#no yeah youre trevor in the real

[honora-antares]

Read an antiSnape post explaining why Severus is a horrible person, and I can accept all that, though I didn't read the whole thing. When I went to the tags, the very fist one was "snivellus" and everything they had written before went out the window.

Because that shows immaturity. Adopting the petty nickname a bully gave to their victim makes you a bully.

Your "facts" are now invalid because you refuse to let go of your bias for the "so-called heroes"

[theywantedplayer]

They call you drunk and confess

Trevor, Cole, Luke, Quinn

masterlist

prompt list (new ones)

Trevor

“Y/nnnnnn!” Trevor sang into the phone, his voice loud and unmistakably drunk.

You blinked at your screen, squinting in the dark. 1:00 a.m. on a Tuesday. Makes sense

“Hi, Trevor,” you muttered, voice thick with sleep. “How drunk are you—”

“BRO WHY the fuck are we not dating?” he blurted out, completely cutting you off.

You actually laughed at his forwardness

“Don’t laugh at me!” he whined. You could practically hear the pout on his face. “This is a genuine question.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you teased, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “Maybe because you call me bro all the time?”

“Yeah, romantically, obviously,” he huffed, as if you should have known that. “But, we would be so good together bro”

You laughed again but shot back, “Bro, you send me random insta real dashcam footage at ungodly hours of the morning, how was I supposed to know?”

“Okay, so it's weird when you call me bro, Y/N,” he said, like that was the real issue at hand. “And I send you those because they’re funny! You gotta read between the lines.”

“What lines, Trevor?!” you asked, fully awake now, still in disbelief.

“I dunno!” he admitted, then gasped. “BUT what I do knowwwwww,” he dragged out dramatically, “is that you haven’t denied anything I said.”

You bit your lip, smiling despite yourself. “I know I haven’t.”

“Sooooo we’re dating now, basically,” he concluded.

“Wait, how did we just jump from here to that?” you asked, laughing

“You like me, me like's you so, boom, we’re dating.” He said it so simply, like it was basic math.

“Trevor-”

“Nope, nope, it’s final! We’re dating. Y/N and I are dating!” he cheered “I’m gonna hang up before you can say anything else because we’re dating now, goodnight Y/N, bye-bye.”

And just like that, he hung up.

You stared at your phone, listening to the dead dial tone.

Did you just… get drunk-declared into a relationship?

Were you complaining, though?

Quinn

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” Quinn said into the phone, his voice slightly unsteady.

“What’s up, Quinner?” you responded, putting him on speakerphone as you flipped through your notes, you had a midterm in three days, and you had been studying for hours on end while he and his teammates were doing drinks by the sound of hughes voice.

You heard him take a deep breath, hesitating.

“Quinn, is everything okay?” you asked, shifting your full attention to the phone.

“Yup,” he hiccupped. “Just a little drunk.”

You smiled. “Well, you deserve it. You guys won big tonight, congrats.”

“Yup,” he hiccupped again, then groaned. “But that’s hiccup not what I wanna talk abo—hiccup—about.” His voice was barely above a mumble, his words slurring together.

“Speak up, Quinn. I can barely hear you,” you teased.

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, then groaned again. “God, I’m never drinking again.”

You chuckled softly. “Do you need me to come get you?”

“Nooo, no, I know you’re studying,” he argued. then, he blurted out, “God, Y/N, you work so hard. Like, so fucking hard.”

Your smile grew as you shrugged your shoulders. “I try.”

“Like, it’s a good thing I play hockey, cause I hated school. Uni was okay, though mostly just hockey and drinking.” He rambled, then suddenly sighed. “Fuck, anyways Y/N, I love you so much. You have no idea.”

“I wish you came out with us tonight after the game,” he continued, voice softer now. “You looked so good in my jersey, and my mom told me about the chirps you were yelling. Fuck, I wish I could’ve seen that. Would’ve been so hot.”

You laughed, he kept going.

“Just let me finish before you reject me, okay? Let’s be nice here,” he mumbled, and you could hear the small smile in his voice. “I wanna take you out so bad, Y/N. Please let me take you out.”

You bit your lip, heart swelling.

“Quinn,” you said gently, “I have to tell you something.”

“Nooooo,” he groaned. “Fuck, which asshole beat me to it?”

You laughed softly. “Quinn.”

“Mmhmm?”

“We’re already dating, sweetie. We have been for a while.”

There was silence on the other end.

Some guys might get reckless and cheat on their girlfriends when they’re drunk, but even when Quinn was blackout wasted, he was still confessing his love to you all over again. Even if he forgot he's already done that.

You heard him inhale sharply.

“Wait,” he muttered under his breath. “No way. When did I ask you?”

“About a year and a half ago,” you reminded him, grinning.

“And you said yes?”

“Yes, Quinn,” you giggled. “Without a second thought.”

Another beat of silence.

“Quinn—”

“I love you,” he interrupted softly. “Can you maybe come get me and take me home?”

You smiled as you stood up, already grabbing your keys. “Yes, Quinn. I’ll drive you home.”

A moment later, he mumbled, “Do we live together too?”

You chuckled. “We do.”

“Fuck yeah,” he whispered, like he had just won the lottery.

Cole

Your phone rang, you squinted at the screen, Cole Caulfield.

Made sense since he and the guys went out after their big win tonight. You sighed, already bracing yourself, before swiping to answer.

“Hello?”

For a solid five seconds, all you heard was chaos.

Cole yelling something, his teammates yelling back. Laughter. A very loud thunk, then More laughter.

“Cole?” you tried, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “Do you need me to come get you?”

No response from him just more indistinct yelling in the background. You groaned, tossing your blanket off your legs and sitting on the edge of your bed.

Then, finally

“Yo, Y/N!” Cole’s voice rang out, overly excited, like a little kid. “You picked up!!”

You exhaled a laugh. “Yeah, do you need me to pick you up?”

“YES. Y/N, you should totally come out!!!” He sounded thrilled about this idea. Then, away from the phone, you heard him yell, “GUYS, Y/N’S COMING OUT!”

ok, so that's not what I said. Like at all. you thought

“Ooooo, your girlfriend’s coming!” one of them teased.

“FUCK YEAH, CAULFIELD!” another cheered. “YOU FINALLY TOLD HER?”

You froze, mid-brushing your hair. Told me what? you thought.

On the other end, Cole groaned. “Shut up,” he whined.

you couldn’t see the way he dramatically tilted his head back in frustration, hands at his sides.

“She doesn’t know.”

His teammates roared with laughter, one of them slapping him on the back.

“Ohhh, buddy,” someone chirped. “That’s tough.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as you slipped on your shoes. This was gold.

Then, Cole’s voice came back, a little more serious.

“I gotta send her the address.”

What followed was a solid ten seconds of complete silence, except for his teammates snickering as Cole, very drunkenly, squinted at his phone, trying to focus on the screen.

“Holy fuck, look at this kid,” someone chirped, clearly watching him struggle.

“Shut up,” Cole muttered, still glaring at his phone like it had personally wronged him in a way.

Then, suddenly, horrifying realization.

Your name.

At the top of the screen.

Call in progress: 5 minutes, 12 seconds.

His eyes widened and His stomach dropped.

“…Y/N?” he asked, voice hesitant.

“Yes, Cole?” you answered sweetly, already backing out of your driveway.

“You’re… still on the here?” He asked practically wincing

“Yes, Cole.” You grinned. "I'm still here"

From the background, Slaf burst out laughing. “NO FUCKING WAY, SHE HEARD ALL THAT?!”

Cole just nodded numbly, still staring at his phone.

You, meanwhile, were having the time of your life.

“Made my night, honestly,” you teased. "Just wait till I tell you my thoughts, I know you'll like them"

The line went quiet for a second.

Then, Cole clearly regaining some confidence piped up.

“So you are coming out?” he asked hopefully.

You chuckled. “Only because I like you so much.”

On the other end, Cole silently fist-pumped the air, mouthing a victorious “YES”

but really you where taking his drunk ass home

Luke

Luke was drunk. Like, very drunk to drunk.

Jack had been feeding him shots all night, and now he was slumped over the bar table, long limbs sprawled out and completely invading his brother’s space, well, at the same time he called you on his phone.

You answered as soon as he finally managed to hit the call button.

“Hey, Lu.”

Luke groaned dramatically, head still against the table. “What are you doing?”

Jack, trying to enjoy his plate of nachos, shoved at Luke’s arm. “Dude, move. I’m trying to eat.”

Luke barely lifted his head, slurring, “Suck my dick, dude.”

Jack didn’t even hesitate. “That’s Y/N’s job, not mine.”

Luke shot upright so fast he nearly knocked his phone out of his own hand. His grip tightened around it like his life depended on it.

“SHHHHHH she’s on the phone, dude!!!” he whispered-yelled, completely panicked. “If she hears that, I’ll never get to make a move, then she'll never become my girlfriend so keep your mouth shut!"

Jack, deadpan, just stared at him.

Then, very slowly, his gaze shifted to something beside Luke.

Luke blinked, confused, before turning his head

And there you were. Standing right there.

Luke froze. His mouth fell slightly open, eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Did he forget I was here?” you asked Jack.

Jack nodded immediately.

You grinned. “God, how many drinks did you give him?” you asked as you sat beside Luke

Jack smirked as he stood up. “I’m gonna go get this kid some food.” He slapped the table before walking off.

“Can you get me some nachos too?” you called after him.

Jack gave you a quick nod.

And then you turned your attention back to the Luke Hughes, who was suddenly the quietest person in the world.

You nudged his arm, smiling. “Why so quiet, huh? What were you and Jack talking about?” You wiggled your eyebrows playfully.

Luke shook his head, still staring at the table, muttering, “Dunno.”

You smirked. Bingo.

“Really?” you teased, leaning in a little closer. “Because I heard some great news…” You tilted your head. “Something about me having a chance to be a girlfriend?”

Luke immediately gave you side-eye, his drunk brain scrambling to process whether this was a setup or not.

“…Did I hear that right?” you pressed, grinning.

Luke squinted at you, trying so hard to read your expression but he was too drunk to even read the menu right now.

“Depends on your answer,” he finally said, still side eyeing you.

Your heart skipped a little, but you played it cool.

You glanced over at the bar, Jack was on his way back, somehow balancing three plates of nachos. Impressive, considering he couldn't even remember Luke’s jersey number half the time when he was drinking.

You turned back to Luke quickly, wanting to have his moment to yourself even if he was drunk off his ass and before your drinks kick in witch you could feel creeping up on you.

“I think you’re gonna like my answer, Luke.” You winked, giving his thigh a light pat.

Luke froze again.

His brain is going a mile a minute, and the alcohol not helping with that

Meanwhile, Jack plopped the nachos onto the counter, making a loud clattering noise as he did.

You grabbed your plate, then grabbed Luke’s and slid it in front of him, expecting him to immediately dig as he normally did. But he didn’t move.

You glanced over and that’s when you saw it.

The biggest, dopiest, cheesiest grin slapped across his face.

he couldn’t believe what you just said, or more hinted at.

You bit back a smile and shook your head, turning your focus back to your nachos.

But Luke? He just kept staring at you for a little longer, grinning like an idiot, before finally shaking his head, chuckling to himself, and happily digging into his nachos.

Yeah. He definitely liked your answer even though you only hinted at it

[hayleythesugarbowl]

spencer agnew ideaaaa

reader is tommy’s friend from mythical and meets spencer at a party they end up being found in a closet kissing???

Spilled Punch || Spencer Agnew x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist  ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: when you agreed to go to a smosh party with your best friend tommy, you didn’t imagine enjoying yourself very much. you also didn’t imagine you’d end up making out with spencer in the coat closest 🤭

word count: 3k

warnings: none

a/n: hello love! i hope this is what u wanted—you said tommy and mythical but and i wasn’t sure if you meant trevor but either way, because you said tommy (and because i am not super familiar with mythical) i scrapped the mythical part and went with tommy’s friend. hope that was ok darling, enjoy! also female reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     “Thanks again for agreeing to be my plus one to this thing,” Tommy said to you as you both walked from his car towards the house ahead.

     “Anytime,” you answered, “But you have to promise not to leave me.”

     You had been hesitant at first when Tommy asked you to attend a Smosh party with him, in lieu of his boyfriend who was away for the week. 

     Not because you didn’t want to help Tommy out. He was your best friend and you’d known him since you were both in diapers.

     But because you didn’t no anyone here. Not a single person. And you’d be lying if you said that didn’t scare you just a little bit.

     You’d heard stories from Tommy about his coworkers of course— Amanda this and Shayne that—but that didn’t mean you actually knew any of them. 

     “Are you kidding?” Tommy let out a laugh, “Leave you? And have to socialize with people alone? I think not.”

     That might have been why you were such good friends.

     You smiled at him as you drew closer to the home, a sign that read ‘Welcome, Smosh’ greeting you at the entryway.

     According to Tommy, this party was thrown to celebrate Ian and Anthony’s ownership of Smosh. You hoped you dressed right for that occasion. You weren’t sure what outfits said congratulations YouTuber businessmen!

      Tommy knocked on the door and the man who must’ve been Ian—he was hosting the event—answered.

      “Hey, Tommy! Glad you could make it,” he said. 

      “As if I would miss a chance to see if Anthony was actually real,” Tommy joked.

     “Heard that,” the man who you guessed was Anthony peeked out from behind Ian, stirring a drink.

     “He’s not a myth!” Tommy exclaimed.

     You cleared your throat not-so-subtly.

     “Right,” Tommy started, “Ian, Anthony, this is my friend (Y/n).”

     You shook both of their hands in turn. “It’s nice to meet you. Congratulations on the whole buying Smosh thing.”

     “Wait, we bought Smosh?” Ian joked, “Anthony, can I talk to you for a minute?”

     “Wasn’t me,” Anthony teased, “I thought you must’ve.”

     You decided you liked both of them as Tommy led you through the doorway. 

      You were met with a large, spacious living room with decorations and tables dedicated to drinks and refreshments.

     You were surprised to see that you were some of the first people to arrived. You’d figured you’d be somewhat late—because Tommy had spent an hour making you rate each of his outfit options before finally selecting one. 

     Then again, you weren’t exactly surprised you were early—Tommy’s driving still scared you a little bit, but, hey, at least you got places quicker.

     “Tommy!” You heard a voice call, and you turned to find a woman standing by the refreshment table and waving your friend over. 

     “Hey Angela,” he called back, walking towards her. You followed. 

     “Angela,” Tommy started, “This is—”

     “(Y/n)?” She interrupted. “Yeah, seen her on your instagram. Do you know if there’s gonna be a cake?”

     “Stalker,” Tommy coughed into his hand and you just laughed.

     At least someone here knew who you were.

      “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Angela,” you told her.

      “Ditto,” she shot back. “Nice shirt.”

      “Thanks,” you beamed. Maybe your outfit choice had been a win after all.

      “Hey, are you good if I see if there’s a little boys room around here?” Tommy asked you. “I’ll just be a minute.”

      “Go for it,” you told him, “Have fun.”

      “I’ll try,” he said, walking down the hall.

      You were left with Angela. She was currently eating an olive off of a stick. You were pretty sure those were supposed to go in drinks, but who were you to stop her fun. 

     You turned your attention to the front door where more people were starting to file in now.

     “So,” Angela began, “You wanna see if there’s a cake here?”

     But you were distracted by the man who had just entered the house.

     He was wearing a blue-and-white striped button down tucked into dark jeans, a black blazer overtop it. You watched as he greeted the hosts and began talking to other partygoers.

     “Hey,” you asked Angela, “Who’s that?”

     You tried to point out the man as discreetly as you could. 

     “Spencer?” She said loudly. You winced, glad the party had gotten louder. “What about him? You know him?”

     “No, I just—He’s cute,” you confessed, blushing.

     She smiled knowingly. “Oh, got it. Want me to call him over here? Spencer!”

     “No!” You interrupted her. “No, don’t do that.”

     But it was too late. The man—Spencer—must've heard Angela, because he smiled and waved before heading in your direction.

     “Hey Ange, what’s up?” He asked her.

     “Nothing much,” she rocked back and forth on her feet. “Hey! Have you met (Y/n)?”

     Spencer turned to you, his gaze landing on first your face and then your outfit and then back to your face. 

     You willed yourself not to blush. He was even more attractive up close and the way his eyes bore into yours didn’t exactly do anything to make him less appealing.

     “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Spencer said, “Do you work at Smosh?”

     “No,” you answered, “I’m just a plus one.”

      “I knew I would’ve remembered you,” he said, picking up on of Angela’s olives. 

      Now you could do nothing to stop the heat rushing to your cheeks.

     “I—” you got out, “I’m just here with Tommy.”

     “What about me?” Tommy asked, coming up behind you. “Oh, hey Spencer.”

     “Sup man,” Spencer addressed Tommy. “I was just meeting your girlfriend.”

     Angela snorted. 

     “Not my girlfriend,” Tommy rolled his eyes at Spencer. 

     “His loss,” Spencer turned to you, mock whispering, “You could do better anyway.”

     “I’m going to pretend that wasn’t offensive,” Tommy said, picking up one of Angela’s olives before gagging and spitting it out.

     “I forgot I hate olives,” he said through coughs.

     “Well,” Spencer said, “I can’t be near someone with such bad taste in—vegetables? fruits? whatever the hell olives are—so I’m going to bounce. It was nice meeting you (Y/n). Congratulations on the breakup.”

     Spencer gestured between you and Tommy before walking away. You let out a breath.

     “Ok, is it just me or was he totally flirting with you?” Angela whispered. 

     “What?” You raised an eyebrow. 

     “That was flirting if I’ve ever seen it. Tommy, back me up.”

     “As far as straight people flirting goes…yeah. I’d say he was,” Tommy said, considering. 

     You blushed again. Had he been flirting with you? He had seemed…friendly, at least. You were already sad that he was gone. You liked his quick wit and easy conversation skills.

     And the whole finding him really attractive thing didn’t hurt.

     “Is it warm in here or is it just me?” You asked them. 

     “I think it’s Spencer,” Angela sing-songed. 

     “Very funny,” you crossed your arms. “But actually, I think I’m going to see if there’s a coat closet or something.”

     You took off your jacket and headed down the hall. You stopped at the first door you found—it looked closet-like enough.

     Judging from the row of sweaters and coats that greeted you, your guess had been correct. 

     You began to hang your jacket, stopping when you spotted the blazer Spencer had been wearing.

     You imagined what it would be like to wear it. Not now, of course—you swore it was like a hundred degrees in there—but you pictured yourself as Spencer’s girlfriend, sharing clothes, his scent engulfing you.

     You snapped yourself out of your fantasy. You had just met this man. You hardly knew him. 

     You quickly hung up your coat, closing the door and taking a minute to collect yourself before heading back out into the party.

     Definitely not thinking about seeing Spencer again. 

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

     You had come to the conclusion that a small army must’ve arrived in the short time it took you to discard your layers. 

     Apparently it was the style to arrive fashionably late, because the party had almost doubled.

     Someone had begun blasting music and it was now so crowded that you couldn’t find Tommy amongst the partygoers.

     “(Y/n)!” You heard someone call. 

     After a few seconds of scanning the room, you found Angela waving her arms to get your attention. 

     You squeezed through people to get to her.

     “Are you looking for Tommy?” She had to yell to be heard over the music and chatter.

     “Yes!” You shouted back.

     “I think I saw him over by the appetizers! Don’t bother looking for a cake though, there isn’t a single slice in this place!” She pointed in the direction she was indicating and you began to make your way over there, bumping into people on your way.

      You had just spotted Tommy a few yards away when you saw a flash of movement and suddenly red liquid dripped down your front.

     You looked up in confusion to find Spencer directly in front of you, a look of shock on his face as he tried to figure out how he had been pushed forwards. 

     “My bad,” he shouted, looking down at the now-mostly-empty cup in his hand. “Don’t suppose we could blame this on whoever shoved me?” 

     You looked down at the dark liquid already forming stains on your light blue top, the fabric clinging to your body.

     You shrugged. “What they don’t know can’t hurt them. I’ll transfer my grudge—and the 40 dollars this shirt cost—to whoever shoved you.”

     Spencer smiled. “Phew. Glad we got that figured out—I almost had to pay 40 bucks for a shirt.”

     “Bold for someone who technically still owes me,” you put your hands on your hips.

     “Sorry,” he put his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground. “Believe it or not I’ve  actually never spilled punch on a pretty girl before, so I’m kinda playing this by ear.”

     You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling the room get warmer at his use of the word ‘pretty’.

     “I should probably go change out of this,” you gestured to the material hugging your torso. “Good thing I brought a jacket.”

     “I’d feel like a jerk if I didn’t offer to come with you,” he said.

     “Oh, um, thanks for the offer but—”

     “No, I insist,” Spencer cut you off, leaning closer and saying quieter, “Don’t tell anyone, but in not a huge party person.”

     “Neither am I,” you confided back. “After you.”

     You filed in behind Spencer as you made your way to the hall. It got gradually quieter as you walked farther and farther away from the center of the gathering.

     You became aware of the fact that you and Spencer were going somewhere together. Alone. 

     Your pulse picked up and you told yourself the dampness though felt was just the punch soaking through your shirt.

     Once you reached the closet, Spencer hung back and let you open the door.

     “How many coats can one party have,” Spencer eyed the row, shaking his head.

     “Don’t act like you didn’t contribute,” you said, looking for your jean jacket.

     “Technically—” He stopped abruptly, looking at you with a smirk. “How did you know I have a jacket in here? Creep.”

     You blushed for the millionth time that night. You’d forgotten when you said it that he didn’t exactly know you’d been eyeing his coat earlier.

     “More like observant. You were wearing it when Angela introduced us,” you covered.

     “But you don’t know I put it in here,” he raised an eyebrow. 

     “Where else would you have put it? The bathroom?” 

     “This coming from the girl wearing punch for a shirt,” Spencer gestured to your top.

     “And who’s fault is that?” 

     “Random party-shover, remember? I thought we agreed that’s where the fault lies.”

     “How could I forget,” you stepped into the small room, still digging for your jacket. Was it possible someone had moved it in the short time you’d left it alone?

     “Wow, it’s so much quieter in here,” you said, ducking underneath the long shawls and sport coats. 

     Spencer stepped in with you, and you realized how close you were to him. 

     “Watch this,” he said, shutting the door  and drowning out all noise. 

     It was calming, the break from the loud chaos. Unfortunately, you couldn’t fully enjoy the calm because the whole being in a tiny closet with Spencer thing didn’t exactly put your nerves at ease.

     You turned around, still searching for your new shirt.

     “Found it,” Spencer said, and you turned to find him standing next to you and skimming through the rack.

     “My jacket?”

     “No, the one I’m going to take home!” He pulled out a long, orange-and-purple shawl that looked like something your great-aunt would have worn.

     “Good call, brings out your eyes,” you teased. “Oh, here’s my coat!”

     You pulled it off the hanger, pausing.

     “Spencer?”

     “Yeah?”

     “I kind of need to change,” you said.

     “Oh, right,” he looked vaguely embarrassed. “I’ll just—”

     He tried to turn around but got caught in the slew of coats. You giggled as a large sleeve landed on his head. 

     “New plan,” he finished, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. “My lids are sealed.”

     You smiled, even though he couldn’t actually see you, pulling your shirt off and dropping it to the ground. 

     It was odd, changing in front of him. Even though you knew his eyes were closed, it still felt like he was watching you and you hurried to put the jacket on, buttoning it up quickly. 

     You looked at Spencer, who was rocking back and forth on his heels. He looked so vulnerable and respectful—and mildly uncomfortable.

     Even though you hardly knew him, it felt like you had been acquainted longer. You couldn't attempt to deny your attraction to him. Just in the couple hours you had known him, you already thought he was kind and funny and charming and—

     You watched him standing there, eyes still closed. You took a step closer to him, almost involuntarily.

     “(Y/n)? Are you trying on all the coats?” His voice brought you back to reality. 

     “Just the old lady shawl,” you said.

     “Well, in that case, you have to let me open my eyes.”

     “I already took it off, you’re too late,” you teased. “It was too sexy to be seen by any eyes other than my own.”

     Spencer ran his tongue over his bottom lip. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

     “That I believe,” he almost whispered. 

     You were silent for a moment, before taking another small step towards Spencer.

     You took a deep breath. 

     “(Y/n)? Can I open my eyes now?”

     You didn’t answer him, closing the distance between you until you were inches apart.

     You took in his features and before you could talk yourself out of it you leaned towards him and placed your lips on his. You felt him tense up.

     “You can open them now,” you whispered. 

     Spencer’s stunned expression lasted only a moment before a heat filled his eyes and suddenly he was kissing you back. 

     He grabbed your waist with one hand, the other going to rest in your hair as he kissed you harder. 

     You wrapped your arms around his neck as your back found the wall, engulfing you in the sea of coats. 

     “God, (Y/n),” Spencer mumbled against your lips. 

     You gripped him harder. This moment was everything you imagined it would be. This was so much better than the party.

     You felt like you could do this for the rest of the night. Because, damn Spencer was a good kisser. 

     You pressed up against him, deepening the kiss as your nails dug into his shoulder.

     Neither one of you noticed the closet door opening.

     “(Y/n) was right, it is hot in here,” a voice was saying, but you and Spencer were too wrapped up in each other to notice.

     “They can afford an indoor fountain but not a air cond—”

     You heard a cry of surprise as the closet door opened fully. You and Spencer pulled apart, gasping as you looked up at Tommy, who looked just as horrified to see you as you were to see him.

     “Well,” Tommy started, “I was just saying how hot it was out there, but it seems it’s much hotter in here.”

     You and Spencer looked at each other, grinning sheepishly. You were still breathless. You noticed you were standing on a coat that must’ve been knocked from its hanger.

     “It’s kind of a long story,” you started.

     “Basically there’s some guy out there attacking people with punch,” Spencer finished, looking at you, eyes sparkling.

     “I’ll be on the lookout,” Tommy said, a confused look on his features. 

     You couldn’t stop smiling at Spencer.

     “Well,” Tommy clapped his hands together, “I guess I’ll—leave you to it. Have fun.”

     “And tell me all about it later,” he mock-whispered to you. 

     He started to shut the closet door before turning around.

     “Oh and (Y/n)?”

     “Yeah?”

     “Can you toss me my coat?” He gestured to the one that was currently under your foot. You hadn’t even recognized it as his in the dim lighting of the room.

     That, and you’d been a bit distracted. Your heart leapt just thinking about what Tommy had interrupted. Your hand found Spencer’s in the dark  

     “I thought you said it was hot out there?” You asked, throwing his sweater to him. 

     “It is,” he sighed, “But my keys are in the pocket.”

     You raised an eyebrow. 

     “Angela and I are going to go buy a cake.”

     “Does that woman think of anything else?” You laughed 

     “Pick us up some olives,” Spencer threw in, blinking up at him.

     “Why not,” Tommy shrugged, “let’s hit all the stores in California.”

     “You sure you won’t miss the party?” You asked him.

     “Nah, I was gonna bounce anyway. I accidentally shoved some guy pretty hard in the back earlier, but I don’t think he knows it was me. I don’t want to test my luck.”     

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed this!! look out for more spencer fics in the near future 🫶 also bonus points if you found the himym reference 🤭

[starsinthesky5]

not sure if you’ve answered this ask before but how did joe’s hometown friends react to joe telling them about him and songbird? cause i can totally see them not believing anything he says and teasing him about it! like they think there is no way introverted joe got with miss popstar

a/n: not using joe's hometown friends real names for this because well...yeah :)

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

it’s one of those classic athens summer nights—warm, quiet, and humid and sticky in that way that clings to your skin. the kind where the air smells like grass, smoke, and beer, and it feels like time’s slowed down just for a while. trevor’s backyard hasn’t changed since high school—same patchy grass, same rusted grill, same half-broken lawn chairs arranged in a lazy circle around the fire pit. the fire crackles low, casting orange glow over their faces, and a bluetooth speaker hums quietly with old blink-182.

“you been quiet, man,” trevor says, turning from the fire to squint at joe, who’s leaning back in his chair, hood low, sipping from a can of some cheap seltzer. “what’s going on with you lately. haven't seen you out much this off-season?”.

joe shrugs like it’s nothing, like the reason behind his absence on trips with the friend group isn’t a big deal, late replies to their text messages aren't unusual, and the abnormal amount of times he's checked his phone in their presence isn't strange for him. but there’s something about the little curve of his mouth—just the tiniest hint of a smile—that immediately sets off alarm bells.

“nothing,” he says, too casually. “just…been busy,”.

“busy,” quinn echoes, already grinning. “okay, define busy. like, football busy? or…someone busy?”.

joe doesn’t answer right away. just lifts his can, takes a slow sip like he’s got all the time in the world. there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, smug and unbothered, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “mm,” he hums, setting the can down with a soft clink. “bit of both, ya know,”.

“oh shit,” ryland says, sitting forward in his chair, now fully paying attention to what joe was saying. the drunken haze in his brain vanishes in a second. “you’re seeing someone. like actually?”.

max drops his beer can dramatically into the cooler. “i knew it. bro’s been off the grid since the beginning of last month...ever since that trip to the hamptons for the white party,”.

“okay, who is she?” trevor asks, pulling his chair next to joe and nudging his leg with a sock-covered foot. “do we know her? is she from around here?”.

joe shrugs again, infuriatingly vague. “maybe,”.

“maybe?! maybe?!” quinn groans. “you can’t drop that and go back to sipping your fuckass high noon like you didn’t just cause a national emergency. your fan girls are about to freak bro. i hope you know that,”.

ryland narrows his eyes. “all right. twenty questions. is she blonde?”.

joe shakes his head.

“brunette?” quinn asks.

joe nods softly, smirking as he thinks about her her hair, thick and soft and everywhere when she sleeps, tangled in his fingers and fanned across his pillow. it always smells like coconut and something sweet he can never name. in the sun, it turns golden at the ends, almost honey-like, and in the mornings, it’s a mess he loves combing through with slow, lazy hands. he thinks about how it tickles his neck when she leans into him, how it always ends up tied in a claw clip or falling over her eyes when she’s baking, how he’s stolen at least three hair ties off her wrist just to keep one in his bag, one in his car, one around his water bottle.

“college girl? someone from lsu or ohio state?” max questions.

but then before joe can respond, quinn jumps in, “cheerleader? actress? oh my god is it hailee—,”.

“no, no, and...no?” joe scoffs, cutting in and shutting it down before they go to far. “she's a...singer,” he says casually, as if he didn't just cause a bomb to go off inside his friend's drunken little brains.

the fire cracks. the boys go still.

max blinks. “…like, hobby singer? or, like…real singer?”.

joe lifts a brow, amused at the question before he replies, “real,”.

“wait,” ryland says slowly. “wait. wait. are you talking like…local bar gigs, or like…spotify verified?”.

joe’s smiling now. not saying anything. just letting it build.

“dude. don’t,” ryland rolls his eyes.

trevor leans forward, squinting at joe through the firelight like he’s trying to read his mind. “okay. give us something. initials. a lyric. a song title. anything,” he says, motioning dramatically with his beer can like it’s a lie detector test.

joe lifts his own can to his lips, sips slow, eyes glinting with mischief over the rim. then, deadpan, without even blinking, he recites,

“didn't they tell us don’t rush into things, didn’t you flash your green eyes at—”.

“NO FUCKING WAY,” max screeches, nearly choking on his drink. he slaps a hand over his mouth like the words burned coming out.

of course they recognized it. of course.

those lyrics...that album. they were everywhere. stores. the radio. social media. hell, quinn’s sister cried to the song wonderland after prom.

“shut up,” quinn yells, leaping to his feet and launching his trucker hat across the yard like it personally betrayed him. “you’re lying. you’re a lying little bitch, dude,”.

joe shrugs, calm as ever, like he’s not sitting on the biggest bombshell of the summer. his lips twitch, the ghost of a grin threatening to break. “i’m not lying,” he says, tone maddeningly casual. “just didn’t think y’all could handle it,”.

“you're telling me you—joseph lee burrow—are dating her. the grammy-winning, international pop sensation, women want to be her, men want to marry her, princess of the music industry? man, please. we're not stupid,”.

joe’s smile grows at the mention of all her titles and how she's portrayed to the public. “yeah, i am,”.

trevor’s jaw drops. “how,”.

“you don’t even talk that much!” quinn yells. “all you do is sit their with your shades on and people watch,”.

“what did you do, just stare at her until she fell for you?” max asks, skeptical of the entire situation..

“pretty much,” joe says with a small laugh.

ryland puts his hands on his knees and breathes. “i need a minute,”.

“when did this even start?!” trevor asks, practically shouting. “how long has this been happening?”.

joe finally pulls his phone from his pocket, scrolls for a second, and then flips it around. it’s a photo—simple and oh so special. she's in his hoodie, makeup-free, curled into his lap on the couch. she’s kissing his jaw and smiling with her eyes shut. joe’s looking straight into the camera, pink-cheeked and happy in that soft, lovesick way that only happens when someone knows they’re home.

the boys lose it.

max collapses to the grass. “that’s a real picture. that’s not even a paparazzi photo. she’s got her feet up. she’s snuggled. this is domestic,”.

“oh my god,” quinn moans. “he’s so far gone,”.

“bro,” ryland says, pointing. “she’s got the hoodie. she’s got the sleepy smile. you love her,”.

joe freezes for half a second—just enough for the guys to catch it. the slight shift in his posture, the way his fingers flex around his drink. he doesn’t say anything right away, just stares into the fire, watching the embers crackle like they might spell out the answer for him.

because no, the L word hasn’t come up yet. not out loud. not between them. but god, he feels it. in the way she looks at him when she’s half-asleep in his hoodie, humming along to some soft melody she hasn’t released yet. in the way she traces lazy circles over his chest with her fingers while he talks about nothing. in the way she laughs like he’s her favorite sound.

his throat bobs, swallowing something quiet and terrifying and real.“yeah,” he murmurs eventually, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “i’m getting there,”.

trevor clutches his chest. “nah, i’m sick. our introverted hermit crab bagged the pop princess. i feel like i’m dreaming right now,”.

“he skipped all the levels,” max mutters. “went from ‘barely talks to girls without stumbling over his words’ to dating someone like her? unbelievable,”.

“when do we get to meet her?” quinn asks. “do you think she’d let us hear some unreleased shit?”.

joe chuckles, knowing he was the only one that was allowed to listen to what she'd been working on as of late. it was about him, so it was only for him. that was her precious logic. “probably not,”.

“what’s she like?” ryland asks, more curious now than anything. “like, actually. behind the flashing lights and headlines,”.

joe softens, like physically softens as he starts rambling. “she’s…so funny. extremely smart. especially football smart. kind of like a shot of espresso. but she can also be a nice warm glass of milk when you need her to, you know? she sings around the house. leaves her jewelry everywhere. keeps stealing my hoodies. she bakes. even taught me how to cook a little bit. she's so pretty, and like not just superficially. she has such a pretty heart and i know that makes no fucking sense but...she's just such a great person. and she's real. you wouldn't even think she's famous if you spent one whole day with her. she's so...normal. and she just brings out that side of me that i thought was dead the second i came into the league. she's like a breath of fresh air after years of breathing in smoke,”.

“oh my god,” trevor whispers. “you’re in love love,”.

“you guys are insufferable,” joe says while he rolls his eyes, but he’s beaming at the same time. you know why? because it's true. even if he won't admit it out loud or to himself.

it's so fucking true.

he glances down at his phone again and fires off a quick text, they found out. they’re freaking out. they love you but don't think you're real. (oh, joe. so to the point. what happened to hi? hello? did you burn my kitchen down yet?) and a minute later, her reply pops up, tell them i said hi. and yes, i am real. and i also can't wait to meet them :)

and when joe shows them the texts?

yeah. they lose it.

[risingmoonyue]

AU in which Noctis decides Prompto needs a new dad since his parents suck. Unfortunately, despite being The Real Actual Prince, he is still not legally allowed to keep Prompto. Which just means he's got to find one himself!

(He's now taking interviews.)

(The Citadel lives in fear of the most motivated Prince Noctis anyone has ever seen)

----

Noctis: so, dad

Noctis: what are your feelings on adoption?

Regis:

Regis: is this about me not letting you adopt Prompto...? I told you it doesn't work like that.

Noctis, narrowing his eyes and pulling out a clipboard and red pen: subject seems adverse to giving the best chocobo eyed sunshine children loving homes

Regis: now hold on a minute--

----

Noctis: if someone--say, a bully named Trevor Fabius who lives three houses down the street from the corner store on 6th Ave--tripped someone else who happened to be your beloved, most adorable and sunshiney son in everything but flesh and blood in the middle of the street what would you do?

Nyx: this sounds very specific.

Crowe: stab them why

Libertus: I mean maybe not STAB stab them. A bit of light terror here and there.

Noctis, taking notes on his clipboard: interesting.

----

Noctis: so--

Clarus: listen, Highness, as nice as I think your friend is, I have my hands full with my actual two children already.

Noctis: drat.

---

Noctis, pulling out the puppy eyes: Iggy--

Ignis, not bothering to turn around: I am still unable to adopt people Noctis

Noctis: Gladio--?

Gladio, turning a page in his novel: yeah no me neither. Did you try Cor yet?

Noctis: he's next. but im trying to see if I can't get him to soften up to the idea first

Iggy and Gladio: ????

---

Cor:

Noctis:

Cor, handing over a large stack of adoption fliers, brochures, and paraphernalia: maybe try a little more subtly next time.

----

Prompto, beet red and hiding his face: astrals, Noctis, WHY

Prompto: I HAVE TO LOOK AT SOME OF THESE PEOPLE IN THE FACE AGAIN

Noctis: I mean that's the idea

Prompto: [incoherent screeching]

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

threes a crowd // qh43 + tz11

wandering eyes aren’t always bad.

AN: if this sucks i’m sorry, threesomes are hard. however i did the damn thing. sorry for my slight absence i’ll be back tomorrow after these birthday shenanigans to work on my inbox and some more filthy shit.

WC: 1.2k

CW: mmf threesome, kinda mean!quinn, kinda mean!trevor, pet names and use of whore, unprotected p in v (don’t do this smh), oral (m and f receiving), not much plot. just smut, thigh slap

What started as just a little joke, a fun time to tease Quinn and get him riled up really ended up much better for you than you thought.

Quinn already was annoyed with your attitude from earlier in the day, and when he saw you getting a little too cozy with Trevor that annoyance just grew.

Trevor was quick to pick up the cat and mouse game you both were playing. Kinda chuckling to himself over seeing Quinn’s cool slowly leave him. Whatever he thought, I'll add to it.

Trevor made sure he laid out the heavy flirting, some soft touches on your arms. The final straw from Quinn was watching Trevor push a strand of hair behind your ear and lean down to whisper something.

Quinn quickly left the room, running up the stairs quickly to send you a text message to meet him up here. Stopping in his tracks at the text from Trevor.

Trevor: I don't know Quinn, I think she needs a little more than just one person. I'll bring her up to my room, maybe she'll act right with a second set of eyes.

Quinn was quick to respond.

Quinn: Bring her up here. Chairs ready for you.

There wasn't even a waiting period of more than 10 minutes before Trevor turned the door handle.

"Bout damn time, come here baby." Quinn’s voice was soft. Confusion flooded your mind, as Trevor closed the door and turned the lock.

"Quinny.. What are you doing?" voice barely above a whisper.

He pushed gently against your chest, forcing you to fall against the bed. "You wanted to act like a whore, so you're gonna show Z just how much of a whore you are. Got it?"

You nodded slowly, eyes flicking between the man above you and the man across the room.

"He's just gonna watch pretty baby, unless you want more or you want him to leave." His hand rubbed soft circles on your cheek.

You swallowed a little harder than intended, "he can stay, Q."

Before you had much time to think, Quinn’s hands were on your throat. "Don't know what's gotten into you today sweetheart. Been nothing but a brat."

There was a small chuckle from behind Quinn, one that made you push your thighs together. Hoping that Quinn wouldn't catch on.

He loosened his grip and looked down, "would you look at that, seems like someone's trying to hide that she's turned on." His hand worked their way down to my thighs, "Lucky for me, you decided to dress like a whore today." He mumbled while pushing the bottom of your skirt up.

Closing your eyes, the embarrassment of Trevor watching while Quinn was bullying you added a level of heat to your core you didn't know was possible.

There was a soft smack against my thigh. "Nuh huh, look at Trevor for me yeah? Want you to watch him while I play with your cunt real quick."

Quinn knelt down in between my legs, pressing soft kisses from my shins up to my thigh. Forcing my legs further apart. Trevor’s eyes glued to my center that was on display.

Quinn’s head was resting against my thigh, finger running through my slick. A small gasp leaving my throat.

"Z, come here for a minute." Quinn turned his head to his friend. "If you close your legs, I won't be so nice. Better keep 'em open for us."

Trevor stood tall next to Quinn, "Wanna see how fast she gets desperate? Way better to see up close." His finger pressing against my entrance. My hips are moving ever so slightly, begging for something. He pushed inside at a slow pace, stopping when he was just barely in. Staring up at me, he spoke. "Can Trevor help me honey?"

"Uh huh, please."

Trevor nodded, climbing into bed behind you. Setting his legs next to yours, moving his hands to the front of you. Pushing your straps off your shoulders. His left hand finding a home against your tit.

Whimpers falling from your mouth.

Trevor’s finger and thumb pinching your nipple, Quinn moving his finger at a slow pace, curling up to hit your sweet spot.

Trevor was first to hear the footsteps outside the door, his other hand covering your mouth while neither boy let up on their movements.

"Hey, you guys alright?!" Cole yelled through the door.

Quinn took this as a moment of payback and leaned forward wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.

Groaning against Trevor’s hand. He spoke up. "Yeah! Just showing Quinn and y/n this game i've been playing. We'll be back down in a bit."

That seemed to be good enough for the man outside the door.

"Guess we better hurry up, Z. Baby, want you on your stomach, ass up. Can you show Trevor how good you are with your mouth when you're not too busy running it? Promise I'll give you what you want too."

Quick to listen to your boyfriend, you rolled over, immediately lifting your ass how he asked. Trevor watching you, waiting for your approval. "Uh huh, Quinny. Promise i'll be good."

Both of them standing up, pushing their shorts down just enough to take out their cocks. Quinn was quick to rub his tip against my clit and down to my hole.

As Quinn pushed himself into me, Trevor reached down and set his thumb against my mouth. "Need you to be real quiet, don't need anyone coming back up here alright?" His voice barely above a whisper

Removing his thumb from my mouth, he brought his tip and tapped it against my lips. His silent plea. Opening my mouth, tongue running across his slit. A soft groan fell from his mouth, "Shit, dude. Weren't kidding when you said her mouth felt like velvet."

Quinn’s grip on my hips tightened, "should feel her cunt next time. Soft, wet and so fucking tight." He groaned out through gritted teeth.

Legs threatening to close over the idea of Trevor buried in my cunt and Quinn down my throat.

"Think she likes that idea, she's fucking squeezing me so tight."

Trevor’s hips bucked at the feeling of my moan around his shaft. "Fuck, y/n. Relax your throat, breathe through your nose. Atta girl, good job."

Quinn’s thrusts becoming a little sloppy, "Honey i'm real fucking close. Gonna let me fill up your pretty pussy yeah? Gonna let Trevor cum down your throat aren't you? Gonna be our best girl. Promise we'll take more time for you next time."

There wasn't much time between Trevor’s grunt and his thrust stilling while he released his load down my throat and Quinn’s soft groan while he fucked his cum slowly into me.

Trevor pulled out first, reaching down to wipe the messy makeup from under my eyes.

"Gonna pull out now," your boyfriend spoke softly. "Did so good honey, so so good."

Trevor walked out of the room, and came back fast with a towel and handed it to Quinn. "You two stay here, I'll be right back. Gonna take care of a couple things and then we'll take care of you, sweets."

Quinn pressed a kiss to my back, "I love you, pretty girl."

"I love you too, Quinny."

Brain stuck on Trevor’s comment, and Quinn’s mention of next time. But that's a situation we can figure out later.

[oscquinn]

HELLO! I say your adorable event and wanted to ask if you could do the prompts ❛ are you wearing my shirt? ❜ and ❛ and where do you think you’re going? ❜ with my (second) favorite boy, Trevor? I’m too excited to see what your beautiful brain comes up with 🥰

HI BRYNN !! absolutely love this combo :))

"are you wearing my shirt?" + "and where do you think you're going?" from this subtle smut list. part of my mini writing event!

trevor zegras x f!reader, rated M. suggestive content but no explicit smut, innuendos and sex jokes cause it's trev, his thighs are fucking criminal send tweet.

you've paired a white skirt with one of your boyfriend's loose button downs, half undone and tossed over a white tank top. you're going to head out for drinks with the girls before his game tonight, you know trevor will be leaving for the arena soon anyway.

"trev, baby!" you call out, stepping into a comfy pair of white wedge sandals. "come gimme a goodbye kiss."

trevor walks out, adjusting the white tie he's pairing with a navy undershirt. still dressed in his boxers, his muscled thighs are bare and on display to you. you can't help but bite your lip, gazing over him. the bulge beneath his v-line is obvious, fucking teasing you. there's not enough time. is there?

your look doesn't go unnoticed, and a smirk forms on trevor's face, looking you up and down in turn. "are you wearing my shirt?" he asks playfully, stepping close enough to cradle your waist in his large hands.

"you like it?" you murmur, looking up at him with a nod, your height just a bit closer to his with your choice of shoes. still, you have to lean up to kiss him. your hands brush downward, feeling the tops of his thighs under your fingertips. you brush under the lower hem of his boxers as he slips his tongue past your lips.

trevor lets out a gentle sigh when your fingers ghost over his stiffening cock. "you look pretty in it," he murmurs, hands massaging your hips. much to his disappointment, you pull away. he watches in exaggerated shock as you gather your purse, wallet, keys, all the things you need before going out the door.

you're smiling to yourself when his hand grips your wrist, pulling you back to his side. "and where do you think you're going?" he asks you, already backing you up against the wall.

you gulp, pretending to squirm and struggle away from him, with no real intent of leaving. you 'give in' after a mere handful of seconds, and the cool surface of the wall hits your back. trevor's thigh presses between your own, his hand coming up to cradle your face. "that's right baby, you're not going anywhere."

"trev," you whine as his lips find your neck. "no marks. and we don't have time for this."

"five minutes baby," he whispers, strong hands guiding your hips to rub along his bare thigh. he flexes his quad, bounces his leg so the the hard muscle bumps against your needy cunt, and laughs darkly when you whimper. "yeah, only need five minutes to take care of this pretty pussy," he continues, running that filthy mouth like always.

you break when his hand dips under your flared out skirt, thumb rubbing your clit over thin, cotton panties. a breathy moan escapes your lips and you slump against him, "o-okay! okay, fuck, please," you whine. "but you're not messing up my fucking hair."

trevor smirks, pulling on your perfectly placed ponytail as he lifts you up. "hm, i'll help you fix it. makeup too, promise," he kisses you sweetly, as if he hadn't just been talking so filthy in your ear. as if he wasn't promising to fix whatever he messed up with how well he fucked you. "and i'll make you up and excuse for the girls," he continues, finally dumping you on the couch.

he begins to kiss you, pawing at your tits through the fabric of his shirt. he's fucking needy, hips already rolling against yours in smooth thrusts. you pull away, fingers gripping trevor's hair to hold him back for a moment. you press one quick kiss to his pouting lips then call out, "alexa!" you smirk at the way your boyfriend's face flushes, waiting for the device to respond. once it does you prompt, "start a five minute timer."

trevor takes your hand from his hair, moving your palm down his body to the waistband of his boxers. "you're fucking in for it baby."

© oscquinn, 2025. click here for my inbox.

[pinkmirth]

Wait imagine being enemies to lovers with alucard

now, i love the sound of this! ( i think about it more than i should, tbh . . .) a mostly harmless , banter-like dynamic is what comes to mind, similar to what he’s got going on with trevor. you’re a sharp woman with an even sharper mouth, and as much as he admires your tenacity, alucard isn’t one to hold back from delivering his own petty retorts. you throw jabs at the vampiric man, and more often than not, he’ll bite.

at times, real disagreements ensue— over the proper way to effectively kill night creatures, how to reduce any casualties, how you think he’s passive, and how he sees you to be so incredibly brash. you’re defensive about doing things your way, as is he. you know how two people are just going at each other’s throats until they’ve found themselves face to face, chests heaving from the heat of their argument? yeah, that’s exactly where you find yourself now; alucard standing only inches before you, blonde brows drawn together with his cheeks dusted red from what you assume to be boiling rage.

once you finally acknowledge how slim the proximity between you is, you step away and coil your expression into one of distaste, attempting to mask the thrill of having him so close that his nose almost brushed yours. “you’re disgustingly pretentious,” you try snapping at him, though he can hear that bitter, mocking tone of your diminish. is it just him, or is he catching onto a bit of . . . softness? from someone like you, towards someone like him? it couldn't be. you can hardly stand him, anyway. he's sure that the only one harboring any affections, even in the slightest, is him. as much as you boil his blood and make his head spin, you're also able to make him laugh, motivate him to new heights. not that he'd ever admit it, though. you'd probably punch him square in the face.

“and you're far too stubborn. it wouldn't kill you to adapt, you know." he grunts, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear. would it be wrong of you to admit just how beautiful he is? "it might. i surely won't be taking my chances," you bump past him using your shoulder, and he scoffs upon impact. just as you attempt to zoom past the man, his lithe hand encircles your wrist and pulls you back into him.

against the wall is where you find yourself, with his tall, firm body keeping you pressed there. alucard's grasp is unrelenting, and he's far too strong for you to even try pulling away. his long, golden hair drapes over you, curtaining over you so that the only thing you can see is his cold, glowing eyes. "must you make everything so . . . fucking difficult?" you pray he can't hear it; the erratic thumping of your heart.

“unhand me, you fuck.” he does not. you've pushed him to the edge for the very last time. "why on earth do i put up with you?" he sourly chuckles, as though he's asking himself rather than you. he watches your shaken gaze scour his entire face— from his piercing eyes to his pale-pink lips. you're staring, hard. he much rather prefers gaining this kind of attention from you.

“then don't. i never asked you to." you spit, trying to yank away with no avail. he only shakes his head, closing in on you. at this rate, his lips and your own could practically touch.

“i can’t just leave you alone,” he rasps. you listen with a deep pause, and your breath is caught in your throat. “haven’t you noticed? as irksome as your company is, i can’t seem to go without it.” you finally understand— alucard, of all people, has taken a liking to you.

“so, you’re attached?” your laughter is taunting, and somehow, he’s come to love it. “unhealthily so.” he breathes out. his bottom lip grazes yours, and you shudder at even the slightest contact. god, how he’s already ruined you. “and what exactly will you do about that, alucard?” you call his name with a feigned amount of spite, and your lashes flutter up at him in that provoking way . . . fuck, he can feel himself getting harder beneath his trousers. alucard gives you this particular look, and that’s how you know he won’t be telling you— the man’s about to take initiative and show you, just as you’re always telling him to.

a deep, breathless kiss is what you get in response, one where his mouth are pressed to yours in a way where you can bite at his lower lip and he can groan into your mouth. he knew you’d like it this way— messy, heated, desperate. you suck at his tongue and cup his face, breaking away only after you’ve gotten a proper taste of him. you feel something firm nudge your thighs, and it gets you to peer down and take notice of his apparent bulge, straining at his fitted black pants.

“god, you’re pathetic,” your lips curve into a smile, teasingly taking his bottom lip between your teeth. you bring your knee up to press against his crotch, and his moan comes out sounding so broken. only the stars above could explain why your insults rouse him as much as they do. alucard pecks your lips once, then twice, with a quickness he knows will leave you chasing for more.

“for you, perhaps i am.”

[wondrluv]

୨୧ words were said, things were done ; tz11

➪ summary: jack shows up at his sister's apartment and he can't help what he says. which leaves luke flying out to apologize and them flying back to make sure jack's okay

➪ warnings: arguing, reader has issues with arguments/yelling, jack's a dick, name-calling (slut, whore), crying, lots of crying, slight mentions to the reader dying, reader thinks he brothers hate her, feelings of no one caring, jack hates himself during this, um i think that's it

➪ word count: 4.8k

➪ emma's notes: i think this is another one of my favorite fics. it might be the tiniest bit messy but i still love it and i want you guys to have the part two you deserve. um yeah i did realize how much quinn is very not apart of this fic but like, i was having a moment i guess when i wrote this. don't worry, quinn appreciate is to be coming soon

© wondrluv ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

She wasn’t expecting that. Maybe if she looked at her phone she would have a little bit more of a warning but she didn’t. She and Trevor exchanged wide glances, trying to figure out their next move. Lia looked between them, “I can tell them to fuck off if I need to. I got this.”

“I’m going to have to face them at some point. Might as well do it now.”

She pushed the covers off of her and stood up, making her way to follow Lia when Trevor stopped her, “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” She would soon regret those words. 

She made her way into the foyer of their apartment, opening the door that Lia had previously closed. She looked between all three brothers, drifting her eyes to make eye contact at the various heights of the three. At first glance, they seemed perfectly fine. But to her, and Trevor, they looked pissed.

They all did this weird thing when they got angry or frustrated, y/n included. They stood with their hands in their pockets as their faces settled into a glare. They stood shoulder-width apart and stood eerily still. They could be a statue with how still they stood. Now it sounds and looks normal, but to anyone who knows them, it isn’t. They would all stand that way when at least one was mad.

Knowing that, when she saw them she shrunk into herself. Her eyes flickered to the ground and she stayed silent. Trevor stood off to the side and out of sight, not wanting to make matters worse for her. Luke was the least mad, he understood why they hid it and honestly was supportive of the couple. He had no reason to doubt their relationship.

At this point, Luke was the one who was most worried about her. He knew how she could tend to always do what everyone wanted her to do. She hated making people upset and hated disappointing people, especially her family. She stepped back and allowed the three to walk in, proceeding to stand in the living room.

Jack looked around and spotted Trevor, “Oh of course you’re here.”

Another thing she hated was fights. It meant that someone had done something wrong and when she was involved, it meant that she did something wrong. On top of that, the sound of fighting had always been triggered from a young age. No matter who it was, why they were shouting, where they were, it always hurt her. She couldn’t remember what made her feel this way but her parents always told her she got into a fight with her brothers and ever since then she hated it. 

“Don’t be mad at-”

“Don’t be mad? You’re fucking my best friend of course I’m mad!”

“Justice for Cole, for real,” Lia murmured as she walked into her room, having no energy to deal with the situation, despite her previous words.

Y/n flinched at his words, she really didn’t think he would be this mad. Jack redirected his attention to the boy standing in the corner, “And you? Putting your fucking hands on my sister?! Come on, dude.”

Quinn and Luke stood behind Jack, allowing him to blow off some steam. They wouldn’t let things get too out of hand. Jack continued to ramble about how betrayed he felt by both Trevor and y/n, only some words sticking out to the two of them. At this point, she was pretty sure he was getting angrier than calmer. 

“You just had to go and ruin everything, didn’t you?” His eyes fell on his sister and everyone gaped at him.

Trevor pushed himself off the wall and made his way over to stand next to her, “Don’t do that, Jack. It was both of our decisions. Not just her.”

“Can’t fight your own battles anymore?” 

Y/n was in shock at how he was acting. He had every right to be mad but he didn’t have to say what he was going to, what he had been saying. Though, as much as she was surprised by it, she knew she deserved it. She thought she deserved every negative thing that came her way and this was no exception. She allowed Jack to yell at her, slowly shrinking into herself as Trevor stepped in front of her.

“No wonder relationships never worked out for you. Wonder how long you’re gonna keep him around. Should’ve known you’d go after any guy that pays attention to you. Don’t know why everyone was saying I would be the slut of the family.” He ran a hand harshly through his hair.

That made her eyes tear up, it was a low blow, and everyone in the room knew it. She had never had the best track record with relationships, she was always scared of her brothers finding out that she broke them off before they had a chance to notice. There was one time when they found out that they hated him and hated the fact that she hid it from them. They got too protective and demanded she break up with him but she was going to anyway so she didn’t fight back.

Luke tried to interject after he said that, noticing the way she was practically crying. Jack silenced him by holding a finger up. Jack’s gaze once again flickered between the two before finally landing on Trevor, “You’re a dick you know that. Can’t keep a girl for the fucking life of you, can’t keep it in your pants. Well, I guess neither can she, can you y/n?”

She raised her head to look at him, eyes watering as one lone tear fell down her cheek. Jack’s mind was clouded, he couldn’t think about anything but the anger he felt. It clouded his judgment, laced his voice, and triggered his words, that’s all he could focus on. He would never speak to her like this but when the article came out and more and more people started to agree with it, he couldn’t see past the frustration. 

“I mean are you even my friend anymore? What kind of friend hooks up with their friend’s sister?”

“Of course, I’m still your friend Jack, but-”

“But what? You thought with your dick instead of your head?”

“Jesus, Jack can you calm the fuck down? I get you’re mad I do, but you don’t need to say that kind of shit. Especially to y/n.”

“You know you’re gonna have to choose right? Between me and her.”

“Okay.”

Y/n looked up at her boyfriend with worry, he had just said all of these nice things about her and their relationship. It’s not that she didn’t trust Trevor to pick her, it’s just that with all the guys that she chose her brothers over, she thought this was finally karma. But Trevor’s lips turned into a smirk, “I choose her.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, matching Jack’s eyes, “You what?”

“You heard me. I love her and frankly, I’m not willing to be friends with a little bitch who yells at their sister because she finally found someone who she loved and who loved her back. And someone who’s got a bigger ego than their dick.”

If things weren’t silent before they sure were now. Trevor cocked an eyebrow as Jack stood there in silence. Not even two minutes later Jack was storming out of the apartment with his two brothers following after him. When Luke reached the door he looked back at his sister and went to take a step back but Jack called out his name and he disappeared down the hallway.

Trevor watched as y/n stumbled backward and caught her in his arms, slowly sinking to the floor like he had done earlier when he arrived. He shushed her as the words “I hate them” tumbled out of her mouth over and over again. He placed a kiss on her forehead as tears dampened his sweatshirt, “I got you, baby. I got you. You’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

Over the next week or so, y/n heavily debated what she wanted to do. If she wanted to go home to her parents, go home to Trevor’s new apartment that he had bought for them, stay away in London to hide from her problems, or move to an entirely new country where no one could find her. However, none of these seemed like plausible, realistic options. 

Jack’s words clouded her mind, should’ve known you’d have gone after any guy that paid any attention to you, you’re a slut you know that, god forbid you let me have my own friends, you ruin everything. She would never be able to forget those words. 

It hurt, knowing that her brothers didn’t want her as much as everyone else did. It was bad enough that she got spammed comments about her being a slut or a whore or a traitor (sure that last one wasn’t as mean as the others), but to hear it from her own brother, her twin brother. Nothing compares to that feeling and nothing will ever compare to that feeling. 

She beat herself up every day about it, going as far as to try and break up with Trevor. But, Trevor was having none of it. He wasn’t going to let some self-centered jerk come and ruin all that they had worked for, and fought for, even if that self-centered jerk was her brother. Her happiness was what mattered to him and it was all that was going to matter to him. 

It was five days after Jack and co. invaded her apartment. She and Trevor were on her bed, underneath the covers. She hadn’t really talked, still trying to let the events of the past week sink in. Everything seemed to happen so suddenly, and abruptly, that no one gave her time to think about anything. It was like the Universe was punishing her for finally doing something for her and not for someone else. 

“Baby?”

She looked over at him, eyes slightly becoming bigger as she hummed, “Hmm?”

“I asked what you wanted to watch.”

“Oh, I don’t care. You pick.”

Trevor frowned, “What’s wrong? I mean I know what’s wrong but like. What’s wrong?”

“Do you think they still love me?”

“Who?”

“My brothers.”

Trevor thought it was physically impossible for his heart to break anymore. He knew how much y/n adored her brothers, they were her role models, they were the ones who made sure she was at school on time, they were the ones who read books to her when they were little, they were the ones who bugged the ever-loving crap out of her, they were the ones who did everything for her. 

He pulled her into a hug before pulling away and cupping her cheeks, “They love you with their whole hearts, y/n. I promise you on everything I believe in.”

“Then why does it feel like they do? Like I could die and they wouldn’t care?” Her voice cracked as she spoke, suddenly becoming flustered and finding it harder to breathe.

Trevor couldn’t contain his tears any longer especially as he looked at the look on her face. He pulled her into his arms, practically shoving her head into his chest as he cried with her. Y/n felt his few tears drop down onto her head but didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything as she cried herself to sleep.

They both fell asleep not long after that, Trevor following in her footsteps. Lia had come in to check on them about an hour after and they were still asleep. She walked out of the room and saw a figure in the living room, “How’d you get in here?!”

The figure turned around and Lia mildly calmed down, “Luke?”

Luke gave Lia his ever so charming, but awkward, half grin, “Hi.”

“Okay, this still doesn’t answer my question. How’d you get in here?”

Luke pulled a key out of his coat pocket, “Y/n gave me a copy when she was drunk and I never gave it back.”

Lia audibly “oh’d” at the words and was about to shrug it off until she turned around, “Why are you here?”

His smile crumbled, becoming more awkward, “I wanted to apologize to y/n/n. I know I wasn’t much help on Saturday but I regret it. I regret it so much. She’s my big sister, of course, I love her. And I know how much Trevor makes her happy and I just want her to be happy. There’s nothing, no one, that would change that. She deserves it more than anyone.”

“Really?”

Luke’s eyes moved to find the voice and when they laid upon her figure, his eyes teared up, “More than anything.”

Luke adored her, ever since he was born. He was the one person who always thought she was right no matter what. He thought that she could do no wrong. Y/n was the one who gave Luke advice on everything, the one who read him bedtime stories even when she barely knew how to read, the one who gave him shit for failing miserably at talking to a girl. 

He hugged her, grateful that she gave him the time to apologize instead of throwing him out like he thought she, or Trevor, would’ve. After Luke’s surprise visit, the four sat down and ate dinner. As much as y/n tried to hold back from asking the question, it was burning in the back of her mind, “Is Jack still mad?”

Trevor stopped eating, a piece of food shoved into the side of his mouth. He looked up at her but didn't raise his chin. He moved his gaze from his girlfriend to the boy sitting next to her as he waited for his response. Luke himself had been in the middle of drinking when she asked, and he swallowed nervously, “No.”

“No?”

“He’s, um, been locked in his room all week, I can hear him crying through the walls. I don’t think he’s really eaten anything.”

Y/n frowned, “I should-”

“Nah, let him wallow in self-pity a little more. He rarely ever gets to do it.”

“But if he’s not eating, Luke, that’s a problem.”

That seemed to click into Luke’s brain, “Oh shit.”

Luke fumbled for his phone all of a sudden becoming a more worried younger brother. Y/n watched in anticipation as his phone rang with Jack’s contact splayed across it. She forgot that she stole their phones and created matching contact posters for all of them and she realized that they never changed it, or at least Luke hadn’t. It was the same layout for all of them, a collage of pictures together, some funny and some meaningful. And at the center of each of them was the same picture when they were little. They were at one of the boys’ hockey games and y/n sat in Quinn’s lap with her pigtails in and her custom jersey, one that was definitely way too big for her, with all three of their names on it. 

It had been a long day when that picture was taken but you couldn’t tell. All of them were sporting huge grins and everyone was trying to hold y/n up because the three knew that she could and would collapse at any moment. Quinn’s arms were wrapped around her waist, Jack held onto one of her arms and Luke’s slightly smaller hand grabbed at y/n’s. Just after Ellen snapped the picture, she did indeed fall asleep in Quinn’s lap, who then carried her to the car as Jim grabbed his bag (because he refused to give either of his parents his younger sister). 

She missed those days, the days when everything was just simple. Where they were just four little kids, where the boys were just three brothers who loved to play hockey, where no one knew about them (well, cared about them), where she could just be a girl with three brothers. She missed the days when they were too young to know about these kinds of emotions. 

Jack’s voice brought her out of her memories, he sounded as if he hadn’t spoken in days (which he hadn’t), but also sounded as if he had just got done crying, “What?”

“What are you doing right now?”

“Is this all you called me for? Aren’t you literally in the next room?”

“Yeah about that…”

“He’s with me.” 

Jack was caught off guard. He sat up a little straighter, his tears stopped, and he rushed to pull himself together even though no one else was in the same room let alone the same apartment as him. His voice was hesitant as he spoke, “Y/n/n?”

“Hi, Jacky.”

The nickname sent a rush of sadness through him, he missed her and he knew he didn’t deserve to. He had been an ass and that was an understatement. His rage took over his judgment and he took it out on her and Trevor. At this point, he wasn’t mad anymore, at least at them. He would never forget the look on her face when he left. He’d seen that look about 5 times in his life and he was never the cause of it, he never wanted to be the cause of it.

He knew he shouldn’t have said what he said, he knew he shouldn’t have even gone to London while he was mad. He wanted all of it to be over, to hide away and never see her face again because he didn’t want to face the reality of which he screwed up. 

He kept repeating “I’m sorry” over and over again, all four of them listening intently and waiting for it to stop. Lia excused herself and she heard Jack sniffle, she knew this was a family, and Trevor, matter and not so much a matter that involved her.

When she left, Jack completely broke down. His sobs were loud against their ears, they could hear his breathing pick up, it was scary how much it sounded like y/n when she broke down, “Jack please calm down. You’re going to overwork yourself.”

However, Jack couldn’t. His mind plagued him with the idea that she was mad at him (which she wasn’t, but rather upset), that she was going to yell at him and call him names, and that she was going to stop talking to him forever. 

Luke was grateful that he called Quinn before he left. He had made Quinn take a few days off to go see Jack knowing that he was going to be leaving. He didn’t want to leave him alone despite being mad at him for the way he treated their sister, especially when he was like this. 

“Jack.”

It was common for y/n to take on the role of an older sister, despite being the second youngest of the family. There was something that was always comforting about her words and her hugs that made everyone fall in love with her and made it so they opened up to her easily.

“I’m so sorry y/n/n. I love you so much and Trevor and you guys are so good together. I’m sorry I said what I said and I’m sorry I called you that. You’re not. I know you break up with everyone because of us and I hate that. I- I-'' He couldn’t breathe and she knew that. Call it twin telepathy if you please, but to them? It was just a known fact.

“Breathe Jack. It’s okay. We’re not mad at you, I promise.” 

“Well…”

Y/n glared at her boyfriend who immediately shut up and sunk back into his chair. Luke stepped in while y/n went to scold Trevor, “Hey Quinn’s going to be there soon, okay? Let him in when he knocks.”

“What- why?”

“Because we’re worried about you, Jack.”

“Why? I deserve it.”

Y/n whipped her head to the phone, “No you don’t. Don’t you ever say that again. I know what you said was out of line, believe me. But you are my brother, okay? And I love you now and forever. And that is never going to change.”

They could hear the knocking coming from the other end of the phone. Then they heard Jack shuffling and when he opened the door, they could hear his sobs. They were harsh, violent, and loud. Unbeknownst to the three in London, Jack practically fell into his older brother’s arms when he saw him. Quinn then picked up the fallen phone and said he would call black later, leaving the three in silence.

Trevor looked up at his girlfriend, seeing the worried look plastered on her face. He immediately stood up and wrapped his arm around her shoulder before bringing her into his chest, “He’s okay, baby. I promise.”

Her sniffles were audible but barely. Trevor thought to himself before kissing the side of her head, “Go pack. We’re going to New Jersey.” 

He tapped her butt and she looked up at him with wide eyes, “What?”

“Yep, come on. I know you and you won’t stop bugging yourself about it until you see him.”

“Okay.:

Luke looked between the two, “Hey just because I said I was okay with it, doesn’t mean I want to see it.”

Y/n giggled and she wiped her eyes rid of tears, “That’s your problem, I guess.”

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

They were lucky enough to get on the flight quickly. They were supposed to get to New Jersey at 9 Eastern time, so hopefully Jack would be okay by the time they got there. They were practically sprinting through the airport, Trevor dragging his and her suitcases behind him as Luke dragged his own. Y/n in all honestly felt as if they were in the scene from Home Alone except with fewer kids and a little more time. 

When they got on the plane, they sat next to each other uncomfortably due to the lack of space, “I can’t believe we’re sitting in these seats.”

Y/n looked at Trevor with a deadpan face, “Dude are you shitting me? We booked these tickets like an hour ago.”

“Did you just dude me?”

“Did you expect anything less from her?”

“No one asked you.”

Y/n looked forward and rolled her eyes before making eye contact with one of the flight attendants, “Men am I right?”

The girl nodded her head and even gave y/n an extra set of earplugs. Trevor and Luke would not stop fighting the whole way to New Jersey it felt like, making little jabs at one another, all while y/n sat in the middle of them and blasting her music up to a “healthy” volume. One time Trevor looked over at her and hit her arm to get her input, “Don’t hit my sister.”

“Would you two actually shut the fuck up?”

The two held their hands up in surrender before slouching down in their seats like they were scolded by their mom. They crossed their arms across their chests and both held pouts, “You guys are children.”

The two didn’t say anything but an older lady came up and looked at the girl, “Thank you.”

Y/n looked up with a small smile on her face, “For what?”

“For shutting these two up.”

“Oh, it’s no problem ma’am.”

“Are you guys siblings?”

Y/n pointed to Luke first, “He is, this one over here is my boyfriend.”

“Well, you two better listen to what she says. Especially you, young man. You might lose her if you don’t.”

Trevor now turned so he was facing the older woman, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She smiled and then walked away back to her seat. Trevor then reached for y/n’s hand and brought it into his lap, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Ugh.” 

ﾟ+*:୨୧:*﹤

Eight hours later, the three were back to running through the airport to get to their Uber. Yet, this time it wasn’t as urgent. They were jogging at best, trying to get there quickly but also not wanting to exert more energy than they had to.

They sat in the back of the car all crammed together as they watched out their respective windows. Sometimes Trevor or Luke would nudge y/n and show what they thought was oh so interesting to them. It usually turned out to be a weird-looking tree or a dog, which she couldn’t really complain about. 

When the car pulled up to the apartments, y/n thanked the driver before running up the stairs with Luke and Trevor following behind her. She knocked harshly on the door and waited for someone to answer. Quinn opened the door, “What are you guys doing here?”

“Where is he?”

“In his room, he’s sleeping.”

She pushed past him and navigated her way through the apartment and to Jack’s room. When she pressed on the door and opened it slightly, she teared up. His eyes and cheeks were puffy and red, dried tears were covering them. His hair was greasy and messy from the amount of times he had run his fingers through it. 

She sat on the edge of the bed and shook him awake carefully, “Jack.”

Jack stirred a little, opening his eyes in a daze. It had been days since he was able to sleep properly. When his eyes adjusted and focused he saw her sitting there, looking just like how she always did when something went wrong. He sat up quickly but scooted back so his back was against the headboard, “What’re you doing here?”

“Making sure you’re okay.”

“Why? I don’t-”

“Don’t say it, please. I understand why you were mad, I’d be mad too.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have called you a slut.”

She inhaled harshly, “You’re right. You shouldn’t have, but I understand why you did. And I’m not mad at you Jack. Sure, I’m a little hurt, but that hurt will go away with time and be replaced with other memories.”

Jack gave her a look as she stood up, cocking his head to the side. She stared back, “Well are you going to hug me or am I going to have to hug myself?”

He was quick to stand up and hug her, basking in her infamous hugs, “I love you.”

“I love you too, you dork.”

A moment passed and then they pulled away from each other. Y/n was the one to speak, telling him that he was going to have to eat soon. When he protested, she responded,  “Come on, Hughes siblings movie night featuring Zegras. And we’ll all eat together.” 

“Okay.”

When they walked out of the bedroom, the three were sitting on the couch watching whatever hockey game was on TV. 

“No hockey. We’re watching a movie.”

“Don’t say it.”

“We’re watching Descendants”

The boys groaned and she pouted, “Meanies.”

“We love you, but Descendants? Again? How old are you again? 22?”

“Don’t give me that shit, Mr. “Oh there’s nothing else on, let's watch Mighty Ducks for the 100th time.”

Jack looked at her offended, “Hey, Mighty Ducks is a classic. Trevor, help me out here.”

Trevor shook his head violently, “No way dude. I was already scolded for being too loud on the plane.”

“You got scolded?”

“Your sister’s scary!”

Y/n gave the two a look, “Oh I see. ‘I choose her’ my fucking ass.”

“Woah, too soon.”

“Descendants or I’m going back to London.”

The boys groaned out a fine and made room for her on the couch, “Jack what do you want for food?”

The other three let out protests, asking why he got to choose, “Um when was the last time you three ate?”

They sat in silence, “Exactly.”

Halfway into the movie, the food arrived and y/n got up to grab it. When she got back she handed out everyone’s food and listened as they sang Did I Mention? She smiled to herself as she heard them singing, joining in herself, “I gotta know which way to go, come on, give me a sign. You gotta show me that you’re only ever gonna be mine.”

When she sat back down, she sat next to Trevor who continued to sing into her ear as if he had written the song to her. She started blushing and as the song ended he kissed her on the cheek. They stared at each other and then she felt a wrapper hit her head, “Hey!”

“No kissing in my apartment.”

Y/n only stuck her tongue out before continuing to eat her food, comfortably resting under Trevor’s arm.

꒰ MISCELLANEOUS PLAYER TAGLIST ꒱

@toasttt11 @chiblackhawks @pucks-goals-penalties @dancerbailey3 @quinnylouhughesx43 @petite-potato4 @absolutelyhugh3s @kei943

PART ONE ; TZ11 MASTERLIST ; NHL MASTERLIST

TAGLIST ; NAVIGATION

[decadentwerewolfdreamer]

Heatwave- JH86 QH43

prompt: Quinn Hughes x Zegras sister! reader Jack Hughes x Zegras Sister! reader, friends to lovers, trouple, slightly angst

chapter 2: Little Bee

Wc: around 2k

nda: hello everyone! back here! happy you liked the first chapter, hope you appreciate the second, this will be a smut story, in the next chapter you will have a taste, have a good one babies!

The Hughes’ lake house is huge—like, ridiculously huge. A full-blown mansion near the water, with a wide, sunlit porch, perfectly trimmed grass, and the kind of fresh Michigan air that makes you want to breathe in deep and forget everything else.

Trevor hauls your bag out of the car while you push your sunglasses up your nose, trying to shake off the last remnants of your hangover.

The wind is warm but not unbearable, the scent of pine and lake water mixing in the air. It’s summer, and it feels like it.

“FELLAS!” Trevor’s voice cuts through the quiet, way too loud for your pounding head. You groan, rubbing your temples.

And then, just like with Trevor at the airport, you really see them.

Jack is the first one outside—his hair longer, his frame broader, looking more like a man than the cocky, sassy kid you remember. His signature smirk tugs at his lips as he scans you up and down, eyes dark with undisguised interest.

Quinn follows, and—holy fuck.

Quinn Hughes is not how you remembered him. His hair, just like Jack’s, is longer, curling slightly at the ends. His hazel-green eyes land on you with a gaze that’s impossible to read—piercing, deep, as if he’s trying to see past your skin and into something else. Different from Jack, who wears his expressions openly, Quinn holds his emotions back, making it harder to tell what’s going on in his head.

And then there’s Luke—taller, still carrying that puppy-like enthusiasm, but built stronger now, with the same defined edges of an athlete. His smile when he sees you is real, warm, and genuine.

“Hey.” It’s all you manage to say when they finally reach you, their eyes roaming your figure—two of them with something unreadable behind their gaze.

Looking at you like a prey.

“Hey, little Zegras—though ‘little’ doesn’t seem to fit anymore,” Jack teases, stepping into your space without hesitation, his body heat wrapping around you before you can even think. He hugs you, hands lingering a little too long on your hips.

This isn’t like Trevor’s hug.

Trevor’s hug feels like home.

Jack’s? Jack’s feels like a live wire.

“Let us say hi too, would you?” Quinn’s voice is smooth, deep, a little rough like he just woke up. It’s a voice you could get lost in if you’re not careful.

When he steps closer, all you can think about is green.

Green like his eyes.

Green like the grass beneath your feet.

Green like the world spinning too fast around you.

His arms wrap around you, and it’s different from Jack—it’s all-encompassing, solid, like he could hold you there forever if he wanted.

“You’ve changed,” Quinn murmurs, voice amused but distant.

“Yeah, you too.”

“I mean it,” he says, pulling back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “You’ve really changed, little Bee.”

Two words. Countless memories.

Little Bee.

That’s what Quinn used to call you every summer before you left, back when you always wore something yellow—a bracelet, a hair clip, anything, because yellow was your favorite color.

You shake your head, breaking the embrace before he can say anything else.

“Don’t call me that,” you mutter. “Never could stand it.”

A hand suddenly drapes over your shoulder, and before you even process it, you’re pressed against Jack’s chest. His smirk is impossible to ignore as he tilts his head at you, dark eyes shining with something unreadable.

“Well, little Z,” Jack hums, voice teasing but low, “Quinn’s right. You’ve changed.”

Before you can react, he slides your sunglasses off your face, fingers barely brushing your skin.

You don’t move.

You can’t move.

Jack’s only an inch away, gaze flickering over your features, and your body reacts before your brain can catch up.

“Tattoos, huh?” he whispers near your ear.

The way his voice drops, the way his eyes flicker over the ink on your arms, your ribs—you have to put distance between you. Now.

You push him off, not too hard, just enough.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Tattoos.”

“Come on, little Z,” Luke grins, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. “Come settle into your old bedroom.”

His hug is easy, light-hearted, like a breath of fresh air. You laugh, ruffling his hair like you used to when he was younger, but even as you walk toward the house, you can still feel it.

Two pairs of eyes, locked onto you.

And for the first time in years, you have no idea what’s going to happen next.

——

The night settles in thick and warm, the bonfire crackling as conversation weaves in and out, beer bottles clinking together in lazy toasts.

Trevor and Jack are already deep into some bullshit argument about who’s better at beer pong, Luke is laughing, and you?

You’re just watching.

Watching how familiar this all feels. Watching how Jack is still loud, cocky, magnetic—a walking distraction. Watching how Quinn, on the other hand, is quiet, steady, but still somehow commands attention without even trying.

It’s Quinn who ends up next to you, his beer bottle dangling loosely from his fingers, his gaze flicking to you as the music hums in the background.

“Didn’t think we’d actually see you back here,” he says after a while, voice low but clear over the crackle of the fire.

You lift a brow, taking a sip from your drink. “Yeah? Thought I’d just disappear forever?”

Quinn shrugs, but there’s something behind his expression—something unreadable, like he’s thinking too much.

“Four years is a long time.”

You hum, rolling the bottle between your fingers. “It is. But you know how it goes—school, life, things happen.”

Quinn nods, glancing toward the fire where Trevor is dramatically gesturing about some embarrassing shit Jack did years ago.

“And now?” Quinn asks, turning back to you. “You done with school?”

You nod, stretching your legs out in front of you. “Yeah. Finally. Degree in business. I mean, who knows if I’ll actually use it, but hey, it looks nice on paper.”

Quinn smirks. “Zegras with a business degree. That’s dangerous.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Right? Trevor barely takes himself seriously. Imagine him trying to take me seriously in an office.”

Quinn’s eyes flick over your face, lingering just a second too long.

“You don’t look the same.”

It catches you off guard. “What?”

His gaze drops, taking you in, really taking you in—the tattoos on your arms, the silver glint of your grillz when the firelight hits just right, the way your hair is longer now, a different shade from when you were younger. You’re not that kid anymore.

“You’re different,” Quinn clarifies. “Not just—” He gestures vaguely, like that’ll explain everything. “You just are.”

You pause, not really sure what to say to that.

“Yeah, well,” you finally murmur, “time does that.”

Quinn nods slowly, like he gets it.

“Still the same in some ways, though,” he says, almost like it’s an afterthought.

You tilt your head, curiosity flickering in your chest. “Yeah? How’s that?”

Quinn glances at you, his hazel-green eyes reflecting the firelight, before he lets out a small breath of laughter.

“You still look at things like you’re trying to figure them out.”

It’s such a weirdly specific thing to say, but it makes something tighten in your chest.

Before you can say anything, Jack calls out from across the fire—“Yo, Quinn, stop hogging the guest of honor!”—and just like that, the moment slips through your fingers.

Quinn just shakes his head, amused, but before he moves to get up, he glances at you one more time.

“You glad to be back?”

You pause, thinking about it, about the past few hours, about the way Jack looks at you, about the way Quinn still feels like something steady, like something you didn’t realize you missed.

“Yeah,” you say, voice softer than you mean it to be. “I think I am.”

And for a second, Quinn just watches you—really watches you.

“Good,” he says, before standing up, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the fire.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re not the only one who’s changed.

But just as Quinn walks away, just as you try to pull yourself together, Jack slides into the empty seat next to you, a slow smirk already on his lips.

“So,” he says, his voice dripping with that signature Jack Hughes arrogance, “which one of us did you miss the most?”

You scoff, shaking your head, but Jack just laughs, nudging your knee with his.

It’s going to be a long summer.

chapter 3: https://www.tumblr.com/decadentwerewolfdreamer/778560081877991424/heatwave-jh86-qh43

chapter 4: https://www.tumblr.com/decadentwerewolfdreamer/780171862711975936/heatwave-jh86-qh43

.

[ericshoney]

Mean Prank ~ Brothers!Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: Your brothers ask you to be in a car video, only to prank you by being really mean.

Warnings: Usual swearing, being mean (for the prank), crying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nick, Matt and Chris were home in Boston for a while, which you were very happy about. They were there to help you with some school work and let you rant about stuff they would understand more than your parents. They were also there for you to joke around with.

Which resulted in a small prank war.

It started with you and Chris pranking Nick whilst he was asleep. You both put fake birds around his bedroom, much like the one Matt and Chris pranked him with in their earlier YouTube career.

Nick was pissed, so he wanted to get you back. This continued until all of you had something against the other. That was until you pranked all three of them at once. The guys then stepped up their game.

"So what's the prank?" Chris asked.

"We're gonna pretend to film a car video, she's been wanting to do one for a while, but we're going to be really mean to her to see how she reacts." Nick replied, reminding him on the prank.

"Will she get upset?" Matt questioned.

"We'll see if she notices it's a prank or not. If it goes too far we'll stop." Nick answered.

Matt and Chris both nodded as Nick went to find you. All of you then headed to the car, going to the guys usual car park to start the prank. You sat on your phone for a bit while they set up the camera and whilst you were distracted, it gave them the chance to start.

"Kid, get off your phone it's so rude." Chris started.

"I was waiting till we started to film." You mentioned, placing your phone down.

"The camera is all set." Matt said.

You nodded as Nick intro the video, you gave a small wave as he said you were here and what the topic was about.

"Today we have our little sister Y/n here! And today's topic, yes there is a topic, is about sibling fights and disagreements." He said.

"Will be fun." You said.

"Yeah cause you caused most of them." Matt mumbled.

"What?" You called.

"Well your the youngest, always thinking you can get your own way." He responded.

"Fuck off." You grumbled, a small smile on your face, thinking he was joking. Which he was, but held the laugh in for the prank.

"I remember when this motherfucker was born. I had a day planned with mum and she had to ruin it by being born early." Nick mentioned.

"You remember that one time she broke a Wii remote and tried to blame Trevor?" Chris called.

"Or that one time she stole your favourite hoodie and blamed Justin." Matt added.

"What is this, pick on Y/n video?" You called.

"Shut up." Nick replied.

The guys continued, their comments getting ruder and meaner. What broke you was Chris throwing an empty Pepsi can in the back, which hit your shoulder. You sighed and got out the car, walking across the car park.

"Kid get back in the car!" Matt shouted.

"No! Fuck off!" You shouted back.

The three shared a look, whilst also watching you. They noticed how you just went and sat by the store which was closed.

"We better tell her it's a prank." Chris said, making his brothers nod.

The three of them got out and came over to you quickly, Matt holding the camera. As they got closer, they noticed you were crying, but as you saw the camera, you covered it up.

"Sweetheart, it was a prank." Nick said softly.

"Real funny." You muttered.

"We're sorry kid, it's supposed to be a harmless prank. We didn't mean to hurt your feelings, we love you so much." Matt said.

“Why say all that stuff?” You asked quietly.

“We didn’t mean it, bub. It was all for a prank. We’re so sorry.” Chris said.

“We’ll make it up to you. Tomorrow we’ll take you out all day and do whatever you want, deal?” Nick suggested, holding his hand out. You smiled a bit and nodded, shaking his hand.

The guys smiled as they ended the video and you all went back to the car. Each of them saying sorry for the bad prank and knew they had to make it up to you.

[brainddeadd]

The Interview

warnings: sexism

Jack Hughes x fem!reader, Nico Hischier x fem!reader, Luke Hughes x fem!reader, Trevor Zegras x fem!reader, Matt Rempe x fem!reader, Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

The bright lights of the interview room felt almost blinding as Y/N sat between Jack Hughes and Nico Hischier, with Luke Hughes beside them. They were fresh off a big win, and the excitement in the air was palpable. Jack was animated, cracking jokes and making faces to keep Y/N laughing, but the moment the interviewer walked in, the tone shifted.

“Alright, everyone,” the interviewer said with a confident smile. “Let’s talk to the young star here. Y/N, how does it feel to be the youngest player on a team full of experienced guys? Must be tough keeping up, huh?”

Y/N forced a smile, her heart racing. “I just focus on my game and work hard like everyone else.”

The interviewer smirked, leaning forward as if he had a juicy tidbit to uncover. “Sure, but let’s be honest. Do you think you’d be here without some... connections? There are rumors you might have, well, charmed your way onto the team.”

The air in the room thickened. Jack’s expression darkened immediately, and Nico's jaw clenched. Luke’s protective instincts flared as he shot a glance at Y/N, who remained composed. “I’ve earned my spot through hard work and dedication,” she said firmly, though she felt the sting of the insinuation.

The interviewer continued, undeterred. “Come on, it’s a competitive sport. Some might say a pretty face can go a long way in the locker room.”

Jack’s eyes flared with anger. “That’s not how it works. Y/N is here because she deserves to be, not because of anything else,” he snapped, his voice rising.

“Yeah, let’s keep it professional,” Nico added, glaring at the interviewer. “Y/N has shown more talent and determination than many on this team.”

But the interviewer only laughed dismissively. “Right, right. But it’s an interesting angle, don’t you think? I’m just trying to get the real story.”

The tension hung heavy as Y/N forced herself to smile, even as her heart sank. “I’m just grateful to be part of the team,” she said, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions within her.

The interview wrapped up, and Y/N felt the weight of their protectiveness beside her. Yet, as soon as she stepped away, the façade began to crumble. In the safety of her room, the tears she had held back flooded out, muffling her cries with a pillow.

~~

A knock sounded through the room and Y/N wiped her tears hastily before opening the door, revealing Luke, Jack, and Nico standing there with concern etched across their faces.

“Hey, Y/N,” Luke said softly, stepping inside. “We wanted to see how you’re holding up.”

Jack and Nico followed closely, and the moment they were in, the tension in the room shifted. Jack leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while Nico took a seat at the edge of her bed, his expression serious.

“That guy had no right to say what he did,” Nico said, his voice steady. “I don’t care how big the network is; no one gets to treat you like that.”

Y/N felt warmth in her chest at their concern, but the hurt lingered. “I tried to stay strong during the interview. I didn’t want to show that it affected me.”

“You shouldn’t have to pretend with us,” Jack said, his tone softening. “You’re part of this family, and we’re here to support you.”

Before Y/N could respond, her phone buzzed with messages from Matt, Trevor, and Quinn checking in.

Matt: Hey, just heard about the interview. You good?

Trevor: That interviewer was out of line. You’re way too talented to let anyone bring you down like that.

Quinn: Just wanted to check in. You can always talk to us, ok?

Feeling a rush of emotion, Y/N responded quickly, trying to reassure them. Y/N: Thanks, guys! I’m okay, really. Just a bit tired.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Y/N opened it to find Matt standing there, a concerned expression on his face, holding a bag of snacks.

“Hey, I came as soon as I heard,” he said, stepping inside. “I thought you might want some company.”

“Matt, you didn’t have to—” she started, but he waved her off.

“Of course I did. You’re one of us, and I couldn’t just sit back and let you deal with this alone.” He looked at her, his eyes warm and reassuring. “How are you really feeling?”

Y/N sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I just didn’t expect to be affected by that interview. I thought I was tougher than that.”

“You are tough,” Matt insisted, his voice steady. “But it’s okay to feel hurt. What that guy said was completely out of line. You work hard and deserve to be treated with respect.”

“Yeah, but I tried to act like it didn’t bother me,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to show weakness in front of anyone, especially the boys.”

“Showing emotion isn’t weakness,” Jack chimed in, stepping closer. “We’re all here for you, no matter what. You don’t have to hide anything from us.”

“You know we’ve got your back,” Luke added, leaning against the desk. “You’re family, Y/N.”

As if on cue, Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “I just feel like I have to prove myself all the time.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” Matt said firmly. “You’re already proving it on the ice. We all see how hard you work, and you’ve earned your spot. Don’t let someone’s ignorance change how you see yourself.”

Y/N took a deep breath, letting his words sink in. “Thanks, Matt. It really helps to hear that.”

Matt grinned and reached into the bag. “Let’s do something fun to take your mind off it. I brought snacks, and we can watch a movie or play a game—whatever you want.”

“Movie sounds good,” Y/N said, feeling grateful for the distraction.

As they settled in, Jack pulled out his phone, scrolling through social media. “I can’t believe people would say things like that. It’s ridiculous.”

“Seriously,” Nico said, shaking his head. “We know how hard you work. Don’t let some clueless interviewer make you doubt yourself.”

Matt, who was setting up the snacks, added, “Exactly. We’re all proud of you. If that guy thinks he can take you down, he’s got another thing coming.”

Y/N felt a swell of gratitude for her friends. “I really appreciate this. I didn’t expect to feel so… hurt after it all.”

“You should never feel alone in this,” Luke said softly. “We’re always here for you.”

As they started the movie, Y/N felt the overwhelming love from her teammates lift some of the weight off her shoulders. Surrounded by their laughter and camaraderie, she realized that no matter the challenges she faced, she had a family who would always stand by her side.

[itsjusthockey]

Flyers - Jamie Drysdale

I love him so much and I wish him all the success in the world

I’m also trying not to hate cutter gauthier

I hope you enjoy, I like this one

Request and talk to me, pls and thx

It’s late in the evening when the shrill ring of your phone cuts through the silence of your bedroom. You glance at the screen and see your boyfriend calling. It’s not a FaceTime, and it’s always a FaceTime, so you’re confused, and your heart skips a beat as you answer him.

“Hello?”

It’s silent on the other end, but you can hear him lightly breathing and shuffling around.

“Jame?”

Before he even utters a word, you feel a subtle shift in the atmosphere. There is a reason he didn’t FaceTime, and there is a reason his usual warmth and cheer is replaced by a heavy silence. As the seconds tick by, you can sense his hesitation, and an unsettling sense unfolds in your stomach.

You hear him take a shaky inhale, hold it for a second, and then he breathes out.

“They traded me.”

His voice is raw, and it trembles with unusual vulnerability. In a single second, your heart shatters into a million pieces. Before you can even fully comprehend what he said, tears are pooling in your eyes, and your hand is clasping at your mouth.

“They what?” You ask.

“They just told me. I’m going to the flyers. They want me there tomorrow.”

Finally, the news settles in. Your boyfriend was traded. Jamie was fucking traded.

A million thoughts rush through your head. Jamie has to move. He has to leave Trevor. He has to pack up his entire life in a single night and fly across the country.

Silent tears are streaming down your face, and you realize you’ve stayed quiet for way too long. You also know you need to get a fucking grip. This isn’t about you, and you need to get your shit together because he needs you right now.

So, you take a deep breath and calm the fuck down.

“Are you okay?”

You hear him shuffling around again, probably packing up all his things. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and you patiently wait until he’s ready.

“I don’t know. It hasn’t really set in yet. Doesn’t feel real.”

A sharp pain thumps through your chest at his words. He continues.

“I’m trying not to feel anything, honestly. I’m trying not to think about everything I have here.” His voice breaks. “But it’s been my home, and I don’t want to leave.”

You finally hear him break, and you would pay any sum of money to be able to teleport to him now. It wrecks you that you can’t be there to hold him during this time. You can’t begin to imagine what he’s feeling. You know he’s thinking about everything that Anaheim has given him. You know he’s

recounting the countless memories made on and off the ice, the shared victories and losses, and the deep bonds formed with teammates.

“Jamie.” You start, then stop.

“Yeah?” He asks softly.

“This absolutely sucks, and I’m so so sorry.” You pause. “The ducks are the biggest idiots in the world, and they don’t deserve you.“

Jamie's breath catches on the other end; it’s a mixture of a chuckle and a sob escaping him. You smile a bit because your words seem to reach through the distance, a small lifeline in the whirlwind of emotions he’s currently facing. He takes a moment before responding.

“Thanks, babe. It means a lot to hear that right now.” He sighs again. “I just never expected this, you know? Everything’s changing so fast. I love it here, and it kills me that I won't be part of it anymore.”

You nod, even though he can't see it. It’s as if the very fabric of his life is unraveling, and you wish you could weave it back together. But all you can do is sit here and listen to him and try your best to be his anchor in the storm of uncertainty.

“I wish I were there with you, help you pack, give you a hug,” you say miserably.

“Me too. he admits, another sad sigh escaping him.

You sit there again for a couple of minutes, listening to him pack and offering your presence. You finally hear him close to the phone again, and he breaks the silence.

“I'm scared (Y/N). It’s a whole new team. I don't want to let anyone down, especially you,” he confesses.

You want to punch him. He knows better. Not once, ever, has Jamie let you down, and you sure as hell know that he never will.

“That's enough of that, Jame, you could never let me down. Nerves are normal, but I also know the player you are. You’ve got this, and I’ve got your back. Always.”

He lets out a quiet okay and quickly hangs up the phone. You’re confused for a brief moment before his FaceTime pops up. You answer in a heartbeat, and a wide smile takes over your features as you finally get to look at your boyfriend.

He looks tired, and his eyes are a bit red, but he has a soft smile, and you know that everything is going to be okay.

For the next couple of minutes, you talk it out. You discuss the logistics, the challenges that lie ahead, and the uncertainty of the future. You do your best to hype him up, and as the logistics conversation draws to a close, a somber calm settles over the two of you. You can finally sense a shift in his tone, a quiet acceptance mingled with some determination.

“We are gonna figure this out, won't we?” Jamie asks a trace of hope in his voice.

“Yes. Besides, I like the flyers. Way better than those losers in Anaheim,” you assure him.

Jamie chuckles a bit, and then a hilarious thought crosses your mind.

“Oh my god.” Panic laces your voice, and Jamie furrows his eyebrows.

“What?”

You start laughing, suddenly very happy.

“You’re gonna be with Gritty!”

You can’t help but roll over with laughter, knowing your shy-as-hell boyfriend is going to be on the team with the most infamous and chaotic mascot ever. You can’t even begin to explain how giddy this makes you, and Jamie lets out a small groan but begins laughing with you anyway.

After you settle down, wiping the new happy tears away, you smile a wide smile at him again.

“You know, I’m still on break. Maybe I should come down and be there for your first game?”

Just like that, your boyfriend is back, and the smile you’re so in love with takes over his features.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. I can think of no better way to end my break than being with you.“ You beam at him. “Besides, I have to scope out the team. Let em know that they have a new hotshot player who has the hottest girlfriend ever.

He barks out another laugh at you, but you know he agrees one hundred percent with your statement.

“God, I love you,” he says, the words carrying the weight of the world.

“I love you too,” you respond, “This is honestly exciting, Jame. You have great things coming. I can feel it.”

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Alucard finding his s/o drunkenly bragging about how awesome he is to the point he has to step in?

Alucard hated the smell of stale beer and body sweat. It was why he hardly ever frequented taverns and the like. If he had his choice now, he would not be in this one either. Sadly, he had no choice as you hadn’t come back to the inn yet, and with a town this small there was only one place you could be.

You were easy enough to find. Even with the small crowd. Again, the town was small. All there was for folks to do with their evening was drink, pray, or stay cloistered away in their homes. Judging by the crowd here, these men would rather do anything than stay at home with their wives and children. Drunkenly rambling on and one about the lives they could have had if they left their small town and not married young.

“Adrian!” You greet him with a drunken smile. A tankard of ale in front of you. Lord knew how many you had had before that, but it was clear you weren’t making it out of here on your own. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to leave.” He told you. “I’ve come to take you home.”

“Home? We’re going back to Belgraves?”

“No, [Y/N],” Alucard said with a sigh. “We’re going back to the inn.”

“Oh….that makes more sense….” You took another sip of beer. Which was exactly what you needed in his situation.

“What if they don’t want to leave?” Another drunk at the table asked him.

“Yeah! They can make their own choices!”

“They can.” Alucard agreed. “But I think it’s best if everyone calls it a night.”

“You’re telling me what to do now?! Pretty boy.” The man poked two fingers in his chest after he stumbled to his feet. It didn’t hurt, of course. And Alucard didn’t even move when he touched him. It was more annoying than anything to be touched by him. He’d have to wash this coat now.

“Hey! Don’t talk to him like that!” You argue in his defense. “Adrian is a very pretty boy, but you don’t have to say it like that.”

“This is not helping.” Alucard told you.

The man doesn’t even seem to register his comment as he turned to you. “Pretty boys like this don’t ever amount to anything. They don’t know hard work. They don’t know nothin’!”

“Adrian is super smart and a hard worker!” You snap back. “He’s way stronger than you!”

“Oh yeah? Well let’s put it to the test then, pretty boy!”

“I would rather not.” Alucard replied with a dull expression.

“Yes! No gumption at all! He’s a coward too! I bet he doesn’t want to get those pretty blonde locks of him mussed by a real man.” The drunk took a swing at him then. A bad one.

The likelihood of him connecting with Alucard, if he hadn’t caught his hand, was very slim. Nevertheless he did catch it, twisted his arm until there was a sickening crack heard over his scream, and dropped him. He was sure he hadn’t broken it, but he was definitely going to have to wear a sling for a while. “May we please go now?”

You stood up from the table and went to Alucard’s side as the men all stared, dumbfounded, before they found their voices again. They all started shouting at the couple like they had pulled some kind of trick and cheated. Not helped by you shouting back at them while Alucard pulled you from the tavern by the arm out into the street.

“Why don’t you want to go back and fight those guys?” You asked him. “You could easily take them!”

“I’m not going to get into a bar fight like some two-bit thug.” He told you ask you head for the inn. A flash of Trevor Belmonts smug face flickering in his mind.

“But the things they were saying…”

“Every slight doesn’t need a response.” He replied. Opening the door to their room when you both arrived and letting you in first. “Verbal or physical.”

You sit down on the bed with a heavy flop of all your weight. Letting out a drunken huff. “I guess. I just didn’t like what they were saying to you.”

“And I appreciate your call to my honor. But next time, let’s just leave.”

“Ok.” You told him. Reaching out your arms towards him with a drunken smile.

Alucard smiled slightly back and fell to his knees between yours to be wrapped in your requested hug. “You’re not mad at me then?”

“No.” He said. “I could never be mad at you.” Especially when they had the best of intentions. Even if they were misguided. He would just blame the alcohol.

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Cowardice in a Button-Down Shirt

warnings: contains themes and descriptions of emotional abuse, verbal abuse, manipulation, witnessing domestic violence as a child, parental abandonment, childhood trauma, intimate partner abuse (non-physical), gaslighting, self-worth struggles, and references to sexual assault and coercion. there are also depictions of crying, grief, and intense emotional vulnerability.

pairing(s): Haymitch Abernathy x Female!Reader

word count: 6.36k

this story is deeply personal. it’s fiction, yes—but woven with real memories, real grief, and real healing. it was written on a hard day, born from years of being haunted by abandonment, abuse, and the aching need to be loved without condition. this was a story i needed to write for myself. a place to put the pain and wrap it in softness. if you’ve ever felt forgotten, unworthy, or too much to love—this is for you, too. you are not too much. you are not hard to love. you deserved better, and i hope you find your soft place to land.

please take care while reading.

if you need to stop or skip parts, that’s okay. your safety and comfort matter more than anything. this story is here to offer softness, not pain.

you are not alone. you are worthy of love and support.

resources:

• RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network)

www.rainn.org | 1-800-656-HOPE (4673)

24/7 confidential support for survivors of sexual violence.

• Crisis Text Line

text HOME to 741741

free 24/7 support for anyone in crisis, available in the U.S., U.K., and Canada.

• The Trevor Project (LGBTQ+ Youth Support)

www.thetrevorproject.org | 1-866-488-7386

24/7 support via phone, chat, or text.

• National Domestic Violence Hotline

www.thehotline.org | 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)

confidential support for anyone affected by abuse.

The room is quiet but not peaceful.

Haymitch's chest rises steady behind you, one arm slung lazily over your waist, calloused fingers resting against the soft curve of your stomach like they belong there. Like he knows how to hold you without making a big deal about it. The sheets are warm. His breathing is warm. But your mind feels cold.

You're not sure how long you've been staring at the wall. Long enough that the clock shifted from late night to early morning. Long enough for your thoughts to go from fuzzy static to something sharper. The math creeps in without your permission. Ten years since the night you saw your dad with someone who wasn't your mom.

Ten years since everything shifted in your house.

Eight years since they separated. Two years since he disappeared entirely.

Two years since he didn’t even have the dignity to tell you goodbye, just quietly stepped out of your life little by little.

Two years since he got remarried and stopped speaking to you like you were something he could outgrow.

You suck in a breath, but it snags somewhere in your throat. You try to be quiet about it. You're always quiet about it.

But then his fingers twitch against your stomach.

"Alright," Haymitch mumbles, voice rough with sleep and something like irritation, but not at you. Never at you. "You've been thinkin' so loud I could hear it echoing off the damn walls."

You don't say anything. You can't.

A beat of silence. Then his arm tightens around you, dragging you back a little more snugly against him.

"Sugar," he says, softer now, low and graveled and there, "don't make me play guessing games. I'm too old and too sober for that."

You swallow, hard. "It's nothing."

"Yeah," he snorts, nuzzling his nose against the back of your neck, "and I'm Miss Effie Trinket in heels and lipstick."

You huff out a weak laugh before your throat tightens again. "It's just... a dumb anniversary," you say finally, so quiet you're not even sure he hears.

But he does. Of course he does.

"You wanna tell me, or you want me to keep holdin' you like this and pretend I don't already know what kind of bastard he was?"

Your breath catches.

You don't answer right away.

Because he does know. Maybe not every twisted word your father ever threw at you. Maybe not the way it still echoes when you brush your teeth or try to pick out clothes or reach for love like it's something you're not sure you're allowed to have.

But Haymitch knows enough. Knows the look you get when the past sneaks up on you and digs its nails in. Knows how to read silence like it's a second language.

Still, you speak. Because part of you wants him to hold it with you, even if it's ugly.

"I was ten," you murmur. "When I caught him. With her. She was my mom's friend. It was mother's day. I told my mom and he made me feel like... like I ruined everything. Like I broke something that was fine before I opened my stupid mouth."

Haymitch's fingers curl just slightly against your skin. You can feel the tension roll through him, a quiet sort of fury he doesn't unleash-not at you.

"And then she stayed," you go on, voice smaller now, "but he hated me for it. I could feel it every day. Like I was the reason he was stuck in a marriage that only existed for their kids. And then my mom left him anyway. Two years later. He got remarried like we never existed six years later. I didn't even get a phone call, his friend’s kid told me."

Silence again, but heavier this time. He lets it sit for a moment, the way he always does when you say something that hurts to hear. Doesn't fill it with empty words. Doesn't rush to fix it. Just holds it.

Then his voice comes low, near your ear. "Takes a real special kind of asshole to blame a kid for tellin' the truth."

Your throat tightens. "He said it was my fault because I couldn't keep my fucking mouth shut. And I—" You suck in a shaky breath. "I believed him. I still... I still think maybe if l'd just shut up, maybe he would've stayed in my life. Maybe he wouldn't have stopped loving me."

"Hey." Haymitch's voice cuts through like gravel over glass. Not sharp, but firm. Real. "He didn't stop lovin' you, sugar. He never started."

That stings. But not in the way you expect. It stings because it feels like the truth.

You twist a little, not all the way to face him, but enough that your voice can tremble into the space between you. "Doesn't that make it worse?"

"Yeah," he says simply. "It does."

You blink, surprised.

"But it also makes it not your goddamn fault," he adds, voice lowering, softening again. "You were a kid. You were his kid. And he looked at that and chose himself. That ain't love, sugar. That's cowardice in a button-down shirt."

Your chest aches with something raw, something too big to name.

He shifts behind you, just enough to press his lips to the back of your shoulder. Not a kiss so much as a quiet anchor.

"He left 'cause he's broken. Not 'cause you are," Haymitch mutters. "And if he could walk away after eighteen years and not look back? Then the only damn thing you lost was a man who didn't deserve to be called your father in the first place."

You let out a breath that feels like it's been stuck in your lungs for years.

And he holds you tighter.

But the ache doesn’t leave. Not with his arm around you, not with the warmth of his breath against your skin. It presses harder now, blooming in your chest like something rotten finally splitting open.

Because he’s right.

Your father didn’t love you.

Not really. Not the way a father should love a daughter—not unconditionally, not protectively, not at all. And somehow, somehow, that makes it worse. Because you spent years blaming yourself. Years trying to earn it back. As if love was a prize you lost for misbehaving. For opening your mouth. For existing too loudly.

Even with your name inked above his damn hand, permanently etched in pretty cursive—he forgot you like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing.

A sob catches in your throat before you can stop it.

Haymitch’s arm jerks slightly, tightening again like instinct, like he felt it break in you before you did.

You cover your mouth with your hand, but it’s too late. The first tear slips out hot and traitorous. And then another. You try to be quiet, still, invisible the way you learned to be back then—but grief doesn’t care about silence. It rolls out of you in waves, gasping and ugly and helpless.

“Shit,” Haymitch murmurs, like the sound hurts him more than he’s ready to admit. He shifts behind you, curling around you more fully, pulling your body against his like he can shield you from the inside out.

His hand slips over yours, tugging it gently away from your mouth. “Don’t do that,” he says, just above a whisper. “Don’t hide from me.”

You don’t speak.

Can’t.

Because even now, the thought digs in with claws: If he could forget me, erase me, walk away so easily… then how can anyone stay? How can anyone love me long enough to not get tired of me?

Haymitch presses a kiss into your hair, just behind your ear, and keeps his lips there when he speaks. “You hear me, sugar? You don’t have to earn shit here. Not love. Not space. Not this bed. Not me.”

That only makes you cry harder.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. Just shifts you gently until you’re on your back and he’s propped up on one elbow, leaning over you with that gruff concern carved into every line of his face. His thumb brushes your cheek, slow and clumsy, like he’s not used to this but is doing it anyway. For you.

“I’m not him,” he says, voice low and steady, even when your tears soak into the pillow. “And you’re not some broken thing someone forgot to put back together. You hear me?”

You nod, barely.

He leans in and rests his forehead against yours, breathing like it’s the only thing keeping both of you grounded.

“Good,” he mutters. “Now quit cryin’. You’re gettin’ snot on my pillow.”

You let out a strangled little laugh-sob, and he finally smiles. Barely there. But real.

“Better,” he says. “Still messy, but better.”

He doesn’t make you talk. Doesn’t make you explain any more. Just lays on his back and pulls you to him again, your head on his chest this time, his hand moving in slow, absent-minded circles against your back. He hums something tuneless and low under his breath like it’ll chase away the ghosts.

You don’t fall asleep. Even with his hand drawing warm circles on your back, even with his chest rising beneath your cheek like the world isn’t falling apart—you stay wide awake. The tears slow, but the ache doesn’t.

And the words start tumbling out again before you can stop them.

“He didn’t just leave me,” you whisper, voice scratchy from crying. “He left my little brother, too.”

Haymitch makes a quiet sound in his throat. Not surprised. Just listening.

“But not my oldest brother,” you go on, bitterness thick in your voice now. “He’s the good one. The golden child. Always did what he was told. Always said the right things, always threw insults at my mom like she was the one who did something wrong. So when my dad got remarried, guess who he still lets live at his house?”

You don’t wait for a response. You’re unraveling now, and it feels too late to stop.

“And my baby brother—he’s only fifteen. He still gets picked up every other Sunday. My dad comes to the house, makes polite small talk with my mom like they’re just neighbors, like he didn’t ruin everything. And he would just walk past me. Wouldn’t even look at me. Wouldn’t ask how I’m doing. Wouldn’t even say hi.”

You suck in a breath that burns.

“It’s like I’m not real,” you say. “Like I’m not even a person anymore. Just this… this reminder of something he wants to pretend never happened. He kept two kids and threw the rest away, like we were leftovers from a meal he didn’t like.”

Haymitch is quiet for a long time, his hand never stopping its path along your spine.

Then, carefully, he says, “And you still had to see him? Every other damn Sunday?”

You nod against his chest, “Until I moved in with you.”

“Christ,” he mutters, and there’s real venom behind it now. “Man must be built outta ice to look his own daughter in the eye and walk the hell away.”

You press your face tighter into his shirt. “He doesn’t look me in the eye anytime he sees me. Not anymore.”

You feel him tense again, like he wants to fight something but there’s nothing around but you, and he’s not about to let go of you to go start swinging.

“He made it look so easy,” you say after a moment, voice breaking again. “To just… stop being a dad. He picked who was worth keeping. And I wasn’t.”

The quiet hum beneath your ear changes. A deeper inhale. A long, slow exhale.

Then Haymitch says, low and hoarse, “He didn’t keep them because they were better than you, sugar. He kept ‘em ‘cause they were easier. Because they didn’t call him on his bullshit. Didn’t make him look in the mirror and see the kind of man he really is.”

You blink, stunned for a moment by the sharpness in his tone.

“He chose what made him feel good,” he adds. “Not what made him a father.”

And then he pulls you up, shifts you without asking until you’re eye-level with him, close enough that your nose nearly bumps his.

“You hear me?” he says, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. “You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. You weren’t unlovable. You were inconvenient to a man who only ever cared about himself.”

You blink again, and another tear falls. You hate how many you have in you tonight.

Haymitch sighs like he can see it happening all over again behind your eyes. “He abandoned you because he’s a coward. Not ‘cause you’re forgettable. Not ‘cause you’re hard to love.”

His gaze softens, brow furrowing. “Far as I’m concerned, sugar, he gave up the best damn thing that ever came out of his sorry bloodline.”

That breaks you a little more. Not because it hurts—but because for the first time in a long time, someone is saying what you always wanted to believe might be true. And meaning it.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Just another small, choked sound and a breath that flattens against his collarbone.

He pulls you back into his chest, tighter this time, like he’s anchoring you to the here and now.

“Let it out,” he murmurs. “I got you.”

And you do.

You’re not even sure when you started crying again.

Somewhere between his thumb on your jaw and the way he said you were the best damn thing, it cracked something deeper open. And now it’s all pouring out again—years of grief and rage and shame that never had anywhere to go.

You can’t look at him. You bury your face against his chest again, hiding, because it’s too much. You feel like too much. But his hand doesn’t stop moving. Doesn’t flinch away from the way your body shakes against his.

“I hate that it still hurts,” you whisper eventually, voice raw. “I hate that I still care what he thinks. That some part of me still wants him to call and say he made a mistake. That he wants me back.”

Haymitch doesn’t say anything. Just makes a soft, almost pained sound in his throat.

“I know he won’t,” you say quickly, bitterly. “I know he won’t. But I want it anyway. Even after everything he’s done. After the names he called me. After the way he—”

Your voice catches. Your heart’s beating too fast.

“He used to say I ruined his life,” you manage. “That I made my mom hate him. That I turned my brothers against him. He said I was cold. Manipulative. That I was just like her.”

You don’t have to explain who her is. You can feel Haymitch tense again—just enough to show he gets it. He’s probably known men like your father. Hell, maybe he’s been afraid of being one.

“I was ten,” you say. “I was ten, and he made me feel like I’d burned our house down just by telling the truth.”

You suck in a shaky breath. “And the worst part is, I believed him. For so long, I believed him. I thought maybe I was broken. Too loud. Too angry. Too much.”

You press your palms to your eyes, trying to shut it all out, but it just keeps coming.

“And now it’s been ten years,” you whisper. “Ten years since everything changed. And every time I get close to someone, I can feel it all over again. That need to shrink down. To make myself easier to love. To not be a burden. I feel like if I say one wrong thing, they’ll just leave too.”

Haymitch’s hand has stilled on your back, but only so he can wrap both arms around you now, anchoring you fully against him. No space left. No escape routes. You’re just held.

“I’m tired,” you admit, the words hitching in your throat. “I’m so tired of pretending I’m fine. Of carrying around this feeling that I was never enough. Not for him. Not for anyone.”

The silence stretches.

Then, quietly, Haymitch says, “You were enough. You are enough. He just wasn’t the kind of man who could see it. And that’s not on you, sugar. That’s never been on you.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just keep crying, shaking silently in his arms like the grief is shaking through you.

He shifts a little, pressing his forehead to the top of your head.

“You’ve been holding all this by yourself too long,” he murmurs. “No wonder it’s heavy.”

Another tear slips free, and you nod against his chest.

His voice drops again, rough and quiet. “You ain’t too much for me. You’re never gonna be. You come with history, yeah—but so do I. And I’ll take every piece of yours if it means I get to keep holdin’ you like this.”

You let out a sound between a sob and a laugh.

“You’re safe here,” he adds. “You’re safe, sugar.”

You don’t even realize you’ve gone quiet until the silence feels too loud again.

Haymitch is still holding you—arms locked firm around your body like he knows damn well you might fall apart if he lets go. His breathing is steady against the top of your head, grounding you. But your own breath is uneven. Shaky.

And then the words come again, hoarse and trembling, tumbling out like they’ve been waiting years for someone to catch them.

“Things got worse after I told her,” you whisper. “After I told my mom about the cheating.”

Haymitch doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just listens.

“I’d only ever seen him hurt her once before that,” you say. “I was a little kid. My earliest memory is waking up in the middle of the night to her crying. Crawling into my bed. And then he showed up in the doorway and screamed at her to get the fuck out of his house. They were in the hallway and he—” You stop, the breath catching painfully in your chest. “He grabbed her by the throat. Slammed her into the wall. Choked her.”

You expect Haymitch to tense, to curse, to move. But he doesn’t. He just holds you closer, his hand tightening against your back.

“Nothing like that happened again. Not until after I caught him. I was ten, and it was right before we got evicted from my childhood home. Everything just… exploded. We moved to a smaller house, and they started fighting all the time. Screaming in the hallway. Hitting each other. My room was tiny—I had my dresser pressed against the foot of my bed, and there was this little space between the dresser and the wall. Just enough to curl up in. I’d take my pillow and blanket and lay there while they fought. Like hiding could make it stop.”

You pause, swallowing hard. His hand moves again—slow, steady strokes up and down your spine.

“There was one night after a fight,” you continue, quieter now, “my mom came in and said ‘Never be like your dad.’ And then later, he came in and said ‘Never be like your mom.’ Like I was supposed to choose between them. Like I had to pick which kind of damage I wanted to become.”

Haymitch makes a noise—soft, guttural. Like something inside him’s breaking for you.

“There was this night at my grandparents’ house,” you say, breath hitching. “They were drunk and fighting outside. He shoved her into the gravel. I was the one who ran out there. I stood above her, just stared him down, and waited for him to come closer. I thought he might hit me. I knew he might. But my grandparents came out and stopped him.”

You’re crying again. You don’t try to stop it now.

“She wasn’t wearing pants,” you whisper. “I didn’t understand it then. I do now. She told me later that he… he would rape her. And if she fought back, he’d threaten to take us.”

You feel Haymitch go still. Deadly still.

“He woke us up that night. Made all of us get in the car. We didn’t know why. Just listened. And when she came outside, that’s when the fight started. That’s when I ran. Threw the door open and ran to her. Stood there before he could get close.”

You wipe at your face, but the tears just keep coming.

“And I still fell for it,” you say, voice cracking. “I still let him manipulate me. Make me believe he never cheated. That my mom was the one who cheated. That the abuse never happened. Even though I saw it with my own eyes.”

Haymitch’s arm moves to cradle your head, pulling it against his neck.

“He made me hate her,” you sob. “He used me to stalk her. He broke into her house and left a flower on her pillow. One Mother’s Day, he locked the door and wouldn’t let her see us. I had to listen to her begging on the other side of the door. And I still loved him. I still tried.”

You shake your head against him.

“I was twelve when they separated. Fourteen when he started dating my stepmom. I’d been living with him a year by then. And that’s when I started seeing it—how he only cared when I was under his spell. When I started fighting back, started calling him out, suddenly I was the problem. I was a fuck up. Just like my mom.”

Haymitch is still silent, but you can feel the fury in the tension of his body. The kind that wants to protect. The kind that wants to undo what can’t be undone.

“My stepmom hated me,” you go on. “She’d stand in my doorway and scream at me. And when I moved out at fifteen, that’s when it started. The slow abandonment. By sixteen, they were still technically around, but barely. Every time he talked to me, he used that fake voice. Like I was a stranger. Like he didn’t know me. Like I didn’t carry his damn DNA.”

Your voice cracks. “He didn’t even divorce my mom until he wanted to marry her. Made it this big custody battle. Said he wanted custody of me. But when I told my mom’s lawyer about the abuse, suddenly he didn’t want me at all. And then he was just… gone.”

You go quiet. The room’s only sound is your breathing—your grief. The weight of it suffocating and sharp.

“I still tried,” you whisper. “Even after all of it. I still loved him. And he just… shut me out. Completely. Like I didn’t matter.”

Haymitch’s lips brush your temple. You barely hear him breathe your name.

“I gave up by eighteen,” you say. “But I didn’t cut him off completely until this February. A month after I turned twenty.”

The silence that follows is endless.

Then—Haymitch shifts, one hand framing your cheek as he tilts your face toward his. His voice, when he finally speaks, is soft and jagged all at once.

“You didn’t fall for anything, sugar. You were groomed. Gaslit. Lied to. You were just a kid—scared, desperate for love, trying to survive in a warzone you never signed up for.”

You blink up at him, eyes burning.

“And you did survive,” he says. “You made it out. You saw the truth and you fought back. You did the bravest goddamn thing a person can do—you walked away. You cut him off. You saved yourself.”

You swallow, the tears still spilling.

“You are not the damage he did to you,” Haymitch murmurs. “You’re the fight that came after.”

You’re not even sure how long it’s been. The sky outside the window is beginning to gray at the edges, that in-between hour when the world still pretends it’s night but something softer is trying to crawl in. You’re lying curled into Haymitch’s chest like your bones wouldn’t know how to hold you up otherwise, your voice hoarse and raw from hours of truth spilling out of you.

But one more still clings to your ribs.

“I never understood why my mom stayed with him for so long,” you whisper, barely audible. “Even when I was little, I knew he was awful. And now that I’m older, now that she tells me more… it wasn’t just the cheating. He was bad for years.”

Haymitch doesn’t move. Doesn’t interrupt. Just runs his hand down your back again, the rhythm grounding.

“I didn’t get it,” you say. “Not until I was sixteen. When I started dating this girl. She was never physical, but… she didn’t have to be.”

Your voice breaks a little, but you keep going. “She’d scream at me over the smallest things. Insult me. Pull her love away like it was something I was supposed to earn. And I tried. I tried so hard to earn it. One second she loved me, and the next—if I wasn’t who she wanted me to be—it was like I was nothing.”

Your breath shudders in and out.

“I wasn’t allowed to talk about my feelings. Everything I said was a problem. I remember once, she got a press-on nail stuck in her hair, and I asked if she was okay, and she just screamed at me. Told me to shut up and leave her alone. Like I was bothering her just by being there.”

You feel Haymitch’s jaw tighten against your temple.

“She broke up with me because I didn’t want to be intimate. I was still recovering from…” you trail off, just for a second, but he doesn’t press. “So I made myself do it anyway. Because I would’ve done anything for her. I loved her with every piece of me, even when she used that love like a knife.”

You sniff, wiping at your face again.

“I let her pick me apart. I changed everything about myself to make her happy. I got quieter. Smaller. I stopped being me. And it was still never enough.”

You’re trembling again now, like saying it makes the pain rise back up.

“She made me feel crazy,” you whisper. “Like I was the abuser. Like I was the problem. She’d push and push until I snapped, and then she’d point and say, See? She’s the toxic one. Not me. That’s what they call reactive abuse, right?”

Haymitch’s hand pauses for a moment. Then it presses firm against your back, steady.

“I stayed until I was eighteen,” you say, brokenly. “Even though I knew she was awful. Even though she made me cry constantly. She’d break up with me every other month just to come back crying and apologizing—and I always let her. Every time.”

Your voice is nearly gone now. Just air and hurt.

“I think it’s ‘cause it felt familiar. Like what I saw growing up. I thought… I thought maybe that was just what love was. That I was meant to love people who tore me apart. That it was all I’d ever be worth.”

And then—quiet, so quiet it almost doesn’t come out—you whisper:

“But then I met you.”

Haymitch exhales like he’s been punched. He sits up.

His arms wrap around you in full, pulling you up until you’re sitting in his lap, until your face is buried in the crook of his neck and his arms are wrapped tightly around you.

“Goddamn it, sugar,” he says, voice thick and shaking. “You shouldn’t’ve had to survive any of that.”

You don’t say anything. You just let yourself be held.

“I don’t know what kind of cruel joke the world played, makin’ someone like you believe you were meant for scraps,” he goes on, voice rasping low in your ear. “But they were all wrong. Every last one of ‘em. You hear me?”

You nod into his nice, but he pulls you back just enough to frame your face in his rough palms.

“I mean it,” he says, eyes burning with something fierce and unshakable. “You’re not too much. You’re not broken. You’re not hard to love.”

Your chin quivers, and he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there.

“You didn’t stay with her because you’re weak. You stayed because you were taught love looks like that. But it doesn’t. Not with me.”

His thumbs swipe at the wetness on your cheeks.

“You don’t ever have to make yourself smaller here. You don’t ever have to beg for affection or walk on eggshells or wonder if I’m gonna stop loving you the second you speak your mind.”

He leans in, forehead resting against yours.

“I don’t want a quiet, easy version of you. I want you. Loud or soft. Messy or calm. Cryin’ in my arms or makin’ me laugh so hard I nearly fall over. You don’t need to shape yourself into something else to be worthy of love, sugar. You already are.”

Your breath hitches.

“I love you,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “All of you. Every damn scar, every story. You are not hard to love. You just haven’t been loved right.”

And in his arms, something in you finally starts to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could be.

You’re still in his lap but you’ve shifted so your legs are on either side of him, your forehead against the warmth of his shoulder , tears soaking quietly into his shirt. And Haymitch doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t try to hush you. He just holds you like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like your weight belongs there. Like he’s done this a thousand times in another life, and every time, it’s been you.

“C’mere,” he murmurs again, even though you’re already there. His hand runs down your back, then up into your hair, slow and careful. “You don’t have to say anything else. I got you.”

And he does.

He’s not always good with words—not when it comes to feelings—but he tries. He always tries for you.

“You’re somethin’ special, you know that?” he says, voice low and a little rough, but full of certainty. “Not ‘cause you’ve been through hell. Not ‘cause you clawed your way out. But because somehow, after all of it, you still got that soft heart beatin’ in your chest.”

His fingers slide gently down your arm, wrapping around your hand like it’s something precious.

“You still love big. Still trust. Still give people chances they didn’t earn, even after they’ve hurt you. That ain’t weakness, sugar. That’s strength I don’t know if I’ve ever seen before.”

You sniff, quietly, and he presses a kiss to your hair.

“And don’t think for a second that you’re hard to be around,” he adds. “You don’t exhaust me. You don’t scare me off. I’ve seen real monsters. You? You’re the brightest damn thing I’ve had in my life in years. You’re warmth. You’re light. You’re the reason I bother makin’ coffee in the morning instead of drinkin’ straight from the bottle.”

A tear slips out again, but it’s softer now. Less pain, more release.

“You’re allowed to be messy. Allowed to fall apart,” he says. “Doesn’t make me wanna leave. Makes me wanna hold you tighter. Makes me want to be here.”

He pulls back just enough to tilt your chin up, to make sure you’re looking at him when he says it.

“I want you, sugar. Not in spite of everything you’ve lived through. With it. All of it.”

Your lip trembles.

“You could scream at me, cry on me, tell me the same story ten times because it still hurts, and I’ll still show up. I’ll still pull you into bed with me and keep you safe. I’ll still be right here in the morning.”

His thumb traces the edge of your cheekbone.

“I don’t need perfect,” he says. “I just need you. Exactly as you are.”

And when you let out a shaky breath and finally lean back into him again, he wraps his arms around you so tight it feels like maybe the shattered parts of your heart could actually start to mend there.

“Rest, sugar,” he murmurs against your temple. “Let me carry it for a while. You’ve done enough.”

You lose track of time like that. Pressed against him. Surrounded by the beat of his heart and the rough scratch of his voice when he says your name, like it means something sacred.

Eventually, he shifts just enough to lie back fully, taking you with him, your cheek resting on his chest. One of his hands cradles your head, fingers buried gently in your hair. The other runs slow and absent down your spine, like tracing you is the only thing he wants to do for the rest of his life.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, “I used to think I wasn’t good at this.”

You blink up at him, confused.

“Comfort. Love. Bein’ soft with someone,” he says. “Didn’t think I had it in me. Thought I was too wrecked to be good for anybody.”

His hand stills against your back for a second, then starts moving again.

“And then there you were. With all your damn light. All your pain, sure, but all your fight, too. You didn’t need someone to fix you. Just someone to see you.”

He tilts your chin up and looks at you with those storm-colored eyes—sharp and tired and so unbelievably tender when they’re on you.

“I see you, sugar,” he whispers. “Every piece. And I love the whole damn thing.”

You let out a little breath—half-sob, half-laugh—and he smiles.

“There’s my girl,” he mutters, brushing his nose against yours.

“I look a mess,” you mumble, voice still thick with emotion.

“Yeah,” he says, smug. “A gorgeous, brave, heart-full-of-love kinda mess. My favorite kind.”

You huff, and he catches the sound of it like it’s a gift, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You make this old man want to be soft,” he says. “That’s how I know it’s real.”

You smile into his chest, a little fragile still, but it’s there. Real and blooming.

And when he pulls the blanket over the both of you and mumbles, “Go on, sleep now. I’ll be here in the morning. And the next morning. And the next,” you believe him.

Because he’s Haymitch.

Because he stayed.

Because he loves you.

You don’t fall asleep right away.

Even after everything you’ve spilled, even after the steady rhythm of Haymitch’s hand on your back and the sound of his heartbeat under your ear, your mind is still too full. But this time, it’s not just the ache. It’s something gentler, something truer.

You lift your head slowly, eyes searching for his in the dim light. “Can I say something?”

Haymitch cracks one eye open. “‘S’pose I’d be a hypocrite if I said no.”

You give a soft, breathy laugh, and he tightens his arm around you just a little. Not teasing. Not joking. Just wanting to feel you close.

You shift so you’re sitting up, basically straddling him now. Your hands press against his waist. He’s quiet, waiting, his face tired but open.

“I know I said a lot tonight,” you whisper, “but there’s more I need to say. About you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not all cried out?”

You nod. “This isn’t the kind of crying that hurts.”

He doesn’t say anything—just looks at you, his thumb brushing lightly along your wrist, like he’s bracing for what’s coming.

You take a breath.

“You saved me,” you say softly. “Not with big gestures or some grand rescue. But with things that matter more. You’ve listened. You’ve stayed. You never flinch away when I fall apart.”

His expression flickers—something caught between awe and disbelief—but you don’t let him argue. You keep going.

“You’re the first place I’ve ever felt safe without having to hide myself to be safe. You don’t ask me to make my pain prettier. You don’t try to fix me. You just… see me. And that means more than I know how to explain.”

Haymitch doesn’t speak, but you feel his stomach rise with a quiet, sharp inhale.

“I know you’ve been through hell too,” you murmur. “I know people let you down. Broke things in you that never should’ve cracked in the first place. But I need you to know this: you are not broken to me.”

He blinks, slowly.

“You are the safest thing I’ve ever known,” you whisper. “Even when you grumble. Even when you call me a brat or roll your eyes. You’re home to me.”

His breath catches—just a little.

“And I love you,” you say, so softly it barely crosses the space between you. “Not just because you stayed. Not just because you held me when I couldn’t hold myself. I love you, Haymitch. All of you. The sharp edges. The softness you pretend you don’t have. The way you say my name like it’s the only thing in the world that matters.”

He lets out a shaky breath, like you just knocked the wind out of him.

You lean down and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Gentle. Steady. “You make the world less scary,” you whisper against his skin. “You make me feel like I might be worth loving. But I hope you know… you’re worth it, too. You’ve always been.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then his hands come up and grip your waist, he pulls you down like he’s afraid if he doesn’t hold you, he might fall apart.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs into your hair.

“You do,” you say without hesitation, arms slipping under him and around his waist. “You always have.”

He doesn’t argue. Not this time.

Instead, he presses a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there like he’s breathing you in.

“Love you too, sugar,” he says softly. “More than I thought I could love anything again.”

You smile into the crook of his neck.

And finally, finally, the storm inside you begins to quiet.

[babydollslibrary]

MINE (JACK’S VERSION) — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

published: August 6th, 2023

summary: in which careful y/n goes down memory lane with Jack, which leads to their first real fight

notes: i had to make this ‘Mine (Jack’s Version)’ because i already have a Trevor fic titled ‘Mine’

GIF by rask

my legs rest upon my boyfriend’s, his hands laying gently on top of my calves, our bodies slumped on the couch.

“remember that broken dresser drawer that you cleared out for my stuff?” i reminisce through broken laughter, making Jack’s face go pink and his head falls back as he chuckles.

“i didn’t realize it was broken when i cleared it out!” he defends himself, his right hand squeezing my left leg lightly.

“sure, you didn’t!”

“i swear!”

“okay, i’ll believe you.” i coo, pinching his cheek. he swats my hand away, capturing it in his and pulling it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

“ooh, i’ve got one!” he exclaims. “remember the first time we sat by the water on the dock?”

“how could i forget? you put your arm around me and then we fell into the water because someone leaned too far forward.” Jack lets his mouth fall open in mock shock at my words.

“yeah, you!” he accuses and i shake my head rapidly through my giggles.

“nuh-uh! it was you!” i poke his chest.

“okay, it was me.” he pouts, his bottom lip sticking out, and i can’t resist sitting up and pulling his face to mine; crashing my lips onto his.

he pulls away first, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“you are the best thing that’s ever been mine.” it’s spoken in a whisper, like a well-kept secret between just us. but there’s no secrecy, we’re loud and proud with our love. so loud with it, that Trevor regularly calls us disgusting.

“yours since August 2nd, 2021.” i bite my lip, busying my hands by ruffling them through his freshly trimmed hair.

his brows thread together, his nose crinkling.

“what?” i question, my hands stalling at the nape of his neck.

“that’s not the day we got together.” he laughs as if i’ve told a joke, but his response only makes me lean away from him.

“yeah. it is.” i state matter-of-factly.

“no…” he drags out, his tone makes me feel like i’m dumb, but i know i’m not. “we got together June 24th.”

it’s now my turn to furrow my brows, in complete confusion.

“no, Jack.” i insist. “we started dating on August 2nd.”

“i can guarantee; we did not.” he huffs, and lightly pushes my legs off of his lap. my hands untangle from behind his neck and i scoot backwards to fully see him better.

a normal couple probably wouldn’t be having this argument. but we’re not necessarily a normal couple.

we never had that defining moment of ‘what are we?’. we flirted heavily, we went on a few dates, and then one day he called me his girlfriend and that was that.

we’ve never really celebrated our anniversary, both agreeing that we’d only start if we get married in the future. so, i guess in a way, this misunderstanding is on us. we never bothered to clarify the date we got together, because i guess we both assumed we had the correct dates.

now, i can’t say i know where he got June 24th from, but i know August 2nd is the day he called me his girlfriend for the first time.

“i don’t know where you got June 24th from-” i start, but he cuts me off instantly.

“i don’t know where you got August 2nd from.” he snaps defensively.

it’s my turn for my brows to furrow, my face twisting in a mixture of confusion and hurt.

i can’t believe him.

i rise from the couch, choosing to leave while my emotions are still semi-intact.

“where are you going?” he questions. “gonna go check your planner? see that i’m right?”

oh, that’s low.

i know his words aren’t intentionally harmful, but using my planners against me is a new low.

Jack knew from the moment we met, that i was a meticulous and careful person. growing up, my father was never a punctual man, careless with time and with life. as a result, i started keeping planners. i filled them with important dates and appointments, things to do and things i refused to let myself forget. i was a perfectionist with them.

i mellowed out a bit with them when i started dating Jack; not as detailed, not as on top of things. when he found i had calmed down with them, he called me his ‘little rebel’.

now he’s using them against me. thinking that i’ll just go check and see that he’s right and i’m wrong.

“don’t do that.” i mumble, turning back around to look at him. he’s stood off the couch now, arms crossed over his chest. “don’t use my planners against me.”

“okay, then go look at them! see that i’m right!” he argues loudly, a hand flying up to point towards our lake house bedroom.

“i don’t need to look at them! because i know i’m right!” i belt, tears roll down my cheeks now and i’ve lost any attempt to stay quiet due to the 2:30am timing.

how can he even think we got together so early? he never asked me.

“August 2nd, you called me your girlfriend for the first time!” my finger pokes towards his chest. “i know because i went home that night and immediately wrote it down.”

done with this argument, i leave him behind in the living room, opting to go for a walk. the front door slams shut behind me, and i let out a sob.

Jack and i have never actually fought. in our entire two years together, we’ve never had a yelling fight like that.

my legs carry me towards the street, and i hear the front door open and slam shut once more. Jack’s footsteps follow behind me, speeding up until i feel a hand wrap around my arm, pulling me back to him.

he spins me around, my chest now pressed against his. he looks down at me with soft eyes, a frown pasted on his lips.

i brace myself, waiting for him to call it quits, as i’m used to. first sign of a disagreement or fight, and guys have always left. called me difficult or said i was too much.

but his next words take me by surprise.

“that was the night i first called you my girlfriend?” he questions, shaking his head lightly, as if he’s surprised.

“i thought you were my girlfriend from the night we first…” he trails off and it takes me a moment to realize what he means.

June 24th. the night we first slept together. the night we confessed we liked each other.

“oh.” i breath out. “you never actually said anything about it or asked me. i always just thought that you called me your girlfriend on August 2nd and i didn’t oppose so that was that.”

i sniffle as he chuckles, his hands coming up to cup my face, his thumbs wiping away my tears.

“we probably should’ve figured this out a long time ago, eh?”

“yeah, i guess so.” i shrug.

“why were you crying, baby? it wasn’t that serious. just a little hiccup.” his blue eyes stare deep into mine, and i get shy under his gaze.

“i thought you were gonna break up with me.” i confess in a whisper. “it’s what i’m used to.”

he’s quiet for a moment, just staring at me in shock before he presses a kiss to my forehead, his lips mumbling against my skin.

“i’ll never leave you alone.”