݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁·ꕤ hello! welcome the cr3stawrites master list, where everything that i’ve written and my song analysis’s are kept! ◡̈
my readersonas masterlist | my song analysis | aly’s song fic masterlist | join my taglist!
݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁·ꕤ disclaimer: all readers are female unless otherwise specified! <3
݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁·ꕤ edit 11/11/25: this is getting really long, so soon i'll be editing this and making seperate masterlists for each fandoms! look out for that! :)
✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · THE BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS & SNAKES
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ LUCY GRAY BAIRD
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ the river | 1.3k words | (songbird readersona)
synopsis: lucy gray and her songbird flow along the river, taking their last few moments of relative peace before the reaping of the 10th hunger games. but who would follow the river with you now that your sweet girl was gone?
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ lucy gray & her artist girlfriend | (request!)
synopsis: lucy gray and her artist girlfriend - living their lives together in the events of the ballad of songbirds and snakes
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ SEJANUS PLINTH
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ coming soon!
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · THE HUNGER GAMES
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ FINNICK ODAIR
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ the first time (and not the last) | 1.2k words
synopsis: when finnick's mentee begins to go through the same experience that he has to go through, he can only do so much but try and comfort her after it all.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ protective!finnick x reader | (request!)
synopsis: brief blurb about how finnick would be to his victor!girlfriend (spoiler alert: protective as fuck)
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ a dance to remember | 1.2k words | (bridgerton au!finnick)
synopsis: finnick odair has just returned from an excursion from rome, ready for a new social season. he just didn’t expect to fall in love immediately with a lady at the first ball he attended.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ evening aurora | 1.4k words | (bridgerton au!finnick pt2)
synopsis: mr. finnick odair can’t get a certain lady out of his mind, and now he brings orchids to present to the lovely girl that he met just before the aurora borealis the night before at the ball.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ aurora | 1.7k words
synopsis: on the morning of the reaping of the 67th hunger games, finnick odair spends some of his last moments in district four's aurora sun with his very own aurora.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ you make loving fun | 2.0k words
synopsis: you and finnick have history, a history that made all the pain you both went through worth it. the way your love was a testament through the years, and what ultimately brings you home to him again.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ANNIE CRESTA
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ coming soon!
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ KATNISS EVERDEEN
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ coming soon!
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ PEETA MELLARK
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ coming soon!
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ HAYMITCH ABERNATHY
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ coming soon!
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ LENORE DOVE BAIRD
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ coming soon!
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · DAISY JONES & THE SIX
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ DAISY JONES
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ you were gone | 1.6k words | (firecracker readersona)
synopsis: when daisy needed her the most, she was gone. back to billy dunne, of all people.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ more fun to miss | 1.7k words | (firecracker readersona)
synopsis: billy dunne is back in the picture. firecracker being pregnant confuses things. and daisy jones is starting to realize that she could possibly never compete to billy dunne.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ gold dust woman | 2.1k words | (snapdragon readersona)
synopsis: with daisy in greece, she took along her best friend from childhood when she meets a man, and snapdragon has to witness her best friend make the biggest mistake of her life - all while pretending to be happy for her.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ margaret | 1.3k words
synopsis: a late night drive on pacific coast highway leads to late night deep, meaningful conversations
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ good 4 u! | 1.3k words
synopsis: after a rough couple of months after ending things with daisy, you see the news of the possibility that she might have moved on to her fellow lead singer. but you’re not mad, no way. good 4 her anyway.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ BILLY DUNNE
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ the four times billy dunne met her | 2.1k words | (rojas!reader/firecracker readersona)
synopsis: the four times that billy dunne had met his firecracker throughout the years.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ whiskey sunrise | 1.4k words | (rojas!reader/firecracker readersona)
synopsis: billy dunne wants something, or someone, but either way, he's determined to get it, even with a whiskey sunrise.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ billy dunne x flower child!reader | (marigold readersona)
synopsis: billy's first time meeting someone the complete opposite of him
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ please | 1.2k words | (firecracker readersona)
synopsis: he's getting down on his knees like a jesuit, but how many times can he beg for forgiveness before she's finally had enough.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ more fun to miss | 1.7k words | (firecracker readersona)
synopsis: billy dunne is back in the picture. firecracker being pregnant confuses things. and daisy jones is starting to realize that she could possibly never compete to billy dunne.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ put your record on | 1.7k words | (marigold readersona)
synopsis: billy is stressed, and you're determined to make him relax. even if just for a night, and even if it meant that was going to be a simple dance in your living room.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ to my dearest billy | 1.4k words | (firecracker readersona)
synopsis: while cleaning out the spare bedroom for your first child, billy comes across a letter that you had never sent to him and finds out how much you both had suffered in silence.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ free as a bird | 1.4k words
synopsis: you had been practically stuck in a tower, with no freedom at all, but then, a boy from school ends up lighting your whole world up.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ go your own way | 2.2k words | (firecracker readersona)
synopsis: despite everything that had went well, and how happy they were now - a loss can still tear even the happiest apart.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ vodka cranberry | tbd words | (wildflower readersona)
synopsis: after billy came home from rehab, he seemed to be doing well, you were happy for him. but in reality, you didn’t notice him trying to combat the cravings alone.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ sugar talking | tbd words
synopsis: tbd
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ look at us now | tbd words | (firecracker readersona)
synopsis: tbd
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ CAMILA DUNNE
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ hot cocoa sweets! | 1.5k words
synopsis: when the power goes out in your and your girlfriend's home because of your clumsiness in fixing the wires, camila alvarez excitedly takes the power outage as a chance to finally have a night in with you as the thunder roars.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ dream woman | 647 words | part 2ish to hot cocoa sweets!
synopsis: just minutes after getting legally bound to your now wife, the only fitting thing to celebrate is a late-night drive to your favorite diner to get your favorite burgers.
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ the old therefore | 1.5k words
synopsis: you and camila have been through a lot, but that doesn't mean that it's something you regret.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ WARREN ROJAS
⋆⭒˚｡⋆⭒˚｡⋆ i feel the earth move | tbd words | (cielo readersona)
synopsis: you might be dating warren rojas, but you’ve never tried the drugs that he’s been using. until, for his birthday, you decide to give in and try it
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ KAREN SIRKO
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ look for you | 1.3k words
synopsis: with the air conditioner out for the night to fix the bus, along with everyone crowding around in the bus to fan themselves, karen takes it upon herself to get her and her girlfriend out of the crowd
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ GRAHAM DUNNE
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ you're my sun | 1.2k words
synopsis: a morning spent in the sun with your fiancé, which was finally shining after the last few days of clouds and big talks.
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · YELLOWJACKETS
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ JACKIE TAYLOR
⋆⭒˚｡⋆ silver springs | 1.8k words
synopsis: you regretted not saving jackie that night; it was one of your biggest regrets. but jackie was still there, just not in the way that you expected.
f!snow!reader x victor!maysilee donner — maysilee donner masterlist
ask : “is it fine if i request a victor!maysilee donner x reader who is Snow's daughter?” — anon
summary : you’ve never agreed with your father’s opinion on the districts, but it’s not like you can make that known. being a stylist for the games, having the chance to get close to these poor kids right before they’re sent off to die, only made it harder. when maysilee donner comes back safely from her games, you’re relieved. you don’t want to let her go ever again, but it’s not as if you can tell her the truth. even if you did, she wouldn’t want to be with you anyway.
warnings : mentions of sexual exploitation of children, but reader and maysilee are both over 18, sexual exploitation of young adults, mentions of fetishizing twins, reader is an aspiring stylist and friends w prosie <3
word count : 2.1k
You’ve never truly agreed with all of your father’s teachings. With him being such an important figure in Panem, it’s not like he was around much to instill his beliefs in you. Your mother would take care of you sometimes as a child, but she had things to do as well. Because of this, all throughout your childhood, you’ve been passed back and forth between family members.
Sometimes it was your Aunt Tigris, who stayed quiet most of the time but would design you bright and poofy dresses, of which she cautioned you to hide from your father. Before she passed, your Great Grandmother would take you in, but not as often as she couldn’t care much for a young child at that age. Occasionally it was your Great Aunt and Uncle Plinth. Great Uncle Plinth never talked to you much, but you know he’s been decently close to your father. As you grew up, however, you started noticing more and more how much disdain your father has for Strabo.
Your father’s subtle hatred is even stronger for Aunt Plinth, but she was always your favourite growing up. She’d stuff you full of cookies and cakes, telling you stories about how her son and your father used to be the best of friends. She’d tell you stories about her son, about the ways he would try to fight against the Hunger Games, the strong opinions that he held that led to his death. Now that you’re older, you assume that she was using those stories as cautionary tales. All that she really accomplished, however, was giving you an inspiration in her son.
You think the Hunger Games are barbaric, and you can’t truly believe your father could send so many children to their executions each year. What if that were you? If he could so easily murder 23 innocent children every year, twice that just three years prior, how would he react if you ended up in the Games? If you ended up dead, and your murder was made into a spectacle for all of Panem to watch?
You’ve always tried to befriend the past victors, tried to show your sympathy, but it isn’t easy when your surname causes everyone in the Districts to immediately distrust you. It’s harder when you’re the one assigned to doll them up before their Games, and you try to befriend them after they come back from what was supposed to be their death. You thought that learning to be a stylist would give you a better chance to talk to the tributes, and it allowed you to learn under your Aunt Tigris and spend more time with Prosie.
You were tasked with styling the District 12 tributes last year, during the 50th Hunger Games. They were all wary of you at first, of course, other than the smallest girl who never really seemed to grasp what was happening, but you managed to gain their trust. You became closest with Maysilee, who had an eye for beauty and let her guard down when you had done her makeup before her interview.
You watched the Games that year, when usually you would try to avoid it. You watched as children were slowly killed off, including Maysilee’s friends, until she was the only one left. You were tasked with making her pretty for her victory tour, for guiding her through the speeches she would have to deliver. You were also forced to doll up both Maysilee and her sister for magazines and interviews, the Capitol being astonished that not one, but two girls so pretty could come from District 12 of all places.
You feel bad every time you have to do it, of course you do, but it’s not like you have a choice. This was your form of rebellion, if you refused to do what was asked of you, your father would no longer let you be a stylist. You wouldn’t have your connection to the Districts anymore, wouldn’t be able to help plant seeds of rebellion each year within new tributes. You wouldn’t be able to see Maysilee anymore.
Being the only living victor from District 12, she’s the only one training the tributes each year, which means she comes back to the Capitol every summer. You style her tributes, and then you stay for her. You can tell she doesn’t trust you fully, you never expect her too, but you think that’s what hurts the most. You want her to trust you so badly, but for no reason other than your name, she can’t.
You’re sat in the living room of her Capitol-provided apartment one night, sipping at coffee while her tributes for the 53rd Hunger Games sleep fitfully in their bedrooms. They’re entering the arena tomorrow, and Maysilee is restless. She always is on these nights. You visit her, partially as an excuse to be close to her, but also because you want to make sure she’s okay. She doesn’t want the children to die, you know that, but if either of them live there’s a good chance they’ll be sold like her. Both possibilities are bad.
“How are you feeling?” you ask her quietly, sipping at your coffee.
“How do you think I feel?” she asks, tone as bitter as her drink.
“I know you feel like shit,” you scoff, “but I want to know the specifics. Are you angry? Sad? Scared?”
“I… I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe all three. Maybe something else entirely. I don’t know what I feel other than bad.”
“It’s okay to be scared. I know you’re not allowed to show it anymore but you can with me,” you say, despite knowing she won’t fully believe you.
“Sure,” she says, if only to humor you.
“What was it like for you? Before your Games, I mean; back in District 12,” you ask.
“I think I was scared a lot,” she says. “I just didn’t want to admit it. Everyone was scared though, you do one thing wrong and the Peacekeepers are out to get you. And the Reaping is terrifying every year, worse for my Games.”
“But other than the Peacekeepers, the Reapings every summer, what was it like?”
“It was… nice,” she answers. “Really warm in the summer and really cold in the winter but nice. My family was one of the few that could afford sugar and cocoa powder. Not as great as actual chocolate, but it meant we could make cocoa in the winter. We’d use the sugar for iced tea or lemonade in the summer. There are lots of places to walk, to have picnics, just to be outside in general. Merrilee and I would go strawberry picking just past the fence to make strawberry candies for the shop. They were my favourite thing to make.”
“Do you like strawberries?” you ask.
She smiles. “No. But Merrilee does.”
“What did you like?”
“The lemonade. I never added as much sugar into mine. I liked it sour. It kept me focused, I didn’t want to pretend that life is sweeter than it actually is,” she says. “I know it’s sounds cheesy and stupid, but it’s the truth.”
“What about now?” you ask.
“Now I wish I had used more sugar. That I let myself enjoy life more. I didn’t realize how bad it would become. Now no amount of lemonade could cover this up,” she says.
“We’ll change it,” you say. “You know we will.”
“We’ve been trying for the past two years,” she says. “Who knows if it’ll work this year? It hasn’t ever before.”
“But we’ve gotten close,” you say. “And we’ll make it one day. Even if we have to be old and grey before we see the end of the Games, but they will end. I know they will.”
“Maybe,” is all she says, sipping at her coffee again.
“I wish I could see it,” you say.
“See what?”
“District 12,” you answer.
Maysilee scoffs. “No you don’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you’ve lived a life of luxury. You can have anything you want whenever you want. You can have running hot water in the winter and ice cream in the summer and you don’t even have to churn the milk yourself. You actually get cow’s milk instead of goat’s milk. You wouldn’t survive a day in District 12.”
“I haven’t had ice cream since I was a child,” you say. “My mother didn’t allow it, said sweets would cause me to gain weight. The First Daughter of Panem has to have a becoming figure, of course.”
“But that’s not the point. The point is that it’s there, waiting for you. All you have to do is hand over a few bills and you have it in your hand, ready to eat. No work or labor or anything needed,” she says.
“It looks really opulent here,” you say. “All the lights and the costumes, the parades and parties and everything, but it’s not really like that. Not all the time. It’s all just… black and white and gold and sterile. It’s pretty on the outside but really it’s just cold and lonely.”
Maysilee frowns, giving herself time to stall by sipping at her mug. “Why are you like this?” she asks after a long silence.
“Like what?”
“A good person,” she says. “You’re helping me and the past victors, you seem to genuinely care about the tributes— not just the ones you style but all of them. But, well, you’re a Snow.”
“They’re not tributes to me, they’re just children,” you say, quietly because you know that’s not the point.
“Why are you like this?” she asks again.
“My great aunt was District,” you admit.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Your brow furrows, confused for a bit when you realize you said was. Maysilee thought she was dead. “She’s still alive,” you correct. “Just not District anymore. You ever heard of the Plinths?”
Maysilee shakes her head no; you didn’t expect her to know who they are.
“They were a family from District 2. Strabo Plinth helped the Capitol a lot during the Dark Days so his family got promoted by former President Ravinstill to be Capitol citizens. I’m not directly related to them but my father was practically their second son, so Mrs. Plinth babysat me a lot when I was little. She would always tell me about her son who died for the rebel cause. He got so close and I always wanted to finish what he couldn’t,” you explain.
Maysilee just looks at you, studying your face, but doesn’t give a response, so you continue. “I know it’s stupid. The ideal Capitol girl, the First Daughter of Panem, trying to be a rebel. I have no reason to be one, the Districts don’t trust me enough to be sure I’m not a double agent for my father, but I’m trying anyway. I don’t know if it’ll ever be enough, though.”
“You’re a good person,” Maysilee says, leaning against you ever so slightly. She doesn’t fully put her weight on you, but it’s enough pressure for you to get the sentiment. She doesn’t trust you either, but she wants to. At least, you think she does.
“How do you know that?” you ask. “Like you said, I’m a Snow.”
“There’s this play Haymitch’s girlfriend told me about,” she begins. “It’s about these two people from opposing families but they fall in love and end up killing themselves for each other. There’s this line- ‘a rose by any other name would smell as sweet’ or something like that. I didn’t get it at first but Lenore Dove explained it to me. It means that no matter what your name is, where you’re from, or who you’re related to, you’re who you are. Whether you’re a Snow or not, whether you’re Capitol or District, you have the capability of becoming a good person. I think you are a good person.”
“It’s Romeo and Juliet,” you say. “We get to have books from before the Dark Days here, they want to keep us educated. It’s a really old play, but I have a copy. Would you like to borrow it one day?”
“Yeah,” she says with a smile. “I think I would.”
“They fall in love,” you say, repeating what she had said earlier. “Romeo and Juliet. Even though their families hate each other, they fall in love and end in tragedy. Do you think that’ll happen to us?”
Maysilee looks confused. “We’re not in love.”
You freeze, pulling away slightly now. “Right. No, you’re right. We’re not in love. Why would we be?”
“We can’t be,” she says. “Even if we wanted to—” Her eyes search yours, trying to find the answer to an unspoken question. You know what it is and give the slightest nod in response.
“We’re just friends,” you say. “Not even that. Co-workers.”
“Co-workers who care for each other very much,” Maysilee says, leaning against you once again, her full weight on you this time.
“Co-workers who will end this,” you say, ever so softly. “Together.”
a/n: bro i love my doomed yuri. anyway unedited bc i got sick right when i wanted to edit
Hey! So consider this a reminder that in this deleted scene Maude Ivory is looking at the man who will murder her only daughter, and telling him he can find Lucy Gray in the meadow that he poisons her baby in, forty years later
(you can absolutely pry Lenore Dove being Maude Ivory's daughter from my cold, dead hands. doesn't make a lick of sense for her to anyone else's)
𓏺 summary : For years Mermaids and Humans have had their differences. Nobody knew how this hatred started, yet nobody cared to ask. In the day, Everyones human. Everyone walks freely and lives normally, However at night..Many disappear. Every full moon regardless of where you are, if you are a mermaid you turn— which instantly makes humans act. People thought this would last forever..until a couple of pirates stepped in.
|၊ Notes : Fighting, Manipulation, Harm to Mermaids, Unexpected love, Memory loss, Annie doesn’t remember how she became a human, Snow tortured Annie and messes with her memory every time she turns into a human, Water doesn’t transform the mermaids, There are many ocs, Obsession, The districts aren’t separated but they are still called “1..2..3”(will be mentioned in one of the chapters.)
CHAPTER ONE.
There was a cold breeze that pushed through the air.
Annie could feel it closer than usual today— a lot closer. The girl slowly began to open her eyes only to see she wasn’t surrounded by deep blue and colorful corals anymore. She was on land. Immediate panic shot through Annie’s body causing her to stand up.
She moved her hands all over her body and looked down to see feet. Not a tail. Feet. Realization finally hit, causing the girl to let out a loud scream. This scream caused her two friends to awaken immediately, however..they seemed rather used to this. Marianne let out an annoyed groan as she stood up walking over to Annie and shaking her.
“Annie! You can’t keep acting like this every time we turn!” Marianne spoke with clear irritation in her voice.
“W-..What!? How can you be so calm?” The words let Annie’s mouth all at once. If her friends weren’t so used to this then they wouldn’t understand a thing. From behind the two girls, Lucian slowly rose up and rubbed her head, also reacting to the sand a little. Must’ve hit something.
“Ann..We talked about this yesterday remember..?” She spoke softly as she made her way over. The girl was a little shorter than Annie but still met her right in the eyes. She looked at Annie before making a different expression. “Every 3 days after a full moon we gain legs, ringing any bells?”
No reaction.
“We’ll turn back into mermaids once the full moon rises?” She had a little more firmness in her voice, pushing even harder. Yet there was still no reaction. This made Marianne scoff and Lucian look down at the ground.
“Let’s..Let’s just go find Cashmere.” Lucian gave a gentle smile towards Annie then started walking. The name Cashmere was something Annie didn’t forget, One of her best friends yet still an enemy..frenemy?
The three girls walked for a while. Two of them completely used to walking and one of them wobbling a little. Annie. They walked from the beach to a large village. The people here knew the girls— just not their secrets. Almost nobody knew when someone was a mermaid. Many suspected that mermaids refuse to touch land in fear of getting cooked or harmed. Truth was they just hide among the humans and sneak away before the full moon popped out.
It wasn’t a surprise to see Annie wobbling, just like usual everyone gave a concerned look but knew it’d be gone in just a few hours. In all honesty Annie had figured out how to walk again when they were the beach; her reason for wobbling now was because of how scared she was…but she can’t show it. Not out here.
The girls continued to walk until they reached a medium sized house with small “do not disturb” signs on the door. That sign was for everyone expect those three..mostly everyone.
Lucian walked up to the door and knocked three gentle times..then a fourth after waiting a couple of seconds. That was her code to the person who lived inside. They waited a couple of seconds before the door opened and a somewhat muscular man held his head out to look around.
“Just you three right?” He spoke quietly as if someone was ease dropping. Lucian nodded which caused the guy to move and let the girls in.
The Inside smelled like a warm vanilla, leaving a cozy feeling inside. Once the front door shut, everyone was left in an amber lighting. Soon after the girls arrived, a tall beautiful woman with blond hair stepped out of a room. A small smile formed on her lips as she rushed over.
“I’m glad to see you guys alright,” Her voice sounded sincere but you couldn’t ALWAYS trust cashmere..she’s had her moments. She turned to look at Annie who seemed like she could break any moment. “Is she doing it again?”
“Give her another few minutes. I guarantee she’ll be fine.” Marianne spoke with annoyance. It wasn’t because of Annie in general— but because of the fact they had to keep dealing with this. Annie clearly only had some type of memory mount function during or right after changing into a human. Not to mention the fact her head always looked..sore. Nobody payed any attention to it though.
Everyone sat down for a while, Not talking about the transformation. There was no point. They sat and talked about mermen instead. The only two who seemed uninterested was Annie and Cashmere’s brother gloss, the guy who opened the door earlier, and Annie because..she never showed interest in mermen. Annie seems to find more interest in human boys instead. She can remember the people she sees on land..but only as mermen. Which was..odd but she got over it fast.
Mid conversation- there was a loud ruckus coming from outside. As if in sync, everyone stood up immediately and made their way to the nearest window. Ladies, Kids, and men ran towards the docks, a little close to where the girls woke up.
“What’s that all about?” Annie spoke. Lucian, Marianne, and Cashmere shrugged.
Gloss however formed a smile on his face. He reached onto the table and grabbed something before heading to the door. “Just some friends. Come.” He opened the door and walked out. Each girl showed a look of confusion before following him out.
Each girl shared an equal amount of confusion. Cashmere and Lucina talked about small possibilities while Marianne and Annie acted like Children.
“Did they find a mermaid!?”
“No, they would have transformed before they reached land.”
“Yes but what if someone saw them!”
“How could they see? It happens in the water!”
“Okay but-” Before another word could escape Annie’s lips, She gasped at the sight of two gigantic ships.
The girls followed her reaction, meanwhile Gloss laughed. The guy pushed through the crowd to the front with his friends and sister behind him. They all stood there waiting, along with at least a 100 men and women combined.
After a moment, Four people stepped up into view leaning over the ship. Pirates.
Two of them looked like regular pirates yet still got cheers...but the other two were gorgeous. One of them was a girl, dark brown hair and cherry red lips. Guys and some girls fangirled over her.
On the other hand..This guy was the best looking out of them all. He had light brown/bronze hair and beautiful eyes that could be stared into all day. When he smiled his dimples showed, he set down his sword and blew kisses at the crowd below, making many erupt in cheers. Annie happened to be one of the people fangirling but in a whole different way..calmer.
She stood there not talking at all..just staring. Staring into the beautiful eyes of the guy. She was so lost in his gaze that she was completely oblivious to the fact he threw his pirate hat— and it landed DIRECTLY on her head. Amazing Aim.
It took a moment for her to realize until she started being shook by her friends, Annie grabbed the hat and smiled big, she clung onto that hat as if it was her prized possession.
It took about an hour for the crowd to finally calm down. After the hype stopped, everyone looked to the second ship, waiting for the pirates to come out yet nobody showed up. Maybe they were already wandering around.
When the crowd left the pirates from the first ship came down and talked with Gloss. Their conversations were a little too comfortable..as if Gloss was one of them.
As they talked, Annie couldn’t help but stare at the boy once more but still not talking. Even when Gloss introduced her she didn’t say a word, but she did look away. The boy didn’t notice Annie staring, but the brown haired girl from earlier did. She formed a small smirk and whispered into the guys ear. It took a moment but he finally caught Annie’s eye. She turned to look away but was too late.
The boy let out a small chuckle and decided to deal with it another time. The pirates kept going off about their journeys, eventually Gloss turned and said the pirates names. Thresh, Micheal, Zach, Zyla, and Finnick.
There were others that Gloss knew but they currently weren’t here. Either on enemy ships or just walking around town.
“How about you show us around, yeah?” Zyla spoke with a soft voice but still a slightly bit demanding. Things keep getting switched around and added when the pirates leave, their “tour” is just an excuse to talk to Gloss more.
The big group walked around the town, this felt like a tour for Annie as-well..only for a bit though. Soon she could guess what things were and remember peoples faces. The group was being very social yet Annie stayed in the back quiet and thinking to herself..until a voice pulled her out of her little shell.
“You going to wear it?” That voice had clear amusement that was trying to be covered but wasn’t..at all.
Annie turned to see Finnick, he wasn’t too tall but definitely way taller than her. She had a moment of confusion until she realized what he meant. Annie looked down at the hat and a rosy pink shade rose up to her cheeks.
“Sorry!” She handed it back to Finnick immediately and turned away.
Finnick was a little surprised but understood quickly that she could just be nervous. He looked down at the hat for a moment before placing it onto Annie’s head like before. “Don’t be, It’s yours now Love.”
He gave a cheeky grin before going silent and continuing to walk alongside Annie. Annie pulled the hat down a little as an attempt to cover her face, she knew it was probably fully pinky now. If anyone asks she would blame it on the heat.
As everyone walked..it felt like there was eyes on them. Well there was obviously but something scary. Like someone was planning to attack.
“Anyone else getting goosebumps?” Zach turned to look where he could see everyone in the group. Facial expressions were enough to answer his question. Suddenly out of the blue a girl came sprinting from behind. Before they knew it, Annie was pushed hard into Zyla, who fell onto Lucian, leaving the three girls on the floor. Above them came screaming.
They all looked to see a girl screaming while holding onto Finnick. She seemed happy and angry at the same time— something most can’t even do.
“Finnick! You left me for long enough, stop running!” She yelled out and held onto the boy tighter. In return, Finnick patted her back but not in a loving way, more so awkward.
“Running? I said we’ve been traveling?” He looked down at the girl with pure confusion. Expect it was an act. His travels were also an escape from the girl, he helped her up one time and she started fantasizing.
“Traveling, Running, same thing! Oh finnick please never go again!” She held onto him tigher making him wince a little.
Zyla saw the clear discomfort and stepped in, pulling the girl off harshly. “I hate to ruin your romance but we need Finnick right now. You can find him later.” She said.
Zyla started to grab Finnick’s arm but The girl held onto his arm more. “Finnick..!” She gave him pleading eyes.
“Uh..Clementine..How about you walk with us? Alright?” Finnick tried to keep his usual charming composure and gently rubbed the girls back.
“Yes! Thank you!” Clementine squealed and pulled her “lover” towards the front to show off the fact she was holding onto everyone’s dream guy.
Annie watched the two walk and slowly pulled off the hat. She didn’t get rid of it— instead just hugged it tightly. It took both Lucian and Marianne to convince the girl to move once more, but her eyes never left Finnick’s back nor did a word escape her lips.
It’s been a couple of hours since the walk. Annie was now sitting on the porch of a simple cabin close to the beach. This area was called District 4. People who lived here were normally obsessed with the water or did something related to it for a living, like fishing.
From her view, she could see the soft blue water with the sunset reflecting onto it. Warm orange lightening mixed with the soft waves as it hit the shore. The salty water carried a strong scent, a scent that Annie loves and missed dearly. She tried to keep her thoughts about the people back at home..in the water. The ones who aren’t given the ability to become human.
Down there they say it’s lucky to not become human. That they’d figure you out in no time. Was it so wrong to disagree?
Before she knew it, her thoughts slowly started to shift. Finnick. That’s all she’s been thinking about all day. It was weird to admit that she’s been treated better by human men than mermen.
She didn’t have a crush on Finnick..but she wanted to know more about him. Everytime she’s on land he’s been mentioned but this is the first time she’s actually seen him.
He wasn’t even focused on Annie at first, him just existing pulled her in instantly. Just like how it did for others but in a different way. A comforting way.
His skin looked like it’s been kissed by the sea, warmed by the water and sun both at once. The curls that dropped loosely over his forehead. How could you notice so much about someone so fast.
From another cabin stood Marianne and Lucian.
“What’s gotten into her? Is she missing home!?” Lucian yelled with a worried tone but was instantly hushed by Mari.
“No what the shell? She’s probably just thinking about something..I mean a lot did happen today.”
“But she’s never like this any other time?” Lucian calmly pointed out which made Marianne think deeper.
“Mhm..Something different must’ve happened. C’mon, we can go check up on her, see how she reacts.”
They both made their way towards the girl but stopped after seeing something. Seeing someone approach first.
f!covey!reader x boyfriend!haymitch abernathy — haymitch abernathy masterlist
ask : “hello!! I just came across your blog and have, basically immediately, fallen in love with it!
& so I was wondering if you could write a Haymitch x reader inspired by the songs “Relapse” and “Ruminating” by Lily Allen? it can be as angsty as you want it to be, with whatever kind of ending you wish!!” — anon
summary : after your boyfriend returns from the 50th hunger games as a victor, he’s been different. distant. you can’t blame him, of course. he lost his mother and brother, he would’ve lost you if it weren’t for his keen eye. that just made things worse, though, as after that day he’s shut you off completely. before his games, you and haymitch promised each other one thing. that he wouldn’t give up in that arena, and you wouldn’t give up on him. you’re dead set on keeping your promise.
warnings : it’s haymitch so like. lots of inebriation. sotr spoilers ofc, near death experiences: vague mentions of haymitch’s time in the arena, reader almost dies from gumdrops but doesn’t, haymitch almost dies from overdose but also doesn’t, standard hunger games canon compliant warnings, etc etc we’ve done this song and dance before
word count : 2.2k
You haven’t seen Haymitch in weeks. Almost a full month. Not since he came back from his Games. Not since you almost died in his arms. Almost is the key word here, of course. He saved you, made sure you got better. And then he left. Just like that, he left. You can’t blame him, if you were in his shoes you’d do the exact same thing. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, though. It hurt a lot. Of course it did. The two of you had been dating for years. He told you he’d come back home to you when he got picked for the Games, and he did come home. Just not to you.
He has a mistress now, and her name is Ginny. That is Ginny as in gin and tonic, of course. He’s also got whiskey, scotch, bourbon, and vodka by his side, though you think the first three are all the same thing. Being a victor sure has its perks; he gets the fancy alcohol, imported straight from the Capitol. He gets the big house in the Victors’ Village with running water and heating for the winter and air conditioning for the summer. His own personal little Capitol.
One that you were supposed to share together.
Sometimes you wish you had died. That he didn’t notice the gumdrops in time. That the poison hit your bloodstream just a bit faster. You lost him either way. At least then you wouldn’t have to deal with facing it.
He’s coming home today. It’s all you would talk about, to the point where Clerk Carmine had to kick you out of the house to wait for Haymitch in the Meadow. You didn’t mind, you had ducks to feed anyway. Making your way into the tall grass, you find a small drawstring bag. Ever the curious girl, you pick it up, peering inside to find a dozen sugar-coated gumdrops. Your mouth waters, tempted to have one. You didn’t let yourself eat the gumdrops Sid had given you when Haymitch left, wanting to wait for him.
They’ve been tempting you for weeks, and now another bag shows up, which must mean…
You look up, laughter bubbling from your lips as you see Haymitch, jogging up towards you. You run to him until the two of you collide, his hands going to your waist to lift you up and spin you in a circle, your laughter never stopping.
“You came back,” you say softly, almost astonished that he did.
“I told you I would, didn’t I?” he asks.
You smile, kissing him, the two of you slowly tipping over until you’ve fallen in a heap into the grass, him on top of you. Haymitch rolls off of you, ever the gentleman, and takes the bag of gumdrops from you, plucking one from the little cloth sack and feeding it to you like he usually does. You accept, then watch him shake out a few into his hands to toss them all into his mouth himself. You’re ready to scold him for eating all of your candy but he pauses before popping them into his mouth, eyes widening ever so slightly in what seems to be recognition.
Dropping both the bag and the gumdrops in his hand into the grass, he grasps tightly onto your shoulders. “Spit that out.”
“What?”
He forcefully pries your mouth open, fishing out half of a gumdrop, which you have to say is sort of gross. Wiping his hands on his pants, he pulls you up, the sugar-coated candy forgotten as he drags you back to the Covey house.
“That gumdrop tasted like almonds,” you muse, coughing when you realize there’s a bit of phlegm in your throat. When it doesn’t go away, you clear your throat once, then twice. It doesn’t go away. It just keeps building. Foam bubbles up your throat, to your lips, and you try to say Haymitch’s name but your voice gets caught in your own saliva.
“Just hold on,” he pleads, scooping you into his arms and ramming on the door until Tam Amber answers. “Charcoal,” Haymitch demands. “I need charcoal right now.”
“What? Why?” Tam Amber asks, though he senses the panic in Haymitch’s tone and quickly gets a few tablets of charcoal from the medicinal cabinet, as they came in one of the little first aid kits they sell at the apothecary.
Haymitch makes quick work of smashing the tablet and mixing it with water in a glass, pressing it to your lips. “Drink, drink for fuck’s sake, drink,” he says, encouraging you to swallow. A lot of it spills down the side of your mouth, but most manages its way down your throat. “She’s been poisoned,” he explains to Tam Amber.” Charcoal helps. I don’t know why or how exactly but it helps.” When you’ve emptied the glass, he crushes a second tablet with water, making you drink more. “Don’t die. Please don’t die. I can’t lose you too, please—” he begs as you finish the second glass, spitting out leftover foam and grey sludge on the floor as you gasp for air.
“Haymitch—” you manage to say.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, letting himself cry now that he knows your okay, holding you tight. “This is my fault, you almost died because of me.”
“What are you talking about?” you ask.
“Snow. The gumdrops, the poison, it was Snow. Of course it was. Ma and Sid weren’t enough— I can’t— I’m sorry,” he chokes out.
“Haymitch, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I have to go,” he says, letting go of you. “We can’t be together anymore. I can’t be with you, not if I want you to live. And I do want you to live. I love you,” he says. “I love you like all-fire and that’s why I have to go. Don’t chase after me. Don’t try and find me or talk to me or anything. Just stay alive. Please.”
“Haymitch, I don’t understand—” you protest.
“Good!” he says, standing abruptly. “The less you understand the better. It’s better if you don’t know, safer like that!” He turns to Tam Amber now. “Keep her alive, please,” he says, softer now. “Keep her safe because I can’t.”
“Haymitch—”
“I love you,” he says, “like all-fire.”
That’s the last thing he’s ever said to you before leaving. He didn’t even give you a chance to say it back.
You respected his wishes. You didn’t seek him out, didn’t try to talk to him or get him back. You would’ve kept it forever, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s turned into a recluse. No one’s seen him since you were poisoned. Asterid told you that she and Burdock have been coming by to drop off food for him but he never answers the door. They leave it on his doorstep and it’s either gone or being eaten by a crow the next day. You joked with her, asking where she got food from because she can’t cook to save her life, to which she elbowed you and said that Otho keeps giving her family free bread.
You just sighed at her obliviousness before continuing to ask around. He hasn’t been seen in the Hob, Hattie has been running her bootlegging operation alone ever since Haymitch left in July, even Merrilee hadn’t seen him recently. You’re worried, first and foremost, but you’re also angry. It’s one thing for him to leave you to protect you and all that bullshit—it’s bullshit because you both know you could protect yourself—but it’s another thing for him to shut himself up and destroy himself because of you.
You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask for him to become a recluse, to shut himself away from Burdock and Asterid and everyone who cares about him. Even Merrilee has told you she wants to talk to him, to get to know him, so they can share memories of Maysilee. Just about everyone is worried about Haymitch, you’re the only one with the guts to figure out what’s going on.
You knock on his door in the Victors’ Village, trying the doorknob when you get no response. It’s unlocked so you let yourself in, the house dark, stinking of alcohol. You expected the alcohol, you just didn’t realize how much there would be. You have to watch where you go so you don’t step on broken glass or trip over an empty bottle of white liquor.
You find Haymitch in the kitchen, slumped over a half-eaten and very stale loaf of bread, bottles of wine and brandy litters around him, some empty, but none of them full. He’s unconscious, you can hardly even see the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes.
“Haymitch?” you say tentatively, reaching out to shake his shoulder. When you don’t get a response, you shake harder, then smack him a bit. He still doesn’t wake, causing you to furrow your brow and grab his hand. Feeling at his wrist, you get a pulse. A faint one, barely there to the point you think you’re imagining it, just so you don’t break down. You rush out of the house, crushing glass under your shoe and accidentally kicking a bottle off to the side.
You practically burst into the apothecary, seeing the man behind the counter. “Asterid,” you gasp, out of breath. “I need Asterid March. Now.”
“She’s in the back,” he says. “Asterid! A girl is here for you!”
You’re not offended he doesn’t know your name. Since the Covey aren’t allowed to perform anymore, people no longer know you or your family. You wouldn’t expect anyone in the Market Square to know you either, of course, because Seam people and Market people don’t usually interact or talk to each other.
“A girl?” Asterid asks, coming out from the backroom. When she sees you, the panicked look on your face, she’s quick to ask “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Haymitch,” you say, grabbing her wrist and basically dragging her along back to his house. “He’s dying I think? I don’t know. But he’s had all this alcohol and something’s definitely wrong. He won’t wake up, I think there’s a pulse but I don’t know—”
“Hold on,” she says firmly, turning back into the apothecary and collecting various bottles and herbs. She returns soon enough, the two of you running back to his house together.
Asterid gets to work as soon as you show her where he is, waving smelling salts under his nose and holding him over a bucket as she shoves a tube down his throat to get all the alcohol out of his stomach. She gives him a few tinctures that you don’t know the names of before injecting him with something that makes him pass out, though now the rise and fall of his chest is steady and visible.
“He’ll be okay,” she says, “just unconscious for a bit. I’ll clean up around here but I have to go back, can you stay with him? Come get me when he wakes up.”
“Thank you, Asterid,” you say, giving her a tight hug.
“Of course,” she says, hugging you in return before she moves to clean up her assortment of medicine. “Call me if you need anything.”
You nod, starting to clean up around the house, tossing away bottles and sweeping up shards of glass. Returning the house to its former glory takes the better part of the day. Haymitch wakes up way past sunset on the couch you and Asterid had managed to dump him onto, his vision blurry, a bit dizzy and confused.
“You’re awake,” you say from where you’re sweeping.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“Returning the favor,” you say a bit bitterly. “Saving your life.”
“Didn’t ask you to do that,” he mumbles.
“Well I didn’t ask you to save mine and then leave me,” you snap, sitting next to him and helping Haymitch prop himself up. “I made stew. It’s not great but Burdock brought a rabbit so I wanted to make you something that’s easy to keep down. So—” you gesture vaguely, “stew.”
“Stew,” he says.
You get up, going into the kitchen to ladle out a bowl for him, along with some of the stale bread you toasted into croutons.
“Why are you here?” he asks, having a small bite of stew.
“You were dying,” you say, as if the answer is obvious.
“You should’ve left me to die,” he says bitterly.
Your hand comes up and strikes him across the face before you can even think about it. “Don’t fucking say that,” you snap. “I promised that I would wait for you. We promised we wouldn’t give up so don’t fucking give up Haymitch.”
He just stares at you, pushing the rabbit and potatoes around in his bowl.
“I’m not leaving,” you say. “Not now, not ever, because I love you. I love you like all-fire.”
He sets the bowl down on the coffee table before practically collapsing into your arms. “I love you too,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for giving up.”
You sigh, holding him close. “It’s okay. I forgive you. But don’t leave me again. Not like this, Haymitch. All we’ve got is each other. Snow can’t touch us. I promise.”
“I love you,” he murmurs.
“How much?” you ask.
“Like all-fire.”
a/n: yayy baby's first haymitch fic i hope you like it
billy dunne x fem stylist!reader
content warnings: none!
summary: Caught in an endless cycle of on-again, off-again, you know exactly who he is, sharp edges, careless words, and all. You know how it ends. And still, you keeps choosing him like a Madwoman.
wc: 4.2k
masterlist.
The thing about being the band’s stylist is that no one really notices you, until they do. You exist in the in-between spaces, tucked behind racks of clothing and half-open garment bags, moving quickly, quietly, making everyone else look like they belong under stage lights without ever stepping into them yourself. It’s a system that works. It’s a distance that works.
Until Billy Dunne walks back into your space like he never really left.
“You got anything that doesn’t make me look like I’m trying too hard?” he asks, already shrugging off his jacket before you’ve even turned around, like muscle memory has carried him here. Like it always does.
You don’t look up right away, fingers flipping through hangers with practiced ease. “Everything you wear looks like you’re trying too hard,” you say lightly. “It’s kind of your thing.”
There’s a pause behind you, just long enough to feel it.
“Missed you too.”
The smile comes before you can stop it. You hate that. You hate that he can still pull it out of you so easily, like nothing’s changed, like two weeks isn’t long enough to break a habit.
“Don’t start,” you warn, finally glancing over your shoulder as you pull a black button-down from the rack. “We’re being normal tonight, remember?”
“Right,” he echoes, and there’s something almost amused in the way he says it. “Normal.”
You raise an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “Don’t look so excited.”
“I’m thrilled,” he deadpans, and for a second it’s easy, too easy, falling into the rhythm of this, into something that feels familiar in a way that’s both comforting and dangerous.
You hand him the shirt, careful this time. Casual. Intentional. Your fingers don’t linger when they brush his, even though they used to. Even though part of you still wants to.
That’s new. That’s you trying.
“Try this,” you say, turning back to the rack before you can think too much about it. “And don’t ruin it.”
“I don’t ruin things,” he replies, like he didn’t ruin this exact situation two weeks ago.
A quiet laugh slips out of you, soft and automatic. “That’s actually really funny.”
You can feel his eyes on you after that, heavier now, like he’s trying to read something you’re not offering. There’s a flicker of something in his expression when you glance back—recognition, maybe, or something closer to guilt—but it passes as quickly as it came, replaced by something easier. Something safer.
He pulls the shirt on, leaving it half-buttoned, uneven, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Like he knows you’ll step in.
You hesitate. Just for a second.
You don’t have to. That’s what you told yourself. That’s what the last two weeks were supposed to prove.
But your body moves before your pride can catch up.
“Turn around,” you say, stepping closer, fingers already reaching for the collar. “You dress like you’ve never met me.”
“Thought we weren’t doing that,” he says quietly.
You smooth the fabric over his shoulders, ignoring the way your chest tightens at that. “I said we’re being normal,” you correct. “Not that we’re pretending we don’t know each other.”
“Hard to forget,” he murmurs, and it’s softer than anything else he’s said so far.
Your hands pause.
Too close.
You can feel the heat of him, the familiarity of it, like your body remembers something you’ve been trying very hard to forget. You focus on the buttons instead, working your way down carefully, deliberately, like it matters more than it does.
“Hold still,” you say, quieter now.
“I am still.”
“No, you’re-” You press your palm briefly against his chest to steady him, and the second your hand makes contact, you know it was a mistake.
You both feel it. That shift. Subtle, but unmistakable. Like something just clicked back into place that had no business fitting so perfectly.
You pull your hand away too quickly, stepping back like you touched something hot.
“There,” you say, forcing a lightness back into your voice. “You look…fine.”
“Just fine?” he asks, glancing down at himself before looking back at you.
“Don’t push it.”
He smiles at that, but it’s different this time, smaller, quieter, like it means more than the joke itself. “You always say that,” he says. “Then you keep fixing it until it’s perfect.”
You shrug, turning away again before he can look too closely at your face. “Occupational hazard,” you say. “I don’t like leaving things unfinished.”
The words settle between you, heavier than you intended.
When you glance back, he’s watching you in a way that makes your stomach twist.
“Is that what this is?” he asks.
You blink. “What?”
“Unfinished.”
For a second, just a second, you don’t have anything to say to that.
Then you laugh, light and easy, like it doesn’t hit at all. “God, you’re dramatic,” you brush it off, turning back to the rack. “It’s a shirt, Billy.”
“Right,” he says again, softer this time.
You busy your hands with straightening clothes that don’t need straightening, smoothing fabrics that are already perfect, trying to ignore the way your heartbeat has picked up, the way something in your chest feels just a little too tight.
You were doing fine. You were.
Two weeks of ignoring his calls. Of pretending it didn’t bother you. Of telling yourself that this time, you meant it.
And now he’s here, in your space, wearing something you picked out, looking at you like…
“Hey.”
You close your eyes for the briefest moment before turning back to him. “What?”
He hesitates, and that alone is enough to throw you off. Billy doesn’t hesitate.
Then, softer than before, “You look good.”
It’s such a small thing. Barely anything at all.
And it still lands.
You shrug like it doesn’t matter, even as something in you shifts, just slightly. “Yeah,” you say. “I know.”
Your voice isn’t as steady as you want it to be.
From somewhere down the hall, someone calls his name, Graham, probably, and the spell breaks just enough for him to glance away, pulled back toward the rest of his world. The noise, the stage, everything that doesn’t include you.
He lingers anyway. Just long enough to look at you one more time, like he might say something else.
He doesn’t.
Of course he doesn’t.
“See you out there,” he says instead.
Not later. Not after.
Just enough.
Always just enough.
You nod, like that doesn’t mean anything. “Yeah,” you reply. “Try not to sweat through it.”
“I’ll try,” he says.
He won’t.
And then he’s gone.
The room feels quieter without him, even with the distant noise bleeding in from the hallway. You let out a slow breath, pressing your lips together as you turn back to your rack, fingers tracing absent patterns into the fabric of a shirt you’ve already fixed twice.
Such a terrible idea.
Really. The worst one you’ve had all year.
You’ve done this before, fell in, fell out, said no more.
You meant it. You really did.
Your reflection catches in the mirror across the room, and for a second, you just look at yourself. Steady. Aware. Not fooled.
And still…
A quiet, traitorous smile tugs at your lips.
“Normal,” you murmur under your breath, shaking your head.
Yeah.
Right.
From the side of the stage, everything feels louder.
Not just the music, the energy of it. The kind that crawls under your skin and settles there, buzzing, impossible to ignore. The lights cut sharp across the dark, blinding from certain angles, catching on sweat and metal and movement, turning everything just a little unreal. You’ve stood here a hundred times before, half-hidden behind speakers and cords, arms crossed like you’re just another part of the crew.
Which, technically, you are.
That’s what you tell yourself.
You’re here for the clothes.
You’re here in case something rips, or tears, or falls apart.
You are not here watching Billy Dunne like he’s something you forgot how to resist.
The first song ends in a crash of sound, the crowd roaring loud enough to rattle through your chest. You barely register it. Your focus is fixed somewhere else, center stage, where he stands under the lights like he was built for them.
It’s annoying, honestly.
The way it comes so easily to him.
The way he doesn’t even have to try.
His hair is damp already, pushed back just enough to fall forward again when he moves, the stage lights catching on the edges of it. The shirt you picked out clings in all the right places now, predictably, because of course he didn’t listen when you told him not to sweat through it, and it makes something low in your stomach twist in a way you refuse to examine too closely.
You cross your arms tighter.
This means nothing.
You’ve seen him like this before.
Too many times.
That’s the problem.
He steps back from the mic, running a hand through his hair as the band transitions, and for a second—just a second—he glances off to the side of the stage.
Toward you.
Your breath catches before you can stop it.
It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. He’s probably not even looking at you, not really. There are a hundred things happening at once—crew members moving, lights shifting, shadows flickering across the edges of the stage.
And still, it feels real.
Like he finds you in the middle of it all, like he always somehow does.
Your stomach flips, traitorous and familiar.
You look away first.
You always do.
The next song starts softer, slower. Something that lets his voice stretch out, rough around the edges in a way the crowd eats up immediately. You hear the shift in them, the way the screaming softens into something more focused, more intent. It’s not just noise anymore, it’s attention.
Devotion.
You swallow.
Because you get it.
You hate that you get it.
There’s something about him up there, something that doesn’t exist anywhere else. Not backstage, not in the quiet moments where he says the wrong thing or doesn’t say anything at all. On stage, it all clicks into place. Every flaw smooths out, every sharp edge turns into something compelling instead of cutting.
Up there, he makes sense.
And maybe that’s the worst part.
You step a little further into the shadows, like that might help, like distance will make it easier to breathe. It doesn’t.
He leans into the mic, voice dipping lower, softer, and the sound of it goes straight through you. You’ve heard him talk a thousand times, argue, laugh, mutter under his breath, but this is different. This version of him knows exactly what he’s doing.
Knows exactly how it lands.
Your fingers curl slightly at your sides.
This is how it starts.
Not the fighting. Not the sharp words or the apologies that never quite say enough.
This.
Watching him like this. Forgetting, just for a second, everything that came before. Letting the feeling slip in easy, familiar, like it belongs there.
Like he does.
You shake your head, almost to yourself, trying to ground yourself in something real. The hum of the amps. The rough edge of the stage under your shoes. The faint smell of sweat and smoke and something electric in the air.
You’ve done this before.
You know how it ends.
He moves across the stage, energy building again, the band falling perfectly into rhythm behind him, and the crowd surges with it. There’s a moment—brief, fleeting—where he laughs into the mic, something unplanned, something real, and it hits you harder than anything else.
Because that version of him…
That one feels familiar.
That one feels like the man who stands too close to you backstage and says your name like it matters.
Your chest tightens.
“God,” you mutter under your breath, dragging a hand down your face. “This is so stupid.”
You don’t mean the show.
You don’t mean him.
Not really.
You mean yourself.
Because you can feel it happening, even as you try to shut it down. That slow, inevitable shift. The way your resolve, carefully built over the last two weeks, starts to crack at the edges.
You were doing fine.
You were.
He glances over again.
This time, you don’t look away fast enough.
It’s not obvious. It never is. Just a flicker, a split second longer than it should be. But it’s enough. Enough to make your stomach drop, enough to send that same electric feeling through you, sharp and familiar.
Like nothing’s changed.
Like everything has.
Your lips press together, breath catching in your throat as you finally tear your gaze away, staring down at the floor like it’ll steady you.
It doesn’t.
Because the truth settles in anyway, quiet and undeniable.
You already know how this goes.
You know the late-night conversations, the almost-apologies, the way he’ll look at you when the noise dies down and it’s just the two of you again. You know how easy it is to slip back into that space, to pretend the in-between parts didn’t happen.
You know how this ends.
Your eyes drift back to him, drawn like it’s something you can’t control.
The lights catch on him again, the music swells, the crowd roars, and he looks-
God.
He looks good.
Too good.
Unfairly good.
You let out a quiet, defeated breath, something almost like a laugh slipping out with it.
“Yeah,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything else, shaking your head just slightly.
You’re done for.
And the worst part?
You don’t even try to fight it.
Backstage after a show is never quiet, but it’s quieter.
The kind of quiet that hums instead of roars, where the music has settled into the walls and everything feels a little slower, a little heavier. Voices echo down the hall, crew members moving with practiced efficiency, laughter breaking out in pockets before fading just as quickly. The air smells like sweat and smoke and something faintly metallic, like the aftermath of something electric.
You keep your head down as you move through it, fingers busy with the rack you’ve dragged into the dressing room, already sorting through pieces that need to be aired out, fixed, cleaned. It’s easier this way—focusing on something tangible, something that doesn’t look back at you.
You don’t let yourself think about the show.
You don’t let yourself think about him.
The door creaks open behind you.
You don’t turn around.
“Careful,” you say lightly, still focused on unbuttoning a cufflink. “If you drip on that, I’m charging you for it.”
There’s a soft huff of a laugh, familiar enough that your hands falter for half a second before continuing like nothing happened.
“I thought you said we were being normal,” Billy says, his voice closer than it should be.
You force a small smile, even though he can’t see it. “This is normal. You ruining my work is very on-brand for you.”
He doesn’t answer right away, and the silence stretches just enough to feel it. You can feel him there without looking—standing in the doorway, probably still riding the last of the adrenaline, still warm from the stage.
You tell yourself not to turn around.
You do anyway.
He looks exactly how you knew he would.
Hair damp and curling at the edges, shirt clinging in all the ways you told him it would, sleeves pushed up like he forgot they existed. There’s a flush to his skin, a brightness in his eyes that only ever shows up after a show—like he’s still halfway out there, not fully back yet.
It hits you all over again.
You look away first.
“Take it off,” you say, nodding toward the shirt like that’s the only thing you’re noticing. “Before you ruin it completely.”
He glances down at himself, then back at you, something almost amused flickering across his face. “You worried about the shirt?”
“Always,” you shrug. “It’s the only thing in this room that listens to me.”
That earns you a quiet laugh—real this time, softer than it was earlier—and it settles into something in your chest before you can stop it.
You busy your hands again as he starts unbuttoning the shirt, slower than necessary, like he knows you’re not looking but might anyway.
You don’t.
Not at first.
“You were watching,” he says after a moment, casual in a way that isn’t quite casual.
Your fingers still.
“Yeah,” you reply, just as easy. “It’s my job to make sure you don’t fall apart out there.”
“That what you were doing?” he asks, and there’s something quieter under it now. “Making sure I didn’t fall apart?”
You glance at him then, unable not to.
He’s closer than before.
Of course he is.
“Someone has to,” you say, trying for light, for teasing, even as something in your chest tightens.
He studies you for a second, like he’s trying to decide how far to push this, how much you’ll let him get away with tonight.
You already know the answer.
“Thought you were done with that,” he says finally.
There it is.
You exhale slowly, leaning back against the rack behind you, arms crossing loosely over your chest. “I am,” you say. “I’m just… good at my job.”
He nods like he understands, even though you’re not sure he does. Or maybe he does, and that’s worse.
“Right,” he murmurs.
The space between you shifts again, something unspoken settling into it, heavier this time.
You should say something. You should make a joke, deflect, keep it where it’s safe and easy and normal.
Instead, you ask, “You always look like that after a show?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Like you know something the rest of us don’t,” you say, softer now, like you didn’t mean to say it out loud.
His gaze sharpens slightly at that, something in it flickering.
“Maybe I do,” he replies.
“Yeah?” you hum. “What’s that?”
He takes a step closer.
You don’t move.
“That you’re still here,” he says.
It’s such a simple thing.
And it lands exactly where he knows it will.
Your breath catches, just barely.
“Occupational hazard,” you repeat, even though it doesn’t sound as convincing this time.
“Is that all it is?” he asks.
You should say yes.
You should laugh it off, turn away, put something, anything, back between you.
Instead, you hold his gaze.
“That’s what we said,” you remind him quietly. “Normal, right?”
His mouth tilts slightly, not quite a smile.
“Right,” he echoes.
But neither of you steps back.
There’s a beat, just one, where everything feels suspended. The noise outside the room fades, the movement, the voices, all of it blurring into something distant.
It’s just this.
Just him.
Just you.
You can feel it, the moment right before everything tips. The one you’ve stood in before, the one you promised yourself you wouldn’t walk into again.
You know how this goes.
You know exactly how this ends.
His hand brushes yours.
Light. Accidental.
Not accidental.
Your fingers twitch, like they’re deciding whether to pull away.
They don’t.
“Tell me to leave,” he says quietly, and for the first time tonight, there’s no edge to it. No teasing, no challenge.
Just…something honest.
You look at him.
Really look at him.
At the way he’s waiting, like he already knows what you’re going to say.
Like he’s counting on it.
You should.
You should tell him to go.
You should mean it this time.
Instead…
“Don’t,” you say.
It comes out softer than you intended. Smaller.
Not don’t leave.
Just don’t.
And it’s enough.
It’s always enough.
Something in his expression shifts, relief or something like it flickering through before it settles into something warmer, closer.
Familiar.
His hand finds yours again, more certain this time, and you let it.
Of course you do.
You’re already here.
Already halfway back in.
The rest is just inevitable.
Morning comes in slowly.
It always does here, through half-drawn curtains and thin slats of light that stretch across the room like they’re testing the space first, unsure if they’re welcome. It’s softer than the night was, quieter, like the world is giving you a chance to pretend nothing happened.
For a second, you almost take it.
You lie there, still half-asleep, eyes closed, wrapped in warmth that feels unfamiliar until it doesn’t. Until it settles into something your body recognizes before your mind catches up.
Then you remember.
Not all at once. Not sharply. Just pieces, drifting back in like echoes.
The dressing room.
His hand in yours.
The way you didn’t pull away.
The rest comes after that, slower, heavier. Laughter that felt too easy. A door closing behind you. His voice softer than usual, saying your name like it meant something. Like it always means something, even when it shouldn’t.
You open your eyes.
The room is still. Quiet in that early-morning way, where everything feels suspended between what was and what comes next.
And he’s still here.
Billy is sprawled beside you, half on his stomach, one arm thrown loosely across the space between you like it belongs there. Like it always has. His hair is a mess—worse than usual—falling across his forehead, his breathing slow and even in a way you’ve never really seen when he’s awake.
For a moment, you just…look at him.
It would be easier not to.
It would be easier to get up, to slip out before he wakes, to leave this where it belongs, in the dark, in the version of you that only exists when the lights are low and the music is loud.
You don’t.
Of course you don’t.
Your fingers move before you think better of it, brushing lightly against his arm where it rests between you. It’s absent, instinctive. The kind of touch that doesn’t ask permission because it already knows the answer.
He stirs slightly, breath hitching just enough to pull you back into yourself.
You freeze.
Wait.
But he doesn’t wake, not fully. Just shifts closer, like he’s chasing warmth in his sleep, his hand brushing your side before settling there, heavy and familiar.
Your chest tightens.
This is the part you never prepare for.
Not the night before. Not the pull of it, the way it always feels inevitable once you’re in it. You know how to exist there. You know how to move through that version of this, where everything is soft and electric and easy to mistake for something more.
It’s this that gets you.
The quiet.
The stillness.
The way it almost looks like something real.
You swallow, eyes tracing the lines of his face like you’re trying to memorize something you already know too well. There’s no edge to him like this, no sharpness in the way he speaks or looks at you. No distance, no push and pull.
Just…him.
You let yourself have it for a second.
Just a second.
Your hand lingers a little longer than it should, resting against his arm, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin like you’re not thinking about it.
Like you’re not already bracing for what comes next.
Because you know it will.
You always do.
Eventually, he’ll wake up. He’ll pull back, just slightly. Not enough to hurt all at once, never that obvious. Just enough to remind you that this—whatever this is—doesn’t stay like this.
It never does.
You exhale slowly, staring up at the ceiling now, letting the weight of it settle back into place.
You meant it, last time.
You did.
When you said you were done. When you ignored his calls, when you told yourself that you weren’t going to keep doing this—this cycle, this back and forth, this almost-something that never quite becomes anything more.
You knew better.
You know better.
Your gaze drifts back to him anyway.
To the way he looks like this—unguarded, softer than he ever lets himself be when he’s awake. To the way his hand still rests against you, like he reached for you without even thinking about it.
Like it’s instinct.
Like you are.
And maybe that’s the problem.
Not that he doesn’t care.
But that he only does, like this.
In pieces.
In moments.
In the quiet hours before the world comes rushing back in.
Your lips press together, something tight and almost fond pulling at the corners of your mouth despite everything.
It would be so easy to stay.
To let yourself sink back into this, to pretend that this version of him is the only one that exists. To hold onto this moment and stretch it out as long as you can before it inevitably breaks.
You could.
You know you could.
Instead, you close your eyes for a second, steadying yourself.
When you open them again, nothing has changed.
He’s still here. Still close. Still warm.
And you, you’re still exactly where you swore you wouldn’t be.
A quiet breath leaves you, something softer than a laugh, more resigned than anything else.
“Yeah,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.
You already know how this goes.
You’ve been through it before—fell in, fell out, said no more.
You meant it.
You did.
Your hand shifts slightly, curling into the sheets instead of reaching for him again.
But you don’t move away.
Not yet.
Maybe not at all.
Your gaze lingers on him for one last second before drifting toward the window, where the morning light has fully settled in now, soft and golden and deceptively gentle.
f!reader x husband!billy dunne — billy dunne masterlist
djats week 2026 — spring day #006
summary : billy dunne loves you. you’re sure of it. at least, you are now. he’s fucked up before in the past, but he’s better now. it’s not his fault, it was the drugs. but the way he looks at daisy jones, the way their faces are plastered on every billboard and magazine in LA, the way they seem so incredibly enamoured with each other, brings back those doubts you had all those years ago.
warnings : billy dunne was a cheater, but it’s the 70s and he’s hot so we forgive him for that or smth, idk but reader stays with him in a similar vein to canon cami, billy dunne redemption arc (he gets better), but like you can’t just “get over” getting cheated on so, yeah, he fixes it though it ok, happy ending, billy and reader have a daughter named marlene, can be read as a continuation to the “you promised” mini-series but can also be a standalone
word count : 1.8k
You’re 90% confident that Billy Dunne loves you. He’s your husband, you’ve been married for years now. You have a daughter together, who he loves more than anything in the world, including his music. You trust him, mostly at least. Even if you don’t trust him, you trust Daisy. She’s one of your closest friends, and you know she wouldn’t hurt you by being Billy’s mistress. Even so, it’s not like that’s what she wants anyway. She’s made it clear that she values herself and her independence over any man, especially Billy.
You feel like you’re crazy for doubting him but you can’t help it. You know that history repeats itself and you know your husband. He’s never been good at keeping his promises. He’s cheated before, with groupies. You remember what it was like when him and Daisy first started working together, the way they were in the studio, how they were on stage in front of hundreds of people, acting as if no one could see them.
You remember what it was like when you were pregnant with Marlene, how he had promised to stay clean and sober. He broke that promise as well, too busy getting drunk at some shitty dive bar while you were giving birth. He wasn’t even there for the labor, instead coming hours later just because Warren managed to hunt him down and drag him to the hospital by his ear.
He’s been better since Marlene entered your lives, of course, and the “AURORA” tour ended, the band took a small hiatus, which has been incredibly helpful for Billy. He’s mostly stopped drinking, sometimes caving and having a beer or whiskey whenever he drives past a bar and can’t resist the temptation, cut out drugs entirely other than the occasional cigarette whenever he’s stressed. He’s been more attentive too, getting you candy and flowers again, like when you first started going out.
The band returned to the studio half a year ago. Billy started falling back to his old routine. Staying late at the studio with Daisy, writing music. Coming home at two in the morning, waking up Marlene and causing her to cry and wail when you had just managed to put her down for the night. Before he got back with the band, Billy still wrote songs, showing them to you, singing them to your daughter like her own personal lullabies. Now, you don’t get to hear anything anymore. Not until it’s done, not until it’s perfect.
They announced their second album two weeks ago, and promotion is already everywhere. Daisy and Billy are plastered on every magazine cover, every billboard you drive past on the Strip or the PCH. Every single radio station plays their newest single at least three times a day. The record has barely been out but they’ve already started rehearsals for the tour. You seen them rehearse, on the days where you can get a babysitter for Marlene. You see the way he looks at Daisy when they’re singing together, with the same amount of passion he did all that time ago, during the “AURORA” tour.
He doesn’t seem drunk or high when he comes home, which is a good sign that he hasn’t relapsed yet, but you don’t doubt that it’ll happen sooner rather than later. You want to say something to but you can’t bring yourself to. You want to beg for him to stay home with you and Marlene more, to go back to how things were before the band got back together, but you know it would be selfish of you to ask. He just seems so happy. He never wanted to be a husband or a father, he was meant to be a rockstar. It’s just not possible for a man to have both.
You want him to be happy, even if it means you’re not. You know that that means letting him be free with the band, free of the burden of you and the nuclear family that’s been forced onto him. And you’ll let him go tonight. At least, that’s what you planned to do.
Marlene wouldn’t fall asleep, having napped for too long in the afternoon, the ten month old was wide awake and wanted to play. She can’t quite speak yet, but she’s figured out how to babble an “mmm-ah!” that’s become her version of “mama.” You’ve been sitting on the couch, Marlene in your lap repeating “mmm-ah” over and over again, among various other sounds that mean nothing, playing with one of her stuffed animals while you try to dandle her to sleep. You end up falling asleep together before Billy can come home, you sprawled across the couch with your daughter on your stomach.
This is the sight that Billy comes home to, his girls sleeping together on the couch, in the middle of a messy living room. He loves this sight, loves that after a day full of chaos and arguing with the band, he gets to come home to something so peaceful.
Slipping off his shoes, he moves over to the couch, crouching to press a kiss to your forehead before taking Marlene into his arms, careful to not wake her. He brings her upstairs, making sure she’s warm in her onesie before placing her in her crib, making sure none of the covers are loose. Once he’s sure she won’t wake up suddenly, he returns downstairs to pick up a few of the toys still littered around the living room, accidentally waking you in the process.
“Billy?” you murmur, eyes still bleary.
“Hey baby. Here, come on, let me take you to bed,” he says, moving over to you to help you up.
You refuse his help and sit up on your own, head shaking. “No, I’m fine. We need to talk.”
He frowns but sits down beside you. “Is something wrong? Did something happen with Marls today?”
“She’s fine,” you’re quick to reassure. “It’s… it’s about us.”
“Look, I know I’ve been coming home late,” he says. “I swear, I’ll try to cut back time at the studio. I’ll spend more time with you and Marlene.”
“It’s not that, Billy,” you say.
“Then what is it?”
You chew on your bottom lip, hands a bit fidgety, avoiding his gaze.
He says your name, hand reaching out to squeeze your knee. “Tell me. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”
“I think we should get a divorce,” you say quietly.
It’s like time stops. Everything around you goes scarily quiet, Billy seems frozen in place at your words.
He withdraws his hand, brows furrowed. “What?”
“A divorce,” you say again. “You’re clearly so much happier with the band and your career than you’ve ever been with me. You never wanted to be nailed down by a wife and a kid. You want to be a rockstar, you are a rockstar. Rockstars sleep with groupies and cheat on their wives and girlfriends and get drunk and high and they don’t have colicky babies making messes at home. I’m not blind, Billy. I can see how much happier you are when you’re not with us. It’s not fair for me to trap you here like this. You should get to do what you want.”
“You think that this isn’t what I want?” he asks softly. “You and Marlene are everything to me. You’re my family. Honestly? I hate the band sometimes. Sure, I love making music, but I make it for you and Marls. The best part of my day is getting to come home to my girls after dealing with those idiots all day.”
“But what about Daisy?”
“What about Daisy?” he asks.
“The way you look at her. On the magazine covers, on the album cover, whenever you’re practicing together. It’s too…” You struggle to find the right words.
“Too what?”
“Too much like how it was back then. During the ‘AURORA’ tour, when I thought—” you hesitate, not wanting to say it in case speaking it into existence made it true.
“What did you think?”
“That you loved her,” you say quietly.
Billy lets out a long exhale, lips pressing together. “I think I did. Once. But that’s just because I didn’t know what love was. I thought that love meant I needed to find someone exactly like me. And that’s what Daisy is. She likes the music I like, she’s loud and excitable, she’s got a temper like me, she was… broken like me. I felt safe with her because she was too much like me to judge me for being the way I was, she couldn’t be hypocritical like that. I thought that was acceptance, I thought that that ‘acceptance’ was love.
“Now I know that I was wrong. What I have with you is love. This marriage, our family. I know that I haven’t been the best lately, that I slip back into how I was whenever I get with the band again, but I’m doing so much better now than I was back then, thanks to you and Marlene. Yes, I’m coming home late, but that’s because I want the tour to be perfect. So it doesn’t go to shit like the last one did. I’m not drinking or doing drugs, even if everyone else is.
“Tour won’t be for another six months, Marlene will be old enough for some travel then. We can go to Pittsburgh, let the baby stay with my mom or your parents, and you can come on tour with me for a little bit. And we won’t do it all in one go. We’ll do west coast first, then a month where I can stay home with the two of you before we continue onto the east coast. And if you don’t like that plan, we can figure out another one together. I’ve already lost you once, now that we have a baby at stake I’m not risking it again. I love you. Only you.”
You try not to cry, nearly collapsing into his arms as Billy holds you close, burying his face into your hair. “I love you,” you say into his chest, failing to hold back soft sobs. “And I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be,” he says. “If I were you, I’d have divorced me a lot sooner.”
You let out a teary laugh, pulling back a bit. “Thank you,” you say softly.
“Don’t thank me for this. I should’ve been this good to you the whole time, not just now,” he says. “Now let’s go to bed before Marlene senses we’re spending time without her and wakes up.”
You smile, standing with his help, the two of you heading upstairs together. You know that you’ll still get these doubts sometimes. That for now, you can’t fully trust Billy. But he knows that too, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to gain your trust back. As long as the two of you fall asleep in the same bed and wake up next to each other every morning, everything will be okay.
a/n: okay wow this is bad bc i wrote it last minute after getting like no sleep soz if there are like 50 typos
f!reader x boyfriend!warren rojas — warren rojas masterlist
djats week 2026 — spring day #005
summary : you love your boyfriend, you really do. it’s not his fault he gets a little handsy sometimes. besides, you’re the one that suggested skinny dipping after everyone else left the party.
warnings : 16+ viewer discretion is advised, oh they FREAKAY, fade to black but like, again don’t have drunk sex kids, even if it’s with your boyfriend/girlfriend, a relationship does not equal consent, uh they have semi public sex i mean they’re alone but someone cld peer over the fence idk, drug use/inebriation
word count : 1.2k
You love parties. The lights, the music, the drugs. It’s amazing. What’s better is that you just moved into a new house, a house with a pool. The only correct thing to do was to throw yourself a housewarming party. Just your friends, of course, nothing big. A few people you knew from college, your boyfriend Warren, of course, and his bandmates. It’s not your fault that his bandmates brought their friends, and your friends brought theirs. Sure, you could’ve kicked them out, said no, but you didn’t want to. Besides, this is your house now, you’re allowed to do whatever you want.
People are splashing around in your pool, passing around joints and cigarettes alike while they drink cheap beer and snort bumps from the back of their hands. A beach ball that’s not yours is getting tossed around, but you decide you’re too hammered to ask any questions, instead just wandering around, saying “Hi” to people you don’t know, being pulled to the side occasionally to dance a bit with some groupies.
You find your boyfriend soon enough, lounging in a sun chair with a cigarette between his lips, shirt unbuttoned to show off his bare chest. You smile at the sight, perching yourself right on his lap.
“Hey pretty girl, are you here with anyone?” Warren jokes, taking the cigarette out so he can kiss you.
“Mm, just my boyfriend. I’m looking for him actually,” you say against his lips.
“Yeah? What does he look like?”
“Curly hair, mustache, really hot, amazing body…” your words trail off as you drag your nails down his chest lightly, causing him to emit a low groan.
“Bet he’s not as hot as me,” Warren says, his lips attaching to your neck, sucking like a leech.
You laugh, pushing him away so you have enough room to adjust. You move to lay against him, back to chest, so his legs are around yours. “Missed you,” you murmur, even though you had seen him just half an hour earlier.
“Where’d you run off to? I went to get a beer and lost you,” he says, fingers idly playing with your bikini strap.
“Dancing,” you say, plucking the cigarette from his fingers to take a pull yourself.
“You have fun?”
“Yeah. You should dance with me,” you say. “Would be more fun with you.”
“Hmm, I dunno…” he says, pretending to be indecisive about this decision
“Warren.” You turn to look at him, your bottom lip in a slight pout.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Please?”
“How could I ever say no to you?” he asks, huffing a laugh while he takes the cigarette from you to stub it out.
A few hours of drinking, smoking, dancing, and swimming later, the party’s died out, guests with towels draped around their shoulders and their hair leaving water droplets on the concrete streaming out of your frontgate to head home. The music is still playing, but is turned down to be softer. There’s a few beers left, cigarettes and joints dying out in ashtrays littered around the backyard. It’s a mess that you’ll clean up tomorrow, when you’re less drunk and exhausted.
There’s only one person left, no one other than your boyfriend, who is starfished out and floating on the surface of your pool. His eyes are closed, curls floating around him, and you have half a mind to assume he’s dead. The only thing that gives him away is the affronted look that immediately appears on his face when you turn off the music.
“What’d you do that for?” he asks, one eye peeking open to look up at you.
“We have to shower and go to bed,” you say, sitting down so your legs are submerged.
Warren huffs, swimming over to you, standing in between your legs. His palms rest on top of your thighs as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, each one getting closer and closer to where your bikini bottoms barely cover.
“Warren,” you say, warning in your tone.
“What?” he asks, looking up at you with all of the innocence of a naughty puppy.
“We need to go to bed. Come on, you can stay the night.”
“But everyone just left,” he says, urgency in his tone.
“So?”
“So,” he says with a scoff, as if his point is obvious and he shouldn’t have to explain himself, “we can finally have all the fun we want without anyone seeing.” He fingers at the flimsy ties holding your bottoms together, tugging lightly but not pulling them apart yet.
“You want to skinny dip?” you deadpan.
“I didn’t say that but now that you mention it—”
You laugh, splashing water in his face.
He splutters, giving you an affronted look. “What was that for?”
“For being gross,” you say.
“You were the one that suggested it. I just wanted to have pool sex.”
“What’s wrong with you?” you ask, an amused smile on your face.
“Whatever it is, it’s why you love me,” he teases, hands moving up to your hips to tug you into the pool with him.
You fall into the water with a yelp, holding onto him as you start to laugh. “Hi,” you say, a bit breathless from the sudden cold.
“Hey,” he murmurs, kissing you.
You moan against his lips, one of your hands reaching behind you to undo the tie on your bikini, tugging the straps down to let it fall into the water between the two of you. Warren breaks the kiss, brows raised as your breasts are suddenly revealed.
“Why are you so surprised? You’ve seen them before,” you say.
“Didn’t expect to see them now, though,” he says with a small laugh, one of his hands moving to cup one of your tits, squeezing it as his thumb brushes over your nipple. A shiver runs down your spine at his touch, a breathy sound escaping your lips as you press your forehead against his. His other hand makes quick work of your bikini bottoms, undoing the ties with deft fingers to get you fully naked.
“Now this is far from fair,” you say with a teasing pout, tugging lightly at the drawstring of his swim trunks.
“Fine, fine,” he huffs, shucking them down without hesitation, tossing them out of the pool onto the concrete. “Happy now?”
“Is that any way to talk to your girlfriend?” you say, eyeing him approvingly.
“My apologies, my beautiful gorgeous princess. Does my nakedness meet thy approval?” he asks, turning in a slow circle to give you the full view.
“You know, there is something seriously wrong with you,” you say, arms twining around his shoulders and neck while his find your waist.
Your lips meet again as you feel him press against your thigh. The water ripples around the two of you as you move together throughout the night. You thought weed was supposed to decrease stamina, but it seems to do the exact opposite for Warren. Either that or it’s getting canceled out by the coke. Whatever it is, you know you’re grateful as hell for your boyfriend.
No matter how good his dick is, you do love Warren for things other than the great sex. You love him for the aftermath, him helping you out of the pool and wrapping you in a towel. Showering together, his hands unusually gentle as they wash chlorine from your hair. Drying you off again, tucking you into bed beside him. Despite your boyfriend fucking like a rabbit, you know he loves you, and you love him.
a/n: i struggled to get this to my self imposed word count minimum but ITS OK WE DID IT JUST BARELY. anyway unedited bc i finished writing this like last minute and needed to get it in
synopsis: just minutes after getting legally bound to your now wife, the only fitting thing to celebrate is a late-night drive to your favorite diner to get your favorite burgers.
warnings: mwah mwah part 2 to hot cocoa sweets!, this is pure rotting fluff, honestly pretty short but cami forever, reader is depicted wearing a dress and having long enough hair, this is really short but guys midterms be coming for my ass
647 words | djats week! | @djatsweek :D
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
When you and Camila walk down the steps of the courthouse, hand-in-hand, smiling your faces off when it hits both of you that you were married.
You were married to the love of your life, even if it’s just considered “legally bound” and not exactly a marriage.
But you were married for all that you cared about.
It was dark, the whole commotion having taken the whole day, with every couple in the world seeming to be trying to get married that very same day.
Camila was wearing a boho-like white dress, and you were wearing a shorter white dress, just like you had planned the day before.
“So, what do you want to do, Mrs. Alvarez?” You said, a grin on your face as she smiled.
“Well…I think we should go to our favorite diner.” Camila said, her soft smile melting your heart.
“Really? Even in our white dresses?” You asked, chuckling slightly.
“Even in our white dresses,” Camila said, opening the passenger door for herself. “I think there’s no better way to celebrate our marriage than with a burger.”
With Camila’s voice sounding very firm about what she wanted to do, all you could do was nod and get in the driver’s seat, put the keys in the ignition, and begin driving out of the courthouse.
As you began driving, the radio blasted your friends’ songs, both of you singing along to the point you had the roof of the car come off so the wind could blow in both of your hair.
The pair of you were laughing loudly, your singing and hair running wild as the wind took its way with you. It was slightly cold because of the wind, but you didn’t care. You and Camila felt warm inside despite it all.
You had each other, for now and forever.
When the pair of you finally pulled into your favorite 24/7 diner that you had your first date at, the waitress only looked at you knowingly as the pair of you walked in hand in hand.
You were so regular that practically everyone knew you and your partner were engaged. So, it was no surprise that after you and Camila finished your burgers, the cook, Rob, personally came out and gave you his famous red velvet cupcakes.
The look on Camila’s face when Rob insisted that it was on the house made the night even better.
As you both ate the cupcakes, holding hands as the waitress kept refilling your sodas without asking, all you could think about was how perfect this night was.
You were married to the love of your life, and you were eating greasy burgers that would certainly ruin your dresses, and you got free cupcakes.
When the pair of you began driving home, it was a more silent time, but a comfortable one.
“I’m so happy.” You said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it.
“I am too,” Camila whispered, turning her head and smiling at you. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Me too.” You whispered, turning on a road that led to your house.
“We should do a late-night drive every week,” Camila announced.
You looked at your wife. “Really?” You said, chuckling.
“Yeah!” Camila said, as if this were an obvious choice. “I think it’d be nice. We’d just drive aimlessly, no destination in sight, just enjoying our time together.”
Her words made sense, and you didn’t take too long to make your choice.
“Okay,” You replied, nodding. “Every week, once a week.”
You grinned at her.
“Until we’re old and wrinkly…or until both of us get our driver’s license revoked, whichever comes first.”
Camila’s laughter filled the empty highway, and it didn’t take long for your laughter to join in as the moon glowed above the pair of you.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ | i feel the earth move - warren rojas x f!reader
synopsis: you might be dating warren rojas, but you’ve never tried the drugs that he’s been using. until, for his birthday, you decide to give in and try it
warnings: after yesterday’s sad fest, here is what i would say is a crack/fluff fic mwah, anyways onto the real warnings, drug use, warren getting old (he’s 24 in this), weed is the drug we use bc that’s the best i know the after effects of, shoutout to the toilet in warren’s room, cielo!reader (see my readersona masterlist mwah)
1k words | djats week! | @djatsweek :D
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
“Oh my god, you’re actually serious about this.”
Warren did not believe your words when you had told him that for his birthday, you would finally get high with him.
You never got high with him, but you seemed fine with him getting high or getting drugged out of his mind. You just didn’t like the hangovers he’d end up with after, and that made you decide that you won’t partake in it, mainly because you always needed to be up and ready to help your parents at their surf shop.
But you finally told your parents you’d be taking the day off, and since you’ve never taken a day off in your life, they were happy to let you have a well-deserved break.
And so here you were, lying in Warren’s bed with his randomly placed toilet, holding a brownie.
“Don’t chicken out now.” Warren grinned, already on his second brownie. “It’s my birthday.”
“I’m not gonna chicken out.” You protested, but you still didn’t put it in your mouth.
This only made Warren laugh, as he took a bite of his brownie. You can already see his red-shot eyes from his consumption of the brownies, and God knows what he’s been taking throughout the day.
You bit your lip before finally putting the brownie in your mouth, taking a small bite of it.
Immediately after, you coughed and spit it out, which only made your boyfriend laugh harder.
“It’s not that bad!” He said, grabbing a napkin to clean up the poor brownie's remains.
“It is so that bad!” You said, chuckling as you put the brownie down. “God, that was horrible!”
Warren threw out the napkin, leaning over you to grab something else. “Okay, okay, let’s try something less bold.” He said, opening a capsule.
He held out a hand that held a red gummy, which made you take it.
“This is gonna taste the same as the brownie.” You said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, yes…” Warren said, taking his own gummy, as if to show you it’s not that bad. “But it’s smaller than a whole brownie, so easier to take in.”
At this, you sigh and shake your head.
“You are so lucky that I love you.” You muttered, popping the gummy in your mouth.
You were very tempted to spit it out yet again, but Warren was watching you, looking like he was expecting you to do so, and you were not letting the fucker get the last laugh.
So, you chewed it and swallowed it, but it was clear that it had a bitter taste.
“I need my water,” You coughed, and you hit your chest a few times as you grabbed a water bottle. “How long does it take for it to kick in anyway?”
“Thirty minutes.” Warren shrugged, stealing your water and taking a sip of it. “Might be longer for you since it’s your first time.”
At his words, you raised the other eyebrow. “Is it because I don’t know what to expect?” You asked. “Because you’re my example of it kicking in.”
Warren only handed back your water.
“You’ll feel it,” was all that he said.
You, in fact, did feel it within the hour.
The pair of you were laughing like maniacs, pointing at random shapes that were on the ceiling, talking about anything under the sun. It had even gotten to the point where one of the boys, you couldn’t put his face to remember, came into the room and told the pair of you to shut up.
“Your eyes are red.” Warren finally said when the pair of you calmed down.
He had a little dopey smile on his face, one that you adored.
“My eyes are red?” You asked, giggling from earlier.
“Red-eyed.” Warren confirmed, starting to giggle again, just because you were giggling.
Both of you laughed again, and for a second, you thought another one of the band was going to come and tell the pair of you to shut up, but no one did.
“We’re both red-eyed then.” You said, pointing a finger at his eye. “You’re still red-eyed.”
“Good, we can match.” Warren grinned.
“It feels like the earth is moving.” He continued, his head lolling away from you.
“The earth is always moving.” You said. “Even if we don’t.”
“I forgot you were such a nerd.” Warren groaned, leaning his head back and off the bed.
You flicked his forehead, but you missed his forehead and proceeded to flick his nose. As Warren groans in pain, you begin laughing like a maniac, a grin like a schoolgirl.
“Happy Birthday,” You managed to say between your laughter.
Warren looks at you, rubbing his nose.
“You didn’t have to do this with me.” He said, his face trying to be as serious as he could.
“Yeah, but I wanted to.” You said, shaking your head. “I would’ve done it earlier, but I thought it’d be fun for your birthday.”
He smiles before leaning in and kissing your lips. Granted, it’s very sloppy, but you still reciprocated with a smile. When you both part, the two of you stare at the other’s red eyes, the high from the edibles still kicking in.
This was definitely the best birthday ever for Warren.
And it was definitely worth the massive hangover the pair of you got in the morning.
