#woman beater for those who don’t know

[salirophiliac]

not watching smackdown yet but. fuck jd mcdonagh

[goldfades]

in her younger days, they called her delta dawn; prettiest woman you ever laid eyes on

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 8.7k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | (requested: Paige Bueckers x Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader reader since she might be going to the Wings) when paige is drafted to the dallas wings, she knows her life is about to change, but she doesn’t expect you. as a dallas cowboys cheerleader with your own set of rules and boundaries, the last thing you need is a distraction—especially not in the form of the star wnba player who seems to turn every gaze in the room. but as the season progresses and paths cross under the texan sun, paige's world of fast breaks and buzzer-beaters collides with yours, leaving neither of you the same.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | fluff! paige teasing the hell out of reader, description of homophobia, the dcc being sweet(? whoa), one mention of man flirting w reader (EUGHHH), nothing else!

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | here's 8k of a tease!paige fic for yall... i hope yall forgive me for the last 3 soulcrushing fics 🫶🏼😘

You’ve always said you’d never date an athlete.

It’s a rule born of practicality, not bitterness. Athletes move fast—on the court, on the field, and in life. Your job as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader already demands a fine balance of composure and charm. The last thing you need is the whirlwind of someone else’s high-stakes career bleeding into your own meticulously crafted routine.

But tonight, standing under the hazy glow of the American Airlines Center lights, that rule wavers.

You’re here for one of those PR crossover events—a meet-and-greet between the Dallas Wings and the Cowboys organization, complete with forced smiles and photo ops. It’s the kind of gig you’ve done a hundred times, one where you’re used to being admired at arm’s length by players who rarely look past the sparkle of your uniform. You’re used to their lingering glances, their empty flirtations, and their assumption that you’ll fall in line with the rest of their carefully constructed narrative.

Paige Bueckers doesn’t look at you like that.

You notice her the moment she walks in, an air of effortless confidence preceding her like a tidal wave. She’s all sharp cheekbones and easy laughter, blending seamlessly into the room while somehow standing apart. Her presence feels unintentional, like she didn’t mean to be so magnetic but couldn’t help it anyway.

You try not to stare, but when her eyes catch yours—crystal-clear and curious—you know you’ve already lost.

"You're with the cheerleaders, right?" she asks, her voice low enough to feel like a secret, despite the bustling crowd around you. There’s no pretense in her tone, no undercurrent of ego or assumption. It’s disarming, the way she asks like she’s genuinely interested, not just making small talk.

"That’s right," you reply, lifting your chin with practiced ease. "And you’re with the Wings."

Her smile tilts, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like you’re the only two people in the room. "Guess that makes us teammates now. Sort of."

You tell yourself it’s just a conversation. Just an introduction. But deep down, you already know—it’s the kind of beginning that doesn’t let you walk away unchanged.

The noise of the event fades into the background, dulled to a steady hum that makes it easier to focus on Paige’s voice—and the way she leans just slightly toward you, as if shielding the moment from the room around you.

“Teammates, huh?” you reply, arching a brow and forcing a practiced indifference into your voice. “I don’t know if standing in the same room counts as teamwork.”

She chuckles, low and warm. “Guess we’ll have to work on our chemistry, then.”

It’s a simple remark, delivered with the kind of ease that shouldn’t make your cheeks feel warm. But it does, and the sensation creeps up faster than you can stop it. You glance to the side, pretending to check on one of your teammates who’s caught in a conversation with a reporter, but the smirk on Paige’s face tells you she’s already noticed.

“You’re blushing,” she says, not bothering to hide her amusement.

“No, I’m not.” You shoot back quickly, the denial sharper than you intend. You straighten your posture, willing the heat in your face to cool. “It’s warm in here. Lights and all.”

“Sure,” Paige says, drawing the word out like she doesn’t believe you for a second. Her grin widens, and she takes a slow sip of her water, somehow managing to make even that look like a calculated move.

You cross your arms, trying to steady yourself. “Do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Flirt with strangers at PR events.”

Paige lets out a soft laugh, her head tilting slightly as she considers your words. “Only the ones who pretend not to notice.”

The nerve of her. You fight the urge to look directly at her, keeping your gaze focused on the crowd instead. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Right. And you’re also not blushing.” She leans in just enough for her voice to lower, her next words meant only for you. “But you are.”

Your resolve cracks slightly, enough for a small, involuntary laugh to escape. You quickly recover, shaking your head as you fix her with a look that you hope reads unimpressed—but the way Paige’s smirk deepens makes you think you’re failing miserably.

“You seem awfully confident for someone who just got here,” you say, trying to steer the conversation back into safer waters.

Paige shrugs, her shoulders moving in an easy rhythm that matches the cadence of her voice. “I’m just observant. And, you know, good at reading plays.”

“Plays?”

“Yeah,” she says, her grin turning almost playful now. “Like how you keep crossing your arms when you talk to me. Defense mechanism.”

You uncross your arms immediately, regretting the move the second her smirk shifts into something closer to triumph.

“See?” she teases. “I was right.”

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, though the words come out more like a laugh.

“And yet,” Paige says, leaning back just enough to give you a moment’s reprieve, “you’re still talking to me.”

She’s not wrong, but you don’t let yourself linger on that thought. Instead, you square your shoulders, offering her a saccharine smile that feels like a small victory. “Maybe I’m just being polite.”

“Maybe,” she agrees, though her tone suggests she doesn’t believe that either.

Before you can respond, one of your teammates waves you over, motioning for you to join the rest of the group as the event shifts into its next stage. You give Paige a tight nod, as if to signal that the conversation is over, and turn to walk away.

“Hey,” she calls after you, her voice cutting through the din like it’s meant just for you.

You glance back, already halfway across the room.

“See you around, teammate.”

It’s casual, almost lazy, the way she says it. But the spark in her eyes as she meets your gaze makes it feel anything but.

You don’t reply. Instead, you turn back toward your teammates, heart pounding against your ribs in a way that you’re certain Paige Bueckers has no right to cause.

The next day dawns like any other—a pale sliver of sunlight spilling through the blinds, the soft hum of your alarm shaking you from sleep. Your phone buzzes with a notification as you swipe to silence the alarm: a practice reminder from the squad captain, a half-hour earlier than usual.

You groan quietly, already feeling the weight of the day settle onto your shoulders. Between your nine-to-five at the PR firm and cheer practice, your days rarely allow room for indulgence, let alone distractions.

Except today, there’s a distraction.

She flits through your mind the way sunbeams catch on the windshield during your drive to work—brief but impossible to ignore. Paige’s teasing smile, the easy way she leaned toward you as if she had all the time in the world to figure you out. You shake your head as you merge onto the freeway, cranking up the music to drown out the thought.

You’re good at focus. You have to be.

By the time you clock in, you’ve managed to push Paige into the back of your mind, hidden behind the mountain of emails that demand your attention. Meetings stretch into the afternoon, punctuated by a working lunch where you barely taste your food. Coworkers buzz about the latest office gossip, but you’re laser-focused on the client presentation you’ve been perfecting for weeks.

The hours blur together, and when you glance at the clock, it’s already 4:45. Just enough time to dart home, change into your uniform, and make it to practice.

The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader practice facility is a world unto itself—bright, sterile, and unforgiving. The walls echo with sharp counts, the squeak of sneakers on polished floors, and the biting critique of your coaches.

“Sharper arms, everyone! This isn’t a yoga class!”

You’ve been here long enough to tune out the tone and focus on the instruction, but it doesn’t mean the sting doesn’t hit when it’s directed at you. “You’re late on the second count, [Y/N]! Fix it, or you’re doing it alone!”

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply automatically, forcing the strain out of your voice. You adjust your footing, throw yourself into the next routine, and pretend you don’t feel your muscles screaming in protest.

Cheerleading at this level is a game of precision and endurance. Perfection isn’t just the expectation—it’s the bare minimum. Your coach’s voice drills into your head like a metronome, keeping you in line as sweat drips down your back.

And yet, even as you push through the routine for the third, fourth, and fifth time, Paige creeps back into your thoughts.

Her smirk, her voice, the way her laugh felt like a secret just for you. You bite your lip, snapping yourself back to the present. Distractions like this could cost you—your spot, your reputation, everything you’ve worked for.

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” the coach finally calls, her sharp tone softening just enough to feel like a reprieve. “Clean up the routine and be ready to run it full-out tomorrow. Dismissed.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and head toward the lockers, shoulders heavy with exhaustion.

“You’re quiet today,” your teammate Dana says as she falls into step beside you.

“I’m always quiet,” you reply, but she shakes her head.

“Not like this. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” She smirks knowingly, bumping your shoulder with hers. “I saw you talking to Paige Bueckers last night.”

Your heart skips, but you keep your expression neutral. “It was nothing. Just small talk.”

“Oh, really?” Dana drawls, clearly not buying it. “She looked pretty interested for it to be just ‘small talk.’”

“She’s friendly. That’s all.” You tug open your locker, keeping your voice steady, but the blush creeping up your neck betrays you.

Dana’s grin widens. “Uh-huh. Friendly. Right.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “What do you want me to say? She was just being nice.”

“Sure. And you weren’t blushing at all.”

“I wasn’t,” you mutter, brushing past her, but Dana catches your arm, spinning you around just enough to read your face.

“You totally were,” she says, laughing. “I knew it. You’ve got a thing for her.”

“I don’t,” you insist, though the words feel flimsy even to you.

Dana studies you for a moment, her grin softening into something more thoughtful. “Hey, for what it’s worth, I think you should go for it.”

“Go for what?”

“Her. Paige. She seems cool, and you...” She pauses, shrugging. “You deserve to let someone in for once.”

You open your mouth to argue, to insist that you’re too busy, that it’s not practical, that Paige is just a passing thought. But the words don’t come. Instead, you nod absently, murmuring a quick, “See you tomorrow,” before heading out into the cool evening air.

As you drive home, Paige’s voice lingers in your mind, weaving through the cracks of your carefully constructed resolve. You don’t want to admit it—not to Dana, not to yourself—but something about her feels different.

And no matter how hard you try to focus on the road, the echo of her teasing smile keeps pulling you back.

Paige’s day started like most others: early alarms, cold showers, and an endless loop of drills designed to sharpen her skills to a razor’s edge. Practice with the team wasn’t just a routine—it was a second language, something she could move through on instinct alone.

But today, instinct wasn’t enough to keep her mind from wandering.

She tried to focus on the sound of sneakers squeaking on the court, the coach’s whistle cutting through the air, and the weight of the ball in her hands. Still, her thoughts kept drifting—back to the sharpness in your voice, the way your eyes flitted everywhere but her when she leaned in, and that faint blush you tried so hard to hide.

“Paige!”

The sharp call of her name jolted her out of her thoughts, and she turned just in time to see Aariyah toss her the ball. She caught it, but not without a stumble.

“Yo, where’s your head at today?” Aariyah asked, crossing her arms as Paige dribbled toward her.

“Nowhere,” Paige lied, attempting a casual shrug. She passed the ball back, forcing herself to stay in the present.

Her teammates weren’t convinced. Throughout the rest of practice, they kept stealing glances her way, whispering to each other when they thought she wasn’t looking. Paige pretended not to notice, but she could feel the weight of their curiosity as the session dragged on.

By the time practice ended, her nerves were frayed. She slung her bag over her shoulder and followed her team into the locker room, the sound of banter and laughter filling the space.

“So,” Aariyah started, leaning against a row of lockers. “What’s up? You’ve been weird all day.”

“Nothing,” Paige said, but Aariyah raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“It’s not nothing,” Nyla chimed in, pulling her hoodie over her head. “You’ve been distracted since last night. What happened at that PR thing?”

Paige hesitated, debating whether to say anything at all. But the memory of your blush, your quick-witted deflections, and the way you seemed both intrigued and guarded all at once—it was enough to push her over the edge.

“Alright,” she admitted, leaning against the lockers. “There was this cheerleader there.”

“Ohhh, a cheerleader,” Nyla said, grinning. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“She’s… interesting,” Paige said, her voice casual but her mind racing. “What’s her deal?”

“She who?” Aariyah asked, curiosity piqued.

“I don’t know her name,” Paige admitted, running a hand through her hair. “She was there last night. Tall, sharp eyes, kind of guarded. You know her?”

Nyla’s expression shifted slightly, like she was putting pieces together. “You mean [Y/N]?”

“Yeah. That’s her.”

Aariyah let out a low whistle. “You’ve got your sights set on [Y/N]? Good luck with that.”

Paige frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s… complicated,” Nyla said, choosing her words carefully. “She’s been with the team for a while, but she’s always kind of kept to herself. No one’s ever seen her with anyone. Ever.”

“Like, dating?” Paige asked, intrigued.

“Yeah,” Aariyah said. “As far as we know, she’s single. Always has been. And, uh… probably straight.”

Paige tilted her head, unconvinced. “You don’t know that.”

“Come on, Bueckers,” Nyla said, rolling her eyes. “Just because you’re into her doesn’t mean she’s into you. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Paige shrugged, though the flicker of doubt in her chest was quickly overruled by something stronger. “Maybe you’re wrong. My gay-dar’s never failed me.”

Aariyah snorted. “Your gay-dar is not a superpower, Paige.”

“Feels like it sometimes,” Paige said with a grin, though her mind was already wandering back to you—your sharp tongue, your quick wit, and the way you seemed to light up just a little when you thought no one was looking.

She couldn’t explain it, but something about you felt… different.

“Alright,” Aariyah said, shaking her head. “You do you. But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Paige just smiled, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys.”

As she stepped out into the cool afternoon air, she felt a spark of determination settle in her chest. You might’ve been guarded, but Paige wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

And something told her that getting to know you would be worth the effort.

The energy inside AT&T Stadium was electric, a sea of navy and silver filling the stands as the Dallas Cowboys prepared to kick off their first game of the season. The buzz of excitement was contagious, spreading through the crowd and spilling onto the field where you stood, stretching and loosening up with your team in preparation for the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders' first performance of the year.

Your routine was set to "Thunderstruck"—an intense, crowd-pumping track that had been drilled into your muscles and memory over countless rehearsals. The choreography was sharp, demanding, and thrilling, and as the minutes ticked down to showtime, you could feel the adrenaline beginning to build.

Stretching your hamstrings, you focused on controlling your breath, locking in. This was your ritual—shut out the noise, shut out the crowd, shut out everything except the beat and the moves.

But then you saw her.

Paige Bueckers, dressed casually yet effortlessly stylish, strolling into the VIP section with a small entourage. Her golden hair caught the stadium lights just so, and her signature self-assured smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she scanned the crowd.

Your focus cracked, just a little, as her gaze passed over the field. You could’ve sworn she lingered on you for half a second longer than necessary, though it was probably your imagination.

“Oh, look who it is,” one of your teammates teased, nudging you playfully. “Miss Basketball’s here to watch you.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, trying to refocus.

“Someone’s blushing,” another teammate chimed in with a grin.

“I’m not blushing,” you shot back, but the warmth spreading across your face betrayed you.

“Alright, ladies,” your coach barked, clapping her hands. “Let’s lock in. Showtime in five!”

You nodded, shaking off the distraction as you straightened up. This wasn’t your first time performing on such a massive stage, but tonight felt bigger somehow. Maybe it was the buzz of the first game or the fact that Paige Bueckers was now seated comfortably in the VIP section, her eyes occasionally flicking toward the field.

You couldn’t afford to think about that. Not now.

When it was time to step onto the field, the roar of the crowd hit you like a wave. The drumline started, the booming bass syncing with your heartbeat as you marched into position with your squad. Your eyes locked forward, face set with a determined smile.

As the opening riff of "Thunderstruck" blared through the speakers, the adrenaline hit you full force. Every move was sharp, every beat perfectly timed. The routine was fast and furious, filled with high kicks, sharp turns, and intricate formations designed to wow the crowd.

You didn’t just dance; you performed. You poured everything into every move, channeling weeks of hard work, sweat, and discipline into the routine.

For a moment, you forgot about Paige entirely. You forgot about the teasing, the crowd, and even the VIP section. It was just you and the music, your body moving instinctively with every beat, every accent.

And when the final pose hit—arms stretched high as the crowd erupted into cheers—you felt a rush of pride. You’d nailed it.

As you walked off the field, your teammates high-fived and cheered, hyping each other up. “You killed it out there,” one of them said, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you replied with a small smile, glancing toward the VIP section despite yourself.

Paige was still there, leaning back in her seat, clapping along with the rest of the crowd. But unlike the rest, her gaze wasn’t on the team—it was on you.

The Cowboys had won, and with victory came celebration—a tradition as ingrained in the culture as the game itself. Even if it was meant to be a “lowkey” night, the so-called party still overflowed with boisterous laughter, the bass of music vibrating through the room, and the steady clink of glasses.

You stood in the corner of the dimly lit lounge, nursing a sparkling water. The oversized, lavish venue was packed with players, cheerleaders, and a smattering of VIPs. It was a mandatory-unspoken-rule sort of thing; showing face after a win was just part of the job. That didn’t mean you enjoyed it.

The football players were the worst of it. Sure, most of them were decent enough, but there were always a handful of rookies and cocky veterans who treated the cheerleaders like part of their post-game spoils. Your smile was polished and your patience saintly, but the constant attention grated on your nerves.

Tonight was no different. A rookie wide receiver with a too-white smile and a swagger far outpacing his résumé sidled up to you as if you’d been waiting your entire life for this moment.

“Hey,” he drawled, leaning in too close. The smell of his cologne—something aggressively woody—made your nose twitch. “You look incredible tonight.”

“Thank you,” you replied politely, sipping your drink and taking a half-step back.

He didn’t notice, or he chose not to. “So, what’s a girl like you doing standing all alone at a party like this?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “Just enjoying the night.”

He took that as an invitation to lean closer, his grin widening. “Well, maybe you need someone to enjoy it with. How about I—”

The hand on your arm made your skin crawl.

You turned, polite facade dropping as you said firmly, “Back off.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, his grin faltering but still holding onto a thread of misplaced confidence. “Don’t be like that. I’m just being friendly.”

“I said, back off,” you repeated, stepping out of his reach.

“Hey, no need to get all uptight—”

“Is there a problem here?”

The voice sliced through the noise, cool and edged with steel. You turned your head, and there she was. Paige Bueckers, hands tucked casually into the pockets of her jeans, exuding an aura of calm dominance that was impossible to ignore.

“Who the hell are you?” the rookie asked, puffing up slightly, his bravado clashing with her unbothered demeanor.

“Doesn’t matter,” Paige said, her eyes narrowing. “What matters is she told you to back off. Twice.”

The rookie opened his mouth to retort, but Paige cut him off, her voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I suggest you listen, or I’ll be happy to explain it louder.”

The rookie hesitated, looking between you and Paige before finally muttering something under his breath and slinking away into the crowd.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Paige smirked, her hands still in her pockets as she leaned casually against the bar beside you. “Yeah, I did. Looked like you were about to throw a drink in his face.”

You snorted, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Would’ve been satisfying.”

“Bet it would’ve,” Paige replied, her grin widening. “But then you’d have to deal with the PR fallout. Figured I’d save you the trouble.”

“Chivalrous,” you teased, trying to hide the fact that your cheeks were burning.

Paige tilted her head, her grin softening into something quieter, more genuine. “You alright?”

The question caught you off guard. You nodded, still holding her gaze. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

“Anytime.” She glanced at the drink in your hand, then back at you. “So, are you always the life of the party, or is tonight a special occasion?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Definitely a special occasion.”

Paige’s smile deepened, her gaze lingering just long enough to make your heart race. “Well, in that case, consider me honored to witness it.”

Paige stayed by your side after the rookie incident, the two of you easing into a conversation that felt refreshingly unforced. For the first time that evening, you didn’t feel the need to wear the polished, ever-smiling Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader mask. You didn’t have to calculate every word, every laugh, every polite sidestep.

It surprised you how quickly you relaxed around Paige. Her humor was sharp but warm, and the way she listened made you feel... seen. The kind of seen that wasn’t about the uniform or the role you played. She wasn’t looking at the cheerleader. She was looking at you.

“You seem different,” Paige said at one point, leaning on the bar beside you, her fingers tracing the edge of a napkin.

You quirked an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Different? Is that your way of saying I’m weird?”

She laughed, her head tipping back slightly. “Not what I meant. You’re... real. It’s nice.”

That comment stuck with you, warming you from the inside. You weren’t used to people looking past the glossy, larger-than-life image you were expected to maintain.

As the conversation flowed, you found yourself craving something sweet and light to cut through the night. You turned to the bartender. “Can I get a Shirley Temple, please?”

Paige’s eyes lit up. “No way. That’s my favorite.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Really?”

“Swear on it.” She held up two fingers in a mock scout’s honor pose. “No judgment, but it’s kind of perfect. Sweet, nostalgic, doesn’t try too hard. Exactly my vibe.”

You smirked, shaking your head as the bartender slid the drink over. “Didn’t peg you for the Shirley Temple type.”

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises,” she said, flashing a grin that made your stomach flip.

By the time the party began winding down, the room thinning out, you realized just how much you’d enjoyed yourself. You weren’t even sure when the usual edge of tension had melted away, replaced by a lightness that felt foreign yet welcome.

Paige cleared her throat, her hands slipping into her jean pockets. “Hey, um... before you go.”

You looked up at her, noticing a slight shift in her demeanor. She wasn’t the effortlessly confident star athlete now. There was something endearingly hesitant about the way she scratched the back of her neck.

“Can I, uh, get your number?” she asked, her voice dropping just a fraction, as if saying it too loud might scare you off.

You tilted your head, lips curving into a teasing smile. “You? Nervous?”

She chuckled, the faintest hint of pink coloring her cheeks. “Is it working?”

With a laugh, you pulled your phone out and handed it over. Paige entered her number quickly, double-checking it before passing it back. “Don’t leave me hanging, alright? Text me sometime.”

You nodded, feeling a strange flutter in your chest as her fingers brushed yours during the exchange.

As you turned to leave, you glanced back and caught Paige walking toward her teammates. She glanced over her shoulder at you, a cocky smirk spreading across her face as she mouthed, “Told you so.”

One of her teammates groaned and swatted at her shoulder, while another rolled their eyes, clearly unimpressed with Paige’s triumphant swagger.

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself. Somehow, you had a feeling this was going to get interesting.

A few weeks had passed since that night at the party, and in the time since, Paige had somehow woven her way into the fabric of your life in ways you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t anything dramatic, nothing earth-shattering. But you couldn’t deny it: she had become part of your routine.

Despite the whirlwind of your schedule—DCC practices, games, and the usual duties that came with being in the spotlight—the texts from Paige came often, little moments of respite during your otherwise hectic days. Sometimes it was a simple check-in: “How’s practice?” or “How’s the Shirley Temple holding up today?” Sometimes it was just something random, like a meme or a quote that had made her think of you. Every time you saw her name pop up, your heart did that little flip again, that same flutter that had been there since the first night you met.

The dates were simple and casual, which was just how you liked it. A quiet dinner, a walk in the park, the occasional movie, and for the first time in a long time, you could just be yourself. You weren’t the cheerleader. You were just you. No performance. No expectations.

You thought you had the balance down, figuring out how to make it work despite the craziness of both of your lives. Paige was patient, always understanding when you had to cancel last minute or cut the night short. She didn’t pressure you. And, for once, you didn’t feel like you had to live up to an image for anyone, especially her.

It surprised you how easy it was to be with her. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected her—but Paige was like a steady rhythm in the cacophony of your life. You found yourself looking forward to her texts, the way she’d always send a good luck message before your performances or a stupid meme to make you laugh on a rough day.

You didn’t mean to, but Paige was quickly becoming part of your routine.

But then came the photograph.

You hadn’t noticed the photographer—probably a fan at the café where you and Paige had been sitting, sipping iced coffee and laughing about some story she was telling. You only found out when the photo popped up on social media, your notifications blowing up with tags and mentions.

The picture was innocent enough: Paige leaning back in her chair, mid-laugh, while you rested your chin in your hand, looking at her like she was the funniest person alive. It was candid and warm, the kind of photo that screamed chemistry.

The next thing you knew, the photo of the two of you smiling, laughing, and holding hands was all over social media. The caption? "Paige Bueckers and the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader: New Couple Alert!"

You didn’t think it was that big of a deal at first. After all, both of you were public figures in your own rights, and being seen together wasn’t exactly a crime. But as the hours passed, the post went viral. Comments flooded in. Some were supportive, some not so much. And as the days went on, you started seeing more articles and posts about the two of you, your names being linked in headlines everywhere.

It felt like a dream at first—something light, playful. But then reality sank in.

The next morning, as you walked into the DCC practice facility, you could feel the weight of it. You hadn’t even spoken to your coach yet, but you could tell. She was watching you as you walked in, her gaze sharp, calculating.

Coach Anderson didn’t waste any time. After practice, she called you into her office, her expression hardening as soon as the door clicked shut behind you.

“Close the door, please.”

You did as instructed, your heart beginning to race as you tried to brace for whatever was coming.

“Listen,” she started, her tone measured but firm, “you’re one of our best, and I don’t want this to come off as harsh. But... the photo. It’s everywhere. And it’s not great for the team’s image.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Not great?”

She leaned forward, her elbows on the desk. “You know how this works. The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders represent a certain... ideal. We have an image to maintain, and this? People are already making assumptions. It’s distracting.”

The knot in your stomach tightened, anger starting to bubble beneath the surface. “What assumptions?” you asked, your voice steady but edged.

She hesitated. “You know what I mean. People are speculating. And it’s not... on-brand.”

You stared at her, disbelief mingling with frustration. This was exactly what you’d feared—the constant balancing act of being what everyone expected you to be. But as much as you hated confrontation, something inside you refused to back down this time.

“I’m not straight,” you said, the words clear and unwavering.

Your coach froze, clearly not expecting you to address it so directly.

“And I’m not going to pretend to be,” you added, leaning forward slightly. “I’ve given everything to this team. I’ve worked my ass off to be here, to be the best. My personal life doesn’t change that.”

She blinked, visibly stunned. You’d always been a “yes, ma’am” kind of girl—polite, compliant, eager to please. But now, your voice was steady and your gaze unyielding.

“This.” She sighed, gesturing vaguely, her lips curling into a tight line. “The public—our fans—they have an image of you. And this”—she motioned to the photos on her phone—“does not fit that image. You’re part of the Dallas Cowboys brand now, and I need you to understand that.”

You felt your stomach drop. You knew where this was going. This wasn’t just about the photos. It was about the implications.

“You’re a cheerleader, and you’re expected to maintain a certain image. You can’t just… throw that away because of a relationship,” Coach Anderson continued, her voice harder now, almost condescending. “This is about professionalism. Your image. Do you understand?”

You stared at her for a moment, feeling the familiar, suffocating weight of expectations pressing in on you. For a second, you almost nodded, almost let yourself fall back into that mold of obedience, that role you were supposed to play.

But then, you remembered something. You remembered what Paige had told you about being real, about not pretending. You remembered the feeling of being yourself in her presence.

And suddenly, you couldn’t stay silent any longer.

“No,” you said, the word sharper than you intended. Your heart was pounding now, but there was no going back. “I don’t think I do understand.”

Coach Anderson blinked, clearly taken aback by your tone. You took a step forward, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not going to pretend. Not for the team, not for anyone. If you think I’m going to sit here and fake being something I’m not for the sake of image, you’re wrong.”

Her eyes widened slightly, clearly shocked by your response. You were the quiet, obedient one. The one who never rocked the boat. The one who followed orders. To see you—to hear you—talk back like this was completely foreign to her.

“You’re talking about who I am,” you continued, your voice gaining strength. “And I’m not going to apologize for it. I’m not straight, Coach. I don’t owe you, or anyone else, an explanation for who I’m dating. If this”—you pointed at the photos again—“is a problem, then I guess I’ll have to deal with that.”

Coach Anderson stared at you, open-mouthed, for a moment, as if processing what you had just said. She blinked a few times, her face hardening into a tight, inscrutable mask. You could feel the weight of her gaze on you, assessing, perhaps judging, but you didn’t flinch.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. You felt like you.

Finally, she spoke, her voice cold. “I never thought I’d hear those words from you. You’ve always been… so compliant.”

“Well, not anymore,” you said firmly, not backing down. “I’m not going to play by your rules if they’re going to make me pretend to be something I’m not. I’m sorry if that’s a problem, but that’s who I am.”

The silence that followed was heavy, your coach’s face unreadable as she regarded you. For a moment, you wondered if you’d gone too far, if you’d just tanked your entire career with a few sentences.

But then she sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just... keep it low-key, alright? We can’t afford unnecessary drama.”

You nodded once, standing. “I always do.”

And when you left her office, you felt lighter than you had in ages, like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. The familiar tension that had always been there when you wore that uniform was gone.

You weren’t just a cheerleader anymore. You were you.

The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room as you curled into the plush couch, a blanket thrown lazily over both your legs. Paige sat at the other end, her legs stretched out, socked feet occasionally brushing against yours. Some random movie was playing, one neither of you had really been paying attention to. The kind that served as background noise more than entertainment. It had been a long day, and this—just sitting together, the world quiet—was exactly what you needed.

You hadn't mentioned the conversation with your coach earlier. It wasn’t worth souring the moment, and besides, the heaviness from earlier had already lifted, replaced by the comfort of Paige’s presence. She had a way of making everything else feel smaller, less significant, like her calm confidence could shield you from anything outside these four walls.

She reached for the bowl of popcorn sitting between you, tossing a piece in the air and catching it expertly in her mouth. She smirked, satisfied, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her playful display.

“Show-off,” you teased, nudging her foot with yours.

“What can I say?” she replied, her grin wide and unabashed. “Natural talent.”

The movie’s dialogue droned on in the background, but Paige muted it with a flick of the remote, letting the quiet settle over you. She shifted slightly, resting her head against the arm of the couch, and looked over at you with a soft expression that made your chest feel warm.

“You know,” she began, her voice casual but carrying that undertone of something deeper, “when I was a kid, I used to think being good at basketball was enough. Like, if I could just be the best, everything else would fall into place.” She laughed softly, a self-deprecating sound. “Turns out, it’s a little more complicated than that.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I guess… I started realizing that it’s not just about being good. It’s about how people see the game. Women’s basketball doesn’t get the respect it deserves, you know? I want to change that. I want little girls to grow up seeing us on TV, in the spotlight, and thinking, I want to do that too. Not as some second-tier option, but as the dream.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and you felt your heart do that stupid fluttering thing again. There was something so earnest, so fiercely passionate in the way she spoke, like the sheer force of her determination could bend the world to her will. You could see it—the little girl Paige, dribbling a ball on some driveway somewhere, dreaming of being a trailblazer, not just a player.

“That’s…” you started, struggling to find the right words. “That’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she smiled, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. “It’s just a dream.”

“Yeah, but you’re living it,” you insisted. “You’re out there, doing exactly what you said. You’re making it happen.”

She looked at you for a moment, her smile softening into something more vulnerable. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “That means a lot.”

The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, and after a moment, Paige nudged you with her foot. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Your dream,” she clarified. “What was it? Little you, running around in pigtails or whatever, what did she want to do?”

You laughed, leaning back into the couch cushions as you thought about it. “I always loved dancing. I think I was four when I begged my mom to put me in ballet classes. I was obsessed. And when I got older, it wasn’t just about the dancing anymore—it was about the performing, you know? The way it felt to be on stage, like for those few minutes, nothing else mattered.”

Paige listened intently, her gaze fixed on you in that way that made you feel like the most important person in the world.

“The DCC gave me a place to do that,” you continued, your voice softening. “I know it’s not perfect—God knows they’re not exactly progressive—but it’s still a dream. Getting to do what I love, to perform for a crowd… it’s everything I wanted.”

Paige smiled, a small, thoughtful curve of her lips. “You’re good at it,” she said simply.

You raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t even seen me dance.”

“I’ve seen enough,” she countered, her tone teasing but warm. “And besides, you wouldn’t be where you are if you weren’t incredible.”

You felt your cheeks heat, and you ducked your head, pretending to adjust the blanket so she wouldn’t see. “You’re just saying that.”

“Maybe,” she said with a grin, leaning back against the couch. “But I mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the quiet between you filled with an unspoken understanding. It was rare, you realized, to have a moment like this—where everything felt easy, natural. Where you could just be.

As the credits rolled on the muted movie, Paige stretched, her arm brushing against yours, and you felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the blanket draped over you.

“You know,” she said, her voice light but with a playful edge, “I think little-you and little-me would’ve been friends. Or at least rivals.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. “Oh, definitely rivals. I would’ve wiped the floor with you in a dance-off.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning. “Bold claim, cheerleader.”

“True claim,” you shot back, grinning.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, and as the night stretched on, you found yourself leaning into the comfort of her presence, the weight of the world falling away, if only for a little while.

Paige grinned, leaning back against the couch cushions with a kind of effortless charm that made your stomach do somersaults. “What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.” She winked, and it was ridiculous how easily she could fluster you with the smallest gestures.

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping before you could help it. “That’s what you’re going to lead with? Popcorn tricks?”

“Hey, don’t knock it,” she shot back, her grin widening. “This could’ve been my party trick if basketball didn’t work out.”

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh yeah? And where does ‘world-class popcorn catcher’ rank next to WNBA superstar?”

She pretended to think, tapping her chin dramatically. “Probably right under future Hall of Famer and your biggest fan.”

That last bit caught you off guard. Paige said it so casually, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that could make your heart skip a beat. She didn’t even look at you after, just grabbed another handful of popcorn like she hadn’t just said something that would live rent-free in your mind for days.

You tried to play it cool, focusing on the screen and not the way your cheeks felt like they were on fire. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you like it,” she teased, nudging your leg lightly with her foot.

And damn it, she wasn’t wrong.

The sound of her phone vibrating against the coffee table pulled both of you out of the easy rhythm of banter. Paige reached for it, glancing at the screen. The shift in her expression was subtle, but you caught it—the way her brows furrowed just slightly, the ghost of a smirk softening into something more reserved.

“Press conference clips,” she muttered, tossing the phone back onto the table without opening the notification. “Guess they’re making a thing out of it.”

It didn’t take a genius to know what “it” was. The photo, the headlines, the endless speculation. You felt the weight of it again, creeping in at the edges of this quiet moment. But before you could say anything, Paige turned her attention back to you, her expression steady.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, her voice firm but warm. “People are going to talk. Let them. It’s not going to change anything.”

You studied her, the way she always seemed so sure of herself, so unshaken by the noise. It was one of the things you admired most about her—the way she carried herself with this quiet confidence, like she knew exactly who she was and didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

“Doesn’t bother you?” you asked softly, the words coming out before you could second-guess them.

She shrugged, her lips curving into that easy, self-assured smile that felt like a safety net. “Why would it? I get to date you. Let ‘em be jealous.”

And just like that, the tension dissolved, replaced by the warmth of her words and the steady, unflinching way she looked at you. Paige Bueckers, always cool under pressure, had a way of making everything else fade into the background.

The next couple of weeks pass surprisingly smoothly, at least on the surface. Coach Anderson hasn’t said a word about the photos since your last meeting, and it’s not hard to figure out why. You’re the top cheerleader, the face of the squad, and the one she relies on to land those impossible stunts and lead the team’s routines. Letting you go now would only create a whirlwind of drama she clearly wants to avoid.

But that doesn’t mean everything is perfect.

Your teammates—most of them, anyway—don’t go out of their way to make life easy for you. There’s no outright hostility; it’s all subtle, quiet, passive-aggressive. Like when you’re practicing the pyramid, and someone “accidentally” tightens their grip too much on your ankle, or when you call for a run-through and the response is a too-sweet “Of course, captain,” followed by exaggerated sighs and barely concealed eye-rolls.

It doesn’t happen all the time, but often enough that you can feel the weight of it. Even when no one’s saying anything, the whispers just outside of earshot, the exchanged glances, and the forced smiles remind you that the photos are still fresh in their minds.

You grit your teeth and keep going. Every time you land a clean tumble or nail the timing on a routine, you know you’re proving them wrong. Performance after performance, you remind everyone why you’re the one leading this team.

Then, one Friday night after a big game, the dam breaks—but not where you expect it.

The team’s win had been huge, a tight match that came down to the final seconds. The cheer squad had been flawless, their chants and stunts keeping the crowd alive and electric. As you gather with your squad on the sidelines, still buzzing from the game’s energy, the reporters swarm in.

The questions start innocent enough. Someone asks about the routine, another about the game’s atmosphere. You answer them like you always do—polished and professional.

But then a reporter steps forward. A man with a smirk that makes your skin crawl, and a voice dripping with fake politeness. "Great work tonight," he starts, holding his mic out to you. "But I have to ask—given all the controversy around those photos recently, do you really think you’re the right person to represent this team?"

The question catches you off guard, even though maybe it shouldn’t. You feel the weight of it settle like a rock in your chest, heavy and sharp. Around you, the other girls stiffen, and the camera lenses zoom in, waiting for your reaction.

You take a breath, keeping your expression calm even as irritation simmers just beneath the surface. "Well," you say, your voice steady, "those photos have nothing to do with my role here. What matters is the work we put into this team—on and off the field. And if you watched tonight’s game, I think the results speak for themselves."

Your response is measured, professional. But it’s not enough for him. "Still," he presses, his smirk widening, "don’t you think it sets a... questionable example for young girls watching?"

It’s such a loaded, condescending question that the irritation flares into anger. Before you can reply, though, one of your teammates steps forward. "Excuse me," she says sharply, her voice cutting through the tension. "What kind of example are you setting by asking that question? Maybe focus on our performance instead of gossip."

The reporter’s smirk falters, and another cheerleader speaks up, her arms crossed. "Yeah, seriously. We just worked our butts off out there, and this is what you want to talk about? Seems like a ‘you’ problem."

A few of the others chime in, their voices firm and united. For the first time in weeks, you don’t feel like you’re standing on shaky ground. The reporter stumbles over his words, trying to regain control, but someone from the PR team steps in and quickly ends the interview.

When the chaos dies down, and you’re gathering your things, one of your teammates catches your eye. "We’ve got your back," she says simply, offering you a small smile.

The others nod in agreement, and it’s all you can do to keep your voice steady when you reply. "Thanks. That means a lot."

It’s not a perfect resolution, but as you leave the field that night, you feel lighter. For the first time, it feels like you’re not fighting this battle alone.

The atmosphere shifts after the interview ends. The biting coldness that had lingered for weeks, the pointed whispers and passive-aggressive smiles, seems to melt away. For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel like an outsider among your own team.

One by one, the girls gather around you. At first, it’s tentative—an awkward shuffle of sneakers on the turf as if they’re testing the waters. Then someone breaks the tension by stepping closer and wrapping their arms around you.

It’s unexpected, but the gesture cracks something open inside you. Before you can process it, another cheerleader joins in, and then another, until you’re at the center of a warm, chaotic huddle.

The hug isn’t perfect. Arms bump into shoulders, someone’s pom-poms tickle your cheek, and there’s a faint whiff of sweat and body spray mingling in the air. But none of that matters. What matters is the sincerity in the way they hold you, the murmured “We’ve got you” and “Don’t let them get to you” that make your throat tighten with unexpected emotion.

“Look,” one of them says with a grin as the group hug breaks apart, “we may not always be the easiest people to deal with, but you’re our captain. No reporter or stupid photos are gonna change that.”

Another girl chimes in, smirking. “And if they ask anything dumb again, we’ll handle it. You just focus on flipping in midair like it’s nothing.”

The laughter that ripples through the group is light, genuine, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like part of the team again. The weight of their support, of their acceptance, feels like armor you didn’t know you needed.

When the moment starts to fade and the team begins gathering their things, you feel a familiar hand slip into yours. Paige is there, her grip warm and steady, her smile soft in a way that’s meant just for you.

“Ready to go?” she asks, her voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, glancing around at the others. The team is still buzzing, joking and chatting as they trail toward the locker rooms, but a few of them shoot you quick, encouraging smiles.

As you and Paige step out of the arena, hand-in-hand, the crisp night air greets you. The world outside is buzzing, reporters still milling about, cameras flashing as fans cheer and chatter. You know they’re looking. You can feel the weight of their stares, the subtle tilt of a camera lens in your direction, the whispers that follow wherever you go.

But tonight, for once, you don’t care.

You hold Paige’s hand tighter, her fingers lacing through yours in a way that feels unshakable, grounding. You catch her eye, and there’s something fierce in her smile, a kind of defiance that mirrors your own.

“Let them look,” she says, her voice firm but laced with humor. “What are they gonna do? Take more photos?”

The words make you laugh, a sound that feels freer than it has in weeks. Together, you walk through the crowd, the world around you blurring into the background as you focus on each step forward.

People snap pictures, murmur among themselves, and even call out questions, but none of it matters. Not the flashes of cameras, not the speculative headlines that will follow. What matters is the solid warmth of Paige’s hand in yours and the knowledge that, for the first time in a long time, you’re not walking alone.

As the two of you disappear into the night, you feel lighter. Stronger. You’re still the same person who weathered the worst of the storm, but now, you have people at your side who will weather it with you. And that makes all the difference.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[phantomsies]

no thots, just going on a camping trip with ace :)

wc: 1.8K

fresh air on a warm summer night, the ripple of small insects and discarded rocks across the muggy lake waters, intermittent gusts of wind passing through the thick trees, the crackle of debris underneath rubber soled shoes…it was all of these little things that made Ace love the outdoors. Being one with nature and exploring the beautiful unknown, one hike, fishing expedition or camping trip at a time!

it wasn’t uncommon for the spontaneous traveler to just up and decide on a whim that he was going to pack up his supplies, load up his old beater of a Silverado with enough food and water to feed an army for the weekend and head out to his next destination. Albeit a spring with glistening water or a forest some sixty miles away from home. His cell phone was only left on so that worried loved ones were aware of his location…

“..don’t worry about me, I’ll be back in a few days!” Otherwise, his only connection was to the furry animals that made his acquaintance and the earth itself. It was something about the whole experience that awakened his primal instincts…

but perhaps nothing awoken said urges more than when he decided to invite his beloved (y/n) (l/n) along for a weekend excursion to the infamous Twin Flames Peak. A recreational park that was known for its incredible hiking areas, breathtaking waterfalls and the stunning view of the stars at night over the campsites. Yes, he was thrilled to have the company of another fellow outdoorsman and one with such a pretty face to boot!

Watching intently as you tie your box braids up in a neat bun in the passenger seat of his truck. Clear gloss smearing your luscious lips and not another speck of makeup on that perfect canvas..a feeling of warmth and sheer happiness encompassing him as he watches you glide your nimble hands up and down those smooth, brown legs with coats of lotion; just in awe of how the sunlight captures the essence of your gorgeous dark skin underneath its rays. “Careful, babe. You get out smelling all sweet and looking this good, you might attract some unwanted guests.” “Well that’s what I have my big strong man for. You’ll protect me, right?” Joking as you thought he’d probably be insane enough to try and go toe to toe with a damn bear!

Despite it all, he knows he’s got nothing to worry about. Ace has watched you handle your own throughout the rough and tumble. Yes, this gorgeous woman who can pitch a tent and lug firewood just as well as she can put on a designer dress and shake ass at the club…would be spending three whole days out here in the wilderness with him. Those once primal instincts that activated when he sensed nearby danger or felt hunger and rations were low..

had now shifted towards you. Like a predator lying in wait on its prey to slip up, he glared hungrily as you strutted in front of him in those biker shorts and tank top. That plump, toned ass swaying with each step as the two of you trekked to the campsite. His mouth practically watering for a taste of what lies between those somehow thick thighs…

the ratio of your proportions would be enough to turn anyone into a rabid beast. “You better keep up back there, I might leave you behind.” “Is that right? Maybe I like it back here.” Tossing him a wink as you wave to him with a beckoning finger. It’s in this moment that Ace realizes he can no longer sate his carnal desires..discreetly cupping at the tent in his shorts before instructing you to stop at a nearby tree with some made up lie about needing to fix something on your gear. It’s then that he makes his move..

launching the first attack with his lips practically melded to yours in a haze of passion. His tongue descends deeper between your jaws with deep grunts and whimpers to follow…sweaty palms ravenously groping at your tits as the bottom half is sent upwards to be pinched between your teeth for comfort. Ace knows you’ll need it for his lecherous plans to defile your body right here in the forest! Nightfall is soon to come so others are scarce, meaning that he didn’t need to hold back.

instead, he’d instruct you to wrap your arms around the back of the tree and hold still..with a gentle suck of his teeth and muttered expletives under his breath, he’d run those fingers down the curvature your torso before not so subtly shoving his hand in the seat of your panties. He can feel your warmth..the arousal already forming only seconds in. ”You’re wet, babe. That’s a lil’ surprising..” Chuckling as the sounds of your stirred up slick met the crackle of the leaves.

two digits slowly make place on that budding clit and your reaction is priceless! An adorable yelp before tossing your hand over your mouth to shield those whimpers. However, you don’t resist..you don’t even tell him to stop. You just continue working the pads of his index and middle fingers..rolling those hips as you peer down over your stomach. Meanwhile, those exposed tits gently bounce each time he jolts a finger in and out of you.

Hell, he knew the thought of lewd acts in a public place was a bit shameful but it was called the wild for a reason. You were merely mammals, acting in the way you were intended to..no need to be bashful of that!

he’d smugly reach for that hand and peel it back from your mouth whilst those pumps grew faster.

“Instead of trying to hide those moans, pretty girl..squeeze those nipples f’r me. You’ll feel a lot better.”

“Ace, we’ve gotta stop this. I’m gonna fucking come—“

in that moment, your breath hitched in your throat and you realized those pleas were futile because that was his plan. To make you reach climatic bliss right under the night sky. “Then do it..why hold back? Because you’re embarrassed?..afraid we’ll get caught?” His words seeped into your brain as his teeth and lips met your neck once more. Like a carnivorous beast, he’d scrape along your skin before gently grazing you with bites. “Because I’m not. Hell, I hope they see us..see me fucking you like a little slut.”

The entire prospect had him so aroused, he couldn't help but to shuffle those pants to his waistline and tease the head of his throbbing cock against your slick folds. Which prompted him to suck his teeth. “Listen at that..it’s like your little pussy is just begging to be stuffed.” Without haste, he’d snatch your head towards him and force you to focus on that thick member rubbing on your clit. “So beg me, babe. Beg me to fuck you.” It was such a different side of him than before. The jovial, wide eyed camper turned deviant animal had you in his claws with no plans to release…and you had no complaints! So you’d fulfill his wish and plead to feel him inside of you. To be pinned against this tree and fucked until your eyes trailed to the back of your skull.

“Please..fuck me. I don’t care if anyone hears us. I need you..”

it was all he needed to feel affirmed. For you to be equally as carefree as he was. Your shorts had been residing at your knees so he’d finish removing them before hoisting a leg to his shoulder and keeping his eyes focused on your own. “Good girl. That’s all you had to say.” In a moment's notice, you’d find yourself impaled on him; split open by that tip and a few more inches. Releasing loud wails, the two of you moved like a well oiled machine. His hips snapping without so much as slowing down and you meeting those thrusts. The sounds of your skin smacking colliding with the ruffle of the leaves underneath your shoes and of course, the foul words escaping those lips.

“You’re so fucking tight, sweetheart..I hope you’ve been taking your pill because I can’t wait to breed all these pretty holes. Make you walk back to camp with all my cum in you…that’ll be so fucking sexy. Maybe we should’ve brought your plug too.”

meanwhile, you were honing in on massaging your clit, even lobbing a trail of saliva down your tummy to aid in those strokes. Giggling at how calculated his plan whilst gasping and moaning.

“How long have you been waiting to get me out here like this?”

“Only since forever.”

and he had no plans to squander this opportunity. Only to make it worth both of your time. Cradling a hand to the back of your neck, Ace keeps your faces glued to one another..eventually drawing you closer for some deep, sloppy pecks. Those lips smacking as loud as the wet skin below; hips bucking..snapping with each movement and the next thrust growing harder than the last. Praising you for the way you took him so easily. His pace quickens and he can’t seem to slow down…hell, he’s insatiable and the only cure is to feel that tight hole squeezing him and squirting all over his shaft. The sensation of that warmth continuously wrapping around him..pulling him back in each time he felt as if he was going to slip out.

it was evident by the tears welling in your eyes that you were close and who was he to deny you the sweet surrender of an orgasm?

“Oh my gosh! Fuck..right there, right there—“

“Come f’r me, pretty girl. Let it out…come all over this dick.”

each stroke from then on brought forth spurts of wetness, until that little bladder emptied all over his shoes and the ground beneath. But that wasn’t the end..no, he couldn’t let up until he saw his earlier promise through. So he’d force himself through that overly sensitive flesh..getting only half of those eight or so inches before it’d begin to snap. Even so, he persists..because the only thing he wants is to feel that seed pouring into your womb. And it’s not long before his wish is granted. You’d pull him in close, pleading with him to fill you to the brim. Marking his back previously and now with those deep scratch marks, signifying that he was your territory and now he’d done the same..all but growling as he empties his balls into you and leaves a stream of that hot white load embedded inside of you. Chest heaving and curse words are still spewing from his mouth, along with a laugh.

“Fuck..I swear you bring out the worst in me.”

“Says the one whose idea it was in the first goddamn place.”

but there aren’t any complaints. It was no secret you enjoyed this as much as he did. And those primal urges were only just beginning to be quelled…

“Well I have a better idea..why don’t we go for round two when we get back to the tent?”

after all, you had a long weekend ahead of you!

[confiaenanaa]

I just saw this post on instagram and I really loved the 'directing' aesthetic. I was wondering if you can work it into a Em x y/n where she's hired to direct one of his music videos and they get along so well, always goofing off on set. Maybe they hang out off set too and she uses the videos she takes of him on her cell phone to use them for the video. Idk that post just gave me Em x director!y/n vibes.

https://www.instagram.com/p/DBt-zboy5Ya/?igsh=MTUybWI1NG5wODM0NQ==

directing - eminem

director!fem!y/n x Marshall Mathers

masterlist

synopsis: Y/N and Marshall have a cute friendship as she directs his music video

A/N: sooo I wrote this at 2 am so it might be bad (if it is i'll delete and start over I'll have to see in the morning) but I did enjoy this request! keep 'em coming. but just know there'll be more content out VERY soon!!

Y/N did not think she’d ever see herself directing a music video like this one, but, a check is a check. This video was definitely fun to film, though.

The set of Superman was quite the place to be. On the first day of filming, Y/N made her way over to the dressing people to let them know which outfit Marshall would be filming in today. That’s when she saw him. He was leaving his trailer, wearing a wife-beater and some gray sweats. She’d never seen someone like that before. 

-Do I got somethin’ on my face?

-Oh, um, no, no, sorry. 

-It’s aight.

He giggled a bit as he said that last part. He thought it was kind of cute how she’d get nervous around him. He knew she’d be fun to mess with as soon as he’d noticed her displeasure for social interactions. 

...

Throughout the time of filming, Marshall and Y/N grew sort of close. They’d hang out in his trailer and crack jokes during filming. Especially during freaky scenes. Y/N would always make fun of him when he’d be doing those scenes, making him laugh and having to start over. The cast and crew noticed the friendship growing rapidly, but chose not to comment over it. 

They’d realized they got along really well, and they enjoyed the same things. They started to hang out on and off set regularly. They even arranged pizza night where they’d go down to Y/N’s apartment and eat pizza (Marshall’s idea) and then have a spa night (Y/N’s counter idea). 

Marshall hated doing face masks and hair masks but it made Y/N happy and that was all Marshall needed. He’d do a million masks if he’d see that smile once more (though he’d never admit it). 

Y/N would take photos of him constantly on her digital camera and her phone. Always laughing when she saw them. She created an album with all these photos and would laugh at them next to him just to annoy him. During filming, whenever he’d look over in her direction, she’d pull up one of the photos and he’d break character.

They were truly any crew’s worst nightmare. But, they were adorable and Marshall’s friends couldn’t get enough. After so much heartache, they were just glad that he was happy again. 

During the post-filming/editing process, Y/N decided to add some of the photos and videos from pizza night to the music video and thought it’d be a fun addition. You know, like a contrast; one night he’d be partying with girls all over him and then living the lazy life the next. 

When they first watched the video, Marshall’s friends couldn’t stop laughing. They loved the idea and kept replaying it. Marshall acted like he wasn’t amused, but everyone could tell that he was secretly enjoying it. 

It seemed like the fans enjoyed it too. Always asking who the mystery camera woman was and who was behind the voice in the video. Even during interviews, they’d ask Marshall:

-So, is the girl behind the camera your girlfriend? -I don’t know. He said, smirking. Little did he know she sat in her bed watching that video forever trying to read between the lines and figure out if he truly likes her.

[islandtarochips]

Harry Potter x COD

I REALLY love watching the Harry Potter Movie! Trying to read books about it but we don’t have it and I can’t order it because shipping from off-island to here is EXPENSIVE these days so I have to live off of the movies…

And also, I JUST remembered about an artist putting the COD characters into that AU! And I will show the list of those characters! (I only remembered SOME since I saw it like...last year? I think. And I forgot the name of the artist too...)

So here is what I remembered for the COD Characters being in Harry Potter AU:

Soap - Gryffindor/Senior (7th Year) Gaz - Hufflepuff/Senior (7th Year) Ghost (or Simon) - Ravenclaw/Senior (7th Year) Farah - Gryffindor/Senior (7th Year) Alex - Hufflepuff/Senior (7th Year) Price - Slytherin/Professor (Defense Against the Dark Arts) Graves - Slytherin/Senior (7th Year)

And…that’s about it. That’s who I just remembered. I’ll let you guys know if there’s more!

Anyway! I am DYING to share these ideas with you about this one! Let me list down my COD OCs in this Universe!

Tiala - Student/Senior (7th Year)/Ravenclaw: Because of her smartness of planning something ahead. I think that Tiala will likely be fitting in the Ravenclaw house! She also plays quidditch for the Ravenclaw! Which I know we didn't SEE one of the Students from that house actually PLAY but I'm gonna put Tiala in there anyway. She'll be playing as a Chaser or a Beater!

Kanoa - Professor (Defense Against the Dark Arts)/Gryffindor: I see Kanoa being: 1) VERY confident 2)Wants to protect his friends and 3) Causes ALL the problems (Well...most of it). And I know that teaching that kind of subject is...kind of dangerous to learn but when you have Kanoa around! He'll make it somehow...FUN??? I don't know how this man got the students attention of teaching these subject. I'm sure if Hogwarts are doing the "Teacher of the Month". Kanoa will be taking the spotlights! HA!

Agnes - Student/Junior (6th Year)/Gryffindor: As always, Agnes being a chaotic girl and getting into trouble. Causing some explosions during Potions Class (Trying to make something explosive with it). But she will help and protect her friends from dangers. With her BOMBS!

Nigel - Student/Junior (6th Year)/Hufflepuff: I was thinking that Nigel has that LOYAL personality and since Hufflepuff is loyal. Why not put him there? I know he worked hard to help others as much as he can! Wanting to satisfy them! He plays in Quidditch as being the Chasers or the Seekers!

Aelan - Nurse: Aelan is a smart gal and she knows what she is doing. She used to be in the Ravenclaw House. And when she graduated, she decided to be in the nursing office to help and heal the students.

Callie - Student/Senior (7th Year)/Slytherin: I know she got that attitude from Graves and Graves IS a Slytherin too. So you bet that these two will be annoying ANYONE to death. (Her rivalry is with Tiala while Graves' rivalry is with Soap in this AU)

Rosa - Professor (Potions)/Ravenclaw: I believe Rosa will be fitting for Ravenclaw. Think of her as a smart gal with charms. Always a quick-thinker of going against her opponent! And also quite creative while teaching her students to get their attention!

Alana - School Counselor/Gryffindor: Making sure to help students and getting them out of trouble. AHEM- Agnes and Nigel- AHEM- 

Koa - Professor (Flying lesson)/Coach for the Gryffindor/Gryffindor: I see this hunk of a man being the coach. And I know he's brave enough to face anyone or any creatures to make sure that anyone is safe. So Gryffindor for him! And oh! He's also the coach for the Gryffindor House obviously! Lol.

And now! For my mutuals OCs that I have been asking them! And I’m also still waiting for my other mutuals to respond so I’ll reblogged this post once they send it to me!

@revnah1406 OCs in Harry Potter AU:

Sparrow - Student/Senior (7th Year)/Gryffindor: I see this hunk of a woman is a Senior student. And knows how to play quidditch! I don't know if Rev will agree for her to be a BEATER because seeing how strong she looks. I KNOW she'll knock those chasers DOWN with one throw!

Amara - Student/Senior (7th Year)/Hufflepuff: I most definitely see it! Amara being a hard working student and always be fair with others! And I KNOW she's loyal to her best Girlfriend! Sparrow! You could see her cheering her lover on during the Quidditch match!

Abby - Student/5th Year/Slytherin: Abby is a smart gal for a Slytherin and I KNOW she'll be sassy towards others. She's also confident! Which I like it! So I guessed this DOES fits her!

Now for @alypink OCs in Harry Potter AU:

Aly - Professor/Gryffindor: I could DEFINITELY see Aly being in that house! She's a very brave one! I know she is! And has that determination sparks inside of her! But haven't decided of which subjects she'll teach.

Aleks - Student/7th Year/Ravenclaw: I could see it so CLEARLY! This smart gal being part of the Ravenclaw house? Fits pretty well! With her smartness and great ideas. She's gonna knock the house's roof off with it! Lol.

@deeptrashwitch OCs in the Harry Potter AU:

Alicia - Professor (Defense Against the Dark Arts)/Gryffindor: YES! YES! Both her and Kanoa teaching the SAME subjects and is in the SAME house?! No wonder they're both BEST of FRIENDS! Hahaha! And I could definitely see it and I LOVE it!

Luke - Professor (Muggle Studdies)/Slytherin: I don't know if there IS a subject about teaching Muggle. It's been a long time that I've watched Harry Potter so I don't know much. But for this AU! We'll pretend that existed! And I would LOVE to know more about Luke being a Slytherin! This is getting too much fun! Lol.

And lastly that I got respond from. Is @welldonekhushi OCs:

Arjun - Professors (Transfiguration)/Gryffindor: Since I JUST remembered that @welldonekhushi did draw Arjun as being no a PROFESSOR. Soooo….thinking that he’ll be teaching Transfiguration. Doing something to change objects like that. Him being a professor is a WIN-WIN🥴AHEM- Anyway, I could see him teaching that subject!

Scarlet - Student/7th Year/Hufflepuff: This is really sweet to see Scarlet being a Hufflepuff! I wonder if she likes animals. And being a hard worker is her style if she wants to get the job done! Loving it!

And I think that's about it! But for my mutuals! If you are interested to join in, you can DM me! And for those who already ANSWERED the ask the I sent in your inbox and I didn't add it in here. Do let me know in my DM as well! Thank you all and I MIGHT write a fic about this AU too! But maybe later on after me writing the OTHER stories! Ok! Thank you for reading this far and I love ya, peles! 😚❤️

[alicentflorent]

That’s the exact flavor that a lot of Rhaenicents like. Alicent is nothing if she is not begging at Rhaenyra’s feet her being her biggest cheerleader. They don’t actually care about our the character otherwise. They’ve been waiting for Rhaenyra to take Kings landing just they can see Alicent actually on her knees begging her for mercy.

Ultimately most of the blame goes to the writers who turned Alicent into a punching bag and their sole device to project lessons of karma, misogyny and hypocrisy on and not any of the more deserving characters. As proven by the new write up of viserys’s character this season. How do you intentionally show us that he is not only an awful father, but husband and king as well. Have multiple characters think this and completely rewrite history the next season about a man who said “Look me in the eyes” to his 10 year old that literally fucking lost his eye minutes ago. How do you say Alicent had a loving marriage when she dreaded visiting this man at night, went catatonic underneath him and he knows she doesn’t like it, knows she’s absent mentally and he still forces her to look at him while he rapes her?

The writers constant need to put Alicent into her place and then knock her down a few more pegs still. At this point it’s gratuitous and heavy handed. We get it, Alicent is not the right kind of woman. She can’t right a dragon, fight with a sword or shoot a bow. She doesn’t secretly wish she were a knight or a man. She’s not a guys girl. Therefore we shouldn’t root for her. We get it, we got it season 1 pre time skip that saw a completely innocent girl aged 14-18 whose worst crime at the time was gossip, be pimped out by her own father. Married to an old and ailing king who would never love or respect her. Endure his nightly rapes and become a mother at 15 and would spend most of the next 5 years pregnant who would never love his children. Show her support to her ex best friend who has ignored and treated her with hostility for 3 years and be laughed at and treated like an outsider by her husband and his gross child grooming brother who deserves nothing but the worse.

Daemon gets a redemption arc which will only fuel the Stans baby girlification of him while not only will team black hate Alicent, now a lot of team green hate her too. Opening her AND Olivia up for more misogyny and hate.

Those “take all of their misery and give it to______” memes are popular in this fandom but the writers really took that to heart. They take everyone’s misery and gives it to Alicent. Take an absolutely horrible character, take the horrible shit that they do and pay it back to Alicent 10 fold.

Take the worst man you know- a murderer, a child groomer, a proud misogynist, a woman beater. Have this man be directly responsible for Alicent’s 4 year old Grandson’s murder but make it Alicent’s fault for having sex with the man she’s had feelings for since she was 14 years old. She has this consensual, pleasurable sexual relationship- her first consensual relationship with this man who is devoted to her. A sexual abuse victim of 2 men finally feels comfortable enough with a man that she has sex with him with no clothes on, in the daylight and at night- sometimes in the same day. Shes not going away in her head during. She’s not being blackmailed. It’s not without religious guilt but it’s something she wants, she even initiates and takes lead.

They take this relationship, these consensual encounters with the man who she considers her “Lover” and they flip it on them, on her. They completely change the scene from its book counterpart and make it her fault because she was being a “whore” and a “hypocrite”. She was having sex while her Grandson was being murdered- an event she had no idea that was going to happen. It’s framed in a way that it’s her fault. Not Daemon’s, not B & C’s, not Aemond’s, not Viserys for planting the seeds for 2 decades- longer than that when you consider all the times we welcomed Daemon back at court after doing things like grooming his daughter and murdering his wife (and people say Alicent covered up for Aegon? What would they expect to happen when Daemon gets away with everything including murder? When Ironrod is the master of laws and can barely muster up respect for Alicent, wtf do TB think he would’ve done with Aegon? Castrated? The wall? Lmao, Alicent’s slapping, yelling at him and attempted disowning is more of a punishment than those men would give to Prince Aegon Targaryen who they were all planning a usurpation for)

It’s something Alicent needs to feel guilty for while the responsible parties are either unaffected or given scenes to make them sympathetic or a redemption journey. They keep showing that damn dog but Jaehaerys has become he who shan’t be mentioned.

Helaena has to forgive her mother who apparently nicked one of those glass candles from the Hightower as a small child, taught herself how to use it with that Hightower sorcery, used it to look into the future and saw when, where and how blood and cheese would take place but just decided not to stop it because she had a dick appointment.

Yet she’s coming to Daemon in his 3 eyed Raven dreams to tell him that he knows the role he has to play in saving the world- when he said a few episodes that he would walk away from his family if they loss. He also sent the Blackwoods to rape and pillage the Brackens and other Riverland families. Apparently he is deserving of redemption, for the fans to go “See, he never wanted to rule! He just wanted his family’s love and approval!” “He is in full support of Rhaenyra”

You know who else wanted her family’s love and approval- anybody’s love that she didn’t have to give parts of herself away for? This mildly bitchy woman who is actually one of the softest characters in the series, Alicent fucking Hightower. After her life ended at 14 years old, she’s spent the last 20 years in misery, she’s given all of herself to everyone else. Surely she has redeemed herself for the crime of not being the one to have Aemma sliced open and marrying her daughter’s 14 year old friend. She is the reason that Rhaenyra wasn’t caught off guard and murdered at the order of her father and council. Surely after losing for so long, she’ll get a win and the love she never had but nope, she is never going to get it.

Instead she gives up on her family aside from her daughter and granddaughter (and honestly, I can’t entirely blame her.) instead of just leaving, finding the son she saved and telling him to bow out. She goes to Rhaenyra for no logical reason at all, hands Rhaenyra the castle AND most of the people she loves on a silver platter and gets nothing in return but more humiliation, called a whore again, no guarantee of safety for her daughter, granddaughter or innocent youngest son and a clown nose.

Alicent is smarter than this! Or she was.

The people in the writer’s room hate her so much and that’s why they could never make me hate her.

You’ve summed everything up perfectly! Great point about daemon being given a redemption arc while Alicent is punished by the narrative for not fitting Condal and Hess’ idea of an ideal woman which is super problematic. Good comparison on Alicent covering up Diana’s rape vs Viserys and to a lesser extent, adult Rhaenyra covering up all of daemon’s crimes including Rhea Royce’s murder (and sitting at the table with viserys as he mocked rhea’s family and threatened to take their claim) and Rhaenyra presumably won’t hold him accountable or acknowledge the raping and pillaging daemon arranged in her name and forgive him for also murdering a 4 year old in her name. Alicent was definitely wrong for keeping dyana quiet and not doing more to help her but none of those men on the council including Otto would have done anything to Aegon over the rape. Otto might’ve yelled at him in I’m mad that your choice of victim is speaking out not that you’ve done this terrible thing kind of way. The only time daemon was held accountable was when the riverlords demanded justice for the war crimes and Oscar Tully, a child, ordered daemon to execute the Blackwood who committed those crimes on daemons orders (there’s also a reason we didn’t see the children being killed and women being raped, it’s because it would be harder to view daemon as redeemable just like seeing Aegon’s traumatised, named victim has much more of an impact than if we just heard Erryk say that Aegon sexually assaults serving girls)

Back to Alicent, they can never make me hate her.. if they think a woman needs to be humbled and revert back to her teenage self after a season of what felt like one long humiliation ritual, sex scenes that didn’t make the Final Cut and made Olivia feel uncomfortable and instead of ending all of this in some kind of catharsis for Alicent they have beg for forgiveness and mercy from the other female lead who will call her a whore and a hypocrite to appease fans who have been saying Alicent is a hypocritical judgmental whore who needs to be put in her placefor day one. This meeting with Rhaenyra will lead to the deaths of every single person Alicent loves (her sons, including innocent daeron, her daughter who she spent the season trying to protect, her father, her lover, her brother who is also innocent as in he hasn’t been involved in any of the usurper politics and only seemed to join this war out of duty) and I’m sure they’ll constantly remind the audience that Alicent took down team green and Rhaenyra’s hands will conviently stay relatively clean.

[padfootastic]

The most recent chapter was so fun!!!! Harry (unconsciously) feeling safe enough with Sirius to completely crash after a long tiring day>>> Just the idea of Walburga Black being a beater is hysterical yet strangely fitting in a way... Truly an enigma of a woman. I also need to know if Harry explained to Sirius what a blast-ended skrewt is. I can't imagine Sirius being happy with Hagrids way of teaching (concerning Harry's safety. Otherwise I think he'd love it)

Quick question: why would "the others" not approve of Harry and Sirius going flying in the quidditch room? Just general 'could get injured' or something else? Cause I read it like they were still inside so it's not like they're leaving the house right?

Almost need a little recap on all the times Walburga's portret went off and the others having to deal with her. Can't imagine they'll be pleased whenever Harry and Sirius turn up again.

Those two also really need to figure out how to not spiral at the same time. I think that would be very helpful for them lmao

(I'm also HONOURED my ask send you running to the doc??!!?!! A hot choco scene because of me??!!??!?!)

god ikr?? like with the order, our boy feels like he HAS to be strong and convincing and competent but the minute he’s around sirius, who has the most right to his answers, he’s like soz i’m out. no fear, minimal guilt. i love it. i love them sm.

hahaha maybe we can have a lil snippet in the end notes of the next chapter ab harry explaining hagrid’s lessons to sirius? it is a v amusing mental image i admit.

ahh so i don’t know how to explain it, exactly, but everyone in the order was so WEIRD about grimmauld place? like,,,why are molly and the kids manually cleaning the whole house by hand?? a house that is clearly shown as magically decaying and filled w dangerous items/creatures to boot??? and then theres the sirius aspect of it. even in canon, he was considered reckless and a negative influence, and i can see the order being worried ab harry spending unsupervised time w him. in FoD, they can see how much our boy has changed and are going to possibly be even more wary of him around sirius, esp in places they can’t access. and to some extent, i also don’t think they see harry as like. a person? let alone a child, but just. someone with agency who can do things for the heck of it. i think so many of them fall into the trap of picturing him like a symbol and they hold him to way higher standards. the way they acted around him in third year is the biggest eg of this for me. so yeah, i think that plays in here a bit too

god anon can i just say—i have SO MANY ideas regarding walburga’s portrait bc i honestly really wanna include her on the fic (partly bc we’re gonna have some sirius povs coming up, after harry goes to hogwarts, and i think she’s crucial to his character and partly bc i think she’s a criminally underused plot device) but it fully depends on which characterisation i go with because there’s a few. and it’ll change the trajectory of her presence.

but yeah, that’s still a little bit away haha

and yes!!! i’m seriously not exaggerating; i hadn’t touched FoD in close to a year until that ask and then suddenly it’s like i’m possessed by a manic writer ghost lol so im very very thankful to u haha

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #120

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily (haven't missed one yet!) and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please like and reblog if you enjoy - the notes keep me going!

Wait up, detective! You might want to brush up on this case file before we go any further.

Detective McGuire took a sip from his paper cup full of coffee as he approached the Black house. Now that he’d waited a half hour, he was sure the Sheriff would be home. He hit record on his cassette-corder and knocked on the door. A tall, fit, middle-aged man answered.

“Ah, hello, Sheriff.” McGuire stuck out his hand. “How was church?”

The Sheriff’s eyes darkened and he hesitantly shook McGuire’s hand. “It was an excellent sermon. Who are you, exactly?”

“Your daughter didn’t tell you I was coming, sir?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“I’m Dave McGuire, homicide. Looking into some disappearances in the area.”

“I don’t recall asking anyone for help investigating this.”

“Just doing my job. I hoped as an officer of the law yourself, you might be able to fill me in on some things.”

Sheriff Black nodded and motioned inside.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. McGuire?”

“Oh, no, I appreciate the hospitality…” McGuire held up his paper cup. “… But I always bring my own coffee.”

The Sheriff grunted as he sat on the couch. “Veronica?”

She came out of the kitchen, wearing an apron.

“Bring us a plate of those cookies, will you? Mr. McGuire is investigating what happened to your school friends.”

She nodded, and locked eyes with McGuire. There were deep bags under her eyes. She returned to the kitchen.

“Your daughter is close with these kids?”

“It’s a small school, so all these kids grew up together. I wouldn’t say they were closer than average, but they were friends.”

“I see, I see, oh, by the way, before I forget, is it alright with you if I record our conversation? I’m not so good at note-taking, so it helps me out.”

The Sheriff hesitated. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.” McGuire surveyed his surroundings. It was a surprisingly decorated home for a single father. And notably, on the bookshelf, was a copy of Gray’s Anatomy. “Do you read often?”

“I try to keep up with the news.”

“Have you done any of your own investigations into the disappearances?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Why’s that?”

“Kids run away all the time. They’re probably out of my jurisdiction at this point, so I figure I ought to focus on what I can change.”

“And the girl with the missing brain?”

Sheriff Black chuckled. “I tell you, Detective, I tried asking her questions, but she wouldn’t talk.”

“And you found this… amusing?”

“In our line of work, we have to have a dark sense of humor to survive, don’t you think?”

“Hm.”

Veronica came out of the kitchen with a plate full of chocolate chip cookies, still warm.

“Thank you, dear.” The Sheriff said as he took one from the plate. “Mm. You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Thanks.” Veronica said quietly, once again making eye contact with the Detective.

“Why don’t you join us, miss? I’d like to ask you some questions too.”

“Oh, uh…” She looked back into the kitchen. “I should clean up first. Just a moment.”

“Sure, sure. Fine young woman you’ve raised, Sheriff.”

“Yes, fatherhood is very rewarding.” He held up another cookie.

“Is her mother around?”

Sheriff Black sighed. “Her mother hasn’t been around since little Ronny was about seven. She left one day and never turned up.”

“Ever find out why?”

The Sheriff squinted. “No. Aren’t we supposed to be talking about those dead students?”

“I never said they were dead.”

“Sure, but you’re from Homicide. You must suspect they’re dead?”

“I’m only trying to find answers, Sheriff.”

A groan of pain came from the kitchen. Both men looked to see what was happening.

“You okay in there, Ronny? I told you not to lick the beaters.”

She leaned on the doorway and cried out again, holding her abdomen. “Ohhh… my stomach hurts…”

“Your stomach… hurts?” The Sheriff stood up. “What do you mean it hurts? What are you doing?”

“I…” She stumbled into the room. “I think I see Jesus…” She reached out in front of herself, then collapsed to the floor in just such a way to reveal her perfectly stitched necrotizing wounds.

You may wish to familiarize yourself with Veronica's "craft projects."

[myst867]

NINE DAYS UNTIL @harmonysummertimemadness and it doesn't seem like I'm going to hit all my goals but nonethless I've got some good stuff to share! Quite a bit of updates to look forward to when I start promoting Harmony Summertime Madness Fest!

Matched:

With that Draco’s hands rose in the air, one clenched around his wand. Green magic swirled from the dirt underneath his feet. “Revocor Sanguin! Ominus Malfoy!” The spells to lockdown his estate to only those witches or wizards in the direct Malfoy bloodline rolled outward from the Manor house like a magical tidal wave.

“Fuck.” Harry lunged to the side grabbing Hermione just as the magic exploded outward with a thunderous rush of wind, picking the three of them up and flinging them towards the gate of the estate.

“Arresto momentum!” Ron and Harry shouted in sync pointing their wands at each other and freezing each other about ten feet off the ground outside the Malfoy estate gates.

The three of them hung there for a moment in silence. “I don’t know if I like your cousin, Harry.” Hermione finally advised contemplatively from where she was held in his arms.

“Why do you think we messed with him so much as kids?” Ron asked. “He was always so dramatic about things.”

“I think it's a Slytherin thing.” Harry offered absently his mind already moving on.

Intertwined:

Harry slowed as they approached the forest. Was there a better way to handle this? He felt like the urgency of the situation was making him act rashly, but there wasn’t much time to consider an alternative method. Did he trust a teacher to help him? To believe him?

He looked toward the quidditch pitch. The crowd was roaring and he could barely make out the Weasley beaters trying to keep up with him in the sky. Did he trust Hermione to stay out of danger if he sent her back? Perhaps even sent her to other him who was still playing quidditch? Would he still get injured then?

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked as their positions reversed and she was a step ahead of him.

“Maybe you shouldn’t come with me. Maybe you stay and tell yourself and Sirius what’s going on and we avoid all of that— and you can tell them what’s happening with Remus.”

“You are not leaving me behind Harry Potter.” She told him in a fiercely quiet voice stepping forward to pull him into the dark forest after her. Her momentum carried them several steps before she slowed down, the forest atmosphere closing around them darker and quieter than it had been just a few meters back.

“It’s so much darker in here.” Hermione admitted quietly to Harry as they moved side by side cautiously further and further into the interior. All the noises of the forest felt like needles pricking her skin with alarm. She knew what was coming as soon as the darkness became absolute.

Harry squeezed her hand reassuringly whispering to her. “We’ll just find where they are and leave, we’ll be out before the change happens.”

Hermione looked at him from the corner of her eye as they walked slowly and said quietly. “We don’t get out though. Remember?”

To be published fest fic:

The magic pulsed growing as their screams became hoarse. The room was bathed entirely in white from the magic streaming violently from the three wizards.

Unnoticed by the occupants locked in a life-and-death struggle a transparent veil appeared on the far wall and two figures stepped from it. The man and woman approached and knelt next to Harry before reaching out to brace his shoulders as he shuddered.

The bright white of the magic pulled at Harry dragging him down…down… down… until he heard and saw nothing.

“It’s okay, Harry.” A warm male voice whispered. “I’ve got you son.”

[tottymatsuno]

No for real and sincerely though if you are pro pedo or bl I do want you dead. Don’t interact with me I mean it kys you serve no purpose here. Your loved ones would shun you if they knew, you could get fired from your job if you were as loud as you are online about jackin off to incest, and kids in sexual situations,

you would and deserve to lose many of the people in your direct circle if you admitted what you’re advocating for in plain speech:

The right to create, then publicly distribute sexual content of children and incest both biologically related and non biologically, as well as the trauma involved in this situation in order to masturbate to it. Any sexual violence, triggering or not. And the right to not only do this, but sexually harass others by posting it in spaces where it is not welcomed, because I don’t want to be treated like a predator.

I know a woman irl who has a similar neutral policy on the convicted rapists and child beaters in her life. Said “only god can judge them, and I know they’re good people.” Said this to me after inviting my daughter to spend time with her family. I told her that I was no longer interested, and from a moral standpoint I could never keep those people in my company. It made her leave work early.

That’s what happens when y’all say that shit hoping for acceptance. People giving you weird looks, and saying: “that isn’t right, and makes you a bad person” if you have the guts like she did to say it without the showmanship.

Which I’m well aware y’all don’t. So since you’re cowards imo the best thing to do in this situation is find a way to put a permanent end to it. Being that internet damaged will not service you well in life and if the poisons too deep well. Let it kill you. And I mean that. It should make you die.

[tcthebcne]

ah, is that AMELIA SUSAN BONES emerging from the shadows? the THIRTY FIVE YEAR OLD, halfblood cis woman who currently spends their days as an AUROR. people from HUFFLEPUFF are known for being fair, disciplined, and compassionate, but also for their blunt, stubborn, and impatient  tendencies—perhaps it all adds up after all. they say she has aligned themselves with NO ORGANIZATION. whispers carry far in these uncertain days. let me tell you what i’ve heard: AMELIA evokes PERFECTLY TAILORED SUITS, BLACK COFFEE LEFT TO GO COLD, FILES PILED HIGH, A WARM EMBRACE YOU NEVER WANT TO LEAVE, THE SMELL OF A BURNING FIRE BOTH BEAUTIFUL AND DANGEROUS effortlessly and is said to be the mirror image of the muggle ADRIANNE PALICKI.  let’s just hope SHE hears the truth before the obscura has a chance to change their mind.

TLDR version!

A bisexual queen. Uses both she/they pronouns

Talented wixen and Auror

don’t fuck with her family.....please just don’t do it.

did i mention bi af? needs a gf or bf in their life?

Is very much on the side of good but refuses to side with the order directly. She is vocal about her position, openly stating how much she despises the death eaters and what they are doing however she believes it's important that she isn't aligned with the Order. It's not that she doesn't agree with what they are doing, she doesn't agree with how they are doing it.

Info

Full name: Amelia Susan Bones Nicknames/aliases: Lia, Ames, Bones. Age: 35 Birthday: September 20th Gender: cis-woman Pronouns: she/they Orientation: bisexual Nationality: British Blood status: Halfblood Occupation: Auror Affiliation: Neutral

Family

Mother: Lynda Bones (Nee TBA Wanted connection!) Father: Rupert Bones Brothers: Edgar and utp Bones

The only daughter of Rupert and Lynda Bones (Nee TBA Cousins WC) Her father was a well respected prosecutor and her mother, an Auror trainer, having stepped aside from field work after the birth of her youngest brother.

The Bones family are know for their long history of service to the ministry and the people. They are a prominent family, with strong connections to and inside the ministry. “Born to Protect” could be mistaken for their family words. They, unlike other old families, do not care about blood purity. They are free to love whoever they so chose, regardless.

Amelia grew up in and around the feet of those in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. When home from school or on holidays their parents would bring them into the Ministry so they could work. From Aurors and Hit Wixen right down to Wizenagmont members and lawyers.  She learnt very early on the importance of justice and what it meant to actually deliver it. Not just make it seem like it had been delivered. This shaped the way Amelia saw the world, not in black and white but in various shades of grey. Nobody is perfect and everyone makes mistakes. One terrible day or mistake could ruin someone’s entire life.

She hadn't always thrived under the pressure of carrying such a prominent name. During school she had struggled with some of her core lessons, (transfiguration mainly) and had at one point caught the eyes of scouts from the Holyhead Harpies due to her skill as a beater.

She had every intention of heading into the Ministry after graduation as an Auror. It became clear during her training that Amelia was very gifted. She had never considered more specialist training until she was approached by one of her teachers. She went on to specialise in negotiations and hostage situations.

In between her shifts as an Auror and her role as an Aunt to her beloved nieces and nephews, she is studying magical law. She is aware she can't be an Auror forever and is looking into securing her career in the long term.

Wanted Connections

Colleagues: What it says on the tin. People she works with. open to various different forms (good relationship, bad, love-hate) Best Friend: That one person Amelia can always count on! probably one of the few people in the world she would trust her family with Exes 0/2: Ex boyfriends or girlfriends from school or after school. We can plot out why they are Exs and things :D Current partner/lover: If given the choice Amelia wouldn’t have given her heart out during a war but this person swooped in (or people....deff good with a ployship) and took it. Cousin(s): Related through Amelia's mother. This can be plotted out as to what kind of relationship they have. Completely open

[payservewomen]

…..After she and her friend walked away into the dark night, I quickly got up, and gathered all the pieces of the toys that she’d thrown onto the concrete….as she disappeared into the darkness, a man walked up to enter the gate into the apartment building, ofc he took it all in, prob giggling but i couldn’t look at him ofc…I hesitated until he got in the gate, then hopped up and put everything in my bag, and scampered off into the night….When waiting for her, I’d walked around the area a lot, and recalled seeing a dumpster with tons of clothes in and around it..The reality of my situation beginning to hit me- i’m in downtown denver, wearing only a sheer thong and wife-beater, At least the wife-beater was size Large, and i pulled it down as much as i could and when i’d do that, it would just barely cover my very visible ass crack. As i’d run down the sidewalk, ofc any and everyone who saw would laugh….Didn’t bother me too much while still on the same street, as I’d assume that anyone looking had seen the beautiful woman who did it to me….I’m far more comfortable dealing with that kinda humiliation, ppl thinking “look at that pervert lol” rather than “wtf is THAT? Ugh god, some middle aged freak who’s flashing i guess? Fucker better not be tryna get near any women, prob a sexual predator”

Lol yeah, that’s a lot to assume and/or just make up🤷‍♂️ But ya know, must’ve been like 10ish when i saw her, and i didn’t walk into my front door until nearly 2:30am!

I saw that the last light rail train left at 1:30am from union station…I couldve gotten there much faster, if i’d have taken the free mall ride bus…but even just getting to where that bus left from, wouldn’t be easy….I did make it to that dumpster, and got a sweatshirt, and tied it around my waist; I used it to cover my front, figuring my thong-clad ass wouldn’t be quite as bad, if cops did indeed see me…Don’t think that’s quite enough for “public indecency” But when i did walk down the sidewalk, or where many ppl were around, I’d hear lots of shouting, laughing, and lots of “pull ur pants up motherfucker!” “Nobody wanna see that shit!” And lots n lots of more quiet talks about me…I still don’t know if i should’ve just walked directly where I wanted, or if the route i took was better…it was just…beyond embarrassing, beyond humiliation…oh and for those who know denver…I was relieved when i finally passed east colfax, but then realized “ah shit, i’m in Five points now”(historically black neighborhood w/lots of crime, recently they say it’s gentrified, but still mostly black) Now, I don’t mean that as a racist fuck, but 🤷‍♂️ just saying is all….I feel like in general? Most grown black men aren’t gonna be as passive as white neighborhoods…there, id expect cops to come and get me….whereas i’d imagine black ppl would wanna make sure i’m not gonna be sexually harassing women….but i think they prob saw my demeanor…anytime any woman was in sight, I did all i could to cover myself up…when passing ppl on sidewalk, i’d look down, tryna have a look/attitude that I’d had something crazy happen to me and didn’t want to be wearing what i was….In my mind, I’d created the story that “My gf and I had been together only few months, and i’d cheated on her. We were together in her car downtown, she’d told me to bring sex toys; said she was planning on punishing me for cheating…then had me put on the thong, and taken off my button up shirt, leaving me only in my thong and wife beater. She said she’d forgive me if i got out of her car, just like that and danced around for all to laugh at. I did this, she turned her headlights on…then threw my bag out to me, saying “have fun getting home! oh and i changed passwords on ur uber and lyft accounts! Ur wallet n phone r in ur bag, ur debit card will be in ur mailbox hahaha” and she started her car, just b4 she drove away, she threw out this pair of underwear too, saying she’d have mercy so i wouldn’t get a public indecency charge”

There was another little zipper pocket in the backpack that Goddess didn’t look in. It had teeny tiny see thru baby blue “boxer briefs” If u can call em that…Got em on Temu.com so sizes are all asian, meaning extra small, and these were size small, made for like 27in waists, so they left nothing to the imagination…Almost felt like they made it worse and made me even more visible due to being so bright. I still wrapped the sweatshirt around my waist, as I desperately needed to find a way to get into a 7-11 and get something to drink!

All the adderall, and vaping had made me incredibly dehydrated, along with the running around…on my journey, I’d be walking down a street and realize a bar was on the corner with tons of ppl partying(not exactly the groups of ppl i wanted to see me) and i’d double back the other way…after well over an hour of this, i went down an alley way to find that….I’d made no progress whatsoever!

Finally realized I had no options and would have to pass many ppl…so i did but ofc I’d run across any major road etc…even this proved to be very difficult, as i’d still change my course upon hearing women talking…Being seen/laughed at by them was bad enough, but the one thing I couldn’t have happen, is a woman thinking I’m some sexual predator or something!

During my journey, I remembered the recent news…about a man, i believe in either Golden, or Boulder, who’d been butt naked, and harassing women, not only harassing but it’s a big news story, and they’ve been saying he’s def dangerous!

Now i was scared! I still had an empty water bottle, that i’d brought with me, so if only i could find a faucet somewhere…I did see sprinklers on, watering ppl’s lawns. I went up to one, tryna fill up the bottle, but only got about a third of it…while doing this in a neighborhood, an SUV pulled up, i heard ppl talking, it stopped and obv they were watching me…the types of whispers i heard, the way the vehicle stopped, def had me thinking they were looking for someone to rob…dark residential area, Im alone and nobody in sight. After observing me for a min or 2, swear i heard, “nah, tf he gonna have? look at him!” and they pulled away….Just then i stepped in a deep puddle caused by the sprinklers…tbh this added to my humiliation(nothing i hate more than soaking wet socks!)which ofc turned me on..i went back to tryna gather water, as I realized i was in desperate need…but doing this wasn’t easy, and to get 1/3 of a bottle took time and eventually got me pretty wet! But it was worth it for the water….Just felt so exposed and vulnerable having to bend over and expose myself.

At this point, I’d yet to remember i had the lil boxer briefs in my bag, so just had my thong on, and the sweatshirt tied around, but u could def see half my ass and see i was wearing only a thong underneath.

I decided to go to 7-11, id just tie the sweatshirt well, and try to cover my ass with backpack….So i went towards it, ran across the street, and saw a long line inside…all ppl who were dressed up, obv had gone out partying all night; likely drunk..drunk being an issue cuz ofc ppl are a lot more likely to say things and/or DO things, possibly violent things…so i couldn’t and set a path for the next closest 7-11 even tho it was the wrong direction. Finally got there, and only a couple ppl inside, but it was right next to and across the street from bar/club with tons of ppl outside..so again, I just couldn’t…Got some more sprinkler water, and said fuck it, gotta get to union station before 1:30!

If ur familiar with Denver, I was close to where 16th st mall ends on the south side, close to Colfax and Broadway.(very busy intersection. if a weekday, would only be homeless ppl n junkies around. but weekend? Everyone’s around) and I knew i just had to go parallel to 16th st mall to get to union station, but this proved more difficult than i’d imagined!

Many more bars and people than I’d ever seen in the area; by this time i’d put on my tiny lil undies, figured they’d prevent the indecent exposure charge, but still tryna avoid ppl..took way too long and before i knew it, was no chance i’d make the last train. That’s when i noticed just how exhausted i was…the beating, the adrenaline etc was too much, so i began heading straight home

Finally, I knew i wasn’t too too far, but just had one final gauntlet of bars to pass, with tons of ppl outside….many commented, but by this point, extreme dehydration was what concerned me! i passed ball arena(where avalanche and nuggets play) followed by Mile high stadium, obv not the best areas…. finally got onto a bridge, passed “meow wolf” and was home free…except which way to take? Fastest way was straight down colfax(Thee road in denver, old rt 70) Which got plenty of yelling and even “catcalls” I suppose ppl saw the thong and had wishful thinking lol

oh and before this, i’d made it to 3 7-11’s and all were closed! Apparently they all close at midnight downtown cuz they all just get robbed….Eventually i made it to a 7-11 close to me, took a deep breath, said fuck it, and went in…as going in, a large black man approached from behind me, and fuuuuck, Tbh im more easily humiliated in front of black guys rather than white….Just in my experience, black men have far more common sense, and far more likely to state the truth of any situation…anyway, i tried to hurry but 🤷‍♂️ he was right there so I held the door long as i could then kinda pushed it and walked in, ya know so it’d be open for him, but i could save myself another moment of humiliation…ofc after i went in, everyone stared; I tried to get into the “ahhh these damn scornful women” demeanor, might’ve even said something like that aloud.

Got drinks, paid for em in absolute shame, and headed out….after leaving, the sweatshirt kept falling off…I chugged down a ton of the generic gatorade quickly as i could….sweatshirt fell again and i’d had enough and let it fall and began walking.

This is what i’d wanted! Part of me, deep inside, wanted to be stranded, half naked, with no option but to be seen by all….funny enough, i was directly across the street from Pleasures, a sex store. This location had the biggest “adult arcade” I’ve ever seen…Its just a dark place, kinda like a maze, with little booths to watch porn in…some had doors, others didn’t, but most have gloryholes…so yeh, lots of perverts around.

I ran across colfax, and headed down the dark street, i’m sure getting plenty of looks and i did hear lots of shouting…but at this point, i wasn’t horny in the least, just desperate to get home…the gatorade made my body realize how fucked up it was, and i immediately felt nauseous…with stomach pain as well.

So, i continued on in the sleepy quiet enough neighborhood…but ofc, every so often a few ppl walked by..was almost more humiliating since they’d be the only ones around….couple times i saw women walking their dogs and didn’t wanna worry them; or them to think i’m some fuckin rapist or some shit so i’d avoid them like the plague!

Then yeh, finally did get home, covered in sweat and shame…..barely enough strength to piss, and get water. I drank it, but slowly, as by this point, i realized i was extremely dehydrated. Thought i was gonna puke, but kept slowly drinking water…luckily barely had strength to wash my gross face…but not enough to shower…put on clothes to sleep in and passed out.

[obsessedasusual]

Lonely No More - Five

Bishop Losa xOC Series

Series Summary: There was never a dull moment, being the only Reyes sister. But between overbearing brothers, being the family peacekeeper, and countless disaster dates, Amalia finds herself wishing she had someone to unwind with after a hectic day. Funnily enough, Bishop Losa wishes for the same thing.

Series Warnings: Swearing, mentions/allusions to sex, alcohol

Note: 1k - Part FIVE! It's a lil shorty, but we love her. I just love the friendship between these guys okay?

She came to an abrupt stop outside number 46, eyeing the pleasantly muscular President currently leaning into the hood of an old flatbed, “I didn’t know you had a truck.”

Bishop startled at the soft voice sound from behind, turning to see the woman who had been clouding his thoughts lately dressed in black gym tights and a loose t-shirt, looking beautifully out of breath, “I didn’t know you ran.”

“Look at us! Always learning something new about each other.”

“You look like you’re about to collapse.” 

“It’s freaking hot today.”

It was hot. Bishop was almost ready to call it quits from working in his truck in the heat, and he had opted for h2o instead of his usual beverage of choice.

He tossed his water bottle to her, chuckling as she gratefully caught it, taking a much needed sip, “And you didn’t think to take water with you? Thought you were meant to be the smart sibling.”

Amalia laughed at that, “Easy mistake to make. You’ll find that Ezekiel was the one top of his classes. I, however, was the passing average.”

He leant back against his truck, “I’ve never seen you run past before.”

She smiled guiltily, “Changed my route. I wanted to see if I could work out what place was yours. You being outside kind of took away the challenge aspect.”

“Now who’s the stalker?” 

Amalia shrugged, “Guilty as charged,” taking in his appearance of a black wife beater and jeans, no kutte in sight, “No club business today?”

Bishop shook his head, “Took a sick day.”

Her eyebrows raised in surprise, “Didn’t think you had those in the club.”

“Gotta be some perks to being president, right?” He reasoned. She shrugged, stepping around him to take a seat on his porch steps, making herself comfortable.

“Not worried about it all going to shit without their fearless leader?” She teased. She didn’t know when she suddenly became comfortable enough around the President to have this sort of banter, but for now she didn’t question it.

Bishop was loving it. It had been so long since he had someone removed from the club that he could joke around with, someone that wasn't made nervous by his title, someone that despite his title seemed to hold a little bit of interest in him.

“Those guys are the future of the club. If they can’t handle a quiet Sunday without me, I’ve got a real problem.”

Amalia grimaced playfully, staring up at him, “In that case you should probably hold off dying for a while.” 

Bishop barked out his laughter, head falling back to stare at the sky, “I’ll keep that in mind, querida.”

A light silence fell over them, Amalia taking in Bishop’s surprisingly tidy front yard.

“You have plans for lunch?” Her head snapped back toward the President at the question, smiling at him and shaking her head.

“Nope. What’re you thinking?”

“Got a pie in the oven,” he smirked at her shocked expression, “plenty to go around.”

“You cook?”

“Don’t look so surprised, I’m quite capable in my old age.” Amalia let out a laugh at his slight dig.

“I would love to share your pie, Prez. It would be an honour.”

Bishop rolled his eyes at her dramatics and wiped his hands on the old rag next to him before leading the way into the house, leg lightly brushing her shoulder as he passed her, “C’mon then, smartass.”

He grinned as she giggled behind him, quickly following. 

Amalia wasn’t sure what to expect when she walked into Bishop’s home. Surprisingly, the tidiness of it all didn’t shock her. Bishop seemed like an organised guy. He had his thoughts in order and was calculated, that trait obviously bled over into his homelife too. There was no pile of laundry waiting to be folded and no old pizza box lying empty on the coffee table, Bishop Losa was no slob. 

Definitely not like Angel, she thought to herself, smiling humouredly at the realisation.

“What’s that grin for?” She was pulled from her thoughts by the man of the house, looking at her with a curious smile as she took in the living room. 

Feeling her cheeks heat up at getting caught being nosey she shrugged, “You don’t have many nicknacks.”

Bishop followed her gaze around his living room and nodded in agreement, “Is that a crime?”

“As a homeowner? Yes.”

“Guess I better get on that then.” His lips pulled into a smirk and he nodded toward the kitchen, once again signalling for her to follow.

A pleasant savoury smell filled her nostrils as she stepped into the room, taking a seat at the dining room table, “Whatever you’ve got in there… I would appreciate the recipe.”

He laughed as he took the dish from the oven, “Might wanna try it first, querida.”

While he began to dish up two plates Amalia felt her phone vibrate, seeing her father’s contact light up the screen.

“Hey Pop.”

‘Mija, have you seen EZ?’ 

Her eyebrows furrowed at the question, “No, haven’t seen him for a couple of days. Why? Something wrong?”

Bishop placed the plates on the table, taking a seat beside her and shooting her a concerned look.

‘Just need to talk to him,’ her father sighed on the other end of the line, ‘if you hear from him tell him to call me.’

“Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to you later, Pop.” she waited for his reply before disconnecting the call and frowning at her phone.

The man beside her eyed her expression, “Everything okay, sweetheart?”

She met his gaze and nodded, “Yeah… I guess. You haven’t seen EZ today have you?”

He shook his head, “Haven’t heard from anyone today.”

With a shrug she picked up her fork and dug it into the food, “Pop’s just looking for him, no biggie.” 

The first bite of the food was heaven like, “Holy shit,” she spoke with her mouthful, going against every manner she was ever taught, “This is incredible.”

She quickly took another forkful, missing the way Bishop ducked his head at the praise, heat creeping up to his cheeks.

Next part

[seiyasabi]

Ripe For The Pickin’

(This is a Yandere Kita x Fem Reader Story! Hopefully y’all like this lmao, sorry if his hick accent is annoying lmao, I thought it gave him ¬flavour¬

Tw: !!noncon!, !misogyny!, breeding kink!, !Detailed postpartum depression!!!, !!!Mentions of attempted suicide and murder of a child!!!, !Mental illness!, !Defeatist attitude!, !Disassociation!,  housewife reader!, threats of physical harm!, manipulation!, mentions of kids!, etc.. 

Please proceed with caution! Note: Part of my family are farmers- my grandpa specifically, and he speaks very similarly to how I wrote Kita’s dialogue (the joking bit). He had a farm in Hawaii growing up, and he always jokes that he’s ‘but a country folk,’ so I mean no offense to those who own a farm. )

Throwing down his work cap on your kitchen table, Kita visibly brightens at your busy form. Your two year old son is balanced perfectly on your hip, your other hand stirring a pot of Udon. The steam rises around your head, slightly flushing your (skin colour) complection. 

Looking up, your eyes immediately meet the white haired male’s, causing you to freeze up momentarily. He sends you a warning look. 

“Welcome Home, Shinsuke,” A wobbly grin spreads across your painted features (just how Kita liked- he likes when you try to look good for him), catching the attention of your son immediately. 

“Daddy!” He practically hops out of your hold, rushing to the large male. Your unwanted husband scoops him up in his buff arms, swinging him around. 

“Whoa, one’a these days yer gonna throw yer Pa’s back out,” He grins happily at his carbon copy, smooching the small boy on his grey hair. 

The little one giggles cutely, basking in his father’s presence. You quickly approach Kita, hugging him from the side, and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, “We’ve missed you all day, My Love,” He always likes it when you’re sappy- it makes him feel wanted. 

At your words, he delivers a lingering kiss to your lip tint stained lips, your son half in your arms and half in your husband’s. You lightly pinch your babe’s cheek, causing him to giggle, before you kiss him on his forehead. Kita visibly brightens at your affectionate side, his open arm wrapping around your waist, “What’cha makin’ fer dinner, Pretty Lady?” 

You cringe internally, yet you can’t help the blush that forms on your pretty face, “Kazue wanted Udon- I hope that’s okay,” Shinsuke nods, a thoughtful look on his face. 

“‘O course,” He lightly pinches your son’s other cheek, “If our growin’ boy wants Udon, by God, he’ll get it.” 

-

Settling Kazue down in his bed, you give the sleeping boy a tender kiss on the forehead. As much as you hate Kita, you don’t have the heart to hate your son. He, like you, didn’t ask to be here, so you decided to be the best mom he could ever have. 

Smoothing his blanket over his lower body, you tuck the other bits under him, and lay his favourite stuffy next to him. Once done, you step away from the slumbering babe, and make your way out of his room. Kita is waiting in the night light lit hallway, leaning against the opposing wall. 

You jump slightly, not expecting him to be there. 

“Is something wrong, Shinsuke?” A practiced smile appears on your face, hands clasping behind your back to keep you grounded. 

He says nothing, motioning you to follow him, before turning and walking towards your shared bedroom. Shuffling after him, you try to still your rapidly beating heart. Did you do something wrong? 

Kita isn’t one to shy away from punishment. If anything, he revels in the momentary feeling of power-that is, until your broken body and mind are left in the aftermath. Then, he can’t help but feel horrible, because in some twisted way, the man truly loves you. So, he’ll try to cuddle and kiss his wrongs away, trying to forget that he’s the catalyst of all the things going wrong in your life. 

Burying those thoughts away, you step into the darkened room, noticing immediately that Kita is settled on his side of the bed. He’s stripping himself of his overshirt, exposing his wife-beater underneath, “Ya know, I think it’s time fer the boy ta have a brother.”

It feels as though the world around you is crumbling. Just when you gain a sense of normalcy, the bastard rips that away from you. 

Your smile visibly wavers, but you try to hold strong, “I-well, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Your hands are trembling, your heart practically being torn from your chest, “Kazue is still a toddler, I think it would be better if he was around five. Then, he can interact with-” Kita holds up a hand, halting your speech. 

“Yer gettin’ too technical fer the simple folk in tha room, Pretty Lady,” He stands to his feet, discarding his slippers, before slipping his baggy jeans off of his lower half, “Jus’ say yer too selfish to give yer lovin’, hardworkin’ husband tha things he deserves-” 

Kita knows that you had postpartum depression. He knows that you not only almost hurt yourself, but also your precious son. He knows that you had to be sedated at one point to even continue living. Yet, it seems like he doesn’t care. 

Tears fill your eyes, as you finally let your feelings become known, “That was horrible to say, Shinsuke. You know how hard it was for me-”

“It was also hard fer me too, ya’know,” He’s doing it again… trying to manipulate you into being the bad guy, “Seein’ ya go bonkers was hard ta’ watch. Plus, seein’ our son almost drown in tha tub-” 

“Stop it!” You finally lose your cool, surprising your usually collected kidnapper, “You don’t get to claim it was hard for you, when everything is your fault!” His mouth open and closes like a dying fish, unsure what to say, “If you waited for me to be ready to have children, I wouldn’t have spiraled out of control. If I was given the help I needed, I wouldn’t have gone psychotic. If you hadn’t stolen me away from my life and forced me to bend to your will, none of this would have happened!” By now, you’re a sobbing mess. He always does this. Kita always breaks you down until you seem crazy, but you’re not. You’re just tired of how he treats you like a baby maker, tired of how he treats you like nothing, yet claims you’re his entire world. 

But, when you hear him sigh softly to himself, you know that he doesn’t care about your feelings, “Do I need to use the gag? I thought we were above that.” 

Knowing that refusal won’t be tolerated or respected, you don’t bother wasting anymore of your breath. Slipping off your house slippers, you shuck off your dress, revealing your bare chest and panties. More tears slip down your face, as you lay down on your large shared bed. 

Shinsuke grins at your compliance, quickly moving between your legs, and stripping you of your drawers. His rough fingers rub at your clit and slit, “Good girl. ‘Ya know yer man jus’ wants what’s good fer ya, an’ a baby is good fer any good woman.” 

You ignore him, but he doesn’t seem to care. Kita continues to rub against your clit, trying to coax an orgasm out of you. But, you don’t give him the satisfaction. 

Staring at the ceiling, you let your mind go. Your dissociated body reacts well to his ministrations, your arousal coating your thighs, as they tremble in lieu of an orgasm. 

His fingers dig in deep, as they force your pussy open. Feeling how relaxed you are, he decides that you’re loose enough to go right in. 

Pulling out his thick cock, he bumps the head against your slick cunny, “Don’ worry, Darlin’, yer man will take good care of ya,” He slides in with relative ease, your hips bumping against his.  

The normal constricting feeling in your chest has long since faded, instead, the feeling of acceptance at the fact that you couldn’t get out of this replaced it. 

Your body jolts and rolls with Kita’s harsh thrusts, his panting warm against your neck, “Yer so good fer me, (Your Name), yer gonna bear me healthy sons,” The gummy walls of your pussy knead his cock thoroughly, trying to milk him for everything he’s got, “I knew you were perfect fer the takin’.” 

He forces your knees next to your head, the head of his cock bashing into your cervix painfully. Fortunately, that was enough to set your body off. A gush of cum drenches the both of you, as Kita slams himself inside of you entirely, allowing your womb to be filled to the brim with his fertile cum. 

“Ya never disappoint, Darlin’,” He smooches you on your lax lips, ignoring the fact that your head is practically empty, “Maybe you’ll have twins this time.” 

With that, he starts his hardcore pace one more. 

But, you can’t bring yourself to care. As long as you can drift away from the events unfolding in front of you, 

[finelinevogue]

can you write about harry helping reader cope with really bad anxiety ?

this is going to be based off the anxiety that i’m more aware of, but i appreciate that it’s different for everyone and i apologise if it isn’t accurate to you <33

The world felt like it was about to end.

It was as if the sky was pushing in to the ground and decompressing you and your lungs. It was like the ground was about to swallow you whole and your legs were too glued to save yourself. There was this heaviness on your shoulders that weighed as much as a car, sinking you until you drowned. You were afraid that you wouldn’t be able to overcome this feeling.

You stood to the side of the stage with shaky hands, holding your script tight. People moved all around you, rushing to make sure everything was in place backstage for the on stage, completely ignoring you. It was as if you were invisible, so much so that someone actually bumped into you and didn’t even apologise. It made you feel quite insignificant and only boosted your mentality for not being able to do this.

You were at a competition, see. A poetry competition.

Harry had encouraged you, about a month ago now to be brave and enter yourself in for this competition. It was called ‘Prized Poetry’ and it was a huge thing in London, where poetry laureates such as Carol Ann Duffy and Simon Armitage have performed before - and now he was a judge too. You’d had to submit an entry form at first, explaining why you should be given the chance to enter the competition. Harry had spent hours going over it with you, perfecting to the every syllable. You’d gotten through, obviously with your talent, and made it to the first stage. Then the second stage, third, fourth and now fifth. The fifth and final stage.

Your previous poems were a mixture of long sad poems, haiku poems and even a short story just to see how well your talent for writing really was. You’d passed with flying colours every single time and you couldn’t have done it without Harry. He was there for every late night, with a cup of tea or a second opinion, you spent changing and tweaking your work. He was there with flowers after every single performance, after he’d spent the entire show watching you with awe. Every single time he’d cried. Every single time he’d kissed you with pride. Every single time he came. Not today, though.

Unfortunately, for you and for Harry, he was in New York doing some press for a jewellery brand that he was the new face of. He had called you last night, explaining that he didn’t know whether he’d be able to make it or not. He couldn’t face-time you though, because seeing the disappointment on your face would have killed him inside and he was selfish for that.

“Hello!” You excitedly shouted to him down the phone.

“Hi, baby.” Harry replied, his tone of voice sounding quite flat in comparison to yours.

“Uh oh. Someone’s sounding sad.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, before breathing a deep sigh. You just knew he was stroking a stressed hand through his fluffy hair, with his eyebrows furrowed too and all you wanted to do was kiss them away.

“What’s up, sunshine?” You asked, hoping the little nickname would help him feel a bit more yellow.

“Y/N…” Well that wasn’t a good sign if he was calling you by your proper name, “I.. God I don’t know how to tell you this the right way…”

You knew. You had a feeling and you just knew. It had been a worry you’d had at the back of your mind ever since he got on the plane to leave for New York, but hoped that it wouldn’t ever become real. Unfortunately, that’s what it had come to.

“You can’t come tomorrow night, can you?” You asked quietly, your mood quite grey now. There was a little dark thunderstorm rolling in over your head and it would stay there until you could find some sunshine again - find some yellow.

“N-no. No I can’t.” Harry sighed heavily and it weighed upon your shoulders than probably his.

“O-okay.” You tried your best to not make him feel bad, because he was 4,000 miles away and you weren’t there to hug his cries away.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Truly. So sorry.”

“No it’s okay. It can’t be helped, you know?” You let out the slightest of chuckles to try and lighten the situation, but you felt so heavy and grey.

“But you’re going to be amazing. I just know it. We’ve practiced it so many times and your poem is just stunning, there’s no way they can’t like it.” Harry tried his attempt at cheering you up, knowing all the doubts that were creeping into your mind in that moment. He wished he could hug you, because then at least that would mean he was there with you and ready to take a seat in an audience that he was sure you were going to win the competition of.

“Thank you.” You smiled, only slightly.

“I love you, Y/N.” Harry reminded you, almost terrified that this would somehow make you un-love him and leave him. You could never. Would never.

“And I love you, H.” You meant it.

“Get some rest now, okay? I’ll call you before your performance tomorrow, alright?”

He hadn’t called.

Your eyes started to tear up at the thought of him not being here. You couldn’t do this without him. You didn’t know how to.

Anxiety is something that you’ve suffered with for a very long time, but managed to overcome facing different situation. It always felt like the world was about to end, for you. It was an unstoppable feeling, unless Harry was there. Harry had this aura around him that brought you peace and calm. He made you feel easy and powerful. He was the reason that you’d gotten this far in the competition, because you would always know he was in the crowd watching you - feeding you his power and making you brave.

Your lungs ached at the thought of you being powerless today. There was no being brave today. No Harry, that was the worst factor of all. Not only did you need him here to remind you that you were alright, but you wanted him to be here. This was such a big thing for you to be doing and you’d love for someone to watch and be proud of you. Your parents were never going to be those people and you were lucky that you had Harry instead. Only, now it felt like you didn’t.

“Y/N, you’re on next.” A man with a clipboard and a headset spoke to you and brought you away from your shaking thoughts.

“O-oh okay.” Your eyes were wide with terror and your hands shook a little more. You had taken some pills to calm you down, before, but your anxiety was that bad that you felt at any moment your knees would crumble underneath you and be victorious on showing how powerless you were without Harry - without someone to support you and be proud of you.

“Our next talent is a woman who has inspired us all with her writing. Her scores have been the best in the competition so far, but will she able to actually hold up that trophy by the end of the night?” No, you thought, as the man on stage introduced you to the audience of 500 and the judges.

He walked off and gave you the thumbs up to walk on. Your legs needed a bit of persuading to actually move, but once you were anyone could tell that they were shaking nerves. Your body language gave away that you were completely out of your element and that this wasn’t easy for you. The spotlight on the stage blinded you and you found it hard to actually see anyone in the audience, let alone the judging panel.

There was a podium where you would stand and perform your piece, so you walked over to it, tripping slightly on the step up. Bloody heels. You felt like everyone was laughing at you then, your head swarming with all kinds of whispers they would be chattering;

‘What is she doing up there when she can’t even walk without shaking?’ ‘Is she really worthy of all these high scores?’ ‘She looks nervous.’ ‘Why is she even here if she can’t stop her hands from shaking?’

One of the judges cleared their throat in the microphone before talking. “Miss L/N, you know the rules. No prompts or paper with poetry.”

His tone made you blush and tears creeped into your eyes. You were so stupid to have brought your poem with you. Your hands shook as you didn’t know what to do with it. You felt so exposed up here, as if people in the back row could hear your heart about to beat, beat, beat out of your chest. Your throat felt dry and you just didn’t know what to do.

You wanted Harry.

“S-sorry.” You stuttered out, sounding so unsure of yourself which probably didn’t look good in a speaking competition for your poetry.

“Someone please come take Miss L/Ns paper please?” The same judge asked and then you saw someone run over to your side to collect the paper.

“Be brave.”

You turned as the touch of the persons hand kissed against your skin, electrifying your body like a tree on Christmas day.

He was here. Harry was here.

The tears in your eyes grew, but Harry quickly shook his head as if to tell you ‘not now’. So you breathed a deep breathe and smiled so brightly at him. He was here. He was in front of you, or more accurately to the side of the stage. God knows what stunt he pulled to get to be there, but you didn’t care. You swore you’d never loved someone more than in this moment. He ran off quickly, taking your paper with you and sticking his thumbs up at you as he fled.

You got to admire him for a brief moment. He was in a black non-fitted suit, with a white wife-beater shirt on underneath and then his old-school vans. He was in his travelling outfit. He loved being comfortable, but keeping a decent sense of fashion, when he was travelling cross countries. Your favourite pair of shoes were vans too so he often said that he wore them because they reminded him of you.

“Are we ready now, Miss L/N?” A judge asked, bringing your attention back to the audience when Harry nodded your head determinedly at you. You faced the audience, rolling back your shoulders and clenching then unclenching your fists. You felt lighter. Freer. You could, well… you could do this.

“Yes, I am.” You spoke much more confidently than before. You had to squint a little, but you could tell that the judges were smiling at you. Your heart felt a little more full at that. There was a sense of pride for you, even before you began.

“Okay, when you’re ready. Introduce yourself and your poem, but please wait before reciting the actual piece.” A woman judge explained. You could tell the audience has settled into their seats more, watching you with beady eyes.

Be brave.

“Thank you.” You nodded to the judges, before beginning. “Good evening all! My name is Y/N L/N and the piece of writing I have chosen to share with you tonight is called ‘Anxiety’. I wanted to choose this piece because it means something of significance to me. I have suffered with anxiety for some time and yet it feels new and stronger every time that I experience it. It’s that shadow that follows your everywhere, even when there’s light. The topic that our short written poetry had to be based on, for those of you whom had forgotten or had just woken up from a nap through the other acts,” that earned you a laugh you weren’t expecting and it made you a little less nervous, so you started to be more expressive in yourself, “was called ‘you’. For such a short word, there’s so much to unpack, especially about myself. So I decided to unpack how I feel about my anxiety, because although it may look a very small part of me from the outside it’s such a huge part of me on the inside and I would like to share that with you tonight. I would like for you to see my shadows.”

The audience clapped, even though they weren’t really supposed to. You briefly looked to the side and saw that Harry was shaking his head in awe of you. Probably because you hadn’t told him that you had changed what poem you were going to perform. The ones you’d worked on with him had been about courage and strength, but you didn’t seem to click with it even after weeks of practice. This, however, you’d written from heart, last night only, whilst having an panic attack when reality hit you that Harry wouldn’t be with you.

“Thank you Miss L/N. Give us a moment please.” They went quiet and you stopped to breathe for a moment, taking in the air of the theatre. It smelt like old wooden staircases and freshly painted walls. It felt snug and comforting. “And when you’re ready, the stage is all yours.”

Be brave.

You gave one glance at Harry and a simple smile was all you needed.

“The world is ending, I can feel it. The crushing weight of the world is burying me deeper, caging me until I can no longer breathe. The walls are closing in, faster and faster. With everyday i’m away from you, they close faster. I’m suffocating, but you still hear me breathing. I’m terrified, but you calm me. I’m alone, but you still hold my hand. Trapped, oh what an isolated feeling but you, i’ll always have you and suddenly the world keeps on spinning.”

It took a moment, but when the roars of the audience applauded you couldn’t help but freeze. You cried. Your heart sung happy songs. You nodded your head too thank them all silently, because you couldn’t quite get the words out anymore. You’d shown your shadows and people stood to remind you that you weren’t alone in having them.

You turned to see Harry and he was clapping just like everyone else, whistling through the use of his fingers - which, you’d be lying if it didn’t turn you on slightly. He mouthed ‘I love you’ and you nodded your head whilst the tears dripped from your eyes, letting him know that you knew and you very much felt the same way.

The other poets came and joined you on stage, seeing as you were the last act. There were only 3 of you and you’d watched the other two perform. They had been wonderful. One of them had performed a piece about love and the other about their children; both so sweet and loving, so passionate and comforting. So different to yours. Yours had been heavy and moving, exposing and sad, but it was you and that’s what you’d been asked to be.

“What a brilliant show, aye?” The presented walked on stage and let the audience clap together momentarily.

You stood the far right of the stage, further away from Harry who was in the left-wing. The other two poets, Henry and Silvia, were standing in line with you - Henry in the middle. He had spoken about his children and Silvia about love. They both congratulated you as they walked onstage and you smiled and thanked both of them. You couldn’t stop thinking about how desperate you were to see Harry again though. That one simple touch had left you burning for more ever since and you’d be dammed if you didn’t have him near you again within the next 10 minutes.

“Let’s hear from what the judges thought. Tracey?”

“Absolutely beautiful, all of you. Your introductions were great and your poems even better. I think for me, Henry, your poem stood our the most to me just because I have children also so I can relate to a lot of the moments and feelings you touched upon. Very well done.” Tracey spoke and you smiled because she was right, Henry’s piece had been so moving and simple. It was spectacular and you’re sure his kids would be proud of him.

“Yvonne?” The presenter turned to the next judge.

“Well the competition has seriously shown us some talent like no other this year. I don’t think we’ve ever had this higher standard before, so pat on the back to all of you. Um, Henry, wonderful poem and really heart-warming. Silvia, your poem was awe-inspiring and i’m so glad you had the chance to share that with us. And Y/N, thank you for what you did tonight.” You smiled and nodded a thanks back to Yvonne, her words meaning a lot more than a few adjectives of praise.

“Finally, Simon?”

“Couldn’t agree with the other two more. I think that you’re all credits to yourselves and you should be proud of yourselves. One person touched my heart a little more than the others this evening and I silently thank them for that. Some seriously stunning performances and yeah, i’m excited to see what the future holds for them.” Simon answered, looking at Silvia as he spoke, so it was clear that it was her work that had touched his heart.

It made you grow very nervous, however.

Each other the judges had said their praise, but had praised the other two poets slightly more so than you. It gave you a unnerving pit-belly feeling that you hadn’t done enough - that maybe you should’ve stuck to your other poem with Harry. Why had you changed it last minute? You gulped back the lump in your throat and looked down at your feet, not feeling brave enough to look up at the audience or judges anymore. You’d done your part and it didn’t feel like it was enough. You just hoped that you hadn’t let Harry down too badly.

“And now I think we should announce our winner.” The presenter announced, making the audience ooh and aah. You started to fiddle with your fingers, picking the skin around your nails to keep you grounded. You closed your eyes and kept your head down, not wanting anyone to see your disappointment when your name comes last in the ranks when you should really be happy for the other two. You’d put your heart on the line tonight, but maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe you had to be something more - something special.

Someone walked on with the award trophies and envelopes. The third place holder got a gift voucher to Waterstones of £50 and a small bronze trophy. The second place holder got a gift voucher to Waterstones of £100, a stationary items to help continue to write and a silver trophy. The third place holder got a gold trophy, obviously, but the other prize was far more worthy; a definite publication of your own poetry book via Simon Armitage’s publication company - something you’d dreamt of forever.

“In third place…” You closed your eyes a little tighter and whispered internally to yourself ‘be brave’ until you would actually believe yourself. You couldn’t get that far though because, “Silvia Fallon.”

What? You hadn’t come last? What? Your eyes opened and you turned to watch Silvia accept her award and applaud her with the congratulations she deserved. Wow, you couldn’t believe that you weren’t holding a bronze trophy and a waterstones gift card right now. Silver it was then!

“In second place…” You rubbed your hands on your dress, de-clamming them before you’d have to walk over to the presenter to shake his hand and double kiss his cheeks. As you smiled out the audience, “Henry Lucas.”

What.

Your heart had stopped beating. You weren’t walking over to collect silver. No. You were cupping your hand over your mouth, shaking like a leaf in the wind and knees about to crumble beneath you as you realised what this all meant. What you’d achieved.

“So that means our winner of Prized Poetry 2021 is Y/N L/N!” You sank down to the floor, crouching over yourself as you started to cry and cry.

Was this really happening?

Warm hands brought you out of your shell, cupping the side of your head to bring your attention to them. To him.

“You won, baby. You fucking won!” He smiled so brightly at you that you could’ve sworn he was just a visual dream. You were shaking in his hold and still crying, his eyes red too over your deserved success.

“I-I won…” You spoke in shakily disbelief.

“I’m not kissing you until you go collect your prize, petal, so please go and chuffing collect your prize!” He laughed, and helped you onto your feet. You were a little shaky, because all eyes were on you once again, but you deserved this. You hadn’t expected this at all so you were also just a bit taken aback by this whole experience. The journey had been far greater than anything before it.

Harry’s hand left yours and you walked across the stage to shake hands with the presenter and the judges, who had now come up on stage to congratulate you all. You thanked each one of them, twice, and held up your trophy in the air as you walked back across stage.

As soon as you met Harry he didn’t hesitate to bring you in for that promised kiss. You didn’t care about the call last night anymore. You didn’t care about him not being here today. He was here now and that was more than enough to seal your heart with forgiveness. It was moments like this, his lips enveloping yours, when you were brought to the realisation of how yellow your world was. There was no grey with him. He, just like you were to him, was your yellow and that was a privilege to be. Your Harry made you feel so much more than a shadow. He made you feel brave. Protected. Calm.

Loved.

[siriusmydeer]

🌗congrats on 800 followers!! could I have a blurb -angst prompt 24 please?

her maroon lipstick

sirius black x fem!reader

summary: sirius looked at everyone but you

word count: 1.1k

warnings: cheating, hinted wolfstar, blackinnon bc that deserves a warning, unrequited love, kissing, swearing, mentions of drugs and alcohol, angst, self doubt, insecurity, mentions of sex

a/n: if u couldnt tell inwas feeling mean today and isa told me to break her heart so: *que jazz hands*

you loved sirius black— maybe even adored the boy, but you knew you probably loved him a little bit too much. he loved you as well, he at-least told you he loved you, and you didn’t want to presume he was a liar. he had always looked at you, your looks, your body, your face but he never had truly seen you; your soul, your essence, you’re entire being.

he was always gazing at someone else entirely, you didn’t wanna know it, or see it, but you did. it didn’t matter who he was looking at but it definitely wasn’t you. wether it was his lycanthrope of a bestfriend, or the local gryffindor beater marlene fucking mckinnon, they weren’t you.

throughly the same frequent sentences were pushed into the back of your mind with the same coherent words, ‘it’s fine, they’re just hanging out.’ or ‘it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.’ but those were simply just your excuses for him.

that night before a quidditch game you had been blown off, yet a-fucking-gain. you truly weren’t surprised, you expected his neglect. but the feeling of dejection truly lingered through every nerve in your bloodstream. you weren’t the number one in his life; you were a backup, a second option, or your personal least favourite.... just not enough.

because marlene, was more important. he had to go study with her— i mean since when does sirius fucking study? he simply doesn’t, he doesn’t study, and he doesn’t fucking care. but still reminding yourself, ‘it’s fine, they’re just going over stuff.’ i mean even james and peter had perceived something you were unaware of.

a day later, a gryffindor win— against slytherins of course, a significant calling for celebration. unconcerned you threw on a simple outfit, nothing too fancy, school was overrated as it is and a mini-league quidditch game certainly didn’t deserve a special outfit no matter how many times your friends detested to your statements. as soon as the game had ended, the raven-haired males eyes didn’t search for you rather a tall brunette with pearly white teeth and dark maroon lipstick.

sirius of course had his troublesome past, you knew of his family, and his sexual-run arounds that went to hogwarts. it wasn’t a shock to you, you had just denied yourself to be one of his easy people. but to your pure-promised heart, you didn’t just become one of them you became the one. not to love, but simply to fuck.

you were just company when nobody else could be, and even though you swore not too; you let yourself because you fell for him, or maybe it was his mask of flirty gestures and lingering kisses.

you made your way to the gryffindor tower, the hallways dead silent to the point where you could hear the drop of a pin or the swish of someone’s hair. the seventh years succeeding in performing a muffling charm that barred any supervisor from suspicion of a party.

as soon as the portrait whole swung at your mumble of the password you were met with immense clamour and uproar from all the celebrating students. the potent smell of marijuana and fire whisky hitting your nose, immediately scowling at the first whiff of the aroma.

couples had been scattered and sprawled across the deep-vermillion coloured couches. all noise drowned out by the deafening amount of rock music, picked by sirius no doubt.

you knew in the nook and crannies of your mind you should’ve scrabbled this together, it should of been suspected, or rather even bound to occur. but nobody should ever expect to see their boyfriend drunkenly making out with another woman, ever.

you didn’t want to cry, or look weak, i mean you felt ashamed. we’re you not good enough? we’re you had to him? did you not check up on him enough? but maybe it wasn’t on you— maybe it was on him.

maybe he was the one who fucked up— he didn’t treat you good enough. he didn’t spend enough time with you. all in that moment you felt— was the burning bitch of an emotion, rage. pure and simple rage.

you felt the thump and click in your feet as you belligerently marched over to the kissing bunch, his arms taking a harsh grip at her waist and the aroma of alcohol abundantly clear as you got closer.

you jabbed a few times on his shoulder, the rustled leather familiar underneath the pad of your pointer finger. the boy pulled away with a drunken-grimace, prepared to shout at anyone who had interrupted him until he saw it; your face filled with abundant anger.

oh shit— you had caught him right in the act.

“y/n, listen—“ the boy started before your eyebrows had creased in immense frustration and anger of his foolish excuses. choosing to ultimately speak first and think later.

“no, you listen sirius! you’ve treated me like absolute shit, like i’m the last fucking option in your palm— like i’m not your girlfriend that you have confided in, and kissed, and fucking slept with! i really don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t walk around acting like you own the place when you can’t get one damn thought straight. so you can’t come to me as a last option anymore, you can go stick your player bullshit right your own damn arse!” your voice was heaving in such anger of him, finally opting to pick yourself— not to be a second choice, not anymore.

after your monologue built over months and months of culpability for feeling like you couldn’t never be enough for him, and irritability that he had never truly cared was full forced in one speech cutting him off for good.

you quickly spun around the mahogany floor, striding directly out of the red and gold common room; you heard the quick pad of footsteps behind you whilst walking in the hallway, swivelling around again seeing your befuddled and tipsy ex-boyfriend try and catch up with your exasperated steps.

a deep shade of maroon smudged down the curvature of his lips and the planes of his olive-toned chin, yeah, fuck you sirius.

“now what the absolute fuck do you want now?” you whisper-shouted in the midst of the hallway, trying not to alert the attention of filch or professor mcgonagall.

“i love you, y/n, please—“ the boy attempted to plead in the midst of his sentence and deeply failing whilst slurring his words, the alcohol abstinently pining through his nervous system showcasing his bleary vision through his viewpoint; venturing for your forgiveness, but your decision had been made the moment he was caught locking lips with the gryffindor beater.

“tell me that when you’re sober.”

taglist: @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @dear-luna @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @fific7 @wisedreamcatcher @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @georgeswh0re @amourtentiaa @msmb @fangouria @five-cups-of-coffee @dracofknmalfoy @emmaev @serenitywilderness