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notlongtolove · 15 hours ago

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in my dream, i'm fixing your crutch

most nights, spencer wakes to the sound of your sniffles—unlike most nights, he doesn’t have to ask why. the reason is visceral, tangible—staining the sheets when the wound dressing wasn’t tight enough, seeping and pooling right between the both of you where an ocean of your guilt already lies.

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

genre: flangst hurt comfort

content: many mentions of wounds and blood. bc spencer was shot. jesus reid woo! established relationship spencer and bau!reader deal with the aftermath of spencer taking a bullet for her

word count: 2.8k

note: based on this ask! for my jesus reid sassy man apocalypse flangst fight and make up lovers... this ones for you! i actually loved writing this sm @esote-rika u wonderful genius u!!! inspired by this poem that she sent me! might be one of my new favorite fics ive written

a line: In the bad dreams, over and over, you’re saying you’re sorry. In the worst dreams, he’s saying he forgives you.

“I’m sorry.”

Those were the first words out of your mouth when Spencer had woken up in the hospital. Before that, you'd been running on adrenaline, too focused on talking the unsub down. So certain—so sure—that he wouldn’t pull the trigger. That you’d be fine. That the father would be fine. And you were, mostly.

Because a hard shove sent you both tumbling to the ground. No broken bones, no bloody wounds—Just a bullet in Spencer’s leg instead of yours.

He held your hand through the tears, fingers gentle as they stroked through your hair while you wept against the edge of his hospital bed. Told you I’d take a bullet for you, honey. Spencer always joked about that. Romantic once—now, not so much. It is not an honour you ever wanted to hold.

Crutches for a month. You’d been right there when the doctor ordered it, nodding, asking questions, voicing concerns. The two of you make do, as you always do. You move into his place, helping him with the little things. Because loving someone means loving them in health and in sickness. During the good times and the bad. Two sides of the same coin—But intimacy wears many faces.

You don’t think you’ve stopped crying since you saw the blood soaking into the grass.

You try to smile more when Spencer’s around. He says it helps—just as much as the medication, maybe more. So you do. More cuddles than usual. Coffee, just the way he wants it, because come on, the man took a bullet for you, the least you could do is not criticise his sugar intake.

But when he’s not there, the tears come. In the shower, where the water washes them away before you can. Waiting for the coffee to brew, blinking them back so they don’t salt the mug.

You whisper I’m sorrys into his hair when he falls asleep after the Doctor Who reruns, as many as he wants. Hope he feels it in the way your fingers card through his curls, lathering shampoo carefully. Hope he tastes it in the spoonfuls of breakfast you lift to his lips, even though his hands work just fine. Everything served in bed, of course, because that’s where he is.

Because that is where he has to be.

I’m sorry. You don’t think you’ll ever stop saying it.

Most nights, Spencer wakes to the sound of your sniffles—Unlike most nights, he doesn’t have to ask why. The reason is visceral, tangible—staining the sheets when the wound dressing wasn’t tight enough, seeping and pooling right between the both of you where an ocean of your guilt already lies.

Still, every night he does wake, he cups your cheeks with warm hands as he murmurs it’s okays.

He’ll say it again at 2 am, when he’s inevitably forced to rewind the bandage himself because somehow, you never seem to get it right. Another tally mark on the growing list of ways you’ve failed him.

And again at 4 am, when you shift too close in your sleep, bump against him, and wake to a sharp, stifled wince. Then the tears resurface, and the cycle repeats. God, you’re just a walking Murphy’s Law, aren’t you?

“Do you blame me?” you’d asked him one night, voice meek in the dark.

“You were in danger. I acted. I could never blame you.”

You replay that conversation more often than not. You love Spencer enough to believe that he means it—that in his mind, it’s the only truth that exists. The only truth that could ever exist.

But you don’t think you love yourself enough to believe it, too.

You move to the couch after the first week. Couldn’t take another night of accidental touches, of hearing his breath hitch in pain and feeling—remembering— that you’d put him there. Spencer had protested, threatened to order an air mattress just to sleep beside you, but you’d won in the end. He needed space. Comfort. Proper rest to heal.

Mostly, you just didn’t want him to see you crying anymore.

The couch isn’t so bad. Smells just enough like him to let it lull you to sleep. Has pillows that are fluffy enough to clutch in your grip when he insists on showering alone for the first time. The couch is close enough to hear the bottle of shampoo hit the floor and the pause that follows when you both realise he can’t bend down to pick it up himself. It’s also far enough away that you hear only the muffled curses that escape him when he tries to dress himself after—Spencer hardly ever swears.

And again, the couch is far enough away that he can’t see you cry.

Intimacy is familiarity, carved deep.

It is not synonymous with love, nor does it innately mean romance. It is a vulnerability between two people, a connection that forms through time, a trust that builds upon circumstance. Intimacy is a blade that cuts through flesh and bone, never to be used lightly. It sees everything—what you are, what he is, what the two of you have always been.

It’s the chaste kiss you press to his lips before leaving for the jet, van waiting down in the lobby. The long list of instructions, medications, emergency contacts scribbled onto paper—handed off to Garcia. The unanswered calls that drain your battery, each one landing in his voicemail.

When you’re away, you dream of Spencer. You’re steadying his crutch, rewrapping his wounds, pressing gentle kisses over healing scars.

In the bad dreams, over and over, you’re saying you’re sorry.

In the worst dreams, he’s saying he forgives you.

Intimacy is something etched into the marrow of you, amidst the flesh and bone, through the ache and the aftermath.

“Spence?” you call from the doorway, one hand braced against the wall as you toe off your shoes. “You in here? Garcia said you decided to head home.”

A muffled shuffle from his office draws your attention. When you step inside, you find him perched in his desk chair, one hand gripping his crutch, the other stretched toward a book just out of his reach on the bottom shelf.

“I didn’t decide to head home,” Spencer mutters, still not looking at you. “Garcia sent me home.”

You have to bite back a smile. “Garcia sent you home?” you echo, amused, crossing the room to retrieve the book from the shelf with ease. He returns your kind act with a heavy sigh even as you set the book on the table beside him.

“She was rearranging her case files. Said I was in the way.”

“Aw honey,” you coo, reaching out to fluff his curls. Normally, he’d lean into your touch, eyes going all soft with adoring affection. But tonight, there’s nothing. Your hand falls away, neglected.

“Have you eaten?” you try, hoping hunger is to blame for his mood. He barely acknowledges the question, offering only a curt nod.

“What’d you have?”

“One of those instant meals,” he mutters.

You frown. “I thought you hated that stuff.”

Spencer scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I’m in any position to cook now, am I?”

The window is shut but the study is ice cold. You knew he was upset when Hotch forbade him from coming along on the case. He had told you just as much, his frustrations only thinly veiled in the few text messages he’d sent. But whatever this is, you don’t understand why it’s suddenly being directed at you tonight.

“Did something happen while I was away?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” The sarcasm that drips in his tone pools together at your feet.

Most people work to live. Your boyfriend is not most people. He lives to work. The time he doesn’t spend solving cases is spent preparing for the next one—reading, researching, gathering knowledge for the inevitable moment it might be needed. You of all people know he hates being unoccupied. He’d explained it to you once, how much he detests idleness, the feeling of time slipping through his fingers with nothing to show for it.

And now here he is, sidelined. Left behind—with nobody else to point the finger at but you.

Not Garcia for shoo-ing him out of her Batcave. Not Hotch for being a stickler for the doctor’s orders. Just you.

“Is that it? You’re upset because Hotch didn’t let you come on the case?”

Spencer doesn't answer so you’re the one to take a step forward—both physically and metaphorically.

“Spence, talk to me. What’s gotten into you?”

The laugh that leaves Spencer doesn’t really sound like him at all. It comes out sharp and humourless—Empty, essentially.

“What’s gotten into me?” He exhales, shakes his head. “You mean other than a bullet?”

The breath you were holding slips from your lips, and for a moment, it feels like the bullet never left. It might as well have buried itself hilt deep, slicing through you and back out. Right now, you almost wished that were the case.

A bullet in your boyfriend is not a cross you ever wanted to bear but it is a cross you’re tied to carrying all the same.

Maybe it had been easier in the beginning. In the holding of hands in the ambulance, in the moving of mugs to accommodate yours. But in the wake of skin and gauze, of antiseptic burning raw and sheets gripped in clenched fists—What is there to thank god for?

Just a bullet.

Just a wound.

Just a bed too small to carry the hurt of two people.

“Spencer.”

For a man with a limp, he moves fast. The bedroom door slams shut behind him and you’re left to stand there by yourself, guilt seeping into the floorboards under you. Thank god for the couch.

You don’t dream of Spencer tonight. You don’t sleep at all. Which is why you hear it—the crutch slipping, the clattering against the wood of the floor. You tiptoe to the bedroom door, nudging it open.

“Hey, everything alright? Need your meds? Water? I can get—”

“S'fine,” Spencer says. His sigh is as heavy as it is exhausted as he bends down to retrieve his crutch.

“Oh. Okay…” You hesitate, lingering by the door. “Goodnight then.”

“Sweetheart—” Spencer exhales, soft and uneven. “I—I… wanted to talk.”

You swallow. “Talk?”

“What I did—how I acted just now—that wasn’t okay. And I’m sorry.”

It sounds weird coming from him. Wrong, almost. A man who took a bullet for you shouldn’t be apologising. A thousand sorrys from you wouldn’t even come close to enough, and you’re certain you’ve already said more than that.

“You don’t need to apologise, Spence, you—”

“I do.”

He tries to stand. You’re at his side before he can, pressing him back down with a gentle hand against his shoulder as you take a seat by the edge of the bed too.

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I was frustrated. At Hotch, at Garcia, at myself. And I took it out on you.”

You nod silently, trying to understand.

“I’m not used to this,” he admits. “Being taken care of. Needing to be taken care of. It’s... hard. What I said before I left the room… I shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

Spencer isn’t one to dance around words. He thrives on specifics. Tonight, he doesn’t need to name it.

What’s gotten into me? You mean other than a bullet? The words have been reverberating in your skull since he said it.

“Do you—” Your voice sounds hollow in your throat, shaking as it leaves you. “Can you forgive me?”

Spencer’s seen you cry before. But the sight of you wiping away your own tears is not one he’s is used to. He’s used to holding you through it, with soft hands, with light kisses. So, he takes your hand first, then coaxes your gaze up to meet his. It’s the first time you’ve seen him smile since you’ve gotten back.

“Angel,” he breathes, “there’s nothing to forgive. I don’t blame you. For any of it. Do you remember what I said the first time?”

“I—yeah.”

“You were in danger. I acted. Simple as that.”

In theory, it is simple. Bullets move at roughly 2,700 feet per second. To reach you first, Spencer must have moved at 2,701.

It is not a lifetime of love of reflected in a single split second. It is a lifetime of love refracted, redirected—Love forced onto a different path the moment the bullet entered his body. Two sides of the same coin, wild violence amidst the intimacy. You see it day after day in the blood that trickles down his leg, in how his skin splits open in millimetres, in the way his body punishes itself for what his heart decided.

It is agonising to see how softly he hurts.

“I just—I’m so sorry, Spence. For this. For everything.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “do you trust me?”

Your head jerks up. You sit straighter, wiping at your nose with the sleeve of your sweater. “Yeah, of course, Spence, I—”

“Then I need you to believe me when I say this.” He shifts, taking both your hands into his. He winces slightly but doesn’t let it stop him. “This? This isn’t your fault. Not at all. I need you to know that, baby. Okay?”

You’ve never been one to hold back or stay quiet during arguments with Spencer. Especially when he’s the first to admit he’s wrong—And, being Spencer, that hardly ever happens. More than you’d like to admit, he’s usually right. But this is different.

Because Spencer is wrong. He shouldn’t have said it. But “shouldn’t” doesn’t make it untrue.

Spencer was shot. Fact.

You weren’t. Fact.

And you weren’t shot because Spencer took the bullet for you.

Fact upon fact, stacking too tall, pressing down hard, choking you out.

“But it is though,” you whisper, though it comes out as more of a cry. “Spence, if it weren’t for me—”

“Honey, there is no version of events where I would’ve ever let that bullet touch you.” He gives your hands a light squeeze. “None.”

There is an intimacy in knowing love, at its core, is a kind of violence. It is a body rashly moved by instinct before the mind catches up. It is the sacrifice of flesh before the heart has even finished deciding, of stepping into the line of fire before you’ve even realised that you’ve moved.

With his heart, mind and body—That is how violently Spencer Reid loves you.

Spencer has always been fast. Faster than the bullet meant for you. Fast to love, quicker to comfort—He presses a kiss to your cheek where the last tear falls. “I mean it when I say that there is nothing you could’ve done, or Hotch could’ve done, or the Unsub could’ve done that wouldn’t have resulted in me taking the bullet for you.”

“Well,” you start, voice still sniffly from the remnants of your tears, “the unsub could’ve just... not shot.”

Spencer blinks. For a second, he’s still caught in the weight of his emotions. Then, his lips twitch, a knowing smile breaking through as he rolls his eyes.

“Smartass.”

A small giggle bubbles out of you. You lift your joined hands to press light kisses into the spaces between his fingers, into the cracks of him that you can reach. He lets you. Spencer doesn’t remember the last time you touched him like this—Not careful, not afraid. Not like guilt kissed your fingertips before they ever touched his skin.

“Baby,” he mumbles.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Spence.”

For the first time in weeks, you’re looking at him the way you always have. Not like a martyr you never asked for, carrying the weight of a sacrifice you never wanted him to make.

For the first time in weeks, you’re looking at him like it’s just him, and it’s just you.

No bullet. No blood. Just him. Just you.

“Will you sleep in here tonight?”

You freeze. He feels it immediately.

“Spence, I—I don’t know, I don’t want to hurt—” you murmur, blinking down at your interlocked fingers.

“You won’t,” he’s quick to reassure. “I just want you next to me. The sheets don’t smell like you anymore and I never sleep well without you. I wake up, and you’re out there, and it feels wrong. I just want to hold you. Please? It’s been days.”

You’re helpless when he speaks like that. Besides, the man took a bullet for you—how could you ever say no to him again, for as long as you live?

So you nod, shifting closer, barely hesitating before crawling into bed beside him. After some readjusting, you hear Spencer exhale, feel his arm curling around you, slotting you against his side like muscle memory. For the first time in days, you let yourself be held.

His lips brush your skin as he whispers, “thank you.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ 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: savior complex by phoebe bridgers inside your mind by the 1975

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silenceofserenity · 2 days ago

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BNHA BOYS as book tropes - PART 1:

Pairing (s): bnha boys x gn! reader

↳ Includes: Midoriya, Bakugo, Todoroki, Kirishima & Kaminari

Part 2 includes: Sero, Shinsou, Shigaraki, Dabi & Hawks HERE

IZUKU MIDORIYA

↳ SLOW BURN

you and Izuku got partnered for a hero strategy project, analysing past battles and having to create counter-strategies

"if we adjust reaction time for this move we could- oh uhm, I'm talking too much again, I'm so sorry!"

he's always a little shyer with you around, fumbling over his words

the night before submission, you two were at the library studying late when he stops you

"wait... would it be okay if I... walked you back to your dorm?"

you thought that his nervousness was adorable

"sure, I'd like that."

the walk is quiet and all you can hear is the wind

"you're incredibly smart, you know?"

it caught you off guard but it felt... nice? like butterflies in your stomach

the project was now over so you two weren't expected to continue meeting up

the slow building tension lasted weeks after until you decide to finally say something

you go into the library - your safe space where you and izuku became close - looking for some form of comfort

until you see him there... looking for something? or someone?

the two of you looked at each other for a few moments

"y/n, i like you a lot!"

"i like you, izuku!"

a... mutual confession? at the same time??

"wait, what? i-i mean, i've liked you for a while but i didn't know if you-"

you cut him off, "me too!"

BAKUGO KATSUKI

↳ ACADEMIC RIVALS

you and bakugo have both been competing for the top spot in class since before you could remember

every exam, every project was a battle to see who could outdo the other

"you should just give up now. i've already won."

you take your seat next to him, rolling your eyes

"i don't give up bakugo, why would i start now?"

the whole session is intense, even though it's just a 'short 'practice' test which isn't going to make a difference to your grades

every time he saw you write something before he did, he would complain under his breath

"damnit."

suddenly you get to the last question

you don't remember learning this...

quickly glancing at bakugo to see if he's struggling too, you notice him already writing

panic seeping through, you rush to write down an answer just as bakugo stands up

you glance up from your work to see him smirking down at you

"you better hurry up, don't want to be the last one finished."

smacking your pencil on the desk and standing up with your test, you smile at him cockily

"last one finished, my ass."

you stride to the front of the class to give the teacher your test as bakugo leans on the door with a confident grin

"if you wanted to copy me so bad, you could've just asked."

you freeze, "hey! i did not copy-"

but he's already out the door, smirking at you over his shoulder

SHOTO TODOROKI

↳ FAMILY RIVALRY

you grew up being taught that the todoroki family were snobs who never had to work for what they got

so when you were partnered for a training exercise, you could imagine how awkward that went

"so do you have a strategy?"

"mhm"

you'd been trying to talk to him the whole exercise but he continued to shut it down

"right... so are you going to explain it or am i expected to just follow your lead?"

a nod. a fucking nod.

that caused you to snap, "you know, you could at least pretend that you care, or is ignoring people just a Todoroki thing?"

he froze.

slowly he turned to look up at you, "you think i'm ignoring you?"

you opened your mouth to answer but he cut in

"look, i already know how this works. you hate my family, so you've already made your mind up about me." his gaze sharpened, "so why should i bother to change your opinion?"

the question had caught you off guard because honestly, truth be told, you didn't really hate him, you were just taught to

"todoroki-"

"shoto." his voice was softer now, "i know what my family has done to yours, but i'm not like them. so please... call me shoto."

EJIRO KIRISHIMA

↳ MUTUAL PINING

you and kirishima have been friends for ages, always side-by-side - training or hanging out

but recently you can't help but think something feels different?

the way he looks at you a little longer, or how your heart flutters when you see him smile

everyone can see it - except you two

"you two are practically dating already!" mina teases

"no way! we're just friends!"

but the awkward silence and mutual look after says otherwise

kirishima begins using training together as a subtle (or not so subtle) way to show off his strength

"I bet you can't beat me, y/n!"

"well, i don't lose, Ejiro so bring it on!"

after that particularly tough spar the two of you collapse on the grass smiling, looking up at the stars

you see his heard turn, like he's about to say something but he pauses

you notice and decide to say something first

"do you ever feel like... we're waiting for something to happen but don't know what it is you're waiting for?

he swallows hard, "yeah. all the time."

another wave of silence

"y/n, i think we both know what it is we're waiting for."

before you can answer, he leans in as his lips gently brush yours and for once, this is what feels right.

DENKI KAMINARI

↳ ONE BED TROPE

it was a school trip / training camp and somehow the two of you got partnered up

he was so excited about sharing a room with you that he begged for you to let him pick which one to stay in and for some stupid reason, you said 'okay'

before you two got to the room, he was making jokes about how you should just sleep in his bed

he opens the door for you to look around, clearly pleased with his choice

you step into the room and immediately freeze. one bed.

"are you kidding me? what is this? you didn't think to ask for two beds?"

"huh? wait what... oh damn. that's crazy. I definitely asked for two, must've been an accident."

"an accident?!"

he just grins and flops onto the bed, spreading out like he owns it

"well, i guess that means we have to cuddle now, huh?"

dumbfounded, you threaten to sleep on the floor but he pouts dramatically until you give in.

when the lights go off, he's quiet for a bit until you feel a shift behind you

"you cold?" he says in a way where it almost sounds like he's trying to make you believe you are

"denki-"

before you can answer he throws an arm around you and shushes you, mumbling your name sleepily

"shh y/n, we can talk about how stupid this is in the morning, for now, this is okay. please?"

#fluff #my hero academia #mha x reader #bnha #bnha boys #mha boys #anime x reader #booktropes #izuku midoriya #bnha deku #ejiro kirishima #katsuki bakugo #denki kaminari #shoto todoroki #oneshot #bnha bookstropes #sfw #fanfics

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kimmryokoo · 2 days ago

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The filming - bruce wayne

author: kim ryoko

ao3

masterlist

summary: after your fisrt date with bruce, he leaves you at you place and goes on to become his night time persona - the batman. while on patrol, he goes through your street and ends up seeing you touch yourself. after he arrives at the cave, bruce rewathced the filmimg he had of the night and jerks off to you.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: spying, jerking off (m and f), smut, wet thoughts, mentios of robbery and violent city

author's note: english isn't my first language, so i'm sorry for any grammar mistakes, feel free to correct me. i'm sorry it took me so long to upload again, i've been really busy but i'm trying to arrange a couple of minutes to writing every day so that i can release more stories for you guys!

You and Bruce had your first date tonight.

The date had already ended and Bruce was dropping you off when he started feeling really nervous about how you felt about the date. Was it too much? Was it too little? He wanted it to be perfect and he truly tried his best for it to be.

You had been working for Bruce for almost a year now and Bruce fell for you almost instantly, even though he didn’t show it.

Once he arrived at your place, he rushed out of the car and ran a bit to open your car door and help you out. You looked even more gorgeous than you usually look and Bruce made sure he complimented you every 10 minutes so that you knew how beautiful you looked. The first time he saw you with that dress, he felt his heart swell and then proceed to melt by the rays of sunshine you were emitting from your eyes and smile - brighter than ever.

It’s been a while since Bruce has had a crush on someone but he sure didn’t recall it to be this bad.

Another reason for him to want everything to go smoothly. He wanted you to feel the same thing he does every time he looks at you.

He walked you to the door with your arm linked in his and you talking passionately about how the food was amazing and the place was beautiful.

“It doesn’t compare to your beauty.” Bruce said in a natural, flirtatious tone but you could see in his eyes that he was serious.

“Aww! And you don’t look too shabby yourself, Mr. Wayne.”

“Bruce. And thank you.” he said while laughing and the sound of yours quickly joined him.

“Bruce.” you said and Bruce swore his little crush on you got ten times bigger. You turned to face him and he did the same “Well, this is it.”.

You both looked at each other’s eyes, feeling lost in the beautiful color that made all of your thoughts go away and your faces slowly started to get closer. Your gazes were now alternating between the other’s eyes and lips. You put yourself on your tiptoes to finally kiss him. The kiss was soft but all the feelings you’ve accumulated for each other were poured into that sweet moment. The second you pulled away, you felt his hand wrap around your waist and pull you close to another kiss. This one was a bit rougher but still delicate.

Bruce’s head was spinning from excitement. He finally, finally kissed you.

Once you said your goodbyes and Bruce watched you walk inside and heard you lock the door, we went home to change into his night persona - The Batman.

He was almost done with patrol when he heard through the police radio that your street had a couple of assaults.

Bruce felt his heart clench with worries and decided to start his patrol in your street.

He walked through that street for the second time tonight but this time, he was on top of the buildings, watching everything carefully, making sure you were safe. Even with ten minutes of just staring at the street, his worries weren’t gone so he decided to use his binoculars to see if you were okay.

He positioned himself so he had a clear view of your living room and it definitely didn’t help his anxious heart the fact that you were nowhere to be seen. Your kitchen and living room were together and there was only one more window for him to spy you on. Your bedroom.

He took a step to his left and was left in awe with the sight.

You were laid down in your bed with a layer of sweat covering your body, making your hair cling to your forehead, nipples hard under your thin - very thin - pink, lacy tank top, legs wide opened directly to the window so Bruce could see the way your wet pussy was clenching around your small fingers.

He felt himself growing harder against the restraints of his underwear and he mentally thanked himself for asking Fox for better binoculars last week.

Bruce then remembered that he had installed some wiretapping around your house once he knew you lived in one of the most dangerous parts of Gotham. He quickly connected his earbud to the wiretapping had put in your room and was blessed with the sound of your sweet moaning right to his ear.

He felt his blood quicken and travel most to his now throbbing length and, just as he thought he couldn’t get any harder, he heard his name coming out of your perfect, red, plump lips.

“Bruce…” you moaned “Mhmm, please…”

He swears he could cum in his pants by how good you sound.

Bruce palmed his bulge and started rubbing it, letting low grunts fall from his soft lips. He couldn’t help it. Bruce felt like a creepy perv but he really couldn’t help it when you were touching yourself while moaning his name.

He could stay like this forever: you moaning, calling out for him right at his ear while you bury your fingers deep in your cunt.

But, like all good things, it has to come to an end. His connection with your room was cut off with a police officer calling for backup for a robbery happening two streets down from yours.

Bruce sighs and thinks whether or not it was important enough to leave this view all alone.

Against all his will, Bruce ends up pulling himself back up and goes help innocent people after a couple more seconds of staring at you and countless debates of what was better for him - ignore the call and burst into your house and fuck you like you deserve - or what was better for the city - go help with the robbery. But Bruce was never a man who puts himself first and goes to the street where the robbery took place, ready to do something that took you open to him like that, so vulnerable, out of his mind that his priority was helping the city and not stick his hard cock somewhere - preferably inside you.

He really needs to get you out of his head.

Bruce, or even better, Batman, helped catch the thief that stole from one of the best jewelry stores in all Gotham and ended up also helping in the police station with a couple of cases that he ended up taking home to try and find more clues out.

Once he drives into the cave with his bat-mobile and exits it, walking towards the big desk with an even bigger computer in front of him, sits down and takes off his mask, he takes his hands to his face, trying, and failing, to rub off his tiredness, even if it’s only a little.

Bruce then takes off his contact lens and puts it on its sensor, letting him relive the night.

He watches as he stops some want-to-be bad guys from doing stupid stuff and not long after he is met with the memory he tried so hard to forget throughout the night - you.

He sees again the way your body trembled with every throb your little fingers gave you, the way your body is covered in sweat, the way your nipples are hard underneath your tank top, and, most of all, the way your moans now echo through the walls of the bat-cave.

Fuck, he’s hard again.

As Bruce continues to watch you touching yourself, he begins to feel the need to do something about his erection. Bruce slowly palms his bulge and rubs it with enough pressure to make him groan.

It doesn’t take long for his groans and grunts to mix with the sound of your moans, creating a harmony that echoed through the walls of the cafe.

Bruce was getting more worked up by the second so he quickly pulled his pants down enough for his member to swing out, slamming against his abdomen. The tip was red and swollen and leaking with pre-cum from all the teasing he did himself. Bruce started stroking his length slowly and with a tight grip, worsening the sounds that fell from his mouth. He closed his eyes, not being able to keep them open with the amount of pleasure that was going through his body. As Bruce continued to listen to your pathetic moans, he started imagining all the positions he would take you in - on all fours so he could see your ass bounce with each thrust, with your ankles on his shoulders, with you on his lap making your tits jiggle, your legs wrapped around his torso, your thighs squishing his head…

Oh, and the way he would make you moan, the way he would claim you - make you his. He would make sure that once he got you, he would never let you leave.

As the toughs went trough his head, his hand quickened it’s pace as Bruce started responding to your moans as if you where really there and he was fucking you dumb.

“Ughh, Bruce…”

“That’s it, sweetheart. Call out my name.”

“Please…”

“Oh god, look at you; so worked up, so pretty, so fucking perfect.”

Bruce felt himself getting closer and he was sure that no one who saw him right now - touching himself like a horny teenager while watching a tape he filmed of a girl younger than him touching herself like a perv - would believe he was actually Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s billionaire playboy.

Bruce opened his eyes slightly and he looked at you again. He saw as your face contorted with the small amount of pleasure your fingers could give you and something in him snapped. He wasn’t sure what it was but it made him go feral with desire for you.

The grip he had on his cock worsened and his hips started bulking up to match each thrust his hand gave his member.

In a matter of seconds, the knot Bruce had on his lower abdomen came undone, releasing his cum all over his suit and even splashing some to his face and the desk in front of him.

He looked at the monitor again and he found your picture missing and he was now helping the cops.

God, how much Bruce wanted to see you again. He wanted to pull you into his embrace and cuddle you until the next day, only waking up when the afternoon sun hit his face and still being able to open his eyes to appreciate your body right there, next to him. God how much he wanted that.

But instead, Bruce worked until late - like always - and went to work at Wayne Enterprises early so that he could see you as soon as possible.

Hope you liked it!

xoxo, kim ryoko

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aevellewritessometimes · 1 day ago

Text

Recently I learned that most foxes mate for life, and this has led me forming an idea for a potential conflict during Vere's route:

Now, obviously, Vere is at least somewhat similar but still very different from actual foxes. For one, he clearly hasn't stuck to one sexual partner for his whole life. But foxes are canines, so it's not like mating for life is entirely about sex for them and there's an emotional aspect as well (I think. Don't look at me, I'm not a fox expert).

Now, back to Vere: the blurb on his flower lore post thing very vaguely implied that he was betrayed by an ex-lover, and when he talks to MC in the Wick during the demo, he comments on how he can tell MC was betrayed and that he could understand them because of it.

(I could just be wrong and/or Vere could've just been lying, but for the sake of this we're just going to ignore both of those factors)

When foxes - particularly the male ones - lose their mate, they usually don't move on from that and instead stay alone for the rest of their life.

So, here's what I'm thinking: because of Vere's hypothetical ex-lover, it's going to be very difficult for him to fall in love with MC. Sure, whether or not MC can trust him is probably going to be a big, defining question/plotline for his route, but I feel like whether or not Vere can trust MC might be a big one as well.

This leads me to have a few ideas for at least three different potential endings on his route:

Neutral Ending: Vere is free and MC is cured, but he doesn't fall in love with them and they just part ways after everything is said and done. You could add extra angst by saying that MC fell in love with Vere, but that isn't necessarily required to happen for this ending.

Bad Ending: MC betrays Vere and now Vere really isn't going to fall in love ever again and instead just goes back to his routine of one-night-stands and (very rare occasions of) FWBs

Bittersweet Ending: Vere is freed, MC is cured, and Vere eventually manages to fall in love with MC and vice-versa. But MC is, as far as we know, mortal. Vere is, as far as we know, immortal. Eventually, MC will die, but Vere will (most likely) live on for a long, long time after. And it's MC's death that actually leads to him never being able to fall in love again. Sure, he might eventually go back to sleeping around. Maybe he'll even end up with a new FWB. Or two, fuck it. But he'll never actually fall in love with someone ever again.

And of course, since I'm suddenly feeling creative when my brain is too tired to notice how many typos I probably have here (and/or if what I'm writing is actually coherent), I also have three "I don't think it'll actually happen but it's fun to think about" ideas:

Ending where Vere figures out a way to turn MC immortal and they live happily ever after forever. Is it a "Serial Killer x Serial Killer" thing? Is it a "Serial Killer Partner x Sunshine Partner Who Makes Dinner For Them After Their Long Day Of Murdering" thing? Is it a "Serial Killer Partner x Exasperated Partner Who Complains About Them Getting Blood On The Carpet" thing? Or maybe being with MC somehow caused Vere to develop a moral code, leading to there being much less murdering going on? Or hell, maybe it's something else entirely. Who knows and who cares, because either way, they're happy!

Even less likely ending where Vere turns mortal. There's an epilogue where you can watch Vere struggle with the fact that he actually has a time limit to do stuff now, but he guesses he can put up with it, as long as MC stays by his side. Not that he says that out loud. Sure, eventually, one of them will die first, but the one to die second might find comfort in the fact that they'll be together again soon enough (depending on how the afterlife works). (also everything from the previous scenario could apply to this one as well)

Reincarnation AU where Vere's hypothetical ex doesn't exist but he's been falling in love with MC in each and every life they live. Actually I have a lot of ideas for this one so let me get back to y'all on this note.

And that's pretty much it. For now. Also, apparently foxes are very loud during sex and they're horniest during the winter months so do what you'd like with that knowledge.

#touchstarved game #touchstarved theory #vere #touchstarved vere #vere touchstarved #should I tag this as vere x reader?

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mentalmeles · 2 days ago

Text

Memory of a Kiss

Pairing: Stucky (Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes)

Word count: 2.5k

......We all knew it was a matter of time before I did this.

I can't write multi chapter stuff, but I can write small one shots, so!! Have this short one shot of Bucky regaining a memory while recovering under Steve's care.

When does this take place? Who's to say? I don't know and it doesn't matter. Regardless, please enjoy my silly lil thoughts about these two old men uwu

--------------------------------------------------------

“We…” Bucky begins, his brows knitted in concentration. “We used to k-k-k-kiss.”

He doesn’t say it like a question, but Bucky’s eyes are big and curious. Suddenly, there’s a lump in Steve’s throat and he has to blink several times to stop the burning sensation building in his eyes. Taking a shaky breath, he nods.

“Y-Yeah. Yeah, Buck. We did.”

Bucky had recently began to regain some of his memories from before. It’s still slow going, but Steve can see him fighting so hard every day for the chance to remember something—anything from the years Hydra took from him. Most days it’s hard, leaving Bucky even more disoriented and confused than usual at best or screaming his throat raw for hours and hours at worst. And this is all on top of everything else he has to deal with.

He can’t talk much, his sentences short and decorated with a stutter that simply refuses to leave. He has tremors, trouble sleeping and eating, and is extremely paranoid. Steve still doesn’t know how he does it, but he swears that Bucky always has at least one or two knives on his person at all times. And, of course, there was also that time last week when Bucky suddenly had a seizure when they tried to watch a movie together. Despite everything he’s seen and done up till now, Steve had never been so scared in his entire life.

Thankfully, however, this memory recall seems to be anything but bad. Bucky’s eyes are clear and lucid. His posture is open and he looks calm, if not a bit timid. Still, Steve had somehow never braced himself for Bucky remembering...well. Them.

Clearing his throat, he tries his best to explain. “We, uh… We first started doing stuff like that when we were kids. It was nice for a while, but you ended up calling it off. There was some...unwanted attention and you didn’t want to put me at risk like that. Then, when the war came, we started it back up. Neither of us really talked about it. It just kind of happened. We never got around to giving what we had a name, though. We got close, but...” Steve pauses then, memories of the unforgiving cold and the sound of a train suddenly flashing through his mind. “...We got close.”

Bucky seems to consider this, his eyes focusing on the dresser just behind Steve. Both of them stay like that for a moment, memories of their past lives quietly replaying between them. The quiet is then broken when Bucky looks back at Steve.

“Can we… Can we kiss now?”

Steve lightly gasps at that, his heart skipping a beat or two. Despite how long it’s been since Steve took Bucky in, they haven’t done anything like that yet. It’d be their first kiss since the war.

Since the day Bucky fell.

Steve is unable to stop the tears from gathering in his eyes this time as he nods. “Yeah. Sure we can.”

Bucky nods, setting his jaw and becoming mission focused. Steve remains where he is, letting Bucky take the lead. Slowly, Bucky closes the gap between them. He reaches out, brushing his fingers along Steve’s forearm uncertainly. His eyes flicker up to meet Steve’s, as if asking for permission. Steve nods and takes Bucky’s hand into his own, rubbing gentle circles into the back of it. Soon enough, they’re so close that their chests are nearly touching. Steve’s breath quickens, matching the pounding of his heart. If it beat any harder, he was certain it would burst. Bucky’s breathing becomes faster as well and he almost seems like he’s going to change his mind about the whole thing, before he closes his eyes and meets Steve’s lips with his.

The kiss is slow and careful, Bucky’s lips barely brushing against Steve’s before he quickly pulls away. Steve remains still and silent, watching as a conflict flickers upon Bucky’s face. After a short moment, the light in Bucky’s eyes dims and his expression becomes vacant. Vaguely, Steve wonders if Bucky is going to lash out, but he immediately scolds himself for it. If the Soldier wants to make an appearance, Steve will handle it. But, until that happens, he’s going to put his trust in Bucky.

So, he patiently waits. Bucky continues to stare at him, his body as rigid as a statue, before he suddenly turns on his heel and goes straight to the window. Without a word, he opens it and crawls right out, leaving Steve standing in the middle of his bedroom alone. Unexpectedly, the sight of it brings forth another memory.

Bucky had shown up one night while Steve’s ma was working, waking him up by knocking on his window from the fire escape. Once he’d turned on the light and let him inside, it didn’t take Steve long to realize that Bucky was drunk. It was a while before he got the story out of him, but Bucky finally told Steve that he got stood up by his date. So, his seventeen year old mind had told him the solution to his wounded feelings was to simply drink them away. At least, that was before he realized that his mother would kill him for coming home in such a state.

“Just until the morning, Stevie. Let me sleep this off and then I’ll get outta your hair.”

“Sure, Buck. But you’re drinking some water first.”

As Steve got him a glass, Bucky all but fell onto his bed and began to mumble things the blond couldn’t make out. By the time he’d returned to Bucky, he found him with his arm draped over his eyes, as if he was trying to block everything out. He gently nudged his arm with the glass.

“Here, ace. This’ll help.”

Instead of taking the water, however, Bucky just kept on mumbling his thoughts out loud. “I just don’t get it,” he slurred. “I try and I try and yet I can’t get it right. Can’t get nothin’ right. ‘M not good at this, Stevie. ‘M not good at any of this.”

Steve felt his lips form a line. He’d never heard Bucky talking about himself like that before. His friend had always seemed so confident and carefree. He was every Brooklyn girl’s dream guy, after all, and there was no mystery as to why that was. Bucky was kind, polite, and treated every girl he went out with like they were worth a million bucks. So, when Steve heard him say that he wasn’t good at any of it, it threw him for a bit of a loop.

“C’mon, Buck. Don’t talk like that. It’s just one bad date, that’s all.”

Steve then spared a moment to think how funny it was that he was the one giving dating advice. As if he had any idea what he was talking about. Oh, sure, he’d been on dates before, but none of them had ended well. For one thing, they were all double dates that Bucky had set up, so Steve always ended up being an unfortunate surprise to the second girl. He was a poor consolation prize in comparison to Bucky and everyone knew it. And then there was the fact that he hadn’t liked any of those girls himself.

For, despite all of his attempts, Steve had always had eyes for one person in his life…

Steve’s thoughts were then interrupted by Bucky shaking his head fitfully. “Not jus’ one. None of ‘em were right. Felt so wrong, every single one.”

Now that was just crazy talk. Bucky always gushed to Steve about how well his dates went. The alcohol must’ve been getting to him more than Steve realized.

“I think you’re getting your thoughts mixed up, pal.”

But Bucky had simply shook his head again. “No, ‘m not. Those dames don’t compare…don’t compare to you.”

That was when Steve had immediately froze. For a moment, he’d been sure his heart had stopped. Of all the things he’d expected Bucky to say, that hadn’t been one of them. He opened his mouth to speak, but it felt like his tongue had been replaced with cotton.

“What?” He heard himself say.

Bucky then removed his arm from his eyes and stared at Steve. Despite the flush of his cheeks and his slurred speech, his eyes seemed clear and focused.

“Said none of em compare to you. You always…” Bucky then trailed off, seemingly losing his words. Instead, he slowly sat up and took one of Steve’s hands into his own. Steve said nothing and allowed it to happen.

“You always making me lose my damn mind,” Bucky finished, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the back of Steve’s hand all the while.

“You—“ Steve swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “You mean it?”

“Want me to prove it?”

Bucky’s voice had dropped a bit and Steve suddenly realized that his friend’s eyes were drifting down to his lips. Steve licked them and tried to remember how to breathe. Before he could chicken out, he’d simply nodded.

“Yeah.”

Then, like a dream, Bucky raised his hand and tenderly cupped the side of Steve’s face. Steve had felt his heart beating hard in his chest as it roared in his ears. His eyes kept flicking down to Bucky’s lips as they drew closer and closer. And then finally, wonderfully, they kissed.

In that moment, the stars could’ve fallen from the sky and shattered Brooklyn to bits and it wouldn’t have mattered. To Steve, that moment was more precious than anyone or anything else in the world, let alone the stars. It was gentle and sweet and his insides felt like warm honey. Bucky’s strong arms had moved to wrap around him fully and Steve had never felt more secure.

“Buck…” Steve gasped once they stopped to breathe.

Bucky was smiling so big he was nearly squinting, his cheeks dusted with a rosy color. “Wanted to do that for so long…” He laughed.

They kissed again and again, laughing and smiling all the while. It was like a little piece of heaven had been created, right there in Steve’s tiny bedroom. Although he’d never drank in his life, he figured this is what it must’ve felt like to get drunk. He’d have to ask Bucky when he sobered up, he vaguely thought.

The glorious moment was then shattered by the sound of the front door being unlocked. Steve’s heart had instantly plummeted to his stomach.

His ma.

Whipping his head back to Bucky, he saw his own panic mirrored on his face. Immediately, the two had scrambled away from each other. Bucky then made a beeline for the window and, without sparing a glance back towards Steve, crawled right out onto the fire escape. Steve managed to shut it just as his ma walked in.

“Steven?” She called softly, surely noticing that his light was still on. “You still awake, love?”

Desperately trying his best to seem as normal as possible, Steve had stepped out into the living room to greet her. She looked tired, like she always did at the end of a long shift, but she didn’t seem to notice anything different about him. Instead, she closed the distance between them and, after brushing his hair away from his face, gave him a kiss on his forehead in greeting, just like always.

“What are you doing up? Are you feeling alright?” She asked gently, placing the back of her hand on both cheeks.

“I’m fine, ma. Just couldn’t sleep, is all.” He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

She then gave him one of her signature looks. The one that lovingly said ‘what am I going to do with you?’ “You better try,” she said. “It’s late. I don’t want you to get sick again.”

Steve nodded, grateful for the opportunity to slip away.

As he laid awake in bed that night, Steve kept replaying that moment he and Bucky had shared over and over again in his mind. Part of him vaguely wondered if it had been a dream. It certainly felt like a dream, one that had been plucked from his own mind and given life. He tentatively ran his fingertips over his lips, still tasting the remnants of alcohol and Bucky on them. No, it certainly hadn’t been a dream.

Before he finally drifted off, Steve suddenly couldn’t help but chuckle. Confident and carefree Bucky Barnes must’ve been really spooked to have escaped out Steve’s window the way he did. He should’ve known better than anyone that, after all these years, Steve’s ma wouldn’t have suspected a thing about him being over that late.

The memory is what probably stops Steve from feeling rejected or upset at Bucky’s sudden departure. If anything, it does the opposite. His face is warm and he can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face.

After that night so many years ago, it had taken Bucky a day or two to show his face to Steve again. As Steve had suspected, he’d been so embarrassed that his ma had walked in, but he’d also been scared. He said that he’d been worried their kiss would turn out to be nothing but a figment of his drunken mind.

Now, Bucky has a lot more to worry about than having one too many drinks when it comes to memory displacement. He’s not sure when Bucky will return, but he’s certain that he will. So, Steve decides to wait for him.

It turns out he doesn’t have to wait very long.

Bucky returns that very night, crawling through the same window he left through and just as silent. The sight of him makes Steve immediately put away the book he was reading.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greets, sitting up.

Bucky says nothing, but gives a small nod.

“You feeling okay?”

“Y-Y-Y-Yes,” he says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to leave like that.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, no. It’s okay. I understand.”

Bucky nods again and silence befalls the pair once more. A short moment passes before Steve shuffles a bit so that there’s room on the bed beside him. He gently pats the space, inviting Bucky to sit with him. For a bit it seems like Bucky is going to decline, but then he wordlessly walks over to the bed and joins him. They sit together for a few minutes, the silence still present, but companionable.

“Was it...okay?” Bucky whispers.

“Yes,” Steve answers quickly. “It was definitely okay. Did you like it? How did it make you feel?”

“M-M-Made me feel...good. I liked it.”

Steve swells with warmth at that and he feels his smile creeping back upon his lips. “That’s great, Buck.” He pauses before continuing. “But you know you don’t have to push yourself just for my sake. I’m okay with taking things slow.”

Bucky inhales and exhales softly. “I know. Just… Want to remember. Want to f-f-f-feel good again.”

“I know,” Steve says, feeling so unbearably fond. “And you will.”

“Promise?” Bucky whispers and Steve is surprised to feel his fingers lightly brush against his.

He smiles fully then and gently interlocks his pinky with Bucky’s. Bucky looks down at them, looking a little surprised. He doesn’t pull away though, instead looking up at Steve with that curious flicker in his eyes. There’s something else in his eyes too and, with a sense of joy, Steve realizes it’s love. Tentative and small, but there.

“I promise,” Steve whispers back.

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daisyjonesgf · 2 days ago

Text

10 things I hate about you // finnick odair x f. reader

masterlist

9k words

summary: you're so used to pushing everyone away to protect yourself that when someone really does try to know you, you can't help but push back, even if you slowly realize how good it feels to be seen, there's always a catch. a 10 things I hate about you college au.

warnings: college au, implied mental health and depression problems, mentions of past cheating exes, mentions of drunk videos, angst, happy ending, mostly fluff, reader if kind of mean, ungodly amount of references to the bell jar, lots of analysis of a book and a sonnet, language, mentions of vomit and hangovers, my bad poetry and the og 10tiau poem, frat president!finnick but he's still sweet, reader thinks it's enemies to lovers, finnick think it's unrequited love, peeta is also in the same frat as finnick, panic attack, no use of y/n, unedited

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The moment you walk into the classroom you make a beeline for the front corner, still in front enough that you can raise your hand, engage with the teacher to make the most of the class, but enough out of the way that other people will leave you alone. Not that most people would bother you anymore anyways, you were far off enough into major specific classes that everyone knew everyone by now, and your reputation preceded you. Anyways it’s already preps for midterms and no one has bothered you before, at least by sitting next to you, which is why you’re so shocked when the unpacking of your notebook from your bag is interrupted by someone who does.

“What are you doing?” You ask, tone already harsh, as stare at him incredulously.

“Sorry, is this seat taken? It looked empty.” He says with a smile that can’t help but seem sarcastic since you both know it never has been. The ‘he’ in question being the last person in the class you’d want to sit by you in the first place, Finnick Odair. President of some frat, they’re all the same anyways, he’s the type of guy who always made all the girls swoon, you remembered not being immune to it yourself during your party and sorority days. Most importantly though, not someone you want to talk to if you were to talk to someone. He knows he’s charming, knows he has power over women, probably uses that to make them do his homework, and that’s the most dangerous type of man.

So you refuse to gratify him with a response, instead just giving him a glare before going back to getting your notebook on the table. Making sure you’ve got your favorite pens and highlighters, your annotated copy of the book of poems the class has been analyzing recently, Shakespearean sonnets. “Have you done this week's readings yet?” He asks, and when you glance at him annoyed before silently looking back at your desks he just continues, “I started them, I really enjoyed Sonnet 147, you know, ‘My love is as a fever, longing still-’”

“Why are you talking to me?�� You finally turn your head to finally look at him.

“What are people not allowed to talk to you?”

“Not you.”

“Can I see that in writing?”

“Fuck off.” You smile at him sarcastically, angrily. Before he can say anything he’s cut off by the professor opening up the class, and you look forward, trying to ignore the sight of him in your peripheral vision.

“Some people would argue that Shakespeares’ work is outdated, that we should leave it behind to focus on newer topics, that we’ve pumped everything we can out of his writing. Yet, we keep teaching it, Shakespeare seems to fill a void in our culture that no one else has.” You raise your hand and the teacher calls on you, even if there’s the smallest eyeroll.

“Those people would be right, Shakespeare doesn’t teach us anything that other poets who are rarely in the syllabus, and what can he say that a woman couldn’t? Maya Angelou, Christina Rossetti, Sylvia Plath, Phillis Wheatley Peters, but the syllabus is always Shakespeare, and Poe, and Robert Frost. They’re all good, but what’s the point of always harping on about them when there are just as talented female poets who we rarely get to read about unless it’s Women’s History Month.”

Then the most grating voice is the one opposing you first, “I think you’re wrong.” Finnick is turning straight towards you, not even bothering to act like it’s not a personal debate. “Not about us needing more women authors in the syllabus, but just because there’s a lack of the group doesn’t mean we still can’t be taught something from authors like Shakespeare. Maya Angelou isn’t writing the same poetry that Shakespeare is, they’re different, we can have both.”

Before you can interject the instructor is speaking again and Finnick is giving you a small smile and shrug, “Excellent point, Finnick, perfect segue for talking about midterms. In order to understand the importance of Shakespeare, I’m going to ask you all to take at least three of Shakespare’s sonnets and use them as a template to write your own story. Make it modern, make it real, but apply the sonnets to your life. It doesn’t have to be life changing, I just need to know that you can understand how these poems can relate to our lives, that you can make connections. You don’t have to use the same language, you’re not translating them, it just needs to have the same core ideas. I’ll post the rest of the details, but you do get extra credit if you read one of them. We’re out a early so you can get started, but I’ll see you guys Monday.”

Apparently Finnick Odair, for all his talents, lacks the ability to read social cues because he’s speaking to you again as you pack up. “So, what sonnets do you think you’ll do?” You take a deep breath as you zip up your bag.

“Let me rephrase what I said earlier because I’m realizing frat guys have beer for brains. Don’t talk to me.” He really must have beer in there because he’s speaking again the moment you go to move around him.

“Ouch, are you usually this cold to everyone?”

“Are you usually this much of a dick to everyone?”

“Sadly, yes.”God you hate him.

“Why are you even in this class, don’t you have a finance class to take?”

“It’s marine biology and this class is for my minor. I don’t think I’ve ever taken a finance class, why do you think I should? Is there something I’m missing out on?”

“Oh, does being an English minor give you extra points with the girls who think it makes you a romantic?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“Very funny.” You finally push your way past him to walk out of the now empty classroom, but despite being brainless he’s annoyingly persistent.

“I just wanted an excuse to take as many poetry classes as possible, I love it, but my advisor said it’ll look good anyways for writing research papers.”

“Why are you still talking to me?” You say while you keep walking, hoping the door you didn’t hold will hit him in the face.

“You’re still talking to me.” You can hear the smirk in his voice and so you don’t give him a response, he catches up with you as you turn a corner. “Go out with me.”

You look at him, feeling yourself burning with rage, “Do you usually just order women to go out with you?”

“Sorry, will you go out with me?”

“No!” You say instantly, stopping in your path to stand in the hall, “You are all so entitled, I’m not going to play into your sick system of seeing who you can fuck, ‘Oh, I got the bitchy ex-sorority girl in my bed’, fuck you.” Then you’re moving as fast as you can again.

“That’s not what I’m saying!” He’s calling back after you, “Oh my god.” Finnick mutters underneath his breath, at least he’d been able to hold a conversation with you. It was a start.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenburgs-” You’re perusing the shelves at your local library to fill your basket when the last voice you want to hear is ruining your peace.

“Are you stalking me?” You ask, turning to him to find him holding the copy of The Bell Jar that had been sitting in your basket.

“Wait, one second.” He puts a finger up as he looks around, exaggerating the movements of his head, “Yep, just like I thought, this is a public library.”

“Astute observation.” You say as you grab the book back from his hand, as you pick up the basket of books to move further down the shelf.

“Means a lot, coming from you.” Finnick says following behind your every step and you roll your eyes. “I would’ve assumed you’d have already read The Bell Jar by now.”

“I have, I’m rereading it.” You stop in front of the next section, keeping the basket on your arm this time as to keep it safe from him, you didn’t need his hands all over them, who knows where they’d been.

“If it’s your favorite then why don’t you buy it?” He asks, leaning on one of the shelves, watching you scan the shelves, but you face him instead, not leaning on the shelves.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed outside of your rich boy, fraternity bubble, but most of us are normal college students, and can barely afford to survive, so no, I haven’t bought it.” He opens his mouth, but you don’t even give him the chance to exhale, “Also, who said it was my favorite? Just because I like one thing it has to be my favorite?”

Finnick’s laugh is breathy as he looks to the side and then back at you, shaking his head, “Okay, what’s your favorite then?” You don’t want to admit that he’s right, that he read you on that one, so you huff and turn around, moving further down the shelf. “Noted.”

You can’t help yourself, but immediately whip back around to face him fully, “What does that mean?”

He puts his hands up defensively, laughing, finally standing up fully instead of leaning on the bookshelf like some sort of asshole, “Nothing, I just-”

“You just what? You don’t know me, and I don’t want you to, so stop acting like you do!” You say it louder than you intend to and can feel people looking at you, breathing heavy from the outburst as you both just stand there in silence for what feels like an eternity.

“You usually have to be quiet in a library, you know.” He whispers with a smile, and you shut your eyes in frustration, but catch yourself almost smiling too. “Do you reserve this level of iciness for anyone who talks to you unprompted, or am I just special?”

Despite your better judgment you feel the tension leaving your body with an exhale, “What are you doing here?”

“Reading.” Finnick says, picking up the closest book and flipping through it, “Interesting stuff in here, apparently whoever James is, he’s a real cad.” He smiles, putting the book back in its place.

The smallest laugh forces itself out of the confines of your lips and you purse them back together, “I’m not going to go out with you, stalking me definitely lessens your chances.” Words that are usually so hard are unintentionally coming out just the tiniest bit softer and you despise it.

“So I had a chance then?” God, he’s so cocky, you wish your glare could burn holes of fire into his head.

“No, you’re in the negatives now.” Why is your voice still softer than it should be?

“There you are, are you ready to go?” Johanna’s voice cuts through the tension of annoyance between you and Finnick, her and Katniss both coming into view. “Oh, hey Finnick. I didn’t know you could read.” Thank god, she’s making up for whatever sharpness you’d been losing.

“Just a little bit.” Finnick lifts his fingers to show the tiniest gap between two of his fingertips, his skin has this golden tan that makes him seem almost angelic if you pay too much attention to it, he’s the devil in disguise.

“I’m gonna go check this stuff out.” You say, facing Johanna and Katniss.

“We’ll be just one second.” Johanna says, and you give her a look, why would she want to talk to Finnick? Why would Katniss want to talk to him? But the look she gives you has you moving on.

“See you around.” Finnick says, giving a small wave as you pass and you glare at him. His toothy grin makes you want to grin and at the same time it makes your blood boil, why won’t he just leave you alone? You try to push the thoughts out of your head, the thoughts of him, and the thoughts of them even wanting to talk to him. Focusing on just getting the books and hoping they were done quickly so you could get as far away from them as possible.

“Okay, you ready?”Johanna’s voice is pulling you back into reality from the same thoughts you’d been trying not to focus on.

“Yeah, let’s go.” You now have an armful of books as you make your way back to Johanna’s car, “What’d you guys need to talk to him about?”

“Um, it was nothing.” Katniss says, and it’s so obviously a lie, she’s been a terrible liar as long as you’ve known her.

“Katniss was nervous to talk to him about something Peeta related, some frat thing. It’s stupid.” Johanna butts in, obviously trying to cover for Katniss.

“Yeah, I don’t really wanna talk about it.” Both of them lying to you should push you over the edge, get you to snap at them, but they’ve been with you through so much that your anger is lessened. “Just some things at their house, Peeta and I were going to break up.” Her voice is kind of disjointed, forcing itself to seem normal. Bad liar, your voice is screaming.

“Why didn’t you go with Peeta then?” You question, as you’re getting into the backseat of the car.

“Look, they were going to and then Finnick just happened to be in the library, so she talked to him about it then, okay?” Johanna’s voice is slightly raised as she clicks her seatbelt in.

“I just don’t know why you’re both suddenly being so secretive!” You finally say, you despise being left in the dark.

“It has to do with frat house stuff we know you didn’t want to hear about, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever.” You huff, sitting back in the seat, she’s probably right, but it bothers you anyways. “Peeta’s the only nice one out of them, and if he was perfect, he wouldn’t be in a frat in the first place.”

“See, she doesn’t mind him, he should just be allowed to come over, and then this wouldn’t be an issue.” Katniss’ voice is also now slightly raised although you’re not sure why, usually she’s annoyed but in a quiet way.

“No boys at the apartment, you know the rules.” Johanna sends her some sort of knowing glance, before fully pulling out of the parking lot, “Where do you guys wanna get lunch?”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“When you read it over and over again is it because you view yourself as Esther, or is it because you view yourself in the way Plath reflects herself onto Esther?” That infuriating, honey dripped voice is back at the start of the next class.

“What?” You ask, looking at him, clearly puzzled.

“ In The Bell Jar.”

“Yeah, I know that. Have you read it?”

“Yeah, yesterday,” He says like it’s nothing, “So which is it?”

“You read it yesterday?”

“Yeah, it was short, are you going to answer my question?”

“Why?”

“I asked you something first.” When you just stare at him, he rolls his eyes, but relents, “Don’t you want us reading them anyways, you said they were never in the syllabus, so I read a very popular book. Do you read them for Esther or do you read them for Plath?”

It takes you a second to respond, still perplexed about him even reading the book you enjoyed so much, “I mean Esther is a reflection of Sylvia herself, and her own conflicts between being an author and her family, her own struggles with mental illness. It has its faults, its issues, but I like that it makes me uncomfortable, that it makes me think about why Plath wrote what she wrote, what she thought, how she thought. Not only does it tell us a lot about the struggles of being a woman, but also mental health, and it shows us characters that were flawed, it represents flaws of Plath herself-” You pause, you could go on for hours about the things in the book that are problematic, about why so many young women relate with and adore the book anyways, but even letting him understand this side of you feels vulnerable. Like through the books you read he’ll be able to see you more clearly. “Why are you asking me this?”

“It’s something you care about.”

“I don’t need you to care what I care about.” You turned back forward, not sure why it had gotten you so worked up, before you stood up abruptly, walking out. Just needing a break, to breathe it out where people wouldn’t be watching, where he wouldn’t be. Leaving your stuff behind, your ears felt clogged, chest heavy, breathing shallow, and every step to the bathroom felt heavy, slow. Hands falling on the basin of the sink like it would hold you up for dear life the moment you’d entered, praying that nobody else was around, as you let out breaths you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Hyperventilating until you remembered, deep breaths, focus on the things around you.

Why were you reacting like this? Of course it��s not like it took much thought to remember why. You had your walls up for a reason, from people, from men, like him. You’d long learned your lesson about opening up to somebody who seems that charming, that interested, they’re playing 4-D chess long before you realize you’re even playing the game. There was no reason why he would be doing it, but he didn’t need one, sometimes men were just like that. You knew this, of course you knew this, so why did it feel so good to let him in?

You had no idea how much time had passed when you’d finally calmed yourself down, gotten your breathing back to normal, and your heart had stopped feeling like you were the man slowly going crazy in The Tell-Tale Heart, ‘I felt that I must scream or die - and now again - again - hark! Louder! Louder! Louder!’ that feeling was gone. All residual feelings were mostly wiped away with a few splashes of cold water on the face, you weren’t going to let him have this sort of control over you. Even if sweetness made you want to soften, you couldn’t let it, if you give him an inch, he’ll take a mile.

Finally you left the bathroom only to find Finnick leaning up against the wall across the way by the classroom’s door, “We got out a little bit early.” He said, the way he wasn’t smiling made you miss the smile, but the way he looked concerned made you angry again. What right did he have to be concerned? “Here, I grabbed your stuff. I can send you the notes, or I’ll send them to Johanna to send to you.”

“Thanks.” Saying thank you makes it feel like he’s winning whatever type of competition this is, so you mutter it, looking anywhere but at him. You probably should’ve said something else, but he was being kind even if it probably wasn’t genuine, and you didn’t know what to say to that, so you gave him the tiniest glance before walking away.

By the time you’d gotten home all you’d wanted to do was collapse on your bed, you felt exhausted despite only having had a couple of classes, fully missing one, and not having work that day, but the emotional toll permeated. You wanted to crawl into bed and stay there for a week, a month, all eternity even, but you knew exactly where that hole led, and you couldn’t believe you were letting talking to a man who hadn’t been directly cruel, dredge that back up. So you set yourself unpacking your bag first, you’d do some homework, and then just let yourself go to bed early. Hopefully the feeling would subside by the time morning came and you could patch up any holes in the fence that were letting the vulnerability shine through. As you opened your bag to find something you definitely hadn’t put in there, you pulled out a copy of The Bell Jar, not a library borrowed copy, but a genuine copy. Of course you knew how it got there, who put it in there, you didn’t need to think about that one. Fuck him, for thinking he could just waltz into your life after years in the background and in a matter of days start trying to slowly weasel his way in. Without thinking further you had thrown the book across the room, letting it land with a thud on the carpeted floor. Fuck trying to get shit done. You tossed your bag onto the carpet next to you and climbed into your bed, pulling your knees up to your chest. Yet you couldn’t stop your eyes trailing over to the other side of the room where the copy lay, it was like the feeling of it in your hands had etched itself onto your soul. You’d read it a million times, and yet something about that copy made you want to devour it page by page.

So ever so slowly you unwrapped your arms from around your knees, leaned yourself forward, inching towards the edge of the bed. Perching yourself at that same edge to stare at where it sat on the carpet, it had opened, landed on some page, and from where you sat you could see ink, little marks surrounding the text. The intrigue you’d had only swelled in your chest, what had he written, and why? What story was he trying to tell? You leaned over to grab the book and toppled off the bed, but instead of getting back up you grabbed the book, and there on the floor let its pages consume you whole.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

On Wednesday it was you who spoke first, “Esther.” Finnick looks at you, like he wasn’t expecting you to say anything, like you’d almost defeated him last time, “I read it because of Esther.” It’s not a lie, but you avoid saying specifically that you see yourself in her, if he’s smart, which he is turning out to be, he’ll know what you mean. It’s too much to say out loud though, that you don’t feel more seen then when you’re reading Esther, or when you were reading last night, far too vulnerable.

Regardless of whether he knows, he smiles, “You read it.”

“Don’t start to flatter yourself.” You say with an eye roll, suppressing a smile.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. Wouldn’t dream of it.” He repeats as he shakes his head, his smile makes your own peek through more despite your best efforts. “So…”

“So?”

“What’d I get wrong? What did I misunderstand, come one there’s got to be something.”

“Well…” Usually you’d automatically have had something to say, to argue, but more than anyone else it’s like this man has found your weak spots, treated them with the greatest care, and your blood has stopped boiling over.

“Well?”

“The fig tree, you misunderstood the fig tree.” Something you didn’t understand how he could misunderstand considering how it was probably the most popular metaphor to have come out of the book. “You said she was limiting herself, assuming she could only have one so she chooses to let the options rot away rather than feasting on them all, but imagine it like if you grab one, all the rest instantly rot. You can only have one, be master of one trade, not jack of them all. Plus, she’s a woman in the 50’s so she’s even more limited then we could understand now. She has to pick one, most of us really, have to pick one thing to dedicate our entire lives to. Picking who you want to be, and the longer you take to experiment, the more life has passed you by. The less time you have to do it. Your mind is overactive and rife with possibilities, every time you think you’re about to reach out and pluck the perfect fig, you notice the one right next to it, equally as plump, and suddenly you’re back where you started. Before you know it the time you would need for each of these dreams has passed, and every fig is rotten, you can’t grab them anymore, they’re gone and you’re still stuck in the tree. Everybody, everything has moved on, and you’re still haunting the same hallways you always have been.”

Finnick is looking at you with some sort of twinkle in his sea green eyes, the eyes that call to you like sirens, a look you can’t quite understand, that a small part of your brian still tells you not to trust. “Wow.”

“What?”

“Nothing, you’re just so passionate about it.”

You look at him and it hits you, “You already knew all that didn’t you?” The way he looks to the side and pulls a face instantly confirms it.

“I just wanted to hear what you had to say!” He throws his hands up defensively.

“Fuck you!” This time you don’t say with anger, or vitriol, but with a laugh carrying it out of your mouth and smile you don’t try to tug down.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“If his love for her is making him sick, is making him mad, then why doesn’t he just move on?” You and Finnick are on a bench somewhere in the campus gardens, you’re facing him, knee pulled up to rest your chin on top of it, his leg also sitting on the bench, one arm laying across his knee as the other holds the sonnet you’ve been discussing. His beloved Sonnet 147. A week had passed since the first annotations and suddenly it was like you wanted to hear his opinion on everything, and he wanted to hear yours.

Finnick chuckles, always with that radiant smile, one that could shine brighter than the sun. “He can’t just leave, he’s in too deep. Love has made the very thought of her inescapable, he’d do anything for her, only death can save him. It’s not a choice, it’s like she’s latched herself onto him and it won’t let go. Even though she hasn’t always been kind to him, or liked him, or thought good things about his character, he loves her”

“Maybe he should take no for an answer.”

“He is, and it eats him alive anyways, her having him would be the only cure, and she won’t so he goes mad and has to rot away because of it. ‘Past cure I am, now reason is past care, and frantic mad with evermore unrest.’ Love so passionate that it will burn him up from the inside out.” Finnick talks with so much love, it hits you that he must love someone that much, and inexplicably the thought makes you sick to your stomach. You’re pulled away from those thoughts as the moving clouds make rays of sun shine down on his face, and it seems like he glows, like he’s some sort of angel, or deity.

“That sounds miserable.”

“Sometimes it is, but so does sitting in the middle of a fig tree as they fall out of reach.”

“Well it’s a good thing that I’m not sitting in a fig tree, I know exactly what I want.” You move your leg and sit cross-legged now.

“What’s that?”

“To write, ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always wanted to be a writer.”

“So future generations can read your works like you read The Bell Jar?”

“Yeah.” You say with a soft smile.

“You’ll be great at it, there’s a reason your stories always win every contest, get published in the on-campus newspaper, you’re talented.” You stare at him, “What?”

“I just didn’t think anybody noticed, or if they did notice anything it was thinking I’d bite their heads off or something.” You try to sound at least a little dismissive even though you can feel your face getting hotter for reasons you can’t explain, it must be the sun moving to shine on you now.

“Well, two things can be true.” Finnick chuckles, running and through his hair. “Plus, no one thought you were vicious until like the last year.”

“Yeah, I know, but who cares what people think.” You pick at your fingernails, before realizing that one of the patches in your fence has broken, more than one, and suddenly telling him vulnerable things doesn’t feel scary anymore. “I mean I used to, it was like my whole thing, with the sorority sisters, and some of them were great, but not all of them. I just wanted their approval so bad, and everybody else's too. Then with everything that happened, I just realized I didn’t need that anymore, to let what other people thought of me control me.”

“What happened?” Finnick asks, and you look up from your hands.

“Don’t act like everybody doesn’t know.”

“Very self-important of you to say,” It should make you mad, but with that smirk of his you can’t help but laugh. “People know the basic stuff, the video of you drunk, you dropping out of the sorority house, and then being as you are now, acting like you don’t care what other people think.”

“Acting?” That does make you mad, does make you feel a little simmer in your blood as you sit up a little straighter.

“All I’m trying to say is that if you refuse to let people see the vulnerable side of you, then you’re being inauthentic and putting on a show, so part of you must care. You’re not a violent dog and yet you bite.” Suddenly you feel like you’ve been shot in the chest, as if you can feel a bullet cascading, tearing through your body, inch by inch. Are you supposed to be mad? Sad? You don’t know how long is spent biting your lower lip as you search for something to say, but you do know he’s looking at you so sympathetically with those eyes that you would happily drown in. Fuck his sympathy, you think, and you nearly find yourself storming away. Yet somehow the exposure also feels nice, being seen makes you feel alive, ‘I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.’ Lines that echoed around your head, moving in waves and circles, and you steady your breath. You’d been so close to the spiral before and it was his ideas, his copy, his gift to you that had reinvigorated something in you and it was as if he’d always find new ways to do that.

“I was dating Johnny McGregor, he was Vice President of Phi Delt at the time, and I was basically frat fucking sweetheart, did all the fucking work for them. Anyways, it was always putting on a face, doing a million different things for him, and then one night, I was shitface drunk and high off my ass, just so crossed, and he took a video of it. I guess he thought it was the funniest fucking thing ever, me basically to out of it to even walk, and he posted it anywhere he could, sent it in our Barstool, it was on the fucking Yikyaks, and everybody knew about it. Was fucking quoting shit I was slurring to me in classes, making memes about it. The worst part though was while I was stumbling around in the snow, barely conscious, he told the pledges to watch me, so he could go do whatever the fuck he wanted. It was snowing, I was barefoot out there, in some t-shirt and shorts for god knows what reason, they were able to get me inside, I guess I puked everywhere again, the first time was in the video, and eventually they were able to drag me up to porch. I woke up, raging hangover, confused as hell and find my way back down to Johnny’s room where I find him passed out with my Big, so much for fucking sisterhood. So I break up with him, and he’s begging me not to, then I find out he’s also posted the video, and my sorority sisters are blowing up my phone, going off about how I’m smearing the reputation of the house, all this bullshit, and Tiffany, my Big, has the audacity to give me shit too. On top of it all, I got fucking pneumonia. I’d been cheated on, and betrayed. I was the laughing stock of anyone in the school who didn’t live under a rock, they wanted to put me on some sort of probation or at least ice me out for a while, and I was sick. It felt like I was suddenly living in a nightmarish hellscape. So I decided I was done with it all, I had tried too hard, and it took one night to shatter everything. None of it was real, it was bullshit, so maybe being a bitch is still a cover, but it’s a better cover than whatever was happening before.”

Before you can process what’s going on suddenly Finnick’s lips are on yours, for a split second you follow your instincts and pull away, he starts to mouth the ‘s’ to say sorry, but you don’t let him, pressing your lips back onto his. He tastes like sea salt, not in an overwhelming way, in a way that’s just right. It’s so perfect, it’s so him, and he really is warm like the sun, he smells like coconut and the ocean. One of his hands moves to the side of your head, fingers tangling into your hair, and you can’t help but lean into it. When you finally pull apart you can still feel the ghost of his lips on yours, like they��ve tattooed themselves onto your own.

“I’ve changed my mind, I’ll go out with you.” And Finnick is kissing you again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You don’t know how Johnna was suddenly convinced to change her mind, but both Peeta and Finnick have been allowed to come over for game night. What would have been a violation of roommate rules before, has not apparently been given the okay for reasons you can’t begin to fathom, but you’re okay with this sudden change of your heart. It just means you get to see him again. Get to feel seen. That’s exactly what the night has been, letting him wrap his arms around your shoulders, legs intertwined on the carpet as you all sat around the living room coffee table.

“Hold up, I’ll be right back, does anyone want gum?” You ask, standing up as you head to your room.

“I would love one!” Peeta says with a smile, raising up his hand. You hold a thumb up to him as you disappear out of view. Before sticking your head back out the doorway, “You,” You point your finger at Finnick, “Don’t even think about going for me.”

“Wasn’t even thinking of it,” Finnick says, putting down your hand of cards, and with a playful glare your head disappears behind the door frame again.

You find the pack of gum after some rummaging around your room, grab two sticks, and are on your way back out of the room when you stop because you’ve heard the whisps of a conversation that has your brain rushing for answers at what feels like a million miles per hour.

“I told you it would work,” Peeta says, “Killed two birds with one stone.”

“Surprised you were actually able to do it.” You can basically hear Johanna raising her eyebrows, shaking her head.

“I’m not, I mean look at him, look at me, look back at him. He did all the work.” Peeta laughs.

“Did all the work for what?” You butt in, leaning on the wall in the hallway as you look out at all of them, and maybe you would’ve made yourself believe whatever they said if it weren’t for the way they all glanced at each other. It was so small, so fleeting, yet so unmistakable. Nobody says anything at first, just look at you, and you tilt your head, “What did he do the work for.”

“For us to be able to come here, to convince Johanna.” Peeta says and it’s so believable, but if you have learned one thing about him from game night, it’s that unlike Katniss, he is an excellent liar.

“What was the look for then?”

“What look?”

“There was no look.” Katniss adds in, and if her being sucky at lying wasn’t enough, the way Johanna keeps staring at her cards is like you’ve just gotten some sort of bingo.

“Come on, come sit down, it’s nothing.” Finnick says, patting down next to him.

You can’t help but laugh, “You guys are fucking unbelievable, I know you’re lying, do you think I’m fucking oblivious?” You ask, walking from the hall to the kitchen island, turning away from them to take a deep breath, dropping the sticks of gum.

“Listen,” It’s Johanna’s voice that makes you turn around.

“Jo-” Finnick starts to step in.

“No, Finnick, she’s got to know.” Johanna snaps back before he can even finish getting her name up.

“What do I have to know?” You ask, arms crossed.

“Look, it’s not that big of a deal, it’s really nothing-” Peeta says, standing up.

“Which is what people say before it is, so just fucking say it.”

“It’s just Katniss didn’t like going to the house and would rather be here, so Jo said that if you wanted to bring somebody else back to the apartment, in the same way, then we could-”

“Fuck you guys, you’re all fucking assholes.” You turn around, already headed to the door. The apartment feels suffocating, their eyes on you feel voyeuristic, you’ve let your guard down, and they knew all the right things to do to make that happen.

“Fuck, you shouldn’t have lead with that, there’s more to it then that.” Finnick is butting in and you can hear people getting up, walking towards you, but you’re already opening the door.

“Where are you going?” Katniss asks, “It’s freezing.”

“Anywhere but here,” You say, turning back to face them before you shut the door on your way out, “I’m not part of your manipulative mind games, okay? You don’t get to just play with my life and my boundaries, I woiuldn’t have minded just having Peeta over, so fuck you guys. This wasn’t my rule, I’m not a goddamn chess piece.”

You slam the door shut and are out of the apartment complex building as fast as possible, trying to hold back tears, who knows who could be watching. You feel pathetic, you’d actually let yourself think someone cared, when really it was all of them trying to gain something or control something about you. Johanna, trying to force you out of your shell for some reason, which doesn’t seem like her, but she still did it. Katniss and Peeta wanted to be at the apartment, and Johanna should have just let them or waited patiently, but no, he had his friend get involved, manipulate the situation, and Finnick. You don’t even want to think about Finnick, it makes your eyes sting. Over the weeks you had let him in, been vulnerable, opened up, stopped being the dog that bit, but he was just trying to tame you so you’d give Peeta what he wanted, not because Finnick actually cared about you.

“You’re gonna freeze out here.” A voice interrupts your racing thoughts and as you turn around to face the voice that makes your blood boil, a voice that cuts like a knife, and grates your ears, and it’s as you turn that you finally notice the rain that’s been pouring down on you.

“Good, maybe it’ll get you too!” Hopefully the rain covers for any tears that have fallen, he doesn’t deserve to see them.

“I wish it would.” Finnick says, with those eyes that call from so far away, they really are siren eyes, calling you into your death. “I know what you think-”

“We don’t know anything about each other.” You cut in harshly, “Don’t think for a second that you know what goes on in my head.”

“I didn’t do it just because I was asked to, Jo-”

“What? Did they pay you too? Offer you a couple more bucks to get by? The talking in the library, it all makes sense, they tell you things they know about me, so you can act like you’re observational, like you care, when that’s not who you are at all.”

“No!” He’s basically yelling through the pouring rain, “I did it because I love you.” There’s a silence only cut by the pattering of raindrops on the cement, “I’ve always loved you, since I met you.”

“Fuck you.”

He’s trying to get closer and you’re stepping further back so he stops, “They knew that I’d had a crush on you since forever, since the days when you were at the parties, everyday you were in one of my classes arguing, every version of you, I have loved you. Everybody knew, except you, so they thought this would be a chance to make me finally do something about it and help Peeta out too. Okay? It wasn’t to hurt you, I’d never want to hurt you.”

You feel your body heating up, probably from the anger, or the burning of the tears coming through that you beg the rain to be covering. You don’t think you’ve ever hated someone so much, “You don’t love me, you don’t know anything about me. Do you really think I’d think you were able to step out of your own self obsessed world long enough to love anyone? You are so full of yourself if you think that I’d fall for your bullshit. Leave!”

“Honey-”

“Don’t call me that!” You hate feeling so weak, so pathetic as the sobbing makes your voice shake, lip trembling as Finnick walks closer to you, hopefully it looks like you’re just shivering, which is still bad. It must make you look like prey shaking in the cold. Suddenly he’s standing right in front of you and for some reason it’s like you’re frozen in place, looking up at him.

“Is that what you really want?” Finnick asks, and you both just stare at each other, his perfect lips that lied to you, his gorgeous eyes that deceived you, all of him that had drawn you in so much that it made you feel like you were drowning and forgot how to swim. That every time you’d slightly come afloat the waves would drag you back under, filling your lungs with water until they burn, until all of you burns. The sun and the water both burn you alive.

“Yes.” You croak out, cursing yourself for not sounding more confident, and he finally looks away. Looking at the ground as he nods.

“Okay,” Finnick says, taking a step away, “Okay, I’m sorry.” Just like that he’s gone, disappearing into the dark of the night and the torrent of rain.

You don’t know why you watch his figure disappear for so long, letting yourself get completely drenched from head to toe, feeling your body become just as numb as you feel inside. Before slowly, so mindlessly walking up the stairs back into the complex, not saying a word to anyone as you enter the apartment again, walking robotically to your room and curling up on top of your covers. For a while all you can hear, all you can feel is the beating of your heart, ‘I am, I am, I am.’ The line comes back to you again, and then the sobs start racking through your body.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Class on Monday feels like every movement is so slow, so grey, yet it goes by so fast. Sitting in the classroom as you stare blankly forward, not feeling the usual fire of everyday, no passion. Finnick doesn’t sit by you either, in your peripheral you see him look at you when he comes in before sitting in the back.

“Welcome, good morning, today we’re going to give an opportunity for those who want the extra credit to read one of their sonnet adaptations, remember let’s support each other, all they have to do is capture the essence of what Shakespeare was trying to say. Does anyone want to start?” The professor asks, hands clasping together, looking around the room. Someone must raise their hand because the teacher smiles, “Yes, Finnick, come on up!”

You want to zone out, tear your eyes away from him, but you can’t help but watch him as he steps in front of the classroom. His golden halo of hair, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the tan of his skin, and the way he looks at you as he starts.

“Love, like an illness, traps me in its grasps,

I see you, in the shadows of every,

Feverish dream, stuck like a broken clasp.

No treatment, nor way to topple the tree.

I beg for release, for your scorn does not

Free me, from padded walls I imagine

Your face, wherever I turn or do trod.

No liberation from my own passion.

Insanity drives me to lengths of no

Compare. Groveling for even a look

Of hate. I know, you do it all for show,

When I read you’re always my favorite book.

The world may crash, just as the world may burn,

For you, my love will never be discerned.”

Finnick’s poem ends, looking up from the paper to you as the class claps along, but you don’t move an inch. Staring back at him until he moves back to his seat. “Excellent job, Finnick, who’s next?” The teacher asks, eyes scanning the room. You can’t help but raise your hand, if there’s one thing the mess of Finnick Odair was right about, although you’d never admit it, hiding your feelings is just as much of a facade as what you were doing before. You want to prove him wrong, even if it makes your heart rate spike, you’re not hiding, you can be vulnerable, you just choose not to. This time you can, this time you will, it’s not a front, you’re just who you are, you tell yourself, and the teacher tries to act like they weren’t rolling their eyes as they call on you.

You don’t try to find Finnick in the room, you don’t want to look at him, you want to look at your paper, and at everyone except him because of the tears you can already feel burning in your chest.

“I hate the way you talk to me,

And the way you write in books.

I hate the sandals and sweaters you wear,

I hate the way you stare.

I hate the way you smile at me,

And the way you read my mind.

I hate you so much it makes me sick;

It even makes me rhyme. I hate it,

I hate the way you’re always right.

I hate it when you lie.

I hate it when you make me laugh,

Even more when you make me cry.

I hate it when you’re not around,

And the fact you didn’t call.

But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you,

Not even close

Not even a little

Bit, not even

At all.”

You can’t help but find yourself looking up at him at the end of the poem and feel yourself crying, and you don’t hear anything else that happens before you’re grabbing your bag and leaving, rushing out as quickly as you can. Maybe you were vulnerable, but you didn’t need people to see you cry any longer than they already had. You just wanted to curl up in bed again, you’d have to wait for the bus, but you were willing, anything to get you home faster. The longer you waited, the longer the ride was, the more you thought about him. The things he said, whatever he was trying to imply. You’d never understand him, or why he was still trying to keep this act up far after the illusion had shattered. Everyone had gotten what they wanted, so why was he still so set on trying to break you down further? Eventually you arrived at your apartment complex and as you walked down the hallway recognized a figure leaning on the wall outside.

“Finnick?” You asked and he quickly looked up from his phone, shoving it in his pocket, “What do you want?” You can’t help sounding exasperated, this has been exhausting.

“You.” He says it so softly that you almost feel like you’ve misheard him, but the way his ocean eyes bore into yours makes you certain you haven’t.

“Is that what you say to all the girls you fuck over?”

“Only the one I’m in love with.” Finnick’s smile is half-hearted, not as bright as it usually is, like the sun has been beating him down rather than shining down.

“Where is she? I don’t see her anywhere.” You look around the hallway to make some point that you don’t know why you’re even trying to make except the anger you still feel.

“Oh, here.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds the camera up to your face, “Here, right there.”

“I always knew you were in love with yourself.”

“What?” He looks down to see it’s flipped toward him, “Fuck, there.” Finnick flips it around to you, and the way he looks at you makes you feel like you’d be kicking a puppy if you said anything harsh, you hate the feeling, whatever he’s doing to you, you hate it so much. So instead of saying anything you just softly push his phone down. He loses his smile and shoves his phone back into his stupid shorts, it’s 50° outside, and you can only imagine how cold he’d let it get before he put on a pair of pants. “I know, I should have just sucked it up and talked to you before, I shouldn’t have needed the extra push, and I’m sorry if that made you feel any less than, or like it wasn’t real. But, I do love you, even when you were dating Johnny, I couldn’t help watching you. Couldn’t keep my eyes off of you, and I didn’t know when to tell you. I know you think me being in a frat is stupid and outdated, all I really do is deal with everyone else's shenanigan anyways, and that you think I’m the worst man you’ve ever met, but-”

You don’t know what comes over you when you kiss him, you just let instincts take over, let your body do what it’s been longing to do, and the moment you do, you feel him start smiling against your lips, “Don’t get cocky.” You mutter in one of the brief moments your lips aren’t on each other’s.

“I’m always cocky.” You laugh as you pull away, shaking your head, and he laughs too. As you look away you notice something on the doorstep.

“Is that?” You ask in shock, starting a typewriter sitting on your welcome mat, tiny blue bow stuck to the top of it and all.

“It’s just a little something I picked up, help sweeten the deal you know.” Finnick tries to play it off like it’s nothing, but you can tell how nervous he is from the way he awkwardly sticks his hands in his pockets.

“You didn’t need to do all this.”

“Well, I know that now, but maybe now I don’t know, you’ll feel more inspired to write something great.”

“How did you know?” You ask, looking at him, it’s not like you’d told him that you’d always dreamt of writing your first novel on a typewriter, it was something you rarely told anyone in fact. More of a silent dream, checking in second hand shops, wishing they were in your price range.

He shrugs, head shaking, “I just knew, it reminded me of you.” This time you really can’t stop yourself when you throw your arms around his neck to pull him in for another kiss.

“You know you can’t just buy yourself out of every fuck up, right?” You ask him when you pull away, arms still holding around his neck, and by now his arms are wrapped around your waist.

“Well, it’s worked twice so far, so I don’t know I think we have a ways to go before it stops being a feasible option, quill and ink, special edition books, masterclasses with famous authors, I hear Margaret Atwood does a great one, a personal library, the options are really endless.”

“You’re the worst.” You say with a laugh.

“I know.” Finnick says before kissing you again, and after all this time of assuming everyone was out to get you, of being the dog that bit, of being one step away from spiraling, it feels nice to have someone with you who sees you so completely, who’s not afraid of the ups or downs. Suddenly the world makes sense again, it’s no longer you versus the rest of the world, it’s a world you’re remembering that you are a part of, and you can make an impact on without being scared it will bite back. Maybe, being yourself doesn’t just mean turning away from who people expected you to be, but also being true to every single side of you. The sad, the angry, the parts that want to bitch, and the parts that want to cry. The parts that want to smile, or scream, the parts that want to love. Maybe, you are exactly where you need to be.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

I know it's way past valentine's day, but thank you for reading. I know it was a long one, but I hope you enjoyed and as always likes, comments, reblogs, asks are also so much appreciated, I love to hear from you guys. thank you for all the undying support, love you all 💋

#wanda 💋#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader angst #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot

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stonathandreamer · 2 days ago

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Regarding the Duffers' "hate" of Jonathan...

(Warnings: this post is an absolute maelstrom of emotions. It contains mild "anti Stancy," "anti Jancy," and "anti Nancy." Keep in mind that these are my personal opinions on the matter. Don't bother trying to make me change my mind, you'll just be losing your time. Haters will be blocked. Also, it's super long, like, Avengers: Edgame movie length long.)

I don’t think they hate him. How can you hate a character YOU created? Nah, it's ridiculous, even for their own ridiculous standards.

If they truly hated Jonathan, the Dumbers would have gotten rid of him in Season 3 or Season 2, giving some lame excuse like, "Oh, he graduated early and went to college," or they would have just killed him off. Jonathan's not a popular character, so the majority of people wouldn't care if he just disappeared.

No, they don't hate him. It's something else. Namely, fan service and bad writing.

I think fame went to their heads after Season 1 (remember, people didn't have faith that Stranger Things would be a hit back in 2016. David Harbour even said he thought the show would flop horribly), so I believe the Dumbers are trying really hard to appease the fans and keep their show popular. Now more than ever, considering they apparently want to create a Stranger Things Cinematic Universe with God knows how many spin-offs.

Looking back, some events from the series do seem like fan service, with the Dumbers wanting to appease the louder groups of the fandom. Billy's "redemption arc" seemed like an attempt to satisfy his fans—remember, the character of Billy was what Steve was supposed to be: a violent, abusive, and irredeemable jock who would be killed by the Monster. Irredeemable. And yet, they tried to redeem him. Steve's feelings for Nancy apparently returning in S4 also seem to be fan service to me, given that the fandom loves him over Jonathan, and Stancy shippers are more vocal than Jancy shippers.

Another contributing factor is bad writing. The Dumbers aren't great writers. They really aren't.

No one is perfect, I know, and we all have different opinions about everything, BUT they did Jonathan wrong ever since S1. That scene—yep, that one you're thinking about—permanently ruined his reputation in the fandom. It's the one thing his haters always bring up, and it's all the Dumbers' fault. How do you make the series protagonist, the supposed hero, do such a shitty thing?! It's bad writing, and it's something the Jonathan haters, the extremist Stancy defenders, and extremist Steve defenders always use against him. Funny, because they apparently forgave the "Nancy the Slut Wheeler" graffiti thing so quickly... 🤔 (or forgot? Or just act like it never happened?). Like, yeah, the girl's boyfriend and his friends called a teenage girl a slut, painted it on a wall for the whole town to see, but hey, everyone makes mistakes, right?

Two wrongs don't make a right, but Steve's actions fit his then-S1 persona, a.k.a. the season's teenage antagonist. Jonathan's actions don’t fit his role as the protagonist, the good guy, the supposed hero. The Dumbers just needed to move the plot, and the only thing they could come up with was to make Jonathan take those pictures. They made the protagonist (Jonathan) look bad and the antagonist (Steve) look good.

By doing so, Jonathan's popularity was doomed to decline, and when Steve became the good guy in Season 2, the fandom found their "Big Brother character," the kind, caring, and protective guy who always takes care of the kids—something the Dumbers seem to have taken a liking to, given how often they provide "Babysitter Steve" content to the fandom. While Jonathan, the actual kind, caring, and protective big brother, gets sidelined constantly. Painfully and criminally sidelined.

(Keep in mind that Jonathan has known those kids for years! He has known Mike, Lucas, and Dustin for years because they are his little brother's friends. Steve has known them for what? Two years?)

In this fandom, Steve's fans are more vocal, since they outnumber Jonathan's fans, and the Dumbers know that. They know how loved Steve is, which is why Steve's screen time increased in each season (S1: 23 minutes, S2: 33 minutes, S3: 45 minutes, S4: 78 minutes), while Jonathan's screen time DECREASED SEVERELY (S1: 57 minutes, S2: 32 minutes, S3: 27 minutes, S4: 59 minutes), and is doomed to continue that way in S5, apparently.

Fanon!Steve is Canon!Jonathan - or what Canon!Jonathan used to be.

Seeing Jonathan's popularity decrease, the Dumbers decided it wouldn't be worth focusing on him anymore since the majority of the fandom doesn't care about him. They decided to focus on other characters instead, which contributed even more to Jonathan's downfall.

Season 3 did him dirty. I don't like how he was treated there, how they made him seem to be in the wrong in his argument with his girlfriend, despite having valid points, how he was reduced into being Nancy's sidekick, having to put up with her shit while his own concerns (his need for money to help his family pay the bills) were invalidated. But Season 4 was his all-time low. Pretty much everything that defines Jonathan as a character vanished completely—his passion for photography, his love for music, his protectiveness of his family, his childhood dream of going to NYU, and even his car. Everything, gone. Yes, he and Will have a nice heart-to-heart talk that maybe made me sob, but keep in mind Jonathan still ignored Will for a while, something his past self would never do.

(Remember, every time something happened to Will, Jonathan always blamed himself for "not being there for him.")

Jonathan had everything to be a fan favorite: the kind heart and soul, the care for others, the love for his family, the selflessness, but he had the misfortune of having the Duffer Brothers as writers, who threw him under the bus and never bothered to call 911 after that.

They erased him almost entirely from the show, reducing him, a main character who's been around since Season 1, to a side character.

People say Jonathan's not interesting, that his plot line is boring, that he's not important, some even go as far as to offend his appearence, with offenses ranging from "he's ugly af" to "he looks like a crack addict". There's a human behind that character, and his name is Charles Ross Heaton. When you call Jonathan those things, you're not offending Jonathan Byers, the Stranger Things character, you're offending Charlie Heaton, the actor of Stranger Things behind the character of Jonathan Byers.

You have every right in the universe to find someone attractive or not—everyone has their preferences. I personally think Charlie is a handsome and good-looking fella (if only he quit the 🚬. Sorry, but I am concerned parent sometimes and I also have a natural aversion to that, because my respiratory system is super sensible to strong smells, especially of smoke, and even seeing one makes me uneasy). You don't find Jonathan (actually, Charlie) good-looking? It's your opinion and you're entitled to it 👍🏻. You don't find Jonathan (actually, Charlie) good-looking and called him a "crack looking addict," "a druggie," "someone who's clearly high on something all the time," or "an Elon Musk lookalike"? There's a line, buddy, and you just crossed it. You're being offensive, disrespectful, a jerk, and, above all, a motherfucking piece of shit and a waste of precious oxygen 🖕🏻.

Jonathan had so much potential.

He and Steve could have been friends (yes, I am making this about Stonathan; deal with it), since it was Jonathan who gave Steve the "wake-up call" (when Steve bad-mouthed his mom and brother, and Jonathan gave him a beating). It was Steve who bought him his new camera. And yet, these things are never properly acknowledged by the characters. Jonathan could have been such a good big brother to El when they were living in Cali, but the Dumbers thought "nah, weed is better for him." Their time in Cali could have strengthened the Byers siblings relationship, since now they're all going to the same school and are all teens. They could open up to each other, let out their frustrations, and ask for advice. Imagine a scene where Jonathan, Will, and El are all sitting in his room and are just talking about life, school, the future, goofing off like siblings. but nooooooooooo. Let's throw Jonathan into a dark corner and leave him there!

I fear for Jonathan's life in S5? Yes. Will he actually die? Hardly (IMO). A character's death is meant to impact both the other characters and the fandom, and while Jonathan's death would destroy the Byers completely, the fandom wouldn't care (some would even cheer and say "yay, now Steve can go back to his ex-girlfriend who was terrible to him and he was terrible to her and they can revive their terrible relationship and live terribly ever after!").

Jonathan is a character I relate to a lot; the loner freak with no friends who has to help his family stay afloat. I see Jonathan struggling with life and I think, "Fuck, this sounds familiar... Oh, wait." I see Jonathan being bashed and bullied by the fandom and I think how much these people would actually bully him IRL.

Stranger Things is a story where the freaks, the nerds, the geeks, and the losers win, and yet Jonathan doesn't seem to be having many wins for himself (and yes, I'm writing these final paragraphs while some tears threaten to spill). He's constantly sidelined and forgotten. Forgotten by the writers, by other characters, by Netflix, and even by the fandom.

Jonathan is my comfort character. I see a lot of myself in him and I wish the writers would have treated him better so that I could have looked at him and thought, "Fuck... We actually won." But alas, I fear this won't happen.

I fear Jonathan's story will continue to be the way it is and end with him being a sidelined guy people will quickly forget once the show ends. But I won't.

I will never forget Jonathan Byers.

I wish I could be alive for when Stranger Things fall into public domain, so that I could correct the mistakes they made to Jonathan and give the Dumber Brothers a big "FUCK YOU!"

Jonathan Byers deserves better. And so does Charlie Heaton, who also falls victim to constant sidelining.

JUSTICE FOR JONATHAN BYERS ✊🏻!

JUSTICE FOR CHARLIE HEATON ✊🏻!

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go cry in the shower for a day or two.

#justice for jonathan byers ✊🏻#justice for Charlie Heaton ✊🏻#jonathan byers #stonathan #charlie heaton #anti duffer bros (kinda...)#anti stancy #anti jancy #anti nancy wheeler #pro jonathan byers

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hyuneskkami · 3 days ago

Text

❪ ⭑ ❫ i’mma be───xlov.

ꕀ synopsis 𓈒𓈒 xlov ot4 as love languages with f!reader.

[ ✮ ] masterlist ∿ fem!reader ∿ wc 0.7k ⋆ cw 𓈒𓈒 fluff , mentions of feeling low in wumuti and haru’s , ex-ice skater!reader in rui’s , mentions of snacks and eating in hyun’s ;

ꕀ notes. some of the points are kinda biased and you can tell lmao. and! thanks to @seraphicloves for telling me her top 4 love languages (which I used as inspo for this fic) <3 also. I barely see any xlov fics (understandable, since they debuted recently, but still) so I decided to write a short one! my bias is rui for sure (hence the biased writing) (plus, I have a thing for dancers, apparently?) <3 always looking for EVOLs to talk to tho! (:

[ ✮ ] i’mma be ~ xlov 𝄢

∿ wumuti

ꕀ words of affirmation.

he absolutely loves to compliment you anytime he’s in your presence. like, constantly. every five seconds, if he was in a mood.

he’s such a ‘oh my god, my baby is so smart and beautiful, i’d commit treason if she asked me to’ boyfriend. he definitely loves how you don’t chose between beauty and brains: you simply have both.

on days you feel shitty, he makes sure to tell you he loves you even more than usual. he takes extra special care of you on your down days, and his words motivate you to get back to normal.

if he ever catches you feeling bad about yourself (physically or mentally), he drags you to the mirror, and makes you repeat affirmations that he says to you everyday.

“i love you so much, my baby.” / “you look exceptionally beautiful just by existing today.” / “how did I bag such a smarty pants?” / “*verbal keysmash*”

∿ rui

ꕀ acts of service.

he wants to learn your favourite dances and surprise you with it. he invites you to his fanmeets (vip passed, duh) so he can secretly look at you the entire time, too.

he’s very creative and artistic, so he goes all out with making paper crafts and stuff like that for your anniversary, birthday, or any special occasion (his personal favourites to make would definitely be paper bouquets).

he takes you ice skating after he found out it was your first love, and your favourite childhood sport. he even signs up for classes before that, so he could learn.

he usually expresses his love through smaller details rather than grand gestures. to him, remembering small things are far more important than celebrating occasions grandly.

“just sit there and look pretty, all right, love? let me do the work.” / “I know you can do it yourself, but I want to do this for you, okay?” / “why would you bother bending down to tie your laces when you have a fully capable and handsome boyfriend to do it for you?”

∿ hyun

ꕀ quality time.

he takes you to his practices so he can just stare at you through the mirror while you’re laughing at something rui or someone else said.

he takes you out on pottery or painting dates, knowing you love both of those. he also takes you to art cafes, cat cafes, libraries, and art museums. he loves watching you as you get engrossed in your element.

if neither of you are up to going out and your social batteries have died, he prefers staying home with you and watching tv together with lots of snacks and a pillow fort.

he loves when your younger cousins (barely in elementary school) come over to your house. he loves spending time with people who are close to you. he has an amazing relationship with all your cousins (sometimes, you wonder if they come over to meet you or him).

“can you please be late for work for once? I wanna lay on this extremely soft couch with you. forever.” / “are you free right now? open your window. i’m outside!” / “can we not go to that dinner? i’d rather just look at you, pretty.”

∿ haru

ꕀ physical touch.

he’s such a cute needy baby! he always needs some or the other part of him to be touching you. either his hands are playing with your fingers, or his leg is touching yours under the table. 24/7 contact.

cuddles! he loves them so much, especially when he can wrap himself completely around you. your shared warmth seeps through both of your hearts.

if he finds out that you don’t like some part of yourself, he definitely shows extra love towards that part of you. (like, if you saw you think your thighs are too big? he’s gonna lay on them and tell you they’re perfect for him.)

he loves peppering you with kisses, and loves receiving them too. he also definitely has asked you to make one of those ‘kisses shirts’ for him to wear outside.

he’s such a cute whiny person in the morning because he doesn’t want to let you go from the bed.

“my baby is so good at just existing, hm?” / “wish I could carry a piece of you with me, everywhere I go.” / “let’s cuddle for a bit more, please?”

© hyuneskkami 2025 ␥ don’t repost my works onto other platforms, or edit and post them even on tumblr, without asking me first ⨾ don’t steal my works, steal my heart instead ⨾ reblogs and comments are more than appreciated 𑁤

#⭑𓂃 skye’s evolverse !#skye's cafe ~ ⋆.˚#xlov x reader #xlov x f!reader #x reader #fem!reader #xlov fluff #xlov fanfic #xlov #evol #kpop #kpop x reader #xlov wumuti #xlov rui #xlov hyun #xlov haru #love languages

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rawliverandgoronspice · 2 days ago

Note

re: sympathetic ganondorf vs evil for evil’s sake ganondorf, i think this is misrepresenting and underselling what’s actually offputting to people

“i’m evil because i’m evil” or “i’m evil because demise is evil” and the associated lust for power simply for its own sake has always been lame and low effort. there’s a reason it’s “shit tier” on the classic “villain motive tiers” thing

“i’m evil but there’s enough nuance to make the player at least somewhat sympathetic to me even if i’m still ultimately a bad guy” is a good thing that people like? i’ve never personally interacted with a zelda player who thinks windwaker ganondorf ruined the character or anything - he’s generally regarded as the gold standard of villain writing both in and out of zelda. this is roughly “high tier” on the tier chart

“actually TWIST i’m not evil at all, it’s the good guys who were evil all along, i’ve done nothing wrong and i’m completely justified in my righteous quest against the status quo, you’re the real secret true villain for being complicit in preserving it” is technically regarded as “elder god tier” on the motive tier chart but i would personally label it as “oscar bait tier”. these things *can* be compelling in conversation with the existing landscape, but often it comes across as a deliberate effort to subvert the audience’s expectations for the sake of being unpredictable (or worse, for the sake of proving you’re the smartest one in the room). in separate works where this conversation/critique is the entire point (eg. Watchmen or The Boys), that’s not necessarily a bad thing, and the audience sets their expectations accordingly. in an established, long-running franchise, however, this almost always reads as dripping with contempt for the audience, like walking into a room and going “you morons like this shit? let me, a person much smarter than you, explain what it’s Actually about, because you’re an idiot if you’ve been a fan of this series before now”

on top of that, in the context of a series like zelda, this type of story feels myopic and disrespectful to the future of the series. “welp i burned down the 20+ years of lore behind this character so i could do a deconstruction, good luck using them in any capacity in the future, sounds like a you problem”

all this is to say, i think it’s a bit disingenuous/strawman-y to suggest that people put off by this want ganondorf to have 0 depth at all. there’s a lot of room for different kinds of depth, it’s just that the trend of the last decade has been for “depth” to mean “condescending deconstruction”

Hey!

Thanks for taking the time to write this ask, I think it warrants an interesting conversation. To me, there's like, a lot of things about what you're saying, and tbh I do see where you're coming from --in part.

First thing first... No yeah unfortunately some people Are hostile to even WW Ganondorf. It's been a rising trend in the fandom since TotK was released --people being very against the concept of any additional complexity to the character, either not getting it or considering anything he says pure manipulation that doesn't even warrant a conversation, literally making fun of people who were intrigued by this and wanting more out of this particular thread. This position not only absolutely exists within the fandom --less so on tumblr, I'll agree there-- but it's not even hard to stumble upon as a pretty regular opinion that gets tossed around. I had some interesting asks thrown my way, let's say. The idea that Ganondorf is a remotely interesting character that deserves more thought than what he gets is very much Extremely not the norm, and the very fact that you, as a fan, likes him as a guy is perceived as weird and missing the point by a lot of people. Like a lot a lot of people.

So I'll just... I guess I haven't clarified my position in a while, so I will reclarify my position on our favorite evil dude: I do like him perfectly fine as a villain, I do not want him to be "redeemed" by the narrative, I think he works fantastically as an ongoing threat, I think they could make him even scarier and more offputting and that would be super fun and thrilling... and I also think he already is complex. Like, inherently. Everything Nintendo has been putting into him since his first appearance is complicated --even their attempts at flattening him back in TotK do not fully work because they can't scrub him of the extremely loaded ideas they injected into him from the get-go. Nobody forced Nintendo to do a Mega Orientalism when inventing him, nobody made them write the NPCs to have this super weird antagonistic relationship to the gerudos in OoT, nobody made them have all this lore of the one man born every hundred years, raised by twin witches --and then nobody made them press on that tension point in Wind Waker explicitely, and then, in a more subtle fashion, in TP too. Nobody forced their hand when it came to having the strange "round ear" situation, suggesting (confirmed even, in additional canon) gerudos are born unblessed. The fact of the matter is: everything to make the relationship between Hyrule and the gerudos complicated has been there since 1998. There's no need for a Switcharoo to prove that anyone is smarter than the audience: everything messy has always been baked within the worldbuilding itself. It's in the cartridges already!!

Perspective on it is what could change, though --because, except in Wind Waker, we never get even a hint of a sense that we should think, as an audience, that Hyrule's super weird relationship to the gerudos is maybe questionable. Worth thinking about at least. Which, given the optics, is wild to me that to bring this particular can of worms up is still very largely considered crazy talk within the fandom (that, or the Sheikah situation across the series, also insane in many ways). And yes, it would perhaps lead to themes that are a bit heavier than what Zelda has been overtly dealing with (though, again, Majora's Mask exists --and I do find a lot of unpacked ideas in the Wild Era, like the very unquestionned gerudo bridal pipeline, very uhhh unfortunate already if I'm being honest --even moreso because it is unquestioned). But Zelda, when well handled narratively, can do wonderful things with evocative subtext, open doors never fully crossed, a lynchian pressure on what should feel offputting. We don't even need a sad monologue about it. It doesn't even need to be handled explicitely. But I think the pressure point is just better when understood and incorporated in some form, instead of being denied so hard the world itself start to feel incomplete and unlived.

I do want to say... I get what you mean with the whole "oscar bait" thing. There has been, historically and in recent years, a tendency to be driven by an external, almost panicked sense of morality rather than by the internal drive of a story, its internal thematic logic. I also do think it can feel very corporate, very "Disney looking back at its own movies and scrubbing off everything Buzzfeed deemed problematic in 2014 while making everything glossy and lifeless and awful" and it's not that great!!! and tbh I can't say I would trust Nintendo to handle any appreciation for the fact that the story of an eternal golden kingdom cheering on beating the evil outsiders who want to corrupt everything good and pure and blonde about that perfect inherently good place, is like, extremely not neutral. It absolutely is a delicate thread to weave, and I agree that putting a definitive end to Hyrule is probably not the smartest IP move to do. But, Hyrule doesn't have to be condemned as Bad, it can be merely complicated. And ongoing, regardless. To keep on with the Disney parallel: The Lion King would feel weird if we started to peel off the internal politics of the hyenas, it's just not the right place for it, when everything about this story revolves around the Righteousness of the Divine Right to Rule. But if the Lion King was an ongoing series that had been looping on itself for a while... wouldn't it make sense to figure out how to achieve majesty by studying other angles too, eventually? Is it that strange to suggest the exercise is like, possible? That it can be handled with artistry and soul?

I feel like... Yes, to acknowledge Ganondorf's humanity --not even to coddle it, just to acknowledge it-- implies taking in everything that makes him who he is, and that might rattle some foundational ideas about why this ancestral fight is even happening in the first place. I also do not think it means that he must be Good now. He can still punch a child and cackle maniacally, he can still be unredeemable --he can still destroy himself and others out of the most unconstructive spite ever, and we can still see the purpose in defeating him while basking in the "yea....." left in his wake (Wind Waker did that!!! Wind Waker did that and then we had more Zelda games!! crazy how that happened). This is hardly undoable. It does take some narrative skill, and some commitment to taking a bit of a risk, but Ganondorf is genuinely unmanageable as a character if you insist on your refusal to acknowledge his foundations --and I think it's partially why TotK's story is such a mess. He sells a TON, but you can't have him breathe slightly too loud without risking the entire world falling apart. They did try in TotK, so very hard, and to me they still failed--as insane as he behaves, Hyrule still doesn't come out of this looking good or particularly justified, because the very central core of Ganondorf's character is to be subjugated, and then rebelling in a destructive and brutally selfish, uncompromising manner that ends up robbing him of humanity --and the discomfort of that premise will therefore always haunt the conversation. Nintendo dug themselves into that mess. I feel like a lot of the Ganondorf fans I know merely... point at that. At the mess. And I feel like the longer the games avoid this mess, the more coats of spinach green they slather ontop of his skin, and the more nonsensical characterization they pile up, and the more Ganondorf will become a parody of who he once was, and what made him compelling to begin with.

And to top it all off, as if he wasn't contentious and complicated enough to handle already, they leaned into the internet turning him into a sex symbol for some fucking reason??? Yeah I genuinely have no idea how Nintendo will manage this dude moving forward, because to me, he is, at best, an endless source of (very lucrative) headaches, and at worst a ticking time bomb. I'm not sure how long they can get away with that TotKification strategy, is what I mean.

(Also: I tried to not overdwell on all the incredibly complicated conversation re: race and orientalism, but it's borderline impossible to have this conversation without acknowledging that I have never seen a major pop culture villain receive more pushback against "woobification" than him, and I don't think it's a complete coincidence let's say :) )

#asks #ganondorf #totk critical #(a bit)#thanks for the ask!#yeah it's complicated #I do understand the fear of deconstructing things without purpose --it does happen #I feel like it's kind of both a thing that happens and a thing that ends up soaking in all the DEI moral panic being flung around too #when to me these two things are like... not that connected honestly #(I have very pointed experiences to inform this take --but like it's a super complicated convo honestly and hhh tired)#there's incredibly soulful deconstuction --and there's terrified corporate deconstruction --and there's whacky lol random deconstruction #and not to over-pry anon but you seem to mention a lot this idea of “the writers wanting to be smarter than the audience”#and like... I won't say that it doesn't happen but I feel like this spiteful self-satisfied intent behind creative decisions is kind of...#at the very least it's hard to prove #I'm not saying this sort of anticipatory behavior to the point of betraying artistic intent isn't a thing. it absolutely is.#but I feel like a lot of the worse expressions of this backlash recently was honestly mostly projection #people generally want to do good art or capitulate under circumstances too difficult to surmount #(source: aaaaaa. hfgfhfgfh. death by gamedev.)#or just kind of fumbled their shit too that happens! sometimes you don't do a good job at art :(#but I think that rejecting complexity --or like the possibility of committing to complicated delicate ideas because it could flop #is no more helpful to art than living in fear of being called out for doing a moral wrongness #at some point you gotta imagine you can nail the concept and execution of what matters to you --because you can #things can be good and rich and simple and also complicated and it's possible and we don't have to live in fear of messing it up #that's my personal take at least

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schlattslambo · 2 days ago

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I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCHh oMY GOD there is NOT enough content about dom!charlie people always depict him as a sub but i got a hunch that hes hiding his true dominance please we need this🩷🩷🩷

a/n: i absolutely LOOOVE this idea hehe i really hope y'all enjoy!!

just wanna put in a warning for jealousy and flirting with others just in case! it's done to get a reaction, not genuine.

------------

charlie has always been sweet to you. getting you small things while he's out, sending you messages when he's thinking of you even if you're sitting next to each other, giving you kisses and hugging you from behind. he dotes on you constantly and worships the ground you walk on.

despite this, you're mad at him right now. charlie hasn't been giving you the attention you're after since he's been working on a big video for his channel. you don't usually mind things like this, but you're needy.

the two of you are currently at ted's place for the weekend. he invited a group over for a barbecue (he just wants to show off his new grill, let's be honest) and this is seriously cutting into your usual cuddling time with charlie. so, you decide to cause some trouble.

charlie keeps eyeing you while you talk to people. he's currently in a conversation with schlatt about something. you honestly couldn't care less about it. you make your way over to ted, who's now flipping burgers and pretending he's a gourmet chef despite turning the last ones into hockey pucks.

"wow, teddy, this is a huge grill." you muse, putting your hands on your hips.

you flirtatiously grin up at him and he's quick to explain the specs of it. charlie's eyes are boring into the back of your skull, just like you want them to.

"did you carry this in by yourself?" you ask. "you seem super strong."

"i actually had schlatt's help." ted replies, the flirting going completely over his head. "i'm not that strong."

you giggle, and charlie's nearly boiling with anger now. why are you flirting with ted? you're his.

as ted teaches you how to properly smash a smash burger, charlie grips your wrist and tugs you inside. he pulls you into the guest bedroom where you guys are staying and slams the door.

"what the fuck was that all about?" he asks.

"what was what about?" you ask, feigning innocence.

"you know damn well what i mean," charlie growls, stepping forward. "why were you flirting with ted?"

"maybe i wanted to see what you would do." you reply, biting your lip.

"yeah?" charlie asks. "you wanted me mad?"

you shrug. "maybe."

charlie smirks down at you. "yeah?" he asks. "you wanted to get a rise out of me, huh?"

he backs you up against the bed and pushes you down. you gasp at the way charlie climbs on top of you and kisses your neck.

"you wanted me to get mad?" he asks. "take you inside and put you over my knee?"

you shiver as charlie sinks his teeth into your skin, nipping at your flesh.

"uh huh," you gasp.

"yeah?" charlie teases. "you want to be spanked for being bad? wanna be reminded of who you belong to?"

the way charlie's talking to you makes you press your thighs together. all you can do is nod.

"on your stomach." charlie orders. "over the bed."

as soon as he gets off of you, you adjust so your feet are on the floor and you're bent over the bed. charlie is quick to yank your pants down and land a harsh slap on your ass. you jolt from the force as your fingers grip the sheets.

"this ass is mine, understand?" charlie asks.

"y-yes!" you yelp as he lands another blow.

"yes sir," charlie corrects.

"yes sir!"

your words are muffled by your face being buried into the sheets. as much as you wanted this, you don't want schlatt and ted to know what's going on. charlie rubs your ass before nudging your legs apart with his foot.

"look at this, so wet," he muses. "is this from me being rough with you, baby?"

you nod, color blooming on your cheeks.

"maybe i should do this more often." charlie smiles.

he had no idea his pretty girl loved being toyed with like this. he makes a mental note to wear a belt the next time you decide to act up.

"yes please," you gasp.

charlie lazily sticks a finger into you, quickly finding your gspot. you gasp and press back onto his finger. he teases you ever so slightly, only allowing you to slowly crawl to an orgasm. but then, right as you're about to cum, he pulls his finger out of you.

"h-hey!" you whine. "you always let me cum!"

charlie smirks. "yes, but you're being bad, so this is your punishment." he explains. "keep it up and you'll see how mean i can really be."

the rest of the weekend, you're soaked from the mere idea of charlie punishing you. you want to just say fuck it and leave ted's place. but you know that it would raise some eyebrows. until you can leave, you're simmering in need.

charlie, however, is plotting. he wants you needy. he wants you to think that you'll be able to cum once the two of you get home. but no, that's just when the real fun starts.

#chuckle sandwich #charlie slimesicle smut #charlie slimecicle #charlie slimesicle x reader

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call-sign-shark · 1 day ago

Text

SPOILER ALERT GoT AU: for @peakyswritings @mischievouslittlecreature and @justrainandcoffee . Thank you for letting me bother you with my idea girls, you are angels. TW: this is Heaven’s awful, abusive and emotionally manipulative vengeance.

Since I’ve decided to turn our GoT AU into a full-fledged story as well as embracing that Ben Barnes brainrot, I reworked a few details and added more depths to the characters’ relationships. Here’s what we know so far: while dark romance-coded and sprinkled with a few red flags revolving around obsession and co-dependency, Heavenerys and Amos are genuinely in love with each other. Something I didn’t convey properly in the premises of our AU is that they are incredibly loving and soft around each other. Even in public, one can see that Amos is fond of his wife — certainly a bit too much for he’s always looming nearby.

But we also know that he lost control one time and ended up hurting Hev in a horrifying way when he caught her with Aerthurys. What he did was awful and unforgivable, even though regrets devoured him afterwards and that he spends the rest of his life trying to make amend for it. Despite everything, Heaven remained by his side, hopelessly in love. She kinda punished him in their bedroom but, let’s be honest, Amos enjoys all that BDSM stuff so it’s humiliating but not punishment per se. But here’s the thing: Heaven didn’t forget nor forgive him. That night when he and his men assaulted her, she promised she would do something to balance the scale and make them even… Now: HEAVY TW for abortion.

Heaven knew that Amos wished to be dad so so bad, so one day they decide to try for a baby. It works and Amos is on cloud 9, like really. People around him notice that he’s a tad bit more understanding and in a lighter mood. He’s also even more caring with his wife and often hugs her, putting his hand on her belly while kissing her forehead and goes “How’s my little puppy (the baby) doing?”. He plans the baby’s bedroom himself and is often caught smiling as he daydream about his child when he sees Hev. And after waiting a few months, Heaven aborts with drinking so much moontea she almost kills herself in the process. I’m not going into details ‘cause I’ll write about it but Amos discovers it and his whole world crumbles. He has lost his puppy and almost his wife too. Wailing like a wounded animal, Amos fells on his knees, his cries blending with a mix of “Why? Why did you do this to me?” / “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”. He’s broken in billion of pieces, as she was when he had hurt her.

This is when Heaven gently grabs his chin, forces him to look at her and says in a soft but so sadistic tone “Now we’re even, my Night and stars.”

Following this, they FINALLY allow themselves to heal and try to slowly but surely render their love healthier, both acknowledging that they went too far. Only for Aerthurys to raise hell a bit later. :)

And if you reached the end, congrats! Thank you so much I really needed to share it. I’m sorry for info dumping you with something that awful. I’ll give them an alternate good ending (to balance the White Walker one) in which they just flee and hide in the North, I promise. 😅

Here’s something for your heart:

#please call OCs protective services #got AU #Peaky blinders OC #Amos Bolton #Heavenerys Targaryen

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shawtylex09 · 1 day ago

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Just took notice of how you mostly write izuku so here's an idea/request

How about teacher izuku meeting his co-worker (reader) in a bar and they're both just as surprised cause the reader would never think he'd drink. But like he doesn't excessively drinks or something like that,just doing it from time to time. And from there on they kinda just get along really well. You can do whatever with this,make a smau or fanfic or anything really. Nsfw can be included if you're up to it<3

-🐇

I hope you’re the same anon that requested the other asks.

Also. IM TRYING TO GET TO ALL OF THE REQUESTS I PROMISE IVE HAD SUCH BAD WRITERS BLOCK ITS NOT EVEN FUNNY.

Anyways. Here’s Teacher!Izuku x Teacher!Fem!Reader

Smut warning! Minors DNI.

Spoilers for MHA

Here’s a banger for you guys to listen to,

and let’s get into this;

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡°

Izuku sighed softly, staring down at the sweet, golden brown of the whiskey in his glass. He wasn’t usually a drinker, but tonight he just needed to let loose a bit.

His mind had started to wander a bit, and he found himself thinking back to his own high school days, questioning if he was happy with his life or if he was just accepting that this was his life now, whether he liked it or not.

Izuku enjoyed being a teacher, yes, but he always found himself alone- more often than he would’ve liked to admit. He knew it was just the effect of all of his friends getting older and naturally growing apart, but it just..sucked.

He still had Katsuki, the two of them regularly talking and sometimes grabbing lunch. There was also Aizawa and his other coworkers.

There was also-

You sat down next to Izuku, a heavy sigh leaving your lips. Today shr been chaotic with the groups of students you handled. You glanced over, feeling eyes on you.

Your eyes met green ones, and you paused.

“Midoriya?” You asked with wide eyes, surprised to see someone as warm and intelligent as Izuku in the bar of all places- and was that whiskey?

Izuku’s own, slightly drunk expression was shocked, gawking at you “Y/n?? What are you doing here?” It wasn’t like the two of you weren’t supposed to drink or anything, you just didn’t expect to see each other in the bar of all places outside of UA.

You smiled a bit and rested your elbow on the bar, the shock wearing off as you remembered- you were both adults, no reason to get bent outta shape over it. “Came to get a drink, unwind a little” you shrugged.

Izuku nodded and smiled a little, resting his own chin in his palm while swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Same here” he said with a soft laugh, his reflective thoughts from earlier pushed to the back burner of his tipsy mind. “Just wanted to relax after dealing with those troublesome teenagers”

You grinned and chuckled a little, nodding in agreement “ain’t that the truth”. You said before turning to the bar tender, ordering a simple brandy.

Izuku raised a brow at your drink choice, smiling a little. He was a little more loose-lipped, thanks to already being a few drinks in “brandy? You like fruity alcohol?” He asked, smiling a bit.

You smirked a bit and angled your head to the side “so what if I do? Am I not allowed to have different tastes than you, Midoriya?” You asked, your tone light and playful, definitely not exactly professional, since you didn’t have to maintain that boundary now that you were off the clock. You were just two people now, out at the bar.

Izuku laughed a bit and gave you that sweet, boyish smile that made a bit of heat crawl up your collar “that’s not what I’m saying Y/n” he smiled warmly at you, his eyes a bit glassy from the alcohol “also. Izuku’s fine, we’re not at work, so you can just call me Izuku.”

You hummed softly, smiling a little. He wanted to be closer with you. It was obvious by the expression on his face and the way his cheeks turned red as he offered his given name to you.

“Oh, sure thing, Izuku.” You teased, assign that extra emphasis on his name. You got your drink and sipped it, smiling at the dopey grin on his face “someone’s pleased with himself”

Izuku simply laughed at your words, taking a sip of his, almost empty, whiskey. He couldn’t deny your words, he was pleased with the new level of intimacy between the two of you. He'd been wanting to get to know you better, for a while, actually.

You were a bit older than Izuku, and you'd been working at UA for a few years before Izuku had earned a job there, and he admired the way you worked, the way you oriented your classes and how you carried yourself; confident, self-assured, and sexy-

"What can I say?" Izuku asked with a shrug of his shoulders, smiling a little, feeling less stiff and pressured now that you were in a public setting. "I'm allowed to be pleased with myself when I get a bit closer with someone as gorgeous as yourself" He hadn't meant to come off as forward as he did, but he had a few drinks in him.

You blushed a little, preening under the compliment directed at you "Oh? You think I'm gorgeous?" you asked, your tone soft, playful, with flirty undertones and a bit of teasing; it was lighthearted, and the two of you were just messing around.

Izuku blushed and shyly smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. "ah..I..did not mean to say that out loud" he muttered before laughing a little.

You blinked, before cracking a grin, with the way he was acting playful, yet still a bit shy and bashful made your heart race, and you knew you were in for a good night.

And boy were you right.

Several drinks in, and the two of you were ready to leave the bar. You two had been playfully flirting and conversing with huge, stupid smirks on your faces, feeling like giddy teenagers as you grabbed his hand.

You had called a taxi, since you were the more sober one of the two, which wasnt saying much.

Somehow, you and Izuku made it to your apartment, the tension between the two of you growing to a climax. The two of you stumbled into your apartment, Izuku drunkenly babbling to you "Y/n..a-are you...let-letting me s- hic stay? Please let me stay..I w-wan' to be c- hic close..t-to you"

You smiled a bit and chuckled "Y-yeah? you wanna stay?" you taunted, grinning mischievously at your coworker and friend. Izuku took this as you being unconvinced. What he did next would be what set off the two of you for the night;

Izuku grabbed onto your shirt, heavily leaning on you for support with his heavily lidded eyes and tousled hair, his cheeks red and breaths shaky "please..Y/n..i-ill..be such hic a good boy..please..please.."

Your eyes widened and your mouth went dry.

Now. How could you say no to a face that cute, especially when he was asking so politely?

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪𖤐

Your room was filled with the lewd squelching sounds of Izuku's throbbing, aching cock sliding in and out of your gushing cunt, your nude body bouncing on his lap while his gasps and feminine whimpers filled the air "Y/n! Fuck- Please! Mommy- mommy! please!!" he didnt know what he was pleading for, but his eyes were filled with tears, his head thrown back in ecstasy and his eyes rolling back as his cock bullied your cunt around the shape of its fat shaft.

You panted heavily, your hands on his muscular and scarred chest, your brows furrowed and lewd groans slipping passed your lips. "youre doing so good, being such a good boy for me sweetheart" you praised, your voice breathless as you rolled your hips and rode his hardened length.

You had no idea how youd gotten here, one minute you were kissing izuku, stumbling into your bedroom as he whimpered, promising to be a good boy if you took care of him, then the next his dick was the only thing on your mind.

Izuku brought a hand up to cover his eyes, his heavy breaths and whimpers meeting your ears, adding to that fog of alcohol and pleasure. "Please! I wanna cum- please! Please let me cum mommas- Ive been such a good boy-" he gasped out, his voice high and whiny as your tight walls constricted around his dick, making his body jolt and writhe under you.

You felt your own release building, your groans and gasps mixing with his whimpers and moans "Y/n!" Izuku grabbed the sheets, turning his face to the side, burying it in your pillow as tears of pleasure streamed down his bright red cheeks

"Baby- baby imabout to-" you reached down, your fingers finding his sensitive nipples and beginning to pinch and tease them, looking for that final push to tip him off into release.

Izuku's back arched, a cry of pleasure leaving him as he finally felt the tight ball of pleasure explode in his stomach, his cock twitching and shooting out hot ropes of sticky cum, right inside of you.

You panted heavily, removing yourself from on top of him and laying down next to him.

The two of you laid in your bed, before you gently coaxed izuku's tired body into cuddling with yours, your hand finding his hair as he cuddled up to you.

You knew that it probably meant nothing, a simple drunken mistake, and that izuku probably didnt harbor the same passionate feelings youd held for him.

little did you know, Izuku was smiling into your chest, his lashes wet with the tears of ecstasy youd earned from him, and one thought on his mind.

I hope we do this in the morning.

im sosososososososo sorry its taken me so long getting to these asks. i still have 4 left to write for. im SO SORRY- ive been struggling with mental health and other silly stuff, but im trying! so dont worry! i plan on using this week to catch up on asks and stuff, cause next weekend im celebrating my birthday, and the wednesday after next is my bday, so ill probably not be very active next week. or i might, who knows!

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