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shy-writer-999 · 2 days ago

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How many dreams to say "I love you?" (ii)

Summary: Zoro can’t stop dreaming about you, his best friend and crewmate. When his dreams start to wander from themes of romance and tenderness, he finds himself splitting at the seams. How long can he keep up this balance of night and day before he starts to go crazy?

Part 2 of 3 (or 4). ~5k words. CW: Mostly smut / PWP! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Poor, pervy Zoro. Non-consensual voyeurism, masturbation, toys, kissing. NSFW content - minors stay away!

Part 2: A double life is unsustainable.

As much as Zoro told himself that he learned his lesson—don’t eavesdrop on conversations that are clearly not meant for your ears—the dreams about you didn’t stop.

Days went by and he could find no reprieve from the phantom version of you at night. Torture wasn’t the word for it. Agony, more like. He was in agony. Every night.

While the swordsman affirmed to himself that the dreams were a non-issue, and that they’d inevitably stop soon, you were rapidly starting to infect every single facet of his life.

This duality was maddening—at night, he’d answer to a fantasy world with you, where you treated him like some precious thing, called him ‘baby’ or ‘honey,’ and kissed him. But during the day you were his crewmate, friend, and nothing else. He’d smile at you like usual, sit by you at dinner, and tell himself that nothing changed.

This was a half-truth. The only thing that had changed was Zoro. You were behaving typically, maybe a bit quieter than usual, but he told himself that he was overthinking it.

The issue was that you wouldn’t leave him alone at night, and each of your sickeningly heart-melting smiles during the day was making his heart do that twisting thing. He couldn’t stand it.

Zoro didn’t know why his brain wouldn’t abandon this fixation with you—it had almost been a week; how much longer would this keep up? How many more tender moments would he share with you at night before he went insane during the day? If he got to a breaking point, what would fix it?

The dreams were festering inside of him. Confounding this effect was that the quality of sleep he was getting was atrocious. It’s like he wasn’t able to rest properly at night because the dreams were so concerningly lucid—he felt like he almost wasn’t dreaming at all, just living in an alternate reality, a reality turned upside down, where you loved him and smothered him in affection. A reality where he liked that.

Zoro had no one to confide in about his troubles—you were the person who he was the most emotionally close to. If he could have told you, he would have. But he was worried that it would change something. What would blurting out his dreams and baring these hidden thoughts accomplish, other than make you uncomfortable?

If he did that, you may get the wrong idea. He wasn’t trying to come onto you, he wasn’t in love with you, didn’t have feelings for you, etc. Zoro didn’t think he was capable of romantic love, it just wasn’t in the picture for him and never would be. But that wasn’t the issue here, he told himself. In Zoro’s mind, the problem was that he was being tormented by you at night and couldn’t help it. He was at a loss for what to do.

You were one of the highlights of his days, even before the dreams started. Now he could feel himself, more than ever, looking forward to those moments and latching onto them during the day. He harbored the suspicion that his brain would memorize your face more each time. The dream version of you kept getting more lifelike, more brilliant, more real. It was uncanny.

After the first three nights, Zoro started to brace himself. He knew what was coming when he fell asleep. He knew you’d be there waiting for him in some new scenario.

DREAMS 5, 6, & 7: “You’ve been a bit spacey recently.”

The fifth dream Zoro had about you was one where you held his hand (literally, just you holding his hand, nothing else). Your hand was warm and soft—it felt like it was made for him, like you were made for him. You ran your thumb across his skin and squeezed his hand through your intertwined fingers.

It was a short dream. When he woke up, he could still feel your hand on his. If he kept his eyes closed, if he stayed still, he could feel your fingers, your weight, maybe even your breath against his neck…

When he woke up, he was befuddled. Seeing you on deck the following morning, he glanced down at your hands. Would they feel the same as they did in his dream?

The next night, in the sixth dream, you studied his face quizzically.

“What’s wrong babe? You’ve been a bit spacey recently.” Your eyes explored his face imploringly.

He said something in response. He couldn’t remember what it was, and it was of no consequence. After you studied his face more, you remarked, “Zoro, you have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.” He flushed even in his sleep and woke up moments later to a quicker heartbeat than was normal. This was seriously starting to concern him. As mundane as these sequences were, they were abnormal and confusing.

Were these dreams some subconscious manifestation of a nascent health problem? Or was he not training hard enough? Perhaps this was some form of self-performed punishment for being so distracted by your presence? Maybe he needed to double down on the stoicism and the ascetism.

The seventh dream was also mundane. You were wearing one of his hoodies and a pair of his sweatpants; you kissed him and told him he smelled good. He had seen you wear his hoodies before, in real life. You always had an excuse (“mine are all in the washing machine, can I wear some of yours?) and he always looked at you more than normal.

There was something about you in his clothes that stirred him inside. He didn’t know what was up with that. Something squeezed inside of him at the sight of your face peeking out of his hoodies, your limbs filling up his shirts and sweats; he couldn’t put his finger on it.

The morning after the hoodie and sweatpants dream, Zoro woke up perplexed. His dreams, in the wake of the conversation he overheard, stayed relatively romantic. They weren’t straying from themes of tenderness and endearment (well, except that first dream, the shower sex one).

The romance is what baffled him the most—he had never looked at anyone with romantic intentions before, so why was his brain throwing it at him? Why you, in particular? It was mystifying, suffocating, and excruciating.

There were floodgates inside of him, pooled up dams of emotion, burgeoning romance, desires and fears, and your conversation with Nami sent a shockwave through those walls. They began to crumble, and new cracks showed every night.

Zoro tried not to worry, but he had an understanding that this odd trend of (what was it at this point?) six nights consumed by you was only sustainable so far as the dreams stayed this way—tender and, above everything, mundane.

He was a regimented man. He stuck to a clear and concise schedule, as far as waking up, feeding himself, working out, etc. But the dreams threw a wrench in his daily routine. The negligent quality of sleep he was getting, even after only six days, was starting to have quite the effect on him.

He was barely keeping it together by the six-day mark, dark circles deepening into sunken rings under his eyes. He concluded that he couldn’t handle anything farther than these dreams of kisses and cuddles. If the dreams changed—if they got explicit, he told himself—then he’d start to really lose it.

Emotional turmoil be damned, he could retain a sense of normalcy as long as his waking hours went on as usual and nothing else changed. He may be exhausted, but he could cope. He hoped the dreams would fade into absurdity, cease, and leave him the hell alone.

This was a self-deluding hope.

DREAM 8: Breaking point

The next night, Zoro dreamed that he was walking around the ship aimlessly. He did a lap around the deck, meandered lazily through the galley, and checked the crow’s nest. It seemed like the whole thing was empty. Where was everyone?

He sauntered to check out the sleeping quarters. All the doors were open, the lights were off, and the cabins were empty, except yours. Your door was ajar and the light was on—he felt an overwhelming sense of curiosity. As Zoro walked towards your door, time seemed to alter. He moved in slow motion, laser-focused on your cabin, approaching slowly with bated breath.

As he got closer, he started to hear something.

It was a mix of sounds. There was a wet sort of clacking sound, first, and when he got closer to your door, he also heard faint gasps and gentle moans. His heart beat faster. He reached the door—it was only a couple inches open. He knew way lay ahead.

The sounds were getting louder. He leaned in, staring through the miniscule gap between the door and doorframe, to see what was happening. His hand was poised on the doorknob, ready to push it open.

When Zoro saw what was happening inside, he froze.

You were lying on your bed naked, thighs spread, propped up on your pillows. Your face was contorted into an expression of bliss, mouth agape just slightly, brows pinched together, eyes closed. His gaze travelled down to fix on your breasts, a perfect pair in his opinion. But your arms looked like they were moving, so his gaze trailed down farther. He saw clearly now that you were touching yourself.

You were moving one finger very slowly in and out of yourself; your sensitive spots were red and inflamed, juices seeping out and covering your thighs and hand. He listened to your labored breathing and heard the messy sounds echo through the room.

When you stuffed another finger in yourself, he heard you murmur something, but he couldn’t quite make out what you said. He leaned closer, his proximity to the door threatened to push it open.

You let the sound out again. He heard it this time.

“Zoro.”

Your moan was quiet and needy. He was mesmerized—you moaned his name again and moved your fingers faster. Your pitch increased, your body tensed up, you were so wet that arousal was pooling beneath you, saturating and staining the sheets.

He thought you were about to orgasm when you stopped suddenly, drawing your fingers out of yourself with a gasp.

Reaching to the side, you picked something up. Zoro’s brain registered it with a considerable lag—that was a vibrator. That was your vibrator. He saw it once on accident, when he offered to grab some of your laundry and put it in with his load.

That must have been months ago. When he walked into your room and looked for your hamper, the vibrator caught his eye, sitting on your bed as plain as day. You had forgotten that it was there. He found himself blushing and pretended like he hadn’t seen it. But now it made an appearance in his dream—how sick and twisted.

You pressed the toy into your entrance, pressing it inside yourself with it for a few moments before you pulled it out again. Every thrust of your wrist was coupled with a keen of his name.

The vibrator was dripping wet. A string of your arousal connected the tip of the vibrator to your core and his eyes followed as you brought the toy to your clit. Pressing a button, the vibrator sprung to life, filling the room with a low whirring and pulsing sound. You whined his name again and pushed the vibrator back and forth on your sensitive nub, toes curling in pleasure. Your other hand crept down and snuck a finger back into yourself.

Zoro was hypnotized by the sight of you getting off with both your vibrator and fingers, evidently touching yourself to the thought of him. Your moans got louder again, along with the obscene sounds emanating from down there. He could feel his erection. He was painfully hard.

You started to writhe and squirm.

“Zoro, fuck,” you mewled, tone pathetic and desperate. “Fuuuucccck me, Zoro, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your thighs started to shake.

It seemed like you were about to cum. He wanted you to cum, wanted to see you cum from fucking yourself with your fingers and toy to the thought of him—but right when you started moaning the loudest, right when you were one good pulse away from screaming his name, Zoro woke up. Of course.

Upon opening his eyes, he was immeasurably frustrated. Any time that these dreams, sexual or not, seemed like they were coming to a climax, he’d always wake up. It was like his brain was telling him to go fuck himself. And he was about to.

He couldn’t take it anymore, it was like his mind was playing games, like it was edging him or trying to piss him off. He was rock hard, about to cry from frustration, wishing more than anything that he could just have you, but knowing that would and should never happen.

Zoro had been telling himself that the dreams were just an aberration, a mistake, that he could forget about them during the day because they only were a nuisance at night, and nothing really happened in them that would impact his day in any meaningful way. But the narrative of the dreams not impacting his day didn’t hold up when he started to fist his cock while thinking about you.

He was forced to face the facts—the dreams were getting worse to the point where they started to bleed into his waking hours.

The morning after Zoro dreamed about you masturbating, he had to step away. Seeing you walk around the deck, interacting with you and watching you walk away… it was too much.

He went to the bathroom, locked the door, and palmed his growing erection until he couldn’t hold back anymore. Unzipping his pants and sneaking a hand into his underwear, he started to touch himself.

Maybe it had just been too long since he orgasmed (or even touched a woman). Sure, that’s what all of this was. His brain was grasping for straws because he was too repressed, right? You were there in front of him every day, so his brain had to make do—this was just a matter of proximity, nothing more. This is what Zoro coddled himself with, soothing his worries for a few moments. It had just been too long.

While he squeezed and stroked his aching length, he could barely keep in the feral grunts and groans threatening to leave his mouth. He bit his lip. Every time his fist grazed his angry, leaking tip, his cock twitched. It felt so good, but it would feel even better, if only…

At first, he tried to not think about you while doing it. He felt guilty enough as it was, having explicit dreams about his closest friend. But when his hand was wrapped around his shaft and precum trickled down his fingers in clear rivulets, the image of you touching yourself seared in his brain, unrelenting and arousing.

“Zoro.”

His name had sounded otherworldly when it parted your lips, coated in tones of lust and desperation. Just like the dreamscape he entered every night, composed of only thoughts, his thoughts in this moment could stay internalized too, couldn’t they? Kept private? This could be a one-time thing, hell, maybe it would make the dreams and nagging thoughts go away altogether. It had been too long, after all. Against his better judgment, the swordsman indulged. Just this once.

Scattered scenes flashed through Zoro’s mind the instant he decided to let his thoughts wander. All of it thundered at once like a maelstrom.

First, the look of your eyes, glossy, rolling back in your head in ecstasy. Then, the image of him shoving his cock in your wet mouth and watching you choke on it. The feeling of scissoring his fingers inside of you, of pulling your hair, of listening to your whimpers while he wrenched orgasms from you, pushing his fingers into your mouth while you sucked on them and made eye contact with him, watching your body writhe and writhe and writhe… every morsel and droplet of your envisioned pleasure fueled the force that was Zoro’s fist on his cock.

It would be hot and sloppy. Filthy.

You’d tell him to “keep going,” you’d dig your fingernails into his biceps, drool from how good it felt, swallow up his inches like nothing—he revered you, craved you, and worshipped you. He needed all of you. Wanted to smell you, taste you, hear you, and have you. He was getting carried away.

What if you walked into the bathroom right now? The door was locked, obviously, but the mental image of you stumbling across him like this gave him some sort of nasty thrill. If only you approached him, sunk to your knees and opened your mouth, petted him and praised him—

When the swordsman came all over his hands, he felt vile. He felt like a hypocrite.

He always called Sanji a pervert and derided him for his lack of control around women, and now here Zoro was, getting off on a dream he had about his own friend and crewmate. And what’s worse is that he didn’t look away in the dream when he saw you touching yourself. He didn’t even try. (To be fair, it’s not like he had control over what he dreamed about, nor could he control what he did in them, but that was a nonfactor to him.)

Zoro felt like shit.

The next time you talked to him, he turned crimson. He seemed distracted. He had been working out more than usual, so you told yourself it was the post-workout glow. You’d never seen him blush a day in your life, but sure enough, it was creeping up his neck and slowly starting to take over his cheeks.

He tried to forget his trip to the bathroom, but your pretty face made his heart thump and his stomach turn. He tried to forget the mental images his brain conjured up in his rabid state of desire. It was futile. He felt like he was going to be sick.

In your brief conversation after dinner the same day, you asked Zoro if he’d grab a drink with you. “It’s been a while,” you smiled at him, same as ever. “Let’s catch up in the next couple days over some sake. Deal?”

He hesitantly agreed. He missed you—the real you, not the dream version of you. When he said yes, you beamed at him, and his mouth went dry. He needed to get a grip and figure out what the fuck his problem was.

Zoro gave up on talking to you about the conversation he eavesdropped on over a week ago. He felt like he missed his opportunity (which is arguable) and, more than that, he felt like he wouldn’t know how to approach that conversation. What would he say at this point? “Hey, I’ve been having vivid dreams about you and I’m going fucking crazy?”

No. So, he kept it inside. He figured that he’d cross that bridge when he got to it. Would he ever admit that he heard the conversation? He wondered about this. Maybe he’d never fess up to it. Maybe he’d keep it to himself, internalize once again. But he was quickly learning that when he tried to stuff these huge emotions back inside of him, they got bigger, louder, more unruly. It was like psychological warfare, except the assailant was his brain.

At this point, the dreams felt all-consuming. He’d get so wrapped up in them at night that he felt like he was in a daze during the day. Perhaps he was being dramatic, or perhaps his brain was desperately struggling to regulate a whopping load of emotions he had never encountered before, or rather, that he had never let himself acknowledge before.

He worried that you could tell something was off with him. You could.

Later, you asked, “Hey Zoro, you doing ok?”

He stuttered out a response, flustered by your presence, falling apart in seconds. It was very unlike him. “Wha—? H-hey, uh, yeah, I’m fine. What’s up?”

“Nothing, just checking on you. You’ve been a bit spacey recently.” Your expression was one of concern. He seemed off, not to mention those dark circles of his. Was he getting sick? Was the insomnia coming back?

Upon hearing your words, it was like a lightning bolt hit Zoro. “You’ve been a bit spacey recently.”

What an insane coincidence. You said those very words to him in a dream a few nights ago, after which you complimented his eyes. He froze for a second, then tried to play off his shock with a yawn.

“I feel fine.” He shrugged. It wasn’t convincing in the slightest. “Just haven’t been sleeping the best.”

The paranoia was coming—did you know that he was dreaming about you? Had he been acting weird? Could you tell that he was thinking about you every moment of the day? God forbid, were you starting to form the misconception that he liked you in some romantic or erotic way? Fuck. This was getting ridiculous. Get a grip, man, he told himself.

You tried to ignore how odd he was acting. If he said he was fine, then he was fine.

He tried to convince himself that he was fine. He tried to wait it out and see that his attempt at convincing himself was effective.

It was not.

DREAM 9: A shocking revelation

Zoro’s dream the following night was delightful and concerning.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, fiddling with something. Maybe he was sharpening a sword, refitting a sheath, polishing his boots… something like that. That part was foggy. Behind him, Zoro felt a weight on the bed. He knew it was you.

You scooted close to him from where you were sitting and reached your hands under the hem of his shirt. Your fingers ran over his bare skin, relishing the feeling of his abs and happy trail, every inch of his taut, tanned skin. You reached around his front and wrapped your arms around him. Your palms were warm, and you moved closer, body flush on his from behind. It was not lost on him that he could feel your breasts pressing on his back.

“Zoroooo,” you cooed right in his ear. Goosebumps. “You’re no fun. Pay attention to me. I’m bored.” You were whining.

You tickled him, poked him, kissed his back through the fabric of his shirt. You were all over him and it felt like your hands were everywhere. You were begging him to put down what he was doing and give you his undivided attention.

“Fine,” he responded in mock annoyance, rolling his eyes and putting his things away. He turned, maneuvering his body so he was facing you. “What do you want me to do?”

You pouted. “I don’t know. I’m bored. Let’s lay down and cuddle. Please?”

The scene shifted. You two were lying in bed, facing each other. You were eye to eye, arms thrown over each other. Zoro tucked your hair behind your ear, breathless. He was enamored, entranced by your beauty and admiration. Your hand was placed under his shirt, resting on his side. The skin contact felt electric. You leaned in and started to pepper his face with kisses—a recurring theme in these dreams. He must have really wanted that.

He closed his eyes.

You first brushed your lips lightly over his, and then you moved to kiss all over one of his cheeks, all over his forehead, his other cheek, his chin, his nose, his eyes, his jawline, ending at his lips again. You nuzzled his nose, ran your fingers through his hair—it was like you couldn’t get enough of him. Your lips were soft, meeting his delicately. When you pulled away from him. You held eye contact, an affectionate smile playing across your lips. He smelled you, felt you, and felt enveloped by you.

Zoro leaned in and kissed your forehead. You giggled and pulled him closer.

He could feel himself starting to say something in the dream, working up the nerve to say something that made his heart feel like it would stop. The words were getting caught in his mouth, they felt like they were taking forever to form…

They were words he almost said to you once before in a dream. He forced them out through his cotton mouth and hesitation.

“I love you.”

When the words left his lips, that twisting feeling happened inside of him so intensely that it must have detonated something. Each piece of shrapnel sent bolts of lightning through his body; he felt like he was vibrating, euphoric, every nerve on fire. He couldn’t breathe.

The dream version of you looked into his eyes and nodded. “I know you do, Zoro. I see you.”

Buzzing, Zoro felt like he wanted to rip his heart out of his chest and give it to you. He wanted you to see him, to see every part of him, to bare his soul to you and say ‘look, here is everything in me, here is every part of me.’

You were about to pull him into another kiss before he awoke up with a start, sweating and practically shaking.

Zoro’s heart was beating out of his chest. He sat up. Immediately, his first instinct was to check whether or not you were really in his bed. You weren’t—to both his relief and disappointment. He checked the time—3:36AM. Far too early. But he couldn’t fall back asleep now, not when his heart was pounding like this.

Why did he tell you he loved you?

It would be an understatement to say that Zoro’s mind was racing. He recalled that in one of his first dreams he wondered if you would still feel lonely if he embraced you. But if he did more than embrace you, if he gave all of himself to you, what then? What would you feel if he did that?

Would you stop feeling lonely and sad if he gave everything to you, even his heart? Would you give him yours, in return?

He ruminated on the concept of giving all of himself to you. What did that mean, and why did the thought pass through his mind when he was dreaming?

To give you all of him, for you to see every part of him… was that love? Is this what it meant to love? If giving you every part of himself meant spending every moment with you that he could, kissing and caressing you, making you feel better, listening to every word you stored up inside, sharing every word he stored up inside… The realization hit him like a train.

He wanted that. He ardently wanted to fill in the hole that loneliness had carved out of your life. And he realized that there was one in his life, as well. A lacuna of would-be companionship that he had forever thought was out of reach.

Could he give you what you needed? Is that what love is? To share yourself with someone else, to want them, to cherish them, care for them, see them for who they are?

He wanted to give you all of him. He didn’t want you to feel lonely, sad, or distressed ever again. He wanted to always be there, he wanted you to know you could tell him anything, wanted to know you like the back of his hand, and he wanted you to know him like that, too.

Zoro understood now what that twisting, thumping feeling inside of him was. No, it wasn’t arrythmia, or indigestion, or anything of the sort—it had been lying low for months, boiling under the surface. It all clicked into place.

That stirring and twisting feeling? It was the feeling of that lock inside of him breaking into a million pieces. The lock around his heart that prevented him from wanting to love and from knowing how to… it was gone now, obliterated.

That impenetrable lock, the lead chains, the crushing weight of it… He used to think that the key to that lock didn’t exist. But now that you were here, Zoro realized that you were the missing key. You were the one capable of ripping open that relentless opacity, that stoicism, that brick of pain that he tried to ignore and train away. You had ripped it to shreds, like it was nothing. You did it over the course of many months, many days, and even in his sleep.

Zoro realized that he was in love with you.

He wanted to recognize you completely and absolutely, and for you to do the same to him.

Zoro wanted to take showers with you and take turns shampooing each other’s hair. He wanted to hold your hand in public, feeling and seeing nothing else but you. He wanted to come home after a long day and hold you tight, kiss you and call you sweet names. He wanted to nuzzle your nose every day and drink up every smile like he was starving for it.

To think that you were so sad and lonely you cried? That shattered him. Hearing you be so vocal about it, seeing a different side of you that he never knew before—maybe he never felt this emotion until he met you for a reason. Now that the pieces were falling into place, he saw that it was you. It was always you. It was only you. It would only be you forever.

He did not have another dream about you for three nights.

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taglist: @riftmage27 @eggrollforyou @imhwajaez @wiyenspanel @xxmysticxxx @moonmaiden1996

a/n: thanks so much for reading! part 3 is going to be a minute - lmk if you want to be on the taglist! i have yet to write (most of) it.

#zoro smut #roronoa zoro smut #one piece smut #op smut #op x reader #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n

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harryhighkey · 2 days ago

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rest, baby.

hi - here is part four of my frontman x reader series!

spoiler: they finally kiss! sorry but not sorry for the slow burn for that moment. hopefully the wait was worth it!

a frontman x reader series - masterlist to series here

"Open your eyes now." Player 001's voice sounded out in front of you, his voice was so calm compared to the constant loud terror that had stayed in your head during Mingle.

You did as he said and you were met by his gaze in the little yellow room. Slowly, you removed your hands from your own ears. In-ho's hands were still over the top of yours so they fell from your face too. All of the terrible noises of the worst game yet were over now. The nursery rhyme, the screaming, the fighting, the gun shots, dead bodies being placed into boxes with thuds, it was all over.

But there was another sound that you'd only heard once, that had taken place right before the game ended. A neck breaking. Your eyes did a quick sweep of the room, the man who had snuck in here when you fell to the ground was gone. You looked back to Player 001.

In-ho was still looking at you, he knew what you were looking for. He'd deliberately waited until the guards had removed the dead body from the room before telling you to open your eyes. His eye contact was strong, you still found comfort in it, but something had shifted ever so slightly. You were having an internal battle over if what he had done made you trust him more or less.

He had just killed someone with his bare hands. For you.

"It's over?" You asked, needing him to confirm.

"Yes." He told you and you felt the invisible weight of panic that had been crushing you lift from your chest.

You took in a deep breath but winced as the action hurt your side. Quickly you flinched, your hands going to where the pain struck.

"Are you okay?" In-ho frowned in concern, his hands landing on your shoulders to steady you.

"Just hurts a little."

"Can I see?"

You nodded and your hands went to the hem of your shirt, lifting it to see your side all red from where you had been kicked. "Looks like it hurts a lot." In-ho said, he moved one of his hands so his fingertips just barely brushed the surface of where your skin was red and hot, his jaw clenched. He was furious at the person who hurt you like this.

"I'll be fine." You pushed his hand away and put your shirt back down.

"You don't have to do that with me."

"Do what?"

"Say you're fine when you're obviously hurt."

"Well, when I just have this and all those people died, then I'm fine, Young-il." You snapped at him.

He didn't respond, instead silence fell between you both. His expression gave nothing away, you hated knowing how readable your face was whilst his was the opposite.

What you didn't know was the constant internal battle he was facing between being the Frontman and Player 001. Being the man who ran these games but also being the man who wanted to save you from them.

You snapped at him about people dying here, which he was to blame for but he didn't care about those people. He only cared about you. He cared so much about your life and at the same time, he was the reason yours had been put in this dangerous situation, he had to be the reason you get out, too.

"Sorry." You dropped your eyes, shaking your head at yourself. This man had literally just carried you to the finishing line - a finishing line that secured your life - and you were snapping at him? He had just helped and carried you through the worst panic attack you'd ever experienced so you would survive. He killed for you. You tried not to think about that last fact too much.

He had looked out for you more than anyone ever had your whole life.

"Don't be." He shook his head, dropping his head down. "You've been through a lot. Too much." Because of me. He thought.

"So have you." You reached for his hand then, he intertwined his fingers with yours. He kept his face down. "Young-il," You called out to him. In-ho hated that you still didn't know his real name, he wanted to tell you it. He looked back up to you. "Thank you for looking after me. For saving me."

His spare hand came to rest on your cheek, his thumb rubbing along your skin. You're saving me. He didn't say that out loud, instead he said, "I told you I would."

"I know, but when I had given up during the second last round. I thought that was it for me."

"But it wasn't, I was never going to let that happen."

"I know that, I just thought I was stronger than that. I should've been able to keep going. I should've been able to handle it." You were disappointed in yourself, dropping your gaze from his now.

"No," In-ho shook his head, his face almost looking pained at what you had said. Both of his hands held your own two. "You shouldn't have to, (Y/N). You are not the problem. What happens here, the people who thrive here, who enjoy it, they're the ones who are wrong." He moved his face closer to yours, barely brushing his nose against yours, you looked back up at the contact, the movement bringing your face closer to his again. You could feel his breath on your lips, your heart thundered. "Not you, pretty girl. You are too good for this place, it's beautiful that you don't belong here."

Your breath hitched as your eyes dropped to his mouth and then back up to his eyes. You tilted your head a little, rubbing your nose against his, your lips just grazing his, inviting him in.

He accepted.

Player 001 closed the distance, his lips meeting yours, finally. The kiss was tender and heavy, you'd both felt like you had been waiting so long for this despite it being just a few days. Your brain felt dizzy as all the terrible things you'd experienced slowly began to dissipate and all you could think about was how perfectly his lips meshed with yours. His hands let go of yours and found your thighs, you sighed into his mouth at the feeling of his strong grip on your legs.

"Come here." He mumbled against your lips. In-ho started to pull you forward and you followed his lead. Between kisses, you lifted yourself so you could settle into his lap and straddle him, your hands holding onto his shoulders, your front against his. You broke the kiss so you could catch your breath, but he wanted more, he was no where near close to being done to having his mouth on you.

Wet kisses were left to the corner of your mouth, your chin until he found your neck. You whined and tilted your head to give him more access, the feeling of it so delicious, you could feel a wetness already forming in between your legs. "That's my good girl." He said, briefly looking at your heavenly face before his lips came back to your neck where he began to lightly suck, his hands moving to your ass. You bit down hard on your bottom lip and whimpered, already feeling so turned on, you wanted to hear him call you that every day.

He started dotting kisses down your neck now, lingering a very hot, open-mouth one to the spot where your neck met your shoulder. "I can't wait to taste all of you." He gripped your ass and you rolled your hips into his. "You want that, baby?" He asked you, lifting his head once again to be right in front of yours. Your cheeks were already growing pink.

"Yes. Please, yes." You nodded, crashing your mouth against his once more. He met your kiss with ease, he was getting drunk on you already and there was still so much more of you waiting to be explored by him.

You were so blissfully surrounded by him, the perfect distraction from everything else you had gone through this day. You'd felt a constant flutter in your chest anytime he had touched you since that first night when he had rubbed your head until you fell asleep. Now that flutter was more alight than ever, bursting with each skilled movement of his lips.

You rolled your hips again, seeking a sensation against your throbbing centre. "Baby," In-ho broke the kiss with a puff of air at the feeling of your pussy grazing over where he had grown hard in his pants. You met his gaze. "Not here." He told you, placing one last peck to your lips and running his hands further up your back. As much as he wanted you, he wanted to make sure it was where you two were truly alone. Your pleasure was for his eyes only.

You whined and dropped your head onto his shoulder, letting out a loud sigh.

He laughed, turning his head so his lips grazed against your ear as he spoke. "That turned on?"

"Shut up." You laughed too.

"I'll take that as a yes."

-----

"To give you some time to think, the vote will be conducted tomorrow."

50 vs 50.

The vote had come out to a tie.

"No." Your voice was barely audible, you felt hopeless.

Everyone turned to walk back, only you and Player 456 were left standing in place. Gi-hun was staring at the numbers on the screen in disbelief. You were watching the guards as they started getting ready to leave.

You knew you wouldn't make it through another game and you didn't want Player 001 putting himself in danger again to keep you safe. You wouldn't forgive yourself if anything were to happen to him. You were desperate to get out.

Briefly, you turned to look back, looking for the man who had become your solace. He was already walking back to the bunks. You looked at him for a few more moments before turning back to the guards, they had all started to turn away to leave. If you had taken a few extra seconds to think about, maybe you wouldn't have acted so impulsively.

But you didn't.

"(Y/N), no!" Gi-hun attempted to stop you as you broke out in a sprint towards one of the guards, he reached out to you but you just slipped out of his grip.

Others turned at the commotion, the people who voted 'O' hoping to see you run right to your death, the people who voted 'X' were worried.

When In-ho turned at the sound of Gi-hun saying your name and he saw what you were doing, he swore his heart stopped beating. "(Y/N)! Stop!" He screamed at you, voice full of distress. Just like Player 456, he ran after you, but he was too many steps behind now. He could control what happened to you when the games were taking place, but if you were running at the guards to attack them in front of all the other players, he couldn't control the outcome of this and it made him panic.

Just as you were about to grab a guards gun, they turned around at the sound of their bosses voice, seeing you right behind them and immediately holding their gun up so the barrel pressed right against your forehead.

You froze and sucked in a breath, the other guards turned and pointed their guns at you. You waited for the sound of a bullet being fired, but it never came. You thought for sure this was going to be your end, this was not behaviour they tolerated.

What you didn't see was the Frontman glaring at them with a warning gaze. His face was hardened in fury at the idea of any of them shooting you and he ever so slightly shook his head to tell them no as subtly as he could without anyone else noticing.

"Move back." The guard commanded at you.

For a moment, you thought about trying to grab the barrel for a last attempt to steal the gun, you knew the speed of your hands would be no match for the trigger on this weapon, but your desire to leave was so strong you considered trying. That was until Player 001's voice sounded out. "(Y/N), listen to them. Come back." You imagined how you would feel if it was him with the gun aimed at his head, the thought of it even too much. So you started to step backwards. The guards kept the guns pointed at you. You could not believe they let you get away with this.

You kept walking backwards, and when your back hit against someone's front, you jumped.

"It's me." Player 001's voice was right in your ear. He grabbed your hand and pulled you behind him. Protecting you again.

-----

"What were you thinking?!" Once the guards had left, In-ho didn't let go of your hand, he pulled you to your bunk with him. He was furious at you for risking your life like that.

"I don't know, I wasn't thinking." You answered him honestly.

"That is clear. That was so stupid, (Y/N)."

"Don't call me stupid."

"Don't be stupid and I won't."

You huffed, crossing your arms as you sat on the side of your bed. "After we lost the vote, I had to try something. I'm not going to make it through another game, I know it. I'm dying tomorrow. That was my last chance to escape."

"I told you, I won't let anything happen to you."

"I know you did, and you got me through today. But we don't know what's coming tomorrow. You can't guarantee that."

Yes I can. He thought, but he couldn't tell you that, not yet. Instead, he let out a deep breath and crouched down in front of you, placing his hands on your knees. He tried to catch your eyes, but you avoided looking at him. "Hey," His hand grabbed your chin, halting your movements and forcing you to look at him. "I can keep you safe if you're next to me. But, with what you did just then to the guards. I have much less of a chance of keeping you safe." But still a chance, he was the Frontman after all. "Do you understand?" He was trying to let you know you would be okay, his role was high and important here.

Plus, after learning Gi-hun's plan for tonight, he had his own plan to finally get you out.

-----

Bullets were flying everywhere, it was chaos, it was loud, it was a war-zone. The third war-zone you'd experienced today. First, it was the game, Mingle. Second, when everyone had started attacking each other when the lights went out. You had hid next to Player 001 during that, your eyes squeezed shut, head tucked away in his neck with his arm around you and his hands covering your ears. Third, was now this. Player 456's plan to take over the games, find the Frontman and end all of this.

Through all of it, In-ho had made sure you were by his side. Currently you were between him and Player 388, who was about to go and get more bullets.

"Dae-ho, are you okay?" You leaned in closer to ask him, you could see on your friends face he wasn't handling this well. He had become more quiet, his face turned pale. You experienced your own panic attack earlier today and you were sure he about too as well.

"Yes." He answered you quietly. It wasn't believable.

Everyone else was too distracted by the fight, busy shooting the guards, but you felt concern for your friend. "I'll go back with yo-"

"No." In-ho interrupted you then, his voice demanding. You turned to look at him and his face was deadly serious. "You are staying with me." He was so close to getting you out, he wouldn't let you go back now. Especially not when bullets were shooting everywhere and you could get hit.

"But, he-"

"He will be fine."

You clenched your jaw tight then.

"(Y/N)," Dae-ho called your name and you turned to look at him, concern displayed all over your face for him. "It's okay, stay here with Young-il. It'll be easier for just one of us to go back than both of us."

You nodded and then leant forward to hug him. "Please be careful."

"I will, you too." He pulled back from the hug to look at you. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay."

In-ho watched you watch him retreat back. He saw the worry on your face, he knew you cared for him and it made him sick with jealousy. He couldn't wait to get you on your own.

"(Y/N), we have to move now."

Player 456 & 390 went one way while you and Player 001 went another.

He kept his body in a place where it would shield you from the direction the guards were shooting from. Although it seemed that the bullets coming in your direction had significantly lessened. Maybe more guards were on the side Gi-hun had taken.

You hoped they were going to be okay.

Each time you reached a new path that broke off into more than one direction, Player 001 chose which way to go so confidently. You were starting to get anxious at the idea of getting closer to where the people who ran these games were.

"Young-il," you reached out for his hand to stop him.

He halted and immediately turned to you. "Have you been shot?" His eyes scanned over your body, searching for blood.

"No, no," you shook your head. "What's going to happen when we find the people who run this?" You spoke with a panicked tone.

He held your eye contact for a few moments before answering you. "You already have." He admitted.

"What-" Before you had a chance to question or even fully process what he had said, he pulled you into him and kissed you. You allowed him to, more than allowed, you completely welcomed it. Your heart instantly speeding up at the feeling of his skilled mouth on yours.

You were so distracted you didn't see him reach into his pocket for the syringe, he almost felt bad at how easy this was. Almost. He didn't because he had convinced himself this was going to be best for you.

When the needle pricked into your skin, you broke apart from him with a gasp, but his strong arm kept you in place.

"You'll be okay." Was what he told you as your vision very quickly blurred, your body going limp in his hold around you. He scooped you up into this arms.

You attempted to speak, to say anything at all, but you were fast succumbing to what had been injected into you. All you managed to do was let out a little whimper.

"Shh, (Y/N)." In-ho said into your ear, and everything started to go black for you. "Enjoy your rest, baby."

#frontman x reader #lee byung hun x reader #player 001 x reader #lee byung hun #frontman #player 001 #the frontman #the frontman x reader #in ho x reader #young il x reader #squid game #squid games #my writings #my writing #writings #writing

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mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 3 days ago

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Girl I have so many questions about your story it’s actually ridiculous!

(I don’t want to overwhelm you though so imma hold back)

is reader becoming a snake person a reference to snakes preying on bats and birds?( and will the snake being joker’s be important?)

Is Tiffany going to have to put effort into pretending she’s the ✨perfect sister✨ now that reader obviously isn’t going to do jack for them anymore? (Because ungrateful families don’t deserve muffins 😒)

Is reader going to be a hero or villain, or maybe something in between?

will we be able to get an idea of why the batfam treats reader like they’re some sort of pest?( you’d think they’d be more careful since reader could easily expose their identities if they thought about it 😒😒)

and finally.

Tim had a very…different…reaction to reader ‘framing’ Tiffany- is that important?

-🚚

yay ok this is my first like real ask! Yall have been making me so so happy with all the love! It really encourages me! And don't worry about overwhelming me! I can take it :) i'm answering this and then signing off to go to bed because I have the worst flu ever.

Ok so yes! Reader becoming a snake-meta-person does have to do with snakes preying on birds, honestly that was a little easter egg for funsies. Im glad you caught it! reader's gonna eat those hoes up !!!!!!! ( and they'll lock her up right after)

Tiffany will for sure try to imitate reader at first but that will eventually lead to her downfall! she can only keep it up for 6 months and then she'll be discovered. she can't imitate the genuine love and care reader puts into these things so they'll always be off no matter how much she tries. the batfam will end up realizing what they lost and do whatever it takes to get it back.

And yes, the snake being the Joker's will be important bc he's the joker and is so fucking insane that even his snake has to be special! all powers have consequences and these will be heavy. it will put reader through it, but will really shape them as a person.

Im leaning more toward reader being a hero??? but with the snake being literally radioactive it might be a kinda venom dynamic. im still not too sure tbh. with all the angst and neglect and the troubles of being a teen, she might be a bit of an anti-hero! she might pull a jason (ironic, i know) and go around killing all the villians!

the thing about the batfam, is that they don't even realize what they're doing to the reader. they literally see her as irrelevant so they don't notice their neglect or how much it affects reader. she's not even on their minds enough to be perceived as a threat. the only ones purposefully being mean are Damian and Jason, Damian because he sees reader as less than/ a threat and Jason because he is trying to push the reader out his life and not 'taint' her innocence.

Tim's reaction is different because he's suspicious. he thinks he would've noticed if reader was capable of doing something so sneaky and underhanded. he's the only one who is suspicious because he simply doesn't think she's smart enough to do this. he's gonna be the first to see Tiff's true colors.

Goodnight yall!!! i'll be back tmrw morning! keep sending more asks! I take requests so if you have any ideas you want me to write just send them in! I'll yandere platonic or romanitc. SEND THEM IN!!!!!!!!

#yandere batfam #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere dc #yandere bruce wayne #yandere batman #yandere dick grayson #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere batman x reader #platonic yandere batman #yandere platonic batfamily

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lover-of-mine · 2 days ago

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Okay, last week I made this post and in it, I said that what makes buddie is time, everything that happened to them, and then I corrected myself by saying what actually makes them something you can't fight against was Christopher but that that was a different post. Well, this is that different post.

So buddie. We have 2 main characters whose main screen partners are each other. Something that makes Buck and Eddie different is that Eddie was written in for Buck. Connie leaving left a gap on the show, they lost the dispatcher and Buck lost the thing he was written for, since s1 Buck is very much there to be the love interest, to give Abby something, and the bridge between the firehouse and dispatch. Since the space was surrounding Buck, they filled that space through him. They added Maddie in. But Maddie alone didn't really fill the void, a sibling dynamic doesn't really fill that space because Buck would need a more constant scene partner, so in comes Eddie. Giving him a partner in the field plus adding Maddie in fills that gap. So they gave Buck a best friend.

The thing is, in a universe where Christopher isn't a variable, where Eddie is just some guy Buck's age going through a messy divorce at the same time Buck is coming to terms with Abby abandoning him making them bond, the basis of their relationship is something completely different, and it is something you can fight against if you really want to separate them and give them other endgame love interests. If they are just best friends, you have a lot less at stake, so you can put the space between them a lot easier if necessary. A new love interest would be fighting against one person. That's a fair fight. That's a fight a new person can win if introduced correctly.

But in the universe we have, Christopher is the thing that makes them bond. The foundation of their relationship is Buck stepping up to help Eddie and Eddie deciding that that would warrant Buck his full loyalty and the relationship builds on that. Major movements in their dynamic are marked by Chris (and death, but again, different post). Chris' existence brings them together, with Buck deciding to introduce Eddie to Carla, then the tsunami shows us that there is a deeper trust between them, and then the will reveal intensifies all that and seals them together as an unconventional family (it all makes me wonder about the way they took Chris off the board, why would they do that if they aren't about to use him to snap the last piece into place to get them together since Eddie makes statements through Chris).

All this means that a love interest isn't fighting a best friend, which is something you can make work, a love interest is up against a life partner and child. Since Eddie is a single parent and the person that Buck turns to, they aren't really best friends to the audience, they are partners. And the show made a conscious effort to develop Buck's bond with Christopher outside of his relationship with Eddie. They have been adding that in since Eddie's introduction, the tsunami makes it clear, but season 4 is the one that puts the focus on Buck and Chris by showing us Buck at the house in a casual setting then making Buck a trusted adult Chris runs when upset with Eddie to then making Buck step up to take care of Chris before he knew about the will. They built upon that in s5 and then during s6 they really drove home the point that Buck sees Chris as his and that's when we start getting casually parenting, with the cookies, then the conversation they have in s7. The 3 of them have their individual connections, so for all intents and purposes, they are a family.

The chances of you actually convincing an audience that a new person (especially a new person that only exists as a love interest, since we established on the other post that audiences aren't inclined to care about characters they don't see a lot) is a better fit than an established family unit are null. It will literally not happen.

To give someone new a chance they would need to separate Buck and Eddie, they need to effectively break their partnership while building the fuck out of the new person, but that means making Buck abandon Christopher. And that's the point that would make audiences riot. The whole time Chris has been on the show, Buck was made into someone Christopher could count on like a parent. By s3 Buck and Eddie were having custody battles at a grocery store. And if you need to keep Buck in Chris' life, you can't separate Buck from Eddie. And that's what makes them IT. They can get away with separating Buck and Eddie, they cannot get away with making Buck step out on Christopher. So there's no way around them into someone else. It would never feel as satisfying because they can't really exist in a space that's like "I'm Eddie, this is my husband Buck, that's our kid Christopher, and that's Buck's boyfriend whatever" it gets boring. Especially when the show isn't exactly trying to establish the other love interest as someone worth rooting for, as explained on the other post.

#this got long aoskaoskasokasa #911 #buddie #911 meta

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loafysainz · 3 days ago

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the parent trap (remake) | CS 55

cast: carlos sainz x fem!reader

warn: 100% fiction & remake

next chap

PART 13 FIRST MEET

Y/N stormed into her bedroom, yanking open the closet door with a dramatic motion. “I’m such a moron!” she exclaimed, her voice teetering between frustration and panic. “I can't handle all this damn thing.” She began pulling clothes off hangers, tossing them carelessly onto the bed as if the act of packing could somehow ease her nerves.

Martin, standing awkwardly by the door, opened his mouth to say something but quickly decided against it. There wasn’t much he could say—he’d never seen Y/N in such a state before. It was a mix of chaotic energy and raw vulnerability that left him unsure whether to step in or stay out of the way.

“I can’t believe it,” Y/N continued, more to herself than anyone else. “Carlos and I haven’t seen each other in nine years, and now I have to go back to Spain to get my other baby!” She turned to Martin, her expression a mixture of exasperation and despair. “I’m not mature enough for this.”

Martin suppressed a grimace and stayed silent.

Y/N grabbed a coat from the closet and draped it over her arm, her motions quick and restless. “I wouldn’t be so nervous if I was still married to him! God, we both made this stupid agreement to never see each other again and start a life...” Her words trailed off as she reached for a glass of wine on the nearby table and downed it in one gulp. “Look at me, Martin,” she said, turning back to her butler. “Have you ever seen me like this?”

Martin opened his mouth to answer, but Y/N cut him off with a raised hand. “Don’t answer me,” she said sharply, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for something—anything—to focus on.

At that moment, Matheo appeared in the doorway, barely able to hide the amused grin spreading across his face. He’d been listening to his mother’s frantic rambling from the hallway and found it equal parts hilarious and endearing.

“What if he doesn’t recognize me?” Y/N muttered, more to herself than anyone else. She ran a hand through her hair, her voice softening as she added, “It’s not like I’ve changed that much...” She paused, catching sight of Martin’s skeptical expression. “Forget what I said, Martin. Don’t answer that question either.”

“Ma’am Matheo said to me that his father still handsome.” Martid said while trying to clean the mess.

She paused for a moment, lost in her memories. “Matheo was right. And as I remember his gaze was always so warm. And every time he looked at me, my stomach felt like it was hosting a butterfly rave.”

Martin trying stop his face into a wide smile. That was definitely more information than he needed.

Matheo, biting his lip to keep from wide smile outright, decided it was time to step in and rescue Martin from his mother’s whirlwind of emotions.

“Mom, I’m ready!” the boy announced brightly, stepping fully into the room.

Y/N barely glanced at him, too busy adjusting her coat and muttering under her breath. “Me too... well, almost.” she gestured vaguely toward the mess of clothes and an almost-empty suitcase lying forgotten on the bed.

Matheo raised a brow and folded his arms. “Your suitcase is literally empty.”

Y/N looked at the chaos around her, then at her son. “Ah, yes… Well, I’ll sort that out later. Don’t worry about it.” She waved dismissively before changing the subject with practiced ease. “Sweetheart, have you called your father yet?”

“Oh, yeah,” Matheo replied, his tone impossibly casual. “We talked. He said he’s really nervous to seeing you again.”

Martin shot him a sharp look, eyebrows arching in disbelief at the obvious lie.

Matheo pressed on, undeterred. “Anyway, he said he’s waiting for us at the Mandarin Oriental Ritz Hotel in Madrid. Noon today.”

Y/N froze for a moment, her expression caught between surprise and mild panic. “Wow. That’s… really early,” she muttered. Then, with a burst of nervous energy, she turned to Matheo. “Baby, can you do me a favor? Go with Grandpa and buy the plane tickets while I clean up this—” she gestured wildly at the room. “—absolute disaster?”

Matheo nodded, already halfway out the door. “Okay, Mom.”

As soon as the boy left, Martin stepped closer, leaning in to whisper, “Liar…. Liar….. May your nose is going to grow like Pinocchio’s.”

Matheo, still in earshot, turned back to glare at him. “Shhh!” he hissed, silencing him with a quick gesture before disappearing down the hall.

Martin rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as he turned to help Y/N. This reunion was shaping up to be even messier than the room.

*****

“Martin,” Y/N began, her voice shaky, “can you do me a favor? It’s… a bit out there. Strange, even. But I know you’ve always been more than a butler. You’re practically family.”

Martin raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt.

“What I mean is…” Y/N hesitated, running a hand through her hair, “…can you—”

“Help you with all this madness?” Martin cut her off, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “You don’t even have to ask twice.”

Y/N didn’t even give him a moment to breathe before launching forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Martin. Tears threatened to spill as he choked out, “You’d do that? For me?! Oh my god, Martin, thank you. I don’t even know how to repay you. And you don’t have to go as my butler, you can come as—”

“A friend?” Martin finished for her, smiling warmly as he patted Y/N on the head.

“Exactly!” Y/N sniffled, pulling back and wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.

Martin’s tone turned teasing, “No problem, Y/N. But… not to be annoying, if you want my opinion, you might want to reconsider your outfit. If you’re meeting your ex, maybe wear something a little more… you know… provocative?”

“Provocative?” Y/N repeated, squinting in confusion.

Martin sighed dramatically and walked over to the closet, rummaging through its contents like a man on a mission. He emerged a moment later, “Here. Wear this. Trust me,” Martin said confidently, pointing at the pile, which consisted of a beige-colored Jacquemus backless silk dress. “This? It’ll turn heads.”

Y/N glanced skeptically at the clothes, then back at Martin. She let out a resigned sigh and muttered, “Fine. I’ll take your advice.”

An hour later, Martin stepped out of the house dressed in a sharp, unfamiliar outfit. Gone were the usual casual vibes—he looked polished, modern, and effortlessly cool.

When Y/N dad emerged a moment later, his jaw practically dropped.

“Wow,” was all he managed, though his eyes said everything.

Even Grandpa, who was usually unfazed by such things, looked stunned. “My daughter,” he whispered under his breath as he saw Y/N.

Y/N straightened her coat nervously, then turned to her dad. “Wish me luck?”

His dad pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. “I think I’ll just pray,” he said finally, shaking him head.

“Yeah, that’s probably better,” Y/N quipped, shooting her a quick grin before heading toward the car.

Matheo lingered in the doorway, looking a little lost as he watched Y/N leave. He quickly turned and hugged his Grandpa.

“Promise you’ll visit me?” he asked softly, his big eyes filled with hope.

His grandpa face softened as he cupped his cheek. “Of course, little gentleman. I’ll always visit you. Now go to your mom before she has a nervous breakdown.”

Matheo nodded, flashing him a quick smile before hopping into the car. The ride was quiet at first, a mix of nerves and anticipation hanging in the air. Y/N drummed her fingers on her knee, staring out the window, while Martin leaned back, arms crossed like he owned the moment.

“Ready for this?” Martin asked casually, breaking the silence.

“No,” Y/N admitted, her voice small. “But let’s do it anyway.”

The car rolled down the driveway, leaving behind Grandpa, who stood waving with a knowing smile on his face.

****

The Mandarin Oriental Ritz Hotel was buzzing with life that afternoon, a vibrant energy filling the luxurious lobby. Meredith stood near the grand entrance with her parents, her gaze darting towards the towering clock that loomed above. She clutched her phone, refreshing it anxiously, before turning to her father with an air of confidence she clearly didn’t feel.

“It's almost noon. He’ll be here any minute,” Meredith announced with a bright smile, although her fingers tapped nervously against the marble counter. “Dad, please… be nice to him. Carlos is everything you’ve ever wanted for me—and, well, he’s that rich.”

Her father smirked, an amused glint in his eye. “If he’s that rich, I’ll be the nicest man in the world.”

Meredith rolled his eyes but grinned anyway, her attention snapping back to the revolving doors just as a tall figure stepped through, flanked by an entourage that could rival royalty. There was Carlos, his sharp jawline highlighted by the sunlight streaming through the windows, leading his family with a confident stride. Even Sammy, their family’s enormous dog, trotted in like he owned the place.

“Oh great, the whole family is here,” Meredith muttered under her breath, though her lips curved into a practiced smile. Straightening her dress, she strode towards her fiancé, who greeted her with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Carlos, you finally coming,” Meredith said, her voice laced with faux enthusiasm. “And you brought… everyone. How… nice.” Her eyes landed on Sammy, whose wagging tail and massive stature immediately drew concern. “Oh, Sammy… at a hotel? Really?”

Carlos smirked. “Matheo didn’t want to leave him home alone.”

Meredith crouched down, forcing a grin as she tentatively reached out to the dog. “Hey there, boy…” she cooed, her tone sugary sweet.

Sammy, unimpressed, growled menacingly, his teeth bared. Meredith flinched and stumbled back as the dog barked. From the sidelines, Mattia snickered, while Chessy whispered a gleeful, “Good boy,” under her breath.

Chessy, turned her attention to Meredith’s parents with a disarming smile. “So… these are your parents?” she asked smoothly, her tone polite but carrying just a hint of amusement.

“Yes!” Meredith beamed, gesturing eagerly toward her parents. “Mom, Dad, meet Carlos Sainz—the love of my life.” She lingered on the last words, as if daring anyone to argue.

Her parents stepped forward, the mother radiating warmth as she extended her hand. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you, Carlos,” she said, her voice honeyed with hospitality. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Carlos responded with charm, his Spanish accent softening his words. “The pleasure is mine, Señora.”

“And this,” she added, turning toward the younger boy, Mattia standing beside Carlos, “is their adorable son, Matheo.”

“Adorable,” Meredith’s father echoed with an awkward chuckle, though his tone suggested he was still trying to figure out the dynamic.

Mattia, wearing a small, satisfied smile, gave a polite nod but said nothing.

Carlos chimed in, as if sensing the awkwardness. “Actually, it was Matheo’s idea to meet here. Very clever of him.”

Mattia, standing off to the side, looked ready to combust from the sheer effort of keeping his expression polite. He managed a tight smile at the group, though the sharpness in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

Meredith’s mother, dressed in an effortlessly chic silk blouse and wide-leg trousers, leaned down slightly to address Matheo. “Hi, baby. You can call me Aunty.”

Mattia’s lips twitched into a sardonic smile, his eyes narrowing slightly as if to say, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

*****

Before the awkward tension could deepen, a sleek black limousine pulled up to the entrance. Out stepped Martin, adjusting his sunglasses with his usual flair before opening the door for his boss. A bare foot promptly kicked him in the chest.

“The hand, ma’am…” Martin grumbled, catching his balance with an uneasy smile.

Out stumbled Y/N, looking devastatingly elegant in a beige-colored silk dress that clung to her figure like it was custom-made (because it was). Her golden earrings caught the sunlight as she took a swig from a vodka bottle, finishing it off and casually tossing it over Martin. Martin scrambled to catch it just in time.

“Wow, what a ride! Don’t you think?” Y/N slurred, grinning as Martin knelt to help her with her strappy designer heels.

“First time I’ve seen you drink like this, Ma’am,” Martin muttered.

Y/N chuckled, the sound light and airy. “First time I’ve had vodka. It’s… not bad!”

Matheo, who had been watching the entire debacle, buried his face in his hands. “I’m doomed.”

While the other family was busy with their own plans, Meredith stood in the center of the beautifully decorated venue, eyes scanning the room with approval. “I think the room is perfect for the wedding. It’s not too big, not too small. It really is perfect," she declared, her voice full of pride. "The guests will be amazed. Carlos, how about they wait for us by the pool while we go upstairs to relax?" She turned to her parents, who nodded in agreement, seemingly unfazed by the chaos that Chessy and Mattia were dealing with over their dog, Sammy.

Mattia, meanwhile, struggled to keep Sammy under control. The dog had other plans, tugging hard on the leash and dragging Mattia along. “Where do you want to go?” he asked quietly, his voice strained as he tried to regain control. Sammy, however, was on a mission, and Mattia had no choice but to follow. Chessy, clearly unnerved by the situation, trailed behind them with a nervous glance.

Carlos, noticing the commotion, he trying to help his son, but Meredith with her sly smile she leaned closer. “How about we check out what our honeymoon suite looks like?” she suggested, her tone dripping with flirtation. Before Carlos could reply, she linked her arm through him, ready to explore.

****

Meanwhile, in another corner of the venue, the other family was making their way toward the elevator. Y/N, however, had just stepped out of it, looking a bit disheveled. “Oops, I forgot my bag,” she announced, turning on her heel and heading toward the reception desk. Matheo and Martin exchanged exasperated looks, clearly concern with Y/N’ absentmindedness.

Back by the lobby, Mattia and Chessy were still wrestling with Sammy, who seemed determined to cause as much trouble as possible. Suddenly, Matheo’s eyes widened with delight as he spotted the dog. “Sammy!” he called out, his voice full of excitement. The dog, equally thrilled, broke free from Mattia’s grip and bounded toward Matheo. Martin yelped in surprise as the massive dog leaped up, but Matheo was unfazed, embracing Sammy like a long-lost friend.

As Mattia tried to catch his dog, the elevator doors slid shut, leaving him and Chessy stranded. Before he could process what had just happened, Y/N appeared out of nowhere, sauntering toward them in a dangerously elegant outfit that screamed old money.

Mattia’s jaw dropped. “Mom?!” he blurted, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief. Chessy, sensing the awkwardness of the moment, turned away, pretending not to see.

Y/N, seemingly unfazed, offered a breezy smile. “Matheo, my love, you didn’t have to wait for me. I can get to the room by myself.” her voice was soft, but Mattia couldn’t ignore the faint whiff of alcohol that accompanied her words.

“Matheo, wait upstairs while I relax, okay?” Y/N added, ruffling Mattia’s hair in a way that felt both affectionate and dismissive. Mattia grimaced slightly but said nothing as Y/N strolled away, her stride as confident as ever.

“Hey, Matheo,” Y/N called over his shoulder. “Were you already wearing those clothes on the plane? I don’t remember...” her voice trailed off as he nearly collided with a boy carrying a vase full of roses. “Oh, sorry,” she mumbled, sidestepping awkwardly before disappearing down the hall.

Mattia turned to Chessy, his face pale. “She’s drunk. My mom, never had more than two glasses of wine in her life, she is drunk. And today of all days.”

Chessy stifled a laugh, placing a reassuring hand on Mattia’s shoulder. “Relax. Let’s just stick to the plan.”

On the other side, Carlos and Meredith were oblivious to the chaos below, completely absorbed in each other. Meredith leaned against the elevator wall, his tone teasing. “Whoever invented the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign deserves a medal.” Carlos chuckled, pulling her closer, but his playful expression faltered as his eyes caught something beyond the closing elevator doors. There, standing in the lobby, was Y/N. Her golden earrings shimmered, her silk dress flowing with an effortless grace. Y/N offered a small wave and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

The elevator doors shut, cutting off the view, but Carlos’s mind raced. His stomach dropped, and his heart pounded in his chest.

What the hell just happened?

prev chap

#carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz x reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #carlos sainz #f1 fluff #carlos sainz jr #cs55 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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ippipo · 2 days ago

Text

self aware caleb

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

it was crazy. but it was fun. every weekday as soon as you were back home, you would call him and go about your day. doing the laundry, making dinner, cleaning the house, it just came to you naturally with caleb. it was all so domestic.

"yeah, and she was deranged the entire summer," you gossip with him. "and he kept spreading rumours that he was being abused by his ex to get her attention."

"weird way to get a girl," he remarks. "so fucking weird," you add.

"anyway, how's life in your gameland?" you ask, earning a sigh in response. "it's alright, playing out of script is so much better," he replies.

"i wish you were here," you let it out, the longing for a companion getting to you. "me too," he frowns.

the weekend was slow and slightly relieving because you got all the time in the world to relax. holidays were on their way in a bit, and you were so excited to spend it by doing nothing with caleb.

caleb would sometimes monitor your phone, using it to listen to music from your world and play games. sometimes he would search random things about humans on earth on google just for the sake of it. he couldn't care less about anyone except you.

but one day, he stumbled upon your notes app. he didn't know you used it as a journal, and accidentally opened a note of yours.

it was a note from when you were 13. the language wasn't too advanced but for a 13 year old, it was pretty great. he felt bad for invading your privacy, but he noticed the word 'boyfriend' and became curious.

p.s. this is an actual entry of mine from when i was 13 lmao

"dear notes (idk what to call you lol),

i finally got a boyfriend after a thousand years of waiting. he's a little ugly but he's funny, so it's okay. he is shorter than me but he looks pretty, so plus point. we nearly kissed today but i wanted to wait until i turned 16. but in case i end up realising he's too boring for me, this is what i want in a boy.

he should be taller, hotter, stronger, and waaaay more intelligent than these bozos at my school. please make him rich and fancy. i want generational wealth, not trauma. but even if he isn't rich, don't make him ugly and boring, guys at school already do that. if the spirits can see this, i swear to never kiss anyone until i turn 18,

thank you."

he was giggling like a school girl after reading it. he was so invested in reading some of your other notes until he heard your voice. you were arguing with someone, and he couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"no, i told you that i don't like her. she gives me the heebie jeebies," your voice booms in the room. "but she taught you in 6th grade, be nice and just meet her. her son is your age too, maybe you'll finally find someone to date!" an older woman's voice spoke.

caleb felt uncomfortable with the idea of you looking for someone to date. it didn't sit right with him. he shakes the thoughts away and focuses back on the conversation.

"her son is literally dating my friend," you deadpan. your mom, as he assumes her to be, is dumbfounded. "but be respectful and meet her for the love of god," your mom snaps at you. "she used to literally pick on me, if she died, i would wish everyone a happy new year," this remark of yours makes him snort.

".....y/n, do you have a pig in your house?" your mom questions you suspiciously, making caleb freeze. "no? uh...that was just- i farted!" you immediately cover up. caleb was trying so hard not to laugh. "i keep telling you to exercise to control gas but you never listen. did you know how happy i felt when you left for college because i didn't have to bear with the constant farting at home?" your mom nags.

you panic internally, not wanting caleb to hear about this part of your life. you wanted to crawl into a coffin and bury yourself alive. "it's just a natural process, mom. please, just go home now. i need to complete some work."

as soon as your mom leaves, you pick up your phone. "now listen here you piece of shit, you heard nothing, not even a single damn word," you aggressively tell him. "yes, ma'am," he responds from the other side. "but, i recently heard about someone having a farting problem, although i don't know who."

"caleb!" you warn him. you bury your head in your hands from the shame. he laughs out loud at this.

a few minutes later, he remembers what he did, guilty consuming him. "hey, uh, listen," he nervously calls out. "i might have accidentally read your notes, i didn't mean to. i'm so sorry," he frantically apologizes. great, another reason to kill yourself today.

"...what did you read?" you ask helplessly. "just something from when you were thirteen, about your boyfriend and stuff," he replies casually, as if he didn't just read about your inner demons. "it was cute," he remarks.

"caleb, my love, snoop around the notes app again and i'll make sure you don't see the light of day," you threaten him. he apologizes again, but was slightly amused. "i just hope nothing more embarrassing happens after this or i might just jump off the terrace," you groan.

later that night while caleb was once again, unfortunately curious, snooping around your phone. he was just finding out about different apps. he was about to listen to some music when he heard a gasp. alarmed, he began paying attention to the sound, thinking you were in trouble.

"oh, fuck!" you moan out loud when your vibrator's intensity increases. your body convulsing at the stimulation your clit was receiving. your soft gasps were ever so clear to him. his entire body begins warming up, his pants making him uncomfortable.

he intently listens to your whimpers and whines, imagining how it would be to eat you out. devour you fully and deeply till you're nothing but a beautiful mess, all because of him. his boner getting more painful as time passes by, but he just can't stop listening.

it gets worse when he hears your moans getting louder, indicating your climax. good lord, he was so in trouble right now.

if you knew he could hear every little sound you were making, you might have just gone along your earlier statement.

#lads #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #caleb love and deepspace #lnds caleb #lnds #lads x reader #x reader #fanfic #lads caleb #lads fanfic #lads fluff

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coffeegnomee · 2 days ago

Note

What exactly are the lifesteal cycles? What does that mean?

I have no idea why the cycles are so hard to describe but like literally idk. they just are. they're like the sun and the sky. like the tides coming in and out. the seasons returning year after year. they come wether you want them to or not. poems can be written about them and never scratch the surface.

there will always be those who feel the cycles beating like a drum in their hearts, and they will always fight to preserve it. if nobody cared or if nobody liked the cycles, lifesteal would cease to be lifesteal.

there are two cycles. the small scale cycle of if you kill someone you gain an heart and if you die you loose a heart. and the large scale of the world ending at the end of each season.

it's too easy to say the small scale cycle is simply a cycle of revenge. it's not that. it can be that but that's not what it is. it's more the cycle of story. if you have a story thread you can pull on, the cycles encourage you to pull on it. and the cycles encourage that to be violent or a troll or an instigation. something to continue the back and forth of story threads.

the large scale cycle is that everyone starts the season fresh and clean, but then the players ruin it. murdering and greifing and killing and dying. the heart economy gets so bad some have near 100 hearts while others have only the max craftable. all this murder and bloodshed and alliances and betrayals and a mid season plot has dictated who cares the most this season and has set the stage for the end game. but it's not about the players not deserving the server because they are too violent. it's actually the opposite of that. it's bigger than that.

in the end one person or group rises from the bloodshed to end this server. by total destruction, removing all the revive resources, getting op, or banning everyone. this is the cycle. it must end. and it must end in war. everything must be destroyed or all the players banned.

the world enders fight to save the server by destroying it. if nobody cared about this final cycle, lifesteal would cease to be lifesteal. s5 nearly saw its destruction. one side thought they could end it in peace and expected to win. but if they won without a fight this would have been anathema for the server. unnatural. if lifesteal ever ends in peace that will be the end of lifesteal.

it must end in a bitter battle, fought for by the world enders, fought against by the resistance. the players prove they deserve the server by caring enough to show up and die. you fight for what you believe in, even if there's no hope.

in the finale you encounter your deepest self. what you are willing to do, how much you're willing to fight back against what you think is evil. you get a measure of who you are. what your limits are. and you get pushed past them. you learn the meaning of fighting for what you believe in, the true meaning. tested by all the resistance the world enders can push upon you. and they learn themselves to. for the same reason.

i think this is why it takes a full, start to end, season for a new member to understand lifesteal. they must begin innocent and safe, no more or less prepared than the best pvper. then the cycles press against them, start showing them how they really react to things, what they're willing to do, how much effort they're really going to put into it.

but during the season there's the ebb and flow of lore, sometimes it's the craziest best week of your life and then there's a month in between. parrot or bacon said that about the cycles actually. like the cycle is that ebb and flow.

but in the finale it's also a week(ish) but there is no continuation after. everything you've said and done all season comes together. you have to put your money where your mouth is. no more talking, no more threats, no more saying you'll do this if they do that. Whatever ending you want you have to fight tooth and nail for and there's no do overs, no second chances. and suddenly you know who you are.

and the next season everything is different.

#lifesteal #asks #gnome rambles

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artsninspo · 3 days ago

Text

COUNTERFEIT - one

➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

🍒 author's Note: back with another story! this is a multipart story. formerly known as cherries. it's a mix of the drinks series and forgiveless. Rio's more 'gang-friend' in this one. Enjoy ♥️

🍒 pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Faith (Original Character) All my characters are black women.

🍒 word count: ~1.7K

🍒 summary: bad days lead to bars, friends, drinks and strangers.

🍒 one ~ cherry margaritas

If one more person calls me ungrateful I don't think I'll ever stop screaming. I shoot my sister a glare and her voice catches in her throat leaving her mouth open with words that will be left unsaid. Traitor. My anger is clear as day, and Char knows better than anyone that I've reached my limit. Amber, our ‘friend’ stops too looking up at me as I stand. I didn't invite Amber over for an earful, I invited her over for support. For fucks sake. The stare down comes to an end when Char closes her big mouth, swallowing.

“Faith” her tone is what it should have been all along but its too little too late. The call comes again but I'm halfway down the hall and to my bedroom. I walk into my closet angry at myself for thinking my sister would back me. I grab a coat and slip into a pair of baggy jeans. I kick my pumps from this evening's date night aside and grab a monogrammed bumbag.

“Faith” Amber says, wearing on my thinning patience.

“What?” I respond, casting a look over my shoulder.

“It’s not that we don't think you're great - I mean of course we do your the life of the party, you're so smart and funny”

“I’m glad I provide entertainment for you Amber” I respond and she places a hand on her chest. I brace for the perpetual state of victimhood that follows nice-nasty and outright mean.

“I didn't mean it like that!” Amber says. Whether it's fact or fiction makes no difference to me - my goal was to shut her up and when her nostrils flare I know I've achieved my goal.

“Don't be like that Faith, Jason is – being bored isn’t a reason to leave him. He literally worships you” Char continues. I wish her position was disappointing or surprising but it’s what I expect from Char now that she's been fully indoctrinated by our mothers social climb. Years of private school, country clubs and tennis lessons have her disillusioned.

“It’s fine, I don't expect you to understand” I snap, pushing past the both of them.

“Where are you going, do you want me to come?” she asks, eyeing my casual attire.

“No, finish the wine and talk about how ungrateful I am” I respond slamming the front door to our condo. I rush to the elevator hoping they won't follow me and call a cab once I'm in the lobby. The wait is less than a minute. I turn off my location, blocking my sister, Amber and Jason for the night.

I’m too young to be so stressed, I've felt like I've been drowning for weeks as Jason turned the intensity up in our relationship in all the wrong ways. Trying to become bffs with my mother and Rick. Talking with the future, talking about expectations and children and houses. Why would anyone think I would sign up for a lifetime of the one I didn’t choose. The one Ma laid on her back and threw away everything she knew and held dear for. I’d never so eagerly trade my autonomy. I rate the driver five stars for the much appreciated silence and smile as my feet touch the pavement. I smell cigarettes and weed as patrons partake outside the bar. I can see it’s busy when I head in. Unlike anything in the heart of the city D’s place is truly one of one. Traditional wood counters, stools, a pool table, a jukebox, booth seating on one side, open space in the middle and a few table configurations for those who want to sit and talk. Everywhere is full tonight and it makes me happy for my friend as I head to the bar a man getting up to give me his stool. I look around for Diego smiling when I find him.

“Hey” I wave, and he comes over with top shelf tequila. Smiling at my presence he makes a show of making my favorite drink a cherry margarita and tops it with five cherries. “Thanks” I beam saluting him before my first sip. “Perfection” I wince and he laughs.

“What’s up?” He asks and I chew on one of the cherries pushing the rest of them into the liquid in the hopes they absorb some of the liquor.

“Nothing much, I can help you bartend if you drive me home…” I suggest.

Diego dries a glass. “I don’t get off until three”

“It’s fine” I shrug while having another swig.

“Doesn’t Jason usually get tickets to the big games? I was looking for you court side” He asks, looking up at the mounted TV in the bar.

“We broke up” I confess and he frowns, pausing his task.

“What’d he do? Do I need to fuck him up for you?” D asks, ready for war.

“Nothing, it just wasn’t going to work.” I admit taking another cherry. D gives me an unsure look before manning his bar. I watch the clock run out and drain the liquid from my glass, then I get behind the bar and get to work. Diego and I grew up together on the same block as kids. He spent a lot of time with me and my sister before the whispering started. People thought it was poor parenting to have him sleeping in a room with two girls. D would’ve never laid a finger on us. He moved away when I was ten and we reconnected after college. He became the big brother I never had. Now, he has his life together and I’m the wreck.

Time goes by when you’re having fun and D and I are an excellent team. Working, being busy, accomplishing something and being around D is grounding for me. There’s nothing we want from each other or hope to gain from our association and honestly it’s refreshing. D really has put everything into this place and it’s a pleasure to help him keep his patrons happy with good drinks and excellent customer service. It’s a sausage fest and the flirtation is harmless. Almost all of them are regulars and regular guys here to drink a few beers and watch the game. I make a show of eating the cherries from my glass gaining an audience, extra tips and looks of disapproving amusement from D. It's harmless rebellion, the kind of thing that Jason would spend hours scolding me for - not understanding I’m just joking around. Having a bit of fun. D’s bar is the kind of place that would make Jason itch. There’s no VIP seating, back room or slipping someone extra money to get better service. Honestly that behaviour may lead him to a black eye and pressing assault charges for his uppity ways. The thought makes me smile as the patrons file out, I have so many tips there's no more space in my pockets so D gets me a jar.

By the time it’s three AM I’ve forgotten all about my breakup. D and the security clean off the tables and put the chairs up. I get the mop ready and clean the floors to save them from sticky floors when they come in later on today. The bell rings and the door opens to three men walking in. I wait for someone to tell them we’re closed but no one does. The tall slim one in all black sits at the bar and the other two go into the back. My heart rate slows as I look around for D, when I don't see him I keep my head down mopping until D comes from in the back. He greets the man and pours him something top shelf.I continue mopping until I see Diego motioning for me to come over. I do and he looks nervous. He hands me his keys. “Go wait in the car” he says handing me his keys.

“My coat” I remind D, and he nods, getting it from behind the bar for me.

“I don’t remember hiring you,” the guy drinking at the bar says, stopping me in my tracks. His voice is smooth and his eyes are too easy for him to be anything but trouble. The tattoo on his neck tells me he’s bad news, as well as how rigid D’s posture is behind me.

“She’s a friend, came to help me out” Diego says, being oddly submissive. I look up at him confused. He has at least a hundred pounds of muscle on this guy and he’s afraid of no one. The guy turns to face us and his hands go in his pockets as he gives me a slow once over. He’s hard to read.

“I didn’t know we needed help and I don’t remember getting a text that you’d have someone else closing with you” he adds. His speech is slow and calm which adds to the sense of danger about him.

“I was headed home, came by for a drink and it was getting crazy in here. I just wanted to help out” I explain and the man gives a half smile but it only makes me more uneasy.

“There are health codes, forms, certifications and things we need in case something comes up or a by-law officer stops by. I need to know who’s behind my bar. Who’s serving my customers.” he doubles looking at D.

“I said she’s a friend,” Diego grits in response. The man’s jaw clenches but he turns around.

“Shit hits the fan, you’ll have to deal with it, not me” he says going back to his drink and I hurry out of the bar. I have a million questions but I don’t ask any the entire ride home. My mind goes to a hundred scenarios, landing on one every time if D needed money why didn't he ask me for some. If it was for protection didn’t he know better than to get mixed up with men like … whoever that was? The car slows to a stop in front of my condo and he puts it in park handing my tips.

“Take care, and if Jason needs a clue let me know” he says before kissing my cheek.

“Thanks” I smile and he hands me another jar. I smile when I realize they’re tequila soaked cherries. “Sorry for the trouble” I apologize.

“My cousin is OCD about people,” he shrugs.

“Ok” I nod wondering why I don't know this one of Diego’s cousins or that he was the bar owner. I don't push, instead I hug my friend and trust our bond before heading into the building, into the elevator and into the apartment I share with my sister.

authors note: well that's all for now folks. see you around for the next part. don't forget to ❣ Like, ❝ Comment, ↺ Reblog

click here to ✮ join taglist ✮ and be notified when it drops.

tags: @meadows5 @wnbweasley @becauseimher @ariiaeltheedonn @woahthatshitfat @miniaturehideoutmentality @kokobells @ffenthusiastt @sowhatariyana @1xtral1983 @theegoddessofmelanin @fictionalreads @roxytheimmortal @fairytale07 @rampsen

#rio good girls #rio x black!reader #rio x oc #good girls rio #rio good girls imagine #manny montana fanfiction #rio good girls fanfiction #masterlist #manny montana x original character #rio good girls x original character #rio x reader

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yuikomorii · 2 days ago

Note

I love Yui she's such a nerd, honestly your blog is the whole reason I even like Yui now, I never disliked her but I never cared about her because she seemed kinda the basic " Nice girl " trope ( and I watched the anime first ) so I just ignored her but your blog put more light on her personality and now she is so much more interesting to me. I honestly wish we would get some more background info on her about her old life before the Sakamakis, we do kinda but not much.

When I thought Yui was a bland Nice Character only to realize she's a Clusmy, kinda slow, obsessive girl in love and somtimes just as crazy as the Sakamakis, like girrrl I've seen those Bad endings, Shuu More blood brute?? Ayato bad endings? Our true queen, say delulu in love Yui ❤️

// Haha, I’m glad to hear that. 💕💕

I don’t have anything against the “nice girl” trope, as long as it’s executed well and the girl has more depth than just being “too good for this world.” Yui might come across as your typical nice girl at first glance, but even outside the endings, she occasionally does or says things so unexpectedly problematic that you can’t help but wonder “What’s wrong with her?”. That said, she’s not meant to be a normal character, since this is a game made for people with masochistic fantasies, and we’re supposed to either play as her or put ourselves in her shoes. It’s pretty clear Yui has always had some underlying masochistic tendencies. After all, she started enjoying the bites during the Dark section of the HDB chapters, which isn’t exactly something a “normal” person would do… well, not so fast. 👀

Yui is a kind and stupid girl in general, but she can also be cunning and even worse than the Diaboys when mad, so that’s what makes her interesting. Honestly, I’m glad she’s crazy too, if she weren’t, I’d feel way too bad for her. At least this way, she shares some of the twisted traits of her men, which makes her dynamic with them feel more balanced. 😂😂

Speaking of those endings, every time I think about them, I get chills. I can understand the “I’ll get rid of everyone for senpai because he’s my precious senpai and mine alone!” type of Yandere you see in anime, but the ones who do something truly horrifying to the person they claim to love are on a whole other level of disturbing. At least in Shu’s one, she “only” stabs him and locks him in a dungeon to turn him into her one and only blood slave. But in Ayato’s ending? She literally paralyzes his entire body out of jealousy, leaving him unable to move or speak yet fully conscious of what’s happening, while she carries him around like an actual DOLL, and then she uses him for pleasure. It’s practically an allegory for reducing someone to a living sex doll—an object meant solely to look good and fulfill someone else’s desires, which is just next-level of messed up, lol.

Credit to: dialovers-translations

I even remember this screenshot from the Chinese edition where Yui says to a paralyzed Ayato, “Ayato, don’t go anywhere.” Girl, where was he even supposed to go?? You literally took away his ability to do anything. Even Karlheinz got creeped out! 😳

#admin #(GO QUEEN GET WHATEVER YOU WANT)#(Yui: If it’s mine then it stays mine)

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steddieas-shegoes · 10 hours ago

Text

a birthday halfway forgot

for @corrodedcoffinfest pop-up event 'birthday boy' using the prompt 'birthday' and 'age 30'

rated e, minors dni | 3132 words | no cw | tags: famous corroded coffin, band manager steve, established relationship, fucking on a motorcycle is ill-advised but they do it anyway, hand jobs, anal sex, domestic fluff

🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️

He’s looking at the calendar in shock. He didn’t know. He didn’t realize.

It’s January 26th.

It’s Eddie’s 30th birthday. It’s Gareth’s 27th birthday.

Somehow, he lost track of dates in all of the chaos of planning the next tour and being so focused on the April through September parts of the calendar.

“Shit.”

He immediately calls Jeff because he’s sure the next most mature human being in their codependent group of misfits hasn’t forgotten. There’s no way Jeff forgot.

“Shit,” he says when Steve asks.

He forgot.

“Okay. It’s not the end of the world! It’s still early.”

Steve looks at the clock. It is early, but they don’t have time to plan something.

“Make a reservation at that Italian place they both like. The one with the fried meatballs. I’ll get cake. It’ll be fine,” Steve is good in crisis. He’s proven time and time again how quickly he can fix problems on tour. He can do it for this, too. “They won’t know we forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Eddie asks from behind Steve.

“The appointment we made for everyone to see the doctor before tour!” Steve says, way too loud to be considered normal.

Luckily, Eddie is used to Steve being a little manic during the planning stages of tour and doesn’t question his volume or strained smile.

“Is that Gare? He was supposed to call me when he got up,” Eddie steps closer. “It’s almost noon; There’s no way he’s still asleep.”

“It’s Jeff.”

“Jeffery!” Eddie grabs the phone from Steve’s hand and waves his free hand around. “Haven’t you taken my husband away from me enough lately?”

Steve rolls his eyes. It’s not his fault they choose to handle most things themselves instead of outsourcing all the tour management to the label. It’s better if Steve and Jeff take care of things.

They talk for a few minutes and Steve decides he needs to pull out the phone book to find a bakery. It’s gonna be a hell of a challenge to find someone capable of personalizing a cake within a few hours, but if anyone can, it’s Steve.

Eddie ends up driving to Gareth’s instead of waiting for his call, which makes Steve’s life a lot easier. He finds a bakery— only had to call six before someone was willing— and tries not to worry too much about how much he’s paying just for a cake. They have money. They can afford an expensive cake.

Eddie and Gareth deserve it.

Steve cannot believe he forgot.

||||||||||||

“You forgot,” Eddie laughs.

The restaurant is empty except for the guys and a handful of staff ready to wait on their every want and need. There’s a balloon on the centerpiece of the table and one gift sitting next to it.

Steve groans.

“Jeff forgot, too.”

Eddie kisses his temple and walks over to the gift. Steve knows it’s Gareth’s gift. Eddie’s can’t be wrapped.

“Hey!” Jeff exclaims, but Eddie waves him off.

“We didn’t forget your birthdays, we just forgot what day it was entirely,” Steve continues. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says and really means it. Eddie doesn’t get upset about this stuff, Steve knows that. “Gareth and I had a bet.”

“That’s what you had to go over to talk to him about?” Steve looks over at Gareth, who is flirting with the waitress while everyone else sits at the table. “How much did you bet?”

“He bet that you guys forgot and wouldn’t remember until we told you. $200.”

“And you?”

Eddie laughs. “I bet that you’d remember in time to pull off a surprise but just barely. $500.”

“Wow. Does he even have that kinda money laying around?” Steve jokes. He does. They all do. They have more money than they need. Their money has money. Literally. It’s accruing interest in accounts.

“You know exactly how much money I have,” Gareth says as he lays an arm around Steve’s shoulders and smacks a kiss on his cheek. “You balanced my checkbook last week and I swear I’ve only spent a few grand since.”

Steve knows he’s joking, but his heart stutters in his chest anyway. Just because they have it doesn’t mean they should be frivolous with it. He knows they all know that, but Gareth is still quick to sign a check for pleasure sometimes.

“Happy birthday, Gare,” Steve says as he leans his head on top of Gareth’s. “Sorry we forgot a little.”

“Eh, it was only a little. We’re celebrating now. Plus, I’m only turning 27. Grandpa over here should start drafting his retirement announcement.”

“I would, but I haven’t developed arthritis yet,” Eddie says as he grabs one of the fried meatballs from the plate near the end of the table. “At the rate you crack your knuckles, you’ll be celebrating your 28th in a care facility.”

“Alright, enough. Let’s order drinks and stop making the staff nervous,” Steve starts to gather everyone to the table, take the lead the way he usually does. It’s natural, and easy, and fun. He likes being the beacon of responsibility for this group. It’s different from his role with the kids in Hawkins— less life or death most of the time— but still a glorified babysitter position. “Behave like the adults you claim to be.”

“Wayne Munson just came out of your mouth,” Eddie says as he sits. “Not sure I like it.”

Steve ignores the bait. He’ll never get them all to be decent guests at this restaurant if he keeps going back and forth with Eddie.

They spend so much time together already, but it’s never difficult to be around each other. They really are codependent at this point; Where one goes, at least one more will follow and he’ll bring beer and sarcasm.

Gareth opens his present, eyes shining when he sees that everyone chipped in to get him the record player he loved when they went to an old record shop in Chicago. It was considered antique and the owner of the shop wasn’t even interested in selling it to him, but Steve is a convincing guy, and the rest of the guys pulled out their own checkbooks to make it happen.

They grabbed a few records for him, too, but he’s already talking about the list he has and where they can find them. Everyone listens because it’s his birthday, only throwing in jibes occasionally instead of constantly. It’s his birthday so they’re taking it easy.

“I guess my gift is these fried meatballs,” Eddie finally says. He doesn’t sound disappointed; That’s how much he loves the fried meatballs.

“Your gift is at home,” Steve pats his knee, dismissive.

Eddie wiggles his brows. “From everyone or just you?”

“Part of it is from everyone,” Steve allows.

“I’m ready to go!” Eddie claps his hands. “Thanks for coming, happy birthday to my birthday twin, blah blah blah.”

Frankie rolls his eyes and reaches for one of the meatballs on Eddie’s plate.

“Just remember the part that came from all of us is not the part you’re so excited about,” he says with his mouth full.

“Love you all, but I definitely have no interest in fucking any of you. See ya!” He waves as he gets up and leaves.

Everyone looks at Steve. He pats Gareth on the shoulder and smiles at everyone else.

“See you guys tomorrow. Not early, though. Unless you wanna see something you’ll never forget,” Steve winks.

Everyone groans but they wave and say goodbye with smiles on their faces.

Eddie’s sitting in the passenger seat when Steve gets to the car. He’s a passenger princess through and through and Steve loves him for it.

“Step on it, baby!”

Steve steps on it, but maintains the speed limit because the last thing they need is a ticket.

||||||

He doesn’t park in the garage because he can’t.

Eddie’s immediately suspicious.

“It’s supposed to rain early in the morning. Don’t you wanna pull the car in?” He asks.

“Can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“I can’t.”

“Oh my god.”

Steve smirks. Eddie unbuckles his seatbelt and practically falls out of the car as he bangs on the garage door.

“Open it!” He yells at Steve, who has the button in the car, but thinks this is way more entertaining than doing what Eddie asks. He could always unlock the door and get inside that way, but he knows Eddie realizes what his present is now.

They went all out for his 30th. Even the kids got involved. Wayne picked it out. This has been their best kept secret for months.

The fact that Steve forgot today was the day is crazy in hindsight. He’s had this date circled as delivery day for nearly a month.

Steve finally pushes the button to open the door and Eddie barely waits for it to be lifted above his waist before he’s ducking inside. He screams. High-pitched, girlish in nature, entertaining as hell. Steve almost wishes he could’ve thought to bring the camcorder with him to record this special moment.

“Steve!” Eddie exclaims when he’s done squealing. “A Harley?!”

Steve casually walks into the garage and wraps his arm around Eddie’s waist, kissing his temple.

“Wayne said this is really close to the one you liked when you two went on that trip together,” Steve explains. “We can always paint it if the color isn’t right.”

“It’s perfect. Don’t touch it. It’s perfect,” he babbles, leaving Steve’s arm to sit on the seat, bouncing once as if to test how squishy the seat is.

It’s squishy. Steve checked.

“The helmet even has bats painted on it!” Eddie reaches for the helmet hanging from the handle. “And my name! Stevie!”

“And the helmet is required. Even if you’re just going to Gareth’s house or to the store. No helmet, no motorcycle,” Steve places his hands on his hips. He means business and Eddie knows it better than anyone that safety comes before fun, always.

“I know, I know. I can’t believe this,” Eddie says, still in awe. “I didn’t think you’d ever cave. Who convinced you?”

See, Eddie’s wanted his own bike for at least four years now, ever since he and Wayne went on a bike tour of the Appalachian Mountains. Steve wasn’t necessarily against it, he just knew they didn’t have much time at home to enjoy it, and he did worry that Eddie wouldn’t prioritize safety over fun if he got carried away.

He hates that Frankie of all people managed to convince him by saying there’s nothing hotter than fucking on a Harley.

He’s hoping Frankie’s right.

Instead of answering the question, Steve presses the button that closes the garage door and walks over to the bike.

“You ready for part two?”

“I don’t even know how this can get any better, but sure,” Eddie looks up at him with wide eyes.

Steve pulls off his shirt, kicks off his shoes, and strips off his pants and underwear. He shivers, but not because he’s cold. Winter looks a lot different in California than it did in Hawkins, that’s for sure.

“Oh my god. I must be dreaming,” Eddie grins as he leans back, making room for Steve to straddle his thighs on the bike.

It’s a sturdy bike, so he’s not too worried about it falling over while they do this, but a small voice in his head is still telling him to make small movements. He’s not letting Eddie fuck him on this thing until they test it like this.

Steve’s half-hard at the thought of Eddie holding him up on this thing, letting him bounce on his cock. Maybe he’s fantasized about Eddie being a mechanic fixing his car and Steve’s only way to pay for the labor is to ride him until they’re both sweaty and messy, oil stains leaving fingerprints on Steve’s skin.

That’s not what’s happening now, and won’t actually happen ever, but this is close enough.

“Been thinking about you touching me all day,” Steve admits. It’s true, but he’s playing it up a little, fluttering his eyelashes a little. “I wanna take a ride, too.”

“I’ve gotta be the luckiest man in the world,” Eddie groans as he wraps his hand around Steve’s length, squeezing the head of his cock and jerking his hand a few times to bring him to full hardness. “I’ve had this exact dream.”

“How’d the dream go?” Steve gasps as Eddie touches him the right way over and over. He’s good at this, always has been. He finds the right pace and pressure, and he just keeps going, listening for any sign that Steve’s not feeling perfect.

“I got to make you come and then lay you down on the seat and lick you clean,” Eddie ends on a moan. “Please let me do that, baby. I’ll do anything.”

Steve nods, would never stop Eddie from doing that. This sounds like a dream he’s had, too.

His hands hold onto Eddie’s shoulders as he tilts his hips up to push into Eddie’s grasp. He’s close, so close already. He doesn’t think they’ll ever stop being embarrassingly quick when they get their hands on each other.

It’s a gift to know someone so well that you feel like teenagers every time you touch each other.

“C’mon,” Eddie nips at Steve’s neck, breath hot against his skin. “Make a mess, baby.”

Steve’s always been good at following directions. He moans as he comes, paints his own stomach and Eddie’s hand, opens his eyes to see cum dripping onto the seat under him. He’s sure Eddie doesn’t mind.

He feels shaky, unstable, but only because the bike rocks under them as Eddie pulls his own shirt off and stands, moving Steve so he’s laying back. It’s far from comfortable, but it’s hot as hell.

Eddie licks the cum off Steve’s stomach and dick, takes his time while Steve sucks on his fingers. They’re both still worked up too much to stop, and now that Steve’s slowly coming down, he realizes he wants Eddie to fuck him. Now.

“Get your pants off,” Steve demands.

“Say please,” Eddie teases before sucking a bruise into Steve’s hip.

“Please,” Steve begs, because it’s Eddie’s birthday and he’s gonna do whatever Eddie wants. Eddie likes when he begs a little, even though they both know there’s no need for it. “Fuck me.”

“You look so good like this,” Eddie says as he shoves his pants off. “Not even sure I need to drive this thing if I can have you like this all the time.”

“No more band? Touring? Just fucking me on your motorcycle?” Steve’s laugh turns into a groan when Eddie’s finger circles his hole. “Not sure we can back out of this tour now.”

“You and I both know I’ll find plenty of places to fuck you on tour,” Eddie smiles down at him. “Comfy or do you need to move?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m okay for now. Just want you inside me.”

Eddie opens him up efficiently, doesn’t rub against his prostate until he’s got three fingers inside him.

Trying to stay still is proving to be difficult, and Steve’s pretty sure their pushing the limits of the kickstand.

“C’mon, I’m good. I’m ready,” Steve says. “Fuck me, Eddie, c’mon.”

Fucking on a motorcycle is not easy to do, but they’ve actually fucked in more difficult positions before.

One time, Steve fucked Eddie over an amp backstage. It wasn’t wide enough for either of them to properly sit on, but they managed. They had bruises and some strange red marks for a day or two, but it was worth it.

Another time, the hotel they were staying in had a balcony. Kind of. It was barely more than a small extension of the room with an iron bar around it, but they put that iron bar to the test. It passed, they were sore.

They have to be slow, slower than they normally would be. Steve doesn’t wanna have to bring it in for scuff marks to be buffed out if it falls over on day one.

If he were less flexible, maybe a little older, he’d have to call it. His legs are tight around Eddie’s waist and he’s using more of his ab muscles than he’s used in years to maintain his own stability.

Eddie blankets himself over Steve, barely moving in and out of him. The friction of Steve’s leaking cock against his stomach is probably enough to get him there.

Eddie brushes Steve’s bangs off his face, kisses his forehead, and moans when Steve clenches around his cock.

“I love you so much,” Eddie whispers. “You’re the best gift.”

Steve kisses him, mouth open, tongue licking over his teeth. It’s wet and messy, and it’s perfect. The phone’s ringing inside the house, but they’re too close to care about trying to answer. They’ll leave a message.

They both come together, whimpering into each others’ mouths as Eddie’s hips stutter and Steve’s legs fall.

Eddie kisses the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck. He pulls out slowly, and they both wince at the loss of being filled and being surrounded.

“Let’s get cleaned up. I wanna take this for a ride,” Eddie helps Steve off the bike. “You got a helmet?”

Steve nods. “I assumed you’d want me to come with you at least once.”

“I’ve had dreams, Stevie.”

They both laugh and the phone starts ringing again. Eddie sighs and rushes to get inside.

“Hello?” Steve follows, closing the door behind him. His legs feel numb, almost enough to make him stumble. “Gare, you knew what my gift was and you’re still calling?”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Of course I love it. No, you can’t come over for a ride tonight. No, you can’t drive it. No!” Steve is giggling as he kisses Eddie’s shoulder on his way past him to their room. “I don’t care if it’s your birthday, too. It’s my gift.”

Steve drops his clothes in the basket and goes into the bathroom to start the shower. He has no doubt that they’ll get messy again before the night’s over, but they should try to look decent if they’re taking the Harley out for a spin.

He hears Eddie telling Gareth not to call back until tomorrow as he steps into the hot water.

Gareth will worm his way into driving it by the end of the week, Steve’s sure of it. Eddie’s got a soft spot for him that can be seen from space. That’s why there’s a helmet for Gareth sitting in a box in the living room.

Steve thought of everything.

“Does cum stain leather?” Eddie asks as he steps into the shower.

Steve’s brows furrow.

Maybe he didn’t think of everything.

#stranger things #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fest #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #jeff stranger things #gareth stranger things #unnamed freak stranger things

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scrimblescromble · 2 days ago

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Hello, I'm back, with things I have noticed about Eragon that makes parts of the book very strange or funny or sad

Garrow's farm is TEN MILES OUT from Carvahall, which is already small. What the hell was he thinking??? It takes like 3.5 hours to walk that much???? And Eragon walks FURTHER THAN THAT to go hunting at 15???? Go behind you??

When hunting in the beginning, Eragon spends days just going for one doe. Which, all things considered, is not a lot of meat, especially for what's probably a 4 day hunt. For one person, it's unrealistic to carry more than that, but still.

Leading on from that, I'm led to believe that their family probably mostly ate bread and vegetables, and maybe cheese. No wonder he's pretty attached to meat.

Despite living so far away, Brom knows Eragon's knack for asking Too Many Questions, which implies this happens often.

How the hell does Brom make money? Storytelling??? There's only so much money that can get you in fifteen years, he's definitely got something on the side. He was a gardener in Morzan's estate for a while...

So far up north and isolated, Eragon DEFINITELY has a STRONG farmer's accent. Combined with his formal training with the elves, he probably has the weirdest way of talking, where it's both overly formal and casual at the same time.

Eragon is such a prodigy it's not even funny. By the time he meets Murtagh, he's a good enough swordsman after JUST A FEW MONTHS that they're literally equal. Murtagh has been doing that his WHOLE LIFE with a really good swordsman. Magic also comes pretty good to him, even if he's not always sensible with it. He learns to read well enough to read full books in a week.

Eragon and Roran are pretty similar with the dangerous stunts they pull, except Eragon's are usually with magic and Roran's are physical. They are both absurdly intelligent too, even if Eragon is known to act like a dolt sometimes. In his defence, he's stressed and like 15-17 years old. All things considered, he could be far worse.

Somehow, with his back ripped open and cursed, with his dragon crashing through the crystal ceiling which is raining on top of him, Eragon is able to not only remember to stab Durza in the heart (requiring turning around), but also shout an unnecessary spell.

Eragon probably could do magic before he bonded with Saphira. His mum wasn't a rider and had the "genes" for it, and his dad was a rider. It wouldn't be as strong, but maybe he's such a powerful spellcaster because he had some sort of baseline.

I bet that the first time Eragon wandered into the Spine, he was pretty young, and everyone kinda assumed him dead. He came out a week later with a bunch of rabbits or something

The fact that the Blood Oath Celebration made Eragon very pale implies that he's naturally the whitest boy ever and he just had a constant tan going (likely, because he's a farmer). This is just very funny to me, that in removing all injuries it took his tan.

Another point for absurdly powerful Eragon - the fact that his accidental curse had such an impact on Elva, to the point that it straight up affected her development. It wasn't even a spell! Or intentional!

I'm sorry, but Eragon casting empathy and that unintentionally killing the bad guy is so funny. He was SURRENDERING, but cut a bitch so deep that he imploded himself. Iconic.

Literally he is just so nice. Willing to run across the world, separated from Saphira, to support Orik in his campaign - when he totally could have given an excuse, or even just say the truth, which is that he's very much needed where he is. There's so many more examples, but he's just a good person.

I'm sorry, but Oramis was kinda a bitch for assigning the one hour of duelling in his training. Like, it flares up his seizures like crazy (which he ALSO SUFFERS FROM), AND he doesn't stand a chance against the elves in strength. I understand the point, but something had to give there. At the very least, reassign someone that won't actively torture him??

Adding onto that, we know that he's only able to succeed at the listening to the forest task after the transformation. I suspect that the mind is a sort of "sixth sense", and we know that elves have stronger senses; it's possible Eragon would have to have been bonded for a decent while for this to even be possible. I bet anything that human riders were usually trained by elder humans, and Oramis was struggling with a fledgeling human instead of an elf, as well as the time constraint.

Why the hell does Brom look so old? Yeah, he's old, but Galbatorix doesn't look that old? Is it something to do with his dragon being dead? The way I assumed it would be is that riders look like thirty for a verrrryyyy long time, no? Is it because Saphira died? Was he just going to perpetually age? Or does the beard age him?

Your cousin who feels like a brother goes missing, ran away, after your father's death. Soon you're leading everyone you've ever known to the rebellion in a desperate attempt to keep them safe and save the woman you love. Your cousin is wanted, even more than you are. He returns. He's different. Barely human anymore, hardly the boy you once knew. He's their last, and only hope. His war cry has been the same since he was six.

Now that I think about it, Garrow really is the odd one out in the family. His sister was the Black Hand, a highly dangerous assassin and magician. His son is Stronghammer, one of the deadliest soldiers in the country. His nephews are Eragon and Murtagh, both highly skilled swordsmen and magicians, riders, and both known as Kingkiller. Garrow is a farmer who can read.

Selena naming her son Eragon is soooo funny. "His dad - who is a secret! - is a rider, and Eragon was the first rider. It's so uncommon a name even among the elves that literally nobody will know this. My abusive husband and the evil king both know I hail from this place. He totally won't stick out in any way whatsoever!" Iconic, 10/10. It worked???

If any of these are inaccurate please remember I am going off my very deep-seated knowledge from reading the books so many times at a formative age. I haven't actually read them in years

#eragon #eragon shadeslayer #scrim rambles #inheritance cycle #the inheritance cycle #eldest #brisingr #inheritance

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ranfordgallus · 1 day ago

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Finally made....a...gary stu wild kratts oc, i can go for a human oc but...i think an animal oc in wild kratts would fit more..

His design took like several concept art to get to the finished product, i know that you should just have fun making a mary sue oc because who cares like I KNOW! Im doing this for fun by analyzing my oc

Ok so...i want to make a gary stu oc, but i want it so it fits in the wild kratts universe and somewhere leaning to real-ish biology in animals. And this might be...in my opinion, the best gary stu oc ive ever made ever because..let me just explain

This is Einhorn, he is a newly discovered species who was found by the kratt brothers by accident, he is a unicorn and very endangered too, though many depictions of unicorns are horses with a horn but he's not a horse but a type of antelope who has only one horn, his fur is not very blue but as much blue as any fur colour it could get because blue pigment in fur is VERY rare, almost impossible for mammals to even gain, i mean blue is just rare in general in nature, and purple eyes are also really rare in animals, very few humans with albinism have purple eyes and honestly...love it

He is a calf so it's perfect, martin is the one who named him einhorn, because ein is one in german..heh..COUGH..anyway the crew loves him because he's a new species, a literal unicorn, and adorable, he has a very energetic and enthusiastic personality, reckless, independent, and very affectionate

Reason why he's perfect? Because...HE IS A REAL LIFE (atleast in the show not irl) UNICORN, and the fact that he's a baby is better for the villains, Donita would LOVE him, either use him as decoration, fashion wear, or even use him as a faannnccyy pet since he's pretty handsome as an adult, it'll catch everyones eyes seeing someone riding a unicorn.. Zach? I mean this motherfucker will get the chance to sell this guy for billions or even be his bodyguard and OR transportation when he's older.. Gaston loves to try endangered or even rare animals so Einhorn is big business for him

Einhorn (adult version) is very strong and fast, like a rhino he could topple a pride of lions with his horn and thick skin as protection, but in the end he's still that affectionate lil goofball

I put too much detail and thought on this guy but thats the POINT!!! Im having fun!!! Man!!

#fandom #wild kratts #art #fanart #artwork #art style #doodles #wild kratts fanart

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corazondebeskar-reads · 2 days ago

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of rage and ruin - chapter nine

chapter nine

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: things take a turn for the worse.

Please read the warnings as some new important ones have been added. NOTE: this is the last time that the SA tag will be used in this story. However, the events of this chapter are important. If you decide to skip this chapter, feel free to message me and I’ll fill you in. Or message if you want specifics about the tags to decide if you want to read it.

chapter warnings: non-con, dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), body horror, viewer discretion is advised, sexual assault (NOT by joel, NOT described, just implied and alluded to), p in v, torture

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You were wrong about Mike. About his lack of retaliation.

You were so, so wrong.

That much is clear when you wake up.

The first sign that things aren’t quite right is that you never did get around to going to sleep last night.

The second is that you may be buried, or something. You can’t quite move your limbs beyond wiggling your fingers and toes. And you can’t see shit.

The third sign is that you can’t smell Joel. Not beyond what’s soaked into your skin and sweater. No, he’s very much not here. Or anywhere nearby, if the rapidly tightening feeling in your chest is any indication.

It’s panic you can’t shake off, you know, since you can’t fucking move.

The fluorescent overhead buzzes to life.

“Not so brave now, are you?” The voice blows in from across the room and sinks in your gut like it’s sleeping with the fishes.

You really, truly are in some deep shit.

You’ve been kidnapped from your kidnappers. Honestly, what did you do in a past life to deserve this?

He’s right about one thing. The confidence you clung to in the early days has been picked at like carrion. You’re scared.

“I didn’t–I’m–” but something is wrong, so very, very wrong. You’re bubbling out gibberish and spit. It’s just sounds, dribbling from sloppy lips.

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up. It ain’t gonna wear off for a while, so best just sit quietly like a good bitch.”

You’re not sure if it's the panic or whatever he’s drugged you with, but your throat is cinched, and your cheeks sting from the uncontrollable stream of tears.

“Let’s see what’s so fuckin’ special about you. Why your cunt is worth more than my brother’s life,” he spits, unfortunately literally, as droplets spray.

Shit. They were actual brothers. Not that it mattered; what was done was done, but you had really miscalculated this.

His hand is on your shoulder. It’s better than where you thought he was reaching, and yet, still horrible. It’s not like you haven’t had to deal with handsy or aggressive men. It’s just… usually, you can move. Fight. Run.

His hand is nothing like Joel’s. His fingers are short, his nails broken and edged with grime. There are scars and dry skin, like Joel, but it’s nothing like his rough grip. There’s no nick above the webbing of his thumb, no calluses on the plump pads of his fingers to remind you that you’re alive.

Mike brushes his thumb over Joel’s bite, the thin newborn skin taut and jagged. You make a sound. You don’t hear it, not with the way your heart is beating in your eardrums, not the way every note scrapes your throat, but you grate out a sound that might have been a hiss.

Or a growl.

His hand connects with your cheek, which does not help the dizziness stuffed between your ears.

You’re not even mad, because it makes you dizzy enough that you don’t really register what comes after. Maybe you would have been worried about that, but he hit you hard enough that you didn’t even remember how hard you’d been hit.

He must know he’s on a dwindling timetable. Inevitably, by dawn, the others will return to the base with Joel in tow. Inevitably, by dawn, they’ll know.

As if he can tell you’ve dug up a fragment of hope, he leers, taking a swig from a bottle of dirty brown liquor. “You think Jim’s gonna waste resources on finding you?” he murmurs, grimy fingers stroking your cheek.

And just like that, with a sharp breath, you lose that hope. Because he’s right, he’s undeniably right. Jim never misses a chance to bitch about the drain you are. They don’t need you, not really. Neither does Joel, not really.

It’s easy, after the hours that have passed, to give in to the overwhelming dread. His hand wanders as it settles in, and you twitch away from his touch.

“Guess it’s wearin’ off,” Mike muses, taking another drink. “Can’t have you puttin’ up a fight now.” His bottle clinks against the file cabinet he sets it upon as he squats to dig through a duffel bag.

There’s nothing you can do when he ties you down. There’s nothing you can do as he grips your cheeks hard, his thumb digging into your jaw until your mouth opens. You try not to swallow the liquor he pours in, only to aspirate it instead, wheezing and sputtering to little effect.

“Jesus. Can’t even handle a little booze,” he sneers. “Too bad. Can’t have you gettin’ too feisty, huh?” He forces more down your throat, and it burns.

He keeps squeezing your face, peering down at your mouth. “Reckon I should teach you a lesson about biting,” he said, tapping the bottle lightly against your front teeth. A whimper of fear slips free, and he grins crookedly.

“Yeah, you don’t like that, huh? My brother didn’t much like gettin’ bit, either.”

He steps away to rifle back through the duffle, and when he comes back, it’s with a pair of rusted pliers.

You can feel your body twitch, trying its very hardest. The lingering drugs and booze make your head spin and throb. Mike faded in and out of view, but made his presence very clear as he pried your jaw back open.

He tapped each tooth with the pliers, hemming and hawing about where to start. Garbled sounds are all the protest you can muster, trying to shake your head loose of his grasp as he selects an incisor.

The first two attempts fail, the pliers slipping free, battering you in the process. The third try, though, clamps on just right. He clumsily tugs, to no avail, before wiggling and twisting the tooth. Reluctantly, your body parts ways with it as he increases the force, plucking the loosened tooth from the gum.

You can’t even really hear your own screams. There’s pain, there’s blood, there’s Mike’s sick laughter. And then there’s darkness.

—

It’s not the fight that wakes you. Not the gunshots, not the snarling. Everything has died down by the time you come around.

Well, not everything. Based on the sounds, you’d hazard a guess that Mike is still at least a little alive. When you look up, you’re thrilled to find out you can, that the paralysis has waned.

Then, of course, you wish you hadn’t looked at all. Once you have, though, you can’t look away. You understand that Tool song now, the one from the CD your dad burned you before the world went to hell.

For a moment, Joel meets your eyes, and you are the wolf, nearly. You can feel the way it burns through your veins.

Satisfied that you aren’t afraid, that you’re okay for a moment, he finishes his feast.

There’s not much left of Mike when he tosses his corpse into a corner. It smacks against the far wall and drops to the ground. His final resting place.

The Wolf that is Joel, that is your alpha, that is your savior, stands on his hind legs with those unsettling inverse ankle-knee-freaky bits bent. But even crouching, he fills the room. He’s a blur, like the first time you saw him, an ink blot in the center of your vision. A wormhole absorbing all the light. What little is left reflects off his shiny body. It takes you a moment to realize his fur (or his body hair, as he insists) is soaked in blood.

It clings to the plaque on his teeth. His hands are steeped in it, some already hardening or coagulating under the stretch of his claws. He stalks over to you, and you do not flinch from him. His claws rend the rope as if it were no more than spaghetti. You tremble uncontrollably as he helps you sit up, most of your faculties back under your control. His blood-soaked, massive paws cradle your cheeks, pulling back abruptly when you whimper.

A growl rumbles from his chest, and he throws his head back and howls. It brings footsteps in your direction as he gathers you into his arms. You’ve never felt smaller than you do now, and it’s not just the bulk and heft of his body. He cradles you with a delicacy unbefitting his sharp, deadly nature, but it’s all the more Joel to you than the brutality you witnessed.

The raiders filter in, just a few of them, more to control him than assist, but they reclaim Mike’s stolen supplies and pay you no mind. At least until Cheryl comes in.

“Alive after all, huh?” she says, approaching far closer than you think she should dare. But she wiggles the remote to the shock collar as she nears, peering at you. “Still want her, pet?” she asks Joel. “She’s all used up.”

He bares his teeth and snarls, and she shrugs. “It was just an option,” she says, hand dropping from the pistol on her belt.

You feel sick from the second brush with death in as many hours. Or maybe it’s from the bootleg booze and blood that’s been dripping down your throat.

He looks down at you, long tongue poking out to lap at your cheek before he realizes the injury is inside. He whines, and you shake your head, weaving your fingers in his fur and burying your face there. He doesn’t need words; neither of you do. He just takes you home.

No. Not home. You can’t let yourself accept that. But it’s been almost a year, now. Almost a year since they plucked you from that FEDRA truck and brought you to hell.

It’s not the cell that’s home, though. It’s him.

—

You look up at the wolf once you’re locked in, the relief of your familiar prison bubbling up like bile. The others go back to their day, the incident no more than a blip of inconvenience. Silence lingers, both of you waiting, waiting, waiting to hear the heavy thunk of the cellar’s deadbolt.

As soon as it sounds, you break.

“You found me,” you gasp, trailing into a whimper. “You found me, you found me.” Your voice is grating, leaking from your cracked and dry throat. It hurts to talk, your jaw throbs, and you struggle around the swelling, but you can’t stem the leak.

He grips your biceps with both paws, and rolls back the shift enough to speak. “I found you,” he says firmly, letting you feel his sturdy hold on you, keeping you there and present. “I’ve got you. Okay?”

You don’t respond, still shaking and swaying a little on the spot. “You found me,” you echo, raw and dredged up from the hollow of your lungs.

“Hey,” he growls without aggression. “ Listen to me. ” He doesn’t mean to do it. His voice drops a register, an even lower rumble than usual, and your attention snaps up to him.

He winces. There’ll be time to apologize later, though. “I’ve got you,” he repeats steadily. “Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you echo in a whisper.

“I will always find you,” he promises, eyes gone dark. “Always, little omega. You’re mine, and there’s nowhere on this godforsaken earth that they can hide you from me.”

In any other context, it would frighten you. It should, by all means, frighten you a little. Instead, you kiss him.

It’s a mistake that sends you pulling back, gasping in pain, and all the ferocity on his face falls.

“Let me see,” he coaxes gently, cradling your jaw. He’s careful as he presses your lip to the side to get a good look. “ Jesus, ” he whispers.

You can see the guilt building up, layers upon layers from all his life. You won’t let this, won’t let you be another. “Joel—”

But he’s not having it. He bristles and narrows his eyes at you. “Would you stop tryin’ to run your mouth? You’re making it bleed.” His eyes dart over your face, stopping back on your missing tooth each time before sighing, shoulders slumping.

“C’mon,” he grumbles, leaving no room for argument by simply picking you up and carrying you over to the bed. He settles with you straddling his lap, wincing. He looks down for only a moment. “I’ll take care of that next. Sit still ‘n be good.”

It turns out not to be a hard order to follow. He sets about to lick your wounds, starting with your mouth. He doesn’t mean for it to turn into anything, he really doesn’t, but he’s licking inside your mouth. As his spit mixes with yours, as he laves his tongue oh-so-gently over and over, the familiar tingling starts to set in. It numbs the pain, not entirely, but the relief is enough to make you sigh softly against his mouth.

He can’t entirely be blamed as it turns into lazy kisses, tongues brushing comfort over one another, each press of lips like a mantra. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. You’re not sure who’s reassuring who.

It’s not going to fix it. There’s not a magical makeout session that can restore your tooth or even heal the socket. Not that quickly, anyway. But it eases the pain, and so does the way his warm hands hold you like you’re something precious. The way he groans into the kiss, the way he can’t stop reaching for every bit of you, checking meticulously to make sure nothing else was taken from you.

He makes good on his promise to soothe your other wounds. He can’t quite numb your aching mind or racing heart, can’t slide his tongue over the places that shattered inside, but he can damn well remove every trace of Mike from your body.

He settles you down on the mattress, settles himself into the wolf, and he licks every inch of you. His long, hot tongue is just rough enough to make you feel clean. There’s no way even a cell of Mike’s skin is left behind on yours. Joel eats it all up like he did the man himself. It leaves your whole body tingling, your heart pounding in your ears, your cunt gushing by the time he sheaths himself in you.

There’s no room left for anyone else. There’s no room for anything but you and Joel in the darkness.

It’s too late before either of you realize he’s triggered his own rut. Your body responds beautifully, burning under his touch, following your alpha into blissful oblivion. He fusses relentlessly, worried despite his own distress and desire, not wanting you to feel trapped or forced. Not again. Never again.

It’s a promise neither of you are sure he can keep, but both know he’ll die trying.

It isn’t as long as your first heat, but it’s all the more intense. Your little room fills with sweat, pants and groans replacing any need for words. And it’s exactly what you need—no thoughts, no memories, no dealing with what you’ve suffered. Just Joel, just… love? No, that can’t be right. Just lust.

His cock is insistent, pressing into you, filling the gaps he’d left behind. He doesn’t bother turning back to the man, doesn’t bother trying to pretend he’s anything but a mindless creature right now. And still, he’s so gentle. More gentle than he’s ever been.

You didn’t have time to build a nest, but that’s okay. He doesn’t ever move from his place over your body, cocooning you, blocking everything else from sight. There’s just Joel. You’re warm and cozy and safe.

You almost forget that you’re locked up at all. He keeps you on such a high with his deft fingers, mouth, and cock that you can’t even fathom a time when he might have to part from you. The lock of your cunt around his knot is your echo of his promise. Never again.

—

“How much of this is even real?” you whisper in the fading light of your heat. Your hand is lazily raised, blocking out the fluorescents, but he catches it with his own, his thick fingers making room for themselves between yours. Locking you together in another way, keeping you close.

“Couldn’t tell ya,” he says quietly, gruff voice even coarser in the way he holds back, keeping it soft in your ear. “Probably nothin’. But it’s there anyway.”

He was sure as shit right about that. This burning in your chest, the way your heart picked up as he wove your fingers together and tugged your hands down, using both your arms to hold you to his chest, your unified fist in the center. It’s not real, not really. You don’t know him. He doesn’t know you. There’s nothing for this heavy feeling to rest upon, no foundation for the feelings that should not be there.

And yet.

The conversation is veering uncomfortably personal, of which you only have yourself to blame, but you run from it anyway. “You ever see Dawn of the Wolf? ” you ask, pushing for something unserious, something that’ll have him rolling his eyes and putting up a fuss about the W Word.

That’s not what happens, though.

His breath catches for a second before rolling out in a soft sigh, his warm breath ruffling the hairs at the nape of your neck. “Yeah,” he admits. “My—” and there’s something potent in his pause. Something that saps the silliness of your subject change away and dances dangerously close to serious.

“My daughter loved that shit,” he says.

You can’t help the way your body stiffens. You want to roll over and look at him, to parse his pursed lips and warm eyes. He doesn’t let you, though, tightening his grip around your waist, fingers pressing a little more insistently in the divots between your knuckles until you settle.

“Watched the damn movies, read the damn books, had the damn poster on her wall,” he says, something careful in his words. Like he’s trying to give this to you without giving anything up for himself. These memories he’s clutched in the recesses of his ventricles—they can’t be extracted without damaging the last soft tissue he could spare to wrap them in.

“So, who’s team were you on?” you tease instead.

“I didn’t give a shit,” he dismisses. A beat passes. “Why would she even have considered the wimpy blond vampire kid?”

“Oh, I see,” you say, nodding sagely. “You think the obvious choice was the tall, hairy, brooding wolf-man. I have to agree.”

“Shut up,” he grouses immediately. “It was all stupid, anyway. None of ‘em could stop whining.”

You go to turn over again, but this time, he lets you, both of his arms cradling you in a way that makes your throat feel tacky and tight. It’s made worse by the way his eyes are bright, the flecks of green bursting through the brown like lichen in soil.

“Never did get to see the sequel,” you say after a moment, trying to regain some sense in your brain.

He snorts. “Didn’t miss anything. I thought it couldn’t be worse than the first one but it was the stupidest two hours of my life.”

“I can’t believe you saw Dawn of the Wolf 2, and I didn’t,” you say. A beat passes. “Will you tell me about her?” you ask, barely a whisper, afraid to break whatever is happening.

“Not… not today,” he grants, and you take it for the huge step that it is, and nod, burying your face in his chest instead and taking a deep breath of his soothing scent. The oaky notes are easier to parse, now, much more complex. Hints of spices are there, sometimes.

You’re getting too familiar. So much so that when the chamomile blossom of his grief leaks through, your grip on him tightens just a little, and you find yourself pressing a kiss to the thick thatch of hair beneath your cheek.

It isn’t real, but how can it not be? How can something this intense not be real? No, it’s different. This isn’t real versus fake like something photoshopped, something on a green screen.

This is more than that. The dotted lines that make up constellations aren’t real, but it doesn’t change the way those stars are bound together to make something unique, something breathtaking.

“I get it now,” he murmurs, breaking your existential reverie.

“Get what?” you say, nose wrinkling.

He bumps his nose against yours, nudging at you in a way you know would involve a playful nip if he was his other self. “Why he didn’t just eat her,” he says.

You reward him with a bark of a laugh. “You’re still thinking about Dawn?”

This time he does nip at you, catching your ear gently with very human teeth. “S’your fault,” he grumbles, and you feel it rumble through his chest.

And yours.

No, wait, that was your stomach. You’re suddenly starving, and with that revelation comes another, much worse one. You sit up so quickly that Joel follows suit, eyebrows raised.

“What’s the matter?” He barks.

“It’s the food,” you whisper. “That’s why they don’t let you share. That’s how Mike got me. It’s in the fucking food.”

He sits up, cupping your jaw. “Explain,” he growls.

“I think they’re drugging us,” you finally tell him. It’s been a haunting tug in the back of your brain, one you didn’t really want to admit to. There’s been a matching tug in your gut, the feeling of something not sitting quite right, but you couldn’t put a finger on it.

It had been twenty years since you had something like cough syrup, anyway. But that’s the feeling. The fuzzy spot between your eyes where the ground seems to swoop up, the way you move through the day underwater.

“Fuck,” Joel whispers. But he can’t deny it makes sense. It makes too much goddamn sense. He’s been too fucking compliant, too fucked to care. He thought it was apathy borne of everything he’s been through.

But goddamnit. He knows. He just knows you’re right.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #alpha!joel x omega!reader #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #werewolf!joel #omegaverse fic #dead dove fic

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gracie-eilish · 3 days ago

Text

Take me out, and take me home…

an: this is kinda long!! but here is my official fic based on Lover by Taylor Swift:) any blue text is Billie’s dialogue and any pink is readers. I hope you enjoy this one!! seven and Guilty as Sin are both coming soon. Peachy (pt. 2) is also going to be on the way! i wasn’t originally expecting you guys to want a part two so i’ll get writing!! 🥰✨🍑

warnings: intoxication mentioned, slight nudity but no smut, so much fucking fluff it’s like a unicorn threw up cotton candy in here.

alsoooo thank you also for over a hundred followers! that’s so many beautiful besties!! i’ve loved writing about billie and chatting with so many of you over the last few weeks and i can’t wait for more!! love ya💋

🩷🥂🫧💋✨

“Take me homeeeee” You slurred, stumbling out of the party you and Billie had just attended. Billie had an arm slung around your waist while you had an arm around her shoulders.

“We’re going home baby, I promise,” Billie replied with a giggle at your disheveled state. Even drunk as can be, she found you so beautiful. Your rosy cheeks even rosier, your big wide eyes now hooded and hazy and full of love, and the sleepy smile plastered on your face made her just wanna kiss it right off of you.

“Heyy babyyyyy? I have.. a very important question for… you.” You looked back up at her stoically, booping her nose as you said “you.” Billie planted a kiss to your temple to try to hide her giggle.

“What baby?” She quickly bent down to grab your waist again as you stumbled backward, making you burst into the most melodic sounding giggles.

“I’m your baby right?” This sent Billie into a laughing fit. The attempt at a serious look on your face combined with the cutest little question, she couldn’t help it.

She pressed kisses to your cheek and temple in between declarations, “My baby, *kiss* my princess, *kiss* my girl, *kiss* my angel, *kiss* my magical unicorn angel baby princess,” she added the last one with a giggle. That was your little nickname for anyone in your life who meant something to you. Your best friends, Billie of course, your little cat. And it never failed to make Billie laugh when she heard it.

“Why do you ask my love?” She questioned after your giggles calmed down again.

“Because I’m like… soooo many things right? But I don’t have a thing for you, you know? Like I need a thing for you. And I was thinking so hard in my brain tonight and I think I figured it out.” You stated matter of factly.

Billie just nodded for you to continue, holding you up a little tighter, and pushing some hair out of your face.

“You, Billie girl, are my-“ You got cut off by Billie’s phone dinging, signaling her driver was here. Without rudely interrupting you, Billie carefully walked you both over to the car, and carefully guided you into the back seat before scooching in herself.

“You warm and cozy mama?” Billie asked, fiddling with the heater in the back, kissing your forehead after you nodded in confirmation.

The ride back home was quiet, a stark contrast to the buzz of the club you two were just in, as well as to your own drunk ramblings. Some people liked to run when drunk, others call exes, and others just fall asleep. Not you. You were always a bundle of energy, ready to chit chat with anyone who would listen, and Billie found it adorable, never once silencing your tipsy rambles even as you both tried to fall asleep at 4am.

“Billie?”

“Yeah baby?”

“I feel like… I feel like I’ve known you for like.. twenty years. But also that’s like not possible. I’ve only known you for real, for like twenty seconds.”

Billie chuckled at your statement. Another little thing you did after drinking, was greatly exaggerate time. For example, if it was the middle of November and someone complained about you still having Halloween decorations up, you’d gasp in shock saying Halloween was “literally like 20 minutes ago.” You two had been dating for about three years now, so Billie just chuckled understanding twenty seconds was three years in your own little drunken time zone tonight.

“Twenty years is a long time baby,” she replied softly, pulling you in closer to her side, letting you rest your head on her shoulder.

“It’s like such a long time. *sigh* Can we still be this close in twenty years?”

This sent both of you into giggles. Billie couldn’t help herself anymore, smothering you in kisses, each one accompanied by a little “mwah!”

“Baby once I get a ring on that finger, we will be this close for a lot longer than twenty years hun.” She pushed some hair behind your ear, watching your cheeky flush under her gaze.

“For ever and ever, you’re my-“

Your conversation faltered again as you pulled up in front of your place. Billie thanked the driver and helped you out of the car before guiding you up to your apartment. Not without few stumbles and bumps along the way.

You were starting to feel a little sleepy but Billie knew you’d get a second wind once you got inside, but she still got butterflies when she felt you wrap your arms around her from behind and rest your cheek on her shoulder as she unlocked the door.

Billie almost jumped out of her skin as you gasped dramatically at something, scaring the shit out of her.

“Baby!” You had your hands on your cheeks in shock, looking back at her as she locked the door behind her.

“We left the Christmas lights up!” You paused before turning back to face the lights. “Until January!”

“Is that a bad thing?” Billie was so confused but went along with it.

“Isn’t that like… against the rules? Christmas was like a million days ago!”

“This is our place, we make the rules.” Your eyes shined up at Billie like she just revealed the meaning to life.

“Oh. My. God. You’re so fucking right babe.”

Billie chuckled and kissed your temple before guiding you to the kitchen and sitting you down on a stool as she got you some water and a small snack.

“Drink up lovie, I don’t want your pretty little head hurting tomorrow.”

As you sipped your water and nibbled on some snacks Billie went into your shared bedroom to get you some pjs and start the shower.

Billie ran her hand under the water to check the temperature before stopping, hearing such a sound come from the kitchen. She dried off her hand before tip toeing back to the kitchen to find the source of the.. sound? song? cry?

“You’re my my my myyyyyyyyyy,” it was you. And your second wind Billie had predicted. You were spinning around on stool singing.. well singing something, only stopping when you caught sight of Billie.

“Babyyyyyy!!! You came back!” You cried out with a huge smile and your hands out, wiggling your fingers as if it would magically will her closer to you. And to your knowledge, it did magically will her closer as she wrapped her own arms around you, kissing the top of your head a few times, chuckling softly.

“I finished my snack and my water. I’m so good at that.” Billie chuckled and simply placed her forehead onto the top of your head.

“You’re killing me here babe.” She said, lifting her head back up and pushing the hair out of your face. You just shrugged nonchalantly before puckering your lips dramatically. Billie smiled adoringly before leaning in and giving you a soft almost angelic kiss, squishing your cheeks a bit too.

“Alright tipsy girl, you wanna go shower and get comfy?” She said holding your shoulders while you nodded. She could tell you were starting to get sleepy, but she knows you’d be grumpy in the morning if you hadn’t showered and you were hungover.

As she guided you into the bathroom, you were humming that little song again, Billie has never heard it before.

“That’s a pretty song your singing there lovie.” She said, helping you out of your clothes.

“Thank you. I’m writing it myself. Right now.”

“Oh really? You wanna sing some more of it for me?”

“Mmm maybe when I’m in the shower. I need to write more words first.” Billie nodded, holding back a laugh.

“Of course, of course. How could I rush such art?” She replied. “Do you want me to come in with you? Need help?”

You gasped and softly nudged her shoulder, “Billie! That’s dirty!” Billie kissed your cheek softly, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Baby it’s not dirty. We had sex in there this morning.” Your jaw dropped and face flushed at Billie’s statement. Your drunk brain not seeming to remember that right now.

“Oh my gosh Billie. You have to promise not to say things like that in front of other people.” You drunkenly pleaded, face totally flushed.

“I promise mama. I save my dirty jokes only for you.” She said with a wink, making you sigh in relief.

“Oh thank god.” Eventually you did in fact pull Billie in there with you. You claimed you didn’t need any help, but you couldn’t deny Billie’s fingers massaging the shampoo into your scalp was heavenly. The rose smell of your shampoo mixed with Billie’s woodsy vanilla body wash she used on you wrapped around you almost as tight as Billie’s arms, making your eyes droopy as you rested your head in the crook of her neck, leaning back into her and she pressed tiny kisses to your own shoulder. Her hands slowly roaming around your body, over your stomach, up to your boobs, a squeeze to your hips, a couple more squeezes on your shoulders and back to your stomach where her arms wrapped tightly, and contentedly.

“You ready for bed angel?” She whispered into your ear, hands giving your hips another squeeze. You just nodded sleepily turning around in her arms to give her a proper hug.

“Thank you by the way,” Your words a bit more steady now as you slowly sobered up.

“For what baby?”

“For saving me a seat at the table tonight. Since I got stuck in traffic. I was nervous everyone else would wanna sit next to you,” You said it so small and sweetly that Billie felt her heart grow ten sizes, knowing that at every table, she’d save you a seat for the rest of her life.

“Oh babygirl,” she cooed, cradling your head closer into her as she hugged you tighter.

She gave you one last kiss to the top of your head before shutting off the water. She stepped out and grabbed your towels out of the little towel warmer and wrapped herself in one quickly, before heading back to you. She shut the shower door again to keep the warm air in as she carefully dried you off a bit before wrapping you in the fluffy towel, with a kiss to your nose.

A comfortable silence filled the room as the two of you got ready for bed. Well really, Billie got ready for bed and then helped you do the same thing. You giggled at her focused face as she carefully dabbed moisturizer to your skin, only silencing your giggles with a kiss making both of you smile.

She had her own giggles watching your droopy eyes fight to stay open as Billie dried your hair with a towel. You absolutely melted into a puddle anytime Billie had her fingers in your hair, so her fingers mixed with a warm fluffy towel was sending you to dreamland.

When she finished, Billie helped you off the counter and gave your butt a little pat as she guided you back to your connected bedroom, shutting off the bathroom light. The two of you changed into some pjs, Billie giggled while helping you with the buttons after you whined not being able to do it right now.

“I can’t see sometimes.” You grumbled as she buttoned them with ease.

“You can’t see sometimes??” Billie asked, raising an eyebrow and biting back a smile.

“Ugh you know what I mean.” You groaned, playfully smacking her hand away once she finished.

After making sure you could get on the bed, Billie quickly went around the apartment, shutting off the lights, making sure your pets were okay, and locking the doors before returning and shutting the bedroom door behind you.

She slipped under the covers, pulling you closer to her, letting you snuggle yourself into her side like a little kitten. Once she was sure you were practically purring like one as well, Billie settled into her own pillow, letting her arm rest on your back.

“Did you write more of your song while you were in the shower?” She asked, squeezing your side quickly.

“Oh my gosh, baby I did and I forgot to tell you.” But it came out more slurred, your eyes were closed and Billie knew it would be minutes before you were fast asleep.

“That’s okay baby. You can tell me now. Sing us to sleep mama,” She whispered, kissing your cheek before settling back in your hold.

“Wait I forgot how it goes.” You were still a little drunk after all. Billie giggled trying to remember your ramblings from earlier in the night.

“I think I remember.. You kept saying “You’re my -“ and then you didn’t finish that bit. And then you were singing it in the kitchen,” Billie opened her eyes to look down at you, you seemed to be asleep at this point, but the slight furrow in your brows told her you were thinking about your little song, so she continued, whispering,

“You’re my, my, my, my….”

“Oh!! You’re my, my, my, my…” you trailed off again.

“Darling, you’re my, my, my, my…”

“Lover.”

#Spotify #billie eilish #wlw #billie eilish fluff #fanfiction #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #taylor swift #lover #billie x reader

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