it just a little, felt him melt into you, and for a few breathless seconds, the world outside the rooftop just… stopped.

When you pulled back, he was smiling.

Not smug.

Not cocky.

Just his smile. The one that made your chest ache.

“You’re not so annoying when you’re quiet,” you teased.

He grinned. “You like me better when I’m kissing you?”

“Undeniably.”

[paperbacksinner]

What type of parent will Luigi be?

———

👶 Baby phase: Obsessed & overprotective

- Absolutely unhinged about you giving birth. Paces the room. Threatens the nurse (apologizes after). Almost cries the first time the baby cries.

“She’s perfect. You’re perfect. What the fuck. What the fuck.”

- Has that new-dad instinct where he holds the baby like she’s made of glass—but still won’t let anyone else touch her without grilling them first.

“Wash your hands. I said again, Mom.”

- Sleeps with a hand on your waist and one on the bassinet. Dead asleep? Hears one whimper and is up like a guard dog.

- Fully becomes a baby-wearing dad. Hoodie, chain, baby strapped to his chest while he makes breakfast. She spits up on him and he’s like “She can do whatever she wants, it’s fine.”

- If she struggles with colic, teething, or reflux, he loses his mind trying to soothe her.

He’s like: “She’s suffering. I can’t take this. Fix her. I will sell my soul.”

- He cries with her sometimes. You find them both passed out on the couch, her little fingers tangled in his chain.

👧 Toddler years: Chaos dad with a soft spot

- He tries to set rules but folds instantly when she looks up at him with those big eyes.

“One more cookie?—Lu, she already had two.”

“…One more. Half. Half a cookie.”

- Will wear whatever she tells him to. Tiaras. Butterfly clips. Sparkly nail polish. His favorite line?

“Real men wear pink, baby. You see Daddy’s nails?”

- Can and will fight a daycare worker if he thinks someone was rude to her.

“Don’t raise your voice. That’s my daughter. She's two. Don’t make me show you what I learned at two.”

- Doesn’t know how to braid but tries so hard. He watches YouTube tutorials and mutters “fuck” under his breath while brushing through tangles.

- Eventually figures out how to do a tiny ponytail and acts like he invented hair.

- Teaches her how to swear in Italian. Only in Italian. “If she’s gonna cuss, she’s gonna sound cultured.”

🧒 School-age years: Unhinged PTA dad

- Shows up to every event. Talent show? Front row. Soccer game? Screaming like it’s the Super Bowl.

“That’s my girl! You see her footwork?? Ref! REF!”

- Way too invested in her friendships.

“I don’t like that Ava girl. She seems fake. Don’t give her your snacks again.”

- Does all the voices during bedtime stories. Fully commits.

“Once upon a—hold on—baby, this dragon voice isn’t scary enough, gimme a sec—”

- If she’s ever bullied? Luigi’s got no chill. Pulls the principal aside like,

“You better handle it. Or I will.”

- Lets her fall asleep on his chest every weekend during movie night, then acts mad about being stuck but never moves. You catch him smiling at her every time.

- Super aware of how important emotional validation is. He didn’t grow up with much of that, and he swore he’d do better.

“You’re allowed to cry, honey. Crying means you’re feeling. Feeling means you’re alive.”

- Has deep talks with her in the car. Plays her his favorite songs and explains what the lyrics mean.

“This one makes Daddy think of Mommy. Listen to the words, okay?”

- Tells her “I love you” every day, every phone call, every drop-off. Never lets her question it.

👩 Teenage years: Scary but soft

“No dating ‘til you’re thirty. Or until I’m dead. Whichever comes first.”

- Very scary to any boys/girls who show up at the door, but also lowkey cries when she goes to prom.

- Checks her location constantly. Sends her memes at midnight. Still calls her "baby girl" in front of her friends.

- She says “I hate you!” once and it shatters him for 2.5 hours, then he shakes it off and hugs her anyway.

“I love you even when you’re mad at me. Deal with it.”

- Proudest dad in the world at every milestone. Graduation? He sobs. Moving out? He helps her carry her boxes while wiping his face on his sleeve.

Bonus drabble:

It’s past midnight when she starts crying.

Not screaming. Just that soft, hiccupy little sound you know means she’s tired, restless, fighting sleep like she’s got something to prove.

You groan from the bed—bone-tired—but before you can even sit up, Luigi’s already out of the sheets.

“I got her,” he murmurs, voice still low and thick with sleep. “Stay in bed, baby.”

You watch him pad across the nursery barefoot, shirtless, hair messy. His silhouette in the nightlight makes your chest ache.

He leans over the crib and scoops her up like she’s nothing—like she’s weightless.

“Hey, hey,” he coos, pressing her against his shoulder. “What’s the matter, huh? You miss Daddy?”

She whines into his neck. He sways instinctively, hand smoothing up and down her back in slow, practiced strokes.

You expect him to hum. He always does.

But tonight, he sings.

Soft and quiet, like he’s not even sure he means to do it.

A Sinatra song, of course—his voice low and gruff in a way that barely sounds like singing at all:

🎵 “Fly me to the moon… Let me play among the stars…” 🎵

You blink hard. Lie very still. Try not to cry like a sap.

Luigi whispers the next part into her hair, still swaying slow:

🎵 “In other words, baby… kiss me.” 🎵

His palm rubs soothing circles on her back.

She’s stopped fussing completely now. Her tiny fist is curled in the chain around his neck, and her cheek is smushed against his shoulder.

He stays like that even after she��s asleep—just rocking, kissing her forehead.

You hear him whisper, “Daddy’s got you. Always.”

And even though you’re half-asleep, tears slip down your cheeks.

Because you knew he’d be a good dad.

But this?

This is something else entirely.

[water-to-drink]

Isekai Bartender!Reader Pt 2

(Characters): Diona (platonic), Kaveh, & Al haitham

(Tags/ Warnings): Gn!reader, mentions of alcohol, headcanon format, (lmk if I missed anything)

(Word Count): 850

(A/n): Decided to make a part 2 of the original post and I hope my favoritism isn’t showing too much

First part

Diona

𐃯 She hates you with a passion, well she hates anyone involved in the alcohol industry

𐃯 Her hatred towards you changes when you refuse to serve any more alcohol to someone she obviously can tell is way past buzzed

𐃯 No matter how much the boozer argued that he can have one more drink, you stuck to your guns

𐃯 She soon learns that all of your patrons leave not as inebriated compared to other bartenders by the time the bar closes

𐃯 Poor girl is so confused, how can you serve people alcohol and yet refuse to serve them past a certain point?

𐃯 Diona has had enough of this internal conflict and thus decides to go to your bar and demand answers

“Diona! You want me to whip you up a mocktail or are you good with just plain juice?”

𐃯 You can imagine the young bartender’s astonishment, when you explain the concept of virgin drinks. Along with you saying it’s your duty to not serve obviously drunk people

𐃯 Maybe her old approach to destroying the wine industry was wrong (it had the opposite effect and brought more people to her bar) maybe if she makes nonalcoholic drinks taste better then the alcoholic ones, people will now see how evil alcohol is

Congrats you now have an apprentice!

𐃯 Now that Diona is your apprentice she’ll demand to know more about bartending in your world, especially these “virgin drinks and mocktails.”

𐃯 With the knowledge you so foolishly gave the young bartender, her goal of destroying the very bane of her existence will come to fruition!!

Kaveh

𐃯 He’s heard rumors of a new bartender who makes drinks that are out of his world, technically it is

𐃯 Being a man who enjoys alcohol, he needed to see these “otherworldly” drinks for himself

𐃯 Once he makes it to the bar, he was greeted with your brilliant smile

“Hi, what would you like to drink this evening?”

“Well, what would you recommend?”

𐃯 You went through what are his preferred taste in drinks and after you got enough information you started to make his drink

𐃯 Kaveh watched curiously as you poured the ingredients into the glass before finishing the drink off with a lime garnish (pretend they have limes in Teyvat for a moment)

𐃯 Needless to say he was blown away by the taste and not to mention how you elegantly made the drink

𐃯 After that Kaveh regularly went to you to make his drinks whenever he entered the tavern, he prefers you to make his drinks and won’t have any other bartender make his drink. If you’re busy with another patron he’ll wait until you’re done

𐃯 You caught him making little doodles on napkins and on closer inspection you saw that the doodles were of you making drinks. He was a bit flustered when you asked if you keep the drawings

𐃯 He offered to make more detailed drawings if you just give him enough time

𐃯 He loves it when you dress up his drinks, using the petals of a padisarah as a garnish just makes him not want to drink it!

𐃯 The way you present your drinks just gives him the urge to draw up some designs either for an upcoming project or a potential new drink

𐃯 Speaking of new drinks, Kaveh is your professional taste tester for any new drinks you come up with

Alhaitham

𐃯 Just like Kaveh, Al haitham heard talks about you and wanted to see for himself

𐃯 He ordered his usual and began asking you about your world, at this point you’re used to people coming up to you curious about your home but the way Al haitham approached you felt more like a police interrogation

𐃯 After the first few visits you’ve gotten used to him and his constant questioning, you even began to learn about his life

𐃯 From his preferences in alcohol and to his constant squabbles with his roommate, but you do most of the talking

𐃯 Al haitham says that he likes hearing you explain the drinks, but in actuality he loves the look of joy you put on when you tell him the science and history behind the drinks you’re making

𐃯 He would pay attention to what you’re saying but you look so cute when your excitedly explain the drinks to him, it’s a bit distracting. But he doesn’t have to worry because you’re willing to explain it to him again however many times he needs

𐃯 The scribe would even try various drinks, but his favorite part is while you’re making the drink you explain the different cultures that the various drinks came from

𐃯 He would pick up various culinary books and give you suggestions on what ingredients would go well together

𐃯 The both of you do try out these recipes, some are hit or miss but if Al haitham has to drink a couple of awful tasting drinks to spend time with you them it’s a logical decision in his mind

[uhuhmaries]

If You Could, Would You? | PART 9

Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+), heavy angst, emotional relapse, unhealthy coping, emotional manipulation, self-loathing, trauma bonding

Full Series: If You Could, Would You?

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

You start going to therapy. Like, really going.

Not just showing up and sitting there, waiting for your 50 minutes to end. You talk. You listen. You finally let your past breathe.

And that’s when you realize Reese doesn’t belong in your life.

He’s kind. He means well. But he’s just been… something to hold onto. A warm body to keep the shaking away. A placeholder for something you can’t name but crave like a drug.

You tell him the truth on a Thursday night.

You sit on the floor of your apartment with your knees pulled to your chest, and he watches you say it—not like he didn’t know it was coming.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you say. “You deserve someone who’s actually here. Not just someone trying to stay afloat.”

He nods. Says, “Okay.” Leaves a hoodie behind by accident. Doesn’t come back for it.

You cry after the door closes.

Not because of heartbreak.

But because the silence after is loud as hell.

The alone phase is the worst.

You’re not used to sitting with yourself. You don’t even know what your favorite food is when no one’s choosing for you. You don’t know how to fill time without someone distracting you.

You try journaling. Cooking. More therapy.

But you relapse.

Of course you do.

You end up at a bar across from Harry’s venue. Not his stage. Just the seedy one next door where the drinks are cheaper and nobody asks questions.

You’re too loud. Laughing too hard. Letting some stranger’s hands slide up the back of your thighs as you lean against the cold brick wall outside.

And that’s when you hear it.

“Y/N?”

The voice isn’t loud, but it slices through the night.

Harry.

You blink through the blur of alcohol, turning slowly.

He’s there, half in shadow. Dressed down, but it doesn’t matter. Your body still reacts like he’s a fucking wildfire.

“Get off her,” he snaps at the guy, who raises his hands and walks off muttering something. Harry walks straight up to you.

“You’re wasted,” he says.

“No shit,” you smile, then your lip trembles. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be.” He sighs, looking down at you. “You shouldn’t be either.”

“I didn’t know who else to be.”

That silences him.

He takes your arm gently. Guides you toward his car. Doesn’t speak until you’re in the passenger seat, head leaning against the window.

“I’m not mad,” he says quietly. “I just hate seeing you like this.”

You close your eyes. “Me too.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

The ride is silent. But your skin? On fire.

He brings you back to his place. Smaller. Tidy. New. No Alice. You’re not even sure why. You’re not sure he knows why. But it’s too late the moment the door closes behind you.

“You want tea?” he asks, like the tension between you doesn’t feel like thunder.

You nod. “Sure.”

But you don’t wait.

You cross the room, gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him down.

He catches your mouth with his like it’s instinct. Teeth. Tongue. Raw and furious.

He lifts you with both hands under your thighs, slamming your back into the wall. You gasp. He bites your bottom lip. Hands everywhere. Hungry. Starving.

“Tell me to stop,” he growls.

You don’t.

“Tell me this isn’t what you fucking want.”

You wrap your legs around his waist. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He carries you to his bedroom and throws you onto the bed like you weigh nothing.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he mutters, pulling his shirt over his head. You whimper at the sight—tattoos, veins, all of him tense like a wire ready to snap.

“I do. I do, Harry.”

Your clothes are gone in seconds. He kisses you like he wants to erase the world. His mouth trails from your throat to your tits, sucking hard enough to leave marks. You arch, panting. He groans against your skin.

“You’re mine tonight,” he snarls.

You nod. “Yours.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours.”

He grabs your hair and yanks your head back, mouth hot on your neck. “You want to feel used, don’t you? You want to feel fucked, not loved.”

“Yes,” you choke. “I want it. Please.”

He groans. “Fuck—this is so wrong.”

He lines up at your entrance, rubbing his tip through your slick folds. You gasp, already clenching.

“I have no condom,” he says.

You nod. “I don’t care.”

He pushes in slowly, inch by inch. You both moan, breathless. It hurts. It stretches. But it feels so fucking right.

“Oh my God,” you cry. “You’re so big.”

“Look at you,” he pants. “Taking it so well. Been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

You nod, fucked-out, barely able to speak.

He fucks you like he’s trying to forget. Like he wants to punish you. Like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

His hand wraps around your throat—firm but not tight.

“You like being ruined, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

He pulls your legs wider. Hits that spot over and over again. You’re crying, shaking, begging.

He doesn’t stop.

“Don’t come yet,” he commands.

You whimper. “I’m so close—Harry, please.”

“Hold it. You take what I give you.”

He leans in, kissing you so deep it feels like he’s swallowing your soul.

When he finally lets you fall over the edge, it’s with a snarl and his hands gripping your hips like he owns them. You shatter, moaning his name like a prayer and a curse.

He follows with a loud, broken groan, spilling inside you. It’s hot. It’s messy. It’s too much.

You cling to him thinking it’s over.

You think you’ll lie there, sore and pulsing, Harry’s weight half on you, and maybe fall asleep in the hazy mess of what you just did.

But he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t even move away.

His lips are still on your neck, open-mouthed kisses turning into soft, bruising sucks. His hands keep roaming, still touching like he hasn’t had enough—like he’ll never get enough.

And then he shifts. Pulls out slow. You gasp at the sensation, sensitive and trembling—but he groans at the sight of it.

His come, leaking out of you. The wetness between your thighs glistening in the low light.

“Fuck…” he whispers. “Fuck, look at that.”

“Harry,” you murmur, unsure if you’re begging for more or asking him to stop.

He licks into your mouth like it’s the first time all over again.

“You’re not done,” he mutters into your kiss. “I can’t be done. I can’t fucking stop.”

He sits back on his heels, eyes dark and wild, then grabs your ankle and pulls your legs apart again.

“Turn over,” he demands.

You blink. “What?”

“Bend over for me,” he says, voice lower now. “Get on your fucking knees.”

The tone does something to you—cuts through your spine and straight down between your legs.

You obey. Slowly. Sore and shaky, you shift onto your hands and knees. Chest against the mattress, ass in the air. Completely exposed.

Harry exhales sharply.

“Stay just like that.”

You feel him move behind you. Expect to feel his cock again. But no—his hands grip your thighs and then his mouth is on you.

You cry out instantly, your face pressed into the sheets.

He’s starving for you. Groaning into your soaked core. Tongue licking between your folds, flattening against your clit, circling, sucking. His hands bruise into your hips, holding you in place when you instinctively try to pull away from overstimulation.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” he moans into you. “I’ve been thinking about this. Dreaming about it. Since that night in the car.”

Your back arches. Your thighs shake. You’re practically sobbing.

“Please—Harry, please, I can’t—”

“You can,” he growls. “You will.”

His fingers dig into your ass, spreading you open, and his tongue flicks relentlessly. Your cries melt into moans, gasps, and incoherent begging.

He doesn’t stop until you’re screaming into the mattress.

When you come, it’s full-body. Convulsing. Shaking. Your legs nearly collapse under you.

But still—he kisses your thighs, your spine, your shoulder blades, until your breathing slows.

Then, he rises. You feel him hard again, pressing between your cheeks. He lines himself up once more.

“Can I?” he asks this time.

You nod, dazed. “Yes… yes, please.”

He slides in deeper this time. Easier. Smoother. You’re soaked, ruined, ready.

This round is slower. Deeper. He leans over you, his chest to your back, one hand around your throat again—not choking, just holding.

“I want everything from you,” he whispers. “I want all of your broken pieces. I want to ruin every man that ever thinks he can touch you.”

You whimper, squeezing around him. His hips stutter.

“I’ll make you mine,” he grits out. “Again and again. Until nobody else fits.”

His hand slips between your legs and rubs your clit in tight circles.

“Come for me one more time,” he breathes. “Come on my cock.”

You break—again.

So does he.

His moan is loud, low, and desperate. He fills you again, collapsing on top of you, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades.

And finally—finally—the room is silent.

For now.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

📝 Author’s Note:

AYEEEEEE THEY DID IT …… weird timing but they did it 🙂‍↕️

[dream-with-a-fever]

Hi! What is your favorite Hinny scene in the books?

hi!!! i LOVE this question. i have a few favourite scenes — and i also know i’m not alone in these scene choices.

the library scene in ootp is just perfection. it’s so simple and brief, but there’s something so special about it, the way harry lets his guard down around her and tells her what’s been bothering him when he hasn’t been able to do that with anyone else. i think this is also a scene that shows how good ginny is at reading harry and his emotions, and knowing what he needs, when to push and when to lay off.

the break up scene in hbp is also in my opinion one of their best. because it shows how well they both understand each other. ginny doesn’t want their relationship to end but she also knows harry, and knows he will do anything to stop this overhanging evil in their lives, feels he has a responsibility to do it. and while she hates him for it, it’s also one of the reasons she fell for him — his selflessness and courage. he also knows that she wouldn’t expect anything less of him. i’m not articulating my reasoning very well here, but i really do think this scene is a perfect example of why they work together.

the little moments where we get to see harry and ginny as a couple are also perfect like the core four sitting in the common room, ginny up against harry’s legs, setting up jokes for each other, comfortable intimacy and love.

can’t not mention the ‘lucky you’ scene too - another pivotal scene for their character development. she is the only one who isn’t scared of his volatile moods and rages, she stands up for herself and calls him out. she manages to calm him, and hold her ground all at once, and demands respect which he quickly gives to her. she is someone who can absolutely handle harry - at his best but also at his worst

THE KISS IN GINNY’S ROOM. that scene is just pure romance. it’s this pining and longing for connection, this moment of closeness they’ve both been yearning for that is prematurely ripped from them (ffs ron) and this sort of tragic goodbye kiss, don’t-forget-me kiss, please-come-back-to-me-in-one-piece kiss, a kiss to remind them what they’re fighting for. ginny’s emotional maturity in this scene is gorgeous. and poor harry just wants to be a teenager in love for five more seconds…like ouch

honourable mentions: ginny sassing harry during quidditch practises, all the little interactions during the summer of hbp where harry starts to see how hilarious and wonderful ginny is, their married couple bickering energy before and during the battle at the department of mysteries, when they’re setting the table at the burrow talking, the little kisses and casual displays of intimacy (kissing each other goodnight…..???:?) i could go on and on and on.

it’ll never be ENOUGH! which is precisely why i enjoy canon-compliant works of them so much, because we deserved to see so much more. stay tuned for my half blood prince missing moments one shot <3

[frownyalfred]

I finished re-reading your Borderline fic! I can’t get enough of it lol 😍 I had some questions, if that’s alright!

What are ur hc for the batfam/jl interactions post everything? Who gets to find out? Chap 9&10 are my fav bc of how protective Bruce’s kids are of him during the whole thing, esp when Jason tells Oliver to back off 😮‍💨 are there anymore interactions like that? Also, just thinking about the outside POV’s of that whole sequence always makes me laugh lol post meeting gossip must have sent the rumor mill on fire

I really really love how you write the protectiveness/possessiveness/attentive the kids are of Bruce. Like the silent running fic? One of my absolute favorites of yours!! Jason being protective about Bruce just isn’t done a lot by the rest of the fandom, or I just haven’t been able to find any of it. I wish there were more 😫 Jason’s ability to hate/glaze Bruce is honestly commendable lmao

Anyways, just wanted to get ur thoughts on it! Hope you have a good night 😊

Thank you so much!! That was one of my favorite scenes to write in that fic, I think for exactly the reason you identified — seeing Jason do a 180 on being angry with Bruce and suddenly turning on anyone who dares to get near his father. The strangeness of seeing Red Hood himself playing bodyguard to the Bat. Nightwing on his other side, doing the same thing — all of those things, all at once in one JL meeting.

I think the sequel to borderline will be full of more of those interactions as Bruce’s promises to the JL come into conflict with his bond and his children. I hope to show more of those awkward moments as the bond turns inwards and those left outside are lost and confused. Worried. And maybe even a little jealous.

I agree that rumors spread like wildfire through the JL and most people will know something is wrong. But the biggest one in my mind is Clark — feeling betrayed by his best friend who didn’t tell him a word about this while it was going on right in front of him.

J’onn gave Bruce the chance to tell Clark himself, but I suspect that time will run out quickly. In my mind, J’onn respects the sanctity of those mental bonds and wants to give Bruce time, but the risk it poses to the JL isn’t something he can ignore forever. A handful of people have access to the JL’s mastermind and strategist’s brain and body at all times…

[alwaysshallow]

— delicate

Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

You celebrate Simon's birthday with him. (5,6 k)

AO3 version

"I still don't know why you did this" Simon says, as he looks at Mexican food that you brought about an hour ago; or the almost empty plates right now, it would be more proper to say.

He doesn't like birthdays – at least that's what he told himself, that's better not to celebrate them because why would he? Task Force 141 was his life right now, and with that, he had more important things to do. Like planning missions, strategies, doing research about potential threats, he wasn't an ignorant, after all. He liked being prepared, so he knows what he's going into.

No one prepared him for you, though. He was completely clueless when it was coming to you, he tried to read you, but… it was a blank. He never understood and probably never will, why were you so nice? It was like that since the beginning, when he was a douche to you, and you still were the nicest person he has ever seen.

Nicer than Johnny, since you weren't even trying to talk back to him. That was rare. Mostly, he was receiving an irritated roll of your eyes and a statement that he was mean. Which was true, so he wasn't even arguing with that fact.

With time, your relationship with him became… something more. Something that made Simon care for you, think of you when he was on the mission because he needed a reminder why exactly he needs to come home. And the reason was you; your little smile, when he was showing up at your door, right after they landed. The moment when you picked up the phone, when he needed to hear your voice to check up on you. Constant paranoia about your well-being made him do it because considering the job he had…

You never complained, though. Even if it was a night, even if you were busy, you picked up the phone, making him calm in just seconds.

It spoke volumes, how his demeanor changed – and someone would have to be blind to not notice that because boys from Task Force noticed immediately. His little smiles under his balaclava when he was on his phone (the fact he was on it was odd enough, considering he wasn't the type to use it). His even more stoic behavior, yet, more relaxed in the same time.

The way he was even eager to come home, when usually, he stayed in the base as long as possible because he hated to be in his apartment. Demons were coming out when he was alone, so he was desperate to stay with his people.

Right now, Simon Riley wanted to be around you.

There wasn't even a point in celebrating his birthday, he can't remember the last time he was doing that, but for you? Hell, you invited him over, just for him to see a ton of balloons and birthday shit like that. Simon, confused at first how you know his birthday (probably from Soap), managed to react on this with thumbs up.

And then, you gave him the tightest, warmest hug he received ever, and he melt uncontrollably, as his arms, after a few seconds, wrapped around you too. Usually he was pushing people away, or he didn't even hugged him, but you were different than other people that weren't even a question to him.

"I had to! Everyone needs to celebrate their birthday. Even if it's a small celebration" you smile widely. "Besides, you like Mexican, so it's only fair."

Simon knows you don't like Mexican. At least, not the way he did – your favorite was Italian or Chinese, but you still ordered that. Just because it was his birthday, just because you wanted to make him happy.

"I still don't know if you're happy that I did it." you speak again, and the corner of his mouth twists up. It's amusing in a way.

“I don’t really do birthdays.” he starts to explain, and you might notice how carefully he picks out words, when they usually roll off his tongue so easily. A reminder that he isn’t usually this careful. Mostly, he speaks his mind. "I don't think I deserve one. Yet, I'm grateful to… spend it with you."

You sigh quietly, as your gaze crosses his, and your eyes lock. You wanted to do everything right for him, he was… somehow, he was the closest thing you had to a best friend. Maybe something more. Your heart was skipping a beat every time that you saw him, but you decided it's better to hide it deep down.

You knew that Simon probably would never look at you that way, so it was simply… avoiding the heartbreak, yeah? You liked being his friend, and the confession would possibly destroy everything you both had.

"I know. I know, but you… deserve it. Like, it's being grateful for your birth. And even if you're not grateful, I am." you mutter, as you look away, to observe the world behind the window.

His gaze is locked on you, though. Simon isn’t one for compliments, so he has no response to that. But he appreciates it nonetheless, and he’d never even admit to that (in fear of becoming more vulnerable than he already let himself right now). He manages to let out a sigh.

“I don’t deserve anything.” he says, his gaze drifting to the window too.

It makes you sad, even if you really expected an answer like this – Riley wasn't that much opened, but you know a little details about his life. And what you knew, was… horrifying, you could only guess what he hasn't told you yet.

Sometimes you wondered how he is still alive with that much of baggage, how he is still standing. You reminded him as much as you could about this, that you are proud that he managed to be here with you.

He brushed it off almost every time, but you saw that he was thankful.

"You do. More than you're willing to admit" you bit your lip, looking at him with some kind of… vulnerability. Yet, you quickly look away, as your cheeks blush.

Simon is silent for a moment, staring at his own plate and the pieces of meat and some of the vegetables. He’s more than curious about your blush and the way you avert your eyes as soon as he catches you looking at him.

He doesn't know a thing, but he also doesn't ask. You can't be more glad in this moment because if you would start to explain, you'd slip. And if you'd slip…

You don't even want to think about it.

Simon eats the leftovers, his expression stoic. You can’t read anything about what he might be thinking, even if he's without his balaclava and mask. It was another thing that made your heart flutter – he wasn't wearing it, if it was only the two of you. At first, yes, but after eight months, he entered your apartment without it, not making a big deal about it. So, naturally, you didn't too; but every now and then, you couldn't help but look at his face. Scarred, tired brown eyes scanning everything around him; his poker face was natural at this point.

Your favorite expression was when he was smirking, he seemed like a brand new person with that expression. His blond hair only added to the attractive demeanor, which you tried to ignore, for yours and his sake.

Obviously, you wouldn't admit all of that to him.

You eat leftovers with him in complete silence, as the TV plays in the background on some old episode of Friends - it's something to cheer up the mood, at least you thought that way. You decided to finish and to rush into your room, coming back quick with a little package in hands.

"I know what you're gonna say, you don't celebrate birthdays, but" you clear your throat. "It's… something small. For you."

His curiosity is definitely piqued now, as he raised an eyebrow; without saying anything, Simon reaches forward to take the package from your outstretched hand, and he's excited as hell, you can see it, before he does his best to hide it. You don't know that, but he hasn't received a gift in a long time.

“You really didn’t have to.” he mutters.

"I know. But wanted to." you reply simply.

You sit in front of him, looking how he unwraps his gift, probably wondering what he will get. Your heart thumps in your chest like crazy, but you're trying your best to ignore it, playing with your fingers anxiously.

What if he won't like it? - it comes through your mind.

His present? Special blade with some engravings on it. Something that he wanted a long time ago, and there's some of confetti inside it as well. Confetti from a concert you both were in, three months ago, or even less. He only agreed to go with you, so you wouldn't go alone, as it was at night, but overall, it was a great fun.

He seems speechless for a moment, as he touches gently the engravings on a blade; it seems like he's curious even more, and you were grateful he was appreciating it. Not only because it was hard to find someone who will engrave things you wanted to be here, but you thought he wouldn't like it. And it held so much meaning.

Even if it was a little silly with those skulls.

“This,” he starts off with a small smile on his face, “is incredibly thoughtful of you.”

It feels like your heart skips a beat a few times, and your cheeks are heating up again because of that compliment. It wasn't even a topic to argue over that you wanted the best for Simon, and when he was like this…

God, you were so happy right now. So, so happy.

"I'm happy you like it" you smiled a bit.

“I like it?” Simon chuckles. "I like it, mhm, alright."

You can tell by the expression on his face just how much he likes it. It’s honestly the kind of gift that would make him hug you, if he wouldn't look at the blade.

“I love it, seriously.” he adds after a few seconds.

Simon inspects it more closely now, and can’t help but smile as the memories flood back to him from that concert, as he glances at confetti hidden in the box.

"Mhm." you can't help but grin right now, as you observe him.

A little, deliberate movements, whole attention to that one gift. It was hard to keep it in a secret that you bought him something, this man knew basically everything, even if he wasn't admitting it.

You made yourself happy by accident, as you looked at him.

After a while, as you bite your cheek from inside, you speak again.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" you look at him. "It's your birthday." you add, when you see the hesitation. He was already four hours here, maybe he wanted to go? It was late, so…

“Well…" he muses, looking at you. "Maybe I do want to watch a movie, mhm. I thought you had enough of me, though?” he jokes, as he puts the blade back in its gift wrap and leans back slightly in his chair.

"As I said, it's your birthday. You already had candles, gift, cake and Mexican. Now, it's time for a movie since I'm not tired with you. Pick one" you give him the remote, still smiling, as you set up everything; blanket, pillows.

Everything looks like a little silly construction that you usually built in childhood. Fort, that was nothing but blankets and sheets combined together and chairs supporting it. For the comfort, you had another blanket and pillows to lie on.

Simon doesn't even look surprised by the fact that you have a blanket and pillows ready for the movie. Knowing you little over a year right now, he probably had a feeling you’d have it completely set up, down to the last detail. You’ve never been one to do anything half-assed.

He picks up the remote and looks through the options, picking out some cheesy romance movie. It’s nothing that he’d ever watch on his own time and you know it. He knows knows you’re into these kinds of things, he called you out multiple times, even laughed about it. His main argument was that none of these situations probably ever happened in a real life.

Hell, you once watched Purple Hearts with him, and he was rolling his eyes the entire time. He stopped only because you cried over the plot.

“Hope you like it,” he says, hitting the play button.

You sigh, as you look at him with a small smile on your face.

"You have to like it! Si, come on" you groan, looking at him with amusement. "Like, it's your birthday. And How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days isn't exactly your cup of tea, and I know it." you say, as you indeed make him tea.

One of his favorite ones, though. You always had a ton of these, just in case.

He seemed to appreciate it every time he was in your apartment since he was drinking at least two cups.

“Oh, come on.” he says with a chuckle, grabbing a pillow and lying down. “You made this whole day about me. The least I can do is picking a movie. Besides, it has a really interesting title.”

You can't help but roll your eyes when he makes that statement; you smile, despite that because it really is interesting.

What's more interesting that you've seen this movie over a thousand times, but you're too charmed with his gesture to tell him that.

After a while, you join him in that fort you built, handing him a cup of tea. He hums in response, drinking it, even if it probably burns as hell.

The movie starts. Both of your eyes are trained on the TV, but there’s this tiny, almost imperceptible side-glance at you every so often from Simon's side that you don't notice. You're too mesmerized with the movie, and he seems to be mesmerized with you. Just little glances here and there, before he looks back at the TV, pretending that nothing is really happening. His expression remains stoic, but there’s a tiny little smile on his face at the corner of his mouth.

Every now and then, you can't help but sigh. Old, cheesy romcom has you in your feelings, as you love these movies; it's almost sad to think it doesn't happen. Stolen glances, smiling in right moments, feeling just… right with your person. It's just a romantic movie, yet, it's pretty depressing how Kate Hudson looks at Matthew McConaughey with all the love. Will you be lucky enough to experience that?

Romance like this doesn't happen, as Simon said. It's just something that people want, so they produce movies, to sell it to someone like you. Hopeless romantics, who read a lot of Jane Austen's books.

At least that was what he thought before the movie, before he started looking at you. Trying to ease his emotions because he was close to breaking that calm demeanor of his. Simon is careful, he doesn't want it to make it obvious that he is staring. He's not just noticing your occasional sighs, but the way you keep a small blanket wrapped around yourself. Every little action on your part seems to be adorable.

The thing you catch though, is your best friend lightly leaning onto his elbow just so he can get a bit closer to you. You smile, and you put your head is against his arm, as you wrap yourself in a blanket even more. Your eyes? Still on the screen, but that movement… made your heart skip a beat. Even if you know he doesn't like this type of contact, he doesn't seem to mind.

Yet, if he wouldn't feel comfortable, you were ready to back off.

He seems torned between backing off or making a move; small nudge, even, just something to bring the two of you closer. Maybe involuntary, maybe not, he leans in a few more inches, getting close to you. He even catches a small glimpse of your hair by the end of the movie, playing with it softly, which makes your heart go wild again.

It's like his touch burns your skin to the core. A simple movement, gentle, like he's careful with what he's doing to you. You can't help but wonder if it's something mechanical that he does, or it's something he wants to do. A question lingers on your tongue, but you don't ask it, afraid to ruin the little moment you have right now.

By the end of the movie, Simon is sitting so close to you that he can feel your hair brush against his shoulder. Your skin is hot to the touch, but he's trying not to show how hot you’re making him feel right now. The way you look when you’re comfortable, brings out even more of these little smiles on his face.

You can feel his eyes on you now, but you can also tell your attention is still firmly on the last scene. Still, something about him makes you want to pause it for a second and turn to him.

"Did you like it?" you ask, as your head turns to Simon with a small, tired smile. It's obvious you're on the verge falling asleep, but for some reason, you can't.

And he's the reason. He's the reason because you want him to feel the best at his birthday, like he never did. You want him to remember this vividly, to come back to his memory with a small smile. Whether he is out in public, or alone, reminding himself of that special occasion. You want him to brag about his birthday, about you. To tell people what happened on his birthday, to tell it was special. Even if he was pretty hidden with what he thinks.

“Mhm,” he says without hesitation, his gaze staying on you. “It was… cute.”

You know that he only watched it because he knew you might like it. You're just now realizing how sweeter he is than he likes to admit to, and it managed to bring out even a bigger smile on your face.

It was cute. What an opinion, honestly.

You see his eyes look at you, the gaze lingering a bit longer than it usually does and you feel that same old heat against your skin. His expression softens.

"Cute. It's a romcom, you know. I never thought you'd like it, after Purple Hearts" you tease him, observing his face. Your fingers are delicate against his jaw, as you caress it with your thumb. Bold movement, so to speak, but it feels just right, even if he would push you away, or move awkwardly.

"Purple Hearts was a pain in the ass, that's different" he manages to mumble, as his eyes are still locked with yours. "Doesn't even describe military right."

"Uh-huh. A hater."

"I'd say, a truther." he shrugged, his arm around you.

Silence lasts for a few seconds, before you speak again. Your voice is shy, you don't even know how he will react, but… a risk is worth it all, if it means that he will agree.

"You could stay. The night. I know I'm asking for much, but…"

“I could,” he answers almost immediately, just as softly as you do, and he notices your lip for a moment. He seems like he wants to ask you why you'd bite your lip like that, but he can't get a single word out. “It's not too much,” is all he manages, finally.

You can't help another smile that forms on your lips.

"I'm glad." you whisper, looking into his eyes.

It's… intimate from this angle, as you look at his lips next. Your gaze lingers a bit too long here, you realize, as Simon clears his throat, and you look away, trying to keep calm.

"So, I'll be… in a guest room, I guess? Do you have one?" he asks; his voice drops an octave, and your throat is suddenly dry, as you hear it. It feels like he's flirting, but you can't be sure.

"Well… I don't. But I have my bed and a couch that's very comfortable." you mutter, as you bring yourself closer to him.

"I see." he says, as his arms wraps around you tighter.

You hear him inhale softly, like he's feeling content; and you feel like this too. The feeling of him moving closer is so intense that you might end up melting right now. That thought doesn’t deter you because you’re in his arms now, and nothing else matters. Not when a man like him, secretive one, known for his stoic self, hugs you.

The next thing he does is burying his face into your hair, and with all you willpower, you try not to scream from happiness, actually. Is this really happening? It feels like nothing but a dream, he was never like that. Never so… affectionate.

"Did you like it? Your birthday." you ask, quietly, like you're afraid of ruining that moment between you two if you'd spoken any louder. "I have to know what to do in next year."

He gives you an amused look.

“I’m not thinking about that right now,” is all he says before kissing your head. It's a simple, kind gesture, probably not meaning anything, but it makes your whole night a lot better. Happy with the outcome, you sigh, content.

"Okay. Later, then" you close your eyes, wrapping the blanket more around you two, making the whole thing even more comfortable.

You feel Simon move a bit, one of his hands on your waist now, his leg slightly touching yours. This close to you, he can feel the heat of your body against his own, it's so warm. Is it feelings, or just the body heat? You can't think properly in conditions like this, when you can feel his breath against your skin, his eyes shut just like yours.

You’re too perfect right now. He’s too perfect right now.

“You’re comfortable. Right?” he asks, his tone low. It seems like he wants her opinion on things, even as simple as this touch, and it makes your heart skip a beat. Again.

Feels embarrassing at this point.

"I am, yeah." you whisper.

Feeling like you can cross another boundary you both set, your hand slides up to his back, and you start slowly caress it. Slowly, where it's all about his comfort and making him feel like he's the most important person; because he was. His scent makes you dizzy, but at the same time, it feels like coming home.

Loving one, where someone greets you every time you're back from work. Safe one, where you know you can feel like nothing is a threat, where everything is just right. Comfortable one, where you know you will rest because people here make you smile. And that pretty much was Simon Riley, even if you never said half of it to him, scared what he might think.

Did he ever felt the half of things you did? You can't help but wonder right now, as he hums under his breath, when you caress his back. It's a song from the radio, you can tell, the one that got popular so recently, but you can't tell the title. All you know is that irritate the shit out of him, and he was telling you about it on a daily basis.

Yet, he was musing it under his breath. It was quite amusing to you.

“You’re so warm,” he says. “And you're so soft, how the hell is that even possible?" he groans, his nose against your neck, as he leans a bit.

It feels like you might pass out right now with that movement of his. It takes everything in you to not bring him even closer, or to lie down on him.

Your hand on his back brings a tiny shiver to his spine, and he bites his lip as he lets out a small groan. “God.”

"Skincare. That's the main thing" you giggle.

"Skincare? That's all?" he lets out a huff.

"Pretty much, yeah."

Gears in your head slowly works, as you suddenly get up, excited. Simon seems to notice that because you both speak in one moment.

"No." and "We should get one right now."

You frown.

"Come on, Si." you nudge him. "I have to wash my face anyway, so you're just a good… addition to it. Besides, you could really use it."

"Should I be offended by that?"

"Should you?" you grin widely, as you take his hand, moving to your bathroom right now. Even if he doesn't seem to be so eager to do it, he doesn't protest, so it's a win, you think.

Your bathroom is pretty basic, but cozy in a way, if someone would pay more attention to the details than furniture. Baby blue rug, bathroom cabinet in the same color, even pot with your little plant that Simon bought you a while ago had that color tone. Your mirror, with little led lamps around it is on half of your wall, which causes your guest to mumble something under his breath, but you don't catch that.

You're focused more on putting a pink headband on you, then, on him, to keep hair off your faces before you will teach Simon how to do skincare. It's a funny thing, you think, especially when he rolls his eyes at you, but says nothing, when you guide him. First, you take off your makeup carefully, while he watches the whole process, still not saying anything. It makes you shiver a bit, considering his look is almost a piercing one, like he can see through you.

He probably has the power to do that, considering how well he knows you after all these times you were around him. And, he's extremely intelligent, so it only adds to the picture.

After your makeup is gone, you can start teaching. First step of skincare, cleansing, obviously, so you explain to him how it works – and he's more than confused why he can't just wash his face with water.

Technically, he could, but you want him to have the whole experience, so you tell him to shut up and listen.

His moves with foaming cleanser are more than amusing; you suppress a laugh because he's rough. Like it's automatic, like his hands are some kind of sandpaper, and he needs to be like this in order to succeed. He washes it with warm water, just like you, and he tries to keep up, while you apply a toner on him with delicate manner.

"You can do it like this. It's all about delicacy, enjoyment" you say, while his calloused fingers are distributing toner on you. You try not to shiver because that feeling is just everything you really needed right now.

"Who enjoys putting things on their face?" he muses under his breath, as he looks at your skin, then, right into your eyes. "You're weird for that."

"Uh huh. You say that right now, and when you're gonna wake up with pretty face, you're gonna thank me." you point at him, while you're searching for some serums, before presenting it to him carefully. "Which one?"

He raises his eyebrow for a second; he fucking reads all that is written on the packages. A comforting silence sets between you two, as he occupied himself for a second. You are trying to pick a moisturizer on the other hand, as you know his skin will probably need it. With his job, being almost constantly deployed, he didn't care about his face and its condition. So, you had to make it the best experience he had with things like this because maybe, just maybe, he would do it on his own.

Or he would do it with you when he was in your apartment. It would be a win anyway for you.

"Vitamin C sounds good" he looks at you finally, handing the little bottle to you, when you smile widely. "What?"

"Nothing. Just happy you're into it, I guess." you shrug, trying to appear as it's not a big deal, but it is.

You're on a cloud nine that 6'4 giant is doing it all with you. A ritual before bed, something that you always done yourself, texting with him during it, or sending funny photos that he always liked to see.

Now, he could experience those silly faces, when you were sticking out your tongue to him, and he was pinching you, laughing with you. Genuinely laughing, which made your heart flutter, because that sound coming from Simon Riley was like the most beautiful melody in the whole world. Pure, throaty, calming.

Every time he laughed, you were falling in love with him all over again. You simply can't help it because this man pushes your boundaries. He does unthinkable to your mind, while you're trying to keep it at peace.

"If you're gonna tell someone, I'll kill you" he starts, when you both put moistruizer over each other faces "but I enjoyed that. Even if it's consuming a lot of fuckin' time."

You grin.

"So, you want to have a pretty face, after all."

He lets out a huff.

"Who doesn't? People just don't say this openly."

You spend time with him in a bathroom for a while, talking about some things, until you both decide it's time to go to bed, as it's far past two in the morning. The problem is, even if you want to sleep, you want to talk to him still. You want to have him as close as you possibly can, without having to say it because it would be… embarrassing? That's probably the right word.

There's also the funny thing, funny question – where he will sleep, and when normally you'd offer him the couch, you feel it would be wrong now. You drag him into your room while Simon looks at you with a little confusion in his eyes. You decide to not speak first, as you think you might break and do something stupid.

It would ruin everything, you think.

He stops though, and it causes you to stop too.

It's hard to notice him in that dim light, but what you can definitely see? His brown eyes, now glimmering like the most beautiful gems in the world, locked with yours. There's many unspoken words between you two, and you can only guess what he wants to say.

But you know what you want to say.

I like you.

I always liked you, more than a friend.

I want to kiss you. I want to hold you, and I want for you to hold me. I want to take care of you, show you that love exists in real life.

Nothing comes out of your mouth, though. You're silent as a mouse, and so is he, when his hand reaches out to your jaw. His thumb traces your bones so carefully, like they're about to break if he would be any rougher. You melt into that touch, sighing softly.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks you, and when you nod, your heart heavy what he's going to tell you, he bites his cheek from inside. “Will you stay?”

You raise your eyebrow.

"Stay, as…?"

You want precision. You want him to speak up because you don't want to misread anything, you don't want to get your hope up.

Simon is silent for a moment, his eyes closing a bit as he tries to think about how he wants to word it.

“This night, being with you, I… only feel like this with you. Always.” he starts. “It’s weird for me. I don’t know how you do it.” He opens his eyes again. “I feel safe with you. And, I want you to stay here. In my life. ”

You feel all the air rush out of your body upon hearing his words. The feeling is sudden, the weight on your chest all but disappearing. It's something you can’t quite describe because you didn’t expect to feel that way tonight. Not this… all softy, lovey-dovey. Yet he's here, saying all these things.

Your heart skips a beat.

"I know I'm difficult. Those motherfuckers are saying it to me on daily basis" he snorts, shaking his head softly. "Yet, I want to be difficult around you."

"Then be" you whisper to him, as you boldly wrap your arms around his neck. Shyly, like he's about to back off, but he doesn't do that. Instead, he brings you closer, his hands on your hips right now. It's dizzy feeling. "Be difficult around me. And I'll be difficult around you."

It makes him laugh for a moment, as his forehead lightly touches yours. He has to bend down a little, as the height difference is huge, but that doesn't stop him.

"You're anything, but difficult, love, but I get the meaning" he nods.

A moment of silence passes between you two.

"For the first time in a while… I feel like I want something more from the world. That I need something more." he leans more onto you. "And that's on you."

And then, he kisses you, and it feels like a million butterflies rises in your stomach. His hand moves to the small of your back, which makes you smile wider against his lips.

For the first time, everything feels right.

For the first time, you kiss Simon Riley.

For the first time, you feel like everything will be okay.

[mrzombielover]

- slow ride ch1

feat. sinner!adam x fem!hotel worker!reader

series masterlist | next chapter

warnings: NSFW, enemies to fuckbuddies, adam and reader both suck, unhealthy relationships, size kink oooops, light degradation

a/n: oh my god this is so self indulgent. something is fr wrong with me bc all my favorite men are irrevocably fucked up and toxic and emotionally damaged and would treat me like shit teehee

wc: 2.2k

“You took my shame and you took my pride / And now you gonna take me for a slowride”

When even Charlie is trepidatious about checking someone in to the hotel, you know they’ve fucked up bad.

Adam had shown up, tail between his legs, admitting something about how he’s “desperate enough to try anything,” even this “stupid delusional humiliating hotel.”

Charlie, who’s more like an angel than Adam ever was, had ultimately decided that he could stay. After a lengthy and heated discussion, she’d reminded the group that the hotel’s policy states that everyone deserves a chance at redemption, regardless of the sins they’ve committed. Considering he killed your friend, you thought that was bullshit, but it’s Charlie’s hotel at the end of the day, and you’re just along for the ride.

You like Charlie, which is why you put up with having Adam around. She’s a good person- genuinely, deep down. There’s no hidden motives in her actions. You’ve not met many good people in your life, so she’s won your respect, even if you have your doubts about the hotel’s premise.

But for as much as you love her, you briefly questioned her sanity when she asked you to keep a special eye on Adam.

“…and how exactly is that the job of treasury secretary?” You deadpan.

“Wellll…” Charlie trails off, looking away for a moment. “It isn’t really. Buuut what if I was asking as a favor, for your friend?” She clasps her hands together, giving you a smile. You have to avert your eyes from the hopeful look on her face before your resolve cracks.

“No way in hell,” You say quickly.

“Please!”

“No,”

“Pleaseee!”

You bite your lip as you think. He’s obnoxious, yes, but what’s really the worst that could happen? You close your eyes and sigh.

“…you owe me one,”

You regret accepting every day. Nobody got along with Adam. Well, nobody except for Nifty, who seemed thrilled to have a real bad boy staying in the hotel. You, however, got along with him the least of all.

For someone who’d come to the hotel in his time of need- who was in no position to ask for anything other than forgiveness- Adam sure has a smartass mouth. It seems Charlie just wants to give you a brain aneurysm, that’s why she gave you this job. Even if that wasn’t her goal, that’s certainly the stage you’re approaching, because fighting with Adam everyday is 100% going to make you pop a blood vessel.

You can’t help it. Something about him- the way he acts, the forced proximity, just gets under your skin, makes your eye twitch. He should be groveling, begging for forgiveness, putting his heart and soul into bettering himself, yet all he does is bitch and moan. Constantly complaining would be one thing, hell’s full of whiners, but he also feels the need to voice every thought he’s ever had, which often includes insults and snide remarks about those around him. You’ve never been one to take that shit- though, nobody at the hotel really does. It seems to be much worse with you two, specifically, though.

The problem comes in because, as much as you hate to admit it, you might sometimes occasionally have some things in common with him. No, you’re not quite as loud or crude or obnoxious, you don’t generally insult people for fun, but if someone deserves it?

You’ve tore into people for way less than murdering your friend, showing up on your doorstep and being a pain in your ass 24/7, especially if you’re in a particularly shitty mood. Reduced people to tears for mildly inconveniencing you, having an annoying voice, wasting food, etc etc… all of which Adam does.

Generally, you’re apathetic to what goes on around you, especially at the hotel. You’re fed, don’t have to pay rent, and can pretty much do whatever you want, so dealing with the annoying, traumatized, dramatic residents and staff is a fair trade off in your eyes. Adam should, in theory, be no different than the rest of them to you. So you cannot, for the life of you, figure out what about him makes him so much worse than the rest.

You just try not to think about him as much as possible. But when you ignore him, he just seems to get worse.

“Jesus, you don’t think it’s a bit early to start drinking?”

You mentally groan as you hear his voice, avoiding eye contact as you crack open the bottle.

“I mean, Isn’t this shithole supposed to be for rehabilitation?” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he opens the fridge.

“Why don’t you focus on your own rehab first, dick? Been weeks now and you’re still an asshole,” You snap, before taking a swig of your beer. He shrugs, grabbing the orange juice from the fridge and placing it on the counter. He walks past where you’re leaning on the counter to get a glass.

“I mean, damn, you didn’t even try today, huh?”He laughs.

“Why are you pickin’ a fight with me right now?” You raise your voice a little, exasperated and too hungover to deal with this.

“oh, uh, i dunno… i’m bored?” He shrugs again, looking over to you with a self satisfied smile. You groan in frustration, then sigh, forcing yourself to keep it together.

“…and you wonder why your wives left you,” you mumble with a roll your eyes, turning to quickly leave the kitchen. you don’t see his face, but judging from the sound of a crash and footsteps quickly following you into the hallway, you hit a nerve. oh, god, here we go…

“you fucking junkie bitch!” he yells after you as you stomp up the stairs.

“you’re proving my point right now!” you say over your shoulder.

“Like you have room to talk? Let’s bring up your love life, huh?!”

“oh my god shut up!” Angel yells through the door as you pass his room. “Every fuckin’ morning with you two!”

Adam ignores him, continuing to rant as he follows closely behind you, every degrading name he can think of spilling from his lips.

“…fucking whore cunt- whose not even fucking listening to me!” he says as you turn into your room. you turn, attempting to slam the door, but he sticks his foot in the gap and grabs the door, shoving it back open.

“what in the fuck is your problem today?!” you yell.

“it’s you, bitch!”

“oh my god- how do you care about anything this much? Seriously, it’s not that deep!”

you jump a little as he suddenly slaps the beer bottle out of your hands, the glass shattering loudly and the leftover beer soaking your socks. your jaw drops, outraged, and you can’t help the reflex to reach up and smack the side of his head.

“ow!” he yelps, and you raise your fists to hit him again, when-

“you- fucking bitch-!” he shouts. you cry out in surprise as he grabs your wrists and yanks you with surprising ease, shoving you roughly into the wall behind you.

theres a struggle, both grunting with the strain of pushing against each other as Adam wrestles to keep the upper hand. You go to knee him, but he moves quicker, slotting one of his legs between your own and pressing his body against yours to pin you completely against the wall.

then, something changes. he pauses, the close proximity seems to have finally registered in his brain. his eyes widen and you pause too, both panting, faces inches apart. his grip loosens, and a flicker of confusion crosses his features.

“wait, what’s-“

“shut up,” you snap suddenly. before you even realize what you’re doing, your hands are on his chest, and you’re shoving him towards your bed.

“take off your shirt,” you command as the back of his knees hit the mattress and he’s falling backwards. he quickly does as you say, looking up at you with wide eyes as you straddle him and rip your own shirt off as well. he mumbles a nice when he sees you’re not wearing a bra. you reach to tug off the sweatpants you had on, and as soon as you can kick them away Adam’s hands are on your waist and flipping you over. He hurriedly rips off the rest of his clothes before he’s back on you, leaning down to eagerly press kisses down your neck. you have to tilt your head to make room for the horns now permanently attached to his head, and you think of the irony of this situation.

the sound of fabric ripping followed immediately by two of his fingers finding your clit makes you gasp. you bite back a whimper as he begins to rub rough and sloppy circles on your clit. the pleasure doesn’t last long before he’s pulling his hand back, only to shove a finger inside your cunt quickly, and you gasp again. being so unprepared, the stretch burns a bit. fuck, has he always had such big hands? he’s gentle at first, as he works the single finger in and out of you, and once the pain subsides, he quickly adds a second one.

“Oh, fuck,” you can’t help the curse that slips past your lips, and before long you’re rocking your hips against his hand. his movements are rushed and sloppy, impatient as he stretches you out. he chuckles dryly, and you shoot him a glare.

once again, before long, he’s pulling away, and grabbing you by the shoulders to make you sit up with him. you whine involuntarily at the loss of contact, and the cocky bastard laughs again.

“So impatient, babe,” He grins.

“Shut up,” You say again, pushing him so that he’s sitting up against the bed frame. You crawl over to him, and straddle his lap. His hands find your ass, groping it roughly while you grab the base of his cock and align the tip with your entrance.

You both gasp in unison when you swiftly lower yourself to take his full length. A strangled moan escapes from your lips and you let your head fall forward to rest on his shoulder. Eyes squeezed shut, you wait so you can adjust to his size. Seriously, how had you never noticed how big he was before now? Prematurely, Adam angles his hips and suddenly thrusts up into you, making you cry out in pain and pleasure.

“Oh you like that, bitch? Huh?” He says teasingly, running his hands up and down your back before moving his hips again.

“You have seriously got to learn to be quiet,” You retort through gritted teeth, reaching up to pull his hair from the roots. He lets out a groan, followed by a more pathetic whine as you begin to move on his length.

It must be all the pent up emotion, because you’re very quickly unable to speak beyond a few curses and wanton moans. Adam however, can’t seem to stop talking. Mumbling about how good you feel- for a whore, how he didn’t think you’d be so tight, how you’re so fucking sexy he wishes he’d done this sooner.

“Ugh, Adam- shut up!” You groan as you move desperately. He whines as you pull his hair again for emphasis, biting his lip as you feel his hips snap up into yours.

“Oh, god-“ You’re squealing, back arching as you can feel your whole body tense. You’re on top, but as you grow more limp, he’s holding you upright as he roughly fucks into you. “I’m close!” You warn, and it comes out a strangled sob.

You’re so, so close. Euphoria clouds your brain, and collapse onto him as he continues to hold you up to thrust into you.

You fall backwards, and Adam follows, caging you underneath him as he chases his own release now.

“oh- fuck- don’t stop!” You’re practically screaming as your orgasm crashes over you, and you wrap your arms around and claw at Adam desperately, fingernails leaving marks on his fleshy back. You only faintly register the breathless laugh he lets out at your state as he now pounds into you.

He slams into you with an intensity that forces the air out of your lungs, and even Adam can’t form thoughts or speak anymore.

“Oh, fu-uuck, fuck, fuck, oh my god,” He can’t believe the noises that are coming from him, but he also can’t find it in himself to care when you feel this good. You’re so sensitive, and still tight from your previous climax, and he can feel your pulse in the walls of your cunt as you clench around him.

Pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation, and you moan his name again, reaching up to pull at his hair, horns, wings, anything, as tears begin to prick at your eyes. Hearing you moan his name, seeing the look on your face, knowing he’s the one doing this to you is what he needed to send him over the edge.

“o-oh my god-“ he groans, hips stuttering as he presses his body as close to yours as possible, spilling his cum deeply inside of you with an actual moan.

He stays still for a moment, both of your breathing labored, sweat making your hair stick to your foreheads and necks, but you stay holding eachother. While both your brains are still fuzzy, thoughts muddled from the aftershocks, he takes a hand up and wipes your hair away from your face, and the tears from your eyes.

Eventually, he sits up and pulls out of you, rolling over to lay next to you on the bed. Neither of you say anything, too fucked out to think of the repercussions from your actions.

[drewsbuzzcut]

All American Lace

nick moldenhauer x dallas blankenburg

a so it goes fic (7.3k words! def the longest i have ever written)

warnings: angst, insecurities, jealousy, slight physical touch, pettiness, mentions passing out, and I think that’s all but let me know if I missed anything

SUNDAY

“I really don’t think it’s all that crazy,” Nick states, his arm thrown over Dallas’ waist as they lay in his bed.

“Just because it’s crazy, doesn’t mean it’s bad. It’s very crazy if we get married. We’re only 19,” Dallas says through a sleepy voice. They’ve been talking about Nick’s proposal from a month ago. Dallas knows her answer, yes of course, but she still can’t get herself to go through with it. She’s too ridden with fear of their relationship failing because of an early marriage. She just needs a push, though. One push so she can say yes.

“So what? Nathan and Haley got married while they were still in high school. I know our relationship is strong enough to last through anything,” he brings out the big guns, referencing one tree hill, one of their favorite shows to binge together.

“That’s just a show, babe. It isn’t real life.”

“It can be real life for us,” he sighs, hand caressing her cheek as her hand rubs at his shoulder.

Screw it. She’s going to go with her gut and heart and finally answer his question. Maybe they can go browsing at thrift stores for vintage dresses. It is Sunday after all.

“Nick, I love you so much.”

“I love you.”

She kisses his lips, barely brushing against them.

“I will-“

“Nick! You have a visitor!” The couple hear the shout from behind the door.

Nick gives a confused look to Dallas before getting off the bed and getting dressed.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, walking out the door.

Dallas stays frozen, angered that her opportunity got ruined. She gets off the bed, throwing on one of his shirts that has his last name on the back, and follows her boyfriend. When she gets to the front door, she freezes, feeling a sense of discomfort washing over her. Her boyfriend was hugging another girl. Another girl who is absolutely beautiful. She has soft skin, long red hair, and the greenest eyes she’s ever seen. Her smile is beautiful and Dallas thinks she might be feeling jealous. Who is this girl and why is she hugging her boyfriend?

When Nick finally lets go of the unknown girl, he turns around and is quick to spot Dallas. His smile is wide, like a kid on Christmas.

“June, this is a close friend from home, Inez.”

So she has a name. Inez. It’s beautiful and rare to Dallas’ ears.

“Inez, this is Dallas my girl-“

“His fiancée,” Dallas interjects, reaching out her hand for Inez to shake.

“Fiancée? Wow, Nick, you never told me you were getting married. Congrats,” she cheers, although Dallas can hear the surprise in her voice.

Nick’s stuck on Dallas, silently freaking out that she just called herself his fiancée. He’s shocked by her words, not really understanding why she’d introduce herself with that title without even giving him an answer first. He shakes his conflicting thoughts out of his head, not wanting to open up that conversation at the moment.

“Yeah, my fiancée,” he pulls his girl into his arms.

“Well, Dallas, it’s really nice to meet you. I can’t say I’ve heard much about you though,” Dallas grits her teeth, her brain starting to create reasons as to why Nick never brought her up to his friend. She didn’t know that Nick hasn’t talked to Inez in months.

“I can say the same,” she decides to answer with.

“I guess that means we have to get to know each other. I hate to impose, but I really need to shower all the airport off of me. Do you mind, Nick?” Her voice is soft and sweet. Dallas finds it annoying.

“No, go ahead.”

Once she’s out of sight, Dallas turns to Nick with a questioning look.

“Okay, so who are we getting to babysit her while we go to the thrift stores?” Dallas asks, albeit a bit rudely, but she disguises it by leaning up to wrap her arms around his neck.

“She’s not a child. I can’t go to thrift stores today. I need to stay here with Inez,” he says softly. He’s bothered, she can tell by the way he barely touches her.

“It’s Sunday, though. We always go to the thrift stores,” she points out.

“Well, I can’t go today,” Dallas doesn’t know it, but by Nick not going, or suggesting they take Inez, he’s protecting their sunday tradition. He does feel guilty for breaking it, though. They always go to the thrift stores on Sunday unless he has a hockey game or other team requirement.

“Are you serious?” She spits out, already wanting to burst into tears. He’s never put her second to another girl.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he kisses her forehead.

“It’s whatever. I’m going to head out, stick to my Sunday tradition,” she mutters, throwing a low blow at him. The tradition did start off as her own, so she’s letting him know that it’ll always be hers even after involving him.

He feels his heart pang in his chest at her comment.

Dallas trudges through his room, collecting her items and dressing in her clothes. She walks past him, not even saying bye, and makes her way to her car.

If she sped all the way to her favorite thrift store while blaring angry Taylor Swift, well no one had to know.

Dallas hates to admit it, but being at the thrift store doesn’t feel the same without Nick. She kicks herself for being so harsh. She knows she’s in the wrong, and probably being too jealous, but she couldn’t help it. How could he choose Inez over her? Over their sacred tradition.

Sweet, perfect Inez. Dallas rolls her eyes at the mere image of her. Stopping at one of the mirrors in between aisles, she stares at herself. She hates that she’s letting herself dig a hole that she knows she won’t be able to climb out of. She takes a deep breath in, slowly breathing out every insecurity and horrid thought of the girl that now plagued her mind. When she opens her eyes, she spots an old wedding dress. It’s the most beautiful dress she’s ever seen. It has a bunch of lace and it was made in America. It’s also vintage and in perfect condition. A rare find. Dallas immediately puts it in her cart, feeling giddy at the thought of her wearing it when she marries Nick.

About an hour later, Dallas decided to head to checkout, purchasing the dress, a white button up for Nick, and a fancy watch for him as well.

Once back at her own place, in her room she finds an old box that’s ready to be filled with anything that has to do with their wedding. She feels a little crazy thinking about it, but she knows that she wants to marry Nick. She knows that she doesn’t want to wait.

MONDAY

Dallas opens her door to find Nick who immediately pulls her into a bone crushing hug. He noses at her hair, inhaling her addicting scent and kisses her lips a few times.

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I love you, Nicky.”

“I hope it’s okay that I brought Inez with me,” and just like that Dallas is back to feeling unwell.

She sucks it up, welcoming the girl into her home. She hopes that her smile didn’t falter enough to show just how much she didn’t like the idea.

“You decorate so nicely,” Inez compliments as she makes herself comfortable on the couch, opposite of Dallas who’s in Nick’s arms.

“Oh, thank you. A lot of it has to do with my roommate and best friend, Sienna. She’s going to be an interior designer,” Dallas says, trying to put on a friendly smile.

“That’s cool!”

“So, how long have you and Nick been friends?” Dallas asks, intertwining her fingers with Nicks.

“Since 5th grade! We have gone through a lot together. Nick has always been the one I do everything with,” Inez says with a sadness to her tone. Her smile isn’t as bright, but it’s still genuine.

“Wow, the 5th grade? That’s a long time. You must know each other very well,” Dallas concludes.

“We do! When I saw the instagram post of your Halloween costumes, I was very surprised. Nick has never really cared for Halloween and doing the whole couples costume thing. As well as when Nick told me he proposed on Valentine’s Day; I was in shock. I’ve never known Nick to like that holiday or be so romantic,” as Inez says all this, Dallas can feel her heart sink into her stomach.

Every word being spoken to her starts to fade out and she feels like the guy sitting next to her isn’t who she thought. To everyone it may have been him lying about those two holidays- that most people don’t even consider holidays, but a lot of pivotal memories happened during those events. Without even realizing it, Dallas stoically pulls her hand from where it was cradled in Nicks. Eerily feeling like a stranger in her own home.

Inez and Nick only spend a couple more hours with the girl, talking and laughing while everything continues to be reevaluated in Dallas’ mind. She tries to smile and converse with them, but she just feels so out of place.

It’s not until they leave that she feels like she can breathe. She has time to go through everything and think about how he technically lied to her. Why wouldn’t he tell her that he didn’t care for Halloween? She wouldn’t have made him dress up with her.

She moves throughout the day, but everything seems to pass her by. Even when Nick comes by later that night to bring her food, she’s not even present.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Nick cups her cheek, trying to get her to connect eyes with him.

Dallas feels her tears trailing down her cheeks, although she isn’t aware that she’s actually crying until Nick frowns in worry.

“She’s your best friend,” speaking those words is almost impossible. It feels like burning bile in her throat, because she’s supposed to be his best friend, but how could she when felt like she didn’t even really know him.

“What’re you talking about?” His voice is soft and low. He continues to wipe away her tears as they fall.

“Inez, she’s your best friend,” she whispers.

“What? No, no, she’s just my friend. You’re my best friend,” he corrects her, his head shaking furiously.

“No! She’s your best friend and I’m not. I didn’t even know that you don’t care for Halloween or Valentine’s. I feel like I don’t really know your true self. What else do you not like? What else do I not know about you?” Dallas rips herself from his hands, moving to her bedroom so Sienna wouldn’t have to hear them.

“We’re always learning new things about each other, so there’s a lot we still don’t know, but that’s what the rest of our lives are for. As for Halloween and Valentine’s, I never felt like I had to tell you. You love Halloween, so I wanted to dress up with you. You actually made me love it because it was so much fun. You love Valentine’s Day, so I wanted it to be as special as possible,” he explains, trying to hold her but she continues to pull away.

“That’s not the point though! You could’ve told me, because I want to know every little thing about you. I just feel like I don’t know you as well as I thought. It’s a bit off putting,” she says.

“Well, now you do know,” Nick tries to make light of the conversation, but it just makes her upset.

She wants an apology. She’s not sure if this whole thing warrants one, but it’d be nice to know that she isn’t overreacting and is understood.

“Can you please leave?” She shuts her eyes, not willing to let more tears fall.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, Nick. I need you to leave. You obviously don’t understand why I’m upset, so just leave,” she blurts out.

“Fine. I love you, June,” he kisses her forehead. Nick pauses at the door, waiting for her to tell him to stay, but those words never come.

TUESDAY

Dallas throws herself into all her schoolwork as a much needed distraction. When she’s not doing schoolwork, she’s working on dismantling and reassembling the wedding dress she bought from the thrift. She may be upset with Nick, but she is still getting married to him.

She uses one of the scrap pieces of lace from the dress to be part of Nick’s white button up. She dyed the fabric black, cut out her initials and stitched it into the cuff of the sleeve. For her dress, she only saved certain parts of it. She saved the bodice, part of the skirt, and all of the lace. She decided to add thin straps and rework the lace into a veil. She wants a very simple, light wedding dress.

In the process of distracting herself from her little spat with Nick, she goes to a jeweler to get Nick’s watch she bought engraved. “You are my forever,” sits delicately in cursive on the back of it.

There may be a little retail therapy included in her small trip, but that’s only between her and her credit card.

After having a quiet dinner and mini fashion show with her best friend, she decides that it’s not worth being mad at Nick. She has to get over it and move on, because at the end of the day she loves him.

She smiles when she nears his room, his voice filling her ears.

“Yeah, I don't know what was going on last night. I guess she’s just being insecure because you’re here,” Dallas hears Nick say to who she’s assuming is Inez.

She can physically feel her blood start to boil, her heart thumping and mind racing. Before thinking about it, she throws his door open. Nick turns to see her, his face going pale at the realization that she heard his words. The three stare at each other, waiting for someone to break. It’s Dallas.

“Fuck you!” She shouts, turning around.

“June, wait!” Nick runs after her.

“Why, so I can hear you tell your best friend how your girlfriend is so insecure? No thank you,” she spits.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think? You acted crazy for me not telling you about Halloween. You said how she’s my best friend! You called yourself my fiancée when you never even answered my proposal in the first place. Which by the way, makes me feel like you don’t even love me, so yeah sorry for thinking you were insecure,” he blurts out.

Dallas feels her tears spill, her body shaking with nerves. Is this really happening right now? It really hurt to be accused of being jealous just because she accepted his proposal. She’s also being accused of not loving him. She really was going to say yes before Inez even showed up. It’s not her fault they got sidetracked by the red head.

“How dare you say that I only want to marry you because of her! How dare you say that I don’t love you. And you know what, she is your best friend, because you’re here gossiping to her about me. I can’t believe you told her that instead of making sure I was reassured. I guess it’s only okay when I reassure you whenever you get jealous. I don’t even give you a reason to feel jealous,” she rants.

As she goes to walk out his door, he tries to stop her once more.

“June, please don’t leave. Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told her that. I’m sorry for not being nicer about it, or talking to you about it. You’re the only one who matters,” he apologized.

“Don’t call me that anymore. You’re not my boyfriend and you’re not my fiancé,” she whispers, too scared to look up at his face.

“What? C’mon, please. We can talk about this. We can fix this. I can fix this, just tell me what to do. I’m sorry. I messed up, I know that, but we can’t break up. We’re getting married,” she clenched her eyes shut, not daring to see his tears. She knows he’s about to cry by the way his voice continues to crack.

Her back is to him, so he comes up behind her to pull her body into his. If it weren’t for the arm wrapped around her waist, she would’ve crumbled into the floor. She can feel his tears hitting the material of her sweater. It makes her heart break that much more. She hates that she’s hurting him, but his words hurt her. The way he openly talks to Inez about her as if she’s anybody but his fiancée. If roles were reversed, he’d feel the same way she’s feeling.

“No because apparently I don’t love you,” she throws his words back at him, having to pull away from him as his shoulders start to shake.

“Please. Please, I know you love me. I was being an asshole and I made a mistake. I’m sorry,” he pleads.

“I need to leave,” she says, walking away.

She feels like a robot on the walk back to her place. The cold bites at her skin, but it’s nothing compared to the way her heart aches and her stomach twists. She finds herself at Luca’s place, immediately sobbing against him when he pulls her into a hug. That night she watches the moon, silent tears falling as she tries to banish every thought she has of Nick. She can’t go home, not when there are traces of the hockey player in every single corner. His cologne and shampoo are embedded in her pillows. His clothes fill up a section of her closet. There are notes and pictures of them littered on her dresser and night stand. Ignoring him seems impossible.

WEDNESDAY

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Focus on classes, go to a Pilates class, and then start working on some designs for her future clothing line.

That’s Dallas’ plan. A solid plan that will stop her from drowning in her tears and guilt. It will also distract her from the multitude of phone calls from her brother and Kent. If only she knew that last night Nick called Blanks in shameful tears to tell him what happened.

Soft purring breaks the girl’s attention of planning out her day. She feels sir’s soft fur as he rubs against her leg.

“Hi, sir moldy. Hi cutie, mommy loves you,” she coos, caressing her black cat who isn’t so small anymore.

Her soft smile starts to disappear as she thinks about her cat not seeing his favorite person, Nick. The ache in her heart makes itself known again.

Snap out of it.

Dallas vows to stay out of her dorm the entire day until her eyes are practically shutting with sleep. Dressing in a cute outfit and putting on her favorite lipstick, she’s out of her door before she can second guess her plan. Who says you can’t be cute and heartbroken at the same time?

Her two morning classes go by without a hitch, the girl finishing any remaining assignments for the week within an hour after they finish. Her work ethic when she’s trying to distract herself is insane.

After a small lunch, Dallas finds the nearest restroom to change into her workout clothes, but when she walks out she sees Nick in the direction she needs to go. Everything around her seems to freeze except for him. His movements are sluggish and his eyes are tired. She turns the other way just as they make eye contact. For a second she thinks she sees him try to get her attention, but she doesn’t stay around to find out.

Dallas makes sure to take a heated Pilates class instead, needing to sweat out every issue that’s clogging her brain. It works but only for a couple hours. Eventually the sweat dries and now her problems feel tacky on her skin. She couldn’t go back to her apartment, though she desperately needed a shower. If she were to go back, she’d just get sidetracked by all the things her ex has taken over in her room.

She drives out to a lookout spot, putting her car in park so she can draw up new prospects for her clothing line. It’s a bittersweet moment. A lot of her inspiration would spark when she was with Nick. She has to remind herself that her clothing line has always been something she wants. It’s something that she has to be one hundred percent sure about. There’s no time for her to be hurt and in return be neglectful to something she’s worked so hard for.

She has to remember to be grateful for the things that are still in her life.

It’s almost midnight when she returns to her apartment, finding Sienna cuddled up with Sir on the couch.

“Nick tried to see you like a few hours ago. He told me to tell you that he wants to talk,” Sienna says, not even in her apartment for a minute and Dallas already wants to leave again.

“Of course he wants to talk. He can fuck off for all I care. I made up my mind and he needs to deal with it. He can go talk to Inez,” the girl says with an agitated edge to her tone.

“Look, D, you know I love you, but maybe you should talk to him. I know he fucked up majorly, but you should still talk to him,” she brings her into a hug.

“Why, so he can relate it all back to Inez like the best friend she is? So he can try to convince me that she’s not his best friend? I don’t need to hear it,” she spits, removing herself from Sienna’s arms. She heads to her room to shower off the day and sleep for as long as she possibly can.

THURSDAY

“Have you told her about it?” Inez asks Nick in the quiet of the library corner they’re in.

“No. Not yet anyway. I am soon because I know she’s going to be upset if I wait any longer- even if we’re broken up. Hopefully the breakup won’t last too long, though,” he responds, eyes cast down on the paper he’s been procrastinating about.

“She’s not going to be happy. Maybe you shouldn’t tell her. If she finds out we took each other’s virginities, she’s going to be so much more mad,” Inez says, reaching out her hand to rest over Nick’s. It’s meant to be comforting. Nick still pulls his hand away, though.

“Yeah, just let me lie to my fiancée again about something much worse than commercial holidays. No, I need to tell her,” he snaps.

“I’m just trying to protect you. She’s not your anything anymore anyways,” Inez sneered.

“Well don’t,” Nick feels that Inez is partially to blame for his whole breakup. It’s not fair and to some extent, he knows that, but he doesn’t want to blame himself.

“How’re you going to make up for the whole insecurity thing?”

“I don’t know. Grovel, probably or explain why I said it.”

“Maybe you’re just not meant to be. I mean this is kind of crazy to get upset about, especially when she claims she’s your fiancée,” Inez reasons.

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.” The conversation ends there.

The entire day, Nick is constantly looking for Dallas. Outside the rooms he knows her classes take place, at her favorite on campus cafe, and around her favorite spot she likes to chill and write at. No matter how busy it is, it still feels like a ghost town with her absence clearly present.

Dallas watches Nick as he looks around. It seems as if he’s lost, but she knows that he’s looking for her.

She saw him at the library with Inez. She watched the way Inez was talking with her expressive hand gestures and the way Nick's face grew red. Dallas doesn’t know that it was out of annoyance and not in happiness.

To Dallas, they looked so comfortable as if they’re the ones who've been dating for months. Inez’ smile was easy to compare to the breathtaking sight of the sun after a few gloomy days. Her cheeks were coated in a perfectly shade-matched blush. Her plump lips were the perfect shade of pink. She had the prettiest ribbon tied in her red hair, and she just knew her perfume was heavenly. Dallas so badly wished she was the one talking to Nick, covering his hand with her own.

She’s never been someone to be jealous as she’s so confident in herself. Now, she finds herself wishing to be Inez, but hating that she’s has got to the point of where she doesn’t want to be her own person anymore. She also hates the way she never gave Inez a chance, the way she never let herself like her because she’s so likable. Maybe her and Nick would still be together if she didn’t immediately feel jealous of Inez. Dallas feels like she’s going to go insane with the way she keeps bottling up her every emotion towards the girl and her ex boyfriend or fiancé. Nevertheless, she keeps walking with her head held high, well as high as she can get it without her eyes blurring with tears. That elegance and grace she’s learned through ballet comes in handy at this very moment as she remains in a balance of sanity.

She’s so close to entering her apartment building when Nick catches her.

“Dallas!” Her body freezes, literally not being able to move her feet, but she can feel her heart rate speed up.

“Dallas, please let me talk to you,” Nick whispers once he’s close enough to the girl.

“What do you want?” She turns to face him, avoiding his eyes.

“I need to tell you something and after that I will have no more lies or things I’m keeping from you,” he says, but Dallas stays quiet, afraid her words will come out as shouts.

“Inez and I lost our virginities to each other in high school,” he blurts out, waiting in tense silence for Dallas’ reaction.

Dallas feels her heart being crushed between his two fingers. She thinks there’s a big possibility of her passing out on the cold ground. At least that impact won’t hurt as much as this. She finally snaps her head up, looking at him with a glare.

“Look, I never meant to hide it from you. I just knew that if you found out after all that’s happened, you’d freak-“ he’s cut off by a sharp slap to his cheek.

Dallas feels her palm grow warm and start to sting. Her eyes are wide, shocked that she just laid a hand on him. She watches the way Nick’s eyes start to tear up. He knows that this is it. She opens and closes her mouth, not sure what to say or if she should apologize for hitting him. She decides to slowly back away, not able to get herself to turn away from him. She watches his distraught figure as she backs away, tears trailing down her cheeks.

Her body moves on autopilot, reality finally crashing over her when she enters her apartment. Sienna watches with fearful eyes, not having ever seen her best friend in a state like this. Dallas looks at Sienna, her tears still falling. Again, words fail to come out of her mouth as she opens and closes it. Then, it’s like all the shock dissipates and anger takes over. Her eyes are going dark and her features are hardening. She marches to her room, ripping open her closet door. She starts yanking hangers away from each other, throwing out each piece of Nick’s clothing.

All the withheld anger and sadness came bubbling out of the girl in the form of screams. She couldn’t stop it as she shoved every article of clothing that belonged to him in a box. Did 19 year olds act like this? Well, they do now. Poor Sir got so scared he ran to the living room as his mom cleaned every spot that’s been stained by her ex boyfriend. Her movements come to a halt when her eyes land on her wedding box. The tears crash on her with so much weight she falls to her knees, sobs wracking her body. Sienna’s quick to rush to Dallas, immediately hugging her.

“Hey, it’s okay. Let it all out,” she murmured.

“He lost his virginity to her,” she whispers.

Sienna’s eyes widen as she hugs Dallas tighter.

“Shit. I’m so sorry.”

“Am I crazy for being upset? I feel like it shouldn’t be a big deal, but I’m just- I’m so hurt,” Dallas says through sobs and hiccups.

“You have every right to feel the way you do. I’m here for you for whatever you need,” Sienna attempts to soothe her.

“I just- I need to go to my room and calm down.”

“Okay.”

Dallas lugs her heavy body to her room, showers and then neatly packs everything that belongs to Nick in a box. She debates on whether or not she should give him the wedding box, too. Part of her still believed that she should continue to hold onto it because maybe things will get better. Then, she thinks about the new piece of information he just blurted out and she wants to die all over again. She feels that familiar burn of tears in her eyes, so she does the one thing she loves to do when her brain is too loud, write.

Instead of writing in her journal, she decides to write on a single piece of paper. Instead of writing how she feels, she writes a letter that’s a semblance of a goodbye. It’s everything the next girl needs to know or love about Nick, written from someone who loved him probably too much.

THE LETTER

To whoever gets to love Nick next,

He will pretend to like something you love just to make you happy. Don’t get mad at him for hiding the fact that he doesn’t like it. Just love him for wanting you to be happy.

Nick loves hockey, so you have to love him as a hockey player. No matter all the insane expectations that come with it, or how he’ll drive himself up a wall just to be great at something he loves.

Nick is such a goofy person- even when it’s time to be serious. I think it’s because he loves to see the people around him smile, so don’t get annoyed by his untimely silliness.

If you ever get the opportunity to be given a gift from Nick, prepare yourself. He’s one of the best gift givers I have ever met. It just goes to show how easy it is for him to remember everything about someone he loves.

Cherish the vulnerable moments. Don’t take his feelings for granted; they’re a big piece of him and that type of information is hard for anyone to confess to someone they’re scared to be hurt by.

I love you Nick, and in another universe, in another lifetime, our love will have been enough.

Dallas folds up the letter and places it on top of everything in the box. She picks it up, every memory and emotion weighing heavily in her arms. She trudges back to the living room, ignoring Sienna’s worried gaze as she sets the box down by the front door.

“If Nick happens to come by, or any of the hockey boys, give it to them. Thank you,” she mutters, walking back to her room.

FRIDAY

“Dallas, c’mon! I know you’re home, your car is parked outside. Please, please let me in. We need to talk and I want to see our cat,” Nick shouts from outside her door.

When Dallas first heard the knocks, she was doused in sleep. Then she heard his voice, and she was suddenly wide awake.

“No, you’re not coming in to see MY cat. I don’t want to talk to you, so leave,” Dallas cracks the door open just a bit, so she knows that he hears her.

“Dallas, please. Please let me fix this,” he pleads.

“No!”

“Nick, you need to leave. Here’s a box with all your things,” Sienna intervened, handing the box over to him while Dallas sat on the couch.

Nick’s face falls, his eyes getting watery and he searches his mind for words to say. Sienna closes the door before he gets the chance to speak up.

“Are you okay?” She asks Dallas.

Dallas furiously shakes her head. “I can’t be here. I need to go.”

“Okay where are you going?” Sienna follows Dallas to her room, watching her as she packs an overnight bag.

“Buffalo.”

“Buffalo? That’s a bit of a drive. Will you be able to make it?”

“Yes. I don’t want to go to Ohio, and I can’t stay here. I’ll be back before Monday. Thank you for being here for me. It means a lot. I love you,” Dallas says, hugging Sienna.

“Of course. I love you, too.”

Dallas rushes to her car, but she’s still seen.

“D!” Dallas halts her steps when she hears Rutger’s voice.

“Hey, Rut.”

“Where are you going?” He asks, spotting her bag.

“Somewhere for some peace and quiet,” she says.

“How are you feeling? I know everything has been kinda shitty lately.”

“I’m holding it together as best as I can. I’m really hurt and I just need to get away from here for a day or two,” she explains, her exterior softening at Rutger’s sincerity.

“I’m sorry about everything. If you need anything, Luca and I are here for you.”

“Thank you. It means a lot, but you know I can’t. Umm… anyways I have to get going. Thanks for asking about how I was doing. I’ll see you around,” she moves to turn away, but he just pulls her into a short hug.

“No matter what happens, please don’t stop being our friend,” he whispers.

She nods her head, separating herself from the boy before the remainder of her heart shatters. She gets into her car and sets off for Buffalo.

The long drive was cathartic as she belted out lyrics to Taylor Swift- even through all her tears. She also got a ton of fresh air that she desperately needed.

It’s dark when she makes it to where she was going. The person she was trying to see wasn’t even home, so she spent a couple hours outside their front door. Dallas is sure she got a ton of concerned- even judging looks as she accidentally fell asleep with tears dried on her cheeks.

“Dallas?”

The girl startles out of her nap, immediately jumping up when she sees Owen. Owen Power, one of her favorite people. She collapses into his arms, her tears falling once again.

“What happened? Are you okay? Does anyone know you’re here?” He holds her tight.

“Blanks knows I’m here. I broke up with my boyfriend and I just needed to leave because I see and feel him everywhere,” she explains, the shattered pieces of her heart piercing through her skin.

“Let’s get you inside. You probably need some sleep especially after the long drive.”

After some much needed food and a shower, Dallas finally explains everything to Owen. He’s less than impressed, but he’s really good at comforting her.

“I don’t know. I just feel like this whole week I’ve been acting like some crazy girlfriend. Do you think I’m crazy for feeling and acting this way?”

“No, you’re valid. Except for the whole Halloween and Valentine’s thing, that’s not too big of a deal. He was just trying to make you happy. Now, him telling that girl you’re insecure and saying that you don’t love him was out of line. I’m sorry that you went through that, but I am glad I get to see you,” he tells her, bringing her in for another hug.

“Thank you for understanding. I’m happy to see you, too. Now, I need at least 12 hours of sleep, so goodnight. Will you be here tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah. I’ll make you breakfast.”

As Dallas falls asleep that night, Nick is beating himself up as he reads Dallas’ letter. The once neat paper is littered with tear drops.

SATURDAY

Nick is breaking many traffic laws just to get to Buffalo. It took Rutger telling him that she was leaving and a million apologies to Blanks to find out where she was. He was ready to lay his heart on the line, or in her palms.

Nick doesn’t know she’s staying with Owen, he just knows where she is. When he knocks on the door, he’s surprised to see a very tall man with long hair.

“Nick.” Owen knows him from Dallas’ instagram.

Nick recognizes the other hockey player, but that doesn’t stop him from pretending otherwise.

“Um, who are you?” Nick puffs out his chest, trying to disguise his true reaction. Owen is very large and intimidating as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Owen Power, a good friend of Dallas.” Owen looks down on Nick, a testing expression painting his features.

“Is Dallas here? Can I talk to her?”

“I don’t know. Can you, or will you just go talk to Inez?” Nick looks taken aback at his remark.

So much for a great first impression.

“What are you doing here?” Dallas asks, moving Owen out of the way.

“I need to talk to you. Please, Dallas you have to let me explain everything,” he begs.

Dallas groans, her hands going through her hair as she moves aside for him to enter.

“What could you possibly say to me?”

“I know you’re upset that I just told you about how I lost my virginity to Inez, but it didn’t mean anything and she doesn’t mean anything to me,” he swears.

“You made me seem like I was crazy for feeling insecure! You had sex with her and I know that was long ago, but you’re with me, but still had her come visit you,” she responds.

“I didn’t know she was coming! Do you think if I knew, I would let it happen, or at least not tell you about our past?” He questions.

“You still let her stay! That’s the difference. If she didn’t mean a thing to you, why did you let her stay? If I had lost my virginity to Owen and had you meet him because he’s my close friend, you would go ballistic. If roles were reversed, you’d be just as jealous and just as upset!” She shouts.

“Speaking of Owen, why would you tell him our business? Sure seems like he’s your best friend when you said I was yours” Nick scoffs, jealousy creeping up on him.

“No! No, you can’t get jealous not right now. See! This is what I mean! You can get jealous all you want, but the moment I do, it’s wrong. Screw your double standards!”

“I was the one who was insecure. I have been asking you to marry me for weeks and you still wouldn’t give me an answer. Next thing I know, you’re introducing yourself as my fiancée. I felt like the prospect of our marriage wasn’t important to you, like you were just playing with my feelings to see how far you could go before I blew up. I fucked up so badly because I thought you wouldn’t want to marry me at all. If you had eventually said no, our relationship would be ruined. I’m sorry, Dallas. I’m sorry for making it seem like she’s my best friend. I’m sorry for keeping things from you, and saying that you don’t love me. I’m sorry for everything and I just needed to tell you that,” he says, watching as she cries.

“Here’s your ring, I forgot to put it in the box,” she says, barely loud enough for him to hear.

He immediately shakes his head, knowing that if he takes back the ring everything will really be over.

“I can’t take that back. It’s yours. It belongs to you,” he tries to say it with conviction, but his voice cracks and his tears start to fall.

“I can’t have it either,” she pulls the ring off, forcing it into his hands.

His shoulders are shaking and his lip wobbles. Nick wants to hold her in his arms, but he knows she’ll push him away.

Dallas wants to reach out to him as he walks away, but she fears it’s too late to take back everything she’s said and done.

“Nick?” She calls his name and watches the way he turns around within that second.

“Yeah?” His voice is unsure. He watches the looks she gives him. Her eyes are filled with want. She wants that connection.

He quickly walks back to her, pulling her into his arms.

“Why can’t you fight for me?” She questions, hurt laced in her voice. Her hands connect around his neck and he can feel her chest heave.

“I have been fighting. Not hard enough, but because you won’t let me fight for you,” he answers, hands rubbing her back.

“Fight for me, please,” she begs, her way of saying she’ll listen to what he has to say.

“I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you. I hadn’t talked to Inez since before I graduated high school, so her coming to visit was just as much a surprise to me as it was to you. I’m sorry for being an asshole and telling Inez that you were insecure. That wasn’t my place and that wasn’t her business. I should’ve made sure that you were secure in our relationship, because that’s my job as your boyfriend.”

“Fiancé,” Dallas corrects him.

“Yes, your fiancé. I know you love me with all your heart, sorry for ever doubting that. Inez is not my best friend and she’s not even really a friend. Not anymore. I told her she couldn’t be in my life, because if she stayed, I knew you wouldn’t and I once told you that I can’t live without you. That stands true. I want you even if that means giving up everything else. I’m sorry, June. I’m so sorry for being so careless with us,” he apologizes, his tears falling into her hair.

“I accept your apology. I’m sorry for being so emotional,” she says against the skin of his cheek as she softly kisses his face.

“You have every right to feel angry, sad, or hurt. I was truly an asshole,” he states.

“I’m so sorry for slapping you, Nick. I hate myself for putting my hands on you like that. I swear I will never do that again,” she sobs into his chest, that guilt finally breaking her down.

“I deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t. I saw how much that hurt you, emotionally,” she whispers.

“I love you, pretty girl.”

“I love you, always.”

Dallas pulls away, taking in the boy she loves so much. His hair is messy and his face is red from his tears.

“June bug, I want you in my life forever. I don’t care how young we are, or what people think, because I know that our love is enough in this lifetime and the next one. We will always find our way to each other. Will you please marry me?” He pulls out the ring from his pocket and kneels on one knee.

“Yes! Yes in this lifetime and yes in the next. I love you, Nick,” she answers, jumping into his arms and kissing his lips for the first time in what felt like forever.

a/n: I absolutely loved writing this and I hope y’all enjoy it! The title is a little combination of “All American Bitch” and “Lacy” by Olivia Rodrigo as I feel those two songs resemble what Dallas was going through. It also references the lace of the dress Dallas thrifted, beautiful but also delicate.