#billie eilish x male reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollarbils · 2 months ago

Text

male fantasy | b.e.

billie eilish x fem!reader

context. when you encounter your ex girlfriend, an awkward moment turns into something more, and you both begin to rethink your decision to end things.

warnings. angst kinda, fluff

masterlist

cool wind fanned your face as your stride lead you through the streets of the Gloria Molina park. the faint jingle of your dog’s collar indicating which way you’d go next, as her small little being told you which direction to walk in. you weren’t focused on her, or your surroundings. instead, engrossed in the discussion you were having with your mom over text.

“fuck, i’m so sorry.” you hadn’t been looking at where you were going, and a sudden bark made you look up before you slammed into a girl with black hair. you wouldn’t have recognised her so quickly, had it not been for her dogs bark. a dog that had been all too familiar, and who’d obviously recognised you.

“shark.” it was quiet, but she’d heard it from above, observing how her dog circled your legs in excitement. your gaze lifted to her, and she gave you a weak smile, waiting for you to say something more.

“billie, wow. it’s been a while.” you said, interrupted by both dogs jumping when they’d spotted each other.

“yeah, shark’s obviously glad, he definitely missed you.” she chuckled somewhat awkwardly.

“how long has it been?” you pondered, trying to make conversation with the girl.

“since we broke up, 3 years i’d say?” a mumble followed her words as you considered how unbelievable it’d been that you hadn’t crossed paths in 3 years.

“so how are you?” when neither of you made a move to exit the awkward conversation in any way, you decided you might as well ask.

“uh, good, yeah i’ve been good. how about you?” her expression was sincere as she distracted herself with the handle of shark’s leash.

“same here.” the silence that followed was uncomfortable, as you held eye contact but didn’t speak. her features were unchanged, except slightly matured, but the familiarity was still present.

“look, this is weird ‘cause i’ve been caught off guard but we should talk more, i’ve missed you.” she was the one to break the ice, as both of you then slowly eased into each others presence.

“yeah, i’d love that.” she made a move for your phone, unlocking it due to the fact you hadn’t changed the password, and entering in her phone number.

“i also feel like we should really talk, we never got any kind of closure.” your relationship had ended in a haze of messy tears and headaches, you hadn’t talked it out mutually.

“like right now?” she laughed shaking her head, amused at your widened eyes.

“no, no. just call me. okay?” she smiled and you nodded, waving her a goodbye as she walked in the opposite direction. you watched her leave and she looked back, quickly meeting your eyes before you turned your head.

‘i got a call from a girl i used to know’

“hey, is this billie?” your voice filled her ear, confirming that your encounter had been a reality.

“yeah it’s me, i’m glad you called.” her tone was sweet, inviting. as if she’d gotten comfortable talking to you again.

“yeah?” that was still somewhat of a shock, you momentarily cursed yourself for letting her back into your life, unsure as to if this was a good idea.

“i was going to ask you if you’d want to come over for coffee or something?” your answer should be no.

“of course, i’d love that.” you found yourself speaking before having thought rationally about it.

“great! how’s friday?” she was audibly excited.

“perfect.”

‘we were inseparable years ago’

“hi, come in.” her voice eased the nerves that were upsetting your stomach, as you walked into her house. she’d moved out of her previous one, and you hadn’t been here before.

“i made you some tea, since you’ve never been a huge coffee person.” you smiled, grateful for the thought.

“thank you.” she lead you to the couch, and you both settled down, facing each other as you pulled your legs to your body.

“sorry for being so cold yesterday, i was just surprised to see you.” you sipped the tea, as you spoke.

“no worries, it was definitely a surprise for me too.” she chewed her lip as she looked at you.

“you’ve changed, you look older. in a good way.” she cracked a smile before responding.

“it’s the fact i haven’t got obnoxiously colored roots.” you laughed at her criticism of the famous hair colours.

“i loved the roots.” she raised an eyebrow.

“which colour?” she took her bottom lip underneath her tongue as she waited for a reply.

“all of them, especially green though.” that was the hair she’d had when you’d been with her, it would always be nostalgic.

“i remember bleaching my hair after we broke up, i thought it would help me get over you.” she chuckled.

“did it?” she shook her head.

“i’m sorry, billie, for the way things ended.” she frowned slightly, remembering the events of your breakup.

“i’m sorry too, you never really got an explanation.” she sighed, taking your hands in hers as she spoke honestly.

“so.. why did you break up with me?” she took a deep breath before speaking.

“i felt unloved. i know it sounds stupid. but i didn’t feel like i was your girlfriend.” you nodded, trying to understand her words as she continued.

“our love felt like a male fantasy.” she whispered.

“what do you mean?” the term had confused you in this context.

“as if you didn’t love me romantically, i felt like your friend and not your girlfriend.” her brows were furrowed, expressing her emotions.

“i’m so sorry, billie.” she stayed silent, not fully accepting the apology.

“do you still..” she trailed off, wondering if she even wanted an answer.

“i don’t know if i ever got over you, i guess i pretended i was. i really tried to hate you.” she found the comment amusing, smiling brightly.

“thank god.” she looked down, smiling to herself before returning to meet your eyes.

“hm?” you questioned.

“i still love you now.” she took your face in hers hands as you squeezed her knee.

“me too,” her smile was as bright as ever, “I’ll make sure I don’t screw up this time.” you were giggling against her lips.

‘knew we’d get along, and it was so.’

#Spotify #billie eilish #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish gf #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish smut #dom!billie #billie ellish lyrics #billie eilish fluff #male fantasy #hte #happier than ever #billie eilish angst

320 notes · View notes

billieeilishshusband · 1 year ago

Text

Billie Eilish Headcanons

she met you at the 2021 Met Gala, you two were placed at a table together.

Billie loves the name “sweetheart” she didn’t think she would because of how basic it is but she did.

She is a very touchy person, if your uncomfortable with that she tries her best for you.

She lets you use her breasts as a pillow.

Once you came home really drunk and freezing, you seemed so off.

You kept saying “just you billie” you dropped your body on her, your head laying on her boobs.

She likes to bring you on stage at her concerts

#billie eilish x male!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish smut #billie eilish headcanon #Billie eilish #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x y/n

579 notes · View notes

chrissv4mp · 6 months ago

Text

how im feeling most of the time🙁

dont EVER play this song around me you'll never wanna be with me again💔

#amiyah's yap sessions💞#male fantasy #billie eilish x reader #billie ellish lyrics #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish icons #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish #hmhas #hit me hard and soft #hte #happier than ever

33 notes · View notes

x4nnybils · 6 months ago

Text

real shit

#billie eilish #hit me hard and soft #be3 #billie eilish x reader #girlblogging #i love billie eilish #i'm sad #male fantasy #sadgirl

30 notes · View notes

strboyrion · 2 months ago

Text

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬..

𝐛𝐥𝐤!𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄.

This story can be found on wattpad @archie_is_an_addict, under the same name.

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭..

𝐘/𝐍 "𝐃𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐉𝐫." 𝐃𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐋/𝐍 as you

With music by: Kendrick Lamar and Tyler The Creator

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐄𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐏𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐎'𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥 as herself

With music by: Billie Eilish (herself; clearly, dumbahh)

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐬 𝐎'𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥 as himself

With music by: FINNEAS (himself 😐)

𝑆𝑈𝑃𝑃𝑂𝑅𝑇𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑅𝑂𝐿𝐸𝑆

𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐃 mother

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐎'𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐋 father

𝐌/𝐍 𝐋/𝐍 mother

𝐅/𝐍 "𝐃𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐒𝐫." 𝐋/𝐍 father

𝐆/𝐍 𝐋/𝐍 grandmother

𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐒𝐊𝐈 girlfriend

𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍 "𝐐" 𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐒 the fuck nigga ex

𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐃 the fuckboy

#billie eilish x male!reader #billie eilish #my writing #wattpad #author #fanfic #dsam #hmhas #kendrick lamar #tyler the creator #black love #male reader #love #damn #wwafawdwg #hte #mlw

8 notes · View notes

teaaagan · 2 years ago

Text

Leaf

Finneas: Why is Billie crying?

Y/N: She saw a leaf on the sidewalk and-

Billie: IT LOOKED SO CRUNCHY!

Finneas: Please don’t say what I think you’re gonna say-

Billie: AND WHEN I STEPPED ON IT THERE WAS NO CRUNCH!

Finneas: NO, NOT THAT!

#billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish x male!reader #billie eilish x male reader #incorrect quotes #platonic!reader #platonic reader #finneas #finneas o'connell #finneas o'connell x reader

691 notes · View notes

pigeonneaux · 25 days ago

Text

So glad the lesbians took over the Billie Eilish tag, because before Hit me Hard and Soft came out, all you could see in the tag was 1) weird IA softcore porn edits 2) paparazzi pictures and weird inappropriate screenshots 3) conspiracy theories????

#Overall mainly malegaze pictures :( not even full photoshoot collections like we get for male celebrities; tss #Billie eilish #journaliteuse #now i get to scroll past 2000words x reader fanfics ; as god intended

6 notes · View notes

prythianpages · 7 months ago

Text

'Cause It Was Always You | Azriel x Reader

summary: After eavesdropping on multiple conversations, Azriel finally gathers the courage to confess his feelings to you, thinking he's on the verge of losing you.

word count: 1,741

warnings: I guess angst at the beginning? But I promise it ends with fluff!

a/n: Billie Eilish's Birds of a Feather has been on repeat in my head and it prompted this cute little idea. Also shoutout to @nocasdatsgay for helping me with a codename for Az.

“I fear I’ll love Lapis until the day that I die…until the light leaves my eyes…until I’m in the grave, rotting awa–”

“y/n, you’re drunk,” Feyre had giggled.

“Drunk in love,” you sang in response with a giggle of your own.

And when one of Azriel’s shadows reported the silly little smile on your face, the silly little sparkle in your eyes, he shrunk back into the ones that had remained. His heart sank to his stomach, a cold, heavy weight settling there.

Because you were in love.

With someone that wasn’t him.

Azriel told himself that was the last time he’d eavesdrop. And perhaps, that wouldn’t have been a lie, if it wasn’t for the pesky little shadow that followed you around. It enjoyed dancing and flitting around you. Sometimes, it’d make its presence known by weaving through your hair or slithering up your arm. Most times, it’d trail behind you, like a little duckling.

Azriel tried to call the shadow back home but it was unwavering, choosing to linger in your presence instead. The same way he wished to linger by your side. And recently, the inky traitor had gotten into the habit of summoning more of his shadows to your side, weaving an invisible bond between you and him.

Every time a shadow returned to him, it brought whispers of your laughter, the sparkle in your eyes, and the softness in your voice when you spoke of Lapis. Each word you uttered about that male tore him apart, every confession cutting deeper than any blade ever could.

“If you don’t ask Lapis out, Jasper will do it for you and believe me when I say you do not want that to happen.”

“Okay, okay! I’ll ask him out. Tomorrow.”

That was a snippet of a conversation his shadows had reported to him earlier, cutting his morning training short. It lingered with him, haunting him throughout the day. And now, he found himself unable to sleep, constantly turning in his bed.

Azriel’s stomach twists into a tight knot, the storm raging outside echoing his inner turmoil. Tomorrow. He was running out of time. Fear and perhaps, even pride, kept him from telling you how he truly felt about you. But now, he found himself fearing something even worse. Losing you before he even had a chance to say it…

He didn’t want to wake up one day and regret his silence, regret not telling you how he felt because of pride or fear. He needed to do this for himself, to break free from the shadows of his past. He had failed to confess his love twice before, and the thought of a third failure was unbearable. This time, he couldn’t let fear hold him back. The risk of losing you to someone else was a pain he couldn't endure.

With a deep breath, Azriel steeled himself. He needed to find you, to tell you the truth about his feelings. Before anything between you and Lapis could blossom. He couldn’t let another moment pass without you knowing how deeply he loved you.

Which is how he found himself at your doorstep, in the middle of the night, clothes sticking to him like a second skin as the rain pours relentlessly down on him. His shadows stir in excitement, whispering anxiously as they hear your approaching footsteps. His heart is pounding, so fast and hard that he fears it’s going to explode.

“Azriel?”

Your voice is still marred by sleep as you blink up at him. That traitorous shadow hovers behind you, peering at him over your shoulder. He glares at it, and it quickly hides behind your hair. You don’t seem to notice it, either unfazed or truly oblivious to the shadow that had been following you around for so long.

“Did something happen?” You speak again, brows furrowing in concern. You step back into your apartment, a silent gesture for him to follow after you and come inside.

“I–” Azriel begins but he can’t bring himself to finish his sentence. He can’t even bring himself to move as his eyes catch the movement of your arms wrapping around yourself to ward off the chill of the downpour. The nightgown you’re wearing is thin and short. A glimpse of your exposed skin has a warmth rushing to his face and he’s blushing.

"I—" He tries again but when his eyes meet yours, his heart leaps into his throat, choking off his words. Oh gods, he can’t do this. He’s grateful for the rain as it masks the tears beginning to sting at his eyes. He thinks he’s going to be sick and–

“Are you okay?”

His shadows push him forward, wings shuddering in response. It’s now or never. He can do this. He takes a deep breath, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I love you.”

The words spill out in a rush, raw and unguarded. He watches you with bated breath, his shadows whispering every nuance in your expression—from the way your eyebrows raise and your mouth parts as a gasp escapes, to the way your eyes glisten with something he’s too scared to discern.

You’re rendered speechless, the silence that follows feeling like an eternity. Azriel’s wings slump, growing heavy. He clears his throat, averting his gaze. The need to retreat is overpowering what little courage he had gathered moments ago.

“That’s all I had to say. I should, um–I’ll be leaving now,” he stammers, so unsure and so unlike himself.

“Az–” you start, reaching out to him, but he’s already stepping back into the rain. He doesn’t think he can face your rejection, much less witness the look on your face if you don’t feel the same.

“Goodnight.”

His shadows are like a wall of resistance, fighting against him as he turns to make his leave. He asks them—begs them, even– to swallow him whole. To winnow him away and save him from further mortification. But they refuse. Stay, they insist, tugging and weighing his wings down.

It leaves him with no choice but to walk away. Every step feels heavier than the last, the rain soaking him to the bone. Listen, his shadows urge as they continue to tug relentlessly at his wings for him to turn back around and face you.

But he can’t. Not when the Mother has seemed to have cursed him with loving those who could never love him back.

“Azriel!”

His mind screams at him to keep going, to keep walking away. However, the plea echoed in your voice has his chest tightening. His heart overrides his mind, shadows only encouraging him further. He turns around just in time to catch you as you leap into his arms.

Your legs wrap around his waist, arms encircling his neck in a desperate effort to keep him from leaving. His own arms respond immediately, securing you to him.

“Don’t go.”

Your breath is warm against his neck as you tighten your embrace, and his wings curl around your smaller form in response, wanting to shield you from the relentless rain. He feels you shift in his arms, pulling away just enough to look into his eyes. One hand reaches out, tenderly brushing the dark fringe from his forehead. His breath catches, and you must sense his inner turmoil because you gently smooth away the furrow of his brow with your thumb.

“I love you,” you say, your hand caressing his cheek. Despite the cold, harsh downpour, your touch is warm and soft. A balm to his frayed nerves.

His heart swells with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming joy. He had prepared himself for rejection, for the familiar sting of unrequited love. But here you were, confessing your love to him with the same vulnerability he had shown you.

“Really?” he whispers, voice thick with emotion, eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

“Really.”

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he murmurs, his voice trembling with relief. “I thought I’d never have the chance to tell you.”

“Lose me? Azriel, you’ve always had me.”

“But you said you loved Lapis? You were going to ask him out–”

“So you were spying on me!”

Azriel’s eyes widen, cheeks flushing all over again and he’s glad it’s dark enough to conceal it. “No–I–not intentionally…my shadows, they…,” he trails off, realizing how ridiculous he must sound.

Yes, his shadow refused to come back to him. But he didn’t stop the others from reporting back to him so with a defeated sigh, he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Azriel,” you giggle and he’s frowning at you, not finding the humor in the situation. “You are Lapis.”

“What?”

“You’re Lapis. Cas is Jasper and Rhys is Amethyst.” You explain, lips curling into an amused smile at the sigh of relief that comes from Azriel. How had he not realized that all those names shared one thing in common? And more importantly, that they were color coded to his and Cassian’s siphons?

“I needed a codename for you so I can gush about my feelings for you without, you know,�� you tilt your head toward that nosey, barely visible shadow that had been following you around. Sensing the attention, the shadow dips and hides again, curling around the back of your neck.

“I fear it’s yours now,” Azriel replies, almost sheepishly.

“Good,” you smile at him. “I’ve grown rather fond of it. Just as I have over its master.”

His shadows take your words as a welcome invitation, swirling and dancing around you both. Azriel’s arms hook underneath your thighs, pulling you even closer to him. Your arms find their place around his neck again.

Then, you're closing the small distance between you and kissing him. Warmth spreads throughout him, reveling in the sweet sensation of your lips against his. The rain continues to pour, but neither of you care.

When you finally pull away, he leans his forehead against yours, his eyes remaining closed as if in fear that this is all just a dream. You gently kiss his nose, your soft voice reminding him that this moment is real.

“I love you.”

Azriel’s eyes open, looking right into yours. “Until the day that I die,” he tells you, echoing your devotion.

There’s a knowing spark in your eyes as they search his own for answers. It has his lips lifting into a smile that mirrors yours, confirming that he had been eavesdropping on your drunken confession weeks ago. Your smile widens.

“Until the light leaves my eyes.”

This was a better idea in my head but hey, at least I finished it. I also don't know the logistics of having a conversation in the rain but that's the beauty of fanfic, I guess?lol Anyway, I could not get these lyrics out of my head. They were so Azriel coded for me:

I'll love you 'til the day that I die 'Til the day that I die 'Til the light leaves my eyes 'Til the day that I die I want you to see, hm How you look to me, hm You wouldn't believe if I told ya You would keep the compliments I throw ya

the way I keep fixing these lyrics but I think tumblr is glitching or something uggghh, pls ignore the random mismatched sizing

Also just wanted to point out that if Az hasn’t confessed, reader would’ve done it the next day anyway 💀

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel imagine #azriel fluff

2K notes · View notes

s3thwrit3sstuff · 5 months ago

Text

❝ I could never choose to love another (maybe one day I can learn to love you too). ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | angst, unrequited love, arranged marriage | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 3.7K

warnings: minor mentions of homophobia, emasculation (r! is forced to wear traditionally female garbs due to "tradition"), angst.

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

"You were born bluer than a butterfly, beautiful and so deprived of oxygen. Colder than your father's eyes — he never learned to sympathize with anyone."

"You were born reaching for your mother's hands. Victim of your father's plans to rule the world. Too afraid to step outside, paranoid and petrified of what you've heard."

authors note: (whisper chanting) wedding, wedding, wedding *song on repeat: BLUE by Billie Eilish

Black was the colour of elegance, formality, and misfortune.

It’s resolute. Existing in carefully filtered hues of shadows. The colour swallows up everything. A sharp contrast to everything it’s put besides. Your eyes are naturally drawn to it. Then, like everything in nature, the colour black has its equal.

White was a symbol of good fortune, and innocence.

Just as powerful in the way it both lifts other around it and yet becomes the most striking. A balance in their nature.

They’re unifying colours. Opposites but equal. A dichotomy that humans have found themselves philosophizing over. Yin and Yang, they were two fishes circling each other in the pond; they belonged together just as much as they seemed totally opposite of each other.

You suppose that’s why you’re wearing white for your wedding and Satoru, black. A binding of hands, families, fortune and misfortune.

A tradition of celebrating a union of equals.

A lifelong partnership.

It feels more like a sham to you.

This ceremony was unneeded and unnecessary. You’re sure a simple contract would’ve been more than enough. But, as great clans of sorcerers, traditions were not to be taken lightly and you were marrying into the Gojo Clan of Japan. This elevates you and your family’s social standing — finally being able to suckle at the teats of High Society and their riches without having to strain your necks and stick your tongue like a runt.

You will be Gojo (Y/N), husband to the most powerful sorcerer in your lifetime and you will be grateful and content. You will be taken care of. Never worry about anything because you will be just as untouchable as your other half.

Despite these “truths,” your heart feels so heavy you’re sure it has dropped to your stomach.

Like a frenzy of snakes, your intestines have wrapped themselves around your frantically beating heart; coiling and squeezing because this feeling has not left you the second Lady Gojo had come to discuss what alterations you needed to make for your wedding garbs.

Your breath hitches as your servants carefully tighten the obi around your waist. Your arms are outstretched as the servants busy themselves with tending to you. Those dolls you’ve seen your cousins play dress-up and make-believe with, you’re beginning to pity them. The hands are invasive as they worry about the way the fabric is falling and if there are any wrinkles in sight; your hair was kept neat and out of your face for the hard wig they were putting on, they do this after they painted your face with powders and colours.

The bags under your eyes concealed delicately and your lips pampered so there'd be no imperfections in sight.

All the while, they say nothing about the grimaces of discomfort on your face. Simply nodding in approval once satisfied. They tell you they’ll place another layer of cloth on you and you tell yourself that you’ve been through much worse.

But the second that weight settles, you can smell the incense they burned at your mother's funeral. It’s strange how one's brain can make these correlations. Bridging a memory completely unrelated to now and ruining it.

The smoke glides across your face and up your nose. The burn of them makes your eyes water. That smell — no amount of flowers could ever get rid of that burning smell.

“Young Master, do you need anything?” their voice surprises you enough for tears to fall. The servants gasp quietly, suddenly concerned at the state of you.

As if you’re a doll that had just come to life in the middle of play. This servant has the most unusual hair, inky black but in a way that’s obviously fake as it shines unnaturally blue under the sunlight. You wonder what their real hair colour is, so your watery eyes look at their eyebrows.

Stained, no giveaway to the truth.

Their voice was deep but also gave nothing away. A truly androgynous individual, with the most peculiar haircut. Blinking away the tears, you shake your head and turn away.

“No, I’m alright. Just overwhelmed, and excited,” you chuckle. “It’s my wedding day after all.”

They weren't convinced. Those coral coloured eyes seemed to ripple; as if a stone had been thrown into a calm lake. The servant turns and coldly announces for everyone to leave the room. Your older servants, your mothers, squared their shoulders.

"The young master should not be left alone on his wedding day," she begins. Her voice giving you a minute sense of comfort. She was a kind woman. Loyal to a fault. She cared for you the best she could, offering you her shoulder to weep on when she told you of your mothers sickness.

"You forget your place among us, young one."

The peculiar servant regards her with a placid expression. Yet, when she moves to approach you, they extend their hand out to the side to stop her.

You look between the two of them as they openly glared at each other. They lean in to her ears, hair slipping forward like a curtain, and they whisper. Whatever it is that they murmured makes her skin turn pale. She whips her head, gasping as she stares at them in horror.

Then, you were alone.

"What was that?" your voice was heavy with trepidation. The servant assures you with a polite smile. "My job is to ensure you are alright, Young Master. The room was beginning to get stuffy. Please, allow me to dress you myself."

Themselves?

It took three people in order to create the padding around your body. Essentially mummifying you in white so your shape was not distorted. Then another two servants assisted in your wrapping, securing the padding to your body and tying everything into place.

Like a proper bride.

It was emasculating. But the elders were already unamused by the binding of two men in matrimony — they demanded the wedding remained traditional. You found it hard to care, wanting to get this over and done with already.

The servant tilts your head up, gently pressing a cotton pad to your tear line and offering another smile. They smooth out what they can of your robe, getting behind you and quietly taking off the clips around the rim of your collar. It helps you breathe, if only a little, and your shoulders droop.

You suppose there isn't much else to be added onto your ensemble. But you appreciate the care they're putting in refining the hair accessories on your wig, using the flat sides of a rat tail comb to ensure the lace front was pressed neatly.

"...It feels like a helmet," you confess dryly. "It looks like one, doesn't it?" You gesture to your head.

"A pretty one," their reply makes you chuckle.

"They dress me up like this in order to humiliate me and my clan."

Your fingers curl into fists. They tilt their heads, regarding your fists with a glance then moving to your right to check the state of the lace.

"Do you feel humiliated?"

You twist your head, your expression now warped with simmering anger.

"I'm a man." You seethe.

"A beautiful one." They remind you. Not flinching at the subtle warmth your palms are emanating. "Why should you feel humiliated when you look as beautiful as the rising dawn? Don't do that."

They lean in and your breath hitches. You're so close you can tell they've combed through their lashes with mascara, feel the hardened brush of them on your cheek as they whisper in your ear.

"Don't give those rotting old bastards sorcerers the satisfaction of looking at the top of your head."

When they pull away, you feel like you can breathe again.

"I will be placing the wataboshi for you, Young Master."

You nod, the ache in your shoulders disappearing.

Wearing white is to symbolize your bride's willingness to be dyed in the grooms colours. Satoru thinks that's a bit of a dramatic description. It sounds more ominous than it does romantic.

He grunts as his servants tie the endless seams and cords. Folding it, smoothing it out — Satoru feels more like fresh dough being kneaded than he does a groom. The servants hasten their pace. He feels worn out. A vein on the side of his head pulsing as he reminds himself to unclench his jaw.

He can see himself in the reflection of the tri-fold mirror before him. He looks proper. Dressed in a black haori, with the striking white emblem of his clan on either fold.

Willingness to be dyed in his colours?

He sighs, furrowing his brows to keep his eyes hidden away. A servant asks if he needs anything, he waves their concerns away and tells them to continue.

"Are you sure if this is what you wish to do, Satoru?" his mother's voice echoes in his mind.

"I won't allow him to be humiliated further because of my actions. I have to be responsible. I have to marry him."

"You have to marry him?" she arches a brow his way, lifting the cup of tea to her lips as she watches him.

"You're mistaken, Satoru. The only one with power in deciding if this marriage is not the (L/N) Clan. It's us. It's you."

(Y/N)'s decisions do not matter. You accepted his dowry. Refused any other, is what she's telling him. The Gojo Clan's status is leagues above yours. If you refuse to marry him, Satoru can't imagine the ridicule you'll face. Your father — and his new bride — would cast you out.

It sickens him how weak you are. Your social standing is already so fickle, your clan just beginning to shake the fleas of the lower ringed trash from its fur. You deserve better than this.

You deserved choices.

He had never seen someone more devoted to sorcerer politics than you. You were a good son, a dutiful son.

Yet, your fate is in his hands. If he rejects your hand, you'll be humiliated. If he continues this path, he fears for your happiness. You'll be forever tainted by Satoru regardless of the choices he makes.

Forever dyed in his colours.

He flutters his eyes open, straightening his shoulders as the weight of the kimono reminds him of your red-rimmed eyes. The day of your mother's funeral, your hands healing him and washing him away from grime and filth while Suguru's marks were still so dark and blooming.

What a good husband you'd be.

He can't allow you to be shunned by your family, by sorcerer society.

He has to save you. He has to honour you. He has to.

Because he loves you. He has to.

He has to.

For you.

He'd do this for you.

Satoru looked handsome. You can barely seen him from underneath the hood, keeping your gaze ahead at the back of a shrine servant's head as he leads both you and your soon-to-be-husband towards the shrine.

It rained a little earlier, the sky was no longer gloomy so it provided the scenery with a shimmering quality. The leaves of the old ginkos tree decorating the grounds with its golden and orange leaves; every sway of its branches speckling light onto the puddles of rainwater which makes it shine like a gem.

The servant with the peculiar hair, they held a red umbrella over both you and Satoru's hair as your procession continues.

"You look beautiful," Satoru says. You eyes widen. In all the hubbub, the chaos after your mother's funeral, your father's marriage, preparing for your own, missions slipped between here and there. You'd forgotten this side of Satoru.

This unabashed mouth of his. With that sharp curl and those perfect teeth and blushed lips. His voice sounds so light despite the heavy cloud that'd been lingering over your heads.

The Star Plasma Incident, Geto Suguru's betrayal, your marriage.

Your refuse to let your eyes water. If Satoru can be this strong, then you will be just as strong as he is.

"I'm sure you do to," he turns his head. Not that you can see it. Hence, the joke. Satoru smiles your way and you're glad this hood protects you from more than just wind, dust, and dirt. Because the sight of his smile would make your palms clammy and your heart flutter.

It gives you too much hope. It is your wedding day. Most would say hoping wouldn't be too egregious. You'll be performing your marriage before the shrine gods after all, praying to them for happiness and wealth in your future with your husband.

Satoru reaches for you, slipping his black sleeves through the divot of your elbow and steadying you as you climb the steps. From behind you, your step-mother awws at the display.

You're sure Lady Gojo is curling her nose at her voice behind her handheld fan. This fills you with a little vicious delight.

The gods should hate you for this, but you swallow down that guilt as Satoru hitches you closer.

You enter the Pavilion, admiring the architecture and care of the shrine masters and maidens. You feel hope building in your chest. Despite your best efforts, it begins to lift its head. This shrine has seen so many marriages. Such as the marriage of Satoru's own parents, and his parent's parents.

Despite being arranged, despite being loveless in the beginning, they seemed happy.

Your wedding robes descend on your shoulders again and the scent of incense wafts up your nose.

Your mother's final breath echoes in your ears.

You feel your throat close up.

The priest is announcing to the gods of your marriage with Satoru and all you can feel is nausea. He stands next to you and your head is held high, the elders and higher ups watch from the sides and you hope they can't see the way your mouth presses into a thin line.

Satoru is wearing black. He wore black to the funeral too and your mother, white. Your brain does that thing again — making correlations out of thin air.

You are not not a walking corpse. Satoru was not a man grieving. You are both getting married. You are supposed to celebrate. This is not a funeral. This is not an unfortunate event.

The shrine maiden before you offers Satoru a sakazuki dish filled with sake.

This ritual feels mocking. Satoru doesn't even enjoy drinking. His taste buds were akin to a child's. He prefers sweets, sometimes you marvel at how he hasn't gotten a cavity. So you wonder how his face is like when he takes his sips — despite the eyes on you, you turn to see.

He does not grimace. Not even a twitch in his brows. He takes one sip, the second, then finishes the sake.

His mother had told you that the first sip is to show appreciation to the heavens above and for their ancestors. The shrine maidens hands you a cup and you carefully hold it in your hands.

Fuck your ancestors. What have they ever given you?

Still, you bring the rim of the dish to your lips and take two sips, tipping the cup for the final one.

The second set of cups are supposed to symbolize you. The couple. It's a vow for you to care for each other for as long as you live.

Satoru's lips press over the edge, he drinks and drinks and drinks. He does not grimace, he does not falter. He closes his eyes, breathing out slowly as he hands the maiden his cup.

You watch. Entranced. Hoping to see a frown, a sign that he does not want this.

You take your cup and drink.

The third is meant for fertility. Both you and Satoru drink, ignoring the curl of the elders lips or the disdain in the others.

Fuck them, the both of you thought together.

You're offered a wooden comb and carefully wrap it in cloth before holding it between your palms, holding your pressed thumbs to your chest as you pray.

It is Satoru's turn to watch. He can see your lashes across your cheeks, the colour painted on your lips glimmering like the rain droplets on those golden leaves.

You were breathtaking.

When you stepped out of the car, he knew the old fucks were expecting a good laugh. Seeing you dressed in bridal garbs, with a veil, makeup and effeminate — they did not laugh. They drank you in, eyes widening at your beauty. It fueled Satoru with pride.

You're turning, Satoru blinks for a moment but turns to face you as well. You hold it between your palms and he cups his hands over yours. His large hands covering yours as he accepts the comb in front of the attendees.

This is a symbol of his determination, of his willingness, to make this marriage work.

He connects his gaze with yours and your lips finally part to allow you to breathe. He nods and your finger twitches for a moment but you give him the comb.

He then turns to offer it to the gods.

The sun is beginning to shine, clouds blowing away as you continue the next part; the reading of the vows to the gods.

He unravels the scroll, offering you the other end and you press your shoulders together as you both held it.

He reads;

"On this great day, before the Great Gods, we are wed. We are eternally grateful for this blessed ceremony. From today, we vow to love each other, to trust one another, to be there for each other for the good times and the bad; we promise that this will stay unchanged throughout our lifetime."

He reads out today's date. He reads out his title as your husband, then his name, and you swallow your nausea as you read out your title as his husband, then your name. You help him fold the paper back, hoping he didn't see how your hands tremble.

The shrine maidens come to your sides with a sprig of leaves. You both take it, hold the stem to between your fingers and the leaves to your head. Lady Gojo had told you this sprig would carry your thoughts and prayers through the end to the gods.

You hope they do not hear your cynical thoughts, your fears, your anxieties; you hope they can only feel the little bits of hope for happiness you're desperately wishing for.

Finally, finally, comes the exchanging of wedding bands.

Satoru's eyes softened as you slip his on. It's beautiful, intricate up close and simple from afar. The gem in the centre twinkling shyly under his gaze. You can't help but smile as he holds your hand in his, preciously slipping on your ring.

The silver glinting under the sun, as did the gem embedded in it. It was your favourite colour. He remembered.

The shrine maidens disperse, pouring sake into the cups of the guests and the both of you tenderly hold each others hands as you finally face them.

Gojo's parents watch on proudly, your father looked smug, his wife weepy as she blinks up at the heavens.

"Congratulations!"

They cheer, downing the sake, in celebration for your union and to Satoru's ascension as head of his clan.

You've done it, son. You imagine that's what your fathers expression is trying to convey. A well done nod sent your way.

You slip your fingers loose from Satoru.

"I know you're watching," Satoru grumbles as he slips his sunglasses on. The wedding was still ongoing, families dining together, and he excused himself for some fresh air while you changed into a more comfortable kimono.

"I felt it from the goddamn entrance of the shrine."

"He looked gorgeous," Suguru speaks from behind the body of a tree, twisting a gold leaf in between his fingers. "He's always been handsome, did those old fucks think putting him in white would be funny?"

Satoru does not answer. He simply stares at Suguru and yet, his wedding ring burns. He brings his gaze to it, flexing his fingers in an attempt to get rid of the phantom sensation.

"You here to give a wedding gift?" Satoru asks. Suguru turns and smiles. He had put his hair in a half-up-half-down hairdo. It suited him. A lot.

"Your hairs' gotten longer," Satoru's cheek twitch as the ring warms again. Suguru just offers a laugh, reaching into his robe and pulling out an envelope. He offers it to Satoru, who stares down at it.

"You actually gave us a wedding gift?" Satoru scoffs. Not yet reaching for it.

"It'd be rude of me not to."

"...Keep it."

Satoru tells a servant to speak from behind the sliding doors, effectively making them squeak in alarm as she stutters out that you're ready to step back into the fray.

"I'll be there shortly."

"Mah, Satoru — "

"Don't." He snaps out, glaring at Suguru.

"Don't." He says, softly now.

Suguru's eyes widen, his hurt evident as he gazes up at him.

"I'm sure your new church will need the money more than we do."

They say nothing to each other. Satoru turns to head back inside. Suguru's hands fall.

He hopes the Gods do not see this. He hopes the Gods can't hear how fast his heart is beating and how it breaks as he slides the doors close.

Satoru walks in just as you do. This kimono is less heavy, you move with a lightness in your step and no longer in stark white but instead in a gorgeous blue. The fabric dyed a darker colour at the ends to balance out the bright hues — the colour of your skin harmonizing the colours together just like your hair.

You looked at him, brows pinching at the sight of his sunglasses.

"Are you in pain?"

He should ask you that, shouldn't he?

After all you've been through, he should ask if you were hurt.

He shakes his head, smiling as he takes them off.

You're stronger then that. Pitying you, babying you, reopening the wounds you have — there was no need for that. You were his husband now, he will bare your burdens together. As he vowed to do in front of the gods.

He slips his arm through yours.

"Never. Not with you by my side, beloved."

You roll your eyes at him, ignoring how hot your cheeks feel at his lame attempt.

Maybe...maybe this could work, you tell yourself. Today went by so smoothly, it must be a sign.

Maybe you can be happy.

#s3thwrit3sstuff #male reader #reader insert #male reader insert #gay reader #male!reader #x male reader #gojo satoru x male reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x male reader #jjk x reader

364 notes · View notes

woongiesea · 2 months ago

Text

💙 ── 𝑰 𝑪ould 𝑬at 𝑻hat 𝑩oy 𝑭or 𝑳unch

shy!bttm!male reader x dom!top!jiwoong

in which Jiwoong's shy little boyfriend satsfies his appetite during his diet

content warning: gay sex, oral sex, anal sex, Jiwoong eating the reader out, Jiwoong calls the reader "Princess", lowkey rough smut, unprotected sex (dont irl !), muscle kink, slight degradation kink, slight slut shaming, cum drinking, this is just super freaky lmao. loosely inspired by lunch by billie eilish. mostly just smut with no real plot lmfao. (lmk if i missed anything !)

author's note: hi everyone !! this is my first fic so I'm like super nervous hshshsh i hope you guys enjoy <333

also, woongie in thank tops <333

Being sent on a diet to loose weight meant things for Jiwoong. Firstly, it meant that he always walked around with this stomach grumbling the slightest. And secondly, he was needy. So damn needy. So of course he couldn't help himself when you approached him late at night, shy and desperate to cum, could be? All he could think about was all the different ways he could eat up that perfect hole of yours, and drink your cum to satisfy his needs.

Jiwoong laid you down on the bed, your legs hanging off the edge, feet barely touching the floor. He gripped your knees with such strength you almost let out a small whimper from your lips, stretching your legs as far apart as they could, just for him. You could hear fabric rustling, as Jiwoong got down on his knees, face-to-face with your fully clotched crotch. He rubbed your thigh, his fingers squeezing around the flesh, glaring at your like a hungry predator. You whimpered, feeling Jiwoong's touch on your skin. You wanted him bad. so damn bad. And he needed you too. He giggled at the slight shivers you gave as his hand toyed with the straps of your underwear. He took them off, little by little, with so much care you didnt even notice until your member stood up, freed from its fabric prison, hitting the cold air. You gasped, and Jiwoong laughed at how sensetive you were. "You're so fucking responsive, we haven't even started yet, baby..." He slipped his hands under your thighs, lifting you waist up till you felt your dick make contact with his nose, high up. He kissed your balls, and you could feel his smile curving as he made contact with your skin.

His hands travelled from your thighs to your ass, placing your thighs on each side of his shoulder. He gave your ass a firm squeeze, his fingers slowly spreading your cheeks apart, causing you to erupt in a plea of moans. He was teasing you, unbearably, and all you could do was whine. Jiwoong had you under his complete control. He enjoyed this position, seeing you so weak and begging you to fuck him already. He laughed, throwing his head back.

"You're so fucking desperate, I love it. You're like a little bratty, princess, y'know?"

You blushed at the nickname, Jiwoong's words turning you on even more.

"Good. Now sit tight, Princess. The feast has barely even started."

You complied, feeling more and more turned on every second as his strong hands hoisted your ass up all the way to his mouth, watching his muscles bulge and ripple with his movements.

When his lips finally came in contact with your hole, it was pure bliss. Gently, me had out with your hole, pushing his tounge in deeper and deeper by each second. You moaned breathily, feeling the pleasure flowing through every cell of your body. Jiwoong was doing such a good job, it made you lose your breath. He never gave you a second to breath, making sure you were whimpering and moaning his name every second, curling up your toes, fists in the sheets, holding on for dear life.

"You...slut" Jiwoong gruffed through licks and wet kisses. "You like this? Being eaten out like the little whore you are?" He smirked. He knew what effect he had on you. Your dick twitched, tip coated with precum. Jiwoong grinned at the sight. His tounge swirled in your hole, faster and rougher, reaching the deepest parts of you, eliciting sinful sounds from your mouth.

"Earger to cum, hm?" He grinned darkly. You were on the edge of your release when all of a sudden he stopped. You whined in displeasure, about to say something desperate when you felt Jiwoong's lips envelop the tip of your dick.

He held you by the underside of your thighs, slowly setting you back down on the bed. He climbed over your fgure hungrily, devouvering every drop of precum that spilled out of your little pink tip. His hands clamped the sides of your waist, refusing to let you move. Your hands reached down, tangled in his bleached blonde hair. This moment was intoxicating. The way Jiwoong's tounge swirled around your dick and how perfectly it made you choke on your own moans and pleas to calm down, it was like electricity flowing between your bodies.

You didn't even get to announce your arrival when suddenly you were shooting white ropes into Jiwoong's mouth, who swallowed up everything that you gave him, hungrily gulping down the sticky white substance with desperation. He licked his lips, poking around for any small drops. He licked your dick clean, placing hungry, chaste kisses on top. "Fuck, Princess..." he groaned, gulping down the last of your load. "You taste so good. I want more..."

He crawled over to you, planting kisses all over your face- forehead, nose, cheeks, jawline, and finally, your lips. He devouvers your mouth each time, with skill and precision that scares you. He makes you gasp at the perfect times, giving him just enough time to slide in his tounge and explore your mouth. He was so good, he knew you so well, you could only melt under his touch.

His hands slid under the fabric of your thin shirt, rubbing his fingers against your sides in exactly the perfect spots that god you riled up for him. His hand trailed downward, till his fingers poked around the entrace of your hole again.

"You okay, Princess?" He asked for approval, you nodded silently. He smirked.

He pushed in two fingers at the same time, scizzoring you open, pulling out the whimpers and moans he's always needy for. You gasp, moaning his name. "That's right, Princess. Show Woongie how good he's making you feel~" he edged you on, till he considered you ready.

Unbuckling his pants and peeling off his tank top to some corner of his room, he threw your legs over his shoulder, impaitent to get to the good part. "Gonna make Woongie feel good, m'kay?" he led you on gently, pushing his tip into your entrance, causing a prolonged, lewd moan from you. Music to his ears. "That's right, baby, I got you... breath for me..." He whispered, letting you adjust to his girth as he slid it in, little by little.

You whimpered, breathing heavily as he slid in, filling your hole deliciously. You clenched around him, squeezing him tight. He groaned. "Fuck, princess, so desperate?" He smirked, slowly rocking his hips and moving you along with it. You gasped, fisting the sheets till your knuckles went white. You whined for more and more, greedy for pleasure as you chased your second orgasm of the night.

He fully unsheathed himself inside you, rocking his hips back and forth at a caluculated speed to hit your sweet spot over and over again, sending you on the edge as a moaning mess for his cock. He quickened his pace, hips snapping forward as he grinded into you, drawing out the pleas and whimpers he loved to hear, too blissed out to form coherent sentences

"You're doing so well, Princess. You sound like an angel. Cum for Woongie, 'kay?"

You nodded. He smirked, pushing into you at an erratic pace, sending you screaming in pleasure. Jiwoong's face darkened in pride at how he always ruined you, made you so cock-drunk and down bad for him. For everyone else, you were an innocent angel, but only for him were you a princess whining needily for more. He got off to the tears of pleasure streaming down your face, kissing and drinking them up. "Fuck, even your tears taste sweet, princess!" and with one final thrust he sent you into pure nirvana. All you could comprehend was White ropes of your thick white cum and Jiwoong climaxing and filling your tight walls with his white.

He stood back, hungrily eyeing his creation. Too fucked out to even comprehend words, breathing heavy and dripping with cum from every angle, his hunger only grew. He slipped off your dirty t-shirt, licking your cum off your body. You loved the feeling of his hot tounge roaming around your body, devouvering every inch of you till he was satisfied. He kissed your lips with passion and lust.

He looked at you with nothing but pure love in his eyes. "You did so well, princess. I love you. let's get you cleaned up."

113 notes · View notes

sevenop · 5 months ago

Text

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Red light

A/n: she just sees you with your abusive ex-partner.

Eilish has millions of red exclamation points flashing in her head blinking barely every second, and blue eyes fixed on you like the frighteningly mighty and cold glaciers of the Arctic. The only thing that seems to calm her down even a little is Finneas' presence nearby and the feeling of weight on her own knees. It wasn't just the charming bouquet wrapped in scarlet kraft paper: Shark, sensing his mistress's excitement, rested his massive bulldog face on her legs for support.

"What fucking right does he have to approach her?" - the look of concern centered in her concern is replaced with a sizzling one, the moment she shifts her focus of attention to the male silhouette standing across from you. - "After everything he fucking did!"

Finneas exhales tensely, clasping his palms tighter on the steering wheel of his red Tesla: the eco-leather creaks slightly from the tension. Eilish, frankly, envies him, because the desire is now behind the wheel, and not in the passenger seat, is off the scale, reaching maximum values. Several scenarios of how she presses the gas pedal to the floor, heading for your ex, flash through her head. And no, she's not ashamed, none of you three are ashamed of it.

Billie is a small nuclear suitcase with enormous destructive power, and you're the only one who can handle her. As the O'Connells pull into a quiet residential neighborhood to pick you up and go to Claudia's house together, the figure of your ex looms around the corner, heading toward you. Billie was ready to jump out of the car almost as she goes, and she doesn't give a damn about the pavement or the passenger seat she's strapped into. She'll rip that seat right out of the car and put it on her back, just so she can run up to you as fast as she can and become your shield. He's a whole head taller than you and two heads taller than her? She don't care! Your gesture is the only thing that stops her: your open palm, held out in front of her for a quarter of a second, and your gaze, which resembles in its seriousness the sharp metal plate against which Eilish scratches his wrists in his sacrificial desire to protect you.

"I want to run him over, Finn."

"I know." - Her brother touches her shoulder, squeezing her slightly while Shark whines. Wise blue waters, concentrated in his eyes, are also watching you closely. - "Just let her figure it out for herself, and if something goes wrong, we'll step in right away."

"His fucking presence here is already something that's going wrong." - A deep exhale squeezes her chest, and a dark bandana squeezes head. She sees you ball your palms into fists, and he smirks cheekily. Fuck!

Your lips move, dropping the scalding words she's trying so hard to read onto the pavement, and your opponent winds up waving his arms in anger and poking you in the shoulder with his finger. Forcefully and sharply. Eilish genuinely enjoys, imagining his phalanges crunching under her hands from the exertion.

"I'm going to fuck him up!" - her blue eyes burst with stinging lightning, and her hand instantly touches the metal handle on the door. Shark, feeling the muscles in his mistress' legs contract, immediately retracts his muzzle, brave at her. His deep eyes look childishly trusting, waiting for any instructions.

Finneas unbuckled his seat belt, fumbling for the button with his long, musical fingers (the beige strip immediately slides into place by the mechanism), and then grabs his little sister around the waist with both hands, pinning her to the chair. The door of the red Tesla slams close.

"Fuck, Finn, that's just impossible!", - Eilish was boiling like a teapot.

"Don't, Billie! Chill out!"

"Why do I have to sit here when some asshole is harassing my girlfriend?" - she throws his hands off her but stays where she is. Elemental brotherly-sisterly respect. Finn pokes at the display in front of him and all four doors click shut, locking. Billie takes offense and that's still putting it mildly, but both are well aware of how impulsive Eilish is when differentiated into the merciless, unforgiving garb of anger.

Your posture is calm, but also tense: she can see how strain your back is and how the tendons play under the skin of your neck. The man is almost spitting in your face, loudly spewing all the bile he has accumulated. Billie can hear the word "whore!" blowing through the windshield with the warm breeze. She turned her head expectantly, and saw Finneas instantly mirror her own gaze: blue eyes filled with a gray sheen, reminiscent of geysers. Him excellent upbringing is making itself felt, and Billie clings to it with both hands, bowling her brother's cold mind.

"Would you put up with such a thing if it involved Claudia...?"

Finneas is silent, and his nostrils flare: sometimes too good a creative imagination becomes a punishment.

"No." - Coldly, and with a note of impending anger.

"So let me out, be a good brother." - The voice drops to a trance-inducing muffled wheezing.

He exhales, filling the silence hanging over them in the moment. A chest heaves the floor of his white t-shirt, and his hands while face covers exhaustedly, when he weighing his options. Eilish knows he'll never let her down, so she watches calmly, even though everything in her stomach turns over with burning tension. The soles of her high jordans tap out a rhythm, trying to tame the impatience.

"Just don't make a mess of things, please, Bils." - His earnest, confiding plea.

The doors click muffled again. It's open. Kindred blueness meets for a second: her mute and sincere 'thank you', confirming his expectations, is legitimized by his nod. The red hair ravels beautifully in the sun.

And as soon as Billie has one foot on the sun-hot asphalt, you turn your head in her direction: the steel of your gaze meets her anxious seas. She freezes, clinging to the open door as Shark comes down with an amused tinkle of his claws. "Paparazzi," she reads from the curve of your lips before your nose meets head-on with the man's fist.

Eilish's mind was blown, and she seemed to forget for a moment how to breathe, even though she'd been doing it for twenty-two years without a break. Her eyes gleam a deadly murky sapphire, and her eyebrows converge on the bridge of her nose in a torn, streaky stroke of ink on paper, heralding infernal retribution. Now your words of warning carry no weight with her. Finneas is like a tall, graceful pillar, leaping out of the parlor in one merged motion. Running toward you with clenched fists, driven by a sense of righteous anger.

"Protect!" - Eilish's loud voice shakes the heat of the street and the pit bull snaps out of his seat, growling menacingly. - "Protect!"

She runs towards you and the pendants make a silvery clinking noise around her neck. She outruns everyone: her brother, her thoughts of consequences and reputation. It's now completely colorless and unimportant, the only thing ahead of her is the faithful gray dog that lives up to its name. The gray powerful back flickers, cutting through the air like a shark through the water. You only clumsily dodge another powerful blow, falling to the asphalt by inertia: the palm of your hand burns with the lingering pain of contact with the ground, revealing a thin bloody web, and your nose buzzes disgustingly. The dripping blood settles on your lips with a metallic taste as you squint, either from the pain or from the blinding sun, shielding yourself with healthy hand from another incoming blow.

You're the lord of the whole little army. Billie immediately snuggles you in his arms, diving almost bare-kneed onto the pavement with the ease of a phoenix; Finneas stands immovably across from you, covering you both with his broad back, looking like a vengeful archangel in his white T-shirt; Shark, like the devil from the snuffbox, who has caught hold of your ex-boyfriend's long pant and pulls the hard material toward him with a growl. The man shrieks, and all this three pairs of blue eyes give him a punishing coldness that gives him no hint of mercy.

"With me." - her strong voice excites you, giving you an adrenaline rush. The gray pit bull abruptly lets go of the cloth (causing the guy to almost lose his balance) and obediently sits down next to her, snorting.

"You Hollywood rich guys sticking up for that slu..."

"You shut your damn mouth now!" - Finneas stiffly cuts him off halfheartedly.

Billie rises slowly and strides toward them with such haughty superiority and a smirk that somewhere a whole cast of movie villains are weeping at their insignificance. Small, but so majestic. She abruptly grabs the guy by the collar of his solid-colored shirt, bending him almost in half: now she looks him straight in the eyes without raising her head a millimeter. The cold splinters in her eyes make a warning noise like a rattle on a rattlesnake's tail, making her "victim" almost whimper like a Yorkshire terrier.

"You come near her again, I'll wipe you out. Knuckle by knuckle, you understand?"

"You have no proof, I can turn it against you!" - his voice reminds you of the pathetic bleating of a lousy sheep.

And you laugh, literally sink into laughing, smearing the blood on your face with your fist. Everyone turns to look at you, but all you do is throw your head up in a fit of laughter. A smirk smeared with blood is your best accessory.

"You've remained a complete idiot! Did it never occur to you that you started to sort things out right in front of a lot of video cameras?"

You nod your head at the wooden courtyards one by one, and the man's confidence shatters. Finneas smiles contentedly, Billie immediately realizes the source of your confidence, immediately comparing the details of your scheme. And how sweet revenge becomes! Eilish pulls him back on top of him, regaining eye contact. The blue maelstrom halves him, spitting him out instantly. Her uber-confident smirk is the final chord on his microscopic dignity

"So I repeat - get out of here, you pathetic puppy!"

Shark barked contentedly.

×××

The four of you arrive at Claudia's house right after your visit to the hospital. Once they're all in the living room together, Billie doesn't let go of you for a second, hugging you defensively from behind and just sucking in your scent with her nose, nuzzling into your shoulder, neck, hair, whatever.

"I was so worried about you, underdog..." - the whisper burns the curl of your ear as you try to gently touch your slightly swollen nose with your fingers, oohing. A bruise, and that's glorious. Much better than a possible fracture. - "I'm not going anywhere from you now, ever."

"Billie," - you turn to face her, kissing the chiseled line of her jaw. The tip of your nose touches her neck, and you squeeze your eyes shut, multicolored sparks of pain scattering before your eyes. She immediately pulls away from you slightly, gently touching her palms to your face. - "You, Finn, and Shark are my best protectors."

"Careful, my girl."

You feel warmth and a slight tickle as she strokes your cheekbones with her thumbs. The previously restless blue eyes are now like a calm marina.

You giggle, and you're not entirely sure why, whether it's because of a silly thought or because Shark, who's lying next to you on the couch, grunted loudly in his sleep.

"Did I look like you in the 'bad guy' music video? You know, with all that blood on my face..."

Eilish chuckles, brings your healthy hand to her lips and bestows a flock of little kisses on each knuckle. You want to purr.

"Very similar."

And you smack her on the lips, rewarding her for every second she spent tense, watching you. You don't care if your nose hurts. It'll heal.

#billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish

255 notes · View notes