#and would like to not talk for at least a day

[readwritealldayallnight]

I would love a take on boyfriend Ghost coming home to surprise you, but he finds your bed empty and doesn't realize that you are in his room in his bed. Thanks.

The placebo effect, was what he kept trying to convince you it had to be, no matter how many times you rolled your eyes and told him he was wrong

How else could one explain your insistence that Simon’s bed smelled so much like him, becoming your safe space when he was away on long deployments, when he only ever slept with you in your bed most nights to begin with

Hard to believe it was nearly three years ago now that you’d told your friend since childhood, Johnny, about how your search for a new flat was going miserably. You remember how he’d perked up and recounted with a mischievous glint in his eye about how his Lieutenant was apparently searching for a flat mate at the moment, someone who’d be looking after the place while he was away for work

Unsure about living with a strange man you’d never met before, but trusting Johnny’s judgement (though the way he seemed just a bit too eager about this meeting did kind of throw you off-) you had reluctantly agreed to meet with him and at least give the flat a glance before you simply turned him down

It wasn’t until you were knocking at the door of the address Johnny had written down for you, that you’d realized he’d never even given you the man’s goddamn name, only ever referring to him at Lieutenant or LT

Johnny apparently also failed to mention the absolute SIZE of the guy, his huge frame blocking nearly all of the light from behind him as he had swung the door open and stood in the doorway before you

In a slight panic, thrown off by the massive man before you and the way the butterflies in your stomach suddenly began to flutter at the sight of him, you had greeted him for the first time with a squeaky, unsure voice saying ‘Um, hi, are you the Mr Lieutenant?’ (something he has never let you live down since)

He knew then and there that you would be the one

Not just his flatmate (though what a generous flatmate he was when he offered insisted on moving all your boxes out of your old place and into his that very same day), but the one, something he reluctantly had to give Soap credit for, seeing as he was the one who wouldn’t stop talking his ear off about you

You would be his other half, his better half

And all these years later, the two bedroom flat truly only acted as a one bedroom, considering that from the start Simon was always falling into your bed with you at the end of each night, limbs tangled together under the warmth of a lovers embrace a thousand times more comforting than an actual comforter

Still though, that first time Simon had to be gone for work longer than a few weeks, you found the lingering odor of him clinging to his bedsheets to be one of the few things keeping you sane in his absence, taking to sleeping in his room for the time being, imagining that the pillow you cling to your front was a strong muscular arm instead, littered in scars and tattoos you feel confident you could recognize from touch alone

And when his long awaited flight back home to you landed a few hours earlier than expected, tires touching down in the dark, stillness of late night hour, he decided he’d surprise you and come straight home, rather than calling you to meet him at the base like you’d insisted, not wanting to wake you

Barely able to contain himself, he decided the elevator ride up to the seventh floor would take too long, take away precious seconds that brought him closer to you, and so up the flight of stairs he went, taking them two or three at a time, rushing to see the face etched behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes, to hear the voice that haunted his dreams each night

Quietly as a man his size could, he crept into the flat, snuck his way into your room, expecting to see your sweet, sleeping form cuddled up amongst the blankets and pillows. But his heart dropped when he noticed the bed was still perfectly made, not a thread out of place.

Trying to remain calm, though his mind was instantly swarming with every possible scenario that could have taken place, he knew he saw your shoes and jacket by the door, you couldn’t have gone far… but where were you?

He glanced into the living room, wondering if he missed you sleeping on the couch after a long day, he poked his head into the bathroom, even went so far as to check the small balcony, but finally there was only one door left to open.

And there you were, safe and sound, a tiny ball curled up into the center of his huge bed, clinging to one of his old masks and holding it close to your chest as though it were a security blanket (you’d been sleeping in his bed so much you needed something that still smelled strongly of him, you were getting desperate)

Stripping himself down to only his boxers, he tiptoed towards the side of the bed, his mind finally feeling more at peace than he ever had, gently pulling the sheets back just enough for him to slip in behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you into his muscular chest

Though it should be alarming to suddenly feel a pair of hands roaming over your skin, a body holding you firmly against their own, it’s as though your body knows who it is before your mind does

Any tension you were still holding onto during his absence instantly melts away, your own hands coming to land over top of his, giving a slight squeeze of acknowledgment, not yet willing to fully leave your half asleep state, but needing to touch him, to confirm he really is here

“Hmm,” You hum, voice groggy with sleep and a smile slowly stretching across your lips, snuggling further into his embrace. “You’re home.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in, wishing he could bottle up the scent of your shampoo and lotions and perfumes, if only to have something to hold onto while he’s away, understanding now why he found you in this bed rather than your own

“I am.” He whispers into your hair, sensing that you’re already drifting back into dream land, safe in his arms and his bed, knowing he’ll be there when you wake. He feels his chest tighten when he knows that you weren’t talking about the fact that he’s physically home, in the flat, but something more, something much more, because he means the same thing when he tells you, “You’re my home too, love.”

[froggiewrites]

Fanboy

Pairing: Law x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You get a little more than you bargained for when you decide to clean your Captain's office for him and stumble upon his smutty fanfiction. Warnings: Very Mild Angst, Smut, Fem!Reader, Roleplay, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Edging, Minor Dacryphilia, Petnames (use of sweetheart and good girl) Word Count: 7.6k Notes: This was originally supposed to be a sub 2000 word silly one shot about Law writing Sora smut. As you can see, it very quickly got out of hand. I hope you all enjoy it!

You have come to terms with the fact your Captain does not and will never want you how you want him.

It was hard, at first, to hear his silky voice and see his strong hands and not imagine him saying what you want to hear as he holds you against the wall, fingers slipping slowly up your thighs to where you need him most. It got even harder a few years in, after he started wearing perpetually open shirts and coats, showing off the tattoos you so desperately want to trace your tongue across. But you’re finally starting to accept that he simply doesn’t feel the same. His eyes don’t linger on you when you’re around. He doesn’t show you any leniency (not that you would expect any, of course, but it’s hard not to notice his favoritism for Bepo when he forgives him in an instant for a transgression he had you swab the deck for). He doesn’t accept your help when you offer it, no matter how badly he needs it.

He just doesn’t really want anything to do with you, or at least no more to do with you than anyone else on the ship. Penguin and Shachi, who unfortunately clocked your affection for your Captain years ago, have come up with a long list of excuses as to why he hasn’t shown any signs of affection.

“He’s shy.”

“He gets embarrassed easily.”

“He’s worried about the power gap.”

“He only looks at you when you aren’t looking.”

“Yelling is how he shows his affection.”

And of course, your personal favorite.

“He’s just a nerd. He doesn’t know how to act around women.”

Shachi has repeated this one a lot, and as always you immediately dispute it. “That cannot possibly be true, Shachi.”

“Why not?”

“Look at him!”

“I know what he looks like. Doesn’t change the fact he gets nervous.”

“Captain has never, for even a single moment, shown any sort of hesitation or shyness in front of me. And he’s a grown man, a handsome one, not to mention a wanted pirate. You honestly expect me to believe he’s some shy little nerd who can’t bring himself to talk to me? He just doesn’t like me, Shachi. And that’s fine. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

“Handle what?” Penguin’s voice echoes in the small room he and Shachi share, which you’ve decided to invade for the day. 

“Her pining for Captain.”

“Ah.”

You huff. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s like…a fact of life. Something so easy to brush past.”

Shachi narrows his eyes in confusion. “I thought you said that’s what you wanted to do. Be casual about it, and all.”

“Yeah, I want to. It feels different when you do it.” You’re pouting. You hate that you’re pouting.

Penguin gives you a pitying smile, dripping with good natured sympathy that makes you clench your jaw. “It’s tough, isn’t it?” He sits on the edge of his bed, careful not to shift you too much. He pats your shoulder, tutting quietly. “It’s hard to get over somebody you don’t really want to get over.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. You finally lift your head, and once you make eye contact, his smile turns a little more teasing.

“I know a great guy you could use as a rebound.”

You sigh. “Is it you?”

He laughs. “Who’s to say? You don’t need him yet.” His smile softens again, something more genuine. “But know that if you really do give up, there will be other guys. Other chances. Give this one a good shot, a real one, and if it doesn’t work out? Come talk to us, and it’ll all be alright.”

Shachi pipes up as well. “It will work out, really. But if it doesn’t…” he wiggles his eyebrows, and you can’t help but finally give them the laugh they were clearly aiming for. Which becomes a full on giggle fit once they light up and give each other a massive high five at their victory. The room is warm, and you finally forget your worries for a moment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Law’s voice cuts through you like ice, and your laughter stops in an instant. Shachi and Penguin are unphased, of course, still smiling freely.

“I just got off of my shift, Captain. I was going to take a nap, but…” Penguin pokes your side, and you let out a soft squeak as you curl in on yourself. You don’t miss the way Law’s eyes narrow slightly at the contact, the way he seems to focus in on the noise. He must be annoyed with you, with how you’re taking up space somewhere you don’t belong.

“I’m also off shift.” Your voice is small, embarrassingly so. 

“I wasn’t talking to you two.” Law’s voice is just as flat and authoritative as always. He’s nothing if not born to command. You’d love to hear what commands he might give you, if–

No. Bad. Evil. Your mind betrays you, as it always does. You sit up so you can hide yourself behind Penguin, make yourself small and inconspicuous and hope that Law will stop looking at you with those beautiful piercing eyes. You don’t know how long you can be normal under such an intense gaze. 

“I’m on break,” Shachi defends, causing Law’s eyes to shift over to him. You can’t help but let out a sigh of relief as you feel the pressure of his gaze leave you, and you wrap your arms lightly around Penguin, allowing your forehead to fall forward and press into his back. You can feel the rumble of a laugh working its way through his chest, though you can’t figure out why.

Law’s voice is significantly harsher than before. “Well, end it.” You flinch, unused to him snapping quite so cruelly. Law may have a shorter temper than he would admit, but he never sounds quite so furious, especially not with Shachi and Penguin. He seems to realize this as well, because the next time he speaks is much gentler. “I–Just get back to work. I need everyone at their best right now.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” There’s a hint of chuckle in Shachi’s voice, for some reason. He stands, bed creaking as he does. “You can use my bed if you want to nap in here. Let Peng have his.”

You let out a soft whine, but peel yourself off of Penguin anyway. “No, it’s fine, I should get back to my room anyway. I need a nap before I do anything else.” You think you see Law nodding in approval out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to look at him, his eyes are firmly on Shachi, glaring at his back as he leaves. Just wishful thinking on your part, as always. 

Penguin softly pats your back as you walk past. “Chin up. It’ll all work out.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“What’ll work out?” Law is staring at Penguin’s hand on your back.

“Nothing!” You try not to sound panicked. You fail, of course.

His eyes narrow.

“Sorry, Captain. This is a secret just for us lowly crew members. No captains allowed!” Penguin’s smile is relaxed and easy, and it almost manages to calm you down. You would love to play along, make a little joke out of it, but the idea of him finding out petrifies you. What if he’s disgusted by the idea? Horrified enough to kick you out of the crew, your home, your family? He wouldn’t, you know that, but the image in your head is so clear. Your chest feels tight, your head fuzzy, and you think at some point you started holding your breath.

Law makes a noncommittal grunt, scowl still clear on his face, but he leaves. A small mercy.

“Hey, take a breath, please. You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“I feel like I’m gonna pass out.”

“Are you gonna be alright to get back to your room? Do you need me to walk you?” Penguin’s hand rests gently on your elbow, and he looks ready to jump to your aid at any moment.

You give him a shaky smile. “I’ll be alright. Anxiety’s never killed anyone. Probably.” You take care to walk as steadily as you can out of the room, avoiding eye contact with your Captain, who’s waiting directly outside.

“You okay?” His voice stops you in your tracks.

“Yeah, I’m–” You see the disbelief on his face. “I’ve been better. But it’s okay. I’ll get there.”

“Are Penguin and Shachi giving you trouble? They mean well, but sometimes their jokes can go a little far. I–” He clears his throat, eyes glancing away for a moment. “I could talk to them. If you need me to.”

You chuckle. This means he really has no idea he’s the source of your anguish. Good. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. They’re actually helping me through something.”

He purses his lips. You imagine how soft they’d feel on yours. “Helping you through something?”

“Yeah. I’ve been struggling with it lately, and talking to them has really helped.” You stare intensely at the wall behind him, worrying that you’ll come undone and say something you can’t take back if you stare into his eyes for too long. Something about him just makes you want to melt under his gaze, and you can’t afford to give in to the impulse.

He hums, eyes briefly fluttering closed. “I see. Well, I’m glad you have their support.” Is it just you, or is his voice a bit colder than it was before? “I’ll leave you be. Have a nice nap.”

“Thanks, Captain.” You try not to run back to your room until you’re sure he can’t hear your footsteps anymore. You change out of your boiler suit, desperate to be in something more comfortable than this, and throw yourself into your bed face first. You press your face into your pillow, trying to ground yourself. You aren’t allowed to imagine what it would feel like to lay on Law’s chest instead, his hands on your back, tracing meaningless patterns into your skin. You aren’t allowed to imagine the warmth of the blankets as his, or the comfort of your weighted blanket as his arm around your back. You certainly aren’t allowed to cry about the fact that it isn’t him, and that it never will be. Because that would mean you weren’t getting over him, instead getting lost in a fantasy of what can never and will never be. And you have no time for fantasy, despite what your heart keeps trying to tell you. 

You dream of him, as you always seem to.

You could cope with it, if it were simply sex. If it were about nothing more than his cock and his hands and the way his voice penetrates deep into your bones whenever you hear it, turning you pliable and needy. But today’s dream is one you’ve had before, and one you always dread.

I love you. His hands are gentle as they wrap around your waist, pulling you close. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. His nose nuzzles against your neck, tickling you and making you giggle.

I love you too, Law. I think I always have. Your hands rest on his chest, and you can feel his heart beating below your fingers, quick and thundering. You smile. Nervous?

Of course I am. Look at you. His eyes bore into yours, and you can see the affection flooding them. His nose brushes against yours, his lips growing closer, and his eyes flutter shut.

Yours shoot open.

No matter how many dreams you have about Law, you can never kiss him. How sad, that your brain can imagine a hundred ways he can fuck you and not one in which gives you the one thing you’ve been craving most.

You throw off your covers and throw on a bra, not bothering to get fully dressed. You need some air, which is unfortunate, considering the Tang won’t surface for at least another day or two. You can at least go downstairs and find a window, press yourself against the glass and pretend you’re out in the cold of the ocean, at peace with the world around you. You can avoid passing Law’s office, and hopefully that means you’ll avoid the man himself. You don’t want to burst into tears the moment you see him, and you feel too soft and fragile right now, like your edges are crumbling. Half of you is still in the dream, melting into fantasy, and being snapped into reality with a single look might shatter you.

You pad quietly out into the hallway, unsure of what time it is, not wanting to wake anyone. It’s impossible to tell what time of day it is on the Tang when you’re underwater, lit only by harsh fluorescents that constantly buzz. It’s peaceful, feeling the cold metal of the floors seep through your socks and hearing the quiet thunk of your footsteps muffled by the fabric. 

“Are you heading downstairs?”

You turn to see Bepo, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, papers in hand. “Yeah, I am. Why? Do you need something?”

“Can you run these to Captain for me? I would, but–” 

You see him wince as he speaks, and you immediately know what the problem is. Before you can even think about it, you’re swiping the papers from his hands easily. “Yeah, of course, big guy. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you so much!” He’s off in an instant.

You stare at the papers, willing yourself into reality. You’re going to bring something to your captain. The man you have no other relationship with. Just doing your job. And afterwards you can go back to your room and cry all you want, if you really feel like you need to.

Law should be in his office right now, buried up to his neck in paperwork. It doesn’t feel great to add to that pile, or to let him see you so underdressed, but Bepo needed help. You can’t let him suffer just to avoid some embarrassment. You make your way down, knocking lightly against his office door.

No voice calls you inside.

Strange. He should be here. Maybe he fell asleep at his desk again. You’ve heard the others scold him for that dozens of times, and you’ve caught him yourself once or twice. He’s going to ruin his back if he keeps doing that. You crack open the door, ready to shift him into a more comfortable position, but you find your Captain isn’t actually there at all. His desk is a mess, papers everywhere, a sharp contrast from the neatly organized shelves and minimalist look of the rest of the room.

“Maybe I should tidy up for him,” you mutter to yourself. Law hates asking for help with things he believes he should be able to handle on his own, but clearly this is getting away from him. And even if he wasn’t grateful for the intrusion, at least it might lighten his load a little. You’d do nearly anything to ease your Captain’s burdens, if he’d just let you.

Before you realize it, your hands are on the papers, your former fragility forgotten as you get lost in the calm that such a mundane task brings you. You start by simply organizing the papers into stacks based on their titles and a quick skim of their opening paragraphs. You don’t read any further, not wanting to read anything not meant for your eyes, and you quickly find you’re able to organize everything into three neat stacks: medical papers, ship logs, and a third stack of anything that doesn’t fit into the previous two. You’re nearly finished when you find a title that makes you pause.

You can’t figure out what What You Can’t Have could mean, or what this bundle of papers is doing in Law’s office. Skimming the first few paragraphs doesn’t give you any explanation, until you start reading more closely and see a name: Sora.

Everyone in the North Blue knows about Sora, Warrior of the Sea, and everyone on this ship knows it more intimately than most. Your Captain’s fondness for the series and your fondness for him means you know it very well, well enough to know this is not one of the noncanonical (but still official) spinoff novels, or a novel adaptation of one of the comics. There’s a character you’ve never heard of before in this, one that, if you were a more paranoid person, you would suspect is based on you. She can’t be, of course. That would be ridiculous. But as you read her introductory paragraph, you can’t help but notice she bears a striking physical resemblance to you. Same hair and eye color, same height, same build. But she can’t be you. She’s described as seductive, enchanting, and many other things you know nobody would ever say about you.

You should put this down. But the writing style is so familiar, and so are the handwritten edits in the margins. Your captain wrote this. You had no idea this was what he did in what little spare time he has. You keep telling yourself to stop reading, to tuck it away and pretend you didn’t see it, because really, you know he wouldn’t want you to have seen it, easily embarrassed as he is. But there’s so much passion in the words, so much care, and frankly? It’s good. Really good. You think he has some real talent, in something you would have never expected him to even try. His care for the series oozes from every word, and he’s really good at building tension, and–

Oh.

Your captain hasn’t just been writing fanfiction about his favorite hero.

He’s been writing smut.

Really good smut, honestly.

You lean against the desk, completely enraptured by his work. The tension between Sora and this unnamed woman is astonishing, every single word winding you up tighter as you wait for the dam to break. Before you know it, you’re fully bent over the desk, clutching the page in your hands, trying not to rub your thighs together at the very graphic descriptions of what Sora is doing with his hands. You imagine Law’s hands, lithe and long, sliding under your shirt like Sora’s do under this mystery woman’s. You imagine his breath puffing against your ear as he instructs, be good for me, now, and maybe you can finally get what you want, just like Sora does. You imagine him moving impossibly closer, feeling his hardness press into your thigh as– 

“What are you doing in here?”

You freeze. Your captain is standing in the door, papers in hand and scowl severe. If you didn’t know better, you would think for a moment his eyes lingered on the cleavage you’re showing by leaning over this far. But you do know better, so you tell yourself he’s simply observing the papers in your hands, even if his gaze seems aimed too high for that. You shoot up, papers still in hand, shirt riding up in the process, and god does it look like his eyes dip down to your exposed midriff in the process. But they don’t. You have more pressing matters than your delusions, anyway.

“Hi Captain!”

“...Hi.”

“I–Um. I was organizing your desk for you.”

His eyes linger on the three stacks of papers, humming quietly. “I see that. …Why?”

“Bepo had me run papers down to you, but you weren’t here, and–and your desk was so messy, so much messier than usual, and I was worried maybe you were overwhelmed and I thought it might help.” You’re speaking a mile a minute, clutching the papers close to your chest in some desperate attempt to ground yourself, but the sound of the papers wrinkling causes him to glance down and now you’re sure that just for a moment he was looking at your boobs and you’re far more flustered than you were when you began.

And even worse, he smiles. It’s a soft, gentle thing, which sneaks so slowly onto his face you don’t even know if he realizes it’s there. But it is. And it’s beautiful. “Thank you, then. I appreciate the thought.”

Your grip eases on the papers for a second, and the crinkling brings his attention back to them. You don’t know what gives it away, but with the way his eyes widen slightly, the way his lips part, you know that he knows what you have in your hands. The way he whispers your name, the fear in it, makes your heart clench.

“Captain–”

“Did you–I–” He takes a breath, gathers himself. “Did you read anything you weren’t supposed to?”

God, you did. You’re halfway through a sex scene, flushed and flustered and thinking about your captain in ways that are wholly and completely inappropriate. You’re panicking. You can’t let Law see how flustered you are, can’t let him realize that you were fantasizing about him, lusting after him in his office while he’s out like some kind of pervert. So, trying to turn this around on him, throw him off his rhythm, you decide to make a deeply out of character choice.

You open your mouth, taking a dramatic breath as though you're going to start reading aloud, and you can see the panic in Law's eyes. Before you can decide between reading and handing it over to spare him the embarrassment, you hear “Shambles!” as the papers in your hand are swapped with the ones he walked in with. You're momentarily disappointed, before you look down and are struck with intense and all consuming delight.

In trying to get the fanfiction out of your hands, Law has, in fact, given you more of his fanfiction to read.

You gasp quietly, cheshire cat grin widening. Law looks at you with confusion, clearly still so thrown he hasn't realized what's just transpired. In your current state, you can only think of one way to inform him.

"Her hands were soft and gentle, so small compared to his-"

"STOP." He lunges forward around the desk, powers forgotten as he decides to bullrush you to get the papers out of your hands. His hands wrap around your wrists, and before you know it you’re pinned against the desk, chests pressed together, his leg pressed between your thighs. You flush, overwhelmed by the sensation of his hard body against yours, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Do you think this is funny?”

You open your mouth to respond, but his lips are so close, and you feel something else pressing into your midriff. You make a small choked noise, and his glare doesn’t dampen.

“Are you trying to embarrass your captain?”

“I–uh–Captain–” You can barely squeak out anything, and he presses closer.

“Answer me.”

“You’re so close.”

He pauses.

He blinks.

And suddenly your captain is across the room, face bright red, holding his papers in front of his chest like a shield. “I–um.” He stares at you a moment, his eyes moving from your face to your chest to your hips and back up, and suddenly the papers shifts down in front of his crotch.

He couldn’t…

Could he?

Before you can process this, he’s speaking again, his tone far less authoritative than it was before. “How far did you read?”

“Uh–pretty far.”

You could swear his voice cracks a little as he whispers, “Oh god. This is–you were never supposed to see that.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep reading, it was just–it was really good.”

He stares at you a moment, mouth agape. “What?”

“It was–I liked it a lot. I didn’t even mean to start it, I just couldn’t figure out what pile to put it in, and then I got really invested, and–I’m really, really sorry, Captain.”

“You liked it?” His eyes are narrowed, looking at you like something dangerous, like if he shows a moment of weakness you’ll pounce. He approaches you slowly, inching closer and closer.

“...Yeah. I did. I was really impressed, actually. I didn’t know you were a writer.”

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t call myself that.”

“Why?”

“I just…don’t know if I’m good at it.” He sounds small in a way you’ve never heard him. You’ve never seen Law less than confident before. He absolutely radiates it, a constant smug grin and twinkle in his eyes. It suits him far better than slumped shoulders and wringing hands.

“Are you kidding? It was amazing. What I was able to read, anyway. I couldn’t bear to put it down.” You reach for him for just a moment, your hand ready to touch his shoulder, but something in you pulls it back. You can’t bring yourself to touch him, not as you are. 

He won’t look at you. You can feel his regret in sharing, in allowing his mask to crack slightly. There’s a bitterness to his tone as he snaps at you like a wounded animal. “You expect me to believe that? That you didn’t just read it to laugh at me?”

You can’t keep the pity off of your face. His first instinct is always to believe he’ll be hurt, that an open hand is a sign of a slap, and not a kind touch. “Why on earth would I do that, Captain?”

His shoulders unknot a bit as he thinks it over. You have never done anything to hurt him, and to tease in such a cruel way is not in your nature. He’s not relaxed, not quite, but he isn’t ready to run anymore. He leans against a nearby table, parking himself at a distance but assuring you he won’t go further. “I suppose you wouldn’t. …So you really liked it?”

The way he’s looking at you is so fragile, so soft. You feel your heart clench at the sight of such a guarded man looking so adorable, though you know he would hate to be called such a thing. You can’t help the affection that leaks into your gentle smile as you look at him. “I really did.”

He huffs, trying to bring back up his walls, but he can’t hide his relief, and his continued interest. “What did you like about it?”

“I thought the descriptions were very vivid. It was…” It feels like crossing a line you can’t uncross to call it hot, but he’s looking at you so expectantly. “Very stimulating.”

Something akin to a smirk grows on his face, offset by the dust of a blush on his cheeks. His voice is an octave deeper when he speaks. “Simulating?”

You shiver. “I–uh–yes. The leads had really good chemistry. I never imagined Sora would be so…charming. And I liked the woman too, though I have to admit I didn’t recognize her name.”

He nods. “You wouldn’t. She’s an original character.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I wanted to try my hand at something new, and I didn’t like pairing him with any of the canon characters so I just…made one up.”

You shift nervously on your feet, thinking about how remarkably familiar her description was. “So you made her just for this? Didn’t even give her a name?”

“I haven’t decided her name yet, but I’m working on it. And yeah, she’s just for this. Why?”

You want to be subtle, ease your way in, but your mind is running a mile a minute and frankly subtlety has never been your strong suit anyway. “So…is she supposed to be me?”

He shoots up so quickly he nearly falls over. “What? No! No, why would you think that?” He looks absolutely mortified, like he’s praying the floor swallows him whole. He looks about two seconds away from shambling himself out of the sub and letting the ocean take him away.

“Well in her intro, when you describe her…she looks a lot like me.”

“...She does?” He seems genuinely surprised, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Why are you asking? You’re the writer! You didn’t realize?”

“No, I…” He’s blushing to the tips of his ears. “She was just supposed to be a beautiful woman. I didn’t think that hard about what she looked like beyond that.”

“She has the same hair color and eye color as me, you describe her as around my height, and the dress she’s wearing in her intro is my favorite color.”

His shoulders are so tense they’re practically up over his ears. If his voice cracks when he yells, you’re kind enough not to acknowledge it. “I didn’t think that much about it! I just thought of a beautiful woman and I described her.”

“So when you think of a beautiful woman in your head, you see me?”

He doesn’t answer.

You try to hide your giddy smile. “That’s sweet, Captain.”

He avoids eye contact so aggressively you swear it must be hurting him at this point. “It wasn’t–I–I didn’t notice. You don’t think it’s…creepy?”

“That you think I’m beautiful?”

“That I wrote porn about a woman who looks exactly like you.”

“Oh. When you put it like that I guess it doesn’t sound great.” He tenses again, so you rush to reassure him. “But no, I don’t think it’s creepy. It’s not like you meant to, or anything. Or that you wrote about me and like, another member of the crew or something. Why would I be mad that I just happen to be exactly your type?” Your heart is beating out of your chest as you try to portray a confidence you certainly don’t feel. 

“Right. Yeah. I–There’s nothing wrong with that.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And it’s…great porn, honestly.”

Your delivery is so awkward the tension finally breaks as he laughs at you. “I appreciate that. I worked hard on it. But I’m not sure on some of the descriptions.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure it reads as true to life.”

“Does it need to?”

“No, not really, fantasies don’t have to be realistic. But…I can’t help but think about it anyway. What if part of it is so unrealistic it takes you out of it entirely, and I just didn’t notice? Or didn’t know because I’ve never tried that specific thing? Do you know what I mean?”

You do. You know insecurity in your work, the way it whispers in your ear. You know that words are not enough reassurance to silence those whispers. You want to help him, even if you don’t know how you could.

“What if we…tested it? To see if it’s realistic?” You can’t believe the words that just left your mouth. From the look on his face, Law can’t either.

“What?” A beautiful crimson streaks across his face and up to his ears, heat radiating off of him.

“Oh my god. Forget I said that, that was so inappropriate, I’ll just go–”

“No!” He’s so loud you both flinch, and he seems surprised by his own objection. His long fingers are wrapped around your wrist, and you can feel his calluses brush against your skin. God, what you wouldn’t give for those fingers to be somewhere else. “No, don’t–don’t leave. I think–I would–um. I’d like that.”

You blink. “You would?”

“Just to…test it. To make sure my writing is accurate. I’m a perfectionist.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.” His eyes flicker down to where he’s holding you, and to your surprise, he doesn’t release his grip. He tugs you closer, pressing your chests together, and you can feel his warm breath in his ear. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Law.”

“What?”

The deep rumble of his voice is commanding in a way that has you rubbing your thighs together. “I want to hear you say my name. Call me Law.”

“Yes, Law.”

You can feel his smirk as he whispers the next words in your ear. “Good girl.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you bite your lip to keep from making any deeply embarrassing noises. He chuckles as he pulls away, and you see no trace of his earlier apprehension or nerves. You suppose Law has always been a good liar, always putting up the front of the proud, confident, and unshakable Surgeon of Death. What is this but another part for him to play?

“How did it start again?” He places his hands on your hips, leading you away from the desk and toward the wall. “She and Sora meet up in the club, strike up a conversation–”

“Can we skip to the good part?” You hate how needy and breathless you sound. You’re already worked up from reading, from hearing him speak, from being so close, that you think if you spend another minute without some kind of release you might explode.

He chuckles. “I guess we can skip forward a bit.” He presses you against the wall, hand sliding to your thigh. You shiver, but he stops right before his fingers slide under your shorts. “But have you been good enough to earn it?”

You whine, a pathetic, wounded sound that comes from deep within you. For a moment, you see his facade slip as he swallows, trying not to give away how much the sound turned him on. But after a moment his mask settles back firmly in place, and you’re both ready to continue the game. “Please, Law. I’ve been good. I’ll be good.”

His smile is all teeth as his fingers find their place inside of you. First one, pumping slowly and deliberately, curling to hit your sweet spot just right. He moans quietly in your ear at the feeling of it. You know his line before he says it. “Do you feel that? The way you’re pulling me in? You need me bad, sweetheart, don’t you?”

He inserts a second finger right as you open your mouth to answer. “Ahh–Yes! I need you!”

He pumps harder, faster, and his other hand starts to wander towards your chest. His lips find your neck, nipping at the point where it meets your jaw, making you gasp again. His hand gently squeezes your breast through your shirt, and he can feel your hardened nipples through the fabric. He chuckles. “Yes, you do. Nobody else can make you feel as good as I can. You know it. That’s why you’re here, that’s why you’re so drawn to me. On some level you know: it’s just you and me. We’re all there is, all that matters. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Law! Yes!”

His free hand effortlessly removes your shirt, and you gasp as you’re exposed to the air, your back pressing into the cold wall. He removes your bra next, letting out a soft hiss of appreciation when he finally sees them fully exposed. “As beautiful as I imagined,” he whispers, seemingly to himself. You don’t remember that line.

His mouth finds your nipple easily, sucking and nipping as you threaten to come undone under his attention. His fingers are still moving, his thumb on your clit, building the tension in your body until you feel like you’re going to explode. You’re so very close to the edge, close enough that in your pleasure you forget the next part of the story for a moment.

Until his fingers leave you.

“No!” Your head slams back into the wall as you wail, tears welling up in your eyes. Law seems unaffected, pulling back from you as he slowly inserts his fingers into his mouth, savoring your taste. The only sign that you’ve shaken him is the clear strain of his cock under his jeans, desperate to be free.

His fingers leave his mouth with a pop, and he smiles at you, eyes half-lidded. “Did you think it was going to be that easy? That you would just get what you want, no questions asked?”

You whine, the sound filled with genuine despair. The room is silent for a moment as he stares at you, waiting for your next line, and you try to remember the part you’re supposed to play here. You just barely manage to grasp it, breathlessly saying, “I thought you were a better man than to leave a lady wanting.”

He slides off his tank top, revealing his beautiful tattoos to you. “Oh, honey, this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what you need. And how wonderful it’ll be, once you’re so on edge you can barely stand it, and I finally give in to you. Can you imagine it?” He pops the button of his pants next, sensually sliding them and his boxers down to expose his bare hips. “What it’ll feel like, when I’m finally inside of you?”

His cock is finally free, bobbing in the air as it leaks with precum. He looks painfully hard, and you swallow as you briefly imagine it in your mouth. You’d give almost anything to taste him right now, but that isn’t a part of the scene.

“You’ll feel so full, honey. Imagine how good it’ll feel to cum on my cock. Isn’t that worth the wait?”

“God, yes.”

“Good girl. So agreeable.” One hand finds your hips as he uses the other to line himself up. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, god, please.”

He slowly slides in, feeling the drag of every inch of his dick against your walls. He makes a strangled noise at the feeling, burying his face into your neck as he desperately tries to catch his breath. He stops once he’s fully sheathed in you, giving you both a moment to adjust.

And then another.

And another.

“Law?”

You can hear him chuckle against you. “What, darling?”

“Please, Law.”

He pretends to ponder whether or not to give in for a moment, keeping you in suspense, before he relents. He pulls away from your neck, revealing his extremely red face. His voice may be calm, but the rest of him cannot hide the effects you’re having. “What do you want, sweetheart? Use your words.”

You know the line you’re supposed to say next. She tells Sora she wants relief, wants him to move, wants anything that she can have. But you’re soft, and weak, filled with want. You cannot help but think of your dream this morning, what you were denied and what you’ve always wanted. So you speak the honest truth. “I want you to kiss me.”

He stares at you for a moment, eyes searching yours. You see your own want reflected in him, an affection that makes your chest ache. Then a smile blooms across his face, one gentler than you deserve. The line he says next is Sora’s, but what comes after is all Law. “Whatever the lady wants,” he murmurs, before his lips meet yours.

The kiss isn’t fireworks, or an all consuming flame, or any other way you’d ever heard such a thing described. It was tender, it was kind, and most importantly, it was Law. You’d never wanted anything else. It finally confirms to you that this isn’t a dream, that he’s really here, pressing you against this wall, a desire burning in him that only you can satiate. The lust is still here, the heat of your bodies intertwined, but there’s something tender and real beneath it. 

Once you both pull back, panting, you look into his eyes and know the scene is well and truly over. Now it’s just you and Law, breaths mingling and hearts pounding. He smiles at you, a nervous, delicate thing, his confidence left behind with the script. He’s breathless as he whispers, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

You let out a soft, unsure laugh. “Is that Law talking, or Sora?”

He brushes his nose against yours. “It’s all me. It always has been.”

You can’t help your lovesick smile, dripping with a saccharine fondness you couldn’t hide if you tried. You meet his lips again, a kiss with a little more fire, a little more desperation. You try to convey everything you can’t say aloud: the years of yearning, the pain of thinking this moment would never come, the euphoria of learning you were wrong. Your hands press against his chest, his pulse fluttering under your fingers in unison with your own. You wrap your legs around his waist, desperate to pull him ever closer. He lets out a soft sound, almost a whimper, at the feeling of your lips against his as you clench around him. His tongue slips into your mouth, and once again the air around you grows ever hotter.

“Can I move?” There’s a whine to his voice. “Please.”

“Please do,” you moan, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your chests together. 

He needs no further instruction, thrusting harshly, hips rutting against yours. You can feel him struggle to hold himself back from pounding into you at a bruising pace. His hands grip your hips, his nails digging in as he clenches his teeth.

“You don’t have to hold back, Law. I’ll take anything you want to give me.”

He struggles to speak through his self control. “I want to enjoy this. I want to take my time.” Another deliberate thrust has you dragging your nails down his back, making him moan in your ear. “I want this to be as good as it can be for you.”

“This is–ahh!–already better than I’d ever dreamed, Law.”

One of his hands moves to your clit, his fingers starting a steady motion. “Not good enough,” he mutters. His lips find your neck, placing open mouthed kisses along its length, his teeth grazing your skin. You feel yourself coming close to cumming again, your voice growing louder, echoing through the room as you babble. You don’t even know what you’re begging for, the words please and more and Law are all you can say, all you can think. There is nothing in the world beyond the feeling of him against you, inside of you, his soft lips and callused hands. 

You expect him to rip away your pleasure again, but when he briefly stills, your babbles turn to sobs anyway. He pulls back to look you in the eye, take in the sight of the tears running down your face, and you can see him soften once again. His hands and hips start moving again immediately as he presses soft kisses against your cheeks, clearing away your tears.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s alright. You’re doing great. I won’t take it from you again, I promise.” His voice is filled with pity. “You’ve been so good, you can take what you want now.” He builds you back up quickly, his hips pressing into yours even faster than before. You can feel yourself about to burst, and you slam your lips into his, moaning into his mouth. The dam finally bursts, and the pleasure nearly blinds you as you clench around him, his hips struggling to keep moving with how tightly your legs are wrapped around his waist. Your orgasm is what finally makes him break, filling you to the brim as his movements stutter.

You bask in the feeling for a moment, both panting and dripping with sweat, his cock rapidly softening inside of you. Your head lolls forward, pressing into his shoulder, and you press a kiss against his sticky skin.

“Was it worth the wait?” He tries to ask the question in a teasing tone, but you can hear the insecurity underneath it.

“It was worth everything and more.” You shift to wrap your arms tighter around him and nuzzle your face into his neck. 

You can feel the rumble of his chest as he chuckles, gathering you up as he slips out of you. “Agreed.” He kisses the side of your head, an action so filled with care it nearly makes you burst into tears again. He tries to lower you onto something, making you pull him closer and whine. “I just need to set you down for a second, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

“No.” You sound like a pouting child, making you cringe, but he laughs fondly anyway.

“Alright. A few more minutes. But I have to clean you up eventually, and then we need to find a place a bit more private to settle in, don’t you think? Or at least somewhere more comfortable.”

You hum quietly, pressing your nose further into him. You can worry about logistics in a few minutes. Right now you just want to bask in his warmth, in this dream turned reality, in the absolute joy of your feelings being reciprocated. “I really didn’t think you liked me,” you mutter sleepily. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

“I could say the same,” he murmurs into your hair.

You laugh. “Shachi and Peng are going to be so smug about this.”

“They are?”

“They’ve been trying to tell me for years, and they don’t get to tell me I told you so very often.”

“They were telling you too?” He laughs. “We could have done this months ago if we’d just believed them.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, your eyes starting to slip shut. “You’re worth the wait, though.”

You can hear the smile in his voice as his hand rubs soothing circles on your lower back, luring you further into sleep. “Yeah. So are you.”

Tag List:  @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @saturogojosgirl @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay 

[ariestrxsh]

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 content warning: smut, an insane amount of teasing, dirty talk, praise, sexual touching, masturbation, oral (f!receiving), mentions of sex, power play, switch!chris, switch!matt, switch!reader

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 summary: matt and chris decide to participate in no nut november. the competition gets even more interesting when you get involved, making a bet with the two boys about who can last the longest while you're actively working against them.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 this fic was inspired/requested by this ask, and this ask, and the song/title was requested by this ask 🤍

love potions

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day One

"Oh, come on. You guys aren't seriously participating in that stupid trend, are you?" You scoffed after you'd walked in on Matt and Chris talking about their latest competition. "It's not just a trend. It's like a sexual reset," Matt said to you in a serious tone.

"Oh. Okay. I still think it's stupid. Why would you want to torture yourselves for a whole month?" You shrugged. "It's like a test of willpower and whoever makes it longer without needing to nut wins No Nut November," Chris explained.

"What do you win?" You wondered, looking between the two of them. "You're just the winner," Matt shrugged. You rolled your eyes. "And what are the rules?" You inquired, wanting to hear more. "No sex, no masturbation, and you can't do anything to make yourself cum," Chris replied.

"That's crazy. If the regulations are going to be that strict, I think you boys both need a little incentive," you smirked at them. They both glanced at each other and back at you. "What do you suggest?" Matt wondered aloud. "How about whichever one of you loses has to watch the winner fuck me, hmm? Don't you think that'd make it a little more interesting?" You proposed.

"Incentive? That sounds like a punishment," Matt replied, lifting his brows in a shocked manner. "Only if you lose," Chris teased him with a smug smile plastered on his face. "Punishment, reward. Same thing. Same desired outcome," you sneered at them.

"I think that would really help incentivize me," Chris eagerly nodded at you. "Can we both just rub one out real quick and start right after that?" Matt asked, biting his lip. "No, Matt. November has already started," you smirked at him.

"Okay, so the winner of No Nut November gets to use me however they want, and the loser has to watch. But I have a few rules of my own I'd like to instill. You guys both have to make it at least two weeks. If the loser caves on week one, the bet's off, and no one gets to use me. Also, I get to tease you guys as much as I want," your lips curled into a malicious grin.

"That's not fair," Matt glared at you. "Sure it is, Matt. If I'm the reward, don't you think it's only fair that I get to put in place some rules of my own?" You raised an eyebrow at him and crossed your arms. "Okay, fine," Matt huffed, rolling his eyes. "You boys are really in for it. I've been extra horny lately," you said in a luscious voice, looking them both up and down.

"What if we both go the whole month without breaking any rules?" Chris asked. "Then you can both tag team me," you smirked, glancing between the two of them. They both eagerly nodded at the sound of that.

"And what if we both lose at the same time?" Matt asked curiously. "Then I get to use you two however I want, and I get to humiliate you while you finish," you responded, putting your hand over your mouth to hold back a chuckle.

"Oh, don't tell Matt that. He'll like that too much," Chris teased his brother. Matt punched him in the arm. "Ow!" Chris shot back, rubbing his arm. You were already planning all the different ways you were going to try to seduce them and make them slip up.

"I'm going to go run some errands. I'll be right back," you teasingly waved at them both before strutting out the door. "Whoops," you said, purposely dropping your keys so you'd have an excuse to bend down in front of them.

Unfortunately for them, you were wearing your favorite pair of jeans that hugged all your curves perfectly, and as you accentuated your movements while you bent at the waist to fetch them from off the floor, Chris and Matt's eyes immediately traveled to your bottom.

Then they both glanced at each other, exchanging a look. It dawned on them that they may be in over their heads. You waltzed out the front door on your way to buy a new lingerie set along with some other things to tease them with.

A few hours later, you came back in with a few shopping bags in hand. "What did you get?" Matt wondered, peeking into the bag. He caught a glimpse of white lace before you yanked them away from him. "You'll find out," you told him, tucking them out of sight and wondering off to go plan your strategy.

You had a few tricks up your sleeve, but you couldn't just whip out your craziest idea in the first week. Your tactic was to keep it playful at the beginning, just little touches that would linger a few seconds too long and subtle comments here and there to fluster them.

Over time, you'd slowly work your way towards the more overt seduction after they'd let their guards down.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Two

Throughout the day, you kept finding reasons to lightly and sensually touch both boys. You'd playfully hit Chris in his well-toned bicep when he'd say anything funny, and afterward, you'd make some comment to puff up his ego.

"You been working out? Your muscles look so hot lately," you said to him in a sexy voice, your eyes dancing over his lips while you spoke to him as you squeezed his upper arm. "You're gonna have to try harder than that," Chris arrogantly stated, well-aware of what you were doing.

Later on, you went up to Matt after spritzing yourself with a new perfume you'd gotten recently. "Hey, Matt. I want to get your opinion on this fragrance," you innocently told him, holding a lot of eye contact.

You tilted your head up, and he leaned down to smell where you had sprayed it just above your collarbone. Notes of jasmine and lavender filled his senses.

"Mmm. It smells nice," he commented. "No, you're not close enough," you responded, running your fingers through his hair and reeling him in nearer to you until his nose was resting against your neck.

"What do you think? If we were on a date and I wore this scent, would you take me back to your place and fuck my brains out?" You seductively asked him, gently massaging his scalp with your fingertips.

"Shit," Matt muttered, blood started rushing to the tip of his cock as he pulled away from you. "Nice try," he said, leaving the room.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Five

You decided to ramp it up just a little bit. Throughout the day, you kept purposely dropping things so you could bend over and show off the little thong you wore under your miniskirt.

They couldn't help but fall for it every time, even though they knew you were doing it for the sole purpose of riling them up. You loved witnessing the desperation slowly creep into their expressions while you taunted them. You held a lot of eye contact while talking to them, purposely staring at their lips a lot and licking your own while you watched them become nervous.

That night, Chris was in his room, sitting shirtless in his gaming chair and playing a video game when you came into the room and started rubbing his shoulders for him. "Mmm. You're so tense," you stated, working through a knot on his shoulder blade. "Gee, I wonder why," Chris chuckled.

He let out a soft, satisfied groan as you massaged his back for him, making sure to whisper praises in his ear. "I bet you're so sore because you've been hitting the gym so much, huh? It really shows. Your back looks so toned right now," You cooed.

"What else am I going to do with myself?" He smirked, knowing he'd been working out every day since November started to fend off his sex drive. "I bet since you exercise a lot, you have good stamina, don't you? Bet you could fuck for a long time," you whispered in his ear. He responded with a loud scoff.

"I bet you're the kind of guy who likes to get off multiple times a day, don't you? So this must be extra hard for you. You're so disciplined for not caving yet. I could never do what you're doing. I swear, I'm horny all the time," you told him.

"I am disciplined," he reiterated. "So disciplined in fact that this doing nothing for me." But it was a lie. His dick was starting to perk up at your words and your tone of voice. "Mhmm," you said, unconvinced as you left the room to go tease Matt.

He was downstairs making brownies in the kitchen when you found him. "Have you been a good boy? Keeping your hands out of your pants, hmm?" You gave him a sly smile. He immediately met you with a needy look. Matt was a little more transparent than Chris, not quite as good at hiding how turned on he was.

"I've been good. Still going strong," He nodded at you while he stirred the brownie batter. "So well-behaved. Good boy," you said, your tone saturated with lust. Matt started to get a little hard at how you were speaking to him, but he tried to take his mind off you with chocolate.

"You should try this. It's really good," Matt said, dipping his finger into the brownie batter, but before he could get another taste, you gently grabbed onto his hand, and as he looked over to make eye contact with you, you were slipping his digit between your parted lips and sucking off the chocolate.

"Mmmm," you hummed with your mouth wrapped around his finger, subtly moving your head back and forth. His dick twitched in his sweatpants and he let out a soft whimper as you excited all the nerve endings on the tip of his finger.

"Maybe you're not such a good boy after all. I think you liked that a little too much," you taunted him, releasing his hand from your grip. It took everything in Matt not to run upstairs and go jerk off to the thought of your mouth on another one of his extremities. Instead, he went back to making brownies.

"You can't have any more until they're ready," he glared at you, trying to will away his erection.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Six

It was nearing the end of the first week, and you approached Chris early one morning as he was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal and flipping through his phone. "It's almost the end of week one. How do you feel?" You asked, coming up behind him.

You seductively ran your fingers along his chest, whispering into his ear and making sure your hot breath hit the side of his neck while you did. "I feel great. I haven't had any urges at all," Chris lied through his teeth, trying to ignore the way you were touching him.

"Oh really, hmm? Maybe I'm not teasing you enough," you chuckled into his ear, gently nibbling on his earlobe. He let out a soft moan and his cock immediately grew hard. "Not even a single urge, huh?" You provoked him, staring down at the tent in his pants while you started to kiss his neck.

"Fuck, you're making this so difficult," Chris got up and stormed off, leaving his cereal unfinished. "Better not be going to touch yourself!" You called after him.

"I'm not. I'm going to the gym to burn off some of this energy," Chris huffed, heading to his room to change into basketball shorts. You smirked at his arrogance he'd displayed a few minutes earlier before nearly folding under your touch.

Around this time, Matt came downstairs in his Pokémon pajamas and started rifling through the fridge for something to eat.

"Hey, handsome boy. How did you sleep?" You asked, gently caressing his arm and asking in a sultry voice. "Really good," he said, avoiding eye contact and trying to hide the fact that he had morning wood.

"I slept well, too. Except I had this dream that I can't stop thinking about," you seductively bit your lip. "What did you dream about?" Matt naively asked. "Well, I'm a little embarrassed to say, but it was a wet dream. About you," your eyes flicked up to meet his. "Really?" He asked, falling right into your trap.

"Yeah, you were making me scream your name because of how big your cock was and how hard you were fucking me," you teased him, painting a picture in his head. "Fuck. Please don't tell me anymore," Matt replied, still peering into the fridge.

"You mean, you don't wanna hear about how I played with myself after I woke up from it?" You simpered at him. Matt let out a loud sigh and pulled out a carton of eggs and some bacon while he ignored your temptress ways.

"You don't wanna hear about how I rubbed my clit in circles and filled my pretty, pink hole with my favorite dildo while I thought about you and moaned your name?" You snickered. "This is so unfair," Matt replied, covering his ears and looking at you with his desperate expression and his puppy dog eyes, his dick aching in his pants.

"If you think I'm being unfair now, you just wait," you responded before skipping off to go plan your next move.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Nine

A few days later, Chris came out into the living room to find you sprawled out on your yoga mat in a tank top and spandex shorts. "Oh, thank god you're here. Mind helping me with something really quick?" You innocently asked him, batting your eyelashes in his direction.

"Depends. What do you need?" Chris skeptically asked, narrowing his gaze. "Will you come over here and help stretch me out?" You requested, smirking at him as he grew flustered at your word choice. "Fuck this. You're on your own," Chris said, immediately walking the other direction.

"Chris! Wait!" You called after him. He stopped, let out a loud sigh, and slowly turned around. "What?" He asked impatiently. "Chris. I'm not trying to pull anything. I just really need your help. Please. My muscles are so sore," you begged, pouting at him.

After a few seconds of deliberating, he rolled his eyes and started heading back over towards you. "Fine. What do you need me to do?" Chris asked, kneeling down on the floor next to you and immediately regretting it when you spread open your legs.

"I need you to push my thighs apart," you told him, trying to conceal your condescending grin. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Chris snarked at you. "No, I'm not kidding. I'm really sore. Just put your hands on the insides of my thighs and push down," you directed him.

He did as you said, trying to ignore the damp spot on the front of your shorts. "Oh, Chris. You stretch me out so good," you maliciously moaned. He clenched his jaw as he glanced into your eyes. "I haven't cum in nine days," Chris responded.

If looks could kill, the look Chris was giving you right now was damn near fatal. "Nine days? Only twenty-one more to go!" You sneered, reminding him he wasn't even a third of the way there yet. "You fucking bitch," Chris dug his fingertips into the fleshy part of your inner thighs and started pushing them apart until you let out a pained whimper.

"Oh, Chris. Don't stop. I love when you're mean to me. It turns me on so much," you responded in a sultry voice, flipping his power move back onto him. He let go of you and stormed out of the room to go play video games and take his mind off what was between your legs.

About ten minutes later, Matt came downstairs, his eyes immediately falling onto you in a compromising stretching position. "Oh, Matt. I'm so glad you're here. Think you could give me a hand or two real quick?" You cooed, motioning with your finger for him to come here. Matt nodded despite the fact that he knew you were up to no good.

"What do you need?" He asked, eager to please you in any way. "Will you give me a little massage? My muscles right here are very sore," you motioned towards the muscles on your inner thighs while you bit your lip, peering up at him. "O-okay," Matt stuttered, walking into the next trap you set.

He couldn't help notice how wet you were, but he tried his best to ignore it. He kneeled down between your legs and started massaging where you had asked. You let your eyes roll back in your head and let out a few satisfied sounds as he worked his thumbs on each one of your fleshy thighs.

"That's it, Matt. Just like that," you whined in a sexual manner, causing his dick to twitch in his pants. "Go up just a little further," you said, guiding his hands closer to your pussy. He nodded, doing as you asked. "Good boy," you moaned as he rubbed that spot over and over again. His eyes shot wide open.

"Can you move up just a little further?" You wondered, batting your lashes. "I-I can't," Matt shook his head, knowing if he moved up any further, he'd be right on your private parts. "Here," you said, grabbing his hand and placing his thumb directly on your clit.

"There you go. Now move it in circles. A little more pressure. Oh, just like that. Good boy," you cooed, looking seductively at him. Matt knew it was a dangerous game for him to be touching you there, but he couldn't stop.

He loved the words and sounds that were falling from your lips. He loved the way you were looking at him with desire in your eyes and pleasure written all over your face.

"Faster," you whispered, throwing your head back. Your shorts were soaking wet where Matt was massaging you with his thumb, and your legs started to shake while your cries of delight became louder. Chris came downstairs to see what all the commotion was.

You started seeing stars as your orgasm crashed over you. You moaned Matt's name over and over as he rubbed your clit in tight, fast circles, completely mesmerized by you finishing for him. Your whole body trembled until your climax subsided while Chris watched from the bottom of the stairs.

"Holy shit, Matt. I think you just lost No Nut November. Fucking pussy," Chris smirked. "What? I did not! I didn't break any of the rules!" Matt exclaimed defensively. "He's right, Chris. He didn't break any rules. He did, however, make it way harder on himself to follow the rules," you devilishly grinned, peering down at Matt's neglected cock that strained at the fabric of his pants, begging to be stroked.

"Now you gotta deal with having that boner until it goes away on its own," you chuckled at him, closing your legs and getting up. You rolled up your yoga mat, bending down in front of them both, and they each angrily groaned at you and stomped out of the room.

You were plotting your moves for the next few days. Meanwhile, Chris had a plan of his own. Upon learning that he was allowed to touch you however he pleased as long as he wasn't sticking his dick in you, he decided he was going to make you sweat a little the same way you were doing to him and Matt.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Twelve

The next night, in an attempt to turn on the boys, you tried on your new lingerie you'd bought at the beginning of the bet. You stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom dressed in a white lace bra and matching panties, knowing it was going to drive Matt and Chris crazy.

You wandered off to the living room where Matt was sitting on the couch, flipping through movies on Netflix and trying to find something to watch. "Hi, Matt," you cooed, leaning up against the wall. "Hey," Matt responded, his eyes flickering over at you and back at the television, and then back over at you when he realized what you were wearing.

"Wow," he whispered, studying the way you looked in white. "I have to show you something," you said, wandering over to him and straddling him on the couch. "What are you doing?" He asked, accusingly.

"Look," you said, pulling down your bra to reveal your breasts to him. "I got them pierced about six months ago, and they were finally healed enough for me to change out the metal," you couldn't contain your smug smile as you flashed Matt.

"Wow," he whispered again, reaching up to grab both your breasts, and he ran his thumbs over the heart-shaped rings. You shuddered at his touch. "They're so much more sensitive now," you whimpered. "Did it hurt when you got them pierced?" Matt asked, looking up at you. "A little, but I liked it," you snickered and bit your lip.

Without thinking, Matt leaned forward and took your right nipple into his mouth, delicately swirling his tongue around and gently suckling on it before moving to the left. You let out a few soft whines while he pleased you. You started to rock your hips back and forth, grinding up against Matt's rock hard cock.

"Okay, that's enough. You're being totally unfair right now," Matt said, lifting you off of him and shoving you to the other end of the couch.

"Hey, what's the matter, Matt?" You asked, crawling back over towards him. He jumped to a standing position. "I have to get out of here. You're too good at this," Matt grabbed his keys off the coffee table and headed out the door, fleeing from temptation. You smiled to yourself, getting so close to making him cave for you.

You picked up the remote and started searching through the various streaming services, waiting for Chris to come home so you could tease him next. Chris came bursting through the door, mad as hell. There was something about his demeanor that was off and slightly unsettling.

"Are you okay, Chris?" You asked him while sitting on the couch in your lingerie. "It's been twelve days since I've had an orgasm. I'm full of testosterone and cum, and I've had a shitty day, and I can't even to go to my room and beat my meat about it. I need to take all this aggression out on someone," Chris responded, his eyes sparkling and his lips curling into a smile as his eyes landed on you.

He walked over towards you, fell to his knees in front of you, and forced your legs apart. "You're such a fucking tease, skipping around in my house in your fucking lingerie. I hope these weren't expensive," Chris growled, ripping a hole in your lace panties.

You gasped and your eyes widened as you watched while Chris' lips latched onto your clit. He started moving his tongue in fast, jagged movements, making animalistic sounds while he ate you. "Chris, it's so sensitive," you squirmed around beneath him. "I don't mind," he smirked at you as he went back to assaulting your pussy with his mouth, sucking on your clit and licking it at the speed of light.

"Oh, Chris!" You called out, tugging on his hair, but he didn't let up. "If you want me to stop, just say that," he said, his lips vibrating against you. You didn't want to tell him to stop because you knew he would altogether. Malicious compliance was always one of Chris' favorite pastimes. "Don't stop, keep going," you whimpered, closing your thighs down around his ears.

You pulled down your bra again, gently tweaking your nipples while you looked down at Chris. His eyes flicked up at you. "Oh, my god. I didn't know you had your tits pierced. That's so fucking hot," he whispered, reaching up and grabbing a handful in each palm while he went back to eating your pussy like he was enjoying his last meal.

He squeezed your breasts and started pinching your nipples and rolling them between the pads of his fingers. You threw your head back and let out a satisfied moan as you began to shiver. "Yeah? You think you get to cum after all the shit you've been pulling?" Chris said, withdrawing all attention right before you finished.

"Nice try, fucking slut," Chris responded, spitting on your pussy and getting up to walk right back out the door. "Chris, please!" You called after him, nearly on the verge of tears from being teased like that. Chris slammed the door shut behind him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Well played, Chris," you whispered from the couch, staring down at the torn fabric that barely covered your bottom half while you decided to take matters into your own hands. You reached down to soothe the aching feeling Chris stuck you with after leaving you high and dry.

You rubbed your clit in fast circles with one hand and pinched your nipple with the other as you finished, remembering the way Chris' mouth felt on you. Just as you were trembling and reaching your much-needed climax, Matt walked back in through the door after finishing up his late night drive, his eyes immediately landing on the way your fingers were manipulating your clit.

"Oh my god. You're relentless!" Matt exclaimed before running up the stairs to take his mind off the scene that had just unfolded in front of him. You breathlessly chuckled about being caught. You hadn't meant for Matt to walk in on you and be tempted by you even further, but you weren't mad that it had played out that way.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Fourteen

You decided to kick it up a notch in the teasing department. By now, both Matt and Chris were very skeptical of you any time you wanted to show them anything or ask for help with something, so you had to get more creative with it.

You started taking naked pictures of yourself in the bathroom mirror after your shower, saving the good photos. After walking out into the hallway in just a towel, you opened up the group chat and sent in the best nude photo you'd taken, following it up with an "Oops! Didn't mean to send that! ;)" But they both knew better than to trust that it was a simple mistake.

When Chris opened your message, he let out a loud, annoyed grunt that resounded throughout the house. A few seconds later, you heard Matt's voice from down the hall, "You're evil!" You decided to strut around in your towel for the rest of the night, randomly dropping it while you were around the boys.

They used what willpower they could muster to keep their eyes off you as you relentlessly teased them with your body. While it was the closest they'd each gotten to saying fuck it about the whole No Nut November challenge, no one caved that night...

INTERACTIVE CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN ENDING AHEAD:

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 if you choose to have Matt and Chris both fail the challenge and become your submissive little fuck toys, click here 🤍

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 if you choose to have Matt and Chris win the challenge and turn you into their submissive little fuck toy, click here 🤍

taglist: @bsturnzmtts @sturniolo-girl @theyluvme-2315 @jassturn @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @sturniolosweetheart33 @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @hrtz4alex2211 @luvhsien @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @babysturniolo @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mattlover-00 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @m11rx @sturniolocharms @mickelodeon-2003 @sigmarizzler1 @chrislova @stellarsturns @lelesturniolo @sturniolodoll @ilovemattsturn @blahbel668 @fratboychrisera

[fastandcarlos]

Victim Of A Bad Day : ̗̀➛ Oscar Piastri

summary: after what can only be described as a nightmare of a day, oscar ends up coming home only to take it all out on you

Your smile was soft as Oscar walked through the apartment, putting your phone down and rising to your feet. You went over to him, holding your arms out, but Oscar’s head shook back at you. 

“Please, no,” he told you, walking straight past you through the living room and into the kitchen. 

You turned around as you watched Oscar walk away, debating what to do next. You slowly followed behind as you watched him grab a glass from out of the cupboard and fill it with water. Every movement was done with a sigh, thudding around the place like a toddler running around. 

“I’m guessing your day could’ve been better?” You asked, trying to bring a smile to his face. 

You stood and waited for Oscar to acknowledge you, but instead he carried on walking around. His head was down as he moved, his eyes not even looking across in your direction, as if you weren’t there. 

“Oscar, you know I’m here for you,” you told him, beginning to get concerned with his behaviour. It was unlike Oscar to be so quiet, to close off from you and deal with everything all by himself. 

A shrug came from Oscar as he walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, throwing himself down on the sofa. He grabbed his phone, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table, almost groaning when he noticed that you had followed right behind him. 

“So, we’ll just spend our evening in silence, shall we?” You asked, perching on the end of the sofa. 

“Suits me,” Oscar bluntly responded, still staring down at his phone, ignoring the sigh that came from across the room from you. 

Your head shook in disbelief at how cold Oscar was, never had you seen this side of him before. “I don’t know what’s happened today Oscar, but you could try and at least treat me with even the smallest bit of dignity tonight.” 

“Just leave me alone,” Oscar requested, throwing his arms up into the air. “Just because I’ve not come home and thrown my arms around you and talked your ear off doesn’t mean I need constant questions. Just take the hint and give me a bit of space.” 

Your body tensed up at how loud Oscar’s voice was, not quite sure how to react. “You’re not you Oscar, what would you like me to do? Pretend that everything is fine? I didn’t realise that caring about you was such a crime, next time I won’t bother worrying about you.” 

“I don’t need caring for, I haven’t asked you too,” Oscar replied. 

Your eyes widened in surprise at what Oscar had to say, stunned by how blunt he was. Perhaps you had been a little overbearing, but all you were guilty of was worrying about him.  

“That’s fine then,” you told Oscar, picking up your phone and sitting opposite him. You sat back, stretching out across the sofa, deciding to switch off to the fact that Oscar was even in the room. 

His eyes watched you though, shaking his head as you mimicked him. “I don’t ever remember asking for someone to worry about me, you know I’ve survived long enough all by myself.” 

Your heart ached as Oscar spoke, the hurt clear on your face as your eyes flickered across to Oscar. As he met your eyes, Oscar’s frustration disappeared, replaced by concern that he was the reason for your disappointment.  

“I don’t even know what to say,” you shrugged, shaking your head disapprovingly, full of despair. Rising to your feet, Oscar kept an eye on you as you left the room and went into your bedroom. 

Time apart was exactly what the two of you needed as you let the events sink in. You were both full of anger and upset, unable to believe that the two of you could ever have such an argument. It was unlike any other disagreement that you’d had with Oscar, leaving you rather shellshocked as you laid down on your bed. 

You found yourself staring up at the ceiling as you replayed the argument again and again in your head. A shiver ran down your spine each time you heard Oscar’s voice in your head, the resentment and annoyance so clear, somehow you being the reason for it too. 

After a while, you could hear Oscar moving through the apartment, knowing exactly where he was heading. You picked up your phone to make yourself look busy as the bedroom door opened, with Oscar quietly walking in, sitting on the end of the bed. 

You didn’t respond as Oscar turned to face you, laying himself down beside you. His hand rested against your stomach as he tried to get your attention, knowing that he had plenty of making up to do. 

“I’m sorry,” Oscar murmured, “the way I behaved then was completely unreasonable and out of order.” 

You placed your phone down, brows knitting together as you glanced across at Oscar. His heart sunk as he saw how upset you still were, guilt eating away at him knowing it was all his fault. 

“I don’t want to hear it.” 

“Please,” Oscar sighed, expecting you to dismiss him. “I shouldn’t have said what I said, I know that you care so much, and that’s one of my favourite things about you. Having you take care of me is the best feeling in the world, I don’t know what I’d do without you around to support me.” 

As your body turned slightly to face Oscar, you could see a faint smile on his face. Knowing that you were at least listening to him was a start for Oscar, hardly expecting you to fall into his arms and forgive him as quick as a flash, but at least it was a sign. 

“I don’t care how bad your day is Oscar; I don’t expect to be spoken to like that. I was only caring, and maybe I was a little too much, but if you’d have just told me that you needed space then I would’ve known what you needed from me, rather than just being shouted at.” 

“I was stupid,” Oscar told you, “there’s no explanation for it, bad day or not.” 

You could see the effects of the day in Oscar’s eyes, there was barely any colour there, letting you know just how bad of a day he must’ve had. 

“Everyone has good days and bad days,” you whispered, “including me, but yours are not my fault. I don’t want you to shut me out Oscar, I want to be able to help you, even if there’s very little I can do, at least it’s something.” 

His head nodded, pressing a kiss against the top of your shoulder. You were spot on, you were the last person to blame for how Oscar’s day went, you just so happened to be in the wrong place in the wrong time. 

“I’m always here for you,” you reminded Oscar, “it doesn’t matter what’s happened, you know I’m always going to be with you, right?” 

He continued nodding as you spoke. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I don’t appreciate you being with me today, because I do appreciate it, more than anything.” 

“Will you remind yourself of that next time you come home after a bad day?” 

“I promise that I’ll never forget it.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[multipleoccupancy]

Theo picked up on her concern and he took just a moment to reassure her very seriously and honestly. "I would feel a terrible pity on any agent who was dumb enough to pull a gun on me when I have been sent by Delta Green," while he knew his name wasn't well known in the lower ranks he was a damn good and key stone agent for New York and the city, the agent dumb enough to attack him had best pray to be of greater value than him to the organisation if they put him out of action with little more than a hot tempered bullet. Not to mention the retribution from the FBI and depending on the state, the police or boarder control. "I can handle people," he reassured her with a rare wink, the first one in days.

Ah, it seemed he was risking opening up a door on who knew what about everything else and Theo shook his head. "No, not officially. There are those in the military just like there's agents like me in the FBI who know and understand that when Delta Green asks for resources, it's for a very good reason, but like me they have to go through their channels, talk to their bosses and persuade them to send what they need." It had not been easy in Montana either but he didn't voice that for now. "Delta Green, in all official understanding, does not exist. If an organisation can't be found, known or learned about then it is much easier to keep it and most importantly what it does, hidden."

He wasn't sure he liked that she would be always worrying about him though he supposed he was worrying about her all the time in return. Hell he worried about her when she went to sleep in her own bed in their home, the worry would never stop! But at least she had not been travelling since the ward. Part of him was really very hopeful that The Horned One had just forgotten or become bored with sending her anywhere else but he didn't voice it for fear of jinxing it. "That's good," he said instead and trusted her at her word but did think for a moment, "and is there something else bothering you?" He wanted to help, he might not have been in the right place to offer his usual full support and comfort but he would always make time and room for her in what ways he could.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Violet was not really reassured by all of that. Between agents having violent episodes and agents just being trigger-happy, she was starting to doubt that her dad was safe around other agents. As if monsters weren't a big enough threat as it was! If Samantha still worked as an agent, she could have been sure he had someone trustworthy with him. But she didn't! "And you... go to lecture the agents with a hot temper?" Armed agents with a hot temper. She didn't like that at all!

She nodded. Yes, she remembered what he had told her about Montana. He shared so very few stories about his work, when he did she listened attentively! "Does the military know? About monsters?" Or did the military offer them help without knowing the truth? Violet figured that surely other people, outside of Delta Green, knew about the paranormal. It was a well-kept secret but it couldn't be that well-kept. Monsters weren't exactly easy to hide.

"Of course I worry about you," she countered, "you're my dad. I'll always worry about you." Still, her dad's state was a relief, and she seemed to have slightly relaxed. "I haven't been traveling since." The Horned One was finally giving her a short break, and she was not about to complain about it. Violet didn't want to travel. She wanted to stay home, for as long as possible.

[lucedilunax]

Bed chem - Q. Hughes

Songs masterlist

song: Bed chem - Sabrina Carpenter

pairing: Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

summary: Three stages in Quinn and his girlfriend relationship: how they met, how they had crush on themselves and how they sex life looks like

warning: mentions of sex (nothing graphic), swear words

words: 1.0k

note: ahh this week songs masterlist will be done, i'm gonna miss it but exciting things are coming in december!

masterlist

---

Your friend hit me up so we could connect

Brock’s girlfriend, Bella, and she were friends since they were kids but now, she finally moved to Vancouver. When Bella met Quinn, she knew that she had to set up her friend with him. She believed that they had the identical personality. The same lame jokes, the same awkward laugh and the same commitment to their jobs.

Bella told Brock about this idea and he immediately agreed. He knew her friend and totally saw her and Quinn as a couple. Both of them set them up on a blind date. She and Quinn were skeptical about this. They haven’t been looking for a partner, at least not at this moment and to be honest, they didn’t trust their friends in this field. Eventually, they agreed and went on a date. 

I digress, got me scrollin’ like

Out of breath, got me goin’ like

She adored Quinn. One date and she was all over heels for him. At first, he was giving her weird vibes but when he opened up to her, it turned out that he’s talkative and funny. She couldn't remember the last time a guy made her laugh this hard like he did this one night. When she got back home, she went on instagram and followed him. She started looking at his profile and looking at every single photo. She enjoyed what she was seeing. In her opinion, he was super handsome. 

Quinn, who wasn’t sure about this date, was thankful that he agreed to go. She was different from other women who tried so hard for him because he was an athlete. She didn’t care, he was certain that she didn't even watch hockey because she was asking him the most basic questions when he mentioned this sport. He came back home and saw that she followed him on instagram. He did the same and started looking at her pictures. He couldn’t believe how pretty she is. 

Are you free next week?

The next day, Quinn wrote to her asking if she had time next week. Now, he was leaving but he wanted to invite her to his match. Maybe even go on another date if he gets lucky. Impatient, he was waiting for her response the whole day. He was checking his phone every five minutes to see if she wrote him back. Thankfully, she did. She said that she’s free and it would be a pleasure to go to his game. Quinn was relieved. 

For a moment, Quinn thought that she might not be into him but this message changed it. He said that he’ll give her all the information when he gets back home. She thanked him and in that moment, she asked him about his day. They started writing every day about everything and nothing. His teammates caught him smiling on his phone when he got a message from her. 

Who’s the cute guy with wide blue eyes and the big bad mm?

Quinn wasn’t a big fan of taking photos of himself, but he loved doing this for her. He tried to keep her updated while being away as much as he could. She was sending him pictures of what she’s doing, which was watching tv shows, cooking and working. On the other hand, he always took pictures of himself in a suit and sent them to her. When he was coming back to Vancouver, he took a selfie on the plane and sent her a message coming home, can’t wait to see you soon.

She received the photo when she was out on lunch with her coworkers. She right away opened the message and saw him looking good as always. She stared at her phone too long and one of the girls noticed this. She looked on and saw Quinn’s face. The questions started floating around about her mysterious boyfriend. She felt embarrassed at first but talked about him with love in her voice. 

How you pick me up, pull’ em down, turn me ‘round

She and Quinn haven’t wanted to label themselves. They just went with the flow and if they are made for each other, they’ll end up together. Although, this hasn't stopped them from having sex with each other. Both of them loved this kind of deal. The sex was always incredible, especially when he was coming back pissed.

Quinn was manhandling her like a personal sex toy. She was more than willing to agreed on everything he was giving her. He was throwing her around the bed in every position that he wanted her in. Often, he would bent her over the couch or kitchen island and fuck her roughly. 

How you talk so sweet when you’re doin’ bad things 

She adored Quinn. He was always a well spoken guy who couldn’t miss a day without giving her a compliment. Always showing up with flowers and gifts from his trips. He knew how to make her feel better after a bad day. His words were always on point and she felt loved and adored. He treated her like a princess knowing that she has a low self confidence. He was her hype man. 

Quinn was changing completely when it came to a sex. He was dominating her, doing whatever he wants and likes. In his movements, he remembered about her boundaries but this hadn’t stopped him from treating her like a whore. As much as she loved his quiet and calm side, there was something so tempting and hot in his bedroom side. He enjoyed that she was there for his every beck and call. 

And I bet we’d both arrive at the same time

Despite the fact that Quinn was setting the pace and treated her like he wanted, he always made sure that she cum. He didn’t want her to feel like she’s just for his pleasure. He never denied her orgasm, sometimes controlled it but most of the time, he was overstimulating her. He was giving her at least two climax every time they had sex. His favorite part was when both could cum at the same time.

When it happened for the first time, it was a mind blowing orgasm for Quinn. He couldn’t keep his mind straight the minute he felt his release and her tightening muscles around him. Since that, he made this his own mission to end their sex with them cum in the same moment. She loved when this was happening, when their moans filled the bedroom after reaching a climax.

[faithshouseofchaos]

Oscar piastri x Webber!fem!reader

Word count— 5870

@0rrphiic - this one is for you I’m finally getting around to it

Summary — Oscar developed feelings for his mentors oldest daughter and will do anything for her attention.

Requested — yes

Warnings — reader is older than Oscar by two years 23/25, Oscar being desperate for the reader’s attention, fluff,

————————————————————————

Oscar Piastri had never been great at hiding his feelings, but he was getting much better at pretending. Or at least, that’s what he told himself whenever he found himself blushing or stammering around Mark Webber’s eldest daughter, Y/N.

Y/N was everything Oscar wasn’t—confident, quick-witted, and effortlessly charming. At twenty-five , she carried herself with an ease that made everyone around her feel comfortable—except for Oscar. She was three years older than him, and even though they had known each other for a while through family gatherings and the racing world, he still hadn’t quite figured out how to act around her.

They had become friends, or at least, that’s what Oscar told himself. They spent time together at the track, had coffee during breaks, and shared occasional laughs at dinner. But it was clear to him that he was in much deeper waters than Y/N realized. Every time her laughter echoed across a room, or her eyes lingered on him just a second too long, Oscar’s heart raced in a way he couldn’t control.

Y/N was effortlessly kind, but Oscar couldn’t shake the feeling that he was different when he was around her. His usual composed demeanor faltered. He was desperate for her attention, but he couldn’t bring himself to confess what he felt. She was too perfect, too out of his league, or so he thought.

It was a late evening at the Monaco Grand Prix, and the team had gathered for a quiet dinner after a long day of racing. The grand dining room was bustling with low conversations and the clinking of glasses, but Oscar couldn’t focus on anything but the empty seat next to Y/N at the table. He’d been hoping she would sit next to him, but of course, she ended up beside Mark, her dad. It was hard to compete with a legend.

Oscar was doing his best to follow the conversation, but it felt like his mind was elsewhere. Every few minutes, his gaze would drift over to where Y/N sat. She was relaxed, casual in a deep blue dress that highlighted her effortless beauty, her hair pulled back in a loose bun. She smiled as Mark animatedly told a story from his racing days, and her laugh—light and genuine—made his stomach do a flip.

As she caught his eye, a soft smile tugged at her lips. “Oscar,” she called, her voice warm but teasing. “You’re looking a little distracted there. Something on your mind?”

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat. Was she talking to him? He quickly tore his eyes away, not wanting to get caught staring, but it was too late. “Uh, no,” he stammered, suddenly feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. “Just… thinking about the race tomorrow.”

“Uh-huh.” Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying his excuse. She glanced around, her gaze shifting to the other drivers before locking back on him. “You know, you’re not very good at hiding when you’re nervous, Piastri.”

Oscar felt his throat tighten. His mouth went dry. “I’m not nervous,” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly. “I’m fine. Totally fine.”

She smirked, the corner of her lips quirking up in that playful, knowing way that sent his mind racing. “Sure,” she said with a mock-serious tone, “if you say so.”

The teasing was gentle, but Oscar couldn’t shake the feeling that she was deliberately picking on him. It wasn’t cruel—just playful. Still, every comment made him more aware of his own discomfort, his growing crush that he didn’t know how to hide.

Before he could formulate a response, Y/N turned her attention back to Mark, who was laughing about some past racing mishap. Oscar was left to fidget with his napkin, his mind trying to replay every moment of that exchange. Why did he always seem to make a fool of himself when she was around?

At least she seemed to enjoy it.

Later, as the conversation lulled and the group began to break off into smaller clusters, Y/N shifted in her seat and turned to Oscar. “You look like you need to breathe,” she said with a soft laugh. “Come for a walk with me?”

Oscar’s heart skipped, and for a moment, he almost choked on his words. “I—I’d like that,” he managed to say, suddenly wishing he could be more composed.

They wandered outside, away from the noise of the restaurant and onto the quiet streets of Monaco, the evening air cool against their skin. Y/N fell into an easy rhythm, chatting about the city and pointing out little places she liked, but Oscar couldn’t focus on anything other than the proximity between them. It felt like a moment of calm after all the racing chaos, but it also felt like the quiet before a storm.

“So,” Y/N started, after a comfortable silence settled between them, “what’s really going on in that head of yours? You’ve been off all night.”

Oscar swallowed. “I’m just… tired, I guess. Long day, you know?” He wasn’t sure what else to say. His mind was spinning in circles, but every time he looked at her, the words evaporated.

Y/N gave him a soft, knowing smile, as if she could see right through him. “Oscar, you’re the worst liar I know. But, I guess I’ll let you off the hook this time. Just know, you don’t have to act like you have it all figured out all the time.”

Oscar’s chest tightened. He nodded slowly, but inside, his thoughts were loud. He wanted to tell her how much he appreciated her friendship, how much he longed for something more. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet.

They continued walking, the city lights casting long shadows on the cobblestone streets. And as much as he wanted to let go, to tell her how he felt, all Oscar could do was try to keep up, both in the conversation and in his own heart. But with every laugh, every teasing comment, and every shared glance, it was becoming harder and harder to deny—he was falling for her, and he had no idea what to do about it.

Oscar Piastri was not one to back down from a challenge, but when it came to Y/N, he was starting to realize that his usual strategy of keeping his emotions in check wasn’t going to work. The more time he spent around her, the more impossible it became to hide his feelings. He tried. He really did. But every time she smiled, every time she laughed at one of his half-jokes, it felt like his heart was about to explode out of his chest.

He’d tried distracting himself. Focus on the race. Focus on the team. It was the Monaco Grand Prix, after all. One of the biggest races of the season. But there she was, again, sitting at the table next to him in the paddock, laughing with Mark about something from his racing days. Oscar couldn’t stop glancing over at her. It was embarrassing how often his gaze wandered toward her. She noticed, of course. And, of course, she teased him about it.

“So, Piastri,” Y/N said with that teasing glint in her eyes, “I caught you looking at me again. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Oscar felt a surge of heat rise to his face. He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. “Uh, I wasn’t— I mean, I wasn’t looking. I was just… thinking,” he stammered, hoping it sounded convincing.

“Right.” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Thinking about what, exactly?”

Oscar opened his mouth, about to make an excuse, when Mark chimed in, cutting him off. “Come on, you two,” Mark said, laughing. “You can’t both act like you’re not secretly into racing gossip. You know I’m the best source in the paddock.”

Oscar tried to smile, but he was still flustered from the previous exchange. “Of course, Mark,” he said, focusing on the conversation, but his thoughts kept circling back to Y/N. He needed to get a grip.

Later that evening, they were outside the team’s hospitality, watching the sunset over Monaco’s winding streets. The day had been long, and the tension from the race still hung in the air, but for once, Oscar felt a little more at ease. Y/N had invited him for a walk, just like they had done a few days ago.

They stood side by side, their footsteps light on the cobblestones as they talked about everything and nothing at all. Y/N’s laugh still echoed in his ears, and the way her hair fluttered in the evening breeze made his heart race. Oscar was tired of this. Tired of pretending. Tired of being the friend when all he could think about was the girl standing next to him.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, actually,” Oscar said, his voice quiet, his hands shoved into his pockets to keep them from trembling. “I’ve been thinking… a lot… about things.”

Y/N glanced at him, her curiosity piqued. “What’s on your mind, Piastri?”

Oscar hesitated. This was it. The moment where he could finally say it, tell her everything that had been building up in his chest for months. The moment to confess how he felt.

“I… I’ve just been…” He started, but his words caught in his throat. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, and his nerves were making it impossible to speak clearly. “Y/N, I—”

Before he could finish, a loud shout interrupted him. “Oi, Oscar! You coming or what?”

It was Lando, jogging over with a grin plastered across his face. Oscar cursed under his breath as Lando stopped in front of them, completely oblivious to the moment that had just been shattered.

“Lando,” Oscar said through gritted teeth, “what’s up?”

Lando, sensing something was off, gave him a questioning look but shrugged it off. “Just wanted to check in before we head back. You’re not bailing on us, right?”

Oscar glanced at Y/N, frustration bubbling up inside him. He was so close, so close to telling her how he felt, and now here was Lando, ruining it like always.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Oscar said, forcing a smile as he turned back to Y/N. “Sorry, I’ll catch up with you.”

“No worries.” Y/N smiled, though there was a hint of something in her eyes that Oscar couldn’t quite place. She stepped back slightly, her hand brushing against his in the process. “You go have fun. I’ll see you later.”

Oscar watched her walk away, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He cursed himself for not being able to find the right words, and worse, for allowing Lando to spoil it. His feelings for Y/N were only getting stronger, but it was becoming increasingly clear that every time he tried to confess, something always got in the way.

The next day, Oscar couldn’t shake the feeling of failure. As he prepared for the race, his thoughts kept drifting back to Y/N. The way she looked at him. The way she smiled when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. Did she know? Was she waiting for him to say something? Or was she just being friendly?

After the race, Oscar found himself standing on the pit wall, trying to calm his racing heart from the adrenaline of finishing the day. His mind was still on Y/N, and he couldn’t help but glance around the paddock for her. When he finally spotted her, standing with Mark by the barriers, he felt a mixture of relief and nerves.

“Hey, Oscar!” Y/N’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned to see her walking toward him, that same friendly smile on her face. “Great race today.”

Oscar grinned, though he was still flustered from the conversation that never happened the night before. “Thanks, Y/N. You were watching?”

“Of course.” She gave him a playful nudge. “You didn’t think I’d miss it, did you?”

His heart skipped. “Well, it’s Monaco. Big race. You know… lots of distractions.” He couldn’t stop himself from rambling, his words tumbling out faster than he intended.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure the only distraction here is you, Piastri.” She winked, her teasing tone making him blush harder.

That was it. Oscar had reached his breaking point. He had to tell her. This was the moment.

“Y/N, I—”

But before he could finish, a voice interrupted them again.

“Oscar! We’re heading out for drinks. You in?”

It was Lando, once again, barging into the conversation without a second thought.

Oscar’s shoulders slumped, defeated. “Yeah, sure. I’ll catch up.” He turned back to Y/N, giving her a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I—I need to go.”

“No worries,” Y/N said, though her smile seemed a little distant this time. “I’ll see you around, Piastri.”

As Oscar walked away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was his last chance to tell her how he felt. But once again, it slipped through his fingers, lost to the chaos that seemed to follow him around.

Oscar couldn’t escape the feeling that time was slipping away from him. Every moment he spent with Y/N was a fleeting chance to finally say what he had been holding back for so long. But each time he tried, something—or someone—stopped him. It wasn’t just Lando or bad timing; it was his own fear, the overwhelming pressure to get it right.

The more he saw Y/N, the more confused he became. She was kind, funny, and effortlessly beautiful, and every time their eyes met, Oscar felt a spark that left him breathless. But he couldn’t make sense of it. Were they friends? Was it something more? He couldn’t bring himself to find out.

It had been a week since Monaco, and the tension between them only seemed to grow. The awkward moments had become more frequent, as Oscar tried harder to suppress his feelings, but the frustration was building. He could barely concentrate during meetings, and every time Y/N passed him in the paddock, his heart would skip.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling practice session, Oscar found himself walking toward the team’s garage when he saw Y/N sitting on the steps outside. She was looking down at her phone, her brow furrowed in concentration, her fingers scrolling slowly. It was a rare quiet moment, and Oscar couldn’t resist walking over.

“Hey,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N looked up, her eyes lighting up with recognition. “Oh, hey! How was the session?” she asked, giving him that warm smile that made his stomach twist in knots.

“It was alright,” he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Tiring. But, you know, what else is new?”

She laughed softly, a sound that always seemed to melt him. “Yeah, racing. It’s like a never-ending marathon.” She patted the space beside her on the steps. “Come sit with me for a bit. You look like you need a break.”

Oscar hesitated. He wanted to sit with her, wanted to be near her, but the closer he got, the harder it became to control the whirlwind of emotions inside him. Still, he took a deep breath and sat next to her, trying to act casual.

They fell into easy conversation, but Oscar was distracted. Every time Y/N’s laughter rang out, every time her gaze lingered on him, he felt like he was about to crack. His mind was screaming at him to just tell her how he felt, but the words got tangled in his throat.

“So,” Y/N began, tilting her head slightly, her eyes studying him with a curious glint. “You’ve been a little… off lately. Something bothering you?”

Oscar swallowed hard, staring at the ground in an attempt to avoid her piercing gaze. He opened his mouth to brush it off, but something inside him snapped.

“Actually,” he started, his voice shaking slightly, “yeah, there is something. There’s… something I’ve been meaning to say to you.”

Y/N’s expression softened, and for a moment, Oscar thought maybe—just maybe—this was the moment he could get it all out. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“I just— I really like spending time with you, Y/N. I… I’ve felt like this for a while now, and I don’t know how to explain it.” He paused, his heart racing. “I’ve been trying to figure out what it is between us, and I think…” His words faltered. Was he really about to say it? The confession that had been burning inside him for months?

Before he could finish, a loud voice cut through the quiet.

“Oscar! There you are! Mark’s looking for you.”

It was Lando, again. Oscar’s face dropped, and he could feel the frustration building in his chest. He turned to look at Y/N, but her expression had shifted. She was smiling, but it was distant now.

“Go ahead,” she said softly, her voice a little more guarded than before. “I’m sure you’ve got work to do.”

Oscar opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He wanted to explain, to apologize for getting so caught up in the moment. But instead, he stood up quickly, his heart sinking in his chest.

“Sorry,” he muttered, forcing a smile as he looked at her one last time. “I’ll talk to you later.”

He didn’t wait for her response, didn’t even look back as he walked toward Lando, who was still jabbering away about something that, in the moment, felt entirely irrelevant.

As they walked toward the garage, Oscar’s mind was racing. He had come so close, but once again, his confession had been spoiled. The frustration felt like a weight pressing down on him. He couldn’t understand why everything kept falling apart when it came to Y/N.

Later that evening, after the team debrief, Oscar was left alone in the quiet garage, staring at his helmet on the workbench. His fingers brushed over it absently, his thoughts still on Y/N. It wasn’t just the missed confession; it was the way he felt when he was around her. He wanted to believe that there was something more, something real, but the constant interruptions were starting to wear him down.

He couldn’t keep running from his feelings. He needed to figure out if Y/N felt the same way—or if he was simply setting himself up for disappointment.

Oscar’s fingers tightened around the edge of the workbench, and for the first time in a long while, he felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. Was he just another one of her friends? Or could there be something more, something he had been too afraid to see?

Oscar Piastri was unraveling. It was as if every smile Y/N gave him, every teasing quip she threw his way, tightened the knot in his chest. He had never wanted anything—or anyone—so badly in his life. Racing was his whole world, but lately, she had taken up permanent residence in his thoughts, eclipsing everything else.

Every moment they spent together was a bittersweet torture. He could be sitting across from her in the team lounge, surrounded by people, and still feel like the only thing that mattered was the way her lips curved when she smiled. Yet every time he tried to get closer, he stumbled. Words failed him. Timing failed him. His courage failed him.

Today was no different.

The team had wrapped up a meeting, and most people were filtering out. Y/N lingered near the catering table, a cup of coffee in hand. Oscar had been hovering nearby, pretending to be interested in a plate of pastries just so he could steal a few glances. He didn’t even like pastries.

She caught him looking—again—and raised an eyebrow. “You know, Piastri, you’re terrible at being sneaky.”

Oscar felt his face heat up. He fumbled with the plate in his hand, nearly dropping it. “What? No, I wasn’t— I mean, I’m just… hungry.”

Y/N smirked, leaning against the counter. “Sure you are.”

There it was again, that playful glint in her eyes that made his stomach flip. He should say something witty, something that would make her laugh, but all he could do was stand there, frozen under her gaze.

She tilted her head, studying him. “You’ve been acting weird lately. You know that, right?”

“Weird? Me?” Oscar forced a laugh, but it came out strained. “I’m not acting weird. You’re weird.”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “Great comeback, Piastri.”

She turned back to her coffee, and Oscar let out a quiet sigh of relief. But as she moved to leave, he panicked. He couldn’t let her walk away—not again.

“Wait,” he blurted out, stepping toward her. “Y/N, I—”

“What’s up?” she asked, her tone softening as she turned back to face him.

Oscar opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. His pulse was pounding in his ears, and his palms were sweaty. He couldn’t just blurt it out, not here, not like this. Instead, he shook his head, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “It’s nothing.”

Y/N frowned, her brows knitting together. For a moment, it looked like she was about to press him, but then her phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the screen and sighed. “I’ve gotta go. My dad’s looking for me.”

Oscar nodded, watching as she walked away. His chest ached with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. He wanted to scream at himself, to grab her hand and tell her to stay, but he just stood there, frozen in place.

That evening, Oscar sat alone in his hotel room, staring at the ceiling. The hum of the air conditioner was the only sound, but his thoughts were deafening. He replayed every moment with Y/N, every near-confession, every time he’d chickened out. It was driving him mad.

He grabbed his phone, scrolling through his messages. Her name was right at the top. They texted often—casual conversations about racing, movies, music. But as he stared at the empty text box, he realized he had no idea what to say. Everything felt too big, too loaded.

Just tell her, he thought, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Tell her how you feel.

But what if she didn’t feel the same way? What if he ruined everything? What if she laughed, or worse, pitied him?

His phone buzzed suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. It was a message from her.

Y/N: You okay? You seemed a little off earlier.

Oscar’s heart raced as he read the message. She noticed. She always noticed. But what could he say? That he was “off” because he was hopelessly in love with her? That every time she smiled at him, it felt like the ground shifted beneath his feet?

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, and before he could stop himself, he typed:

Oscar: Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.

He stared at the message for a second, then deleted it.

Oscar: I need to tell you something.

His finger hovered over the send button. This was it. He could finally tell her. But before he could send the message, another text popped up.

Y/N: Never mind, I just remembered something. Let’s talk tomorrow. Goodnight, Piastri :)

Oscar groaned, tossing his phone onto the bed. He flopped back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling again. It felt like the universe was playing some cruel joke on him, throwing roadblock after roadblock in his path.

The next day, the team had organized a press event, and Y/N was there, as always, chatting with the drivers and media personnel like she belonged there. Oscar couldn’t stop watching her, couldn’t stop wondering what it would feel like to hold her hand, to kiss her, to just be with her.

“You’re staring again,” Lando muttered, nudging him in the ribs. “You’re so obvious it’s painful.”

“Shut up,” Oscar hissed, glaring at his teammate.

“I’m just saying,” Lando continued, smirking. “If you don’t do something soon, someone else will.”

Oscar stiffened at the thought. The idea of someone else swooping in, stealing her away, was enough to make his stomach churn. He clenched his fists, determination flickering in his chest. Lando was right. He couldn’t keep waiting for the perfect moment—it didn’t exist.

But even as he resolved to finally confess, he couldn’t shake the doubt creeping in. What if he was too late? What if she didn’t feel the same way?

Oscar’s eyes found her across the room, laughing at something Carlos had said. She looked so effortlessly beautiful, so completely out of his league. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Desperate didn’t even begin to cover it. He was completely, utterly lost in her.

Y/N didn’t miss much. Growing up in a family where motorsport was the centerpiece of every conversation, she had learned to read people the same way her dad read data—intensely and accurately. And lately, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off with Oscar.

He’d always been reserved, more comfortable analyzing data than socializing, but now he seemed downright jumpy around her. The quiet confidence she’d admired since they’d first met had been replaced with nervous stammering and lingering looks that he thought she didn’t notice.

She noticed.

Sitting at the edge of the paddock, sipping her coffee, she replayed the events of the past few weeks. The aborted conversations, the way his gaze would drop to the ground every time she caught him staring, the moments he seemed like he was on the verge of saying something important only to backtrack at the last second. It was sweet, endearing even, but it left her wondering.

“Do I intimidate him?” she mumbled to herself, swirling the remnants of her coffee.

She’d never thought of herself as intimidating, but she knew what it was like to be under pressure in this world. Her father’s legacy cast a long shadow, and Oscar—despite his undeniable talent—was still finding his place. She wondered if she was part of that pressure.

And yet, when he smiled, that boyish grin that lit up his entire face, she saw the person underneath the weight of expectations. She liked that version of him, the one who teased her about her horrible taste in music or stole her snacks when he thought she wasn’t looking.

But lately, those moments had been overshadowed by something… heavier. Something unsaid.

The next week, Oscar reached his limit.

It happened at the tail end of the Silverstone race weekend. After a chaotic qualifying session and a race that left him with a respectable but frustrating P7 finish, Oscar was drained. But it wasn’t the race that was eating at him—it was her.

She’d been there all weekend, as always, her laughter echoing through the garage, her presence a constant, maddening distraction. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t breathe when she was near. And now, watching her across the paddock talking to Lando, her hand playfully swatting his arm as they joked about something, Oscar felt like he was going to implode.

He’d had enough. Enough of the near-confessions, the sleepless nights, the endless what-ifs.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he was moving, weaving through the throng of media and team personnel until he was standing in front of her.

“Y/N, can we talk?” His voice was steadier than he felt, but his eyes betrayed his desperation.

She blinked up at him, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. “Uh, yeah, sure.” She glanced at Lando, who raised an eyebrow but stepped aside with a knowing smirk.

Oscar led her away from the crowd, his hands fidgeting at his sides. When they finally stopped near a quiet corner of the paddock, he turned to face her.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

Y/N tilted her head, her brows knitting together in confusion. “Doing what?”

“This!” He gestured vaguely between them, his frustration boiling over. “Pretending like everything’s normal when it’s not. Acting like I’m fine when I’m not.”

She stared at him, her lips parting as if to respond, but he pressed on.

“I like you, Y/N,” he blurted out, his voice raw and unsteady. “I’ve liked you for a while now, and it’s driving me insane. Every time I try to tell you, something happens, and I—” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel this way. I just… I needed you to know.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Y/N’s eyes searched his face, her expression unreadable. Oscar’s heart pounded in his chest, each second stretching into an eternity.

Then, finally, she spoke.

“Oscar…” Her voice was soft, careful. “I—”

“Y/N! There you are!”

Both of them turned to see Mark striding toward them, a clipboard in hand. Oscar felt his stomach drop.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mark said, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air, “but we need to head to the debrief. Y/N, you coming?”

She glanced between Oscar and her father, hesitation flickering in her eyes. “Yeah, I’ll— I’ll be there in a minute.”

Mark nodded, walking away, but the interruption had shattered whatever moment they’d been building.

Y/N turned back to Oscar, her face a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite place. “I should go,” she said softly, her voice almost apologetic.

Oscar nodded numbly, his chest aching. “Yeah… yeah, of course.”

As she walked away, he felt the weight of his confession settle over him. He’d finally said it, but it hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped. And now, he was left to wonder—had he made a mistake?

Oscar barely slept that night. The words he’d blurted out to Y/N replayed on an endless loop in his mind, each replay more agonizing than the last. He could still see her expression—soft, careful, but unreadable. And then she’d walked away.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone. Part of him wanted to text her, to ask if they could talk, to beg her to say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. What if she was avoiding him? What if he’d ruined everything?

The next morning, he dragged himself to the paddock, dreading the thought of seeing her. He didn’t know how to act, didn’t know how to undo the mess he’d made.

But when he arrived, she was there, leaning against the Ferrari hospitality building, chatting with Carlos. She looked calm, collected—like nothing had happened. It was both a relief and a dagger to the chest.

“Hey, mate.” Lando appeared at his side, startling him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not now, Lando,” Oscar muttered, his gaze fixed on Y/N.

Lando followed his line of sight and smirked. “Ah, still pining, I see.”

“I told her,” Oscar said quietly, his voice tinged with frustration.

Lando’s eyebrows shot up. “You what?”

“I told her how I feel.”

“And?”

Oscar shook his head, his jaw tightening. “She didn’t say anything. Mark showed up, and then she just… left.”

Lando let out a low whistle. “Ouch. So what’s the plan now?”

“There is no plan,” Oscar snapped. “I’ll just avoid her and hope this all blows over.”

Lando snorted. “Yeah, because that’s worked so well for you so far.”

Oscar shot him a glare, but deep down, he knew Lando was right. Avoiding her wouldn’t solve anything. Still, the thought of facing her again made his stomach churn.

Y/N had been replaying the moment, too. She’d been caught completely off guard by Oscar’s confession, and Mark’s interruption hadn’t helped. She’d spent the night staring at her ceiling, trying to make sense of her own feelings.

She liked Oscar—of course she did. He was sweet and funny and far more thoughtful than he gave himself credit for. But his sudden outburst had thrown her. She hadn’t expected him to feel that way about her.

Now, as she stood in the paddock, pretending to focus on her conversation with Carlos, her thoughts kept drifting back to Oscar. She’d seen him arrive earlier, his usual quiet confidence replaced by a nervous energy that tugged at her heart.

“Y/N,” Carlos said, pulling her from her thoughts. “You okay? You seem distracted.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she lied, forcing a smile.

Carlos didn’t look convinced, but before he could press her, she excused herself, her gaze darting toward the McLaren garage. She needed to talk to Oscar, to clear the air, but the thought of confronting him made her chest tighten. What if she said the wrong thing? What if she hurt him?

She spotted him near the back of the garage, staring intently at a data screen. For a moment, she hesitated, her feet rooted to the ground. But then she squared her shoulders and walked toward him.

“Oscar.”

He turned at the sound of her voice, his expression shifting from surprise to guardedness. “Y/N. Hi.”

“Can we talk?” she asked, her tone soft but firm.

He glanced around, as if looking for an escape route, but finally nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

They stepped outside, away from the bustle of the garage. Oscar shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“About yesterday,” Y/N began, her voice tentative. “I—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, his tone clipped. “You don’t have to say anything. I get it.”

She frowned. “Oscar, I—”

“No, really.” He forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want things to be weird between us.”

Y/N stared at him, her heart twisting at the vulnerability in his voice. “Things aren’t weird,” she said gently. “But you didn’t even give me a chance to respond.”

Oscar blinked, his head snapping up to meet her gaze. “You mean…?”

“I mean, I wasn’t expecting it,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel something.”

His breath hitched, hope flickering in his eyes. “You do?”

Y/N hesitated, her mind racing. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I’ve never thought about us that way before. But… maybe I should have.”

Oscar’s shoulders sagged, a mix of relief and confusion washing over him. “So… what does that mean?”

“It means I need time to figure it out,” she said, stepping closer. “But I don’t want you to think it’s a no. I just need to… sort through things.”

Oscar nodded slowly, his heart still racing. “Okay. I can do that.”

“And, Oscar?” she added, her voice softening. “I care about you. A lot.”

A small smile tugged at his lips, the weight on his chest easing just a little. “That’s enough for now.”

As they stood there, the tension between them shifted, replaced by something more tentative but undeniably real. It wasn’t a confession, not in the way he’d imagined, but it was a start.

[anomalyaly]

right where you left me

Summary: You died. Sebastian secretly had a portrait of you commissioned.

I profusely apologize for the pain.

Inspired by @sychenb for the prompt idea. Also crediting @sloanesallow for her headcanon about Sebastian keeping track of numbers.

(also sort of inspired by Unus Annus - iykyk - and Taylor Swift, if you couldn't guess by the title)

Tags: Angst, F!Reader POV (you), unreliable narrator, vague ship (Sebastian x reader/Ominis x reader), Sebastian was in love with you but never confessed, death, grief, ambiguous ending, overall the sads in general, I cried while writing this

AO3/Wattpad

It had been 279 days since you died.

At least, that’s what Sebastian tells you — your portrait, anyway. It was all that was left of you after the devastating battle you had fought and never walked away from. You hadn’t even known he’d had a portrait of you commissioned when you were alive until you woke up, your body cold, your face illuminated by the flickering candles of the Undercroft.

He comes to visit you every day — some days, he simply sits in front of you, cross-legged and silent. You creep into the frame and study him, the shadows on his face, a haunted look in his eye — unfamiliar. You can only recall a bright, talkative, charming boy with whom you were once close. You didn’t recognize him the first time he visited you, yet his presence brings you comfort.

On other days, you see traces of the boy he was before. He bursts in through the gate talking nonstop about everyone who misses you, about something he saw that you would have liked or that reminded him of you. Sometimes, he even brings you gifts and places them in front of your frame so you can admire them when he’s away.

That’s where he keeps you — hidden behind a wooden crate in the Undercroft like a sacred shrine, untouched by anyone but him. He only speaks with you when he is alone.

Another boy comes in on occasion, and you only know because of the sound of his voice and the pulsing red light of his wand that you can see from behind the pile of crates. Ominis, you remember Sebastian telling you, another friend from when you were alive. Sometimes they argue, other times they refuse to acknowledge each other. But Sebastian always keeps you tucked away, his own personal secret.

“It’s almost Christmas,” he sighs as he plops down in front of you. “300 days since you…well, since— ”

He could never bring himself to finish that sentence, even after almost a year. You never finish it for him.

“Are you going back to Feldcroft?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t leave you here alone. I couldn’t do that to you.”

You knew he probably hadn’t been back since that dreadful day. He had only spoken of it once to refresh your memory. He never brought it up again.

“Sebastian,” you say, and he perks up at the sound of his name leaving your painted lips, “how come you always hide me away when Ominis comes in? Doesn’t he want to talk to me, too?”

His eyes flash with something — anger, perhaps, it was hard to tell from your two-dimensional world — and he stands, approaching your portrait. “He wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m only a portrait,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s not like you’ve been practicing necromancy.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say, but you don’t completely understand why. He turns away from you, fists clenched, shoulders tense and hunched over, before running his fingers through his hair and repeating himself more adamantly. “He wouldn’t understand.”

You remember him uttering a similar statement throughout your short life at Hogwarts — secrets that only the two of you shared, unbeknownst to Ominis until it was too late. “Surely he misses me, too— ”

“Did you love him?”

The question takes you by surprise, though you think it’s not the first time he’s asked it. “What?”

Sebastian whirls to face you, his gaze intense, demanding. “Did you love him? Or did you love me?”

Your portrait blinks, confused. Truthfully, you hadn’t been alive nearly long enough to confirm your feelings for either of them, but you knew that both boys had been important to you during your last few months of life. The portrait of you had only been a time capsule of your fifteen-year-old self — undecided and immature. You’re not even certain if the emotions you feel now are real or remnants of what you experienced when you were alive. “I…I cared deeply for both of you if that’s what you’re asking.”

Your answer nearly breaks him, as if he’s heard it a million times before. He tugs at his hair, the movement causing him to look frenzied and mad. “That’s not what I asked! Who did you — ”

“Sebastian?”

The voice of the intruder causes both of you to freeze. Sebastian pulls himself out from behind the crate and holds a finger to his lips before pushing it in front of you once more.

“Over here, Ominis.”

You hear footsteps and see the red glow of the other boy’s wand, then shuffling as Sebastian strategically places himself in front of the wooden box. The echoing footsteps grow closer, and you straighten at Ominis’s frantic tone as he speaks.

“Who were you talking to?” he asks. “I…I thought I heard…her.”

“No one else is here but me,” Sebastian says, guarded.

You can practically feel Ominis’s internal struggle to believe him. You decide that there have been enough secrets between the three of you — you’re not going to let it carry on post-mortem.

“Ominis? Is that you?” you call out. You hear Sebastian press his body against the crate in front of you. Ominis pushes past him, and they both tumble into it, knocking it over and exposing your portrait.

Chaos ensues at Ominis’s realization. The two boys are shouting at each other in front of you as you are helpless to stop them — Ominis, for having yet another secret kept from him, and Sebastian, for defending his reasonings. You aren’t sure if it’s because of jealousy, grief, or some combination of the two, but all you want is for the noise to stop.

You call out helplessly from your portrait, wishing you could step between them, just as you had done time and time again all those months ago. Before everything had gone so wrong.

Suddenly, hot, angry tears are pouring down both of their faces, and you are overcome with just how useless you are at this moment — a fragmented memory, trapped within the confines of your magical canvas. You want nothing more than to hug each of them, to let them feel your arms around them in comfort and take their pain away.

But you are gone.

The two boys now stand solemn and silent in front of you. Ominis takes a step closer, his wand hovering over your portrait before he runs his fingers along the gilded frame. “Is it…really you?”

“No.” You can hear the flatness in Sebastian’s voice, how tired and worn he truly is. He repeats exactly what you thought only moments before as if to confirm it. “She hardly remembers what happened, or even who we are. She’s just a fragment. A memory.”

You want to argue that it is you, but you know that he’s right. You barely remembered your living self until Sebastian explained everything to you on his daily visits. Whispers of your personality still shine through on occasion, but you are otherwise simply existing.

Ominis sighs, and you can hear the weight behind it, as if he had been holding his breath and finally allowed himself to release it. He traces his fingers along the divots of the frame once more, and you try to will yourself to feel it.

The two boys exchange an unspoken conversation that thickens the tension in the air. They seem to come to an agreement, and you let out a small breath — if you can call it that — of relief when they sit down in front of you and appear to bask in your presence. You stay quiet and allow them this moment — it’s the only thing you can do.

The days that follow are the same. No longer is Sebastian coming in alone for covert meetings with your portrait. Now, you see both Sebastian and Ominis at the same time every single day, a religious appointment that they’ve set aside just for you. They take turns talking to you, even if they can only manage a few words, and you learn to appreciate their company, knowing that you were loved by both of them in life.

Just like old times, Sebastian says, and the three of you laugh.

Christmas approaches quickly, or that’s what they say when they come to visit a short while later. They bring your favorite things from when you were alive — chocolate frogs, flowers, even books, which Sebastian reads to you — and they tell you stories about you and the kind of person they knew you to be. You wonder if it’s true, or if they have created an idealistic image of you since you are no longer there with them. Not really.

Kind, they say that you were, thoughtful, loving, self-sacrificial, and maybe a bit idealistic. You were friends with both of them, after all, the mischievous pair that they were, before everything was taken away from them, before life was unfair. They try to smile for you and remind you that Christmas at the castle is a time for celebration, but you can tell that it’s a weak facade.

You smile back at them anyway.

The anniversary of your death approaches. Neither of them can bring themselves to say anything, aside from a few words to honor you. So the three of you sit in tearful silence, admiring the flowers that they decorated your portrait with. You think you can almost smell the sweet aroma of the bouquets.

Something changes in the air — you can sense it — though you aren’t sure what. You notice it when their visits become shorter, with fewer stories to tell, and fewer presents left in front of your frame. Sebastian and Ominis start showing up at separate times, stopping in for a brief hello before leaving with an excuse. You start to wonder what they are doing when they are gone, but you are unable to leave your frame — only one portrait of you was ever commissioned.

Soon, they start missing days, returning at a later time with profuse apologies about how life was busy, but they still miss you. Difficult classes, detention, studying for NEWTs, and preparing for a career — all of these seem to take precedence over you. But they still manage to make time in all of the hectic day-to-day activities, and you look forward to the days when they do come.

You wake up one morning and realize you are in a different location — Feldcroft, most likely, though you hadn’t seen it since that fateful day. Sebastian hangs your frame up on the wall, promising that he and Ominis will come to visit you more often now that they have graduated.

They don’t.

The length of time in between seeing them grows longer, you’re certain of it. Each time one of them arrives, they look a little bit different — sometimes they have longer hair, other times a bit of scruff around their chins, but they always come in looking more weathered than they had when you last saw them.

You realize that they are doing something that you will never again be able to join them in — growing older. You start to wonder about their lives outside of you, yet your painted mind cannot comprehend what an adult life looks like, forever frozen in your adolescent state. You find that you are unable to relate to any of their stories, and they seem to be holding back in what they choose to share.

I wish you were still here, they always say before they go, and you start to wonder if they mean it.

At long last, the visits from your once two closest friends become scarce, and you aren’t certain how much time has passed since someone last spoke to you. The bright flowers that once decorated your golden frame wither and die, and the little gifts they used to leave stay untouched and unopened. The tiny cottage in Feldcroft becomes a sepulcher of your essence — a permanent reminder that you are no longer among the living.

You can’t help but wonder if it was something you did, if their reasons for not returning were your fault. You can feel the stories that they used to tell you fading away, unable to retain the memories in your current form.

You decide that it’s time to rest.

In the quiet house, just south of Hogwarts, your portrait closes its eyes. You do not wake again.

[sillyuin]

hi <3! was wondering if i can get svt reaction to yn being completely oblivious to them flirting with her? subtle things like while she’s just ranting about her day they’d move closer to her and she’d absentmindedly put her hand on their chest to push them away still running her mouth, just completely unaware of what’s happening. and even the most obvious things like compliments or physical touch, yn is blind to it and it’s so frustrating to them

so yeah, hope you see this! ❤️

Hi! I'm sorry for being so late 😭 i've been very busy with job and housework, but it's finally here.

Svt reacts: Flirting vs clueless s/o. Who will win?

Yuin's note: barely proofread. I'ts 1 am and I'm tired.

Seungcheol. Staring at your face.

I mean, he likes to just stare at you as if he's watching the prettiest person in the world, but when Seungcheol wants to be especially flirty, he stares at you fondly and smiling with the whole intention to make your heart skip a beat, he even glances at your lips, as if he were trying to say something. Most of the time that's enough to make you really, really shy but when is not... Geez, he has to breathe in and ends up pouting a little (Probably one or two pecks will make him feel better).

Jeonghan. Teasing.

Is like his default love language, making harmless jokes to see you flustered all over him is just so fun to watch. But, is he really just trying to be a teaser, or is there something else behind? "I took the chair, but you can sit on my lap" he said one day, sitting at your desktop, with the most mischievous smile possible. But you didn't fall for his charm and as you kept your annoyed face, he stood up and sighed "Okay, all yours". And you better be ready because he's not forgetting so easy, and will keep teasing you just a little (yeah, a little) more than usual.

Joshua. Back hugging.

When Joshua wants your attention only and only for him, he goes where you are to hug you from the back, resting his chin on your shoulders and crossing his arms around your waist. Oh, he loves it so much is so tender, but he gets lowkey hurt when you don't react in any way because, how come you don't realize his intentions? Is really doing the dishes way more important than his warm hugs? Now, this is personal and Joshua won’t let you go, take it as a punishment for being so clueless (reward or punishment?).

Jun. Tickles.

For him, tickles is the perfect excuse to be closer to you. It's so obvious that hurts lol. Most of the time you melt in his touch, and you both end up laughing and sharing some kisses, but sometimes you're minding your business, too busy to realize that Jun wants to get your attention. Better get ready because you'll have a pouty little cat going around the apartment, and will NOT forget your offense unless you give him extra cuddles before bed.

Hoshi. Random "facts".

At the least appropriate time, he would come to find you. "Did you know that there is a minimum number of kisses that a person should receive per day to be healthy?" he says with a very serious expression on his face. And there you are, standing in the middle of the living room while you're brushing your teeth; your soulless expression says all. Hoshi turns around and pretends nothing happened, but in his mind, he's sitting in the corner staring at the walls.

Wonwoo. Making compliments out of nowhere.

He likes to pour you with sweet words, like how much he appreciates your homemade food, or that you did it great at work. From time to time, he thinks is fun to be a little sassy and his praises are very, very intentional. “New gloss?” he says, grinning at you “It looks good” and for some frigging reason you just start talking about how you got it? Babe, Wonu doesn’t care that much that you bought it because your favorite gloss wasn’t on stock, but now he feels a little shy to speak and just lets you tell the whole story.

Woozi. Playing with your hair.

When it comes to be openly flirty, Woozi tends to be a little coy. You rarely notice it since it's very common for him to be around you, caressing your hair and playing with the strands in complete silence. So when you get distracted he places a strand behind your ear, exposing your neck. But when he's so close to place a kiss, you jump like a scared kitten. "No! It tickles!" Woozi looks down, defeated, as you move away. "Sorry, be right back" and he locks himself in his room for the next hour.

Minghao. Holding your hand.

He thinks your hands are more than just pretty. Hao likes to take one of them when you're sitting by his side, scrolling on your phone or watching TV. He's so subtle that most of the times you don't feel how he traces your hand with his fingers and when you realize, it’s because your hands are intertwined and he’s holding his laughter. “How low you’ve been like this?” but Minghao just giggles. You end up doing the same and then resume your activity, letting him laughing low in embarrassment and biting his lips as a sign of frustration.

Mingyu. Resting on your lap.

He's very straightforward when it comes to flirting with you. Mingyu likes to wait patiently for you to sit on the couch or the bed and then he goes, at first making some (pretty obvious) questions "What are you doing?" "Is that a new book?" and as you're talking, his hands rest on your thigh, gently stroking your skin with his thumb, but you're so immerse in the topic and he goes completely unnoticed... And before you even notice, there's a flustered Mingyu resting his head on your lap, tracing small circles on your thigh as if he had been punished.

Dokyeom. Taking photos.

He already has a folder with your name and an unhealthy number of photos; Seokmin just never gets tired, you're so used to it that most of the time don't realize that he's actually trying to hit on you. "Just let me take a picture, you look so beautiful today!" And after giving him an awkward smile, you're getting back to your stuff.  Seokmin is a bit disappointed but with a bunch of new photos of his precious person, so is not that bad (at least is what he says to himself trying to not lose his mind).

Seungkwan. Scolding.

I know, it may sound like a bit harsh but when he's scolding you, Seungkwan tries to make it as tender as possible, it doesn't feel like scolding and actually, he uses this as a cheap excuse to be extra lovely. "Don't sleep too late, you're getting dark circles" he says in a soft voice while caressing your checks "you're too pretty for that, don't you think?". He waits for you to take the bait and when you laugh on him, saying that he's being a little dramatic, Seungkwan doesn't hide his disappointment. "Okay, keep watching your series" he says getting up from the couch "but don't you dare to complain later!"

Vernon. Placing his arm on your shoulders.

A classic that never dies and his favorite, Vernon likes to do it all the time: when watching movies, chatting, watching videos together; is a like a very subtle invitation to get closer to him, and somehow, most of the time you’re just minding your business and leave him waiting for you to notice. And yeah, he’s very patient, but everything has a limit. "Come here, babe" then he places his hand on your shoulder and brings you closer to his chest. And don't you dare to move, because there's no way he let you go now.

Dino. Calling your name.

Usually, he calls you by pet names or your name in diminutive, reserving the use of your name for special occasions. However, it doesn't always end the way he expected. “Did I do something wrong?” you ask him just after he called you by your name, and when Chan sees your big doe eyes, his smile fades. “Is just that… I feel like you’re mad at me”. At this point his intentions doesn’t matter anymore, he just hugs you and tries not cry in his disappointment.

[meleeyz]

୭ 𝗔 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗗𝗢𝗘𝗦𝗡'𝗧 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗟 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗘 ˚. ᵎᵎ 

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled

୨୧ Ok, so, I realized this would be TOO long, and I decided I'll turn it into a little series, this will all be mostly fluff, I hope you like it ;)

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Ekko stood just outside the bustling doors of The Last Drop, his fingers brushing against the worn metal frame. He should go inside. But his feet felt rooted to the ground, as if stepping through the threshold would make this dream—this impossibility—permanent. His head ached, pounding from the sensory overload of it all.

Zaun was alive.

Not just scraping by, not the grimy, cutthroat existence he knew from his world. This Zaun thrived. The sunlight poured into the streets, and it wasn’t muted by the familiar haze of toxins. The air was clean, crisp even, and the people walking by wore smiles so wide it made his chest ache.

No one carried weapons. Children darted through the alleyways, laughing and chasing each other without a care. There was no shimmer-induced violence, no crime, no constant fear. It was… wrong.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside, the familiar ring of the bar’s bell announcing his arrival. The sound brought with it a rush of memories—the Last Drop wasn’t a place for laughter in his Zaun. But here?

Laughter echoed off the walls, bright and unrestrained. His stomach churned.

Near the bar, Silco leaned against the counter, with a glass in hand. He was laughing—Silco was laughing, that man had ruined lives, poisoned Zaun with Shimmer, and killed countless innocents. And now, he stood here, calm and smiling as if his sins had never existed. The sight nearly sent Ekko spinning. Vander was there beside him, his booming voice and broad grin like something out of a half-forgotten dream. They clinked their glasses together, joined by Benzo, whose hearty chuckles filled the room.

Benzo.

Ekko’s breath hitched. He’d never thought he’d see his old mentor again, not in this life. But there he was, as real and alive as the air filling his lungs.

The sound of scraping chairs brought his attention to the two figures approaching him.

“Yo, Ekko!”

Mylo’s voice. Ekko’s stomach twisted again. Mylo and Claggor—older now, but unmistakable—waved at him, wide grins plastered on their faces. They strolled over like this was an ordinary day.

Except it wasn’t.

Not for him.

“Where you been, little man?” Mylo asked, clapping a hand on Ekko’s shoulder like they hadn’t been dead in his world. Claggor chuckled, adding, “Thought we’d have to drag you in here.”

Ekko’s throat tightened. It was surreal talking to ghosts, and his eyes darted between them, searching for something—anything—to ground him. They were so casual, so alive, as if they’d never been stolen by the explosion. The undead boys said something about going to get their drinks and that they would be back in a moment, but their words were white noise against the pounding of his heart. It was as if ghosts had stepped out of the past, solid and warm.

Ekko struggled to keep his breathing steady, his gaze darting between the faces he had mourned and buried in another life. He had thought he’d moved on. He was wrong.

“Are you all right, my boy?” Heimerdinger’s soft voice broke through the fog.

The old yordle was there too, standing on a stool at the far corner of the bar, his ears perked up.

“No,” Ekko admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not really.”

Heimerdinger nodded knowingly, as if he had expected the answer.

“Adjusting to a reality that isn’t your own can be disorienting, to say the least. But don’t worry. We’ll sort it out soon enough.”

The cheer in his voice was almost infuriating. Ekko wanted to demand answers, to ask what exactly had happened and why he was here, but before he could say anything, the bell above the door jingled.

The air shifted.

Ekko turned instinctively, his senses on high alert.

What walked through that door wasn’t danger or threat, but it hit him just as hard. A little boy, no older than six, darted inside with a burst of energy, his laughter echoing like a bell.

His heart stopped.

He looked just like—

“Dad!”

The high-pitched voice shattered his thoughts, and a small body barreled into him. Ekko stumbled back, his arms instinctively wrapping around the boy who had launched himself into his chest.

The little boy looked up at him, a bright, joyful grin lighting up his face.

Ekko froze.

The kid had his eyes—wide and curious—, his hair, even the same nose, the same cheeky smile. It was like looking into a mirror of a younger version of himself.

“Dad?” he repeated, his voice barely audible.

The boy tilted his head, confusion flickering across his face. It was a gesture so familiar it sent a chill down Ekko’s spine—you always did that when you didn’t understand something he was saying.

That was Wyeth. His baby. Except he wasn’t a baby anymore.

“Wyeth…” Ekko whispered, his voice cracking.

The boy beamed.

“That’s me!”

It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him.

“Look at you, big guy,” Mylo teased, coming up behind him with his drink on hand. “You’re gonna be taller than your old man in no time.”

Wyeth giggled, the sound light and carefree. Ekko stared at the three of them, his throat dry.

This was wrong. It was all wrong.

Why didn’t he remember any of this? Why didn’t he see Wyeth grow? Why did it feel like he had been robbed of something so precious that his chest ached with the loss?

“Little Wyeth causing trouble again, huh?”

Claggor laughed.

“Like father, like son.”

This wasn’t his Zaun. And this wasn’t the Wyeth he’d cradled in his arms just days—or was it hours?—ago in his world.

“Papa?” Wyeth’s small hand tugged at Ekko’s collar, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Ekko blinked, swallowing hard.

“Just… thinking.”

The door opened again, and Ekko’s breath caught again.

You stepped in, radiant and full of life, your eyes scanning the room before landing on Ekko. Time seemed to slow as you approached, the crowd parting instinctively for you. You looked different. Less burdened, happier, but still undeniably you.

Your gaze moved between Ekko and the boy, and you set your hands on your hips.

“My love,” you began, a stern edge to your voice. “What did I say about helping Wyeth with his inventions?”

Ekko blinked, caught off guard. He struggled for an answer, but Benzo stepped in with a sheepish grin.

“Don’t look at him, it was me,” Benzo said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Kid’s got a knack.”

Your brow furrowed, a mix of exasperation and affection in your expression.

“Your innocent grandson broke a window with that innocent rocket, Benzo.”

Mylo snorted with laughter, only to catch your pointed glare and immediately fall silent. Ekko couldn’t help the corner of his lips twitching upward. You were always like this, commanding a room with little more than a glance. Even here, in this strange world, you hadn’t changed. But as he stared at you, a sinking feeling tugged at his chest. This wasn’t the you he knew—not exactly.

You turned your attention back to Ekko.

“He’s grounded,” you said firmly, then softened. “Where’s Violet?”

For a moment, he thought you were talking about Vi—his Vi, the fierce protector who had been his friend and hero.

He faltered.

“Vi…?”

Before he could stumble over an answer, Claggor spoke up from behind him.

“She’s with Powder.”

Powder? That name didn’t fit the person he knew now. Powder was long gone, buried beneath the chaos of Jinx. And yet, here, it seemed to mean something else entirely.

You raised an eyebrow, catching the subtle shift in Ekko’s demeanor.

“You okay?”

Ekko forced a smile, though his heart felt heavy.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… tired.”

You reached out, brushing your hand against his arm in a gesture so familiar it sent a pang of longing through him.

“We’ll talk later,” you said softly, your gaze lingering on him before you took Wyeth’s hand and led the boy toward the back of the bar.

You're going to have a serious talk with that little one about his recklessness.

Ekko watched you go, his mind racing. This world was a dream come to life, a version of reality where everything he’d lost had been restored.

But it wasn’t his world. He has to go.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

tags: @moonlight-dreamer04 @serena6728 @kriss-w @sturngs @iloveavatar @chaeisbroke

You can ask me to tag you in future chapters if you want! 😸

[yourbasicqueerie]

can we hear ur lilia headcanons... as many as possible i am starving

be careful another what you ask lol, these r some of my fave ones:

( i am and will be ignoring her death. try me hoes)

• that woman can cook, she’ll make you a MEAAANNNN pesto alla trapanese and don’t get me started on traditional sicilian dishes. can’t bake for shit tho.

• she sews most of her clothing herself.

• that woman has had some questionable gigs to rank up some cash, some of those being:

- a history teacher who made some questionable comments about vampires and their uselessness in actual fighting ( “you know kids, vampires are absolutely shit heads, you think they are going to be these big scary people but noooo, terrible at hand in hand combat too” . )

-a hand reader at various kid parties. the amount of times she’s had to tell moms that no, she will not know the gender of their child is astounding ( . )

-a jazz singer at some dingy bar ( she got approached by a big time producer once, but refused to do anything with him after he made some off handed comment about her hair)

• talking about hair, she’s very very proud of her curls, she might not be keen on chemical peels as much ( smth jen later got her on) but if you want to talk hair care? she’s your girl

• after she got kicked out of her place, she moved into agatha’s house and took over the couch. though she will never say it, the couch is the most comfortable thing she has ever slept on ( maybe even the MAAASSIVE bed she must have had in her young days)

• talking about her young days, even though she was not from a royal family, YOU CANNOT TELL ME she wasn’t somehow related to the médici family, i mean LOOK AT HER!!!

• she owns a small artemisia gentilieschi portrait of herself she requested while at florence.

• her favorite colour, contrary to popular opinion, is not yellow, but orange

• she sings in the shower, beautifully and loudly so. ( can’t exaggerate the loud part, you can hear her from the whole house, the coven does not complain tho, they acc quite like the everything shower days, it means they get at least 40 minutes of lilia’s singing)

• when drunk, lilia is so chatty and touchy, agatha is not keen on it, but rio loves it, their karaoke duos are astonishing too.

• she laughs the loudest between all of them

• agatha full on laid all her mommy issues in this woman ( now, if that is to say that if she and agatha were to have sex, agatha would call her mommy, or if agatha sees lilia as a motherly figure is up to you)

• the whole of the coven depends on her, if lilia is gone then they all fall apart

• she is a sucker for an aldi, would spend hours grocery shopping if she could.

• wine enthusiast lilia calderu

• polyglot lilia calderu

[felassan]

David Gaider on Dorian, under a cut for length:

"Now this is a fun one. It's no big secret I have a lot of feelings about Dorian, not least of which because he was my first (and only) gay male companion. There's a lot more to him than that, of course (as there should be), and it was quite a trip. So let's go! Now, DAI is a story all its own, but I'm sticking to the characters. In this case, back at the beginning, the writers were going to try something new: we were going to let the artists take a more active role in the companion creation process. Why? Because not doing so had caused a lot of problems. See, here's the thing: writers and artists speak two different languages. When talking about characters, we talk about their story. Who they are. What they want. We'd write up these briefs, huge and full of information... but it was never the information the artists needed. They wanted visual cues. I don't mean describing their appearance. Sure, we'd usually provide that, especially if there was a story case to be made, but often the artists vetoed us on appearance stuff anyhow so meh. No, I mean they looked for visual language while we tended to only talk about who the characters *were*. What would happen is they'd hone in on something visual in our write-up not intended to be a focus. The first write-up for Anders in DA2, for instance, mentioned he was "haggard" after his journey... and the first concept we got was this pale, shriveled man. "What... is this?" "YOU SAID HAGGARD!" 😅"

"That was the other trick: sometimes when we DID try to be more descriptive, we had to be extra cautious because the words could be interpreted very differently. You encounter this recording VO, too. A VO note says "hysterical" and you *meant* "really upset" but the actor read "scream like a banshee" Thus this caused problems, like I said. The artists would struggle, sometimes conjuring details just to give the character *something* but which would change the character... and, to us, the character was created. Done. We were already invested, probably already writing them. Something had to give. So this time we wrote a bunch of character briefs - but short. One paragraph. We stuck to vibes and the *emotions* we wanted the concepts to evoke. And we didn't name them. They got titles like "Slick Con Man" or "Ice Queen", so we wouldn't get too attached. Then we handed these off to the artists. And it worked nicely. The ones that just weren't inspiring we'd discard, no problem. The others had juice... and the artists felt free to play and offer lots of variations because we weren't set on anything yet. A lot of times, what they produced ended up inspiring US. It was a neat back-and-forth."

"This is what led to Dorian, in fact. He came from a short write-up entitled "Rock Star Mage" and it really boiled down to "I'm cool and I know I'm cool, so take that you cretins". And just like that, the first sketches (by Casper Konefal, I think? I bet I'm wrong) were all amazing. Instant fire. Me: "He looks kind of like... Freddie Mercury?" Him: "Is that bad?" Me: "NO ARE YOU KIDDING THIS IS AMAZING" Plus there was a monkey. Sadly, we had to lose the monkey. There were iterations to come, but this was really where Dorian was born: Tevinter mage, noble, savant, and too cool for school."

"When did he become gay? Not right away. Like I said elsewhere, we didn't talk romance and sexuality until after the concepts were more in place. But as we were brainstorming about why this hot shot mage left Tevinter, the idea DID come up that maybe it was because he was gay. Not directly, however. Homophobia isn't really a thing in Thedas, after all, so at first blush I didn't think that could work. "Rich kid gets kicked out of the house for being gay" wasn't a trope I wanted to explore. But, then again, magister families in Tevinter are *obsessed* with the appearance of perfection, so...? Any deviation from the "norm" is considered scandal-worthy. It said weakness. It said you couldn't control your house. Now... THAT had real promise. The writing pit discussed it a lot. So I think it's fair to say that the gay fairy was already circling Dorian even before we got to the romance talk. I think it's also fair to say that the rest of the team realized I low-key wanted to write him, because when everyone started calling dibs, who was left standing for me? (I pick last, remember.) I gleefully snatched him up and got to work... ...about six months later. I was very busy at the time. 😅 That late start meant I had to design and write VERY quickly. And I did. Somehow, though, this one... it came easily. "Catty gay man" isn't digging very deep, no surprise to anyone who knows me, and it had an extra layer of being so fun because Dorian was confident. He sparred verbally. I loved it."

"There was more to it, however. The conflict between Dorian and his father... ugh, how do I say this? Let's be clear: Dorian's story is not MY story, but it's also not far off. I wrote the entire confrontation scene in one go. After I was done, I probably cried harder than I ever have in my life. 🫠 I was unsure whether it was any good, however. I just didn't feel objective. I passed it over to Cori May - my friend but also Dorian's editor - and asked her to please tell me and be honest. She read it. She walked into my office after, tears streaming down her face, and just nodded. "It's good." Here's the thing. Not everyone is going to agree with this, but: I don't think a writer NEEDS to be a minority in order to write a minority. Sometimes those characters should simply exist, and we want them to. But if that character's story is ABOUT their experience as a minority? That's different. Dorian's story didn't need to revolve around his sexuality - and, honestly, it only did so as a tangent to his family issue, but they're so bound together it's probably irrelevant to split them - but my writing him meant it could be. It allowed me to SAY something. That felt good. It felt right. Ramon Tikaram came on board after a lengthy casting process (so many British Indian accents, oh god). I sat in on a few recording sessions... the confrontation scene, though? Ramon: *says line* Me: (curled up on a nearby sofa in fetal position) *shaky thumbs up* Caroline: "Yep. Great work, Ramon!""

"Dorian's sexuality isn't all he's about, but that's certainly how some viewed it. When the character was announced in 2014, his being gay was mentioned as the last of a number of points, and the instant response from some gamers was to act as if we'd called a press conference just to say THAT. 🙄 It was annoying. Still is. Overall, however, the reaction to Dorian was very positive. The number of straight men who said they romanced him still pleases me. The number of fans who privately contacted me who'd been through conversion therapy, some who said Dorian helped them survive? Well. Gosh. 😭 I did write him for Trespasser - though I hear that a late scope cut meant every conversation had been chopped by 1/3rd or more, and that meant a lot of nuance lost. Which is sad, if true, because it sounds like the result of that left some Dorian romancers a bit cold. Such is how game dev rolls. 😔 If you need more proof of how it was hard for me to let go of him, a short story I wrote after Trespasser came out where Dorian has a bit of closure with his dead father: medium.com/@davidgaider... So yeah. He'll always be my boi. And I'll always be thankful Bio gave me this opportunity. ❤️"

[source thread]

User: "I'm not going to lie, it's hard to take my mind off Dorian almost having a monkey." David Gaider: "If by “almost” you mean there was a picture of a monkey that the concept artist put there as a whim, and which would almost certainly have taken more cinematics and modeling time to put in than we could ever afford… then yes. 😉" [source]

[ailithnight]

D'ya think somewhere in the middle of this, trying to stay on top of the ghosts and avoid the Titans, Danny might just... stop going back to his human life?

Like, he'd already been withdrawing since before the Titans arrived. Then this whole mess with the living heroes, pushing himself to be more and more proactive. What if one day he just didn't go back home at all? What would everyone think?

Hanging out with his friends less and less, skipping or sleeping through classes, missing curfews, neglecting chores, not even showing up for meal times. All major red flags. Someone was bound to notice them, right? And then Danny Fenton just doesn't show up anywhere for a whole day and... really what is anyone supposed to think? What could they possibly imagine except that there's a body to find somewhere.

And let's say Danny hears the rumors before making it home. Probably has a big ole crisis about it. Feels super guilty about making his friends and family worry like that. Wants to rush home right away to set things straight.

But then, he pauses, thoughts slowly sliding through the molasses of his exhausted mind. And it occurs to him, if he goes home, they'll be watching him. If they think he suicidal, Jazz at least wouldn't let him out of her sight for who knows how long.

How would he keep the ghosts in check then? And especially with these strangers in town, who have this weird habit of running straight into the danger zone every time, Danny has to keep the ghosts in check. So... so maybe he shouldn't. At least not until he can get things under control.

He can, he can reassess afterwards. See if there's still a place in the world for Danny Fenton once Phantom cleans up his mess. If Phantom can clean up his mess. If there's ever time to be Fenton again. If not, well, this was the eventuality anyway.

.

After about two weeks of trying to catch up with and talk to Phantom, the Titans are approached by a small group of teens. A couple of freshmen and a junior. The group looks worn down, exhausted, and aggrieved. They ask the Titans if they are heroes. Once conformed, they say they want to make a deal. The junior offers a thermos of a by now familiar design. The freshman boy claims himself an expert in getting tech to work in Amity Park. The freshman girl says she has a grand collection of old occult texts they could use for research.

The trio wants to help, in any way they can, the Titans get their talk with the Ghost Boy. And all they want in turn is answers. They want to know, not just be told the likely scenario, they want to know what happened to their friend and brother. The missing teen the Titans heard about but hadn't considered a priority to divert attention from their investigation into this ghost business. What happened to Danny Fenton?

The Titans set out to investigate a town rumored to be haunted. There they find a ghost boy tirelessly defending his town alone.

[rafeysangelbaby]

How Bambi!reader met Rafe...

trigger warnings!!: religious trauma, parent death, rafe just being a perv in general, innocence kink, coercion, i think thats all but please message me if there is more!!

at least your truck beats walkin'...

You meet Rafe in mid-october, the sun shining through the patterns of trees as you rode down the dirt path towards the old Angels oak tree. It had been your favorite place since you were little. you had fond memories of mama bringing you down here for lunch on days where your father got real busy with work. Now, with momma gone, it was your favorite place to read your bible and get away.

The beaten pages of your bible flap in the wind, and if you had been paying attention you would have noticed the weird way it was sitting in the basket. you were distracted, the dream you had the night before bombarded your brain with images of abandoned churches, and fire, it felt so real you swore you could feel the smoke burning your lungs when you woke up.

you hit a bump in the road, you had driven over it a million times, however, you watch with a gasp as your old bible launches into the air, flying several feet behind you.

you stop the bike quickly, leaving it in the middle of the road as you panic over potential distress to your bible. you’d had it for awhile and it was worn from how frequently your mother had read it to you, instilling the verses into your brain, but it was still yours and you felt guilty that you’d dropped it.

you look around frantically, so distraught that you don't even notice the car hurdling down the road towards you, clearly holding no intention to stop. you grip the cross hanging from your neck, muttering a prayer for forgiveness as you rush towards it. you bend down to grab it before hearing a loud crash from behind you. you let out a shriek at the noise, practically jumping five feet back as you pop back up. you had never seen cars on this road, or anyone else for that matter, how were you supposed to know there would be one now?

the door to the sleek black truck is quickly thrown open, the prettiest man you had ever seen hops out of it, slamming it behind him. he walks forward to assess the damage with an annoyed scoff before whipping his head towards you.

"the fucks wrong with you, huh?"

your big eyes are all he sees at first, how innocent and delicate you seemed. he watches as your pretty mouth opens in closes silently before setting into the plump pout.

"your bikes fucking wrecked, n' my trucks all scratched up, i mean, what are you even doin'?"

the man stares back at you, taking in your wide-eyed expression. "i-" you stutter, your whole body freezing up as you try to find the words, your doe eyes boring into his. his eyebrows furrow as he studies your startled expression.

"dont talk much, do ya'?"

his voice makes you feel strange, not terrified, but warm. your mothers words flash through your mind, "im sorry...im not ‘posed to talk to strangers...specially boys." a wide smirk spreads on his face as you slowly started to back up. you were fidgety, nervous, and timid like prey, he liked that.

"hey hey hey-" he says, holding out his hands in attempt to calm you. "you dont need to be scared, im just trying to get this figured out...okay?" he says, trying to get you to nod with him. you nod slowly with a soft, "okay" before slowly walking toward him.

"good, thats good." the condescending smirk that decorates his face makes your tummy flutter, wide eyes meeting his. "alright so, you wanna tell me what happened here?" he says as his big hand comes to grip the back of your neck, shoulders scrunching up under his hold before slowly relaxing.

you fidget with the hem of your dress, nerves causing your hands to shake, before you finally mutter out, "i dropped my bible..." he looks down at you, brows furrowing as he tongues his cheek.

"see, what i dont understand is why you left your fucking bike in the middle of the road...?" you pout, pretty glossed lips catching the light. rafe smirks, what he would give to have those wrapped around his-

"i had to go back and get it..." you hum, your pretty voice interrupting his nasty thoughts. he would return to them later, for now he was gonna play with you a little more.

"yeah...im still not getting why you didn’t move your bike out of the way, bambi..."

your cheeks flush at the nickname, you'd never had a boy call you anything like that...in fact really, you'd never had a boy call you much of anything before. Rafe smirks, pleased with himself for making you flush so easily, it certainly was a pretty sight.

"i-...i wasnt thinking about it" your voice is soft, almost angelic, a chill ripples down his spine as he thinks of what you'd sound like with your legs thrown over his shoulders, crying out his name. he smirks, grabbing the back of your head to force you to look up at him.

"yeah? well look at what happens when you dont think, you get yourself into trouble." he condescends, his rude nasally tone sending sparks to your tummy. you whine, realization washing over you as your eyes finally settle on your bike. he was right, it was totaled. he walks towards it, your lip settling between your teeth as you watch his big arms flexing as he pulls your bike out from under the front of his truck.

"looks like youre gonna have to catch a ride with me, doll." he hums with a tsk before walking around to throw your bike in the back. you look up at him, frantic, waiting with baited breath for him to come back around.

'i- no im not supposed to get in the car with strangers." you say while firmly shaking your head, and to your surprise his smirk grows wider. you were innocent, which meant you would be easy to mold. he holds out his hands again in surrender.

"im not gonna hurt you, here, my names Rafe, okay?"

you nod, pausing as he comes closer to you, your heart beating in your ears.

"you gonna tell me your name, bambi?" he says softly, his voice soothed you, making you let out the breath you didnt know you were holding, though for some reason your body was still on alert.

"its y/n" you meet his eyes, getting lost in the false sense of security his pretty blues offered. "alright, how about this, you go get your bible, alright? then ill take you home." you frown, unsure if you should. you didnt really have a reason not to, you knew his name and your bike was totally messed up, which meant you had no other way to get home. you could walk, but it was getting late and honestly, you didnt really want to. reluctantly, your head moves in a soft nod, your pretty doe eyes meeting his as you seek his approval.

"good girl, you go get it and then ill help you into the truck." you flush, your stomach doing summersaults at the praise. you'd never received much of that growing up, having this beautiful boy say that to you so easily, had your pretty panties all sticky.

you pad over to your bible, grabbing it with haste before returning back to him, staring at his pretty face as he helps you into the seat.

"there we go, dollface..." he says before strapping the seatbelt over you. he closes the door gently, as if not to scare you, before he walks back around to the other side. he takes of quick, wondering to himself why he'd never seen you before, silence filling the car as he thinks.

"where do you live bambi..." he suddenly speaks up, bringing you out of the trance you had been in as you watched the trees go by. "umm i live on the cut...not too far from here." you hum softly, and as you speak he nods, smirking as it clicks. you were a pogue, which made things simultaneously easy and hard. easy because tracking and watching over you would be a piece of cake, hard because asking people around him for information about you would be useless.

you go back to watching through the window, your gentle voice breaking the silence as you direct him where to turn and which ways to go. he's mostly silent for the rest of the ride, mulling over things in his head. you were so innocent, he couldn't have anyone getting to you before he did. he watches as you fidget with the hem of your dress, the short material riding up to reveal a bit more of your plush thighs, causing rafe to smirk to himself.

"you nervous bambi?" his voice cuts through what had been a peaceful silence, you had been zoned out as you thought about nothing, off in your own world. you couldn't lie, you were a bit nervous. you felt pressure, the lords presence lingering in the back of your mind as it always did, making you feel sick with guilt. you were gonna have to pray extra hard tonight.

you nod, biting your lip as you bring your knees up to your chest. "yeah...just a little bit" you say as you look over at him, waiting for his reaction. he hums, looking over at you as he pulls onto your street

"you dont need to be nervous angel...just wanted to make sure you got home safe." you nod, reaching over to your car door to climb out, watching as he does so as well. you lean against the truck as he grabs your bike and sets it against the wall of your house. you pout up at him, the face of innocence. god, he was gonna have fun with you.

"thank you rafe...i really appreciate it." he nods, looking you up and down with a smirk. "don't worry about it, y/n, just be more careful next time, okay?" you nod, watching as he gets back into his truck, before padding to your front door. he watches as you bend over to grab the mail, clearly unaware his eyes were on you. he lets out a breathy, "fuck-" as he sees the way your baby pink panties press up against your puffy lips, damp and sticky from the interaction. he snaps a quick picture on his phone before pulling out of your driveway. a smile taking over his face as he puts your address in his notes app as he drives away.

yeah, he was definitely going to have fun with you.

authors note!!: i hope you guys like it!! it took me so long to write the whole fic and lowkey i think its not great but we will see...

tags!!: @nemesyaaa @starkeysprincess @sematarygirls @gibson-g1rl @sirlovel @chloeisbunny @everinlove @meowgirl1 @chrisfortheblackgirls

[tsuutarr]

As just imagined then everything as a game and the hero as seeing like a freak by all the people and the reader as the only good and nice npc then treat him well and even give him free item even if our store is not very we still give him a apologize about the others (npcs) being rude with him and the hero being so delusinal the fall over us lol

so, because i have absolutely NO self control, I made another story <3

Yandere! RPG Protagonist x Reader

Gallius isn’t entirely sure when he gained sentience. Maybe it was when he’d have insistent feelings of déjà vu. Maybe it was when he would want to go somewhere or do something, but an external force prevented him from doing so. Maybe it was when the people he talked to would say the same things over and over and over again.

Regardless, one day, he realized that he doesn’t actually exist – at least, not in a way that matters. He’s just a piece of code, a bunch of pixels moving across the screen, trapped in a video game.

The worst part is that everyone around him – and he means everyone – lacks sentience. It’s gotten to the point that he’s memorized everything. Every dialogue, every story path – everything.

It’s a fruitless life, really, especially since he’s forced to obey his code. He’s forced to go along with whatever the person controlling him wants. He’s forced to be the happy-go-lucky protagonist. He can’t be anything but that.

Gods, he’s going to go insane.

And he’s tried to talk to people, really.

“Hey, so, I think we’re in a game.”

“Beer is fifty percent off, young man.”

Gallius never thought the tavern’s owner could look so lifeless. “So, you know, I guess you really don’t have sentience.”

“Man, can you believe the monster outbreak?”

“Don’t you wish there was a way you could… I don’t know, break free? Talk beyond your code?”

“Beer is fifty percent off, young man.”

Gallius holds back a sigh. The tavern owner says three things exactly. “Beer is fifty percent off, young man”, “Man, can you believe the monster outbreak?”, and “I don’t know if I prefer a full tavern or an empty one!” are the exact phrases the tavern owner recycles. It isn’t just the tavern owner, either. It’s everyone else in town. The blacksmith, the carpenter, the seamstress – all of them.

It kind of drives him insane. Maybe that’s why he tries to find solace in anything he can, like you.

“Gods, I hate being the only one who sees that we’re a pile of code,” he tells you. You’re a cute shopkeep – whoever designed you must be a genius – that he likes to see from time to time. If anything, you’re easy on the eyes, at least.

“Yes, it does appear that you’re having quite the rough time,” you say. He knows you’re just saying one of your coded phrases, he does, but he can’t help but latch on to that piece of support you give.

“Yeah, you get it.” He laughs dryly. “But what can I do? I have to keep going. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“You’re doing well. I’m proud of you.”

Gods, he can’t hide his grin. Yes, you’re just saying one of your phrases, but the comfort your words bring – it’s unreal. It’ll probably be even more unreal if he could actually talk to you. If you both had sentience, if you both could go against your code. The thought makes him fall silent.

“...Hey, I’m gonna leave for a bit. Maybe a long time,” he says finally, determined to help you break away from your code. He doesn’t really care too much about the other NPCs, but you? Oh, he wants you. He wants to talk to you, to be with you in a way that matters.

“Have a safe journey,” you say, automated. You hand him a potion, a freebie from your shop, with a smile. “On the house.”

Gallius smiles, taking the potion from you. Yeah, he’ll find a way to give you sentience like him. That way, you guys can truly be together forever.

[wonderjanga]

I… I love my Uncle. *grimace*

Billy impersonates Ebenezer a lot. And by a lot, he means a lot. His “uncle” is the go to adult for everything because for some reason, he’s still listed as under the man’s care.

Like, his “uncle” signed the waver that allowed Billy to become a radio show host.

Marvel: *reading the waiver*

Whiz Employee: “I just can’t believe it.” *sounds a little dumbfounded*

Marvel: “Believe what?” *finally signs the contract*

Whiz Employee: “That you’re Ebenezer Batson? The old creepy guy?”

Marvel: “I hardly think I’m old-”

Whiz Employee: “I didn’t even think you left the house!”

Marvel: *sounds slightly offended* “Well, I do.” *hands the contract to them*

His “uncle” is the person who works moving boxes for a little extra cash.

Marvel: *moving boxes*

Worker 1: *watching him* “Geez, that new guy is flipping huge.”

Worker 2: “I know, right? And guess what his name is.”

Worker 1: “What?”

Worker 2: “Ebenezer! Who would guess an at least eight foot tall man’s name is Ebenezer?”

Worker 1: *sounds perplexed* “Ebenezer? I woulda thought he was a Charles or something. He looks like one.”

His “uncle” is the person who shows up for parent teacher conferences.

Teacher: “Mr. Batson, it’s so lovely to see you!”

Marvel: “You too?” *sounds a little confused but shrugs it off* “So uhm… Billy?” *sits down*

Teacher: “Ah yes, Billy. He’s been doing well in class, like usual. He’s a really nice kid, he’s seems to have somehow gotten more nice ever since his sister joined our class.”

Marvel: “He has? That’s just wonderful. Speaking of his sister, what about Mary? Is she doing well too?”

Teacher: “Yes.”

Marvel: “Good.” *smiles and gets up* “Well, thanks for having me.”

Teacher: “I see. I see.” *nods head and waves as he leaves*

The Next School Day…

Teacher: “Billy, could you stay after class? I have to ask you something.”

Billy: *walks over to her* “Did I do something wrong teacher?”

Teacher: “Oh not at all. It’s just…” *sounds embarrassed* “Does your uncle have any close lady friends?”

Billy: *sounds horrified* “What?” *thinks she’s talking about the real Ebenezer and does not want to discuss that old man’s dating life*

Teacher: “Okay, phrasing it like that is my fault. Does your uncle have a girlfriend or wife?”

Billy: *stares for a solid few seconds before realizing she’s talking about fake Ebenezer* “No?” *now just extremely confused*

Teacher: “I see…” *nods head*

His “uncle” is the person who goes out to buy groceries.

Marvel: *paying for his food*

Cashier: *hands him his receipt* “Has anyone ever told you you look like Captain Marvel?”

Marvel: “Nope, not at all.” *takes his bags* “Thanks.”