#this one is just because I think it would be cool

[heavens-whore]

RIDE

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You and Joel run away together for a fresh start, away from the town you both hate. Along the way, you start to have doubts about your decision, but Joel has a way of persuading you that it’s right for you.

A/N: this is my first fic ! It was inspired by a post my friend sent me that was just a pic of motel steps, captioned "need a cigarette here". And the scene unfolded idk. Also I don't really know how to make my posts look cute yet so please excuse this visual abomination for now. Enjoy!!

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: 18+, unspecified age gap, oral (f receiving), creampie, unprotected sex, cigarette smoking, not wearing a seatbelt (please wear a seatbelt fr), running away, getting fired, getting hated on

The sun shone through the dirty window of the truck and started to dip below the horizon, but the heat stayed hanging in the humid air. Your bare feet were resting up on the dashboard and your eyes watched the rural surroundings of the open road race past as you drove further and further away from your old life. The faint sound of 80s rock from the radio and the hum of the truck’s engine did little to silence the thoughts that tormented you- the thought that running away was a big mistake you would come to deeply regret.

You hated your hometown. The weather, the people, the way they talked, the way they dressed, the things they believed in. You even hated the buildings. So why was it all so hard to let go of? You had always wanted to leave, to run away and leave it all behind, start a new life out West and never look back. Joel was the only person who was willing to give it all to you. He never talked about it, but you could see it in his eyes every time you mentioned the idea of leaving. You knew he wanted this too- probably did from a young age. Some teenage pipedream of his that imploded when his daughter was conceived. So he stayed, started his family business, bought a house and raised her. But now she was all grown up and there was nothing to hold him back anymore. All he was waiting for was for you to say the word. 

And you did, after one particularly rough day. You had gone to work in the morning and come home in tears around midday after being fired with no warning. It didn’t matter, you hated the job anyway; but your parents were enraged, furious that you could let this happen. They called you a burden, said you had no ambition and no future ahead of you. In the early afternoon you had shown up on Joel’s doorstep with a bag packed and tears in your eyes, begging him to take you away from it all. And he did. 

He had one hand resting on your thigh, and the other on the steering wheel. His eyes strayed from the road to look over at you, seeing you gaze thoughtfully out the half-open window in your denim shorts and little tank top. He squeezed your thigh to get your attention.

‘You take your seatbelt off again?’ You looked up at him, your eyes wide and clearly swimming with thoughts. But he didn’t push it. You nodded. ‘Gotta put it back on for me, darlin’. We can’t have nothin’ happening, can we? Ambulance would take forever to get to us out here.’ You didn’t say anything, just took your legs down from the dashboard and pulled your seatbelt back on, the polyester squeaking as it unravelled. Joel’s eyes flicked back to the road momentarily but then returned to you. You were being unusually quiet. ‘You doin’ okay?’

You nodded again, but this time feigning contentment.

‘Yeah. Just hot in here.’

Joel’s dark eyes lingered on yours for a moment before flicking back to the road, definitely unconvinced.

‘Well we’re almost to the next stop anyway. Think this motel’s got a pool, too.’

The heat was definitely part of the problem, because when you finally got to the motel, the cool water of the pool lifted your spirits. You put on that new bikini you had bought at an earlier stop along the way and floated on your back, let the water cool your skin while you watched the sunset paint the sky with bright streaks of pink and orange. Joel watched you swim from the edge of the pool for a while before joining you. He splashed you with the water and pulled you beneath the surface, wrapped your legs around his hips and kissed you with such tender desire it made you want to cry.

Later in the evening, you lay awake beside Joel. His arm was wrapped loosely around your waist and he was fast asleep, but all you could do was stare at the chipping paint on the ceiling. Those regrets had started to creep back into your head, and it felt as though there was a war going on in your mind. You thought of your friends, your family, what the people back home would say about the young girl who randomly up and left one day to run away to California with the old man from down the street. You quietly untangled yourself from his grasp and stepped outside for some air. It was dark but the stars were bright, and the crickets chirped as you sat on the steps of the motel and lit a cigarette. You didn’t know what time it was or where exactly you were. All you knew was that it was late and you were far from home. You sucked in the smoke and watched the neon glow of the motel sign dance on the ripples in the pool. It was quiet, peaceful, but the war in your head raged on. It was impossible, trying to tell if this was just some optimistic dream you had cooked up- that you could run away and find your fresh start on the coast and live happily ever after. What if it all blew up in your face and you were forced to come back home to your parents’ fury, that you could be so reckless and believe in some big lie this dirty old man was feeding you?

The creak from the door opening snatched your attention away from your thoughts, and you turned to see Joel’s concerned eyes watching you. He sat on the step behind you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into the warmth of his chest.

‘What’s on your mind, darlin’? Been quiet all day, I know something’s up.’

You took another hit of the cigarette and flicked the ashes onto the steps below you.

‘I dunno. It’s… I dunno.’

He sighed as he watched your troubled expression.

‘We can go back if you want, y’know. Don’t want you to feel like I’m callin’ all the shots here.’

You shook your head.

‘I don’t wanna go back. You know how bad I want this. I just wish I could forget all about home.’

‘You will forget it, sweetheart. Once you see the ocean, you’ll forget all about that town. We’ll start over, yeah?’

You brought the filter back to your lips and inhaled again, your mind still not eased much.

‘What if we get there and we hate it?’

Joel rested his chin on the crown of your head as he held you from behind.

‘Then we’ll go back. Or we’ll go somewhere else. But what if we get there and we love it?’

He had a way of making everything sound so simple and it never failed to blow your mind. 

He plucked the cigarette from between your fingers and put it out, then pulled you to your feet and rested his hands on your waist. ‘S’just a fresh start, darlin’. Nobody’ll know us, nobody’ll look twice when they see us together, they won’t care. We’ll be okay, I promise. And if we ain’t, we’ll think of somethin’ else. Can always go back if we change our minds.”

It was true, but something in the back of your mind told you that you wouldn’t. Joel’s hand stroked your cheek gently, and his dark eyes sparkled under the neon sign as they gazed into yours, full of nothing but intimate affection.

The two of you went back to bed but didn’t sleep. The moonlight seeped in through the flimsy net curtains and illuminated your naked skin as you undressed each other. Joel laid you down on the edge of the bed and stood between your legs, his hands squeezed your breasts gently while his eyes wandered your body, a sigh escaping his lips. He leaned down to press feather light kisses to your neck and collarbones while his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties and slid them down your legs. He gripped your thighs tenderly as he pulled them apart, and knelt in between them.

He licked a stripe up your center while moving your thighs to rest on his shoulders. He wrapped his thick arms around them while he lapped at your seam, the taste of your arousal dampening his taste buds. His tongue swirled around your clit, causing your toes to curl and your back to arch while he watched from his position, his boxers tightening with every second that passed until he couldn’t wait any longer. He pressed a tender kiss to your inner thigh and stood up, shoved his underwear down and lined himself up for entrance.

‘You want this, baby?’ He whispered, ‘You want me?’

You nodded eagerly, if there was one thing in this world you knew you wanted for certain, it was him. He slid into you easily, your juices and his saliva soaking him. Small whimpers and whines fell from your lips, as well as his name, while your nails dug deep crescents into his shoulders. He held still once he bottomed out to let you adjust his length. It didn’t matter how many times he had buried himself deep into your walls, he always seemed to stretch them out more each time, the dull ache blending with ecstasy. His eyes held your gaze and he watched your expression as it twisted in pain and pleasure.

‘You okay darlin’? You with me?’

You whispered a soft but adamant ‘Yes,’ and he pulled out before pushing back into you again with the same agonizingly slow pace, his jaw tense as he groaned in pleasure, the head forcing its way in even deeper.

‘Always so wet for me.. Such a good girl.’

Your little moans filled the night air as he started to gradually pick up the pace, speeding up slightly with each deep thrust. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in even deeper; and your arms wrapped around his neck, drawing him into a warm and passionate kiss. Joel’s tongue wetted your bottom lip, asking for entrance into your mouth, and you let it. The sound of his hips slapping against your thighs melted into your sweet whimpers of ecstasy as the heat from his body dampened your skin with sweat.

‘I love you, baby,’ He mumbled against your lips, his thrusts never stopping, ‘love you so much.’

You pinched your eyes shut as the stimulation started to overwhelm you. Each of his movements sent shockwaves through your body, and you could feel your legs start to tremble. Joel laced his fingers with yours and squeezed your hands gently, his voice soft and low. ‘Look at me, baby girl.’ Your eyelids fluttered open to see his eyes were burning into yours and sparkling with passion. ‘There’s those pretty eyes.’ He slowed down, reading your expression, and pressed a tender kiss to your lips. His face hovered above yours as he slowly pushed himself in and out, trying to draw this out as long as he could, before building back up to the same speed as before.

The tension in your stomach was growing, the coil tightening after Joel’s thrusts established a steady pace. He pulled back from you to watch your features contorting with pleasure, your back arching up into him, the moisture on your skin glowing in the dim moonlight. His grip on your hands tightened, and his brows furrowed like they always do when he’s close to the edge. You whimpered to let him know that you were too- no words needed. 

‘Where do you want it, baby?’ His voice was low and gravelly, dripping with hunger.

‘Inside. Please.’ You whispered desperately and squeezed his hand.

‘You sure?’ His jaw was tightening and his eyes were dark, and you knew you had to decide fast. But your mind was already made up. You nodded certainly, right on the brink of shattering.

You both fell apart at the same time. His hips stuttered as you felt his warmth blossoming deep within your core, and your desperate whimpers and groans bounced off the walls of the small dim room. Joel pushed himself somehow even deeper into you as your walls clenched tightly around him, choking his length. He leaned down to your face again, your lips meeting in a messy, loving kiss while he tried unsuccessfully to still his hips, continually pulsing within you and filling you up with his climax. 

He didn’t pull out- you asked him not to. He just rested you on his lap and rested his back against the cheap headboard of the bed while you were still intimately connected. The sun was starting to rise and orange rays shone through the parting in the curtain as Joel held you, his fingers running through your hair while drips of his release seeped out onto your inner thighs. It was quiet, the sound of the crickets had subsided and the only noise you could hear was the steady beat of Joel’s heart where your head rested on his chest. It was time to hit the road again soon, but this time your mind was clear, and you knew it was what you wanted.

[inseobts]

A Swordsman’s Resolve

zoro x reader

when you awaken a new power that lets you take others' pain as your own, you begin secretly protecting the strawhat crew—until zoro finds out and decide to train you to grow stronger without relying on your gift.

words count: 3.1k

warning: reader is like a voodoo doll so self harm, blood and injuries are mentioned for the fights

tags: injuries, fluff, a bit angst maybe, training with zoro

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You ate a Devil Fruit when you were a kid, and got a strange ability that let you use your own pain as a weapon.

If you stabbed yourself, your enemy would feel the wound instead. A direct exchange. Pain for pain.

It wasn’t perfect. The more damage you took, the weaker you got. Sure, you healed faster than the one you hurt, but it still hurt like hell.

And if you pushed too hard you wouldn’t heal as fast as your usual.

Still, it was useful. You used it to protect the crew, especially during battle. If someone was about to get hit, you’d cut yourself transferring the damage to the enemy instead to stop them.

Painful? Yes. Worth it? Always.

But then, something changed.

It happened a few weeks ago.

The battle had been rough, but the crew had won. You stood on the Sunny’s deck, covered in sweat and blood, catching your breath.

Across from you, Luffy was clutching his side waiting for Chopper to finish patch someone else.

“Oi, you okay?” you asked, stepping closer.

Luffy grinned, but it was weaker than usual “Yeah! Just a little cut.”

A little cut was Luffy speak for ‘I’m actually bleeding a lot, but don’t worry about it.’

You frowned, crouching beside him. His shirt was torn, revealing a deep gash along his ribs. It wasn’t fatal, but it didn’t look good either.

Without thinking, you pressed your fingers over the wound and then a sharp, searing pain shot through your own ribs.

Your breath caught as you felt the wound disappear from Luffy’s body… and appear on yours.

Luffy blinked, confused.

“Huh? It stopped hurting!” He poked his side, then looked at you “…Wait, why do you look like you’re in pain now?”

You gritted your teeth, trying not to hiss “No reason.”

Luffy tilted his head “Did you just—”

“Shut up,” you muttered, standing up quickly “I said it’s nothing.”

Luffy’s eyes narrowed “Did you just steal my injury?”

You froze “…No.”

“Yes, you did!” His expression lit up like a kid discovering a new game “That’s so cool! Can you do it again?”

You groaned “It’s not cool, Luffy.”

But he was already poking at his arm “What if I get a cut here—can you take it?”

“Luffy.”

“What if I break a bone?”

“LUFFY.”

He pouted “What? It’s a fair question!”

You sighed, rubbing your temples “Look. I didn’t even know I could do this until now. It just… happened.”

Luffy blinked, processing.

Then, to your absolute horror, he grinned “That means you can heal everyone! You heal faster so it must be already gone..”

Your stomach dropped “No. It actually hurts. A lot more than my usual power.” You crossed your arms “Seems like it takes longer for me to heal. It’s not some magical fix.”

Luffy hummed “Mh then I'd say you don't use that anymore... but you’d still do it, right? I know you”

You hesitated.

Of course, you would. If it meant protecting the crew.

But before you could answer, Sanji’s voice rang out from the kitchen “Dinner’s ready!”

Luffy immediately forgot everything and ran inside, laughing.

You exhaled. Crisis averted.

For now.

Because if Luffy knew then it was only a matter of time before someone else found out.

You keep your secret safe for weeks! Apparently Luffy forgot...

At first, it’s easy. You start small, taking tiny injuries from the crew when no one’s looking. A scraped knee here, a bruised knuckle there. Nothing big.

No one notices.

But then the fights get tougher.

The New World isn’t kind. Enemies get stronger, battles last longer. The crew starts walking away from fights with barely any wounds. But you start feeling it.

The constant ache in your bones, the sharp sting of deep cuts that aren’t healing fast enough. But you push through it, hide it well.

Or at least, you think you do.

Until Zoro catches you.

It happens after a particularly brutal fight.

The crew had just finished raiding a marine base. Nothing too crazy, but the enemies had been tough.

You stand on the deck of the Sunny, bandaging your arm. Another wound you had taken from Usopp. He had been hit bad, you hadn’t even thought before reaching for him, absorbing the injury.

Now, you regret it. This one hurts.

“You’re doing it again.”

You freeze.

Zoro’s voice is sharp, too sharp. When you turn, he’s standing near the railing, arms crossed, eyes locked onto you.

You force a smile “Doing what?”

His expression darkens “Don’t play dumb.”

Your stomach twists.

“Taking our damn injuries” he says flatly.

Your grip tightens on the bandages “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zoro steps closer “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not—”

Before you can finish, he moves. Too fast.

One second, he’s in front of you. The next, he’s grabbing your wrist forcing your hand away from your bandages.

Your breath catches.

His eyes drop to your arm.

To the wound that wasn’t there before the fight ended.

His jaw tightens “So that’s how we’ve been walking away without a scratch.”

You yank your hand back “It’s not a big deal.”

“The hell it isn’t!” His voice is low, but angry “You’re hurting yourself for us.”

You glare “I’ve always done that.”

“Not like this.”

“It’s the same thing!” You step closer, frustration bubbling up “I take pain to protect the crew, that’s what I’ve always done!”

Zoro’s expression hardens “You’re not protecting us. You’re making yourself weaker.”

You scoff “Oh, so I’m the weak one now?”

“Yes.”

The answer is immediate.

Your breath catches.

Zoro exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter.

“You rely on this power too much.” He shakes his head “What happens when you take too much? When your body can’t keep up?”

You look away.

He notices.

His voice drops lower “You don’t know, do you?”

You swallow hard.

Zoro sighs. When he speaks again, there’s no anger. Just frustration.

“You can’t keep fighting like this.” His gaze locks onto yours “Train with me.”

You blink “…What?”

“Train with me,” he repeats “You want to protect the crew? Then get strong yourself. Not through your Devil Fruit. You.”

You hesitate.

This is Zoro. The most stubborn, relentless, brutal fighter on the crew.

But deep down, you know he’s right.

You exhale “…Fine.”

A smirk tugs at his lips “You’re gonna regret that.”

Training with Zoro is hell.

You expect it to be hard, Zoro is one of the strongest swordsmen, after all. But you don’t expect him to be this relentless.

“You call that a punch?” he scoffs, blocking your attack with one arm “I’ve seen Chopper hit harder.”

You grit your teeth “I don’t need to be strong like you. I have my Devil Fruit.”

Zoro’s expression darkens “That’s the problem.”

Before you can react, he moves, sweeping your legs out from under you. You hit the ground hard.

Pain explodes through your body, but you refuse to transfer it away.

Zoro stands over you, arms crossed “If you lost your powers tomorrow, could you still protect the crew?”

You don’t answer because you don’t know, and Zoro sees it.

He sighs, holding out a hand “Get up.”

You glare at him, but take his hand anyway. He pulls you to your feet with zero effort.

“We’re doing that again” he says.

You groan “You just knocked me on my ass.”

“Then stop letting me.”

Over the next few weeks, something shifts.

Training with Zoro is brutal, but you keep up. You stop relying on your Devil Fruit in fights. You block, dodge, counter without using your power as a crutch.

And Zoro watches you closely.

At first, you think it’s just him being a tough mentor. But it’s not just that.

Because sometimes, when you push yourself too far, his frustration turns to something like worry.

You don’t question it. Not until the day everything changes.

The crew is ambushed on an island.

It’s not the worst fight you’ve had, but it’s bad enough. The enemy captain is strong, and before you know it Zoro takes a hit.

A deep slash across his chest. Blood spills onto the ground.

Your body moves before your brain does. You reach for him.

Pain floods your body as the wound transfers to you. Your knees buckle, breath hitching but Zoro catches you immediately.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” he snaps, eyes blazing.

You grit your teeth “Saving your life, dumbass.”

“I didn’t ask you to!”

“You didn’t have to!”

Zoro scowls. He grips your shoulders, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You can’t just take pain like it’s nothing,” he growls “You think it doesn’t matter?”

You glare back “It doesn’t.”

“It does.”

His voice is low. Firm.

Your chest tightens “You wouldn’t get it.”

His grip tightens “I do get it.”

You freeze.

Because there’s something in his eyes, something familiar... and then, you remember.

You were awake when the Rumble Ball incident happened. The damage Luffy took at Thriller Bark. The moment Zoro stood covered in blood, refusing to say what happened.

And suddenly, it all makes sense.

Your breath catches “You took Luffy’s pain back then.”

Zoro’s jaw clenches.

You stare at him and his gaze softens. Just for a second.

Then he looks away “It doesn’t matter.”

But it does. Because now, you understand you and Zoro are the same.

You both take pain so the crew doesn’t have to.

But Zoro never let it break him.

And maybe that’s why he’s so angry now. Because he sees you going down the same path. And he doesn’t want that for you.

You swallow hard “…Zoro.”

His eyes flicker back to you.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then his voice is quieter “Don’t do that again.”

Your fingers curl into fists “I can’t promise that.”

Zoro exhales sharply “Then I’ll just have to stop you again.”

Your heart pounds.

Because the way he says it, it’s not just a threat. It’s a promise.

You and Zoro don’t talk about what happened.

Not at first.

The crew is too busy celebrating the win. Luffy’s laughing, Usopp’s boasting about some made-up feat, and Sanji’s grilling enough food to feed an army.

But Zoro stays quiet.

And you pretend your body isn’t aching from taking his wound. You pretend Zoro’s eyes aren’t constantly on you.

But you feel the way he watches you. The way his jaw tightens every time you wince.

And then, late that night, when the crew is asleep, he finally snaps.

You’re on the deck, staring at the sea, when you hear heavy footsteps.

Zoro stops beside you, arms crossed.

You sigh “Here to scold me again?”

“Tch.” He leans against the railing “Don’t act like you didn’t deserve it.”

You roll your eyes “I saved your life.”

“I wasn’t dying.”

“You were bleeding everywhere.”

Zoro gives you a pointed look “So were you.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Because he’s right.

You shift uncomfortably “I can handle it.”

Zoro scoffs “That’s what I said back then.”

You glance at him “What?”

His gaze darkens “It almost got myself killed.”

You’re confused but you don’t need the details to understand. Silence stretches between you.

Zoro sighs, rubbing his neck “I know why you do it. But you’re an idiot if you think you can keep this up forever.”

Your fingers tighten on the railing “…So what do I do? Stand there watching everyone getting hurt when I know I can do something about it?”

Zoro exhales sharply “Just let me help you.”

Your breath catches.

Because it’s not a demand. Not a command. It’s an offer.

You swallow hard “I don’t need—”

“Don’t start.”

You blink.

Zoro turns to you fully, expression serious “You need to stop acting like you’re alone in this.”

Your chest tightens.

Zoro doesn’t do speeches. He doesn’t waste words.

So if he’s saying this…

He means it.

“…Okay.” you murmur.

Zoro raises an eyebrow “Okay?”

You roll your eyes “Yeah, okay. I’ll let you help me. Happy?”

He smirks “Ecstatic.”

You laugh, shaking your head “Asshole.”

His smirk widens “You love it.”

Your heart stumbles.

Because he says it too casually. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s true.

You look away “Shut up.”

Zoro just chuckles. And somehow the weight on your shoulders feels lighter.

Training with Zoro doesn’t get easier.

If anything, it gets harder.

Every day, he pushes you past your limits, forcing you to fight without using your Devil Fruit, making you stronger on your own. You hate him for it, but you also hate that it works.

Your body stops aching as much. Your reactions get faster. Your movements sharper.

And Zoro never stops watching you. But you ignore that.

Until the day everything falls apart.

The training session is brutal.

Zoro blocks every attack with zero effort. He moves too fast, dodging your punches like they’re nothing.

You’re tired. Frustrated.

So when he steps in close, you react on instinct.

You try to sweep his legs, but he sidesteps, and suddenly, you’re off balance and before you can stop it, you crash into him.

Zoro grunts as you both hit the ground, hard.

And just then you realize where you landed.

Your body is on top of his. Your hands are on his chest. His very solid, very warm chest.

And Zoro is just staring at you.

His breath is warm against your skin. His hands rest lightly on your waist, like he’s not sure whether to hold you or let go.

Your heart pounds.

Neither of you move.

Neither of you speak.

And then, without thinking, you kiss him.

It’s quick. A fleeting brush of lips. But it’s enough. Because for a split second, Zoro freezes. His grip on your waist tightens as his breath catches. And that’s when it hits you.

What the hell did I just do?!

Panic floods your chest.

You pull away. Scramble to your feet.

Zoro sits up instantly, eyes wide “Wait!”

But you don’t. You turn and run.

Because holy shit, you just kissed Zoro and you don’t know if he wanted you to.

You avoid him after that.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid.

But every time you see him, you hear his sharp inhale. Feel his hands tightening on your waist. See the shock in his eyes.

And you can’t face that.

So you just... don’t.

You dodge his training sessions. You sit as far from him as possible during meals. When he walks into a room, you walk out.

The crew notices.

Luffy is confused. Nami is amused. Usopp keeps giving you looks.

And Zoro is pissed, because he might be shy, but he isn’t dumb. And you’re not subtle.

So after three days of this he corners you. And you realize, too late that you’re screwed.

You’re about to slip away again when you feel that familiar, heavy stare.

You freeze.

And before you can react a strong hand grips your wrist. You spin around.

Zoro stands there, arms crossed, brow furrowed. His eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.

“You,” he says, voice low, “are avoiding me.”

You swallow “No, I’m not.”

Zoro raises an eyebrow.

You try again “I’m just... busy.”

His jaw clenches “Bullshit.”

You flinch because Zoro never calls you out like this.

You pull your wrist free, looking away “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zoro exhales sharply and then “Is it because of the kiss?”

Your stomach drops.

Your entire body tenses.

You should have known he’d bring it up.

But hearing him say it out loud... you can’t breathe.

“I—” Your voice catches “I didn’t mean to—”

Zoro steps closer “Didn’t mean to what?”

You step back “Forget it.”

“No.” His eyes darken “I won’t.”

You clench your fists “Just drop it, Zoro.”

His hand catches your chin. Gently.

Your breath hitches.

“I’m not dropping shit,” he murmurs “You kissed me. Then you ran. Now you won’t even look at me.”

You force yourself to meet his gaze.

And fuck, he looks serious.

Your heart pounds.

“I thought…” You swallow hard “I thought you didn’t want me to.”

Zoro stares.

Then he curses under his breath, and before you can react his hand cups your face and he kisses you.

Not soft. Not hesitant.

But actually firm and certain. Like he’s making a point.

Like he’s saying “You’re an idiot if you think I didn’t want this.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Your hands fist in his shirt. You kiss him back desperate, dizzy.

His arms lock around you, because now that he has you he’s not letting go.

Zoro’s kiss is rough, unyielding.

Like he’s making up for lost time. Like he’s claiming something he should’ve had all along.

You barely have time to breathe.

His hand tightens at the nape of your neck, tilting your head just right, deepening the kiss until your knees threaten to give out.

You clutch at his shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you standing, and maybe it is.

When you finally pull away, gasping, your head feels light, hazy.

Zoro doesn’t let go.

His forehead presses against yours. His breathing is uneven and when he speaks his voice is low, rough “Still think I didn’t want it?”

You shudder.

Your fingers tighten on his chest.

“…No.”

His lips curve “Good.”

The crew finds out immediately. Not because you tell them, but because, apparently, you’re both terrible at hiding it.

The next morning, you walk into the kitchen and the entire crew is staring at you.

You freeze.

“…What?”

Sanji smirks, leaning against the counter “So…you and the mosshead, huh?”

Your stomach drops.

Nami hums, sipping her coffee “Took you long enough.”

Usopp grins “You guys weren’t exactly subtle.”

Your face burns “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Luffy just tilts his head “Zoro was smiling this morning.”

You blink “So?”

Luffy grins “Zoro never smiles like that.”

Your mouth opens and then you hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

You turn and there he is.

Zoro strides in, yawning. He looks relaxed, more than usual, like he actually slept well for once.

Then his gaze lands on you.

And without hesitation he reaches out, grabs your wrist, and pulls you into his side casually, like it’s natural, like he’s done it a million times.

And when he notices the crew watching he just raises an eyebrow “…What?”

Silence.

Then Sanji groans “Oh, great. Now he’s even more unbearable.”

Nami just smirks “About damn time.”

Usopp whispers something about losing a bet.

And Luffy just laughs “Shishishi! You two are weird.”

Zoro just grunts “Tch. Whatever.”

But you see the way his fingers linger against your skin. The way his shoulders relax just slightly when you don’t pull away.

[eri-pl]

Be he friend or foe— wait, wrong lyrics. XD

Nice thought anyway, I respect it.

I don't hate AI as much as y'all (yes, ik, it is bad for enviroment and unethically sourced, just like half of the things we buy, but also I find it pretty cool in what it can do, hate me all you want), but yes, when I publish something it's written by me.

I may use tools (AI or not) to check grammar, do low-level beta reading (to tell me stuff like "this needs more descriptions), or use it to kickstart my brainstorming when I'm out of ideas, and use it to "what's the word for [a complicated concept that I remember had a word for it]" when normal search can't do it. Generally the kind of things I could ask a friend for and not feel like needing to add them as a co-author. Except I have very few friends and most aren't native English speakers, so this option is not always possible.

And now I'm not doing even that because a) environment b) people's reactions and I am not going to just go use it and than lie. Well, I do use Google Docs and they have a grammar/style check feature that may be ai-adjacent. IDK.

If it was less controversial, I would use AI for things like "translate this dialogue line to more archaic English" for certain characters. Because this doesn't feel to me like outsourcing creativity, and sometimes is not something I can do by myself. Also grammar / synonyms stuff; low-level editing stuff. Like fixing my commas (if it can do this). Especially when I don't think I know any human both good in English and interested in helping in that particular thing.

Cancel me if you want, whatever. I'm not gonna go and pretend I didn't do a thing I did or that I have a different opinion.

But my fics are written by me, and my pictures are drawn by me and if I post something that's generated it will get a clear caption that it's generated, and one time a year ago I couldn't get something from my head to screen and made AI-gen pictures because I wanted to have a clear vision of how some characters actually look, I did caption it clearly and then I get anon hate for doing it anyway. (They are removed now, less for the AI part and more for the "nobody seems to care anyway" part)

TBH I feel like maaaaybe d4 people in whole world care about whatever I do creatively but also if I admit even looking at any AI tools, suddenly 10 people will take offence, who never even commented at any of my actual work. And I feel discouraged by this, and somewhat bitter.

Oh and also if you want people to admit it when they use AIs, maybe reduce the stigma a bit. Because the surest way to make people lie about doing something is piling a mountain of shame on top of the thing.

No, I'm not saying that I am lying. I am adult enough to admit doing things that are cconsidered shameful. But also, I am over 40 and have close to nothing to lose in terms of social clout. Most people don't have this privilege.

[This is only about using AI with things I publish / share publicly in any way. Using it for having fun on my own (make things I enjoy in private, make songs for phone rings, tell me a bedtime story, give me ideas what new things to try...) is a different thing. I now do it very rarely, because environmental impact, but if it didn't have such an impact, I would do it, because it works for me and is fun.]

PS: Just in case: OP, this is not supposed to criticize what you said. I just saw the post, thought "um, nice, I should make something like this too" and then "ok but what do I want to actually say, what is honest to say for me here" and it got nuanced, and compared to tumblr average, quite pro-AI maybe. No, as I said, even if I'm more nuanced about it, I deeply respect your stance. If anything, I'd say calling people "uncreative dweebs" doesn't encourage them to admit to their past Ai use, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it's just a detail, I overall respect your post and thank you.

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[p0orbaby]

https://www.tumblr.com/p0orbaby/781994711723524096/hi-may-i-request-a-cute-short-blurb-of-alexia?source=share

Hello , if I can continue from this request , like the reader wanting a specific craving and she would not relent or talk to alexia until she gets that food and the food she is talking about is in another country special dish and alexia is like 😥 how am I going to get the food.....

Thank you

this is basically a crack fic but i think it’s funny so you’re welcome in advance

-

You tell her you’re not speaking to her until you get it.

“No negotiations,” you say, arms crossed, forehead pressed against the cool kitchen counter like you’re mourning something.

Alexia stands there, mouth slightly open, holding a half-peeled clementine in one hand, looking absolutely, pathetically confused.

“You are serious,” she says, tone caught between amusement and actual, rising concern.

You lift your head just enough to glare at her. “Dead serious. I want it. And until then, don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me.”

She puts the clementine down carefully, like it’s become explosive. “But—I don’t understand. What is it?”

You turn your face away dramatically. If you had the energy, you would have fainted.

“Spotted dick,” you mutter.

She leans forward slightly, like she’s misheard. “A what?”

You sigh, wounded. “Spotted dick.”

She blinks. Long and slow. Like maybe if she does it hard enough, this moment will erase itself from history.

“That is…” she starts carefully, “a sex thing?”

You sit up, full of English disgust. “It’s pudding, Alexia. It’s food.”

Her face twists, confused and deeply suspicious. “Pudding like… dessert? Or pudding like… English people say pudding but mean any food?”

You gesture dramatically with one hand. “Proper pudding. Sponge. Raisins. You drown it in custard.”

She stares at you in naked horror. “You want… sponge. With raisins.”

You nod, solemn. “A cultural delicacy.”

Alexia presses two fingers to her temple like she’s developing a migraine. “And you want this… now?”

“I wanted it twenty minutes ago but someone,” you shoot a vicious look at her, “won’t help.”

She runs a hand through her hair, visibly calculating whether this is a joke or an actual, genuine crisis. She chooses correctly. You see the exact second her soul leaves her body.

“Here—I can order cake?” she says helplessly. “You like cheesecake?”

You stare at her as if she’s just suggested you eat actual poison.

“You can’t just shove cheesecake at me and call it spotted dick, Alexia. There are rules.”

She presses the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Madre de Dios,” she mutters.

You turn back to the counter, dramatic, impenetrable, the picture of quiet English martyrdom.

“I’m not saying another word until I get it,” you say solemnly.

There’s a long pause.

Then a heavy sigh.

“Where,” she says, in the strained, patient voice she uses when speaking to referees she wants to punch, “does someone find this… spotted dick?”

“In England,” you say sweetly. “Where God intended.”

Another long, aching silence.

You hear her pull out her phone, muttering in rapid Catalan you don’t need to translate. She’s already searching. You know because you hear the furious little taps of her thumb on the screen.

You sneak a glance at her.

She’s frowning hard, lips pursed, scrolling through TripAdvisor with the grim determination of a woman who’s fought through torn ligaments crazy federations.

“This place says ‘authentic English food experience’,” she reads aloud slowly. “It is in…” she squints, “Sitges.”

“Sitges?” you say, outraged. “That’s a forty-minute drive.”

She looks at you over the phone, arch. “You want your dick or no?”

You narrow your eyes, deeply offended. “Spotted dick.”

Alexia smiles, slow and devastating, like a wolf scenting blood. “Same thing, no?”

You slam your forehead dramatically back onto the counter.

There’s a long beat of silence before she snorts—quick and involuntary—and you hear the unmistakable sound of her keys hitting the counter.

“Fine,” she says. “But i’m not speaking the whole drive.”

She shrugs, already halfway to the door. “Menos mal.”

[suiana]

isekai but make it reversed... yandere! villain who isekais into YOUR world and loses all of his powers so he just looks like a chuunibyou

he's fighting some hero or something in his original world and guess what happens? that's right, he gets sent here. where does he spawn? in the middle of a grocery store, of course!

specifically, your grocery store.

you're unsure of what just happened, you probably don't even care that a couple aisles just collapsed and there's people screaming at someone. you're too tired, damn!

but guess again, what do you think happens?

this stranger comes straight for you, ignoring literally the hoard of people who were waiting to chew him out.

"YOU. mortal, tell me where i am."

"uh... in a walmart...?"

you're too zonked out of your mind but this man has other plans. and he's planning on making you answer every single one of his questions. if you don't answer? well he'll just-

"what are you... doing?"

"what?! this... 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖇𝖊... my powers..."

"man, too many druggies approaching me recently..."

yeah, what's with him and his weird poses? does he think he's a villain or something? lol, let's just ignore him. look at that cosplay too, he probably thinks he's part of lord of the rings or some shit.

"no... NO... why?"

and so, he decides to do what he does best and that is to cling to the next closest thing he can. which is none other than, drumroll please!

you.

"bro, let GO."

"but but... i'm just a powerless man now... in an unknown place... you wouldn't reject helping me, would you?"

"yes i would."

so yeah, now you have this weirdo clinging to you 24/7... turns out he doesn't have a house either so what do you think he did. that's right, he's invading your apartment. he doesn't even pay rent by the way, and no, he won't leave no matter what you try to get him to do.

you've learned that he's actually a super feared villain back from where he's from (you don't believe him) and has super cool powers that he somehow doesn't have (you still think he's on drugs). but he's rather entertaining to have around, you suppose. for one, apparently he doesn't have all these... gadgets back at home. for example:

"human, what on earth is that rectangle you hold?"

"it's a phone, you can search on it, play games, and surf the internet."

"i see.... so it's sorcery..."

it's been a few weeks since he's moved in and you've finally convinced him to work at a kfc. why? because you quote and unquote told him 'working at kfc helps you conquer earth.' helps get him off your back a little and make some rent money which is good. he's a big ass leech.

but hey! he's surprisingly obedient! in fact, he's the most obedient man you've ever met.

"you know other men?"

"uh, obviously."

it's weird how he just listens to you like that, especially with how he claims he's killed countless people... but who are you to care? you quite like the fact that he just listens to you no problem. in fact, the only problem you have is that he's too obedient and looks to you for every single thing. he especially likes it when you give him validation too so like...

"good job, the toilet is clean."

"hnng...."

"???"

guess you have a villain for a housewife now!

[makis-eyebrows]

Request: <33

Little Miss Albon-He

Shy but witty Y/n comes to the paddock for the first time and meets her extended family.

It was a bright, bustling Friday morning at the Silverstone Grand Prix, and the Williams garage was buzzing with mechanics, media, and the smell of burnt rubber and caffeine.

But tucked behind one particular driver’s legs was a small, quiet shadow.

Seven-year-old Y/n Albon-He.

It was her very first race weekend in the paddock.

Normally, she watched every Grand Prix curled up on the couch next to her mom, Lily Muni He, popcorn in one hand and her favorite plush bunny in the other. Her dad, Alexander Albon, was “the cool guy on the screen” who drove really fast and waved at the camera after finishing interviews.

But this weekend was different.

Alex had asked gently one evening, “Would you want to come with me to a race? You don’t have to talk to anyone. Just… see what Dad does.”

She hesitated. Then nodded. “Only if I get a paddock pass like yours.”

He smiled. “Deal.”

Now here they were — Y/n in a tiny Williams hoodie, her long hair tucked under a cap two sizes too big, her small hand gripping the hem of her dad’s race suit like it was a lifeline.

“Darling, you’re okay,” Lily soothed gently, kneeling to fix the cap and tuck Y/n’s hair behind her ear. “Remember what we said. Just breathe and be yourself.”

Y/n nodded, her lower lip wobbling slightly.

Alex bent down too, giving her a wink. “They’re just my weird friends. You’ll survive.”

Y/n whispered back, “You didn’t say they were loud weird friends.”

First Encounter: George Russell

George had been the first to spot the tiny shadow behind Alex’s leg.

“Well, would you look at that!” George grinned. “Mini Albon’s finally made her debut!”

Y/n peeked out, eyes narrowing. “You’re… the man with the very neat hair.”

Alex choked on a laugh. George blinked.

“I—thank you? I think?”

“She watches the races,” Lily whispered to George with a grin. “She’s got notes.”

Y/n, now slightly bolder, added under her breath: “You talk very posh.”

George burst out laughing. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Next Up: Carlos Sainz and Charles Leclerc

In the Ferrari garage, Carlos knelt to her level with a big smile. “Hola, pequeña. I’m Carlos. Your dad tells me you’re very clever.”

“I know three languages,” Y/n said matter-of-factly. “But I’m not fluent yet because I’m only seven.”

Charles leaned in. “Do you know how to drive?”

Y/n looked at him like he was slightly insane. “Do you know how to park?”

Carlos lost it. Alex gave her a high five.

A growing croud

Word spread fast that Alex brought Y/n.

Pierre Gasly brought her a macaron. Yuki tried to race her in a mini go-kart (she won). Daniel Ricciardo made her laugh so hard she had to sit down.

Eventually, someone gave her a tiny headset and a lanyard that read “WILLIAMS VIP CREW – Y/N A.”

“She’s officially on the team now,” joked a mechanic as she scribbled on the pit wall whiteboard:

“Go Dad Go! Or else >:(”

Lily sipped her coffee proudly while watching her daughter flourish.

“She’s more like Alex than she thinks,” she said.

“She’s like you too,” Alex murmured, watching Y/n curtsy after making Fernando Alonso bow to her during a silly ‘royalty game’ someone started.

Back in the Garage

Later that day, after a long walk through the paddock, Y/n curled up in the corner of the hospitality suite with Lily’s sweater and a juice box.

Alex came over and sat next to her quietly.

“You did good today, bub.”

She nodded. “I liked it… once I stopped hiding.”

“I’m proud of you,” he said softly. “And so is Mom.”

“Next time,” Y/n said, sipping her juice, “I want my own radio so I can tell you when you’re being slow.”

Alex blinked. “Wow. Okay.”

“And I want to press the green button. You know, the one that makes you go faster.”

“…That’s not how it works.”

“Is that what you tell everyone when they ask why you finished P12?” she smirked.

Alex looked betrayed. Lily cackled in the background.

As the Weekend Ended

As the sun set over Silverstone, Y/n sat on Alex’s shoulders, waving at the fans and grinning wide as her little face made its first appearance on the big paddock screens.

“She’s got your wit,” Charles said, watching her steal sunglasses from drivers.

“She’s got your grace,” Alex said to Lily, as Y/n bowed dramatically in front of a camera.

“And she’s got your sass,” Lily returned, laughing. “We’re doomed.”

Alex just smiled, his heart full.

Because even if she started the weekend hiding behind his legs…

��Y/n Albon-He had just owned the paddock.

AHH another story done. I actually quite enjoy doing this.

But anyways pookie, I hope you enjoyed this and you like the way it came out :)

That's Gang Gang out!!! ♡

[morbidsmenagerie]

Yall can NOT be doing this. Paywalls are annoying, but there are many ways to get around them. Sites like 12ft ladder will sometimes remove paywalls directly, and archives like Anna's Archive, Internet Archive, Z-library, and Sci-Hub often have articles for free. If you'd prefer to do things without any risk of repercussion you can also check out articles from your local library! A lot of public (non college required) libraries will be part of an Interlibrary Loan program, so you can request loans of articles, books, or materials from other libraries. Interlibrary Loan is also cool because you can find a lot of dissertations on there which often aren't published in major journals. I'm not sure specifically about public libraries but college libraries will often have subscription access to major paywalled journals and publishers.

Just reading the abstract is not enough to understand the study. The abstract gives a very brief summary that just serves as an introduction to the topic. Some things that are often not in the abstract that are crucial when interpreting the study are relevant background information including discussions of previous similar studies, the methodology used and how the data was interpreted (this is typically discussing if the results are significant or not), limits to the study and what the authors would like to change in the future, and an explanation as to why the author thinks they got the results they did.

As for the doctor mentioned above, the more experience you have with a topic the more you can skip certain parts of the study. For topics I know a lot about I typically skim the background information because I already know what the context of the study is. If you don't have experience with the topic, you need to pay more attention to the article, not less. The author(s) will say in the article what their limits were, what they think about their results, ect and that help you interpret what the study is saying. You also should look at multiple studies (such as the ones the author references) and do more outside research if the topic is still confusing.

I wrote a two part article here about how to read scientific articles and interpret what they are saying.

If you are just reading the abstract or just reading an article that summarizes the study you are doing yourself a disservice!

This video is also good:

no i didnt get that from a video essay im a little more well read than that thanks. i got it from the abstract for a study i didnt read the rest of

[no-144444]

꩜summary: his sports car doesn't impress you, but he hopes he can still make it work

꩜pairing: andrea kimi antonelli x fem! reader

꩜a/n: slight smut (18+) bello= beautiful in italian :)

Your dad was clear; ‘Don’t mess with Kimi’. 

How was it your fault if he messed with you first? 

“One more minute, Bella,” he whispered against your lips, his hands roaming up your shirt. He had quali in less than an hour, and he needed to be in the car already, but no. He was here, with you, kissing you silly. You chuckled against him, then pushed him away, getting up and off his lap. He groaned in frustration as he adjusted his trousers. 

“I have to get out of here before my dad personally comes to find me,” you announced, fixing your hair and makeup in the mirror. He watched from behind you, his eyes captivated by the way you moved, spoke, and smiled. He was falling fast, and you didn’t even seem to notice. It was impressive. “And you need to deal with your hard-on,” you turned back to him, a practically sadistic smirk on your lips. 

His cheeks heated and he blushed, but he didn’t shy away from your gaze as he did before. He started you right in the eyes and smirked, taking your hand again. “Maybe you could take care of it, huh?” he smirked, a cocked eyebrow to match. You laughed and kissed his cheek, leaving a mark you knew he’d rub off if he was halfway smart, and shook your head. 

“Good luck in quali Kimi, don’t crash the damn thing,” you saluted and closed the door behind you, leaving Kimi pent up, and yourself giddy. Kimi was a nice guy. He was young, he was new, he was it apparently. Your dad adored him and so did your mom. He got on with George and all the other drivers. He was funny and sweet, and totally not yours. You liked him, sure. He was the kind of boyfriend every girl would want, but you weren’t the right kind of girl for him. You were messy and mean, and you knew the novelty of the ‘cool girl’ would wear off eventually, so you didn’t really mind messing around with him, because it was always going to be temporary. It always was. 

The team were out celebrating George’s engagement when the attention turned to Kimi. He might have been the new kid on the block, but he was sure he’d never get used to all the prying questions. Not that he was a closed book, he just didn’t exactly enjoy questions about his personal life every few seconds. 

“What about you Kimi, any girlfriends?” Toto mused and Kimi stilled for a split-second. 

Then he laughed and shook his head, all too aware of the fact that he was speaking to his boss, yes, but also to the father of the girl he was trying to pin down and make his girlfriend, for real. He cleared his throat. “No, not right now-” there was meant to be a ‘but’ there, but Toto cut him off before he could finish. 

“See, that’s what I like to see!” he announced to the table of various sponsors. They chuckled around him as Kimi’s cheek heated, then the cheering came. “No distractions, no messing around, just pure racing.” 

Toto had that fatherly look in his eye, the one Kimi saw more than he probably should’ve. More than you probably saw it. It wasn’t lost on him, the strained relationship you two had. It was pretty obvious, and you didn’t care to talk about it, so he didn’t ask. But Toto talked. He talked about how disappointed he was with you quitting racing despite being brilliant. He talked about how he disapproved of your current career (software engineer student), because he saw your potential. 

“But,” Kimi continued, the cheers quelling. “I do have my eye on someone,” he shrugged as Toto’s face dropped, and the rest of the table cheered louder. 

“Well, you could get anyone you wanted mate,” George chuckled, swinging an arm over his shoulder. “You’re a racing driver.”

Kimi chuckled. “I don’t think she’d be impressed by that. She’s not into sports cars.” 

And it was too late to realise the damage he’d done. Toto’s face hardened, and it took him about 5 minutes before he got up and dialled your number, Kimi none the wiser. 

The next two races were pretty lonely. You weren’t there, weren’t accepting his calls or texts, and Toto was being weird. 

“Kimi,” Toto’s voice rang out like his teachers when he fell asleep in class. “My office.”

He gulped but followed him suit, practically shitting himself. What had he done? What was going to happen? Totos' office was bland, but there were pictures of Susie, Jack, you, and your two older siblings. He cared about it, that much as clear. He just didn’t know how to channel it. Toto sat across from him, his tall frame imposing and intimidating. “Do you know what this is about?”

Kimi shrugged, then realised he should probably be a bit more professional. He cleared his throat. “Umm… no. Not really.”

“You won’t be bothered by Y/n anymore,” Toto nodded. “I’m sorry about her behaviour, it was entirely inappropriate and she knows what she’s meant to be here for, and it’s not that.”

“Oh… um, I asked her out,” Kimi admitted, his leg bouncing wildly, knowing what this confession might cause. “I really like her, and I’d treat her really well- promise! I think she’s awesome. She’s super smart and funny, and she’s a super positive person. Not to mention the fact that she’s beautiful and-” he cleared his throat again, realising that he was rambling about you to your father. “Yeah,” he played with his necklace, trying desperately to calm himself down as he felt another drip of sweat drop down his back. 

Toto was bewildered by the sight in front of him. “You… asked her out?” 

Kimi cocked an eyebrow. “Yes…?”

“Huh,” Toto hummed, looking down. Kimi’s confusion only grew. He looked up again. “Well… I guess I can’t stop you from having a relationship, but I still need your full focus on the races, yes?”

“Of course,” Kimi nodded. “Full attention.”

Toto smiled. “Good, you’re free to go.”

Walking out of his office, Kimi felt a weird sense of confession. He had told Toto before he’d told you that he wanted you. 

He sent you another text. 

After another week of no replies, he decided it was time to get creative, and get creative he did. He somehow weaselled his way out of school for a few days to go and hunt you down in Monté-Carlo, so that you would finally respond to him. 

“That’s it,” George explained over the phone. “That’s her place. It’s their old house but Toto, Susie, and Jack moved out a few months ago to a new place, closer to the airport, and she stayed there to start college on her own.”

“So she should be at home by now?” he questioned, pulling into your driveway, the cosy house ahead of him making him think of you immediately. 

“Yeah, she does online classes and works at a cafe nearby, she should be done, so Susie says,” he nodded. “Alright mate, good luck.”

“Thanks mate,” Kimi huffed as he got out of his car, ending the call. 

Your doorbell was loud, like, annoyingly loud. Therefore Kimi ringing it until you came out was loud. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you demanded as you swung open the door, a look of surprise on Kimi’s face. That melted into a soft, boyish, perfectly Kimi smile. You rolled your eyes. 

“I wanted to see you,” he shrugged. “Want to go for a drive?” he offered, keys in hand. Behind him stood his new Mercedes AMG GT 63 S, and again, you rolled your eyes. 

“I don’t care about cars-”

“I know you don’t,” he chuckled. “But you do care about me.” 

You stared back at him. He had a lot of nerve coming up to you after getting you banned from the paddock and a 4 hour long lecture about sleeping around with your dads drivers- which you didn’t do with Kimi. You didn’t sleep with anyone, you were just flirtatious by nature, and he hated it. You got on with people, you had interpersonal skills and he didn’t and it pissed him off. “You’re very presumptuous.”

“You know I’m right,” he took another step forward and snaked a hand around your waist. “Come on Bella, I miss you,” he admitted, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. He wasn’t his regular flirty and funny self, this was real. He cared. 

“Your car still doesn’t impress me,” you shook your head, brushing his hands off and grabbing your house keys before following him to his car. “And I need to be back soon, I have some homework to get done.” 

“You’re so smart,” he stated, a hand running through your hair mindlessly as he drove the streets of Monaco, as the sun set. You had a favourite route, the one you’d taken him on last summer when whatever this was started. He remembered it. He started that way and you smiled despite yourself, and then focused your eyes on the scenery around you. The blue ocean to your left, the rocky mountains to your right. It was truly stunning. 

He pulled into a little look-out and you both sat in silence for a moment, soaking in the view of the sea in front of you, then you turned to him, and kissed him. 

Of course you did, even though you promised yourself you wouldn’t. You needed to break this off, and just leave him to go racing with your dad, and fade into obscurity in his mind. But something kept you running back. He reached over and grabbed a handful of your ass, spurring you on to climb over the centre console and sit yourself in his lap. Quickly, his kisses grew hungrier, grabbing more of you, holding you closer. He wanted more, needed it. 

“More,” he begged against your lips. A split-second decision meant your top was off and his hands were all over your tits. Fading into obscurity was going really well, clearly. “So beautiful,” he whispered, trailing his kisses down your neck and eventually down to your tits. Next, his hand made its way down your trousers, his fingers lightly brushing against the place you wanted him most. If you could get a fuck out of the last time you’d be together, maybe the heartbreak was worth it? You’d realised in recent times that no, you didn’t dislike Kimi, not at all in fact. You very much liked him. Well, as they say ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’.

“Fuck, Kimi,” you moaned as he finally quit teasing and finally started pumping his fingers in and out. You grinded against him, sending a shiver down his own spine. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, lost in the pleasure. “Ti amo,” he whimpered as you grinded down on his cock. You stopped all your movements for a moment and looked at him. You both went wide-eyed at what he’d said, and quickly, your top was back on and you were in the passenger seat, waiting for one of you to say something. He licked his fingers clean in the mean-time (gross), and you tried to fix your hair.

“What’s this about then?” you asked. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, shrugging. “I missed you. You weren’t replying to me, so I came to you.” 

You huffed. “Why did you miss me?”

“Because I love you?” he chuckled. 

“You like making out with me before a race, that doesn’t mean you love me,” you argued. “All we do is physical, we never talk about anything which means we don’t even know anything about each other-” 

“I know a lot about you,” he shook his head. “And I want to know more. You know a lot about me too.” “You won’t like me soon,” you murmured. He whipped his head around to look at you, his mouth open to speak. You stopped him. “Don’t, Kimi. I know, it’s fun to fuck the ‘cool girl’ until you actually get into a relationship with me and realise that I’m just a regular person-”

“I want you to be a regular person,” he interrupted, taking your hand tentatively. “And I want you to know I’m not in this for the sex.” 

You turned your head to look at him. “You don’t.” 

“I do,” his voice was soft and light, as if he wasn’t saying something deeply profound. “I think you’re cool, sure. But I also think you're smart, and funny, and a really positive person. You fucking light up the garage when you’re there, and when you’re not, people ask about you all the time. I don’t know what idiot put these ideas into your head, but you need to forget them. I want you, and I want you to be you. I don’t want some polished, less version of yourself. I want the real you.” 

You didn’t know what to say. You just sat there for a moment collecting your thoughts. “Ok,” you breathed out. “We should give this a try.”

He smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to your hand. “This car is pretty great,” he added after a moment’s silence. You shook your head, laughing. 

“Shut up Kimi.” 

navigation for my blog :)

mercedes & williams masterlist

so close to what masterlist

pop queens mixtape

[bweeeb]

LOVING HER

Pedro Pascal × youngest reader.

Summary: Everyone could see the chemistry but neither of them believed it really existed.

Warnings: my writing, reader age 23, short.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

Chaos. Flashes. Makeup touch-ups. Instructions being shouted from every direction.You could’ve lost your mind—But there he was, sitting calmly with his arm stretched across the back of the white couch, his thumb gently brushing your bare shoulder as he listened attentively to the director.

Pedro had always been careful with you.As careful as someone could possibly be—even from the very beginning.The way he constantly checked in on how you felt about the scenes. The way he worried whether you had eaten that day—because somehow, he had noticed that whenever you filmed sex scenes, you wouldn’t eat beforehand, feeling too bloated to feel sexy in front of the cameras.He cared if you were sleeping well.If you were cold.If you were anxious.

Pedro paid attention to you all the time.You had always heard good things about Pedro Pascal—the gentle giant—and figured he must just be like that with everyone. Pedro was simply too good of a person.And you had made sure not to let your little fantasies get too far.

"So," the interviewer said, "this movie is definitely a big hit with age-gap readers—and, of course, with the massive Pedro Pascal and Y/n fanbase, because let’s be honest here..."

He pointed at the two of you before continuing.

"What was it like filming something like this? You guys have insane chemistry—crazy good—and the audience is going to lose it. Was it difficult?"

"I mean…" Pedro started.He rubbed his beard, smiled, and looked at you. "It’s a dangerous road. Of course we had to study how the characters would react to each situation... but honestly, it wasn’t hard. Things felt easy with Y/n."

"Yeah," you agreed. "I think because the characters have such a big age difference—and Pedro and I are a little distant in the same way Alek and Angel are—it just... worked naturally. We worked really well together."

"You're really an angel,"

Pedro muttered with a laugh, making you turn to him with a huge smile.His fingers brushed through your hair, and the interviewer subtly watched the moment.The chemistry between you two was unmistakable.

"I can't argue with that either,"

the interviewer said with a laugh, forcing you both to look away from each other.

"So," he continued, "living and acting through a story that explores a relationship with a big age gap... do you think it can work in real life? Or should it stay in books and movies?"

"I think it depends,"you answered simply.

"Yeah," Pedro added, "I think it depends on communication. A relationship can’t be based on one that failed—or even one that succeeded."

The interviewer nodded thoughtfully.

"But you once said you wouldn’t date women under thirty, right?"

"Yeah, I said that,"

Pedro admitted softly.Your gaze dropped from him to your hands resting in your lap—nothing you hadn’t already known.

"Would you date an older guy, Y/n?"

"Yeah. My parents have a fifteen-year age gap, and I think... if it’s the right person, it just works. No problem."

"Wow, that’s a really cool way to see it.Can you name three DILFs you’d hook up with—or is that too much?"

"No," you said, laughing. "Let’s give the people what they want. Chaos."

Everyone laughed, but you could feel Pedro stiffen slightly beside you on the couch."Good, good," the interviewer grinned. "We love chaos."

"Alright," you said playfully, "James Franco, Jensen Ackles, Aaron Taylor-Johnson... and since I follow Jasen on Instagram and am obsessed with his adorable family, I’ll throw in a bonus—Jeffrey Dean Morgan.And just so no one gets it twisted—this is all for entertainment, okay?I honestly love their wives even more."

You pulled a face, and the interviewer laughed loudly—unlike Pedro, who was smiling at the floor, but not like he had been smiling just a few seconds earlier."

Pedro, do you agree with that?"

"They’re good choices..." Pedro said, "but none of them would be enough for her."

"No?"

You turned to him, laughing."No. I'm a daddy bigger than any of them. You know that."he said, voice low, as he ran his hand gently along your face, down to your chin.

"Maybe. Maybe not. You never showed me,"

you teased back.When the interview aired three days later, you could barely keep up with all the comments and the endless edits about you and Pedro.You almost started to believe there might actually be something between you two—But a month later, the fantasy had faded away.What you didn’t know was that Pedro had been watching it all too—hiding at home like some lovesick teenager, as if the "old man" wasn't fifty years old. But because of exactly that—his age—he decided to let you go.Because he believed you deserved someone better.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

[tobesolnelyx]

inlove with fratboy shauna… has me thinking of fratboy lottie now, ughhh seriously i would love to see that—

— sports car || fratboy and g!p lottie matthews headcanons 🦌

a/n: no cause the vision is CLEAR. immediately thought about those courtney’s pics in caps. fratboy!lottie gives extreme tate mcrae songs vibes omg.

summary: she’s a spoiled frat but at least she likes you, right? girlfriend!lottie. modern college au.

warnings: NSFW content - MDNI

★ — to begin with - most people at college think she’s a rich, spoiled, bratty asshole. and you know what? she kinda is. she always has those stupid sunglasses (she thinks they’re making her look cool— uh, well…). she has a cap collection, too! probably tried once melissa’s one, and decided to buy weird amount of them. i mean, it’s not like she has better things to spoil money on.

★ — probably things would stay like this. if she hadn’t met you.

★ — you met her when she…kicked soccer ball so hard that it hit your head. you’re just random victim who was walking beside the field. it was afternoon, not really a practice. she just wanted to play with her buddies or whatever.

“shit, are you alright?” she immediately went to check on you. cause maybe she is an asshole, but not entirely heartless one. “im so sorry. i swear it was an accident…”

you glared at her, but she looked genuinely concerned about you. of course, you heard about her, you were prepared she’ll laugh it off or something. she didn’t. like in those cheesy romantic movies— you both were screwed up since that very moment.

★ — she swiftly becomes possessive over you. sometimes it’s subtle. just arm around your waist, mostly around your shoulders, when you’re walking together. sometimes it isn’t. she drags you on her lap at parties and friends meetings, resting chin on your shoulder. sometimes her hands are going way too low or way too high. you swat them off but she grins the the devil. (she loves spreading hands on your thighs and belly tho.)

★ — she’s so possessive and protective that you can be sure she’s going to get into a fight for you. actually, every occasion to smash some man’s face is a good one. and if someone is being mean to you, or worse, flirts with you? she’s ending with bruised knuckles, cracking someone’s nose.

★ — she’s ridiculously rich. she has some expensive car, leather and shits. always making a show with it. she also likes to fuck you on it’s hood. and in those moment? she’s surprisingly not overreacting because you made a mess. this freak is going to lick your cum from the hood. (well, it’s pedantic clean anyway. sometimes you think she might be caring about her car more than about you.)

★ — right! she’s whiny as fuck. actually acting like a toddler sometimes. no wonders, lottie learned that she always gets what she wants. so when you’re not paying attention to her annoying ass, she starts pouting.

“babe, im busy.” you murmur and she whines trying to snitch your notes for the next class.

“c’mon.” she pokes you. “i can buy you fake diploma anyway.” she rolls her eyes while chewing loudly on her gum.

“wha—“ you stare at her, wondering if she ever uses those braincells. “that’s not the point!”

she just scoffs wrapping arms around you and pressing kiss to your head. she’s way taller than you, so sorry buddy, you’re trapped now.

★ — oh right, her mission is to spoil you, too. you see something on internet, saying that it is pretty and after few days she throws package at your lap. hands on hips and she’s smiling proudly.

“lottie that’s hundreds of bucks i—“ you start but she just shrugs. like it’s fucking nothing.

“yeah, and?” she tap your nose. “it was cheap anyway.”

it wasn’t. at least not for you.

★ — you have hundreds of gifts from her. jewellery, clothes, music records, books. anything you mentioned once, that you would like to have. it’s not like you even asking her for it. but you let her buy things anyway. you think it’s some love language.

★ — she buys you lingeries, obviously. goes to the store with you, sitting there while you’re trying them on. bulge growing visible and hard in her pants. until she just shoves you against the wall and fucks you senselessly covering your mouth with her hand. you’re messing up this lingerie. not a problem tho. she pays for ruined and new one for you.

★ — loves teasing you. not only in bed. she just loves being annoying. never knows when to shut up, when to stop.

“are you done?” you ask her when she’s constantly poking you or pinching. she’s just bored, c’mon! just give her attention!

“nuh uh.” she says with stupid smile and she simply throws herself at you. caging you for the next few hours. (eventually getting a boner after a while and you have to jerk her off).

★ — lottie who loves to take you everywhere with her. on her soccer games. family gatherings or vacation. she just loves to show you off. loves to have you close. and you’re always in those pretty dresses she buys you.

★ — lottie who will eventually take them off while her parents are asleep. you guys are messing up sheets, but who cares? someone will clean it anyway. she’ll make you ride her face only to look at you desperately grinding against her tongue. she holds your hips, while her dick is embarrassingly close to eruption from this sight alone.

★ — she kind of sucks at words of affirmation. she’s mean to you. sometimes. sometimes you can’t stand her ass but she’s trying. and she would literally crash out if she’d lose you. she won’t tho. if she had to, she would lock you in some expensive apartment and wait until you would want to be with her again (as a joke…obviously…)

[ducksido]

Hi! I wanted to knw if you could write the TWST boys with a reader who's a ballerina. Not the glamorized version of what people think ballet is, but the cold and harsh reality. The strict diet, the bullying, the bodyshaming from peers and teachers that lead to EDs, the physical demands, long training hours, the teachers who pressure you and never praise you, and high levels of competition, all while managing the constant risk of injuries that can significantly impact their performance and career longevity. When practicing, ballerinas have to wear skin-tight leotards and tights in front of large mirrors, critiquing themselves with every move they make like they're their own worst judges.

Depressing, I know, but I feel like reader would feel a little triggered because of Vil's strict regiment in Pomefiore.

(Im gonna do Pomefiore's reactions + Jamil)

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is familiar with discipline—but his version of it, while harsh, is rooted in control and polish. So when Yuu joins Pomefiore and seems to flinch at every critique, Vil initially mistakes it as resistance to structure. It takes time for him to see the signs—how Yuu avoids meals, always wears loose clothing outside dance practice, and silently pushes through injuries.

When he finally walks in on Yuu rehearsing ballet alone—feet bloodied and trembling in pointe shoes, a pained expression in front of the mirror—Vil doesn’t speak at first. He just watches. He knows that look. The one where you're not practicing to improve anymore, but punishing yourself for not being good enough.

He says softly, “You don’t have to bleed to be beautiful.” Yuu laughs bitterly and says, “Don’t I?”

Vil doesn’t scold. He doesn’t call it ugly. He just wraps their ankle with precision, removes their shoes, and says, “You’ve survived an industry that demands perfection. But you’re not in that studio anymore. You’re here. With me. I won’t let you ruin yourself for art.”

From that day, he reworks his feedback style for Yuu. More affirmations. Less emphasis on weight or appearance. He teaches them how to stretch without pushing the body to collapse. And perhaps most importantly, he begins to challenge their inner voice. The one that only speaks in self-loathing.

Rook Hunt

Rook is fascinated by ballet—the artistry, the grace, the physical poetry. But when he learns about Yuu’s background, the intrigue shifts to concern.

He notices it in the little things: how Yuu hesitates before meals, counts calories under their breath, winces at their reflection. Once, he catches them tracing their waist in the mirror with a grimace, whispering critiques no one else was meant to hear.

“Mon trésor,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, “what hunts you in the mirror?”

Yuu confesses, in a broken voice, about teachers who told them they were ‘too heavy,’ the endless comparisons, and the feeling that every performance was a trial they were destined to fail. Rook doesn’t dismiss it. He listens. He observes. And he reminds them of this:

“You are not a canvas to be corrected. You are the painter. The muse. The storm. Let your movement be rebellion, not penance.”

He becomes a grounding presence—bringing food without expectation, watching practices without judgment, always ready with a poetic but sincere word of affirmation.

Epel Felmier

At first, Epel thinks ballet sounds like a cool party trick. But once he sees the toll it’s taken on Yuu, he feels nothing but fury.

He walks in on Yuu stuffing tissues into their pointe shoes, hissing through gritted teeth as they try to stand despite a swollen ankle. “What are you doin’?!” he snaps. “You’re hurt!”

Yuu shrugs. “Injury’s normal. If I sit out too long, I’ll fall behind.”

Epel’s eyes darken. “You sound like Vil.”

That hits hard. Epel hates when Vil treats him like a doll, and now he sees that Yuu has lived with that tenfold. His protectiveness kicks in. He starts watching over Yuu like a hawk—insisting they take breaks, sneakily padding their meals with extra protein, and blurting out blunt affirmations like, “You’re damn good, y’know. Even if you don’t look like whatever those jackasses back home wanted.”

He doesn’t pretend to understand the world of ballet. But he understands pressure. And he refuses to let Yuu go through it alone anymore.

Jamil Viper

Jamil respects dancers. He knows what goes into control and rhythm. But when he learns about ballet’s ugly side from Yuu, he’s quietly horrified.

“Let me get this straight,” he says after a long talk. “You were expected to starve, get injured, and compete with classmates while being told you’re never good enough?”

Yuu nods. Jamil scowls. “Sounds like a prison.”

He shares his own perspective—how breakdancing gave him freedom from expectations. “There’s no mirror judging me. No perfect body type. It’s about expression, not perfection.”

He starts inviting Yuu to informal dance sessions. No leotards. No pointed toes. Just sneakers, music, and movement. He teaches them how to lose themselves in rhythm instead of structure. And when Yuu starts smiling—genuinely smiling—during one of their freestyle sessions, Jamil doesn’t say anything.

He just watches. Quietly proud. Because he knows they’re healing.

[lllivia]

Dating Lottie Matthews

warnings: precrash!Lottie, fluff, nsfw (under cut), sub!top!Lottie

❃ you meet Lottie at a party after you notice her smoking alone on a balcony "what kinda girl stands all alone at a houseparty?"

❃ she furrows her eyebrow and looks down at you smiling. "I guess I just couldn't handle all of the sweaty drunk people inside"

❃ you spend the rest of your night together just talking about everything I guess. It was almost like you'd known eachother forever.

❃ writing your number on the back of her hand you say goodbye at the end of the night - her adorable face pouting when she realizes you actually have to part ways (she could talk to you for days on end).

❃ she has to refrain from calling you as soon as she wakes up the next morning, it was lonely living in such a big mansion - basically by herself at that.

❃ trying to be cool about it she goes to wait a few hours before reaching out. And being the clumsy girl that she is, she doesn't think about the ink on her arm before stepping into her shower and accidentally scrubbing it off.

❃ Her expression when she realizes what she had just done turning into pure horror and despair - what the fuck was she supposed to do now?? In all of the hours of chatting she never even managed to catch your name.

❃ you don't meet again until a couple months later at another party. Lottie spots you as she walks in with some of the yellowjackets team, her eyes immediately going wide before she rushes over to where you're sitting on a couch just looking around at the other partygoers.

❃ "it's you!" the smile on her face is as wide as it's ever been but she tries containing some of the excitement as to not scare you off.

❃ Little does she know you're just as excited to see her. "what happened to calling me?" You tease slightly.

❃ well she finally called you the next day. And she kept calling every night after that - spending hours talking to you as she twirled her hair and kicked her feet in the air.

❃ God she could already feel a huge crush developing, and it only continued to worsen the more you hung out. Cute picnics in the park, dinner "dates" (where she ALWAYS insisted on paying - going as far as getting slightly heated if you argued) and dancing in hidden jazz clubs were all things that started being a regular for your weekend.

❃ you were actually the one to kiss her when it finally happened. It was one of your usual friday nights in her huge mansion and you were sitting at her dining table after she had insisted that she wanted to cook you dinner.

❃ you get caught up in the moment, Lottie twirling around and singing to herself (and you) while she stirred the tomato soup was an intoxicating sight - so no one could really blame you when you suddenly stood up on your tippytoes to softly lay a kiss on her lips.

❃ she had never reacted to something as quickly in her life, her arms immediately wrapping firmly around your waist as she kissed you back with passion and pure need.

❃ at that moment she decided you were the best thing in her life - and she intended to keep it that way until she was old and grey.

❃ the next party you go to together, but you try not to be too obvious because you never know who you can trust. Welllll - scratch that, because you get caught by Jackie making out in a bedroom.

❃ she slowly starts introducing you as her girlfriend to the girls on the team - puffing her chest out with proudness when Van says you seem perfect together.

❃ staying over at her place everytime she feels the weight of her parents not being present, or when the shame of her meds start going to her head making her paranoid and insecure. But you always reassure her that you would stay with her through it all - the good and the bad.

❃ her favorite thing ever is the moments you spend alone together, specifically late nights where you lay in her bed together and just talk like you did the first night you met while some insignificant 80s romcom plays in the background.

❃ her new winning signature when the yellowjackets win becoming secretly winking at you - making all the guys (and girls) think that she wants them, even though she would only ever look at you. Also stealing an extra heated kiss before every game for "good luck".

❃ treats you like a queen and does anything to keep a smile on your face (she literally buys you a weekend trip to Paris for your 6 month anniversary.. So yeah, she's that extra).

— nsfw —

❃ a week after your first kiss she wakes up sweating and panting from an intense wet dream. It was insane that you could basically reduce her to a 12 year old hormone driven boy.

❃ she can't sleep after that, just lazily rubbing her cunt while she looks at a polaroid she took of you. Oof, that dream was something else.

❃ the next day she's slightly ashamed to look you in the eye when you meet up, because she can't stop thinking about the dream (your naked body spread open under her while you're begging for her touch..).

❃ you end up asking her if she's alright when she won't stop staring and fidgeting. Her adorable ass immediately telling you what she was thinking about - desperately asking for your forgiveness like she'd committed some kind of horrible crime.

❃ you can't help but giggle right in her face, how could she be so cute and dumb at the same time? Anyways, after the giggles die down you lose some of your confidence and turn more shy. "We can.. Yk, reenact the dream or whatever.. if you'd like"

❃ the way her jaw drops onto the floor is hilarious - well you don't have to ask her twice. She immediately gets to work peeling your (and her) clothes off.

❃ the experience was about 1000 times better than her dream. The way you pleaded and rode her fingers could make her shiver just thinking back at the moment even months later.

❃ she can get pretty desperate sometimes. Occasionally when you're busy doing something - like homework (working on becoming an academic weapon) she would basically come crawling up to you just begging for you to give in. "Please y/n, just let me eat you out... You can even continue doing homework at the same time!" ...Safe to say your journey towards being a grade A student was hard when Lottie's alluring presence kept distracting you.

❃ certified fucking munch, that's all I have to say. Ask her to go down on you and she's jumping for joy - practically doing backflips and salivating.

❃ lowkey has a worshiping kink. She loves treating you like a goddess (we all know where she has that from) while she licks every crevice of your body. She's a goddamn freak.

❃ getting caught once by Shauna while Lottie's riding your face. Safe to say you got your own entry in her journal (she's literally traumatized... But also lowkey curious).

-

a/n: Ahhh someone already requested a part 2 for the Nat headcanons - so lmk here too if y'all want more of Lottie 🙏

MAIN MASTERLIST

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

halfway there (fully smitten)

written for @steddie-spooktober Halfway to Halloween pop up event!

rated G | 2,832 words | on AO3: halfway there (fully smitten) | prompt: half-o-ween meet cute, modern au, flirting, steve harrington is simultaneously super charming and on his game AND easily flustered

Steve would do anything for his kid siblings.

He would.

It’s just…

“Why’d it have to be this Saturday?”

“Because that’s the halfway mark?” Dustin says as if it was obvious, rolling his eyes for good measure.

“Oh you’ve got to–” Steve scrubs a hand down his face; Yeah. fine. That makes sense. It is called the ‘Halfway to Halloween’ craft fair. “You don’t even like crafts.”

“There’s going to be more than just crafts.” Dustin says, again, like it should be obvious. “C’mon Steve, even Max wants to go. Like, actually wants to go.”

Steve looks over at the Max in question, gazing up at him with her usual scowl on her face.

“She doesn’t look like she wants to.”

“Yes she–”

“She does.” she says.

“See??” Dustin gestures excitedly towards her.

Steve sighs again. Of course she’d want to go, she’s always been all about that spooky crap.

He looks down between the two hellions he’s so proud to call his siblings.

Internally.

Internally he is.

He sighs again, turning away from where they’d corralled him at the end of the hallway.

“C’mon Steve where’re you–”

“I gotta call Angie,”

“But–”

“I have to call off our date, dingwad!"

Dustin insisted that they be there right when the fair opened at 10 am, but after a syrup incident at breakfast and a couple bathroom breaks, their two hour drive to the 4H grounds the show was being held at, turned into two hours and 45 minutes, landing them in line at 10:10 am.

They waited their turn to pay the entrance fee, Dustin bouncing on his toes the whole time, and as soon as the bright orange bracelet was on his wrist, he was off. 

Surprising Steve further, Max was right on his heels, scanning seriously over the first line of vendors.

“You shits better have your phones on you!” Steve calls after them, getting offhanded waves in return.

He watches them go a little on ahead, sliding between the already hearty crowd much easier than he would, then turns to look at some of the vendors’ wares himself.

It was not a great place to start paying attention, to be completely honest, the racks and tables filled with all sorts of stuffed animals with bloody gashes, exposed broken bones, and dangling bloodshot eyes..

His shock must’ve been fully apparent because the bearded man behind the stall table guffaws at his expression.

“S’not for everyone, kid. I get it.” he says when Steve apologizes.

There are people selling their collections of movie memorabilia, specialty indie costume companies selling their scarily (ha) detailed rubber masks, some folks are selling crystals, some are selling crochet, some have tiny taxidermied mice..

It’s honestly kind of overwhelming.

He stops at one end of this barn (the second in the grounds’ row of five that were full up for the occasion), leaning up against the open double doors.

He’d originally been concerned about the cool cloudy weather, thinking it’d be too cold to be walking around outside like this, but a lot of vendors had space heaters plugged in behind their booths, and there were so many people bustling through and around the space that the wide open doors were a blessing to his already sweating brow.

Taking advantage of his spot out of the flow of people, he opens his phone to check on where the gremlins were (two barns down already what the hell??), when Dustin’s text comes through.

He puts his phone back in his pocket and continues on.

The next booth he comes to is another with taxidermied things, though these are all bugs. Different beetles, bees, and butterflies pinned into shadow boxes.

For some reason, he gets kinda stuck at the display of colorful wings. He’s never really liked bugs, never had a strong opinion about butterflies, but these things are… seriously beautiful.

Some he remembers the names for without having to look at the little tags the vendor wrote up for them; Monarch for one, and he knows this blue one is an Emperor Butterfly from that Animal Crossroads game Max got him hooked on for a while a couple years ago, and he’s inspecting the pattern of greens and oranges on another when he feels someone brush up against him.

Suddenly aware of how long he’s been standing in front of the display, probably blocking a whole bunch of others from getting to look too, he glances back, stepping out of the way with a “Shit, sorry!”

“No worries man, I can look just fine from right here.”

Steve’s busy looking down at his feet to make sure he’s stepping around the boxes stored under a nearby display table, “No, really, I just got caught up looking at them;” he finally gets his feet in a safe spot, and turns to the newcomer, “They’re all really–”

He’d made the mistake of looking up at the source of the voice, and now his own is stuck in his throat.

Steve’s a sucker for all things 80s, the aesthetic (a new word introduced to him by Max) at least, and this guy looked as if he was plucked right out of time and delivered to him on a shiny silver platter.

A mess of dark frizzy curls, deep dark eyes, ripped skinny jeans and some sort of band tee under a leather jacket and denim vest..

Even the sun decided to point out how much of a simp he was about to be over this guy, choosing that moment to break through the clouds outside the doors and give hot 80s metal guy a hell of a glow.

“--pretty.”

Hot Metalhead smirks and ohjesusfuckingchristhehasdimples.

“You’re not too bad yourself, big boy.” the man says, and Steve swears he can feel the other man’s gaze trail over him. “You got a favorite?”

He gestures back to the display of bugs, and Steve shakes his head clear, “Uh.. The orange one maybe, the Monarch? But this one is really cool.” he points to the green/orange one.

Hot Metalhead nods, “The Madagascan Sunset Moth, that one’s my favorite.” then he levels a smirk at Steve, “Seems you’ve got good taste, pretty boy.”

Something kicks to life behind Steve’s ribs, and suddenly he feels completely back on his game. He slowly drags his gaze over the other man, lingering on his lips (chapped, but perfectly pouty even in their smirk), “Seems like I do.”

Steve meets the man’s eyes, and he opens his mouth to say something else when they’re broken from the moment by none other than Max.

“There you are! Do you ever check your phone?” she gripes, pulling him out of the booth

“What–Max?” A rock sinks into his stomach, “What’s wrong?”

“I need your help picking something for Lucas,” she puts her hands on her hips and it’s like he’s looking in a mirror.

The rock rolls out his stomach with the roll of his eyes, and turns to say something to Hot Metalhead, but he’s already a couple booths away, bending low over a table of books.

“You can flirt later, I really need your help!”

Sighing, but figuring he can find Hot Metalhead later, he follows Max to a bigger movie memorabilia booth in the center of the next barn over.

Eventually, they settle on two gifts for Max’s “He’s not my boyfriend nor do I want him to be.” boyfriend (“He’s not my boyfriend, Steve! Urgh, you’re the worst.”): a Freddy Krueger sweater, and a jersey boasting the Haddonfield Butchers, with the last name Myers and number 78 on the back.

“Are you sure that’s not secretly for you?” Steve asks, clocking the reference immediately. He had, afterall, been made to sit and watch Halloween close to a zillion times over the course of he and Max’s foster journey together.

“No, it’s for him. It's something I like fused with what he likes." She reasons.

“Sure, sure,”

Max wanders off again after that, and so does Steve, scanning the crowd for messy brown curls as he scans the other vendors.

Eventually, he comes to a booth covered in pins and earrings. 

He immediately thinks of Ms. Hender– Claud— Mom when he sees all the earrings, and starts looking through the spinning racks, snapping a picture to send to the goblins as he does

“Find something you like?”

Steve glances up, one of the two ladies manning the booth has stood from her chair, the strawberry blond with the ponytail, smiling brightly at him. A pair of cigarette earrings hang from her lobes, one new and one half burnt down.

“Yeah, sorry, I was sending a picture of these to my siblings,” he picks up the fangs, “Our mom would love these.”

The woman holds out a hand and he passes the set to her, “Awesome, let me get them bagged up for you!”

“Do you want a different color?” The other woman says, looking through a basket of what looks like even more pairs of earrings; she’s a dirtier blond with a choppy bob and freckles.

“Another color?”

“Y’know, black, orange, purple, glow in the d–” that’s when she looks up at him, “Steve Harrington?”

Steve’s brain goes into a jumbled state of ???????????

“Uhm, yeah? How’d you–”

“You went to my high school!”

A rock plunges into his gut, “Oh, uhm.. I’m sorry? I don’t–”

“You dated Tammy Thompson.”

He feels his face pull into a cringe, “Yeah, that was… yeah.”

“She was on American Idol!” the strawberry blond says.

Steve finds himself laughing, “I don’t know how she made it, she sounds like a muppet when she sings.”

“She does!” She laughs at the same time Choppy Bob says an indignant “She does not!”

The rock is back, “Oh, sorry.. Was she a friend?”

Ponytail laughs again, saying “No,” at the same time as Bob but continuing on with “Robin here had a biiiig crush on her.”

 Bob, Robin apparently, goes all splotchy, “Shut up Chris!”

Chris just waves her off, “Oh he’s fine, he’s one of us, did you not see his pin?”

Steve looks down at his own chest, Max’s gifted bi flag pin glinting up at him from his jacket, then back up at the two; the lanyard around Robin’s neck jumps out at him, striped in pinks and oranges and whites, and Chris has what looks like one half of a heart in colors matching his pinned to her sweater.

“Huh.” Robin says, looking perplexed, “Who’da thunk?”

“You’re telling me.” Steve jokes, finally getting Robin to smile back at him.

Suddenly, and at the same time another potential customer comes into the little stall behind him, Dustin comes out of the woodwork to tug at his arm, “Finally, there you are! Stop flirting and come with me, you gotta see these cars!”

“Whoa, dude! Chill out for a second, okay? I’m trying to pay the nice lady.”

“Well hurry it up dude,” he mocks, “They’ve got the Ghostbusters’ hearse back there!”

Dustin squeezes very impolitely past the other person in the booth, and Steve turns back to Chris, “Sorry, brothers you know?”

“He’s got a point, the Ghostbusters one is pretty impressive,” She says as Robin accepts his $10 bill for the jewelry, and passes him back a small bag and a card, “I wrote our cell numbers on the back, we should all meet up again sometime!”

“Course! I’ll let you know how my mom likes ‘em, yeah?”

Steve squeezes out the stall and Chrissy picks up her phone. 

Dustin was right (what’s new?), this last building is packed full of hearses of every shape and size. 

A 1940s era one, a slightly newer model painted entirely in matte black, one with a padded coffin hanging half out the end for people to pose for pictures in. But the real star of the show, at least according to Dustin, was the one for one remake of the Ghostbusters’ white one.

Steve follows him down the row, pausing at the hood of the replica to take a picture of the giant slime ghost plush in the passenger seat, then on to peer into the cab.

He was still inspecting all the old dials in the dash through the open window, when someone says, “See something you like?”

“I was told by a very reliable source that yours was the one to beat.” Steve says, taking in the shockingly low number of miles on the odometer, “And I gotta say, still having the original dials in the dash is pretty cool– Hey! It’s you!” 

The guy leaning his weight onto the car’s roof with one hand grins, “Hello again, your majesty.”

“Majesty?”

 “You liked the Monarchs, remember?” Hot Metalhead pushes himself up off the car and offers Steve the same hand, “I’m Eddie.”

“Steve.” he breathes, taking Eddie’s hand in his. 

Eddie shakes his hand once, his fingers calloused and warm, “Well, King Steve, what brings you all the way to my neck of the woods?”

“I heard there was a super special hearse back here so I had to come see it for myself.”

“Good eye, Stevie”

“Only if it’s easy on ‘em.” he says, starting to get his normal voice back, “‘Easy on the eyes’ y’know?”

Eddie just laughs, “Yeah big guy, I got it.”

Steve’s face is on fire. He clears his throat, finally letting Eddie’s hand go. He notices a familiar pin on the front breast pocket of his denim vest that he hadn’t noticed before, this one striped in shades of blue, green, and white, the opposite half of Chris’ pink, purple, and blue one.

“Oh, hey! You know Chris?” Eddie's face flashes into confusion, so Steve clarifies, “She’s got the same half heart pin as you…?”

“Chrissy you mean? Tiny? Ponytail? Bangs?”

Steve shrugs, “That sounds right.”

“Has a girlfriend about yay tall? Freckles?”

“I mean, she didn’t stand up..”

Eddie considers him for a moment. “Nope. Never heard of ‘er.”

Oh god he’s a dork.. Steve’ll never survive this.

“D’she send you over here?”

“Kinda? Dustin wanted to see the cars anyhow so..” he holds his arms out at his sides, “Here I am.”

“So this curly-haired menace is yours then?” Eddie asks, turning to stand at Steve’s side and gesturing to where Dustin is talking with a balding man at the end of the car, “He’s been talking my Uncle’s ear off each time he’s come by.”

Steve nods, “Him and the redhead who’s… around here somewhere– there!” He points out Max as she heads outside into the sun, making her hair glow bright, “She’s my foster sister, Dustin’s mom took us both in about a year ago now, she was really great to take us in together, even with me being ‘aged out’ and all.. I wanted to make sure she had something stable going forward y’know? And I really don’t know why I’m telling you all that but.. There it is..”  

His face is going to be permanently red at this point, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind his rambling, looking at him with a mix of amusement and something else in his expression. “You can tell me whatever you want, whenever you want, Stevie.”

“Is that your way of asking for my number?” Steve asks on impulse.

Eddie laughs, “You give me way too much credit Stevie, I’m not even remotely close to that good of a smooth-talker,” he reaches into his back pocket and produces his phone, “But no way am I passing up the opportunity.”

Steve smiles and takes it, entering his information into Eddie’s phone, “Apologies to your uncle by the way,” he says as he sends himself a devil face emoji from Eddie’s cell, “Dusty can get to be too much sometimes. I hope he’s not giving you too much trouble?”

He hands back the phone as his own chimes in his pocket, taking it out and passing it to Eddie.

“Not at all; Wayne’s more than happy to talk about anything to anyone who’ll listen; He’s already told me everything he knows.”

“Don’t you mean ‘taught’?”

“Not in the slightest.” Eddie grins at Steve’s laughter, punches something into his phone and passes it back. “There you go, big boy, one brand new phone number just for you.”

Steve looks down at the screen, ‘super hot sexy metal deathlord eddie 😈🤘’ is at the top of his message screen.

He looks up at Eddie, who just waggles his eyebrows at him; Steve rolls his eyes, but can’t keep himself from smiling. “Perfect, thanks.”

“No problem…” he mimes looking down at his phone, “‘steve’.”

“Oi! Can you two flirt your way to the gut trucks, or are Dusty and I gonna have to get some grub ourselves?”

The two jump apart at Wayne’s words, both their cheeks burning (brighter in Eddie’s case).

“Yeah, yeah, shut your yaps, we’ll go get something.” Eddie grumbles, striding off toward where the food trucks are parked, pulling Steve along with him.

if you don't have one around you at this time, this is a real thing that happens in my area every may!! and it's on the 10th this year!! all of the things mentioned are things i've seen at my fair; my own pair of vamp fang earrings are truly a favorite pair of earrings i own :o) spiderweb divider from @saradika-graphics! vampire earring pic is from this etsy listing!

there will also be a part 2 to this tomorrow, LINK HERE!

[secretgardensinmymindd13]

no but it cracks me up that all this time buck was walking around with this feeling of “my bro is the most attractive dude on the planet. like, he’s so pretty, any girl would be lucky to have him. i’m kind of jealous of them (joking, of course. or am i?..), but i get it. and he’s also such an amazing dad. and he’s so smart, and so brave, and so reliable, and so funny, and so cool. literally the best person alive. i’m just happy for his girlfriends, ‘cause they get to have this guy to themselves. but also i hope he never has another best friend like me, ‘cause no one is allowed to take my place in his life. it’s all i have”

and eddie was walking around with this feeling of “wow, i just made the bestest friend in the world. he cares about me and he loves my child so much. i want to spend all my time with him. i want to talk with him about everything. i want to listen to him talk about everything. i want to see him every day. i trust him with my life. i trust him with my son, which is even more important than my life. now that i’ve gotten to know him, i can’t really imagine my future without him in it. also, i have this weird swirl of feelings inside my chest when i see him with his romantic partners, but i have no idea what it is. it’s too confusing for me, so my brain is just kind of unable to process it. i trust him with my darkest secrets and i’m not afraid of him seeing me at my lowest, ‘cause i feel like he always accepts all of me with understanding instead of judgment. my life feels empty and wrong without him by my side. i might need him almost as much as i need my son at this point, wow. he’s just the most important person in my life. again, after my son. but i realized that i need both of them beside me to feel happy”

and for 7 years, they genuinely didn’t understand what it meant, because eddie was too inexperienced and emotionally repressed to be able to comprehend what his feelings actually meant, and buck was too unaware of what his feelings for men meant

so all these years they were really just walking around being in love with each other but not having a single idea that they were, because they really thought that this is just how platonic camaraderie feels like -

until tommy's intervention and eddie's move to el paso finally opened their eyes and gave them a new perspective from which they could look at their feelings toward each other and finally be able to understand them

their story gets me every time. like, it’s so stupid and unhinged and beautiful

and something like this really could only happen by accident, ‘cause i don’t think any tv show writer is smart enough to create something so raw and complex as their relationship from scratch

it just kind of happened by itself. and i love it

[ghostly-bat]

Bruce can never truly benched Damian because that boy would just.... Be one of his other siblings'/family friend's sidekick.

Oh? What's that? Robin is benched until further notice because of [insert reason here]? Sucks to suck, Nightbird is here now.

Huh, Robin and Nightbird can't make it to the field? Well, Batman didn't say anything about Redbird now, did he?

Welp! Since Robin, Nightbird and Redbird are all out of commission, I don't see any reason why Emu can't make a debut now!

This is awkward, but no fear for Batboy is here!

Batman can catch both Spoiler and Raider's hand—

Well.... Batman didn't say anything about patrolling during daylight, which is a good thing since that's when Messenger is out to play :)

If Bruce still doesn't relent, Damian just goes back full circle and makes a rotation.

(it's based on this art where an official artist from DC drew Damian in many costumes inspired by his brothers' vigilante gig)

I've been giggling at this for a good minute, it's the fact that the first half of his other sidekick names is just different variations of bird name's, I'm particularly fond of Emu.

This is also peak 10 to 12 year old Damian behavior because turly you can't bench him, you can't tie him down, you can't put baby in a corner, no one puts baby in a corner, he's going out on patrol whether you like it or not.

Listen he has a whole list of names and different identities he's been working on, he has backups for his backups you'd be dumb to think he doesn't. Did he cop some of his brothers costume ideas? sure but he rocks it better anyway. At this point Bruce just gives up, there's nothing he can do, Damian's older brothers maybe enable it a bit cus they think it's pretty cool that they get to have their own sidekick for a while.

And the art! He's so tiny 😭😭💚💚

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hi batman :) this felt too tangential to directly contribute to the post literally specifically about reading books by black women BUT re: “would this ‘i don’t know who writes the books i read’ phenomenon be happening if the question was just ‘have you read a book by a woman’” i’ve often come across folks at work (bookstore) and online saying things along the lines of “i need to be reading more women writers!!” (probably true!) or asking for stories by queer/trans people specifically, (and having that be pretty much their only criteria for a recommendation at the start of the conversation). and like, that’s cool! i think it’s admirable to seek out voices you’re not familiar with. yippee! but NONE! of these requests (bookstore mostly, but in some casual convos online) are ever for books by Black people! let alone “hey do you have any books by Black women?” i don’t really feel equipped to speculate as to why that would be, but i’m wondering if you have any thoughts on why folks seem so much more comfortable (or even eager) broaching their comfort zone to talk about queerness or gender but not race. i mean. it’s the racism, but i’d love your thoughts. thank u for enduring some of the most insane takes ever it’s led me to reflect on how i engage with media in some really useful and actionable ways.

it's absolutely the racism, and I think it's very interesting that you specifically draw this parallel with people actively seeking queer authors, because I do have some fucking Things to say about that.

I believe it's actually on this sequel post, rather than the original that you're referencing, where some very confidently asserts that they only bother learning things about authors to make sure that queer books are written by queer people, which to me begs the obviously follow-up question of why this perceived authenticity of authorial experience matters for queer narratives but not for those of narratives by people of color, to which I fear the answer is that this person either doesn't care or simply isn't reading books that center people of color in the first place.

and while I have personally seen lots of white people, including many white queer people, doing the work to decenter whiteness in their reading (#notallwhites) I am also very familiar with the kind of white queer readers you're talking about, who treat "it's gay" as the end all of media recommendations. huge shout out to a former (white, bisexual) coworker from my time at the library, who once tried to pitch me on a "queer sapphic YA beowulf" retelling he was reading and couldn't understand why I wasn't interested in it at all when it had gay characters in it.

and I think for queer readers like this, who prioritize the consumption of queer #content above all else, there's an alleged willingness to engage with any book that will offer up LGBT characters that still prioritized white characters, white authors (especially when those white authors write some characters of color, so it still feels #diverse), and what's considered a normative (white, western) LGBT experience, with anything outside that framework being treated as unrelatable and optional to the white queer literary canon because it doesn't meld nicely with, I don't know, Red, White & Royal Blue and Heartstopper and Song of Achilles and Legends & Lattes. it's the classic move of white queers getting so caught up in being marginalized in one particular way that we forget there might be any other groups whose voices might be getting drowned out and need prioritizing.

and also, you know, having to read books about people who experience other forms of discrimination in addition to homophobia/transphobia gets the ol' white guilt churning and make them feel attacked, which many of my folks just cannot stand. white supremacy is built on comfort, and all that.