#I don’t like any of the faces and I can’t even remember his name rn smh | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wttcsms · 4 months ago

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if you feel like falling (catch me on the way down) | TWO

ᝰ.ᐟ after getting your heart broken by professional soccer player, rin itoshi, all because he loved the game more than you, you officially swear off all men — especially athletes. your publicist doesn’t get that memo, though, and you find yourself roped into a fake relationship with yoichi isagi, who isn’t just a pro soccer player, but also your ex’s rival. things could get messy. ( fem!reader )

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pairing yoichi isagi x reader (endgame), past! rin itoshi x reader word count 5.9k chapter synopsis the busier your schedule, the less time you can spend thinking about rin. the only problem is, you see something you can't unsee. nothing a bottle of tequila can't fix, right? (spoiler: tequila isn't fixing a broken heart) chapter contains partying and drinking to cope, diet culture author’s notes i have nothing to insightful to add rn, but send me any asks discussing this fic and i will have a lot to say LOL

From: [email protected] To: [USER EMAIL HIDDEN] Cc: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected] + 3 others Subject: 6/19 — [NAME] [SURNAME] AGENDA Attachments: 📎 [6.19 AGENDA.pdf]

All —

Attached is the PDF copy of [Name]’s itinerary for today. Reminder that these times are STRICT. Stay on schedule.

Fumiko Gima

Get Outlook for IOS

Your first alarm goes off at 4:50 AM to what you assume is the noise they play on repeat in hell (By the Seaside, an Apple classic). After waking up, you roll over in your king size bed (the problem with always choosing to go big instead of just going home is the fact that when you’re all alone, the luxury of extra space just becomes empty space) to promptly hit the snooze button. You’ll allow yourself five more minutes of sleep (as a treat). When the second alarm you set up goes off at 4:53 AM (By the Seaside, once again), you scream into your pillow, and shut it off for real this time. You knew you weren’t going to give yourself the full five minutes, but it felt really good to trick yourself into believing that you would. You always start the day with this tiny disappointment; that way, no one has the privilege of being the first person to piss you off.

At 4:54 AM, you slide your feet into your Ugg slippers, readjust the loose straps of your silk camisole, and shuffle into your marble-floored bathroom. You rub the sleep from your eyes, brush your teeth with your pink electric toothbrush, and wash your face. By the time you’re done with your morning skincare, it’s 5:06 AM. You honestly can’t remember the last time you did your own makeup, but you bring your makeup bag with you anyway. If there’s downtime between shoots, you’ll post a faux-GRWM TikTok where you apply three miniscule dots of concealer on your seemingly already flawless skin and add a fresh layer of the brand new, limited edition Rhode peptide lip treatment that Hailey Bieber’s team gifted you. They also gave you twenty grand to do so, with a personal “hey girlie, would love to catch up with you one of these days!! life has been so hectic, sorry for not keeping in touch x btw, i just came out with a new shade of my…” text from Hailey herself. (You replied back with a “yessss, we need to meet up soon!! Also, LOVE LOVE LOVE the new shade omg 😍” — neither of you have any intention for planning a meet-up, and you don’t “LOVE LOVE LOVE” the new shade as much as you “LOVE LOVE LOVE” to deposit a fat check.)

You’re sliding into the backseat of the glossy black SUV parked in front of your driveway at 5:14 AM. Your chauffeur, Benji, holds open the door for you.

“Good morning, Ms. [Surname],” Benji never drops the formalities with you, except for when he’s lecturing you. Thank God he doesn’t own a smartphone; if he saw half the things Daily Mail wrote about you, his voice would be gone from scolding you so much. Even if he’s technically on your parents’ payroll and is paid to make sure you get to and from places safely, it still feels nice to have someone who cares about you enough to call you out on your shit.

The first stop is an exclusive, members-only pilates studio. If you’re home, you have to work out in the morning, no matter what. You like your routine. Out of all the things online magazines put out about you, it’s kind of embarrassing how the most accurate one is revealing how you stay “fit ‘n flawless even after going out every night.” Most people didn’t believe it. Rin got it, though. Rin would actually work out with you, when the two of your schedules aligned, and— Time to start your workout early! Nothing takes your mind off of matters more than focusing on the burn of your core and arms.

By the time you finish your private session, you’re walking out the studio with your puffy tote bag slung over your shoulders. Your body is still a bit damp from taking a quick shower but not drying off properly, and Benji drops you off at your first business stop of the day — ELLE Japan.

You smile brightly as the team of makeup artists surrounding you shower you with compliments. One of the girls brushing on your foundation tells you that you have really nice skin. When she goes in for a second layer, you almost consider rescinding the thanks you gave her.

The set is hectic, as expected. No matter how long these people have been in the industry, no matter how big the host is, something always seems to be going wrong. Apparently, there’s been a mishap over in wardrobe, and ELLE’s people are not very happy with how this is going to delay everything. With your hair and makeup done, there’s nothing for you to do besides sit down, be quiet, and look pretty.

Downtime is the last thing you want. You’re used to a busy schedule, but you convinced Fumiko to accept as many projects as possible. If you have to rank at the top of the list for celebrities who emit the most CO2, then so be it. You’ll pollute the whole damn planet if it means you won’t have a single second to be alone with your thoughts.

At 9:00 AM sharp, you go on your phone to inform your manager that the agenda is fucked. ELLE Japan is definitely going to push back this session with you for at least a good hour, which means Fumiko is going to have to explain to Your Style (the YouTube channel name for a famous fashion commentator who’s amassed nearly twenty million subscribers) why you’re going to be late for the Zoom debrief on what you two are going to talk about in an upcoming video. At 9:02 AM, you receive a text.

juli ᡣ𐭩: u know i love u

It’s two in the morning in Paris. When Juliette said she was going to visit her father, she said it was going to be a much-needed vacation — just something chill and lowkey, like going to all the designer stores and eating croissants on a balcony. Those were her exact words.

juli ᡣ𐭩: [photo attachment]

Somehow, from the neon strobe lights, bodies pressed against one another’s, and the way the image is blurry because she couldn’t get her phone to focus, it feels like Juliette’s “something chill and lowkey” morphed into club-hopping all over France. You roll your eyes with affection. You should’ve known her vacation was going to turn into this; as if Juliette would eat bread for pleasure — she’s been quoted for claiming that carbs are a necessary evil. She probably hasn’t even touched a croissant for the past week she’s been there.

juli ᡣ𐭩: showing u before TMZ posts it juli ᡣ𐭩: [video attachment] juli ᡣ𐭩: do not freak out. not worth it. juli ᡣ𐭩: ugh i knew this club sucked ass for a reason

You wait for the video to load. It’s almost as blurry and unfocused as the original image she sent, but you can tell she had to zoom in pretty hard to capture what she wanted. It’s two figures with a minimal amount of space between them. One of them is definitely a girl; she has the build of the usual French models. A thin, leggy brunette who has mastered the intricate art of Just Had Sex hair. Perfectly messy, but could never be considered sloppy. She’s wearing a sparkly, tight minidress. The fabric shimmers when the strobe lights pass by her body. The person she’s practically pressed up against is a man. Tall, lean. He’s leaning down, presumably so he can hear her better. When the video clip ends abruptly (someone bumped into Juliette, and the video ends with shaky footage and a loud “putain!”), you replay it. And replay it. And then you play it again, just for good measure.

Each time you watch the stupid video, you find something new to notice. Her red lips brushing against his ear. The way his hand hovers near her hip. The way you’re certain she’s smiling when she speaks, like the smirk of a victor. The exact same self-satisfied, smug grin you sport whenever you get a guy right where you want him. Upon every rewatch, though, one thing remains the same: you’re constantly fixated on him.

Right now, it’s two in the morning in Paris. You know that when you weren’t in this fucked up headspace you’re in right now, you’d be in bed, snuggled underneath your blankets, by 11:30 PM. You know that when you felt your best, you could be in bed, whispering in the dark to the person you felt safest with, at 10:00 PM (at the latest, because you both would have a busy day ahead and needed the rest). He likes sleeping early because he likes being well-rested.

So why the hell is Rin Itoshi at a club right now?

At 9:39 AM, ELLE Japan gets right back on track. Before your editorial shoot for a special anniversary edition of the magazine, they get you to sit down to do a video interview that they plan on posting all over their social media.

“This is a very special edition that will be coming out, and you are not only having the biggest spread dedicated to you, but you’re also going to be on the cover. Knowing this, how are you feeling right now, [Name]? This might be the most high-profile photoshoot you’ve done so far in your career, and that’s saying something. You have quite the impressive resume.”

The ring lights are shining directly in your eye. The stool they have you sitting on for this interview is uncomfortable, and you have to focus on remaining balanced. Your back is perfectly straight, and your hands are folded in your lap. You blink, and you see the video playing in your mind. You have God knows how much makeup caked on right now, and you still have a long day ahead of you. Rin is at a club right now. Rin is at a club right now, with a girl. Rin is at a club right now, with a girl, and they’re basically grinding against each other, and he might just have forgotten all about you.

You smile brightly. At 9:40 AM in Japan, you let everyone know,

“I honestly think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been before in my life! This is a great way to establish a sort of, I guess, new era of my life and my career.”

You turn to face the camera directly, giving them a dazzling view of your pearly whites. “Not trying to rush the process or anything, but I am definitely looking forward to seeing how this will all play out in the future.”

You’re operating on autopilot for the rest of the day. The ELLE shoot wraps up close to noon. You forgo lunch, but knowing you and your tendency to skip meals, Benji refuses to start the car until you eat the lunch his wife packed for you. It’s light and refreshing — they want you to eat well, but they’re not cruel. Even if they want to bring you a feast of a nice, hot, home cooked meal, you’ll eat it out of obligation and then suffer the consequences on set when everyone asks why you’re so bloated. You don’t even taste what you’re consuming.

At 12:30 PM, you hop on the Zoom call and pretend to care about discussing matters such as the lack of personal style affecting the younger generations. Every topic is a trivial topic to you. The only thing worth dissecting is that damn video. You should’ve asked those twenty million subscribers to help you analyze that, instead of nodding along when the YouTuber starts going on a rant about how Shein and other fast fashion brands are ruining everything.

Late in the afternoon, you get another text.

kenyu: So the team wants to host a belated birthday party for me lmao. Team’s planning on having it at 10 tonight kenyu: Sending you the address right now

A party is exactly what you need right now. Endless drinks, no need for rational thinking, and you’ll be (mostly) surrounded by people who think models are all vain and vapid. No one there is going to expect a decent conversation from you, and with the state you’re in, it’s a wonder how all your sentences are even making sense.

You give Kenyu’s next message a like in response. You were expecting a club, but when you click on the address, Maps reveals that it’s residential. Rin is gallivanting around European nightclubs, and meanwhile, the best you can do are house parties. This is how the future is playing out?

At least even at your worst, people still think you’re on top of the world.

Maybe life without a man dragging you down and invading your space is for the best. After all, once you got done with all your professional obligations, it’s only eight at night. You’re used to going out with whatever makeup they did for you on set at your last shoot of the day, which is a shame. You have shelves full of makeup that’s been sent to you by different brands, and one of these nights, you plan on just messing around at your vanity.

You like living alone, you decide. You can leave all the lights on if you want, and no one complains about it hurting their eyes. You have full control of the thermostat. You don’t have to fight for counter space in the bathroom. Plus, no one can see how you’re living.

At 9:13 PM, you’re sprawled on the cool marble floor of your bathroom (squeaky clean thanks to the housekeeper you have come once a week), and instead of rewatching that dreadful video and subsequently crying, you had a quick retail therapy session. Your new Prada heels should be coming within the next two days.

You don’t get Benji to drive you. Nobody bats an eye at a rich girl having a driver, but it does seem kind of weird to have him drop you off at a party as if you're a tween girl getting taken to the mall. If the house is owned by one of Yukimiya’s teammates, surely it won’t be too awkward if you had to leave it there because you got too drunk to drive yourself back home?

Because — no offense to Yuki, you’re happy he’s getting another birthday celebration — the whole point of even going to this party is to get fucked up. You already know that Juliette had a point — if not TMZ, then at least Daily Mail will be all over Rin and that girl in the club. If that gets leaked, then you might as well have your own headline to combat his. Sure, lately you’ve been out partying, but that was with other models so it doesn’t raise too many eyebrows. Rin being caught at a club is basically him hard launching the breakup. You need to raise some speculation on your side of things, too.

you: can you get someone to pick up my car from this address tomorrow morning? you: please :)

When you see three dots appear, you smile for real. You can practically hear her sigh and see the shake of her head.

Fumiko Gima: Yes. Fumiko Gima: Be safe.

Aw, maybe your manager does have a heart. Right before you can send her a heart, she adds:

Fumiko Gima: Don’t stay out too late. You have your first shoot at 8 AM.

This is the message you give a heart reaction to. Maybe everything really is just business with her.

You suppose you can’t fault Fumiko for always seeming cold. She’s your manager, not your best friend.

In this industry, her honesty is refreshing. You normally find this to be the case, but you really feel it now when you step into the mansion and hear a cacophony of laughter swarming you from all sides. At every turn, there’s a celebrity with a drink in hand. Everyone’s leaning towards each other, as if they’re so captivated with the other’s words.

You see an actor leading a stumbling model up the spiral staircase. To your side, you see a baseball player chatting up the daughter of one of the baseball league’s board members. Upstairs, someone’s probably snorting a line off Yukimiya’s teammate’s bathroom counter. There are only three reasons why people in your social circle attend these parties: to get fucked, to get fucked up, or to make business deals. Considering the fact that you’ve been here for nearly five minutes and have yet to see a birthday cake — or the belated birthday boy himself — you’re pretty sure everyone here has lot the damn plot for the original celebration.

When you venture some more, you end up in the massive backyard. Some people are drunkenly making out in the pool, some people are watching them, and in a table in the corner, you spot a group of girls giggling and cheering as they all do shots. Perfect. This is exactly where you need to be.

One’s a model; you’ve seen her on a couple pages you flipped through in Harper’s Bazaar. You go up to the table and give her a bright smile.

“Hey, girl! Or should I say Miss Bazaar?” You greet her like how you think people would tease a friend. She’s not your friend; you don’t even know her name. You know she knows your name — everyone here does. And it’s because of the fact that everyone knows you that she lights up when she realizes you’re speaking to her.

A photo op with you guarantees that even if the headline coming out tomorrow is centered on you, she’ll still be in the frame. Daily Mail will add a caption naming everybody from left to right, and she’s planning on being the one captured right next to you.

“[Name]!” She squeals, giving you a quick side hug. “How have you been?”

All your friends, the grand total of exactly two people, know how you’ve been. You grin, pointing to the bottle of tequila they have on their table.

“After how this day has been, I honestly just need a shot.” You play it off like a joke, and as someone pours you one, you add, “Or maybe like five.” They all giggle before throwing back the tequila straight. They might think you’re joking, but this table full of strangers are the first people you’ve been honest with all day.

At 12:15 AM, they aren’t strangers anymore. In fact, you think they might be your best friends in the whole world. You don’t know the lyrics to the rap song blaring through the bass boosted speakers, but you’re laughing as you take another shot. The Harper’s Bazaar girl is doing another shot with you, but she has her phone in her other hand. She makes sure that the both of you are in the frame together, and a second later, she’s tagging you in an Instagram story you don’t bother to view. You’re not even following her.

“Okay, so out of all the guys here, who looks the most fuckable?” One of the girls leans on the table for support as she asks this question. You can’t help but notice how glittery her lipgloss is. Wow, even after all the shots she’s taken, there’s no transfer. Impressive. “I say Theo Sachs.”

“Who the fuck is Theo Sachs?” Harper’s Bazaar asks, and the whole entire table giggles. Honestly, at parties like these, laughing comes easy. In fact, you’re giggling right with them, even though you also have no fucking clue who Theo is. There’s just something so freeing in tequila-induced joy.

“Um, the host of this party?” Glittery Lipgloss says. “Oh my God, girl, he’s like, one of the players for Bastard.”

“The fuck is Bastard?” Another girl asks, adjusting her blue minidress.

“The soccer team!” Glittery Lipgloss is too drunk to be fed up, but you’re sure she would be rolling her eyes if she could.

“I didn’t know we had soccer players here. I only saw baseball players.” Blue Minidress frowns, before adding, “I would totally fuck one of the baseball boys, though. No preference whatsoever. Matter of fact, I could take the whole team.”

Harper’s Bazaar laughs. “What about you, [Name]? Who are you taking home tonight?”

Before you can think of something to say, Glittery Lipgloss groans. “Oh my God, she has a boyfriend.” She looks at you for confirmation. You don’t give her any, but thankfully Blue Minidress has her own insight to add to this conversation.

“So what the fuck does that have to do with her question? [Name], who are you taking home tonight?”

Nobody. Out of every party you’ve gone to this past month, you went back home, completely and utterly alone each and every time. It’s not even because nobody offered — they have — but because no matter how lonely you may get or feel, you don’t like strangers in your space. It took you three months of dating Rin to let him into the penthouse you were originally staying in, and that was with you being in love with him.

Once again, you’re saved from answering when someone behind you goes, “[Name]?”

You turn around, only to come face to face with Yoichi Isagi. On second thought, maybe this isn’t the rescue you thought it was. Drunk You can’t hold back your frown when you see him. He’s wearing a dark blue polo shirt and chinos. He looks perfectly business casual and could pass off as an off-the-clock investment banker instead of the world class athlete you’ve heard he is. Then you let out a little snort of laughter, which only makes him look more confused. You don’t want to tell him that it’s kind of funny how normal he looks.

Not in a bad way. You’re surrounded by models for practically the whole day. Looking unattainably hot or having ethereal beauty is the one non-negotiable job requirement. Even Rin, with his stupidly long lower lashes and impossibly high cheekbones and his pretty boy resting sulking face, is serving standards some male models can’t achieve. Isagi looks like the type of guy you would have a crush on if the two of you were completely normal and attended regular high school together.

But that’s not the reality you’re living in. Right now, you’re getting drunk with girls you don’t know, and every night, you’re making headlines. He’s a professional athlete that everyone at this table would gladly fuck just for a chance to be declared social media’s favorite WAG of the Week. The both of you could have your pick of anyone at this party, but you refuse to let anyone in, and you think Isagi might be one of those intense athletes who only care about their sport.

If that’s the case, he’s doing every girl a favor by not pretending he can commit to anything but soccer. You know someone who could use a few pointers.

“Hi,” you mumble, and then you want to slap yourself because why the fuck are you acting like you’re nervous? But for some reason, you feel like you're a kid caught with their grimy hand in the cookie jar, like you’re doing something wrong.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Well, it’s Kenny’s birthday party. Of course, I’d be here.” You cross your arms against your chest, feeling like you have something to prove. Before Yukimiya became his teammate, Kenyu was your friend first. Like, real friend, not just someone you leave supportive comments on their Instagram post type of friend.

Isagi actually smiles when he hears that. “Funny. I think everyone but Yukimiya actually wants to be here.”

You sober up a bit when you hear that. “Yeah, I couldn’t find him anywhere.” Not that you looked very hard. The minute you found this table of girls, you didn’t bother exploring the rest of the mansion.

“He was upstairs with some of the guys. You know that he, uh, doesn’t really like these types of parties.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You don’t seem like the type to like these parties either.” If he was anyone else, you’d be saying this to flirt. You’re honestly not sure what your intention behind this comment was, either. You’re too drunk to decide if you wanted it to be an insult (some way to defend Yukimiya’s behavior?) or just you trying to make conversation for once (you’re not normally one for small talk).

“Caught me.” Isagi smiles easily. From now and thinking back to Yukimiya’s birthday lunch, Isagi is rarely not smiling. You wonder if he means it. Surrounded by people who only let you drink with them because being seen with you elevates their own status, you decide that the answer to that is a probably not. “I was about to head out before I thought I saw you, and I wanted to come by and…” For a second, he pauses to choose the right words to say. “Just wanted to see if it really was you.”

“Well, you saw me. Guess your business is done here.” Then you swiftly turn your back to him, as if to abruptly end the conversation. Instead, you’re drunker than you realize, and your heel ends up being wedged deeper into the grass than you expected, and you lose your balance. You think you might fall, which would be so embarrassing, but maybe not as embarrassing as what actually ends up happening.

What actually ends up happening is that Isagi is quick to wrap his arm around your abdomen, pulling you close to him as he attempts to keep you steady and upright. The girls looked shocked, but then they burst into another round of giggles, and since you’re not joining in the laughter, all you can think about is how annoying they are. You squirm around in his grasp, ignoring the whiff of fresh laundry you get from being all up in his personal space (not by choice!!!; he’s the one that pulled you in, after all!), and he releases you.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks you. It’s hard to glare at him when he looks so genuinely concerned.

“Never better.”

“Do you have a ride home?”

What does it matter to you? Is what you want to say.

“I’ll call an Uber.” You lie, hoping that this will end the conversation once and for all. Seriously, Isagi just killed the whole vibe of the party for you. You want to go back to drinking.

“But I thought you didn’t do Ubers.” When Isagi calls you out on your bullshit, you soften momentarily. You almost forgot that he heard about your weird thing of having strangers know your home address. Then, you go back to giving him the cold shoulder. Sometimes, it’s a warm and gooey feeling to be known. Right now, you want to drown your sorrows in tequila and be showered with fake affection by girls who probably don’t even like you sober. You didn’t come to this party to be known. You came here for revenge.

(You’re not going to acknowledge how drinking your sadness away isn’t necessarily showing up Rin, but for nearly an hour straight, you hadn’t thought about him, and that’s good enough.)

When you have no response to that (wit doesn’t come easy when you’re in the condition you’re in right now), Isagi looks at you imploringly.

“Let me take you home.”

You shake your head childishly, almost saying nuh-uh. “Just because you don’t like this party doesn’t mean I don’t like it. I’m staying right here.”

He finally frowns. “Fine. I’ll wait for you to finish up here, then I’ll take you home.”

“I’m with my friends right now. Leave me alone.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really? Which friend is going to make sure you get home safely? Yukimiya already left early.” Despite the two of you not knowing what the other is thinking, you both give wry smiles about that statement for the same reason. The party is still going on strong, despite the guest of honor not wanting to show his face and leaving early.

“These are my best friends.” You gesture to the trio of girls you know nothing about, besides the fact that they can keep up with your drinking habits. They all smile at Isagi, who waves back before turning his attention back to you.

“Really?” He asks. “What’re their names again?”

No one has anything to say to that, especially you. When the silence gets too awkward, Isagi clears his throat and also puts his foot down.

“I’m taking you home, [Name].”

You look at the trio of strangers you just spent hours with. Harper’s Bazaar shrugs, and the other two look away. The sting of not knowing who they are, despite them obviously having enough notoriety to be invited, makes your “best friends” not your friends anymore. Whatever.

“Fine.” You grumble, following Isagi to his car.

“Did you have fun tonight?” Is what he asks you as he signals to make a turn. The clicking of the turn signal is the only thing that fills the silence in the car.

No.

Sometimes, it’s fun in the moment, but that’s only when you’re drunk enough to trick yourself into thinking you’re having a good time. You’re more like Yukimiya (and — gross — Isagi) than they know; the whole “It Girl dominates the party scene” vibe you’ve got going on… It’s just bullshit that your PR team mixes together to get people talking. The high of being adored by everyone in a room vanishes almost immediately the minute you go home and wash off your makeup. In the bright lights of your bathroom, you stare at the sad, lonely girl in the mirror. It’s too dark outside for you to see anything out the window, but you lean your head against the cool glass, and before you know it, you’re waking up…

To Isagi groping you?

You’re groggy and confused and trying to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes, but Yoichi Isagi is definitely all up on you. You’re shocked, honestly. He looks like such a sweet guy! No wonder he was so pushy in getting you home.

He’s holding you in some awkward side hug, and he’s patting down your waist, trying to slip his fingers through the fabric of your dress, and finally, because he must be a novice-level pervert who doesn’t know the first thing about female anatomy, you speak up.

“Gross! You can’t even feel up a girl properly! No wonder you take advantage of drunk, vulnerable girls!”

“Ah!” He jerks back, shocked that you’re awake. Serves the pervert right. He should be backing up. You took a month of kickboxing classes (your modeling agency thought it would be the next big thing, since all the Victoria Secret models kickbox — they were wrong). “I-I wasn’t feeling you up!”

“Then why were your hands all over me?”

“I was looking for your key! You were asleep, and you looked like you needed it, so I just carried you to your door, but it’s locked.”

Oh. Likely story. You’re not letting him off the hook just yet.

“Obviously my front door would be locked, dumbass. Who doesn’t lock their house?” You point to the perfectly trimmed hedges by your door. “Key’s in the bushes.”

Since you’re making no moves to get down on your knees and rifle through the bushes, Isagi sighs and does it himself. When he holds up the key, you nod in thanks, take it, and then proceed to unlock the door using your fingerprint.

He blinks. “What?”

“What?” You repeat back, innocently.

“You didn’t even need the key to unlock the door!”

“Yes, Isagi. Modern technology is something, isn’t it?” And because you feel kind of bad, you offer him the chance to wash up before driving back.

“You’re really something, you know that?” Isagi says from the kitchen sink. You’re sitting on a stool by the counter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s nothing bad.” He clarifies. “It’s just… Rin’s a pretty private person. We always wondered what his girlfriend must be like. Sorry.” He shuts off the faucet, dries his hands. “Ex-girlfriend, I guess.”

“How do you know that?” You’ve been racking your brain, wondering if Yuki spilled your secret accidentally. Or — even worse — Rin himself confirmed it. Rin never even told anyone explicitly that the two of you were dating, so it’s not plausible that he would go blab about the breakup.

“Well, I didn’t really know for sure until I drove you home that first time.” He admits. “I just thought you made a weird face when I mentioned Rin during lunch, and then you started acting funny afterwards. Just had a hunch, that’s all.”

Great. So, Isagi, who’s basically a stranger to you, could read you to filth. Is there anyone else that you haven’t been fooling? How embarrassing. Being perceived sucks.

You don’t say anything else. You can hear Isagi mumbling about something, and you make a half-hearted noise in reply, but you’re sleepy and drunk and coming to the realization that you can’t keep fooling everyone around for long. There’s no point in dancing around the topic of your breakup. It’s getting tiring, anyway.

It is pretty exhausting to be pining after someone who’s not coming back.

Because that’s why you’re trying so hard to keep the breakup a secret. Partly for pride, but mostly because… You’re hoping that after learning everything there is to know about you, Rin Itoshi wouldn’t go so far to cut you so deeply by leaving you. Right? He understood your level of loneliness like no one else, and he related to it. For the first time in both of your lives, the two of you suddenly found the right person to fill in all the empty spaces.

And then he left, and the emptiness just continues to grow in infinite amounts.

You groan as you move around, only to find that you’re moving on top of your bed. You’re tucked into your sheets, and your hair is splayed across your pillow. You turn your head and see a shadowy figure exiting out your bedroom door.

“You’re leaving, too?”

Your throat is dry, and the words come out small. You hate this feeling of hopelessness and vulnerability, and the figure pauses in his steps.

He hushes you gently. “You should go to sleep. You’ve had a long night.”

“Fine. Don’t stay. I don’t care.” You burrow yourself further into your blankets.

“Do you really want me to stay?”

At one in the morning, covered in the darkness of your bedroom, you turn every shadow into Rin Itoshi. You don’t know what you mumble in response, but you know that whatever you said, it’s directed towards him.

#yoichi isagi x reader #yoichi isagi x you #isagi x reader #one shot #fluff #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #rin itoshi x reader #smau #series: if you feel like falling

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notlongtolove · 3 days ago

Text

to get it anyway

a steel case to the face. that's the last thing you remember seeing. spencer’s voice, shouting your name. gunfire in rapid succession. you remember hearing sirens. maybe. you’re not entirely sure. hands, trembling, cupping your cheeks. then, nothing.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff, hurt comfort

content: slight mentions of stitches and wounds. bau!reader gets hurt during a case and spencer is worried out of his mind—maybe even worried enough to confess his feelings for her???

word count: 2.3k

note: love the linked poem... also need someone to confess their undying love for me rn rn rn (also is this considered fluff? im not too good w tags)

a line: He cradled your head in his hands, shielding your body with his own when the gunfire went down. His world tilted on its axis—Instinct overtaking reason.

the final sour cherry we kept politely pushing onto each other’s plate, saying, No, you. But it’s so good. No, it’s yours. How I finally put an end to it, plucked it from the plate, and stuck it in my mouth. How good it tasted: so sweet and so tart. How good it felt: to want something and pretend you don’t, and to get it anyway. - cristin o’keefe aptowicz

A steel case to the face. That's the last thing you remember seeing. Spencer’s voice, shouting your name. Gunfire in rapid succession. You remember hearing sirens. Maybe. You’re not entirely sure. Hands, trembling, cupping your cheeks.

Then, nothing.

Spencer’s pacing down the hallway, his hands restless at his sides as he calls out for the doctor who’s only just walked out of your room. Before he can get far, he feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder, firm enough to stop him in his tracks.

“Hey,” Morgan says, his voice low. “Hey!” he says again, louder, forcing Spencer to look at him this time, “You gotta slow down.”

“She—she was hit. In the head!” Spencer twists under his grip, his eyes darting toward the room where you’re lying behind a closed door. “Do you know how fragile the human skull is? She could have a concussion or—or intracranial bleeding, or—I need to—”

“What you need to do—is calm down,” Morgan interrupts. His tone is stern, leaving no room for argument. “You pacing and panicking? That’s not helping her. And it’s not helping you. You’re worried. We all are. I get it.”

But Spencer isn’t just worried. He’s terrified. He’s bone-deep, mind-numbingly terrified. You all get hurt sometimes—Occupational hazard. Duh. Everyone knows that. But it’s rare for any of you to actually end up warded in the hospital, rarer for it still, to be a two-hour wait with no definitive answers. The doctors had been maddeningly vague: We’ll let you know as soon as possible. No reason to worry. But how could he not?

“Don't tell me to calm down, I—” Spencer’s voice cracks. His chest feels tight, constricted. “Even small blows can cause severe brain damage. Nobody knows how fast—how fast neurons can start to—”

“Reid,” Morgan repeats, his grip not letting up. “They checked her. Twice. You saw it yourself. You saw them go in. I promise you—They’re on it.”

Spencer doesn’t reply. He doesn’t tell Morgan that 3.6% of hospital deaths occur because of medical negligence—A staggering 1.8% of those linked to head injuries. Doesn’t tell him how many journal articles he’s read on misdiagnosed head trauma or the cascading complications that can go unnoticed until it’s too late. The numbers run through his mind unbidden anyway.

“I’m gonna let you go now,” Morgan says carefully, studying Spencer’s face. “But you gotta stay calm, kid. You hear me? Hotch is already looking.”

Spencer forces himself to look where Morgan’s nod directs him. Hotch is speaking to a local officer at the end of the hallway, eyes already darting warningly towards them. “I’m calm,” Spencer mutters, though his chest feels like it’s caving in and his breaths are shallow and his heart is pounding so hard he thinks it’s a wonder Morgan can’t hear it. Nothing about this feels calm at all. Not even remotely.

He drags himself to the bench in the hallway reluctantly. As it turns out, sitting does little to settle him. His leg bounces uncontrollably and he bites at his nails, a nervous habit he hasn’t indulged in since childhood. Old habits resurface when the mind is in distress, he recalls. He doesn’t even glance up when Morgan comes by again with a peace offering in the form of a cup of coffee. Not even when Hotch had come to pass on his well wishes, a pressing call waiting for him back at the bureau.

The minutes crawl by and Spencer counts each one. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty. At ninety-three, a doctor finally approaches. Spencer bolts upright, standing so fast that his head spins a little. You’re stable. Visitors are allowed. Two at a time. He barely registers anything else that the doctor says.

You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.

The sharp antiseptic smell hits him first. Then it’s you, eyes blinking blearily as you try to grab a cup of water from the overbed table. The motion makes you wince and Spencer is at your bedside in an instant, his knees bumping gently against the frame as he leans down.

“Stop I—I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” he says softly, scooping up the cup before you can strain yourself any further.

“Thanks, Spence,” you whisper, your voice hoarse. You take the cup from him with a weak smile and lift it to your lips for a small sip.

Spencer’s gaze flits involuntarily to your temple. Stitches, eight of them, subcuticular running sutures, from what he can see. They start at your hairline, tracing a clean path down just shy of your cheekbone. He tries to tell himself it’s a good sign—clean wound edges, minimal scarring expected. He wants to say something but the sight of you, pale lips, fragile in the oversized hospital gown, usual biting sarcasm and saccharine teasing nowhere to be found, makes his heart ache.

“How do you feel?” he finally manages. Even he knows it's a stupid question the moment it leaves his lips.

“Like I got whacked in the face.” Ah, there you are.

Spencer chuckles meekly though his attempt at lightness falls flat when he catches sight of the stitches again.

“S’not as bad as it looks,” You say tiredly, noticing his line of sight. “The nurse told me it was barely a concussion. A mild one at worst.”

“Oh yeah? Would’ve been nice to know ‘bout two hours ago,” Morgan interjects, cutting into the quiet moment. Spencer startles slightly, having completely forgotten he was there. “Pretty sure our poor boy wore a hole in the tiles from all his pacing.”

The flush creeping up Spencer’s neck is immediate, spreading to his cheeks as he goes a little crimson. Regardless, he’s thankful for the soft laugh it draws from you. Eyes crinkling, lips curved. You look a little more like yourself now, even if the weariness hasn’t fully dissipated. It makes Spencer feel a little fuller, a little lighter.

Spencer’s liked you since the first day he met you. 248 days ago, to be exact—But it’s definitely not like he’s kept count or anything.

He thought he’d like you when he read over your application file. You’d cited winning a local checkers tournament at age 11 as one of your ‘greatest accomplishments to date’.

He knew he liked you when he caught you trying to explain the concept of gravity to Henry at his fourth birthday party using a juice box and a cookie.

When you quoted Aristotle in an attempt to convince Hotch to get a new coffee machine for the unit? Spencer was certain he’d fallen in love right then and there. Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work. Doesn’t it, Spence?

“Aw, Spence,” you coo softly, your voice carrying that honey sweet lilt he’s grown so fond of. “M’fine. Really.”

For a fleeting moment Spencer almost believes you. Because the way his heart flutters when you reach over to squeeze his hand in reassurance makes him think he’s the one who should be hooked up to those machines instead. Your thumb brushes gently over the back of his hand and Spencer feels his breath hitch, swallowing hard. He swears he goes a little dizzy for a moment so he promptly takes a seat in the chair by your bed.

“It’s good to see you awake, pretty girl. You really had us worried there for a minute,” Morgan says. Spencer nods fervently in agreement. After a beat, Morgan just can’t seem to help himself, adding, “Well, some of us more than others.” Spencer’s certain Morgan’s thoroughly amused by how flustered he is—More so that you seem blissfully unaware.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Spencer pretends not to notice the pointed glance and shameless smile Morgan throws his way. “Don’t let this one fuss over you too much, though. He’s got that down to an art form.” The door clicks shut behind Morgan, and the room grows quiet again, save for the faint hum of the machines and the soft rustle of sheets as you shift slightly in bed.

“Do you remember anything? Before? After?” Spencer asks. He’s painfully aware of how your hand hasn’t moved from his.

“Not much,” you sigh, your eyes downcast. “Lots of shots… shouting.”

Spencer nods grimly, his jaw tight. If he were being honest, he didn’t remember much either. The moment he saw you go down, his mind had gone blank, aside from the fuzzy static screaming in his ears. He’d lunged toward you as your body crumpled to the ground. The scuff on his pants and the sting of his elbow attest to that fact. His knees had scraped against the concrete as he cradled your head in his hands, shielding your body with his own when the gunfire went down.

His world tilted on its axis—Instinct overtaking reason.

FBI protocol was clear: never abandon your weapon, never turn your back during active gunfire. Subsection 28A, paragraph 2, page 36. Spencer knew it by heart. (He knew the entire handbook by heart.)

But Spencer also knew that if it ever came down to it, he’d take a bullet for you without hesitation.

“I remember you,” you admit softly, your voice a little stronger as you glance up at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“M—me?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, “I remember you calling my name. You holding me.” A faint smile tugs at your lips. Your fingers trace gentle circles into his palm as you sigh, “I only remember you, Spence.” It sends a flip through him, right down to his toes—He short circuits.

“I care about you,” Spencer blurts. His mind feels foggy, his words slipping out before he can overthink them. “Like, really care about you.” He winces internally. Filler words? Really? But with the way you’re looking at him—kind, expectant, devastatingly patient—he can’t seem to summon anything better.

“I like you,” he tries again, his voice just a tad firmer. “A lot. More than I probably should. I—I really like you,” he adds in a rush. Real smooth, Spencer.

You tilt your head, biting your lip to suppress a grin, and Spencer hopes you can't feel how sweaty his palms are.

“I know,” you say simply.

“Y—you do?” His voice comes out shakier than he likes.

“I do. Kinda guessed it from the teasing and stuff.”

Silence.

It stretches just long enough for Spencer to start panicking. He’s briefly comforted by the fact that even mild concussions can cause memory lapses and wonders if there’s any other way to make you forget this humiliating confession.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers, rushing to fill the quiet. “I’m being insensitive. You’re probably overwhelmed enough as it is—I shouldn’t have—”

“I like you too, Spencer,” you say softly, cutting him off.

“You—you do?”

"I do," you nod unabashedly, utterly unflustered. “I have for a while now, actually.”

His eyes widen. “You have?”

“Yes I have, and I do, I really like you too,” you say with a sheepish smile, laughing. “But if you keep making me repeat myself you’re gonna give me the headache the doctors keep saying I'm lucky not to have.”

“S’not funny,” Spencer mutters, but he smiles anyway. The brightest smile he’s had today. Maybe even this week. Possibly even this year. “Don’t joke about that. I was really worried.”

“I know,” you reply warmly. “Something about pacing holes into the tiles, if I recall.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, a boyish laugh slipping out. He hadn’t imagined this moment unfolding in a hospital room, of all places. To be honest, he hadn’t imagined this happening at all.

You’ll probably be out in three days. Maybe two if you’re lucky. He’ll ask you out then. Properly. Dinner at that Thai place you both love. A trip to the library you’d mentioned two months ago but never got around to visiting. He’ll take you to the park where he plays chess every Saturday. He’s going to do it all. The thought makes him absolutely giddy.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, outside, Morgan hasn’t budged. Not an inch. He’s standing by the blinds, peering in through the narrow sliver. The panicked clatter of heels on the tiled floor announces Garcia’s arrival before she’s even turned the corner. Her face is the epitome of panic, teary eyes wide with worry.

“How—how bad is it?” she blurts, her voice shaking. “Oh god, did she make it? Reid called and—”

Morgan silences her with a gentle finger to her lips. “Shhhh. She’s fine.”

“Fine?! But—But Reid said something about brain trauma—and her neurons and—”

“Babygirl, you and I both know how he gets when it comes to her,” Morgan chides, “Nurse said it’s barely a concussion.”

Garcia lets out a deep, shaky breath, her shoulders sagging dramatically as relief washes over her. “Oh, thank god,” she utters, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m gonna kill that boy, d’you know what he told me?! He said—”

“Hold that thought,” Morgan says, cutting her off with a smirk. “Our boy genius is a little… preoccupied right now.” He steps aside slyly, gesturing toward the blinds. “Take a peek. You’ll thank me later.”

Inside, Spencer has moved his chair closer to your bedside. One of his hands holds yours securely, fingers interlocked now, while the other traces soothing circles along your forearm. His smile is blinding, proud even, as laughter fills your face. When you shift, a strand of hair falls across your face, and Spencer gently brushes it aside, his hand lingering on your cheek.

Garcia visibly melts at the sight. She lets out a soft, adoring sigh as Morgan starts to steer her gently down the hallway. “You know, when I told you last week that she wouldn’t know Reid liked her even if it hit her in the face, I didn’t mean it literally,” she quips, amused.

“I know babygirl, I know,” Morgan chuckles, shaking his head as he places a hand on her shoulder. “Now, come on. I think I saw some jello in the cafeteria.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: magnets by niki soft spot by keshi

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x bau!reader

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taegimood · 5 months ago

Note

okay okay i just came across ur acc and and and i cannot get over you saying that yeonjun dumbification and spit kink thing like i NEED more PLSSSS. love u and ur writing sm frienddd <3

I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT POST YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT RAHHHHHH i forgot i wrote that 🤭 giggling n kicking my feet rn

also thank you sm for the love !!! 🥺 i hope you stick around on my silly lil blog <33

i’ve been wanting to talk abt yeonjun today so this gives me the perfect excuse to do it 🤤

yeonjun who loves to fuck you stupid on his cock… loves to get your head so high up in the clouds that you’re nothing but a drooling, whimpering mess on his sheets, too fucked out to even speak properly.. can’t even hold yourself up, so he’s left to do it for you, manhandling you into any position that he wants <3

blending the lines, degrading and yet praising as he pounds your gushing pussy;

“what’s wrong, baby, can’t answer me when i’m talking to you? huh? too stupid on daddy’s cock? look at you… tsk, can’t even beg for it properly. pretty pussy sucking me in so good, so greedy… what am i supposed to do with such a perfect little slut like you?”

and don’t even get me started on the spit kink 😖

yeonjun loves, and i mean loves, to mark and claim you — whether it’s something that lasts like bites and hickeys, or something only temporary, like when he’s got his thumb pressed to your tongue as he leans down and spits into your waiting mouth, patting your cheek as he grunts “good girl,” with his cock already entering past your lips.

especially loves it on your pussy; pulls out only to spit on it and finger you with no warning. spits on it before tapping his cock against your clit, making you jolt before he enters you; spits on it as he dives in to eat you out like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. and of course, during any of these times he’s holding eye contact with you so he can watch your every little reaction as you gasp and moan and cry underneath him.

when all is said and done and you’re left a trembling mess in a puddle of your shared cum with tears streaked down your pretty face and the only word that you can remember is his name —

well, that’s when yeonjun knows that he’s done a good job.

and the best part is, he knows that you know it, too.

#ask mj ♡#mj’s hard thoughts #txt #txt x reader #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #txt thoughts #dom!txt #yeonjun #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun hard thoughts #yeonjun smut #yeonjun thoughts #dom!yeonjun #sub!reader #taegimood #nonnie!

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xazse · 11 months ago

Note

(here is your answer for the naga scara x fem or male reader) DO ANY GENDER IDC IM JUST FOAMING AT THE MOUTH RN LIKE A DOG FOR YOUR POST RIGHT NEOWOOWOWOW NEOWOWOWOWO (I would prefer fem reader, but idc about the gender. Just gimme the story bbg) (Also, stay healthy!1 <3)

Notes: I know I have other requests but this was too tempting, thank you so much for the health comment!! I HOPE YALL ARE STILL AROUND!! Btw I’m not sure about Naga Anatomy so his cocks are like hidden in slits/pockets.

Pairings: Naga!Scaramouche x Fem!NaiveReader

Tags: Naive!Reader, 2 Cocks, Scara is kinda creepy but sweetish, fingering, Virgin!Reader, Sheltered!Reader, Fem!Reader, SMUT, NOT PROOFREAD

Naga Scaramouche who is entranced by the sheltered village girl: you, a pretty thing that won’t stray too far into the forest.

Naga Scaramouche whos very patient watching you from the trees, he watches as the short dress you wear rises up just a few inches when you pick a berry too high for you. The tight white panties seem to hug your ass so good.

Naga Scaramouche who can’t wait to have you underneath him, coiled in his tail and in his embrace.

Naga Scaramouche who finally has the opportunity to attempt to speak with you, you had gotten a little lost when you decide your pickings of berries weren’t up to standard, a lost lamb like yourself practically in tears searching every direction to try to remember where home is.

Naga Scaramouche who introduces himself and you’re scared shitless, you’ve only heard of his kind in the stories your mother would tell you to scare you into being good. He’s big, but you can’t deny how pretty he is, his tail is a deep purple hue as well as his pretty mauve long hair that cascades down his back and stops at his lower abdomen, mentioning that, he’s shirtless.

Naga Scaramouche who offers to lead the pretty lamb to safety, warning you that there’s dangers that would do awful things to such a weak thing like yourself. That he does, leading you safely to the outskirts of your village, during the whole walk you can’t stop stealing glances at the beautiful mystery man. He can hear your parents are calling your name with desperate urgency. You look back at him to offer a thank you, but discover he’s gone.

You who comes back a few days later at the spot he had dropped you off at, you bring a cooked rabbit stew as a gift to give to him or at least hope you can give it. a few minutes later you can hear rustling and a voice speaks up: “A gift? For me perhaps?” You face the man once again in all his beauty you nod quickly and he laughs at that.

Exchanges are had over the next few months, with you listening and talking to “Scaramouche” you learn his name is. He seems rather dodgy with questions about himself but wants you to talk about yourself all the time, you have no issues with it, deciding later on he’d become more open.

Scaramouche looks at you weirdly, a look you can’t quite decipher, it’s like he’s looking through you, and you hate that. You hate how weird and tingly it makes you feel, how you feel weird even down there. You don’t have anyone to talk to about this feeling so it’s bottled up and held in.

Scaramouche makes it subtle at first, glancing at you, making sure to make eye contact even though your eyes dart to avoid his, light touches on your arms, thighs, and neck. He knows what he’s doing to you and he doesn’t feel a bit bad about it, he wants to claim you already, his cock can only be contained for so long, it’s getting harder and harder but he feels a few more pushes will bring you right along.

After a whole week you’ve given up, you come to him with all your issues and how confused and foggy you feel around him, you suggest distancing yourself away from him for a little. He hates that idea you can tell by the dark swirl in his eyes, he calms himself and calms you. Putting his hand on the small of your back he whispers lowly on how he’ll help you, help you get rid of all your problems.

You accept of course, as pliant as ever.

He helps you relax on the forest floor, a beautiful light pouring in to emphasize the glow of his gorgeous tail. He starts by asking you to lift your dress, and you listen obediently. Your supple skin now for him to revel in, but it’s not nearly enough. Your panties are on display as well, the thing seems to be squeezing you just like the last pair. Thin fingers grab one of your thighs and lifts it up in the air in your direction, being mindful to watch his sharp fingernails as they clench around the fat.

He uses the palm of his fingertip to trace the outline of your wet cunt, that makes your breath hitch, his fingers are warm or maybe it’s you who’s warm as he continues to trace and examine you. Scaramouche presses on your clit just a little bit, he’s testing the waters. That does bring out a reaction: you clutch your fingers around the fabric of your dress that you still hold.

You feel impatient even though you’re just getting started, new feelings are swirling in your gut when he lays down on his stomach near your pussy. Scaramouche doesn’t want to rid you of your panties just yet, the wet patch in the middle arouses him so much. He pulls them to the side to reveal your glistening cunt: he’s never seen a humans area before not unless they were in books and he did quite a lot of studying on women’s anatomy but having the real thing makes his cock ache, he wants to be buried deep in you but before that he needs to prep you.

Scaramouche licks a long stride up your cunt from bottom to top, a whine leaves your throat at the new feeling of something foreign but not unwanted, based on your reaction he does it again and again till he’s lapping up a good bit of your cum: and god do you taste heavenly, he finds himself completely entranced with licking you over and over, you aren’t fairing any better with the way your hips have started to buck towards more pleasure. Lewd moans keep filling the forest around you paired with Scaramouches loud sucking, he guides his tongue to your clit, licking around it before completely engulfing the sensitive thing in his mouth.

A tightness is forming in your belly, you urge Scaramouche that something happening and maybe he should slow down, he doubles down and both of his hands are holding your thighs up: pinning you in place as he keeps abusing your poor clit. Your whining gets even more pitched up before you spasm and cum on his face. He takes the opportunity to slide a finger inside of your tight hole: it does prove to be difficult but he does fit about a quarter of one in. He starts up the process of stretching you out to accommodate him.

After a while you’re finally ready, but you can only take about half of him or he’s pretty sure you’d start up your crying. You lay staring at his actions with lust ridden eyes: he’s going to ruin you. His long tail grabs you by your waist, lifting you to sit right on where his cocks lays hidden.

He’s really had enough of edging himself, with your full attention he guides your hands to, two slits: intrigued you make a move to press your finger in and he jumps to grab your hand as fast as possible, you make a certain worried face at him and he shakes his head to reassure you. He decides that was a bad idea and takes his cock out himself, he has two but he doesn’t want to spook you straight away, well more than he already has.

He begins stroking himself while you watch, you lean forward: relaxing your hands on either side of his body. You’re thinking how his cock is just as pretty as him. A low groan slips from his lips, hes stroking himself from his balls to his tip: squeezing just a bit every so often.

When he’s done with that he lifts you up till your cunt is hovering over him, he lines himself up and slides in: a loud moan now leaves both your lips, for you it’s the stretch of his thick tip and for him it’s the tight rim he still has to push past. After a good bit he’s now leaned on a rock while holding your body so you don’t hurt yourself and end up having all of him in you, that’s for later.

A rhythm is developed, with him fucking you only last a certain point, your gooey insides feel so good around him, his head falls against the rock but he doesn’t stop lifting and pulling you back down. His head feels heady with need, he’d love to just shove you down all the way. You aren’t fairing any better, already seeming like you were cum again: dazed and dumb that’s how his cock had you.

Scaramouche thinks this feels better than those nights were he’d pump his cock to the thought of doing you like this, the real thing is so much more better obviously.

He speeds up his pace, angling his cock a tad bit deeper. He pulls out and slams back in, he brings you into a tight embrace before he’s cumming, the feeling of something warm also sending you over and you cream around his cock. Afterwards he’s decorating kisses all over your face, cooing at how perfect you are, how good you made him feel and how good you’ll both feel in the future

#genshin smut #genshin x reader #zsworks #fem reader #wanderer smut #wanderer x female reader #naga Scaramouche #naga wanderer #scaramouche x female reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #kunikuzushi smut #kunikuzushi x reader

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castieltrash1 · 2 years ago

Text

the devil has come home → charlie w.

summary → during one of your regular movie nights, charlie asks to take your relationship a step forward

word count → 3.4k

warnings → smut; virgin!charlie x f!reader, oral, literally an entire fic dedicated to charlie eating pussy idk what u want me to say, dirty talk, switch!charlie, established relationship, almost fingering, premature ejaculation, cumming untouched, overstimulation, and hair pulling

a/n → everyone and their mother is in their rory culkin era rn so here u go, whores (affectionate) <3 no but fr i watched scream 4 the other day and knew what i had to do so pls enjoy xoxo

+ bonus points to whoever can figure out the title ;)

---

Charlie shifts beside you, gnawing at his bottom lip to restrain the interruption on the tip of his tongue.

“Did you know,” he suddenly begins, unable to stop himself. “That the school is actually called Ewen High in the book?” On the screen in front of you, a meek Carrie White stumbles through the library in a scene oddly similar to your boyfriend’s own reclusive attitude, and you drag your tired eyes to meet his; wide, with an excited glint reflecting off their pale blue hue. “They renamed it in the adaptation as a nod to Psycho.”

“Really?” you ask, surprised. “I don’t think you’ve told me that one yet.” The comment, while honest, makes Charlie flustered, and he unconsciously shifts closer to the opposite end of the couch. “But I like hearing about all the facts you know,” you reassure his silent insecurity, nuzzling closer. Pressing your lips to his shoulder and kissing the soft cotton sleeve of his shirt, you continue, teasing: “Even if I have heard most of them before.” He groans, but his chest rumbles beneath you with his own restrained amusement.

Peering up at Charlie, you prepare for what is bound to be a lengthy explanation. “So, what, it’s like Norman Bates?” you ask, but Charlie simply nods, mumbling a quiet affirmation under his breath. Already, his eyes are locked back on the television, colorful lights bouncing off his face. It must be his tenth time watching the classic horror film but he stares with the amazement of a first-time viewer, as if he wasn’t rambling about something called a split diopter shot just a few scenes ago.

You can’t help but smile at his quick shift in attention, ultimately content with settling down and letting him focus. As long as a scary movie is playing, you’ll always be the second most important thing in the room to Charlie; a title you hold with pride. Unlike others in his life, his passion doesn’t bother you. In fact, you find yourself admiring his ability to juggle a film studies degree, the leadership position of your college’s cinema club, and weekly series rewatches with the rest of his busy life. Your only complaint would be having to share the small couch in his apartment with Robbie, whose presence makes the already rare mid-movie makeout session completely non-existent. Thankfully, he’s visiting family this weekend, but the lack of a clingy roommate has seemingly had zero effect on Charlie’s inclination to make a move.

So, when your boyfriend awkwardly clears his throat, you quickly tune back in, caught off-guard by the scene unfolding. On-screen is a vivid reminder of the part of your relationship that, up until now, has been virtually unexplored. Despite being unphased during the naked locker room title card, Charlie now fidgets uncomfortably as one of the male characters, whose name you can’t remember, receives a blowjob in his car. The actual act is offscreen, but there’s enough crotch-leveled head bobbing in the camera’s view to surmise what’s happening below the cutoff.

When it comes to anyone else’s sex life, Charlie is as interested as you could expect any newly independent young guy to be. If a couple is getting handsy during a party or other gathering, he’s the one to speak up and tease them about getting a room. When one of your friends unknowingly makes an innuendo, it’s him who laughs, derailing the conversation with some form of that’s what she said joke. Even during the gratuitous nudity scenes popular in his favorite genre, your boyfriend usually pairs his reddened cheeks with a low whistle of appreciation.

Simply put, Charlie is not a prude.

That fact had been what stumped you as your relationship grew, regular milestones coasting by at average speeds. It took three instances of him not reaching under your bra during makeout sessions, happily groping at your chest through two layers of clothes, for you to realize that his personal experience ended abruptly atop second base. Even when it was physically obvious he was ready to move on, Charlie had never mentioned or hinted at continuing, so neither did you. Now, it’s almost as if the glaring depiction of a couple being intimate has finally reminded him how little you two have done.

Thankfully, a bout of bad editing eases the sudden tension. “How is she talking right now?” you snort, referencing the actress’ voiceover poorly edited into the scene. Charlie flinches at your interruption, but you barely notice, too busy jabbing your pointer finger directly at the screen. “She’s still got John Travolta’s dick in her mouth!”

“Billy,” Charlie tensely corrects.

Assuming his tone is just a result of your outburst, you roll your eyes. “Whatever. All I’m saying is you can barely remember how to breathe while giving head, let alone start… I don’t know… monologuing about the girl you hate.” You huff, shaking your head. “Sorry, I won’t interrupt again. Promise,” you apologize, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you when Charlie doesn’t immediately reply. You hadn’t meant to insult him or the movie, but maybe your attempt at a bad joke had fallen short, too personal and poorly timed to do anything more than hurt his feelings.

You start to pull back, intent on apologizing again but are surprised to see Charlie already staring at you. Thinking he’s waiting for your regretful spiel, you start to speak. “I’m s-”

“I want to try,” Charlie says at the same time. The rest of your words suffocate in your hitched breath, offering a subsequent silence that he quickly tries to fill. “Giving you head or, like, e-eating you out, I mean.” The admission makes him swallow heavily, wide eyes unblinking, and you sit there motionless in surprise. When you offer little more than a shaky exhale in response, Charlie squeaks out an excuse. “Not that we - not that you have to or anything, I just…” Regret spreads across his face and you quickly recover, grabbing his shaking hand with yours.

“Okay,” you agree, trying to steady your breathing as the image of Charlie between your thighs flashes through your head. “Are you sure?” He nods so quickly that you almost blink and miss it.

“I’m definitely sure,” Charlie reassures, squeezing your fingers between his. “A-are you?”

“Definitely,” you echo, already feeling a steady warmth spread across your body. Despite your shared revelation, there’s a long moment where neither of you moves even an inch, hands clasped together as if carved from one marble stone. It isn’t until Charlie’s gaze flickers to your still-parted lips that you take the bait, reeled closer and closer until your mouth meets his.

“Fuck,” Charlie breathes, words becoming a muffled vibration when you press harder, tongue dragging to gather the taste of him. You reach for his hair now, dark waves weaving themselves between each of your fingers, and he lets out a little whimper when you tug, pulling him against you. His grip seems to have no end in sight, blindly reaching at and grasping whatever parts of you he can, fingers meeting your thighs, hips, chest, and neck. His thumbs prop up your chin, giving him the angle to lick needily inside your mouth, and you melt in his grasp, letting him take what he needs.

“Can I…” Charlie leaves a shallow bite mark on your bottom lip, soothing it with a gentle pass of his tongue. His fingers dip to the hem of your shirt now, tips brushing the inside seam. Faintly, you remember he’s never felt you here. He inches back just enough to speak clearly, voice filling the thin space between you. “Y-you can take it off and…” Already, he’s trying to pull the offending garment over your head, and you let go of his hair to help, tossing your shirt to the side the second you can.

Despite your arching into him, Charlie doesn’t immediately kiss you again, lashes fluttering as he stares shamelessly at your exposed skin. Without thinking, you reach back to undo your bra clasp with ease, straps sliding down your arms until they fall off completely. Still amazed by the previous sight, Charlie inhales sharply, pupils blown out with lust as you become barer in front of him.

“Woah…” he finally breathes, fingers tentatively brushing right below your chest. Slowly, his touch inches higher until he gives in, cupping your tits softly. The warmth between your thighs grows as he feels you in ways you’ve only imagined alone at night, eyes squeezed shut and fingers under your panties. “Holy shit.” Each exclamation falls under his breath as if he can’t contain them, commenting only to himself. “Fuck…” His grip tightens, thumbs dragging over your hardening nipples, and you sigh. “You’re so… soft.” With a grin spreading across his face, Charlie looks to you for reassurance, squeezing harder when you nod and let out a pleased sound. “D-does it feel good?”

“Mhm.” You wonder if he can feel your heart pounding, skipping beats against his hands. “You can be rougher, though,” you tell him, reaching up to lay your palms on the back of his. “I’ll tell you if it hurts, I promise.” Growing more confident from your words, Charlie begins experimenting with different levels of pressure, nails digging into your skin one second and then pinching and tugging at your nipples the next. His breathing grows heavier with each passing moment, and you can’t help the low moans escaping your lips at the feeling of his desperation and the excitement radiating off of him.

And then, without needing any reassurance, Charlie replaces his hands with his mouth, sucking eagerly at every inch of your heaving chest. “S-shit,” you gasp, then let out a breathy laugh. You push some of his long hair back, tucked behind his ears, and smile at the sight of him. His eyes are closed, face red and warm, lips slick with spit as he runs his tongue against the contours of your body. “You’re so good,” you tell him, panting when he moans against you at the praise, the vibration tingling your skin. He wraps his mouth around your nipple before pulling it between his teeth, the sharp sting sending a shiver up your spine.

“I could do this forever,” Charlie lets go to admit, and then, remembering the task at hand, begins to descend lower, kissing and licking down your bare stomach. His hands steady your twitching hips, ticklish as his soft hair brushes your sensitive skin. You continue to whisper praises until he reaches the waistband of your pajama pants and halts. He swallows heavily, the movement of his bobbing throat almost audible above the drone of the television. You blindly reach for the remote and crank down the volume until it plays a low buzz of sound you can barely make out. God help him if your boyfriend gets distracted by a bucket of pig’s blood at a time like this.

“Do I just…” Charlie trails off, unable to vocalize his thoughts. Instead of answering verbally, you lift your hips, fingers meeting his. You drag the elastic past your thighs, letting Charlie pull the rest of the fabric off once it reaches your knees. He stares intently at every inch of your exposed legs, amazed by the sight, as he mindlessly tugs your feet free. It’s only when you start to move, making yourself comfortable against the arm of the couch, that Charlie finally shifts, offering you more space. He moves closer the second he’s able to occupy the emptiness between your legs.

It’s not the most ideal position but if you stop him now, Charlie might lose his boost of confidence in the few seconds it takes to walk down the hall to his room. With one knee pressed against the back of the couch, your opposite leg balancing precariously on the edge of one of the cushions, you spread out as much as you can, offering yourself to Charlie entirely. Even with your whole body on display, his eyes stay locked on one spot: the center of your underwear, where a wet spot is surely visible. You love knowing the only other time he has this look is when one of his favorite films is on.

“Is this good?” you ask, breaking him from his stupor. He blinks, confused. “The position,” you clarify, smiling at the blush that rapidly coats his cheeks.

“Y-yeah, it’s…” Charlie clears his throat, leaning in slowly. “It’s perfect. You are, I mean. You’re perfect,” he whispers, gaze darting from your face to your panties before returning. “I can see it… Does it - do you feel good?” Even with the physical proof, he seems unsure, the tone of his question bordering on disbelief. Before you can find your words, he moves in, shaky fingers meeting the inside of your thighs. “What can I do?” he asks, skin growing redder with desperation. “I-I wanna turn you on more and-”

“Charlie,” you interrupt, propping yourself up on your elbow. “You’re doing so good.” Your amazement thankfully doesn’t embarrass him, and soon enough you feel his warm exhale right where you’ve imagined him so many times before. “I-I’ll probably cum pretty fast,” you tell him, unable to make the desperate confession sound like a tease. “If you want, you can tease me through- fuck,” you gasp, feeling Charlie��s nose bump against your clothed clit, his tongue darting out to tentatively lick at the damp fabric covering you. You whimper something that vaguely sounds like his name when he presses harder, now dragging his tongue over the entirety of your core.

“Charlie,” you repeat breathlessly, grabbing at the hair that frames his face. “T-take them off, please,” you suddenly find yourself begging, hips arching for more. When lithe fingers brush against you, you almost whine at what is surely an attempt at teasing, but then Charlie is pushing your panties to the side and tentatively sucking at your now exposed cunt. Overwhelmed by the change in sensations, you buck into the feeling, immediately rewarded by the slow drag of Charlie’s tongue circling your clit before lowering to ease inside you. The technique in his actions is not lost on you and you heave in a breath, trying to speak.

“Y-you’ve really n-never?” you squeak out, thighs squeezing around his cheeks when he attempts to shake his head. When he pulls back, you shiver at the feeling of your panties sliding back into place, fabric sticking to your wet skin. Charlie looks up at you shyly, instinctively licking his lips clean of your arousal.

“I’ve… I’ve imagined this a lot,” he whispers, tone rising as he grows more confident. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” His cheeks are flushed and his body shakes as he clings to you for support in every form. “I’m just gonna take off your panties and- and I want you to cum, okay? Don’t hold it back or anything, please. I-if you need to hold me in place or move me, just do it. I’ll…” Stunned by his proclamation, you wait in awe for him to finish. “I’ll be good for you, I swear,” he finally promises.

True to his word, Charlie immediately resumes the task at hand, finally tugging your panties completely off and shoving them to the side. Despite the vulnerability of your position, laid bare for him, you can’t stop yourself from bucking your hips when he leans back in. Charlie drags a soothing palm down the inside of your thigh before his mouth is on you again, now slower and more precise. His gaze is focused, flickering between your expression and body, taking in every shift of your features and shiver that runs across you.

He starts by tasting the entirety of you, tongue flattened and firm as it glides against your cunt. He repeats the motion a few times, letting you grind onto him until you both build a steady rhythm. It’s not enough to make you cum, but it isn’t meant to be; a consistent sensation that keeps you wanting more, without unbearably teasing you. That comes when Charlie begins to flick his tongue against your clit, so quickly and effortlessly that it takes your breath away. A litany of sounds escapes you as he dedicates all of his attention to your most sensitive spot, torturing it endlessly. His own moans only add to the sensation, a low vibration that seems to trail up the rest of your body, filling your head with a rhythmic buzz.

“Fuck,” you gasp, vision blurring and thighs trembling as Charlie replaces his tongue with his thumb, calloused skin circling your clit in a steady motion. With his mouth free, and between quick inhales, he starts to speak again.

“You taste so good,” he says, the vulgarity of his words no longer seeming to phase him. He rubs harder, faster, and his breathing hastens. “I-I want you to cum on my tongue, please?” His question sounds more like a plea, especially with the way he seems to pant around each word. “I’m gonna keep licking h-here, okay?” he asks, thumb dragging lower until the tip sinks into you with ease. Both of you still, the motion propelling the room into complete silence. Charlie lets a bit more of his thumb push into you before he pulls back completely, shakily exhaling. “It… You’re so warm,” he remarks, staring intently at where the arousal slowly drips from you. Like a moth to a flame, his mouth returns, messily licking clean your wetness.

You cry out his name, tugging on his hair so harshly you know it must hurt, but he doesn’t relent. Your hips buck and you grind your clit against his firm thumb, his tongue pressing inside you just as the thick digit had moments prior. Your mantra is only quietened by the sound of Charlie’s, a muffled please, please, please mouthed against your core that has you spiraling, desperation mirroring his. A quick glance shows you that while his head and hands are focused, the rest of his body is uncontrolled as he ruts against the sofa, so turned on he can’t help but chase release.

The sharp edge of your own impending orgasm hits you so hard it seems to isolate the rest of your senses, body and mind falling into an endless abyss with only Charlie’s touch anchoring you to the present. His incessant effort to satisfy himself with your pleasure intensifies everything until you find yourself succumbing to his ultimate desire. A broken admission falls from your lips as you cum on his tongue, neverending high propelled as his licking and rubbing only grow in speed and desperation. Even after you’ve stopped grinding against him, Charlie tastes you like it’s his last chance, his hips bucking wildly into the cushion below. He eventually slows, but his tongue doesn’t stop, and you’re too overwhelmed to realize what’s happened.

It takes you whimpering from overstimulation and pulling Charlie back by his hair to make him stop, his mouth chasing you even after you’ve pressed your trembling thighs together, knees digging into his heaving chest. After a few seconds, he seems to blink back some clarity, swallowing heavily and shifting back awkwardly, cheeks flushed bright red. “Charlie?” you breathe, shakily pushing yourself into a sitting position. “Are you - oh.” Despite his quick maneuvering, the new angle allows you to see the slowly spreading wet spot at the front of his jeans.

“I-I’m so sorry,” Charlie squeaks out, trying to yank himself from the couch. “Let me just - fuck, uh - go to the bathroom or something and…” When he tries to cover his crotch with his hands, you bat them away, immediately reaching for the zipper and button on his pants. “W-what are you doing?” he asks but doesn’t stop you, even when you ease his sensitive and spent cock out from his stained underwear. His expression is pure shame as he quickly hardens in your grasp, hips bucking to escape the overstimulation of your fingers wrapped around him.

“Let me return the favor,” you tell him, tilting your head softly in silent questioning. He must only think of the wetness of your mouth on him since his blush deepens, cock twitching against your slick palm. You stroke him slowly and softly until he stutters out a yes, which you reply to with a widening grin, unknowing that he’s imagined this moment more than you could ever guess.

You lean down with a teasing imitation of his previous word and Charlie suddenly feels all of his wet dreams come true.

“I want you to cum on my tongue, okay?”

#charlie walker smut #charlie walker #scream 4 #scream 4 smut #rory culkin #rory culkin smut #charlie walker x reader #charlie walker imagine #charlie walker oneshot #charlie walker fanfic #scream 4 fanfic #scream 4 imagine #scream 4 oneshot #charlie walker x reader smut #fic: the devil has come home #t: writing

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thebestandrealestever · 1 year ago

Text

~SHES MINE PT. 1!~

miles e42! x black fem reader

sum: your one year anniversary is very important to miles, he wants to spend every second of it with you. literally.

warnings : n word, cursing.

genre: TOOTHHH ROTTING FLUFF, miles being the softie he REALLY is.

a/n: what the fuck is up youtube! welcome back to my channel with another BANGER!! this heavily unedited so ignore any typos 🧎🏽‍♀️, sum short for rn bc i’m writing that miles, gwen and hobie story .

˚ʚ ꨄ ɞ˚

miles gonzalo morales loved 3 things.

his mom, his uncle, and you. he would never tell you that you moving from chicago to new york quiet literally saved his life. his fathers passing ripped his heart apart, his soul. in a way you were the angel that glued them back together, but of course he wouldn’t tell you that, until your one year anniversary rolled around he had a change of pace , he wanted to show you how much he loved you.

i never felt so alive. catch me, don’t move .

catch me, don’t you

catch me, i’ve fallen in love for the first time.

“hey miles is that u?” you said shifting over to check the time on your phone 12:00 AM. you sat up in your bed criss crossing your legs as miles stood idly in your window , you couldn’t see his facial features because it was pitch black in your room the only thing helping your vision was the lighting illuminating his figure. he took his shoes and jacket off placing it on your desk chair, then walked up to you and leaned down to give your forehead a soft peck

“hey baby” he said. he sat on your bed looking at you until you broke the silence “its late u okay? also happy anniversary my heart.” you said leaning forward to kiss his soft lips you adored, it lasted for a long time. after he pulled away to catch his breath , he cleared his throat sitting on the edge of the bed looking around the room, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to. you looked at his side profile trying to read it to get a sign of what was going on. he got up and walked over to his jacket and pulls what looked like a small box. you turned on your lamp that sat on the nightstand next to your bed. he sat back down on the bed criss crossing his legs mimicking your position. you tilt your head slightly at miles silence, staying quiet not wanting to interrupt his train of thought.

i wanna cry, and i ain’t even tryna fight it.

don’t wanna die, cause now you’re here and i just wanna be right by your side.

“(name), i love you, you know i love you but this kind of love..” he grabs both your hands with his, he breathes deeply trying to hold his tears down his attempt failed as he lets his emotions win , showing his vulnerable side, you’ve only seen it a couple times so you knew whatever he was going to say he meant it. “it’s different, scary. i’ve never felt this way about a girl before , anyone before.” he pauses trying to navigate his feelings and wipe his tears from his face. you want more than anything to kiss him till your lips bruise but you let him finish his unprepared speech.

“i can’t really describe it, you have such an intense effect on me, (name) you changed my life. you saved my life. and i want to promise you something, i promise to always love you. i promise to be honest and good to you. i promise my heart and soul to you , all of me.” as he says this you allow tears of pure love leave your eyes not even trying to wipe them away. miles and you love each other, differently from all the other 15 year old couples. differently from any couple really. he stares into your eyes before snapping out of his thoughts like he remembered something suddenly.

“so um, i got you something.”

he hops up from your bed speed walking to chair he laid his jacket on, he walks back with a small jewelry box. your eyes squint trying to see it in the dark room. he opens to box to reveal the prettiest ring you’ve ever seen.

while i’m too scared to expose myself it turns out, you know me better than i know myself. better than i know myself, well how bout that?

“miles” you gasp muffling the cracks in your voice with a hand over your mouth in shock.

“it’s a promise ring, not to claim u or anything. and i have so many more gifts for you and i got the whole mf day planed out fo-“

you cut him off with a soft and sweet kiss.

“that was the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” you pull away crying softly, but harder than before.

“i love you too miles. more than anyone, the kinda love we have it-it makes me wanna be a better person, it makes me wanna tell you all my secrets, my pain,my hopes,my dreams. you’re one of the few things that remind me that life isn’t so bad.” you say through soft sobs as he hugs you before holding your face and wipes your tears kissing your forehead.

she gets him (you get me)

she hugs him (you kiss me)

you tell me that you miss me, and i believe you. i believe you.

“come on ma, don’t cry.” he sniffles, letting your face go to pick up the jewelry box and put it on your ring finger, *this must’ve been why he told you to get your nails done* you think admiring the purple tinted heart cut diamond on your finger.

“i got myself one too, it has your name engraved.”

he shows you his silver ring and you lightly chuckle at it, amused at how much this boy loves you, to think a year and some months ago you didn’t even know his name. you lay your foreheads together almost like your souls were connected. you felt happier with miles than you did with anyone else.

“you wanna watch princess in the frog (or any other movie if u don’t like that one) ?” miles ask breaking the silence and scooting up on the bed to sit next instead of infront of you putting his arm around you.

“nigga. whenever i ask you always say we watch it too much” you roll your eyes at him

“roll your eyes at me again they gon get stuck up there .” he jokes while kissing your temple.

he turns on the movie and you only get through about 25 minutes of it, falling asleep in each others arms.

catch me i’ve fallen in love, for the first time.

˚ʚ ꨄ ɞ˚

#black reader #miles morales #across the spiderverse #earth 42 miles x reader #miles morales x reader #spiderman #miles morales 42 #earth 42 miles x black reader #earth 42 miles morales x female reader #female reader #Spotify

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whyse7vn · 2 years ago

Text

I’M SORRY -

[ ot7 x reader ]

JUNGKOOK -

jk: i’m sorry

jk: didn’t mean to make you upset :(

i hope i die

i should get jumped

barely survive

be on life support until i’m 50

and when i wake up die from the most painful heart attack recorded

i hope no one attends my funeral and i’m publicly and privately made fun of even after i’ve passed

hope my parents are ashamed and i hope that whenever the name jungkook is said people feel sick to their stomachs

i’m gonna throw up

gonna choke myself to death

i have the tightest grip on my throat rn

i’m going red

it’s fading to black

i’m sorry i wasn’t being a good boyfriend

tell bam that his dad was an asshole who didn’t deserve any rights

don’t even let him remember me as his father

i don’t deserve that title

i don’t deserve anything

not after what i did

burn all my clothes

delete all my pictures

tear my face off all posters

cross my name off all paperwork

i am not worthy of anything

y/n: shut up

jk: i’m sorry

y/n: i can tell

jk: i didn’t mean it

y/n: i forgive you

jk: really?

y/n: yeah

jk: do you really or are joking?

if ur joking it’s not a funny joke

y/n: you can come back home now

jk: really 🥺?

y/n: don’t ever use that emoji again

jk: sorry

i’m coming

omw

i love you

this is so great

y/n: you’re so dramatic

jk: i’m sorry

y/n: stop apologising

jk: sorry

i mean

love u

y/n: hurry up

jk: 🏃‍♂️

SEOKJIN -

jin: can you talk to me now

hey

i’m going to kms and it gonna be all your fault if you don’t reply to me

y/n: record it

jin: hey loml 😘😘❤️❤️❤️🤗🤗

WAIT WTF

THATS SO SICK?/?:£:££.&.&.&&.

y/n: what do you want?

jin: i love you ❤️💓🩷

y/n: bye

jin: WAITTTT :(((((((((((((((

pls

y/n: what

jin: i’m outside 🤭🤗❤️

y/n: stay outside

jin: am i a dog?????

DON’T ANSWER THAT

anyways

i’ve come to see you princess 😘❤️‍🔥

y/n: gross

go home

jin: i am home 🥺

y/n: ur at MY home

jin: tu casa es mi casa 😚

y/n: that is not how that phrase goes

jin: let me inside pookie it’s cold 😍

y/n: you should have a key if it’s ur house

jin: LET ME IN IM TRYING SOSOSOSO HARD

FUCK YOU

ITS COLD

MY HAIR IS WET

IM DISTRESSED

LET ME INNNNNNNN

y/n: it took you 3 minutes

to be an asshole again

jin: :((((

i really tried that time

i can’t help it

this is real this is me

i was born this way

you can’t change me

ur the asshole if we think about it why are you trying to change people?? let the world know you LOSER

y/n: fyi you can stay outside

jin: PLS NOOOO PLS PLS PLS PLS PLS PLS

y/n: “pls” doesn’t really sound like sorry to me…

jin: I SAID IM SORRY

I DIDN’T MEAN TO SHOUTT

IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRYYYYYYYYYYY

i love you

this is kinda sadistic if you think about it

didn’t know you was a freak like that bae

it’s okay i kinda like it

how about you let me in now

or do you want me to beg more???

pls oh plsssss let me in 🥺

i’ll never be mean again i promise 😇

pls 😚

hello??

babe??????

fr this isn’t funny

hello

HELLO

OPEN THE DOOR PLS

HELLLOOOO

OMH

HELLLLO

pls

i’m fr sorry

i mean it like genuinely

hello

…

okay let’s stop now

…………..

HELLLLO

fuck you

HOSEOK -

hobi: this fighting stuff kinda boring now

….

hello

i’m sorry

BOOOO

:(((

y/n: you can’t just walk out the house mid argument

hobi: in my defence u were being mean

y/n: so were you???

hobi: ??

y/n: be honest are you fr gonna just leave like that when things get hard?

hobi: i mean i might

y/n: …

hobi: things were pretty hard

y/n: AS MAN OF THE HOUSE YOU SHOULD OF GOT RID OF THE SPIDER

hobi: AS A FEMINIST I LEFT YOU TO TAKE CARE OF IT TO HELP YOU FEEL EMPOWERED

y/n: fuck you don’t come home

hobi: i would never lie to u bae 🙏🏼

and i would never suppress a moment for a woman to feel empowered

y/n: don’t actually fucking speak to me

hobi: ily

cheer up baby cheer up baby

y/n: picked the wrong member

jungkook would of helped me

hobi: omg????????

are you fr?

y/n: would never lie to you bae 🙏🏽

hobi: ….

JIMIN -

jimin:

y/n: ???

jimin: are you still mad at me?

y/n: yes jimin wtf

jimin: do you want to have sex?

y/n: yes jimin wtf

jimin: love you

y/n: whatever

jimin: say it back

y/n: i won’t

jimin: you will

y/n: definitely will not

jimin: i’ll sing for you

y/n: no thanks

jimin: no thanks?

y/n: no thanks.

jimin: you say that like i’m bad at singing

y/n: eh

jimin: eh?

y/n: eh.

jimin: i won’t have sex with you

y/n: aw man

jimin: don’t sound too sad

y/n: ok

jimin: you should be

y/n: i’m not

jimin: i go crazy in bed yk?

y/n: that is the ugliest thing you have ever said to me

jimin: if ur not in love with me just say that

y/n: i won’t

jimin: so ur IN love with me is what i’m hearing

y/n: ur not hearing anything cuz we are messaging rn

jimin: can you just tell me you love me like a normal person?

y/n: you don’t deserve it

jimin: okay maybe that’s true

but you should do it just once

pretty pls with a cherry on top 🥺

y/n: i’ll punch you

jimin: maybe i’ll enjoy it

y/n: nasty

jimin: kiss me

y/n: where are you?

jimin: ur really gonna kiss me?

y/n: ur talking long to tell me where you are so ig i’m not

jimin: joon’s studio

y/n: maybe i’m omw

jimin: ur so in love with me it’s kinda gross 🤭

YOONGI -

yoongi: :3

y/n: die tbh

yoongi: :3

y/n: your stupid faces mean nothing to me

yoongi: :3

y/n: …

yoongi: :33333

y/n: i hate you

yoongi: :Ɛ

y/n: ew wtf how did you do that

yoongi: Ɛ:

y/n: stop omg

yoongi: i’m sorry :3

y/n: cool

yoongi: i’m fr :3

y/n: idc :3

yoongi: you used the face :3

ur not mad :3

y/n: ur logic is wrong

yoongi: bring the face back :3

and it’s not logic it’s common sense :3

y/n: ur wrong

yoongi: never been wrong a day in my life :3

y/n: that’s crazy

so when you shouted at me for no reason you weren’t in the wrong?

good to know

yoongi: okay i never said that :3

y/n: but you did

yoongi: ur being annoying :3

y/n: fuck you

DID YOU JUST SEND ME 10K?????????

yoongi: did i? :3

y/n: you can’t just buy my forgiveness

yoongi: i can’t? :3

y/n: this is not how relationships work yoongi

yoongi: this is how our relationship works :3

y/n: no it’s not

STOP SENDING ME MONEY OMG?:£:£:’

yoongi: :3

y/n: you are still not forgiven leave me alone

yoongi: unforgiven i’m a villain :3

y/n: SEND ANOTHER 10k AND UR GETTING BLOCKED

yoongi: ur making me real upset rn :3

y/n: go back to work

yoongi: stop being mad at me :3

y/n: die

yoongi: don’t say that i’m about to get on a plane :3

y/n: now i feel bad

yoongi: say sorry :3

y/n: nvm

yoongi: :(

look you’ve made me change faces hope you feel bad :(

y/n: i don’t

yoongi: ur sick and twisted :(

y/n: cry about it

yoongi: really hope i survive this plane ride :(

y/n: i will not be guilt tripped by you

yoongi: you told me to die knowing i was getting on a plane :(

y/n: bye

yoongi: what if i had a deep deep fear of flying and u made that fear 10x worse rn :(

y/n: you don’t

yoongi: you don’t know a thing :(

y/n: fuck you

yoongi: do you really want ur last words to me be fuck you :(

y/n: fly safe

TAEHYUNG -

y/n: no

tae: hiiiiiiii

wtf how did you know

y/n: blocked

tae: NONONONONONO

y/n: you have one minute

tae: i am walking alone rn

y/n: ???

tae: on the street

y/n: ok?

tae: alone

y/n: you said that

tae: ALONE

ALL ALONE

y/n: right

tae: it’s not right actually

ITS VERY FAR FROM RIGHT

i’m ALONE

do you know what could happen to me rn?

i could literally be snatched up off the street by anyone

y/n: hopefully it’s a rehabilitation centre 🙏🏽

tae: WHAG IS UR PROBLEM

IM ALONE ALONE ALONE ALONE

KIM TAEHYUNG ALONE ON THE STREET

WHAT ARE YOU NOT GETTING HERE?

y/n: ur one minute is up

tae: no it’s not

can you pls care for me rn i’m stressed out

y/n: it was pretty stressful when you stood me up yesterday

but i powered through 💪🏽

i’m sure you can do the same!!!

tae: that never happened

pls let’s pretend that never happened

i’m the perfect boyfriend i swear

y/n: get lost

like actually

never come back

tae: 😢

you don’t even mean that

y/n: are you sure?

tae: IM SORRY PLS PLSPLSSSSSS

forgive me

y/n: no

tae: you can have my card

y/n: don’t want it

tae: take my house

i’ll give you my keys rn

y/n: i have ur keys

tae: you do?

you thief omg

give them back

y/n: you left them here???

after YOU stormed out my house after you made ME upset

tae: oh yeah

i’m coming back now

y/n: asshole

tae: let’s put this behind us and move on

that’s a great idea i say

y/n: you are single

tae: don’t say that

y/n: said it

tae: we are actually engaged and expecting our 10th child

y/n: you are single

tae: top 10 singles

made a few of those in my time

LOL

i’m funny right

say i’m funny

y/n: it’s painful talking to you

tae: painfully in love with me are you?

y/n: it’s like i’m taking to a brick wall

you have like selective hearing

tae: what i’m hearing is you want to kiss me on the lips?

y/n: call an ambulance

tae: feeling so much love for me ur throwing up?

???

hello

maybe i do deserve this

NAMJOON -

y/n: would you now like to explain why the hell you sent halsey flowers on MY birthday??

namjoon: it wasn’t just on ur birthday i’ve been sending them all week for like a month now

y/n: namjoon what the fuck??

namjoon: i’m confused

y/n: UR confused????

do you like her or something?

namjoon: ofc i like her!

y/n: so ur cheating?

namjoon: what

y/n: ur cheating on me and you have no shame???

what the actual fuck is wrong with you??

namjoon: i’m not cheating?

y/n: for a month now you’ve been sending another girl that you like flowers

EVERY WEEK???

namjoon: every friday

y/n: fuck you

namjoon: i’m confused how that’s cheating when you told me to do that?

y/n: WHEN HAVE I EVER SAID “OH NAMJOON SEND OTHER BITCHES FLOWERS”

namjoon: you literally said you loved how halsey’s bf gave her flowers every week and that you wished i did that?

y/n: ….

there is no way

….

namjoon

oh my god

kim fucking namjoon

LMAOOSO ARE YOU FR?

namjoon: what??? i’m so confused pls tell me what i did wrong

i would never cheat on you

ur freaking me out

y/n: think about it

why would i wish you sent halsey flowers?

think

like really think

namjoon: IDK i was confused as hell but you seemed like you really wanted me to

so i did

y/n: i meant i wanted you to buy ME flowers you idiot omg

namjoon: oh

that makes a lot more sense

y/n: yeah

you are the dumbest smart man i’ve ever met

namjoon: my fault

i get confused sometimes 😞

y/n: i love you

namjoon: i love you too

ur not mad anymore?

y/n: could never be mad at you silly

349 notes · View notes

inside-lees-mind · 11 months ago

Text

I’ll Eat My Hat

This was supposed to be cute. And it is, once you get past the topic of death.

So warning about topic of death.

Ukyo Saionji x reader

I actually hate this, but take that with a grain of salt bc I always hate what I write. If I didn’t hate it, I’ve been replaced with a ghost writer and call for help.

I promise I can write better than this. I just haven’t written anything in a while.

“And if I died?” The question was a lot darker than the previous questions and conversation. To you, the question rolled off the tongue with a giggle, looking up at him. Though to you, he was upside down, but that’s because you were laying down, head resting on his thigh, looking back and up at him. You sat up when you noticed his face fall a little bit.

“I’d hope that wouldn’t happen.” He almost whispers, a smile cracking across his face. He looks about to cry, and you realize, he’s probably thought out that scenario. And you realize you should probably just move on and drop the conversation.

“S—” You start but he cuts you off.

“But even if it did, I’d always love you.” He looks like he’s fighting hiding his face in his hands. And he is, because shouldn’t he be stronger than this? He doesn’t though, he just look at you for a moment before he speaks again. “And maybe, I’d go too. Soon enough.”

“No, I’d want you to live.” Your eyes, previously fixed on something just past him, now snap over to meet his. “Don’t give up like that.”

“Well, I’d eat my hat if that day ever came so… I don’t think we have anything to worry about.” Ukyo snickers.

“Because you don’t worry about it?” You catch him off guard.

“No. I mean, well, yes. I do, but it’s just paranoia.” He says, chuckling as he looks down at the ground.

…

That conversation feels more like a distant memory now. As you slip on and fasten up some wooden shoes to do some scavenging around the forest with Kohaku, you think back to it though. This isn’t death, so why does that conversation come to mind?

You’ve been awake for less than a week, and you’re going to war soon. And maybe you will die, then your beloved boyfriend will have to eat his hat. Of course, that’s not what he’s worried about, though.

You two weren’t together when the petrification happened, so you don’t have much of a clue where to find him. What if his statue was broken? Then what?

Questions like that float through your head for days and weeks until you’re told stories by Gen and Magma about a man who had terrifying archery skills. And it feels silly, because archery is a well respected sport in Japan, which cultural roots too, so that could have been anybody, but your mind went straight to the idea that it’s him.

They say he aimed at them, and that you find harder to believe. Your boyfriend always was intimidating, when he needed to be, but he was a pacifist. If their blood was on his hands, you know he’d never sleep well again.

Yet you find yourself asking for any sort of detail that confirms your hopes it is him, because maybe there is a good explanation for his hostility. And for why he’s working for your enemy.

(I literally do not remember the episode very well at all so I’m adding my own twist bc I’m not rewatching it rn)

Gen says they couldn’t really see him, but they know he’s got excellent hearing.

“It’s like he could hear a feather drop.” He says.

And your heart skips a beat because that’s got to be your boyfriend. Yet, time passes and nothing. You can’t just walk onto enemy lines to find your boyfriend. And on top of that, you’ve began to delude yourself that there is some other man in the area with excellent, inhuman hearing and impeccable archery skills.

You brush all that off, ignoring it for now. Even if it’s clawing at you, there is work to be done. So here you are, sitting on the cold, wooden floor of the hut. Gen and Senku were on the phone with a woman named Nikki. A self proclaimed super fan of Lillian Weinberg, as you’ve come to understand. You, being from the United States, had helped him just a little bit with his facts regarding the famous singer. He knew a lot, so did Senku, but you had input too.

When you all played the recording, she believed it, but a faint, yet stern voice cut through the air from the behind the phone. Then the phone is taken, and a familiar voice speaks. Your heart stops for a moment as you realize, the archer was your boyfriend. After barely hearing the next words he, Gen, or Senku spoke, you finally snap back to reality when you hear “we have somebody who is better at English than the both of us.”

And the microphone of the giant phone is suddenly being shoved into your hand.

“So what exactly do you want?” The line is whispered to you to say. You repeat it, trying not to stutter over your words. The line goes silent on the other end for a moment, before he speaks.

Gen and Senku exchange glances because you, as stone faced and cold as you are, have never seemed nervous before. You don’t fail to notice, but you don’t say anything.

“I don’t want blood.” He says, sounding a bit more emotional now.

“I know you don’t.” You say softly back, and confusion settles into the room.

“So I’m not crazy. It’s you?” You nod, before remembering he can’t see you to know you did.

“No, you’ve lost your mind. Now you have to eat a hat.” You chuckle.

“I just got this one.” He says.

“Alright, I don’t know how you two know each other,” Senku bluntly cuts you off. “But wrap it up, we have a negotiation to discuss? Let’s be 100% to the point here. We can do this with no blood.”

You sit back, smiling, knowing you’ll see him once this is over.

#Ukyo saionji x reader #Ukyo saionji #ukyo x reader #dr. stone x reader #dr stone #dr stone x reader #Dr stone x you

93 notes · View notes

squoosheez · 1 year ago

Text

Sweet Relief

Finnick Odair x Reader

summary: Yesterday, the reaping took place. Your name was the one picked from thousands—and it was your last year to even be eligible. Being from district four, your mentor is none other than Finnick Odair. Prince of the Capitol. Your relationship is off to a rocky start, but on your second night, he starts to come around.

setting: The 70th Hunger Games. You’re the female tribute from District 4, on your way to the Capitol with your male tribute, Caspian, and your mentor, Finnick Odair.

pairing: Finnick Odair x Fem!Reader

warnings: smut, mentions of death, implied mentions of forced prostitution but not blatantly mentioned ykwim?

notes: I wrote this in two sittings and it’s not proofread and it’s also my first time posting anything on tumblr soooo…

word count: 5.2k

— • — • — •— • — • — •— • — • — •— • — • — •— • —

socials: ao3 (that’s all I have bcuz my cc isn’t working rn 😭

Thick, humid air circulates through your enormous room. This was not what you expected when they had called your name for the reaping. You still remember it like it’s happening in the present. You find yourself laying on your memory foam bed with satin sheets—courtesy of the capitol. One thousand thoughts race through your mind as you recall the events of this evening.

To start, you almost punched your mentor in the face. You try to convince yourself he deserved it, but he was just trying to lighten up the situation and try to make you feel better. At dinner, he made a comment about the games. His words rang through your mind. “Even if you don’t win, just try not to be killed first.”

It makes your blood boil just thinking about it. You’re appalled by his insensitivity. You know those people aren’t any less smart or skilled as anyone else in that arena. Just because Finnick was the one to kill them off, doesn’t make them any weaker.

District four. Your home, family, friends, everyone you love is there. You can’t imagine not making it home to them. You also can’t believe this just had to be the last year you’re even eligible for the games. The worst luck ever. You groan as you pull the comforter over your body. One of the perks about being a tribute has got to be how well they treat you before you’re sent off to your death. You finally start to drift off into a semi-deep sleep—since real sleep is impossible—when you hear a soft knocking at your door.

You groan again before allowing the person into your room. You watch intently as the figure makes its way further and further towards your bed. You can only assume it’s an avox coming to give you a spa treatment or something else extravagant. But to your surprise, it’s your fatally charming mentor.

“What are you doing here, Finnick? Wanna piss me off some more?” You immediately bark out, not even giving him a chance to look into your eyes. This obviously makes him angry, you can see it on his face.

He bites his lip in frustration. “Listen here, little girl. You should try showing your mentor some respect for a change. I could be the very difference between life and death for you in that arena. I wouldn’t take that for granted if I were you,” his fake smile pierces through your blanket of security. He really knows how to make your spine shiver.

“Here to tell you that we’ll be arriving at 7am tomorrow morning. I suggest you be up and ready before then,” he continues. You watch as he takes a piece of fruit from your nightstand and bites into it. He gives another fake smile and walks out of your room, the automatic door sliding closed behind him. The sound of his voice makes your face grow hot in anger. It’s like everything he says is made to piss you off, but he had a good point. He’s the one who decides what gets sent out. He can help you live or let you die. Maybe you should try and get on his good side.

A good two hours fly by while you lay helplessly trying to grasp onto an ounce of sleep. It’s no use. You’re far too nervous to even close your eyes. The thought of losing everyone creeps into the back of your mind, but you deem the thought selfish. You’re not losing them, they’re losing you. More than they already have. Your mother and sister sitting at home wondering why it was you. Your best friends pondering what life will be like without you. It was your final year.

The good thing about coming from district four was that most oftenly, they were able to form alliances with the main careers, district one and two. Though, you deemed them to be quite arrogant, stuck up, obnoxious.. the list goes on. You were probably the only one in district four that doesn’t wanna prove they can win The Hunger Games.

The boy two doors down from you has been training his whole life for this moment. Technically, it’s illegal to train, but since when does anyone follow the rules when it comes to the games? The little boy whose name was picked at the reaping was only twelve. You thought that maybe they were related, but he just really wanted a chance to win. Foolish. The boy doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, you think.

When it comes to Finnick, he seems to favor you—which seems peculiar considering the fact you treat him like shit and the boy is nothing but pleasant towards him. You always assume he just acts that way towards the girls, he does seem to be a charmer. Capitol’s prince, some would call him. That warning he gave you earlier, was probably him genuinely trying to be helpful. You find that very hard to believe.

You turn on your side and click on the bedside lamp. The light brightens up the room more than a lamp probably should. The Capitol needs to stop sucking up to us, you think as you sit up and tread off to your bathroom. The bathroom is huge, a big shower that could fit any toiletries you could imagine. There’s a vanity full of makeup and hair products that you have never even seen before in your life. Red velvet robes that look incredibly soft and inviting. Last but not least, it smells of roses. The whole bathroom smells like you just walked into a florist.

You stretch and look at yourself in the huge wall mirror. You don’t look like yourself. Your features seem distorted and different. You know that you really do look the same, but you don’t feel like yourself. It’s definitely the Capitol. You turn on the water in the shower and wait for it to reach your desired temperature. You discard yourself of your clothes, realizing that you had never changed into your pajamas. When you finish undoing your hair and undressing, you step into the hot water.

Ten minutes pass and you’re rinsing some rose scented conditioner out of the ends of your hair. Everything here seems to be rose scented. Do we smell that bad? You laugh to yourself as you step out of the shower and grab onto a towel. You quickly dry off your body and hair, wrapping the towel around your hair and slipping into one of the velvet robes. Soft doesn’t even begin to describe it.

You open the door to your bedroom and begin to walk into it before you realize there’s a figure sitting on your bed. You assume it’s the boy from your district, probably couldn’t sleep either. Wants to talk strategy with you, pretend to be in love or helpless or siblings, or something even more ridiculous. To your surprise, it’s not the tribute boy at all. Quite the opposite.

You take a few steps closer, examining everything you can in the dark before you come to a conclusion. It’s Finnick. His golden-brown curls falling on his forehead paired with his sea green eyes, it’s obvious.

“What are you doing here?” You snarl, earning a laugh on his end.

“Well, you’re very welcoming,” Finnick says in return. He yawns and stretches before completely spreading himself out on your bed. “I went to check on your friend, Caspian, but he was dead asleep. Just thought I’d make sure you're sleeping.”

I knew he had a name. You roll your eyes and give Finnick an annoyed expression. “It’s impossible to sleep knowing I’m about to be sent off to my inevitable death.”

Finnick smiles. It makes you angry. He sits up to look you in the eyes. “It’s stuff like this that makes me think you really do have a chance. Definitely more than your friend down the hall, hate to say it.” He gives a fake disappointed look and it makes you chuckle to yourself.

“I’m not so sure about that,” you say. You slowly approach the bed and sit down beside Finnick despite how wrong it feels. Finnick rolls his eyes and grabs your hand.

“I think you have the drive. If you really wanted it—which you will in the arena—I definitely think you have a good chance of surviving. We’re district four. Make some allies, I know deep down you can push that cold heart and face of yours out of the way.” He gives your hand a squeeze of encouragement.

It makes you think. Just two hours ago you were sulking about losing everyone and everything, when in reality you don’t have to. You breathe out slowly, taking in everything Finnick said. He’s still there, staring at you with his green eyes. For once, his face doesn’t fill you with rage. His voice doesn’t infuriate you. He looks gentle. Compassionate. Charming. Finnick.

“Thanks,” is the only word you can mutter out. He looks at you with an endearing smile and kind eyes. You didn’t think he was capable of being nice. He looks actually sincere for once. Wow.

Finnick stands up and starts to make his way towards the door when your voice cuts through his action. “Finnick—” He turns around to face you, curiosity plastered on his face. He mumbles a quiet ‘hm?’ and you freeze. It’s like your words aren’t yours anymore.

“Will you stay?”

Finnick’s breath hitches in the back of his throat at your words. Immediately, you regret saying it. You want to hide underneath the comforter and never show your face to him ever again. Your face lights up a bright red, and you hope he doesn’t notice this.

A smirk creeps up on Finnick’s face. He doesn’t even give you a straight answer, he just climbs back into bed with you—which in most circumstances is very inappropriate for a mentor to do with a tribute. It’s fine, he’s only twenty.

Finnick wraps his arm around you, it's only then you remember you haven’t put on pajamas yet. You’re laying there in the robe from your bath, and your towel is still wrapped around your hair. You pull the towel off and let your still somewhat wet hair free to fall onto the sides of your face. Finnick looks over at you and gives your shoulder another squeeze of encouragement. Him and his squeezes of encouragement.

You reach around for the remote before finding it and turning on some show you’ve never seen before. In the districts, you only really get Capitol news. It’s definitely nice for a change. You and Finnick watch whatever drama is unfolding on the screen, holding each other as tightly as possibly.

“What’s it like?” You mutter out against Finnick’s shoulder. His head perks up as he registers what you said. He stays quiet, probably because you weren’t specific enough. “As a victor, I mean.”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes closing as if he doesn’t want to tell you. Like it’s some sort of bad news your parents tell you when you’re ten. “It’s not as great as I make it seem.”

Your eyebrows raise. He always makes it seem like he’s living the dream out here. Money, jewels, fame, glory. He has it all. What could possibly be bad about being a victor?

“I want you to win. I really do, and I think you’re very capable of doing so but..” his words catch in the back of his throat. “I don’t want you to go through what I did.”

His expression is cold. He’s not even looking at you anymore, his gaze is fixated on the screen, but you know he’s not watching. It’s like watching him hold back tears with no tears to hold back. This time you give his shoulder a squeeze of encouragement. This makes him smile softly and return his stare towards you.

“It’s wonderful.. now. I do have money and jewels, fame and glory. But nothing in life is free.” His smile fades, and he brushes a piece of your wet hair behind your ear. He is so good at keeping you oblivious. It’s frustrating.

He pulls you in closer, his grip on your shoulder tightens. Your breathing grows faster. You can hear his heart beating in his chest, and it makes yours beat even faster. His hand starts to move towards your hair. He runs his fingers through your slowly, making sure not to tug too hard. Just three hours ago, you could’ve sworn he hated your guts. What is wrong with him?

All you can do is look over at him. You realize he’s staring at you, but he doesn’t look away. The look in his eyes is something to fear, that’s for sure. He has to be zoning out.. But he’s not. He turns his body to face yours, resting his free hand on your side. You’re dumbfounded. Star struck, even. You open your mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out. Finnick smiles and caresses your jaw with his thumb. This seems oddly intimate, and you have zero experience in being intimate.

You want to pull away. You think. You’re frozen, a slave to his touch. You want to move, but you don’t. His fingertips dance across your hips and jaw. You start to believe he’s playing a trick on you. He wants to see how far you’re willing to go. Well, you’re not a quitter. That’s for sure.

Instead of your typical surprised expression, your face morphs into a confident smirk. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, in fact it does. Before you can wipe it away, Finnick presses his lips eagerly against your own. His tongue runs over the drop of blood, tasting the metallic substance mixed with your saliva. Jesus Christ.

His hands pull your face even closer, along with your body. Your robe is becoming loose, you feel the knot slipping slowly. Your hands are entangled in his golden hair, your eyes are closed so tightly. All you can focus on is how good he’s making you feel.

This is definitely wrong on some level, but when he’s touching and kissing you in all the right places, it seems to not matter. His lips begin to move downward. He places soft kisses on your jaw and neck. Once he reaches your collarbones, the kisses get more intense. He starts sucking dark purple hickeys and leaving discreet teeth marks on your fragile skin. He’s eager, but careful. As if your body is a porcelain doll and he’s the only one allowed to hold it. He’s so gentle yet abrasive.

Your muscles tense as you feel his hands travel down your waist and resting on your hips. You know his intentions. He’s not just kissing you in your bed while practically laying on top of you for nothing. He looks up at you, his sea green eyes pleading for you.

“Can I take off your robe?” He says softly. His voice seems safe now. Not infuriating. You give him a nod, but it’s not good enough for him. “I need to hear a yes.”

“Yes,” you say. And with that, he unties your robe in one swift motion. The sides of the robe fall off onto each side of your body, completely revealing everything. Obviously, since you just got out of the shower, there was nothing else underneath. Finnick observes every inch of your body before continuing to attack your chest with kisses.

It makes you smile. He’s so eager to make you feel good, and it makes you forget how you hated him moments before this. You feel his tongue trace the shape of your breasts, slowly making its way to your nipples. You’re quickly reminded just how bare you really are when Finnick licks a stripe up your nipple, his teeth catching on the bud. Your body tenses, and a chill runs down your spine. His hands move to your lower back, making you arch for him. You notice his smile at your helplessness.

You squeeze your legs together in a desperate attempt for any sort of relief. Your mouth drapes open as Finnick continues to tease you. Kissing everywhere, touching everywhere except the place you desire it most. Back to frustrating. You pull his head up by his hair to look him in the eyes. You’re pretty much begging with the look you’re giving, but Finnick still doesn’t think it’s enough.

He places another gentle kiss on your upper thigh, leaving his tongue to linger slightly longer. “Is there something you want, honey?” His voice was condescending yet so sweet to hear.

His words make you squirm, but the grip he has on your hips prevents you from going very far. You attempt to speak but all that escapes is a strangled moan you didn’t know was lurking in your throat. Finnick chuckles against your abdomen, causing your muscles to tense up. You realize quickly that he’s not going to resume his work until you give him an answer.

You roll your eyes at him to hide your embarrassment, like usual. He knows exactly what you want him to do. He knows exactly where you want to be touched. He just wants to hear you say it. “I wanna feel you, Finnick.”

Not good enough. He immediately refutes your statement.

“What do you want to feel, baby?” He places another kiss on your inner thigh. You can feel the throbbing sensation between your legs grow even more prominent when he calls you ‘baby.’ You can’t even form words; he just laughs at your struggling attempt.

“What about..” he begins. His fingers trail down the sides of your waist and stop at your hips. His calloused hands move forward to the front of your thighs, giving them a squeeze for good measure. “My tongue? You seem to be enjoying that so far.”

Fuck yes.

You throw your head back at the proposal. You would be laughing like a maniac if it weren’t for your inability to form words, which once again is not going too great for you. Finnick awaits an answer and the only thing coming out of your mouth is drool and moans.

Luckily, he starts to ease up on you. His hands find their way to your knees, spreading your legs apart as far as you’ll allow him. You feel so exposed in the best way possible. Finnick continues to leave sweet kisses on your inner thighs, teasing you on and on. You physically cannot take it anymore.

You grab Finnick by his hair, once again, and yank him forward. “If you don’t eat me out right now, you may never get the chance to. I would make your choice wisely and quickly.”

His eyes widen at your words, clearly surprised, but not unhappy. His sly smile creeps back onto his face as he licks a stripe between your folds. Your back immediately arches against his tongue. He takes the opportunity to grab the back of your thighs, allowing himself full control of your position.

You don’t resist whatsoever. As soon as his tongue is back inside you, tracing circles around your clit, everything fades away. He flicks his tongue over the same spot and a sharp moan echoes through the room. You come to the conclusion that it’s from you. Finnick chuckles softly. The cool air against your wet heat just makes you feel like you’re floating. And if he can’t tell how much you’re enjoying this by your body’s reaction, he can tell by the look on your face.

Finnick’s tongue continues to work its magic as your hands flail around for something to hold onto it. They end up grabbing onto the pillow and you’re surprised the whole train car can’t hear how loud you’re being. You swear no one else could make you feel this way. His tongue knows exactly where to go and what to do. You feel his hand move closer to your heat and it drives you crazy. His thumb moves slowly towards your clit, rubbing soft circles on it. Meanwhile, his tongue is prodding at your entrance. A loud moan escapes your lips as you attempt to focus on one thing at a time.

“Finn..” you whimper out. He pulls away from in between your legs, a mixture of juices dripping down his chin. He looks up at you, his chest heaving. He looks so good. Something about him looking so fucked out just manages to turn you on. “You look so fucking hot.”

A smile creeps up on his face at your words. He licks his lips and climbs up to meet your face. He places a soft kiss on your lips as a ‘thank you.’ You smile back and take the opportunity to give the obvious bulge in his pants a gentle squeeze. A groan leaves Finnick’s mouth and his hand makes its way back down to your pussy. He slips a finger in between your lips, flicking it over your clit again. Now you’re even.

You squeeze your legs together, making the pressure ten times more intense. You let out a soft whimper that seems to just push Finnick over the edge. He immediately pulls down his grey sweats, revealing his erection underneath a pair of black boxer briefs. You don’t even have to look twice to determine that’s gonna hurt.

You sit up and cross your legs to be face to face with him. You watch as he runs his fingers through his hair trying to determine what he wants to do next. His eyes flick back and forth between you and his dick before coming to a consensus.

“On your knees,” he smiles. You quickly scurry off the bed and onto your knees in front of him. You pull your hair into a tight ponytail and wetten your mouth, a smirk plastering your face. You allow him to pull down his boxers, his erection springing up towards his abdomen. The sight makes you ten times wetter.

You take Finnick’s cock into your hand, giving it a few strokes as beads of precum run down your hand. You can feel him throb in your hand and it makes you let out a small chuckle. He laughs too, not really understanding why.

You give the head a small kitten lick and watch as his face scrunches up in pleasure. You take the tip entirely into your mouth and Finnick lets out a loud groan. His hips begin to move slowly into your mouth. He makes sure not to go too fast or deep in case you can’t take it. You take at least two more inches to assure him you can.

You continue to bob your head up and down as his hips fuck the back of your throat. Whatever you can’t fit in your mouth, you stroke eagerly with the hand that’s not grabbing onto Finnick’s thigh.

Tears well up in your eyes and drool drips down your mouth as he fucks deeper into it. His little groans and whimpers are all the encouragement you need. You just sit back and let him have his way with you, every now and then you hum, sending the most pleasurable vibrations through his body.

You can feel his climax near when his hips start to stutter and his movements become faster and more desperate. You move your hands to rest on his chest, rolling his nipples in between your fingers. This throws him completely over the edge, because quickly after, he’s cumming down your throat. You take him out of your mouth and swallow what’s left of his cum before standing up to give him a sweaty, teary, drooly, cummy kiss. His tongue explores your mouth tasting what remains of his cum and you can see a string of your saliva when the kiss is over.

Despite your incredible blowjob skills, he’s still eager to make you feel as amazing as he possibly can. He moves his hands down to cup your ass, giving it a squeeze of encouragement. You giggle and fall back onto the bed. The satin sheets feel so good underneath your hot skin, and Finnick looks so inviting.

You close your eyes and suddenly he’s gone. You search around for a moment until realizing he’s gone to get condoms. Smart man. Not giving me a choice. When he comes back, he slips on the condom with ease and gives his hand a small squirt of lubricant.

“Don’t think I’ll need much,” he says smirking. “You’re already soaking wet for me. Yes?”

You feel yourself throb in between your legs at his words. He is seriously driving you insane. You watch as he coats his cock with the lubricant and gives himself a couple lazy strokes.

You can’t even think of a response, so instead you just pull him down to kiss you. After a few moments you break the kiss. “Finnick..”

“Don’t wear it out,” he speaks slowly. You just can’t take your eyes off of how big he is. “You’ll be screaming it in a minute.”

You smile at his cocky response. You feel him line-up with your entrance. One of your hands is resting on his bicep, the other is tracing circles on your clit. You let out a soft moan as you feel his tip slowly slipping into you. You don’t understand how he could be this slow. He wants this just as bad as you do, why is he being such a tease?

Instead of pushing deeper, Finnick decides to just use the tip for now. You’re squirming and writhing underneath him, desperate for something more. Every time you look at his face, he looks like he’s in heaven. Finally, he slowly slides more into you. You can feel every vein pulsating inside you. It makes you clench around him, which earns a very strong moan from Finnick’s mouth.

Your thoughts are being clouded with Finnick. Every touch he makes, every breath he breathes. Everything is Finnick. He’s murmuring something under his breath, but you have zero clue what. Probably something along the lines of ‘you’re so fucking hot,’ or ‘I’ve been waiting so long for this.’

You watch as beads of sweat drip off his forehead and onto your stomach. You realize very quickly why he wanted to take it slow. As soon as he tries to push completely into you, he bottoms out. You tense up, surprised by the feeling. Finnick looks at you and back down at his dick once again. By the look on his face, you can tell he is not all the way in.

“Fuck, Finnick. I didn’t realize you were that big!” You groan partially in frustration and partially in pleasure as he rolls his hips in a circular motion. He just smirks in response. Despite the little bump in the road, Finnick continues his shallow thrusts. He’s more careful now, he doesn't want to hurt you and now it’s become very easy to do so. You let out a loud whimper at his movements, angled to hit your g-spot with every little movement. Unfortunately for you, he’s still taking his sweet time.

He can sense your neediness. It’s driving him crazy. He starts to move slightly faster, but he’s still trying to savor the moment. Your back arches whenever he hits your sweet spot, which is pretty often. Your legs start to shake from using them to keep yourself up. Finnick notices and immediately pulls out and picks you up. This takes you by surprise and you flush a bright pink color.

“I wanna make sure you’re comfortable, how do you wanna lay?” His voice is soft and sweet. It’s crazy how fast his tone can switch between dominant and demanding to soft and caring.

You bite your lip and wrap your arms around his neck. “Can I ride you?”

That’s not the answer Finnick was expecting. He nods eagerly and flips the two of you around. Now he’s laying on the bed, and you're sitting on top of him. You line him up with your hole and sink down slowly onto him once again. Once he bottoms out, you start to move your hips in a circle. Finnick’s hands fly to your waist, guiding your movement. He watches as you ride him, tits bouncing directly in his face. He is surely the luckiest man alive.

His groans grow louder and more frequent, and your movements become faster and harder. His hands move to cup your ass, giving it a couple slaps as you bounce on his cock. You clench around him every time and it makes him so horny it hurts.

Finnick flips you over once more, wrapping your legs around his neck. His thrusts are much more powerful now. They’re aiming to hit your spot and it’s so good. His hands are fondling with your tits, pinching your nipples as his thrusts grow faster. His other hand is fixated on your clit, rubbing it just hard enough to make your back arch and leave scratch marks on Finnick’s biceps.

You can hear his breath faltering and his thrusts become sloppy. He’s whispering words to you, but you can’t quite comprehend exactly what he’s saying. Loud moans are leaving your mouth, but you can’t hear anything besides the slaps of your ass against Finnick’s hips, and his groans.

You feel his hand get faster, giving your clit just the right amount of attention it needs to feel your climax bubbling up in your lower stomach. You clench around him in response, and that’s what pushes him over the edge.

He pounds into you relentlessly, hitting your g-spot over and over again until you can’t take it. Your moans have become broken cries as tears flow from your eyes. The only words you can form are ‘Finnick’ and ‘faster.’ It doesn’t take much longer for your orgasm to reach its peak. Your body tightens completely, causing Finnick to release with you. He cums with a loud moan, even though your senses are still clouded from seeing stars, you can assume it was probably a drawn out ‘fuck.’

You pull him closer as his body collapses into yours. You give him another kiss before pulling the used condom off of him and tossing it into the trash bin. He gives you a weak smile as he breathes in your scent.

“You were amazing,” he mumbles against the crook of your neck. You pull the comforter over the two of you and close your eyes.

“You were perfect,” you respond smiling. He gives you another kiss on the cheek since he can’t stand not having his lips on you. The reality of your situation sets in very quickly. You’re about to be in the Hunger Games and you’ve just accidentally fucked your mentor. Accidentally may be a stretch.

You look over at Finnick, somehow putting your emotions aside. You give him a sad smile and place a soft kiss directly onto his lips. It confuses him, but he doesn’t question it. You’re clearly in a vulnerable state and he doesn’t want to pry too much.

You look into his eyes for far too long. The beautiful sea-green color that completely encapsulates the beauty of the ocean. You realize far too late how you really feel about Finnick Odair. The worst part is…

The clock just struck seven.

#finnick odair #finnick x reader #the hunger games #finnick x y/n #finnick fanfic #fanfic #smut #thg finnick #alternate universe #light angst

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