YALLLLL I Just Recently Started Watching Billy The Kid And … Lordddddd. I Used To Have An Obsession

my boys

i had this dream where you were different…

I HATE YOU MASTERLIST

[mini series]

summary: things get pretty heated, in more ways than one, between you and elliot, who you absolutely loath.

fandom: euphoria

parings: elliot x f reader

warnings: smut, swearing, drug and alcohol use

smut: *

PART ONE *

PART TWO *

PART THREE *

completed

people will scream "fuck them kids!" gleefully from the rooftops, but when I, Ben Scott, light a cabin filled with children on fire, all of a sudden-

no one speak to me. I AM LOOSING IT

Somethin about puppy dog eyes.

okay i’m awake time to write for my silly little phone spiders

all up in smoke

masterlist

pairing: frank castle x f!reader

summary: based on the prompt: 'sit on my lap and let's smoke a joint'

warnings: alcohol, weed (rolling a joint, smoking, shotgunning), frank being a cute little whore, heavy petting/teasing but no sex, high epiphanies (mostly fluff!)

a/n: happy late birthday to the ever lovely @chelseasdagger , this one is for you babeyyyyy 💗

Home is a solace on your lips as you step inside, your keys joining the others in the bowl by the front door. Despite the events of your day, still fresh in your mind, you feel the knotted tension in your body begin to dissipate, the pressure easing in your temples. The few lights that have been left on are dimmed, filling the house with the kind of ambient coziness you’ve been longing for all day. 

You round the corner, and there he is on the couch: feet kicked up on the coffee table, immersed in a hardcover book you swore he’d never touch. A pang of emotion stirs in your stomach — a cross between yearning and consolation; something you just can’t place, but are grateful for nevertheless. 

“Hi, Frankie,” you smile, drawing the curtains open, letting the cool night air filter into the living room. 

He lifts an eyebrow, glancing up at you from behind the book. “Hey, sweetheart. Long day?”

You stretch your arms over your head, nevermind that his voice stirs something in you, and set your bag up on the kitchen counter. “Mmhm. Glad to be home.”

Frank leans forwards, fingers closing around the drink he’s left on the coffee table. His eyes flick to yours as he takes a sip, caring not to break contact, before jerking his chin at the bottle of scotch next to your bag. “You want some of that?”

He points at you, clicking his tongue as you move to pick the bottle up. “Don’t move. Stay right there.” Setting his book aside, the pages splayed face-down onto the table, he makes his way over, utterly impervious to your flurried attempts in getting him to remain where he is.

“D’ya really think I’d let you pour your own drink?” Frank says, looking affronted, but a furtive smile spreads along his face as you shake your head.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let me take care of ‘ya,” he adds, delicately.

Carting you gently to the side, he digs around in the freezer, reaching for a couple of ice cubes that clink mellifluously in the glass. You watch intently as they bob in line with the whiskey streaming in, and then as he inspects the amber liquid closely, as if to examine its quality. 

When he’s satisfied, he turns to you, and raises the rim of the glass to your mouth. “Here,” Frank murmurs, condensation collecting around his fingertips. “Drink up.”

You shudder as the whiskey cascades hotly through your veins — each note of pepper, caramel and nutmeg lingering on the surface of your tongue like molten honey. You swallow another mouthful before pushing the glass away, not taking your eyes off of him for a second as he sets it down.

Frank runs his tongue over his teeth, raking his eyes across your face. He focuses on a stray drop of whiskey at the corner of your mouth, using a knuckle to brush it away. Your heart thunders at his calloused touch; as he pauses to swipe his broad thumb over your bottom lip. There’s a faint throbbing within you — a wild drumbeat steering you towards nothing but desire — so you flick your tongue out, circling his fingertip, relishing in his taste of salt, earth and whiskey.   

He lets out a soft groan, mumbling something that sounds like your name; maybe even a plea to slow down. You’re attentive, knowing he doesn’t want this night over yet, that he wants to wait before taking you to bed. 

It’s a good thing then, that you have something planned. 

You inch forwards, swallowing as Frank’s hand sweeps over the contours of your face, coming to rest at a spot near your ear. He tips your chin upwards, letting his ragged breathing fan over you. He stalls, allowing his dark eyes to bore into yours, and for a moment you forget where you are, the stressors of the day long gone.

All you know is him. 

His beard prickles your skin as he captures your mouth with his own, but you lean into the kiss, savouring his ardent warmth. He moves with you, deepening the kiss as you slide a hand into his hair, curling your fingers at the nape. Your thighs squeeze together as he pivots you around, pushing you against the counter while his tongue melts against yours. Using his leg to knock your knees apart, you arch into his touch, gasping as the bulge in his jeans settles where you need him the most. 

You won’t be able to stop if you don’t pull away now.

“Frank,” you whisper. “Frank.”

He looks at you, placing a small kiss to your jaw. “Mm?” 

“Before… uh,” you start, lightheaded and fuzzy, unable to comprehend anything but the heady weight of the whiskey and the ache between your legs. “I've got something for us. A little surprise. And I think,” you indicate, wagging a finger from him to you, “we should save this for later.”

He arches his eyebrows, smiling inquisitively. “Yeah? And what’s that?” 

You step aside to rummage through your bag, taking only a few seconds for you to find what it is you’re looking for. You hold up a clear plastic container, giving it a little shake in front of Frank’s face. His eyes widen in comprehension.

“God, I love you.” 

“Hey,” you smirk, “not God. Just me.” 

He chokes on his own laughter, draining the last of your whiskey. “You got it, sweet girl.”

You bite down on your growing smile. “Anyway, I was thinking the plan could go something like… get a little high, have some fun. You know what I mean, right?”

“S’that right?”

“We both deserve it.”

“You need some help with that?” he asks, pointing at the rolling papers you’ve set down on the counter. 

“Nope. Walk away.” 

You’re an image of rapt focus with your tongue between your teeth, cautiously grinding the weed before packing it into the rolling paper. You slip a filter on one end of the joint, and using your thumb and forefingers, you roll it into place. Bringing the free edge of rolling paper up to your mouth, you skirt your tongue along the narrow strip of glue, quickly moving to seal the joint. 

You shoot Frank a resolute look of determination. “Not bad, huh?” 

He folds his arms over his chest, leaning back into the couch. Almost hidden in the tangle of his beard, the corners of his mouth tick upwards. You can’t quite tell if he’s astonished, impressed, or a mixture of everything in between, but the expression on his face is a priceless ego boost. “Attagirl.”

“Mmhm,” you reply drily, admiring your handiwork from up close.

“Baby?” Frank calls, breaking your tethered focus. A glimmer of a smile in your periphery catches your eye.

“Yeah?” 

There’s a sound of rustling fabric as Frank spreads his legs, motioning you over to him by patting his thigh. “C’mere.”

Your gaze softens at his request. “That sounds good, Frankie. Let me grab my lighter.”

“Got it right here,” Frank chuckles, holding it up and thumbing it open.

Twirling the joint in your fingers, you meander over to his spot on the couch, watching the tiny orange flame dance in his eyes as he holds down the lighter button. 

He’s a solid comfort under you as you sit down on his lap, shuffling back until the side of your body is angled to his chest, using the armrest as additional support. His scent is a blissful, pacifying force – distilling in you where it matters. 

Frank wrests the joint from your grip, assiduous in the way he places it between your lips, then as he lights it for you. The lit end glows as the papered edges begin to burn, flickering in its reflection in the window ahead. You take a drag, letting the smoke fill your mouth before inhaling it into your lungs. Maybe it’s in your head, but your body feels lighter already; even more so as you exhale. 

The grey-tinged smoke remains opaque for only a second, vanishing into the air as soon as you pass the joint to Frank. You breathe out again, more deeply this time, allowing the grassy, herbal scent of the weed wash over you in waves of tranquil calm.

You cock your head to the side, studying the normally terse man before you leisurely smoking the joint, taking two drags instead of one. Gratitude forms a lump in your throat — nights like these are rare, and to see him so carefree, his mind unoccupied by the workings of the larger world, is a luxury you’ll never get tired of. 

After tapping the gathering ashes into his empty whiskey glass, Frank hands the joint back to you, closing his eyes while he waits for your next pass. As the weed-induced euphoria starts to take effect, you wrench one of Frank’s hands from its spot on your thigh, interlacing your fingers together. You take your time in mapping his knuckles, tracing over every crease, scar and perfect imperfection. 

You tap on Frank’s shoulder, wanting him as a credible witness for a successful smoke ring, but like all your past attempts, it morphs back into a cloud, hanging there in contempt. 

He laughs softly, putting you right to shame with a series of flawless rings that fall forwards in an arc towards the coffee table. 

You giggle, jabbing him in the chest with an expertly-placed elbow. “Don’t get too cocky now, Castle.”

His mouth quirks to the side. “Yeah? What are you gonna do, hm?”

“I’ll…” you search around the room for something to say. “I’ll withhold sex!” 

He gasps, feigning an expression of outrageous offense. “That’s cruel, darlin’.”

Laughing, you reassure him you wouldn’t, really, but he takes the opportunity to soar through the cracks of your defense, hauling you backwards until his face is flush with the shell of your ear. “Really think you could resist it? Not havin' sex?” 

The retorts crumble away as he tells you to ‘open up, sweetheart’, lifting the joint back to his lips. He breathes in deeply, turning his head to then exhale the smoke into your parted mouth. Your eyes roll back as he seals it with a kiss, and it catches you a little by surprise, but you run with it, inhaling as much as you can.

Not quite ready to let go of your earlier comments, Frank does it again, shotgunning into your mouth until you're left with nothing but a dreamy expression and no thoughts left in your mind.

You let out a contented sigh as the weed goes to your head, absentmindedly rubbing the spot where his beard scratched your lip. 

Eyes drooping, Frank wraps his arms tightly around you, holding you as close as he can, trailing kisses along your shoulder blades, down your arm, whispering sweet nothings and notes of ‘I love you’ until you slacken in his grip. You touch your lips to his forehead, now resting in the crook of your neck, his steady breathing keeping you anchored to your reality.

The next hour passes by in a haze — you’re mildly aware that there was another joint rolled in that time, courtesy of Frank, probably, but your memory retains the best parts: the giddy, high epiphanies, the smoke-filled kisses, the long-drawn-out touches… the fact that his skin has never felt so soft.

Exceptionally and utterly stoned, you move, draping your legs over his lap, clinging onto his neck so you can bury your face in his shirt – so spaced out that you barely register him talking. 

“...Who the fuck is “Drake” anyway?” 

“What?!” you sputter, snickering as if it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. “He’s a rapper, Frankie.” 

“He’s off limits, so don’t even try” — you stumble over your words — “enacting your justice or… whatever.”

Frank frowns at you, pressing his lips into a thin line. 

And then he bursts into laughter. Unequivocal, heaving sobs of hysterical laughter. And it might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard. 

“Enacting my justice? That what you think it is?” he howls, bringing his fist down onto the couch. “You really think I’ve got nothin’ better to do than hunt down rappers?!”

“A little bit,” you sniffle, wiping away the tears of joy streaming down your face. “You know who’d love this conversation?” 

He shakes his head as you continue. “Micro.”

“Micro,” he nods, affirming your point. “Bet he’d know more about “Drake” than me.”

You chortle at his aggressive hand gestures. “You don’t need air-quotations every time you say Drake, you know.”

He waves a hand in the air. “Ahh, I know.”

“Frank Castle,” you say, kissing his cheek once, then twice, “I think this is the wisest you’ve ever been.”

“Oh, c’mon. Really?”

You gesture at the stub of your second joint, floating in the bottom of his whiskey glass. “Yep. You might have to do this more.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

“Better me than what’s out there. Right, Frank?” you croon, batting your eyes at him.

“S’right, darlin’. That’s right.”

tags {x} @darlingshane @castlesnchurches @reborn-rekall @marvelswh0re @itwasthereaminuteago @simple-lovebot @chvoswxtch @pedrito-friskito @chellestrash @theradioactivespidergwen @twilightbarnes @splendiferous-bitch @bl4ckpr1ncess @kaybeeboop @kdogreads @swearwolf13 @rqgnarok @qu1etwolf @honeyedheartss @runa-falls @whistle1whistle @awkwardalie

He can I request dialogue 2 with Travis where reader is getting all sappy and shit when they settle into the cabin

🧡Cabin Fever - Travis Martinez x fem!Reader🧡

Fanfiction master list

disclaimer: don't repost my work. I only post on Tumblr and on Ao3. anything else is stolen and should be removed immediately

Summary: a quiet conversation at the lake...

Warnings: Convo about Periods, hurt + comfort

Word Count: 1,122

A/N: Hello Loves! I know a handful of you have wanted this, so here he is! Travis is actually a lot harder than I anticipated to write, but that could be because I'm not the greatest at writing men/boys. This turned out a lot angstier than intended, but I think we can all appreciate quality hurt/comfort now and then. Unfortunately though, pretty much all of my Travis requests have quite a hefty amount of angst in them. But that's all I'll say, so As always, feel free to leave questions or comments in my comments or ask box, and happy reading! 🧡

Travis Martinez Tag List: @candylandy8173 @elliesjoints @nebulaemo

Yellowjackets Tag List: @frasersgf @minimickzy

General Tag List: @summergeezburr

-🧡-

It had only been a week, maybe more or less, and you were sick of the cabin. It had quickly grown overcrowded and overstimulating, so you now found every opportunity you could to leave and be outside for as long as possible. It had become commonplace for you to wander all day and not come back till nightfall. Today, however, you'd found some peace at the lake. It started as a trip to get more water for back at the cabin, only to turn into an impromptu bath and swim. You'd grown desperate for some semblance of feeling clean again. But now you'd finished and were drying off on the shore.

“You’ve been gone all day,” a rough voice said behind you, though you didn’t turn. You only shrugged, arms wrapped around your knees as the waterline lapped at the rocky terrain under you and your toes. You hadn’t felt like putting your shoes back on just yet.

“It's getting crowded over there. I need to clear my head sometimes” you mumbled, eyes transfixed on a particularly shiny stone near your feet. Travis didn’t sit beside you, choosing to stand with his hands in his pockets.

“Mind bringing me along when you get away next time?” he asked. You chuckled.

“Is all the period talk getting to be too much for you?” you looked up at him, tilting your head and covering your eyes with your hand to keep the sun away. You were starting to regret not bringing those sunglasses your mother suggested.

“What, you on it too?” he griped. After a pause, you let out a snorting laugh at him. It had your stomach churning and you had to lie down on your back, arm covering your eyes as you grinned.

“Hey, better get used to it, T-man. I have a feeling it’s gonna be a minute before we get out of here,” you heard the stones beside you shuffle as he took a seat.

“I don’t hope that’s not the case,” he mumbled. You peeked out from under your arm to get a good look at him. He looked tired and out of it. You knew Travis well. You used to play little league soccer together when you were 6. His dad had been the coach then too. Honestly, that had been the only reason you played soccer now in high school. You lost some of that relationship with him over time. It was strange, his sudden interest in you. You always thought he kind of resented you for whatever reason. He’d grown up a lot though, you noted.

“Why? Can't stand being the only man with a bunch of women? Isn't that like, every guy's dream?” you hummed, covering your eyes again. You heard him scoff and shuffle his feet on the rocks.

“Yeah, maybe, but they haven't considered what comes with being around a bunch of girls,”

“What? Travis can’t handle a little girl talk?” you teased. He sighed heavily, grumbling under his breath.

“Maybe not constant girl talk, no,” you chuckled at that some and decided to sit up again. “is that why you always leave?”

“What? Because of girl talk?” he nodded. You shook your head. “No, I'm used to it. It's just locker room stuff at this point,” Travis wrinkled his nose and grimaced.

“You talk about your periods and stuff together?” he seemed quite surprised. Your brows raised and you nodded.

“I mean, what did you think we talked about?” you could see the formings of an embarrassed blush heat the apples of his cheeks.

“I dunno, I thought you talked about boys or something. Like magazines maybe, I dunno,” you began to laugh again.

“I mean, sure, we do, but that's not all we talk about,” he continued to frown and looked away, piercing his lips.

“Whatever. I just didn’t think I’d have to hear so much about it,” he grumbled. You laughed again, looking out onto the lake with a lackluster smile.

“You sound like your dad, you know that?” you said without putting any thought behind it. Upon realizing you felt yourself cringe, sucking in a breath between your teeth. You expected Travis to throw himself into a rage, scream at you to shut the fuck up, and not mention his father, now dead a buried by the crash sight which felt long forgotten by now. But he didn’t. He stayed quiet, staring down at his shoes with a crease in his brow and a frown on his lips.

“ugh, don’t remind me,” was all he managed to say through fumbling teeth. You began to apologize but he shook his head, his eyes turning up and looking at you. “Don’t. It’s fine,” his voice faltered, letting you know that it wasn’t fine. But you weren't going to press any more than you had already. He went quiet again and you chewed at your lip.

“You know, he was a pretty shit dad,” he said eventually, his eyes transfixed on the open air of the lake. You watched, keeping your words to yourself. “I’m pretty sure he was cheating on my mom or something. I don’t know though. He wouldn’t fess up to me and no one told me what was happening,” he took a long sniff in, his lip twitching.

“I used to wish he’d just leave. Maybe then Mom would be happy. But now he’s gone, and I just-” he trailed off shaking his head with parted lips. He didn’t go on from there and you couldn't find any words, so you did the only thing you could think of and reached out, your fingertips brushing over his spin. He jumped and you hesitated, but when he looked up to meet your gaze, tears forming in his eyes with a quivering lip you couldn’t help the way your gaze softened.

You reached out your other hand, brushing your fingers over his cheek as you moved forward, hesitantly enveloping him in your arms. His nose and face found the crook where your neck met your shoulder as one of your arms snaked around his shoulder while the other slipped to cradle the back of his neck. He began to quiver in your arms. He wrapped his arms around your shoulder and waist, squeezing tight for as much support as he could get from you. You felt tears run down your shoulder, wetting your shirt as he sniffled and cried. Your fingertips tangled in his growing hair and you breathed him in as tears sting your eyes now.

“It’s gonna be ok…” was all you could muster. If you believed that or not, you didn't know, but it was what you both needed, even if it was only for a moment.

the prophet & the queen