#and it's a much richer story for them

[muffinlance]

i just bought fox's tongue and kirin's bone, blacked out, and before i knew it i'd read the whole thing and all the skin stealer's son chapters that you've released. i adore it so so so so so much! i was curious, how many books do you anticipate will be in this series? have you planned it out, or is that question still open-ended for you? <3

The Book Fugue State is one of the highest compliments an author can receive <3

Re series length: I'm aiming for six books, but I think we all know what happens when authors say "the series will definitely be THIS long" (...then seven books later...)

#I've got the main series events plotted out #but there's flexibility in what minor plot arcs play out around them #like how Salvage could have been 20k if I'd only done the Hakoda and Zuko arc #but when you toss in the Dog Names arc and Zuko Making Friends arc and Favorite Apprentice arc #we are suddenly five times that #and it's a much richer story for them #but readers wouldn't have missed them if they were gone because they wouldn't have known it was an option #there are many arcs I COULD do in Fox's Tongue #like I would LOVE to do a Shadhavar arc it would be so pretty #but it's about as necessary to the story as the sex workers arc was to Salvage #fox's tongue and kirin's bone #original fiction

[the-darklings]

Hi I found coa a while back and I’m obsessed with it and I was wondering if you’ll ever work on it again? No pressure or anything just curious

heyo

first, thank you for reading. second, it’s honestly unlikely i’ll return to coa. jw4 did the opposite of inspiring me — it was a massive let down and it kinda killed my hype for the franchise :// I think i’m at a point where i’m done fooling myself and can admit that the characters in that series have outgrown coa boundaries.

however, if you like coa you might be happy to hear but all all original characters in that series, including v herself, are main characters in the original novel series i’m working on.

#i just want to tell my own stories and characters like v/hector/lucien etc deserve their own world and their own agency #coa was great as a stepping stone but those characters outgrew that story #they’re so much richer and full fledged than fill ins I initially had them down as #but sincere thank you to everyone who ever read it and sent me messages #coa did so much for me #i created v as comfort character so long ago & she’s given me so many amazing friends and new ideas #i hope everyone who read coa can one day read my original novels and enjoy them just as much if not more #asks

[magnusbae]

I know it was a few days ago, but I saw in your tags of that minotaur post the Neil Gaiman has monsterfucker short stories? I tried to google detective them but he has a LOT of short stories. Do you have any specific recs or is this a read-all-of-them situation? Thanks!

You've no idea what joy it just brought to me LMAO !!!

I'm currently reading a collection of short stories inside of The Neil Gaiman Reader: Selected Fiction and while I can't say that a lot of them are specifically monsterfucking per se, though some definitely occur, especially in 'Snow, Glass, Apples' , I can say that the general vibe and connecting link is creatures.

He pushed me to the ground, onto the leaves and the wrappers and the condom, and lowered himself on top of me. Then he raised his head, and opened his mouth, and ate my life with his strong sharp teeth. —Troll Bridge

NOW IT WAS NOT WRITTEN TO BE READ LIKE THAT, HOWEVER.

A lot of those are rather dark I reckon, but a different short story that most definitely does fall into the category we're discussing, though in a sweet, wholesome manner would be: October Tale.

It's a sweet little thing, I really liked it. 🤍

I'm 100% there's much more than this, I am only starting to get through Neil's short stories, but the general vibe is very much tumblr-oriented. He is as much of a feral racoon living in a dumpster as the rest of us, and I find it reassuring :)

#Mr. Gaiman if you ever see it I'm sorry but you did lowkey (highkey) bring this unto yourself #Thank you for your work #jk i'd perish if he ever sees my blog BYE segeG #beholdingthegaytimes #hope you like those! some of them are VERY twisty. #I find that his short stories are so much richer and more intriguing and so shameless compared to his proper books. #He really does go ahead and explore topics other people shift uncomfortably around #I like that. That's how fiction should be. Free of shame. #msg

[lizziestudieshistory]

I started listening to the Interview with the Vampire audiobook after finally getting to watch the new TV show... Revisiting the story with the updated version in mind really highlights the problematic parts of this book in a way that is not doing it any favours 👀😬

#interview with the vampire #anne rice #vampire chronicles #interview with the vampire 2022 #it's so frustrating being in the UK sometimes #I've been dying to watch the new adaptation for months #I'm in love with it #i particularly love the new stance on Louis - he's much more interesting in his own right #although i did miss the frock coats #but i can live without them for the richer retelling of Louis' story

[mymarifae]

i understand that the way language arts is taught makes the whole study of literature and narratives and themes and such seem like a boring, pointless endeavor. but it is so important to me and my sanity that you pay attention to the information presented to you in those classes. because it is integral. you will never be able to approach art in any form and come to your own, unadulterated conclusions and interpretations. you will not recognize propaganda when it is being spoonfed to you. and you will not understand that yes, the messages of the media and the art you consume do in fact subtly change your psyche and that’s why you can’t just blindly consume shit

#like you know the whole argument with the blue curtains example. 'the blue curtains symbolize the character's sadness' vs #'the curtains are fucking curtains.' #<- that latter viewpoint upsets me soooo fucking much because like oh my god you are missing the point #perhaps the author or the artist or whatever did not intentionally include blue curtains to symbolize sadness #in fact it's pretty likely that it wasn't intentional at all because that's just how creating art works #the POINT is you can draw out details to support the overall themes and messages and make them stronger and come to your own conclusions #different people will hone in on different details. that's the beauty of art. #you don't need any sort of 'correct' interpretation spoonfed to you and you should not expect it #so like. yeah the curtains might just be fucking curtains but how does approaching them as a Symbol affect our understanding of the story? #does the character open the curtains to let in the sunshine - thus freeing themself from their sadness? #or do they close the curtains and hide in the dark - trapping themself in the same miserable cycles? #sometimes things are just things to populate the empty spaces of a story and you don't necessarily need to think about them #but you Can think about them and that will make your experience all the more richer. #anyway.this whole thing means like a fucking lot to me 😂 #i'm pursuing the career i am without caring about the difficulties and the dangers because i want to do what i can to be like. #a good fucking high school language arts teacher. and to properly impart the value and the IMPORTANCE of these lessons.

[werewolf-apologist]

ppl who complain that muto hates finn or that the show loses focus on finn bc it also includes side character episodes……..are u ok

#bro the whole world gets deeper more interesting more complex when it chooses to show side characters and their journey #also the series as a whole broadens its scope of characters and stories as the world becomes more nuanced and realistic. respectfully how #did u miss that. the show always stays abt being finn and jake but it lends itself to the world of ooo where they live to deepen the lore #and make the world richer. would u truly be happy and feel connected to a world where only the main characters are given voice. not any of #their friends or family ??? idk mayb i am a silly choose goose who enjoys a lore ep as much as a main plot ep but like. how can u say muto #hates finn when islands exists. when finn gets to be a teen/young adult who makes mistakes and changes and grows and Becomes even if it’s #ugly or negative sometimes. without the writers love and care he would be the same in s1 as he is in s8 Please be so honest in this space #idk i truly believe that to love a character or story u have to be willing to fuck it up a little. to show them in an honest light even if #it doesn’t look good. the flame princess/ice king arc does finn dirty on Purpose !! he’s a teen boy who doesn’t know how things work !! #it doesn’t villainize him it just shows he’s a fallible boy figuring it out and he fumbles. he isn’t perfect #it literally would’ve been 10x worse if finn was always the objectively correct person in every situation #idk. i love this show i love these characters. it’s silly (imo) to say the writers don’t bc they make the world wider and the conflicts more #nuanced. i think that’s silly is all

[lvvetalks]

lucid is just not giving what i want them to give :/

#cant decide if i just need to tweak things #or if a complete overhaul is needed #i also really need to get la vie off the ground bc they have a much richer story and ive given them dust!!

[headspace-hotel]

I will write this thought about Veganism and Classism in the USA in another post so as to not derail the other thread:

There are comments in the notes that say meat is only cheaper than plant based foods because of subsidies artificially lowering the price of meat in the United States. This is...part of the story but not all of it.

For my animal agriculture lab we went to a butcher shop and watched the butcher cut up a pig into various cuts of meat. I have had to study quite a bit about the meat industry in that class. This has been the first time I fully realized how strongly the meat on a single animal is divided up by socioeconomic class.

Like yes, meat cumulatively takes more natural resources to create and thus should be more expensive, but once that animal is cut apart, it is divided up between rich and poor based on how good to eat the parts are. I was really shocked at watching this process and seeing just how clean and crisp an indicator of class this is.

Specifically, the types of meat I'm most familiar with are traditionally "waste" parts left over once the desirable parts are gone. For example, beef brisket is the dangly, floppy bit on the front of a cow's neck. Pork spareribs are the part of the ribcage that's barely got anything on it.

And that stuff is a tier above the "meat" that is most of what poor people eat: sausage, hot dogs, bologna, other heavily processed meat products that are essentially made up of all the scraps from the carcass that can't go into the "cuts" of meat. Where my mom comes from in North Carolina, you can buy "livermush" which is a processed meat product made up of a mixture of liver and a bunch of random body parts ground up and congealed together. There's also "head cheese" (made of parts of the pig's head) and pickled pigs' feet and chitlin's (that's made of intestines iirc) and cracklin's (basically crispy fried pig skin) and probably a bunch of stuff i'm forgetting. A lot of traditional Southern cooking uses basically scraps of animal ingredients to stretch across multiple meals, like putting pork fat in beans or saving bacon grease for gravy or the like.

So another dysfunctional thing about our food system, is that instead of people of each socioeconomic class eating a certain number of animals, every individual animal is basically divided up along class lines, with the poorest people eating the scraps no one else will eat (oftentimes heavily processed in a way that makes it incredibly unhealthy).

Even the 70% lean ground beef is made by injecting extra leftover fat back into the ground-up meat because the extra fat is undesirable on the "better" cuts. (Gross!)

I've made, or eaten, many a recipe where the only thing that makes it non-vegan is the chicken broth. Chicken broth, just leftover chicken bones and cartilage rendered and boiled down in water? How much is that "driving demand" for meat, when it's basically a byproduct?

That class really made me twist my brain around about the idea of abstaining from animal products as a way to deprive the industry of profits. Nobody eats "X number of cows, pigs, chickens in a lifetime" because depending on the socioeconomic class, they're eating different parts of the animal, splitting it with someone richer or poorer than they are. If a bunch of people who only ate processed meats anyway abstained, that wouldn't equal "saving" X number of animals, it would just mean the scraps and byproducts from a bunch of people's steaks or pork chops would have something different happen to them.

The other major relevant conclusion I got from that class, was that animal agriculture is so dominant because of monoculture. People think it's animal agriculture vs. plant agriculture (or plants used for human consumption vs. using them to feed livestock), but from capitalism's point of view, feeding animals corn is just another way to use corn to generate profits.

People think we could feed the world by using the grain fed to animals to feed humans, but...the grain fed to animals, is not actually a viable diet for the human population, because it's literally just corn and soybean. Like animal agriculture is used to give some semblance of variety to the consumer's diet in a system that is almost totally dominated by like 3 monocrops.

Do y'all have any idea how much of the American diet is just corn?!?! Corn starch, corn syrup, corn this, corn that, processed into the appearance of variety. And chickens and pigs are just another way to process corn. That's basically why we have them, because they can eat our corn. It's a total disaster.

And it's even worse because almost all the USA's plant foods that aren't the giant industrial monocrops maintained by pesticides and machines, are harvested and cared for by undocumented migrant workers that get abused and mistreated and can't say anything because their boss will tattle on them to ICE.

#agriculture #it's so messed up #plants #livestock

[booksbabybooks]

In rereading Discworld, I marvel at how lucky we were that Sir PTerry lived to give us such a fitting send off to that universe: and how that send off is much richer if you view Raising Steam and The Shepherd's Crown as a dual goodbye.

Steam gives us "big ideas" Pratchett at his finest: what happens when you introduce a world-changing roundworld idea to Discworld (the railways). It showcases a host of favourite main characters (Moist, Vimes, Vetinari and the Night Watch) plus some beloved minor characters (Harry, the Low King) and develops their relationships in new and interesting ways (see how Moist, who has never had time for the police, is forced to reassess Vimes, and vice versa). It moves key issues forward - gender politics in the dwarves, how certain species are treated - and revisits old stories (Vertinari's secret double, the golden golems). Plus we get some genuinely exciting set pieces, and happy endings all round. It would, on its own, be a fitting finale.

Then we get Shepherd. A small scale, intimate book about one old woman's death and one young woman's destiny. About how a life can ripple through the world, but without pulling focus from those in her smaller circle. It's not scared of big ideas - from the gender dynamics of witches to the relationship between faeries and the world - but it ultimately feels focused on one compact group of (mostly) women. While Steam felt like a big, showy leaving party, Shepherd feels like a farewell between friends, bittersweet but lovely all the same.

Together, they reflect the strengths of Discworld, its ability to tackle big ideas but to do so by tying them to characters who feel like people you know, making them small enough to grasp. Read them in close sittings, and they fit together beautifully.

#discworld #gnu terry pratchett #terry pratchett #tiffany aching #samuel vimes #moist von lipwig #raising steam #the shepherd's crown

[beggars-opera]

Hey, so we don't talk enough about A Christmas Carol as being at least a little bit about not continuing a cycle of abuse and neglect, both against others and yourself.

In the book little Scrooge is left languishing over the holidays in a boarding school for some never-explained reason, but it is made very clear that this is miserable and unfair, and that his father is doing this on purpose. His sister specifically comes to tell him that "father is so much kinder now than he used to be, that home's like heaven." This also reflects a bit of Dickens's own childhood when his father went into debtor's prison and little Charlie was forced to support his family working full time in a shoe-blacking factory at the age of 12 (which is also why so many of his books seem to have a moral of "hey, kids are people too and maybe we shouldn't make them work in the mines.")

Whatever family reunion happened after didn't work out, because Scrooge continues believing that no one is coming to save him and pulling himself up by his bootstraps at the detriment of all other social relationships is the only way forward. And the more he lives by that philosophy, the more miserable he gets, because obviously he pushes away anyone who has that hope that he lost. They threaten to break down the walls he's built and teach him that a big pile of money doesn't have to be the only thing that he can rely on, if he'd just let himself be vulnerable and have a relationship with people who care about him, because they're out there even if he's ignoring them.

There is a certain type of person still very much out there who thinks this way. "I've never been happy in my life, so no one else has a right to be either. I was abused in my childhood so it's only fair that everyone else suffer as well." We see this in parents who still try to use corporal punishment, and in wealthy people who ignore the social factors keeping others down and scream that everyone else is just entitled, that only those who suffer and scrape deserve happiness. And they especially hate the people like Fred who represent the past that could have been, who have maintained hope for the future, and seem to be rubbing their optimism in your face, when in reality they're just maintaining hope because it's the only way you can survive.

It's so important for Scrooge to actually see the impact this thinking has on both himself and multiple generations. Rich people have this weird hangup about this story because they think Scrooge is bad because he's rich. He's not, he's bad because he's a horrible person and a miser - he doesn't use his money to better anything, including himself. Salting the earth, everyone suffers here, including him. And he learns that he's going to die old and alone without ever having spent or enjoyed his money, and that his family feels sorry for him, and that the nameless masses of poor people out there that he decries so much are in fact living, breathing people, including tiny disabled kids who don't deserve to suffer just because you decided life isn't fair.

In the end he takes responsibility for actually uplifting the people in the next generation who are trying to make the world a better place and no longer punching down, because it doesn't have to be this way. So many people out there just give up hope because things are hard and they think trying to improve things is a pointless exercise that makes them look dumb. How dare you grow a year older and not an hour richer! How dare you marry for love! That's the only thing more ridiculous than a Merry Christmas! When in reality, there are plenty of people who would love to see them happy if they just had a chance.

It's really sad that, while the language used to describe it has changed, these problems still persist. That people feel so wronged and isolated that they spend their days ensuring everyone else will be as well. That they fail to see their fellow humans as fellow humans who are just as deserving of love and kindness and a roof over their heads. I don't care what time of year it is, we should all be lifting each other up rather than tearing each other down.

#long post #rant #a christmas carol #charles dickens #history #books #literature #christmas #who hurt elon musk

[g1rld1ary]

you never disappointed me - part two

part one part two part three part four

➻ synopsis: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader ; percy and beckendorf's plan to set you up with luke is in motion, but you're extremely resistant to any advances (10 things I about you AU)

➻ word count: 3462

➻ warnings: swearing, ooc/kind of loser!luke, ooc silena, she/her pronouns used for reader, sexual innuendos

➻ thank u so much for all the love on part 1 I am such a happy gal!!!!! also, have my first day at uni tomorrow (so pls wish me luck) and sorry if updates slow down!

TAGLIST: @myxticmoon @wicca-void @leeknows-wife @thekittyxo-blog @number-onekidqueen @instabull

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

It turned out that getting you to go out with Luke was harder than he’d originally anticipated. Eager for the whole ordeal to be over and for him to be 50 dollars richer, he’d hopped down from his spot on a fallen log and hurried to meet you by the volleyball courts when your match ended. You, unaware of Luke’s agenda, were fanning your face to combat some of the sweat that had accumulated, quickly tightening the messy ponytail you’d tied. Luke watched you in your own world, unbothered by anybody watching you, unlike the rest of your siblings. Sucking in a quick breath for confidence he approached you.

“Hey there, girly,” He smiled, “How’re you doing?” You looked up at him, inquisitive for a moment but ultimately unimpressed.

“Sweating like a pig actually, and yourself?” You were barely looking at him, skulling an impressive amount of your water bottle quickly. He stared at you, not expecting to be dismissed so easily. He recovered smoothly, not prepared to give up so soon.

“You really know how to get a guy’s attention, huh?”

“My mission in life,” You shot him a cloying smile, now giving him your full attention, unable to help being slightly interested by his boldness. “But obviously I’ve struck your fancy, so you see it worked. The world makes sense again.” You‘d figured out his motives now and had no interest, so began the walk back to your cabin. He followed, much to your dismay. Couldn’t men ever take the hint?

“So I’ll pick you up Friday then?”

“Oh right, Friday, uh huh.” You kept your eyes ahead, dodging a few younger kids as Luke trailed after you, annoyingly optimistic still.

“The night I take you places you’ve never been before,” He said, and you looked at him in disbelief. The ego on this kid!

“Right, like the makeout clearing in the forest? Do you even know my name, Castellan?” Luke could tell that you were mocking him, but he still had high hopes.

“I know a lot more than you think.” He smiled then, a lopsided thing that would have been somewhat charming if you’d actually bothered to look. Instead you were already walking away, calling out a “Doubtful. Very doubtful,” over your shoulder as you picked up into a run, presumably to go tell Clarisse about the bizarre experience you just had. Luke watched you go, dumbstruck in the middle of camp.

Percy and Beckendorf watched the exchange from the porch of the Hephaestus cabin, the latter putting his head in his hands dramatically.

“We’re screwed,” He groaned and Percy winced slightly.

“I’m sure it’ll all be fine, dude. Luke has faced a lot worse than a teenage girl.”

When you sat at dinner that night, desperately avoiding the eye contact Luke seemed desperate on initiating, you almost told Silena about your bizarre day. You’d opened your mouth to start the story when you realised that she’d only be encouraged by Luke’s antics, pressuring you into going out with him for her own benefit and quickly shut it. She’d noticed your odd behaviour and searched for meaning in your face. Panicking for something to replace the conversation, you zeroed in on the necklace sitting nicely on top of her camp one.

“Where’d you get the pearls?” You asked, already dreading the answer. Silena only confirmed your fears, claiming them as your grandmother’s with a coy smile.

“So what? You’ve just been hiding them the last three years?” You were always closest with your grandmother, and you were sure she wouldn’t leave her favourite pearls for Silena over you.

“Daddy found them in a drawer just before summer.” Silena shrugged as if you weren’t sitting across from her, cheeks a blotchy red in your upset. “Besides, they look good on me.” Your hands itched to hit her as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, knowing exactly how much she was pissing you off.

“Trust me, they don’t,” You spat, quietly glad when Silena stalked off in a huff, amongst the first to leave the meal. You didn’t know how much longer you could argue with her before starting to cry, which you really didn’t want to do in front of the whole camp. You thought you were safe for the rest of the meal when Drew began speaking instead.

“You could try being nice sometimes, you know, people wouldn’t know what to think.” You rolled your eyes aggressively.

“You forget, I don’t care what people think,” You replied, taking in a spoonful of food.

“Yes you do. Everyone does. You know, with a new look you could have some serious potential.” You ignored her last statement.

“No, I don’t,” You emphasised, “You don’t always have to be who they want you to be.” You knew that wouldn’t impact Drew in the slightest, but you hoped it might resonate with some of your younger siblings — encourage them to nurture their internal beauty rather than accept the vain stereotype Aphrodite children were forced into. You pushed yourself out of the bench you were sitting on, needing a break from your insufferable siblings. As you dumped your dishes where they needed to be you saw Luke beginning to follow you and turned to make dead eye contact. Knowing you’d only scream at him (or worse) you gave him a dangerous look, accompanied with an almost imperceptible shake of your head. Not enough for anyone else to know you’d even acknowledged him, but enough to tell Luke to back off. He was smarter than you thought, as he held up his hands in a show of surrender, redirecting his action to innocently collect up his own dishes.

You may not have had any interest in knowing the boy, but you did appreciate that he knew when to back off. Or so you thought.

You were proven not-so-free from Luke Castellan the very next morning. It was the Aphrodite cabin’s day to check all the storerooms, and you’d volunteered to do the one which held all the weapons and armour near the sword fighting arena. You knew none of your siblings would come near if they could help it, mostly against weapons and the violence that surrounded the area, so you’d get a whole morning alone. It was peaceful attending to the chore, and you were allowed to use some of your Aphrodite eye for beauty. Of course, stacks of swords and assorted weapons could only be made so pretty, but you enjoyed organising them into neat rows, making it look as nice as possible — not that you would admit that to Silena or you’d be in her vanity chair receiving an unwelcome makeover in seconds.

You were just admiring your own sword, which you’d taken the time to polish while you were taking care of the others, when you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t react, assuming it was just some camper coming for a weapon, until he spoke.

“Nice sword, vintage hilt?” You tensed as Luke’s voice infiltrated your peace.

“Are you following me?” You disregarded his statement, an unimpressed frown present on your lips.

“I was training in the arena and needed to polish my sword. I saw you come in a while ago and not leave, I came to say hi,” He explained, and you raised an eyebrow. You weren’t friends, why would he come for a chat?

“Hi.” You promptly turned back to your task, shoving the cloth into the intricate designs of the hilt.

“Not a big talker, huh?” He persisted.

“Depends on the topic. My sword doesn’t exactly whip me into a verbal frenzy.” That wasn’t strictly true — the sword was a gift from your mother, with gold twisting around a blood red ruby in the centre of the hilt. After you’d made it clear that you weren’t going to just sit around during your time at camp she gifted you the sword, her way of saying that if you were going to fight, you should at least look good doing it. You’d had several conversations with Clarisse gushing over the intricacy of it, and profusely thanked Aphrodite for the gift in your offerings. You didn’t quite care to share this with Luke, being a relative stranger.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” He asked, and you were somewhat taken aback by the earnest tone of his voice.

“Afraid of you? Why would I be afraid of you?” You couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that crept into your sentence.

“Most people are.” He gestured subtly towards his scar — gnarled and twisted against his otherwise tanned skin. You put a hand on your hip, resigned to conversation now.

“Well, I’m not.”

“Ok, maybe you’re not afraid of me, but I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked.” You were pretty sure Luke was going for smooth or charming, but you thought in this moment he was entirely lame. The wink didn’t help his case.

“Am I that transparent? I want you, I need you. Oh baby, oh baby.” You put on your best Drew impression, nasally and whiny, before handing him the cloth he needed to polish his own sword and turning to leave. There, quickly approaching the door, was Ethan. Seeing you he put on a disgusting smirk and blocked the doorway, effectively caging you into the storeroom.

“Gods, what is it, asshole day?” You asked, not caring that both boys could very clearly hear you. “Do you mind?” You gestured to his blocking the exit. He simply looked down at you, clearly doing his best to appear sexy (and failing miserably).

“Not at all.” His stupid smirk was going to kill you, and not in the good way. You scoffed, giving him a last chance to get the fuck out of your way. Then, sparing a fraction of a glance back to Luke pretending to mind his own business, you slammed the hilt of your sword into his foot, wishing it was the blade instead. You watched him crumble to the ground, holding his foot with both hands.

“You bitch!” He yelled, voice cracking pathetically in the middle. You forced your smile to stay contained.

“Oops,” You feigned innocence, one hands covering your mouth strategically. “You might need some ambrosia for that…” With that you side-stepped him, eager to leave the situation. If you’d have looked back, you would have seen the gleeful, disbelieving smile on Luke’s face, probably the biggest one he’d worn in a while. Although he didn’t get the date he’d entered for, he was beginning to think you were a little more interesting than you let on.

“Did you just cripple Ethan?” Silena shrieked as you entered your cabin to grab your things. “He’s a model, you can’t do that! Has it escaped your notice that you’re completely psychotic?” You pretended to think for a moment, then shrugged nonchalantly.

“Guess your long walks on the beach are gonna have to wait,” You sighed dramatically, leaving Silena to wallow in her pity alone. It wasn’t like it was really your fault — if Ethan had learned how to respond to words or learn the meaning of ‘move’ he wouldn’t have gotten himself into that situation in the first place.

Meanwhile, Ethan and Luke were having a similarly emotional conversation after Luke had — very reluctantly — helped Ethan over to the infirmary to get his foot checked out.

“When I shell out fifty, I expect results.” Luke sighed, could this boy get any whinier?

“Yeah, I’m on it,” He said through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to hurt him.

“Watching that bitch obliterate my foot doesn’t count as a date. If you don’t get any, I don’t get any, so let’s get some,” Ethan said, running a hand through his ridiculously styled hair. Luke couldn’t believe his nerve. First of all, obliterated? He would be left with a bruise for a few days, if anything. Secondly, this whole things was Ethan’s idea, Luke had never given any indication wanting to ‘get some’, especially not with someone so clearly resisting his advances. Just as Ethan left, giving the Apollo girl treating him a douchebag smile, Luke hardened his resolve.

“I just upped my price,” He said, loving the way Ethan’s eyes widened like a cartoon character. “A hundred bucks a date, in advance.”

“Forget it,” Ethan grumbled, moving to leave again.

“Forget her sister then.” The two boys stared at each other, one significantly more amused than the other. Luke knew he had the upper hand in the dynamic, something he revelled in. Then, after the intimidation tactic clearly wasn’t having any effect, Ethan reached for his wallet, Luke admiring the crisp fifty he was handed.

“You better hope you’re as smooth as you think you are, Castellan.” Luke just watched him go, confident tilt of his head conveying his outlook on the situation.

Luke had taken his usual spot overseeing combat training, but his usual thoughts were long gone. Instead, he was entirely preoccupied with you. He didn’t know how to get you to go out with him when you could barely entertain a conversation, and he twirled his cigarette between his fingers as he pondered.

Percy and Beckendorf saw his internal conflicts, slowly moving closer to him under the guise of a very chaotic fight between the two. Finally Luke gave them attention, knowing Percy’s skills would never have him running all over the place like that. He raised an eyebrow, a sign for them to get on with whatever they were angling at.

“We know what you’re trying to do, for Beauregard,” Percy said, and Luke appeared almost startled.

“And we want to help,” Added Beckendorf helpfully, shying away when Luke’s eyes bore into his.

“And why would you do that?”

“Beckendorf here has a major crush on Silena—”

“Gods, what is it with this girl? Does she sweat nectar?” Beckendorf opened his mouth to protest when Percy spoke over him, knowing it would be more beneficial to let Luke lead.

“Look, I think we can both tell that Charlie’s love is pure, well-intentioned, better than, say, Ethan White?” Luke sighed, catching on.

“I’m in this for the cash, that’s it. Who Ethan wants to bang is of no interest to me.”

“There will be no banging!” Beckendorf cried as Percy pushed him behind. He was no use in a delicate situation like this.

“Ok, Luke, it’s just that we’re the masterminds behind this whole thing. We set it up so Beckendorf can get the girl — Ethan’s just a pawn.” Luke paid closer attention suddenly, intrigued by the chess match he’d been pulled into.

“So you two are gonna help me win her over?”

“We’ll do research, find out what she likes. We can be your guys on the inside.”

“In a strictly non-mission type of way,” Beckendorf added helpfully, nervous of the legends he’d heard about Luke’s failed quest. Luke chose to simply ignore that comment, and Percy filled the silence before he could get angry about it.

“Let’s just start here: the Apollo cabin is throwing a party on Friday night, it’s the perfect opportunity.”

“I’ll think about it,” Was all Luke said, a clear signal the conversation was over. Percy and Beckendorf returned to fighting, slightly more regulated now they had gotten what they’d wanted, and Luke brought the cigarette back up to his lips, new thoughts clouding his mind.

Meanwhile, Ethan had found Silena where she was known to hang out by the rocks near the lake. He was hovering next to her, providing snatches of shade as he performed pose after pose, claiming he had a modelling job lined up when he left for the year.

“So which do you like better?” He asked, moving his hands fractionally to the left of his chin.

“The second,” Silena giggled, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “It’s more… pensive.”

“Damn,” Ethan kicked the sand softly. “I was going for thoughtful. So, you going to the Apollo party on Friday?”

“Maybe.” She produced her best coy smile, looking up at him from behind her lashes.

“Good, ‘cause you know I’ll only bother if you’re there.” Silena smiled, getting up from her spot on the rock.

“Bye.” Her voice was airy in the way she knew drove boys mad. She walked away leaving Ethan wanting more, her specialty. You scoffed, catching the end of the exchange. You and Silena made momentary eye contact, tension thick between the two of you.

As Beckendorf approached Silena, fishing for more information about you, Ethan had caught you in his sights and wasn’t going to let you go so easily.

“You sister is so cute,” His voice infiltrated your bubble in a way that made you want to hit him so desperately. “Doesn’t have your bite though, a feisty woman is so sexy.” You knew he was just trying to get a rise out of you, but it was so close to working.

“Come any closer and I’ll show you just how feisty I can get,” You snapped, braid almost whacking him in the face as you turned to face him. You could have sworn Ethan looked afraid for a second before he covered it with bravado.

“One day you’re gonna realise that all of this hostility is just your sexual repression. Don’t worry, babe, I’ll be waiting with open arms… And legs.” You almost threw up.

“Gods, can’t you just leave me alone, asshole?” You yelled, trying to push past him to get anywhere else.

“C’mon, don’t be a prude,” He whined, and you were really close to taking him to the ground — not in the way he wanted.

“You heard the girl,” A voice called from behind you, and instantly Ethan took a step back. “She wants you to leave her alone.” Luke appeared behind you, a respectful distance away whilst still making his intentions clear. Ethan shrunk back into himself, making a lame excuse as to why he had to leave, hurriedly fleeing the beach. Reluctantly, you turned to face Luke.

“I’m not going out with you just for that,” You said plainly, daring him to try again.

“You think that low of me?” He laughed, dark eyes sparkling with mirth. You forced yourself not to notice. “I don’t have to want something from you to know that Ethan White isn’t worth your time.” It was your turn to be embarrassed at that, feeling slightly narcissistic for assuming that was the purpose of the conversation (it was, but Luke sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin his chances because you were in a mood, justified or otherwise).

“Oh.” You stared at his shoes. “Well, thanks, I guess.” You moved to leave but Luke stopped you, hand not quite touching your arm, unwilling to have it bitten off.

“So you do have a heart!” He joked, signature grin on his face. You wondered why you were seeing so much of it lately when he’d been so dour since his quest.

“Ha! You wish.”

“Don’t try to hide it, Beauregard, you’re warming up to me.”

“I’d sooner fuck Mister D,” You replied, actually taking your leave.

Luke watched you go, chewing his lip between his teeth. There was more to you than you let on, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t say it was any fondness, but he was starting to have a curiosity attaching itself to this scheme, and he knew that going out with you would satisfy it. He should have known having any personal stakes involved — sentimental or otherwise — would get dangerous.

Your own thoughts had barely budged on Luke. He was still a pain in your side and you figured you knew what kind of guy he was — not the type you had any interest in. Still, you couldn’t deny that you were appreciative he’d saved you from Ethan (and the inevitable washing up duty you’d be punished with when you beat him up), so maybe he wasn’t quite as despicable as you’d initially judged him to be. Close, though.

part three

#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ #love #luke castellan #pjo series #pjo #pjo tv show #pjo fandom #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson show #percy jackson #percy series #percy pjo #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan imagines #luke castellan fanfiction #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #percy jackson tv show

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

the five stages | f. odair

masterlist

summary: a journey back to a golden period of time of polaroid pictures, white knitted sweaters, and lively sea-green eyes. why? because in the present, those same pair of eyes are ruthlessly unrelenting and you have no other chance of their escape.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: heavy angst, vomiting, implied smut, depression, maggots, hallucinations, relieving fluff, mild horror. I don’t want to spoil the story too much, so I won’t be adding any more warnings, sorry y’all. this could be very triggering so please read at your own discretion. some descriptions are quite graphic!

notes: I’m super proud of this one—it’s sorta based off “little talks” by of monsters and men and “on the nature of daylight” by max richer. this fic probably won’t get many views, so I’ll be incredibly grateful for any—if any at all—type of engagement! <33

word count: 8k

The bedroom was cold; dark; empty. Empty even though I still resided in it.

My alarm had gone off two hours ago, yet I hadn’t moved an inch. When I finally turned my head to the side, I found that the space beside me was vacant. Cold; dark; empty—I reached out my hand anyway.

Thirty minutes passed before I wrestled myself out of bed and started making breakfast downstairs. The otherwise warm and flavourful plate of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast left my mouth feeling dry and my throat lodged.

It used to be one of my favourite meals. At least, when he was around.

Dishes were piled in the sink, dirty and untouched. I sat on the couch, pondering whether today was the day I would finally get to cleaning them. It wasn’t. I couldn’t. We always did that together. I wondered—if I left them in the sink long enough, would he return? Even just for five minutes to help me put them away? One month and seventeen days had passed, and yet I still entertained this thought religiously.

I wasted an hour running circles round the same contemplations before deciding fresh air, as cliché as it was, might do me some good.

Grey clouds concealed the sun’s warm golden light when I stepped outside, but that was fine—I didn’t like anything golden anymore. But he would want me to leave the house at least once a day, so that’s what I would do. I would go down to the beach beside our—my house and feel the sand collect between my toes as I walked to the water’s edge.

But wasn’t that where he was when it happened? Wasn’t he in water? Didn’t those things pile on top of him? Didn’t they sink their fangs into his neck and tear at his flesh until he was blown to…

Bits of egg, yoghurt and stomach bile sat at my feet. My legs buckled, and I collapsed to the ground in a sandy, tear-stricken heap. Since my lower body had refused to cooperate any longer, it took me until midday to crawl back up the dune and to my front doorstep.

Fuck. I needed to rest.

“I need you to rest, sweetheart.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” I whined. “I’m not sick.”

Finnick placed a bucket on the ground beside the bed. The room smelled of lemon disinfectant—a joy I often found in being sick… That is, if I were sick, which I was not. I must have drunk spoiled milk or eaten something bad during breakfast. Nevertheless, Finnick was not having it.

“You’re throwing up everything you manage to get down, and you’re shivering like it’s the middle of winter,” he said adamantly, tucking the comforter up to my chest. “It’s summer, and you’re very much not fine.”

I sat up, ready to heatedly debate the subject, but the room began swirling, and my ears were hissing like a staticky television channel without a signal. A quiet whimper buzzed in my throat as I hunched forward. Damn him, I was sick.

The mattress dipped as Finnick sat beside me. His hand was on my back, rubbing it soothingly as he used his other hand to tuck away the curtain of hair concealing my face. I huffed, half in annoyance, half in an attempt to suppress the nausea rising in my throat, and then sunk back against the pillows.

“Not sick, she says,” he jested, smiling down at me. I rolled my eyes, though unable to hide the weak, betraying smile creeping across my lips. “Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he said, a gentle command. “I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

The wooden flooring welcomed me with hard, cold arms as I hauled my sandy body through the front door. Images of fangs, bloody flesh, and panicked sea-green eyes flooded my mind.

More breakfast, more bile. No lemon disinfectant.

My knees were folded beneath my body; my body was hunched over my knees. I was sobbing now, so hard that I threw up again (was there even anything left in my stomach at this point?), creating a thick puddle of vomit and tears beneath me. Cries and gasps for air bounced around the house. To call me a mess would be an understatement. I was a disaster. A disaster wrapped up in an unmendable tragedy with a ragged, threadbare ribbon barely holding me together.

And in case I wasn’t aware of this fact, the floorboards were so shiny that they mirrored a reflection of myself. My hair was a being of its own, all wild and unkempt, and my face was another story entirely—a red, blotchy thing I wasn’t too interested in delving into.

But the most unsettling aspect had nothing to do with me, it was that there was someone else in the reflection. Two green balls of light were glowing above my head.

Dishevelled golden hair…

Dimpled cheeks…

My forehead was pressed to the floor as I screamed.

“I don’t want to make you sick as well,” I said, contrarily enjoying the feeling of Finnick’s skin warm against mine, hot blood flowing through his veins.

A day had passed since I first became unwell, and the sickness had continued to wreak havoc inside me.

We were both under the thick covers, our limbs tangled together as he held me atop his chest. (my body didn’t register the scorching summer temperatures. I actually felt as though my core temperature was a few degrees below freezing. Meanwhile, Finnick was characteristically toasty warm. It was perfect for me, but not so much for him, evident in the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. Nevertheless, he made no complaints).

My body rose and fell with each breath he took. I was trying to inhale whenever he exhaled in a weak attempt to prevent the festering sickness in my body from entering his, and though it was a futile gesture, I did it anyway.

“In sickness and health, remember?” he said.

I smiled. “We’re not even married.”

“Yet, you mean,” he countered. “I plan on spending the rest of my life with you, sweetheart. You know that.”

My heart fluttered at the thought of spending an entire lifetime with him—waking up in each other’s embrace each morning, the warm sunlight peeking through the blinds of our bedroom; Finnick calling me “Mrs. Odair” or “My wife” at every opportunity because doing so made us both giggle like two moronic, love-struck teenagers; and being unable to prevent the deep smile lines on both our cheeks as we age, a constant display of our perpetual happiness.

“Sixty more years of having and holding you,” he continued with a gentle musing in his tone. “For better or for worse... For richer or for poorer.” He then stroked the side of my face and brushed away the sweaty strands of hair sticking to my forehead. “In sickness and in health…”

“…Until death do us part,” I finished, my voice slow with fatigue.

Two fingers sat beneath my chin and tilted my head upward. My eyes connected with Finnick’s. They were soft. Heartfelt.

“Not even then. I’ll love you beyond the grave,” he murmured. Then his lips were slowly curving into a pensive smile. “When we’re both ghosts and haunting the next owners of this house.”

I was now smiling, too. “I’d hoped you would say something like that.”

How could he lie like that? There was no we. There were no next owners. There was only me, alive and alone in a comatose house. And mind you, I was sane enough to know that it wasn’t actually his ghost haunting me, though I wish I weren’t because having that knowledge was even worse. It meant he was truly erased from existence.

“Go away,” I whispered to the reflection on the floor.

He didn’t. His vacant green eyes kept staring down at my crumpled figure.

I shot off the floor and spun around, hot tears streaming down my face. “Go away!” His face remained expressionless. He looked like himself, only colder. “You said sixty more years! You said we’d be together!” I mindlessly picked up and flung a small picture frame at him, only for it to pass through his body and shatter on the floor behind him. “Why did you lie to me?!” My voice was frayed with fury, though underlined with grief.

He said nothing, did nothing. All he did was watch.

My legs buckled, and I was on the floor again. I was whispering, half-sobbing, the same question over and over until the words slurred together. “Why’d you lie? Why’d y’lie?” The only time I stopped was when my tongue grew too heavy to move anymore.

To my surprise, he eventually came and sat beside me, remaining cold and silent—as I too had become.

Glass fragments from the picture frame were scattered across the floorboards. The photo within had fallen out and, ironically, drifted towards me. I didn’t bother acknowledging him as I moved onto my hands and knees and began crawling forward—my palms slicing open and blood seeping out—until the photo was in my hands. My shins had granules of glass pricking into them, but I couldn’t feel the pain; all I could do was stare at the memory in my hands.

The picture had been taken in District Thirteen, a day before he signed up for… the mission.

I was drifting in and out of sleep when a sudden bright flash lit up my eyelids.

“Oops.”

Heavy eyes fluttering open, I was met with a small camera pointing down at me, which was being held up by a lengthy muscular arm, which was connected to an even more muscular and broad shoulder, which was connected to—okay, sorry, I think you get it.

“Finnick!” I shrieked, pulling the covers over my naked figure.

He laughed, the vibrations rumbling deep within his chest, beneath my ear. A soft whirring sound accompanied the polaroid sliding out of the camera, its black film hiding the doubtless embarrassing picture beneath. He placed the film on the sheets beside him, letting the photo develop in darkness.

“I was supposed to cover the flash,” he said, still chuckling.

I rubbed my eyes, which were twinkling with little sparkles of light. “I think you blinded me.”

“Lucky you,” he jested. “You’re finally free from my repulsive exterior.”

I started to reach for the picture beside him—“You’re an idiot”—but then he was rolling us over until his arms were pillared on either side of my head and he was hovering above me.

His hair was a mess, a testament to the night before (and very early hours of the morning), and he was sporting a beautiful, lazy grin. “Yeah? Well, you’re engaged to an idiot,” he said, tilting his head in an arrogant manner. “So what does that make you?”

The sea-glass ring hugging my finger gleamed in the lamp’s dull light as I reached out to touch his face, my fingertips brushing along the edges of his pronounced jawline. Tangled strands of hair and a beaming smile were reflecting back at me in his eyes. No one had ever loved anyone as much as I loved Finnick—disregarding the one exception that was staring down at me.

“Blinded by love,” I whispered.

Brief yet poignant emotion trickled through his features, his eyes. Then, like a flick of a switch, he covered it up and lowered his face into my neck, groaning the words, “So corny.”

My fingers were tangled in his hair, holding him close to me. “Liar,” I laughed. “You loved it.”

“I love you, which is why I put up with your corniness,” he murmured into my skin.

Even after all this time, my heart still leapt whenever he said those three words, even when he was being a jerk about it. I kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

We laid like this for a short while longer—Finnick keeping his face buried in the warmth of my neck, his arms curled beneath my body; me playing with the golden waves of his hair that were somehow softer than my own. He was so heavy on top of me that it was starting to become difficult to breathe, but in no universe would I ever tell him to get off. It was a blissful sort of suffocation.

A sort anyone would snap a picture of just to keep as a reminder of how beautiful it feels to be smothered with love. With that being said, the picture that lay awaiting beside me was brought back to mind.

“Oh no,” I moaned, picking it up and taking a short glance at the developed photo. I covered my face with my hands, repeating the words, “Oh no.”

The photo was plucked from my fingers, and Finnick began humming contentedly to himself.

In the photo, my face had been nuzzled into his bare, muscular chest, eyes closed in sleep-drunken serenity, hair thrown over my shoulder and spilling across the pillow. My hand rested on his contoured stomach with just enough of my upper arm and low light to conceal my breasts. Finnick had a delicate hand draped over my waist. He was gazing down at me with a smile that was just… full of pure love.

I had to admit—it was a beautiful picture. Despite my initial disapproval.

“Beautiful,” I heard him echo my thoughts, his eyes still scanning the photo. Then his brows furrowed, and his head slightly inched forward as though he had just noticed something peculiar in the picture. “Oh, and you are too, I guess.”

My head tilted back against the pillow with an abrupt laugh. I shook my head, looking back at him. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, leaning in closer.

His lips were on mine for what must have been the millionth time in the past few hours. The bedside clock announced that breakfast was soon approaching, though it was clear neither of us would make an appearance within the next hour (or two).

“You love me,” he whispered as he slid inside me.

And I did.

I really did.

The muscles in my cheeks were straining due to how hard I was smiling.

It wasn’t my idea to keep a picture of us half-naked in the entryway of our home. He always was a bit unusual like that. Completely unashamed of who he was and how he acted. Sometimes a little too boisterously, but that’s what I loved so much about him—how confident he was in his love for me, so much so that nothing else mattered, no one else’s opinion.

God, I love him so much.

Love…?

Wait.

That’s not right.

Shouldn’t it be “loved”?

And why was I smiling? I didn’t have anything to smile about anymore. He was gone. Our wedding never occurred. Our faces never wrinkled with smile lines. Our clasped hands never weathered with age. He was gone.

The polaroid slipped from between my fingers. My hands were covered in glass and blood, blood that had painted a dark red splotch in the middle of the shiny film. Figures.

After a short while of staring blankly at the scattered debris decorating the floor, I finally found it in myself to start climbing back onto my feet. My straightened legs wobbled and ached beneath me with the little energy I had. That’s what happens when you can barely stomach food anymore: no energy, always sleeping, always swamped by nightmares or bittersweet memories—at this point, they were one and the same.

Not a strand of gold or a fleck of green was in sight when I glanced over my shoulder. For now, at least. He liked making an appearance once or twice a day.

Pieces of glass crunched beneath my bare, stinging feet as I made for the stairwell. A mess for another day, I reasoned. Just like the dishes. Sticky red footprints stamped each wooden step I ascended, growing less prominent as I reached the second floor.

After taking a right down a short hallway, the encompassing walls littered with magnificent seashells and dried ocean flora, I turned the knob to the furthest room and entered. The floor was landscaped with mountains of clothes which drenched the room in a familiar, all-consuming smell. The scent kind of reminded me of receiving a warm hug, albeit from someone you know you should let go of in more ways than one.

His hair, golden and tousled, caught my eye as I passed the wall of string-hung polaroids in our… sorry, my bedroom. His smile was all dimpled and brilliant, and he had his tanned arms wrapped around my middle. Just moments after the picture was taken, he had tackled me into the water and rightfully earned a smack on the back of the head. In turn, he did it again.

But before that, we were both looking into the camera with the most joyful expressions—huge grins, bright eyes. Frozen in time.

I never let myself look too long at that picture anymore. And I never, ever looked into his eyes. Green used to be my favourite colour. I didn’t have a favourite colour anymore. It was safe to say I didn’t have a favourite anything anymore; everything favourable was a reminder of him.

I picked up a white knitted sweater off the ground and tugged it over my head, staining it with splotches of dark red. Knowing him, he would wear it regardless—whatever was mine, was also his, and was equally the same in reverse, even things as grotesque as blood.

Well, he would have worn it, I should have said.

The sweater had been specifically tailored for him. I remembered how the soft sleeves hugged his arms so well that every fluid curve of his biceps was visible, similar to a building wave before it crested. On me, the sleeves swallowed my arms whole, which I liked to think in their own unique way had also been unintentionally tailored for me, like someone out there knew one day I would need some way to drown in him when he was gone.

Finnick’s fingers tugged at the silk ribbons, unwrapping the opulent gift box that sat on our dining table. Capitol devotees would send extravagant parcels weekly, turning up in abundance on our doorstep. Sometimes Finnick didn’t even bother opening them; sometimes we opened them together just to get a good laugh out of whatever ridiculous item was inside.

He never, though, opened the perfume-scented letters marked with lipstick stains.

“Oh,” I said in surprise as he lifted the lid. Inside was a folded piece of fabric, knitted and cream-white and intricate, though still simple. It was soft to the touch; thick enough to retain warmth. I held it up with two hands, admiring the hand-sewed threads of cotton. Whoever’s handiwork this was, it was nothing to laugh at.

Holding it up to Finnick’s torso, I smiled and said, “Try it on.”

“What?” He shook his head and smiled quizzically. “No.”

“Yes. I think it will look good on you.” I pressed it further against him with conviction. “Try it on.”

He tilted his head and exhaled deeply through his nose, giving me a begrudging, squinty-eyed look. From that, I already knew I had won him over, and watched as he snatched the sweater from my grasp and tugged his shirt off with one hand. I averted my eyes, feeling the tips of my ears flush with heat—we’d been together for over a year now; you would think I’d have grown accustomed to seeing him shirtless.

His head slipped through the neckline and he pulled the sweater down his body. I was right. It looked really good on him. Perfect, actually. The measurements were so precise that the fabric sloped off his shoulders like a compact mountain of snow. The thick-knitted collar dipped into a deep, uneven neckline that partly revealed his chest and made his neck look like a strong, contoured pillar. He looked at me expectantly, as though to ask, “Well?”

“It makes your neck and shoulders look really nice,” I blurted out, instantly cringing inside.

His expression contorted into something of amusement and surprise as he took a slow step towards me. “My neck and shoulders, huh?” he said, grinning devilishly. Oh, now I’d done it. Leave it to me to rocket Finnick Odair’s already atmospheric ego. “Anything else?”

I began backing away, but his prowling strides were so long that the space between us only shortened. When my backside hit the edge of the dining table, I knew I was done for.

“You know,” I began, avoiding his unrelenting stare. “I think it was just a momentary lapse of judgement.” He was closing in now, placing his hands on either side of my body to trap me in place. “It—It actually looks terrible on you,” I said, feigning sincerity and adding a little nod to help further my case.

His eyelids drooped as he gazed down at me, lips curving into that seductive smirk he had mastered long ago. “No takebacks,” he purred, voice low and gravelly. Dear God, I could only pray I wasn’t going to melt into a puddle on the floor. He always did this—took every opportunity to flirt and render me a stuttering, bashful mess. It was his favourite game to play. “This is now my new favourite shirt. All thanks to you, sweetheart.”

But, given the right timing and ever-wavering amount of confidence, I liked to play too.

I inhaled deeply, hoping my voice wouldn’t betray me. “Maybe you should take it off then,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “So you don’t ruin it.”

His mischievous expression revealed his next words before he even spoke them. “Maybe I will,” he said, and then he was tugging his sweater over his head, and I was tearing off my own. As his hands slipped beneath my thighs and lifted me onto our dining table, I prayed the wooden legs wouldn’t collapse under the weight of our next actions.

My fingertips ran over the soft, rippling patterns on the knitted sleeves, my arms crossed in a self-soothing manner. After that day, the sweater had become a sort of good luck charm—or so we agreed upon as we lay panting on the tabletop. He started wearing it to a multitude of events and parties in the Capitol (basically any place in which he needed a pick-me-up, a reminder of what he had to come home to, who he had to come home to).

He even wore it the day we got engaged.

So many happy memories were associated with this one white sweater. So many times, those cloud-soft sleeves were wrapped around my body, suffocating me in the scent of him—if nothing else, at least that remained.

The last time he had worn it was the day of the Reaping for the Quarter Quell; the last time our lives were ever semi-normal. I had fought tooth and nail to reach him before he was escorted onto the train, despite being ordered, “No goodbyes,” by one of the Peacekeepers. In modest terms, I had significantly decreased his chances of reproduction.

When I reached Finnick, he had brought me into a kiss so harsh and fervent that my lips were bruised the next day. He then yanked off his sweater, leaving his upper body completely exposed to everyone around us in complete disregard for his trauma-induced fear of doing so, and shoved it into my hands.

I had just stood there frozen in bewilderment, watching as he called out, “I love you, sweetheart!” Two Peacekeepers were forcing him onto the train, but he too fought for the last word. “Don’t forget—I’m always with you!”

That statement had never been truer than it was now. For better or for worse.

My vision unblurred as I returned to reality. Dismal, grey light was peeking through the shutters that formed the balcony doors, the daylight hours seeming to tick away at a snail’s pace. I used to wish for the days to be longer, for time to move slower, so I could savour the moments I had of happiness and sunlight which used to be plentiful.

Why do wishes only come true when you grow to desire nothing but the opposite?

Slothfully, I crawled onto the unmade king-size bed, my limbs crumpling and balling to my chest as the side of my head hit the pillow. The imprint on the mattress beneath my body didn’t match my own. It was much larger and broader. How long would it take for the springs to forget his body weight and recoil back into place as though he never existed at all?

I inhaled the sweater’s scent with every breath I took (and I tried not to wonder how long it would take for his scent to disappear as well) and hugged my arms around my waist. No pain was worse than the fleeting moments I forgot the embrace was my own and not his.

Hours passed, and so did the evening. A beautiful orange sunset hadn’t slipped through the shutter’s cracks because the clouds never dissipated. Night-time brought no consolation either. Not even the stars or moon made an appearance. Everything that once gave me a shred of optimism was hidden behind a veil of gloom.

I knew tomorrow wouldn’t be any different—the weather, my mood, his absence. Because the end of autumn was closing in, and the days were becoming bleaker. Trees would start shedding their leaves; the leaves would start to die.

I hoped I would too.

I was still curled up on my side, my body aching with stiffness, when my face began scrunching into this ugly, twisted mess of despair. My tears were slow yet heavy, synonymous with the day I had incurred.

But then something strange happened.

Someone called my name.

No. That couldn’t be right. I was the only one who occupied a house in the Victor’s Village; the others had either relocated after the war or were… dead.

But there it was again—my name, distant and eerie, yet spoken with a tone people often used to beckon over and aid a frightened, injured animal. My vision blurred, both from tears and concentration on the voice.

“Hey.”

I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment my surroundings transformed into a kitchen, just that they had and that I was no longer in my bed but standing upright.

Ahead of me, in the distance, the sun was beating down on the crystalline water, and white frothy waves were cresting on the smooth, golden sand. It was a perfect day; not a cloud was in sight. The only blemish that smeared the blue sky was the reflection staring back at me from the window I gazed out of.

In my hands was a soup bowl and a damp dishrag.

“Sweetheart?” That once distant voice, concerned and beckoning, was standing right beside me.

Blinking, I snapped out of my daze and turned away from the window.

He stood tall beside me, despite being half hunched over the kitchen sink and scrubbing the last of the few dirty dishes stacked neatly on the bench top. His head was turned towards me, his enamoured sea-green eyes peering into my own as though he was searching behind them for what troubled me.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, standing up straight. His touch was warm and gentle as he reached for my hand, leaving soapy bubbles on my palm and fingers. “Where’d you go?”

Three odd things seemed to occur at once: first, I flinched away from his touch, overwhelmed by its paradoxical unfamiliar familiarity; second, I felt an inexpressible relief from seeing him standing before me, seeing his cheeks painted with a soft pink hue as though blood-red roses were hidden just beneath his skin.

The third was an onset of disorientation. I couldn’t tell you why I felt disorientated standing in my own kitchen with the love of my life, just, simply, that I did. There was an answer—it was close by, right under my nose, yet unreachable. We did this every day, didn’t we? We would eat meals together and then wash up together. So, why did I feel so unsettled?

I shook my head, dispelling the confusion that muddled my brain. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” I laughed uneasily, without a hint of mirth.

He laughed too, not to poke fun or because he found my obvious turmoil amusing, but rather to comfort me, so I would feel less alone in my unease. “It’s alright,” he said gently.

Neither of us addressed what had happened; we simply resumed our routine of washing and drying in domestic silence. And as seconds turned to minutes, and as the sky remained sunny, I found myself smiling. All that mattered was that he was standing beside me and that the sun was beaming in the sky. So, I kept smiling.

After I finished drying the last dish, we began placing the plates, bowls, and an abundance of cutlery in their assigned drawers and cupboards, weaving past each other and giggling anytime we got in one another’s path. I was carrying a stack of white plates, eyeing the high cupboard they needed to go in, but before I could even attempt straining onto my toes, the plates were out of my hands and taken into another much larger pair.

The smell of sea salt and expensive cologne wafted from behind me as he towered over my shorter frame and placed the plates in the cupboard.

“I could have done that,” I said, smiling as I turned around to face him.

He had a playful glint in his eye. “Yeah, right. What are you, like, four feet tall?” he joked.

It was an extreme exaggeration since I was no way near that height, but I suppose everyone was miniature in comparison to him, being over six feet tall and all. I feigned open-mouthed offence, to which he gave the side of my head a quick, playful kiss of apology.

He then leaned against the counter with crossed arms. “Plus, when was the last time you actually put these dishes away? I’m surprised you even remember where they go.” He was grinning at me in a teasing manner, but every ounce of humour had drained from my body.

My eyes drifted to the floor.

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it—when was the last time I put the dishes away?

I couldn’t remember. In fact, I couldn’t remember what had happened this morning or the day before. Hell, I couldn’t even remember what we were doing before the dishes.

To be standing in a room, in a place you call home, and have a sense that nothing is in its right place, even though that is where everything has always been, is a disconcerting feeling beyond belief. To be perplexed by your own state of being—your existence—is even worse. I could almost describe it as a nauseating bout of vertigo.

My hands found the counter’s edge behind me, and I exhaled a shaky breath.

He stepped in front of me, one large and gentle hand reaching up to cup my jaw. “Are you okay?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling with shallow worry lines as he inspected my face. I hated that. I hated that I worried him so much. Sure, partners were supposed to lean on each other for support in a relationship (as he too did with me when needed), but I always felt so guilty doing so. Hadn’t he already suffered enough… pain in his lifetime? Who was I to cause him any more?

A sunbeam suffused the room, oozing across his face. The illumination lightened his eyes into a refreshing mint green, though, in contradiction, unearthed a pain that had been previously been concealed. Pain from what, I wasn’t sure. From concern regarding my unusual behaviour? Maybe a thought that was troubling him? Or perhaps he too was enduring a spell of confusion and had an inexplicable feeling that he was out of place.

Whatever his pain regarded, seeing it had rattled the deepest structures in which held my mind together.

It was then that I suddenly realised I hadn’t answered his question, so I gave him a wan “I’m-not-too-sure-myself” smile and then began slinking back to the sink window.

He followed behind me. I could feel him staring into the back of my head, could feel his brows draw together and his lips pull into a tight line, patiently waiting for a further explanation, though I wasn’t sure I could offer him one.

I hadn’t noticed before, but on the windowsill was a small picture frame containing a polaroid picture of us in bed—I was lying on his chest, half-naked and asleep, and he was looking down at me, smiling fondly yet with a sort of mischievous knowability. Running down the middle of the protective glass was a small, jagged crack.

I plucked the frame from the windowsill, inspecting the picture in my two hands. It seemed to uncover a place in my mind—once clouded by disorientation—I’d forgotten. Whether this place was real or imaginary was beyond me, but the fear I felt upon its recollection was incandescently genuine.

“Do you think,” I spoke tentatively, “people can have nightmares while they’re wide awake?” My thumb ran over the crack.

I might have heard him inhale a quiet, sharp breath, but it also could have just been the waves breaking on the distant shore. “Like a flashback?” he asked, an unidentifiable unease in his tone.

“No, not exactly.” I searched my brain for the right words, the right way to tell him how I was feeling, but it was difficult when I could only conjure vague fragments. And it was all I could do to tell it to him elliptically, as I knew saying the words in any other manner would shatter my heart.

“I had this vision,” I began, my words apprehensively staccato, “where I was somewhere else.” My eyes flickered over the picture. “Somewhere… bad. Everything was grey and heavy, and I was alone. Sometimes you were there, but you—you weren’t really you anymore.” I paused and looked up to find him staring at me in the reflection of the window. He looked pained; it was then suddenly hard to recollect a time when he didn’t. My throat started to constrict. “You were gone and…” my voice quietened to a broken wisp of wind, “you were haunting me.”

The room was silent.

He said nothing in response

The transparency of his reflection in the glass was so familiar—so haunting—and it was like another forgotten matter had been dredged from the depths of my mind. Stinging tears brimmed my waterline, and, due to my inability to bear the sight of his translucent appearance, I forced myself to turn around.

I glanced up at him, smiling weakly as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head as if my need to apologise was nonsensical (even I was unsure of what I was apologising for), and he then pulled me into a tight embrace. His chin rested atop my head; my face was buried in his chest, and his arms held me like I was some dilapidated structure that relied on his support to remain upright. Part of me knew this sentiment was correct.

I expected his next words to be ones of consolation or reassurance, maybe an “I’m right here, sweetheart” or an “I’ll never leave you”. Instead, I felt his head turn and heard him say, “Think it’s going to storm?”

With a sniffle, I turned my head towards the window. The arms wrapped around my body tightened as if he somehow knew I would need the extra support. Because when I saw the wall of dark, opaque clouds rolling through the sky towards us, an unshakeable dread zapped through my heart.

My hands clung to the fabric of his cream-white sweater, which then brought to my attention that an inexplicable tingling sensation was spreading down the fingers of my right hand, numbing them.

Lightning flashed on the horizon, and the once serene waves began cresting violently on the shoreline. The dread grew.

Before my attention could drift too far, my name was called again.

I looked up to find those green eyes gazing down at me, swelling with tears. He was crying. Why was he crying? And why was his hair wet? His usually golden strands had darkened to a deep brown and were drenched with cold water that dripped onto my cheeks, and his hair was swept haphazardly across his forehead, a reflection of someone who had just endured an intense storm or had just been fighting for his life against a swarm of—of—

No.

My own eyes began to burn.

“It’s killing me to see you this way,” he spoke, every second word breaking and wavering in volume.

The world seemed to tilt on an axis. Return did the disorientation, ravaging my mind more violently now. “What do you”—My chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths—“What? What do you mean?” My lower lip was quivering, and my eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion. His words replayed in my head: It’s killing me to see you this way.

It’s killing me.

His hair was dripping—no longer with water, but with a thick, red substance that both dripped down and clotted on his skin. He didn’t look pained anymore; he looked like he was in pain.

It’s killing me.

But that can’t be right, can it?

It’s killing me.

Why?

It’s killing me.

Becausemy Finnickwas already dead.

I staggered backwards and out of his, no, this imposter’s arms. He stared at me as blood streamed down his forehead, pouring over his eyelashes and down his cheeks. I was going to be sick. This had to be some sort of cruel joke, a newly invented punishment from Snow. But that wasn’t right either: Snow was dead too.

“F…Fi…” I tried saying his name, my top teeth prodding the inside of my bottom lip, but I couldn’t make a sound.

He took a step towards me, and I almost stumbled onto the floor. “Remember what I told you?” he asked, though it sounded more like an urge.

I frantically shook my head. No, I didn’t remember. I didn’t want to remember anything.

Something dark and mountainous appeared in my peripheral vision, and an odious smell singed my nostrils. My head snapped to the left. Stacks upon stacks of plates and bowls mounded the kitchen sink, each crawling with maggots that were falling to the floor in white, wriggling heaps.

Nausea boiled in my stomach; horror brimmed my eyes.

I quickly turned away, my eyes meeting green again. His face was no longer stained with blood, and his hair was dry, shiny, and golden with life. I was as speechless as my face was drained of blood.

He took one more step toward me, but this time I didn’t back away, either frozen with fear or desperation for one last experience of closeness with him. My heart thrummed as he reached out to cup my face. It isn’t him, it isn’t him, it isn’t him, I repeated madly in my head. Oh, but it felt so much like him when his warm hand met my skin.

“I told you I’m always with you, sweetheart,” he murmured. And I knew engaging with him, in whatever form he took, affirmed my mental unwellness, but I couldn’t stop from leaning into his touch anyway. “Remember that.”

My cheeks were wet with tears. “I love—”

A bolt of lightning flashed, and thunder boomed throughout the house.

I was back in my bed.

My eyelids were heavy with sleep as they fluttered open. I felt detached, destabilised, and unsure of my existence in the world for I wasn’t sure which of the twoI was currently in. Real or fake?

A few minutes went by before I managed to get a grip on reality, which, in fact, was the real one. The Somewhere Bad. I pinched the corners of my eyes, not only finding them damp with fresh tears but also realising that my right hand—previously tucked beneath my head—was numb.

None of it had been real…

The entire time, my body was trying to alert me, to save me from the inescapable heartache I would feel upon waking. He hadn’t held me in his arms. He hadn’t cupped my cheek nor helped me wash the dishes. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere (not even in his own marked grave because there was nothing left of him to be buried).

Even despite seeing the familiar tall outline standing in the doorway, his features illuminated with each flash of lightning, I knew it wasn’t really him.

Rain was pummelling the roof, almost loud enough to subdue the perpetual rumbling of thunder (apart from the one sky-splitting thunderclap that had woken me). In another time, I would’ve been scared—of the raging storm, of my phantom lover who was watching from the shadows of our bedroom. But not now.

In recent months, I had found that no emotion, not even fear, surpassed the soul-crushing realisation that you have irretrievably lost the one thing you lived for.

On a defeated whim, and for the first time since his death, I let the singular, weighted word breeze past my lips.

“Finnick.”

It was a trembling plea, a desperate beckon.

And he indulged.

His footsteps were silent as he walked towards the bed. I couldn’t see his legs from my position, prompting me to wonder if he even had legs at all. Or did he only have legs when I could see them? That would then insinuate that if I couldn’t see him at all, he didn’t exist.

If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? In my case, the answer was simple: no, it didn’t.

It wasn’t really Finnick. It wasn’t even his ghost. It was my mind.

He reached the bed’s edge, and I scooted over to my side of the mattress, allowing him enough space to lie down on his. His weight neither dipped nor shook the bed as he laid down and turned on his side to face me. His eyes were sad, and I’m sure mine were too. We stared at each other for a long, long time, long enough for my fatigued body to start playing tricks on me.

If I focused hard enough, I thought I could hear the sound of his breathing (the wind was picking up outside), feel the warmth of his skin spreading onto the sheets (the remnants of my own body heat were left behind each time I moved), and smell the musky scent of cologne and sea-salted hair (the sleeves of his sweater were tucked beneath my nose).

Maybe for a moment—just one sickly, self-indulgent moment—I could pretend it was really him.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you would haunt the next owner of this house,” I whispered as light-heartedly as I could, my voice obscured by the heavy rain pouring onto the roof.

He smiled, and it was one of the most heart-wrenchingly beautiful things I had ever seen. I think I might have given him one in return, though I couldn’t be too sure because the concept of smiling had become so foreign. The last time I was truly happy was… the last night we spent together. In each other’s arms, safe and warm and together.

And then he was gone. Just like that.

Cressida, whom I had only spoken to once in Thirteen when the war ended, was the one to tell me how it happened. Katniss was too personal, too close to him; Peeta’s instability rendered conversation futile. So, I had asked Cressida to tell me every detail—every expression on his face, every word he screamed. I don’t know why. Maybe it was so I could cling onto those last few minutes where he was still alive and breathing, despite dying and bleeding; or so I could replay the moment over and over in my head, as if somehow, someway, I could change his fate.

“He talked about you all the time,” she had told me. “Actually, I don’t think he ever spoke of anything but you. No one minded, though. While we were out there, no one ever really smiled, but every time your name was mentioned, Finnick would get this great big grin on his face, and it was impossible not to look at him and start smiling as well.

So, we all started asking questions about you: ‘What colour is her hair? Her eyes? Where did you meet? What are her hobbies?’—just to see him smile… A week passed, and it was like we all knew you inside out. It was all we could do to hang on to some shred of happiness, even if it meant talking about a girl who, to all of us, was a stranger.”

I was inconsolable after that.

She kept talking, but my sobs had drowned out most of her words, so much that I had asked her to retell me everything later in the day, despite inducing the same outcome. So, she told it to me again, just as she did the day after that and the day after that and so on until I returned home to District Four.

“He also spoke about how you never felt comfortable living in the Victors Village. He had this idea that the two of you would move somewhere far away, outside the borders of District Four­, though he emphasised remaining by the sea was very important—something about how you looked while swimming during sunset and the water was all sparkly around you.”

At this point, she had been holding my hand, knowing full well how debilitating it was for me to hear. Then she had spoken with a quiet incredulity and a facial expression to match, as though she’d never encountered a love like ours before. “He wanted to build a house for you…”

He wanted to build a house for you.

And now he never would. Our love was too ephemeral for that to happen; destined to remain history; to be a memory.

Finnick's eyes stared into mine, the green hue now a dark grey from the overshadowing dimness of the room.

“I would’ve gone anywhere with you,” I whispered to him, placing my hand on the sheets between us. “I would’ve travelled thousands of miles away from this place. Would’ve lived in solitary, just the two of us, for the rest of our lives.” A warm tear tickled the bridge of my nose. His eyebrows scrunched together in shared anguish. “God, Finn, I miss you,” my voice broke. “I miss you so much.”

I contemplated crying, sobbing, screaming, or begging for him to come back, but I was just too tired. All my energy had been spent on grievance throughout the following day, and my eyes were growing heavier by the second as my body was sinking further into a state of relaxation.

Between slow blinks, I watched Finnick’s large hand move to rest atop my own, and at that point, I knew sleep would soon catch me because I swear I could feel his warm touch.

Images flashed through my mind—incomprehensible and melting together, yet somehow still graspable.

Sky blue water rippling with calm waves, the surface glittering in the setting sun. A white stonewall cottage fronted by soft, white sand and tall palm trees. Two plates of fruit-filled yoghurt and scrambled eggs on toast. Three pairs of footprints in the sand, one larger, one smaller, and another between them so delicately tiny I could fit them into the palm of my hand.

Sea-green eyes above me. Golden hair tangled between my fingers. Finnick standing in the wooden doorway of our white stonewall cottage wearing a cream-white sweater and rolled-up slacks. Finnick grinning deeply and then throwing his head back with laughter. Finnick standing in front of our bed, taking my hand in his and guiding me towards him. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick. Finnick.

Finnick holding our child.

I was between worlds now, both indistinguishable from the other. My eyelids were drooping, and I was quickly growing insensate. Just before my eyes closed completely, I saw Finnick’s—he who wasn’t really my Finnick—lips move. It wasn’t in my bleak reality in which I heard him speak, but rather in my mind, and God, did his words offer the sweetest relief.

“I’ll see you when you fall asleep.”

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair drabble #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair angst #finnick odair fluff #sam claflin #finnick x reader #fiinnick odair x you #finnick x you #finnick imagine #thg finnick #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #the hunger games fanfiction #suzanne collins #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #odesta #everlark #josh hutcherson

[feelingf1]

pretty isn’t pretty - daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x female!reader

summary: you’ve started comparing yourself to the other wags, and now you’re starting to wonder, does daniel deserve someone better than you?

authors note: i am obsessed with this song. it’s not okay. this is also kinda short, sorry😭

enjoy!

—————

You collapsed onto your bed after an enjoyable but exhausting day. You had spent your day accompanying Daniel in the paddock on the last race of the season.

Because you were still mainly located in yours and Daniel’s home town, you didn’t often get the opportunity to travel so far to go and see him race, but you were glad you could.

You threw your outfit on the bench, putting on your comfy pajamas before making a call for room service and scrolling through your phone.

You opened up Instagram and saw that Carmen, George’s partner, had posted a picture of you, Lily, Isa and Charlotte.

You liked it, reposting it to your story, before checking the comment to see what people were saying.

That was your big mistake.

You opened a comment section to people slagging you off, for every reason they could.

“Y/N looks like she pulled that outfit out of her cousin’s closest”

“Jesus she could try and make some effort with her hair and makeup.”

“What?” You said to yourself. It hadn’t come to your attention before that people online didn’t really like you.

“She’s such a slag, sucking off Daniel for his money”

-> “Pity she wouldn’t use Daniel’s money to dress herself up a bit.”

“Daniel deserves way better than her.”

That last comment stuck with you. Your friends had always told you not to believe what the comments said. But surely if they’re all saying the same thing, they must be right?

You scrolled through the other photos the paparazzi had captured of all the other wags. Looking through them, you came to understand how you believed you were a lower standard compared to them.

They had the newest handbags, shoes, clothes, makeup. They had people dressing them up for this and every event they attended. They didn’t even had to think twice before flashing their card in a designer shop.

You, on the other hand, had to go to a thrift shop to buy the dress you wore so you could still afford your rent and bills at the end of the month. You used the drugstore makeup you had been using for years, as getting it done by somebody would cost too much, and you’d have to cut back on buying groceries.

How could you ever expect yourself to compare to these angels who had everything they could ever want? Of course, if you had asked Daniel, he would have bought you a brand new Louis Vuitton dress with a Gucci clutch bag just for today, but you prided yourself on not having to rely on your boyfriend for money. Maybe you prided yourself a little too much.

Tears started to fall from your eyes and down your cheeks. You couldn’t help but think you were and embarrassment to Daniel. That he only kept with you because he felt bad for you and your sad little life.

You headed to the bathroom to take off your makeup, so you could cry without looking like a panda. You stared in the mirror for a little too long, starting to point out imperfections that nobody else saw but you.

You started to cry again.

You crawled into the hotel bed, pulling the covers up over your head, and wept. You wept and wept until you felt empty. And then you came to a realization.

You had to break up with Daniel. You had to let him find someone better than you. Someone prettier, someone richer, someone who wouldn’t put shame on his name.

You were too busy crying to hear the sound of your hotel room door opening and closing. The second Daniel saw you upset, he rushed to your side.

“My love. What’s wrong?”

He pulled the covers down from your face gently, revealing your reddened cheeks and puffy eyes. A look of worry washed over his face.

“What’s happened?” He asked, softly.

You wiped your eyes in your hoodie sleeves and started at the ceiling, not even having it in you to look at his big, brown, beautiful eyes right now.

“We- we need to break up.” You croaked out.

Daniel’s face dropped. “What? Y/N, what the hell are you talking about.”

You brought your hands up to your eyes and started to cry tears you thought you didn’t have left. Daniel softly stroked your cheek in an attempt to calm you down.

“There’s- there’s just comments I saw online and they say how bad I look compared to the other girls.” You rambled out, still not able to look at him.

“Oh, doll.” He whispered.

“And one comment said that you deserve someone way better than me, which you do. I’m too ugly and poor to be with someone as good as you.”

Your breathing started to increase a little as you started to panic. Daniel pulled you into his arms, cradling you, as he rubbed soft circles on your back.

“Oh Y/N. You can’t listen to those silly little comments. I’m the one that’s lucky to have you.” He said, into your ear.

“But-” You went to argue but Daniel cut you off.

“No, listen. Y/N, I’m the luckiest person in the world to have somebody like you. Somebody so kind, so pretty, so smart, so sweet, so dedicated. You’re the prettiest girl in the whole entire world. Nobody compared to you, my love.”

He softly took ahold of your hands, removing them from your face.

“Let me see my beautiful lady.”

You smiled up at him. You were so lucky to have somebody like him. He really was one of a kind.

“Y/N, I love you.” He said.

Your face lit up, he said them. He really said those three beautiful words for the first time. Just when you thought you couldn’t love him more, he proved you wrong.

“I love you too, Daniel.”

He pulled you into a proper hugs and you stayed there for what felt like forever. You didn’t care, as long as you had Daniel, you could stay with him forever.

#Spotify #f1 #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #feelingf1 #daniel riccardo x reader #daniel riccardo imagine #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x you

[juleswrites223]

Desi Girl

Pairing: Carlos Sainz jr x indian!reader

Context: Attending a desi wedding with bae

ps: No specific faceclaim, i got every image from pinterest. Desi girls need some love too and i love carlos so i thought he would be the perfect fit for this.

yourusername

yourusername shaadi (wedding) time!!

ps; not my shaadi, my sister's

tagged: carlossainz55

landonorris where's my invite

yourusername remember the time we invited you for diwali and you almost burned yourself bc YOU INSISTED TO LIGHT FIRECRACKERS WITH MY BROTHER landonorris no regrets yourusername you almost died dummy landonorris like i said no regrets carlossainz55 .... ynloversz i love how carlos is so used to their banter that he stays out of it lest he too face the wrath of y/n yncarlos tired older sister and annoying younger brother dynamic ynmylove the fact that she already has a younger brother who annoys tf outta her and now she gotta deal with lando and her lil bro mywifeyn my girl cant catch a break😭

charlesleclerc i wanted to come too...

yourusername you can come when we get married carlossainz55 what she said^^^

yummyyn they’re so in love😩😩😩

carlitoyn mother is mothering; daddy is daddying

ynwifey shes so so mommy😩

randohater yeah must be fun mooching off your millionaire bf

ynloversz oh someone hold me back im boutta get violent

mywifeyn its always these ignorant americans smh 🤦

ynmyqueen her family is hella rich and practically run almost everything in India so before hating on someone who is way richer and prettier than you, do your research cuz this is embarrassing for you.

f1wags

f1wags Carlos Sainz and his girlfriend Y/n Y/l/n in Jaipur, Rajasthan at her cousin sister's wedding. Both looking quite good in traditional indian outfit.

carlito55 OMG CARLOS IN A KURTA. THIS IS NOT A DRILL I REPEAT CARLOS IN A KURTA

carlyn MY JAW DROPPED. THEY LOOK SO GORGGGGG

Ynfanacc mother slaying as usual

yourusername

youusername with meri jaan (my life)🫶

tagged: carlossainz55

ynloversz “meri jaan”🥹

carlitoyn tell me why I’m crying

carlyn they love each other so much I’m crying

carlossainz55 tum meri jaan ho ❤️ (you are my life)

ynwifey Carlos replied in Hindi Oml I’m boutta cry

landonorris did yn help you type this or did you use google translate??😑

yourusername I may have helped a bit

carlossainz55 tu gadha hai (you’re an idiot) landonorris

yourusername now that’s all him, I’m so proud that he’s learning hindi 🥹 (btw my brother taught him that)

yourbrother roasteddd

Ynnnn55 they visited a temple together omlll

ynpyaar (pyaar means love) I literally met them today and they are even cuter and down to earth in real life.

yncarlos I love that even though both of them are really rich they’re still so down to earth which honestly makes them even more attractive

carlitoyn it’s not even just yn, but her entire family is also like that, honestly love her family, they’re such kind souls, it’s no surprise yn is too

carlossainz55

carlossainz55 with mi amor ❤️(my love)

yourusername I love you ❤️

carlossainz55 I love you more baby landonorris i see you have no shame yourusername what is our crime?? landonorris having fun without me yourusername 😐 carlossainz55 😐

yncarlos THE IT COUPLE!!!!

carlitoyn MISS MAAM YOUR OUTFIT!!!! THE HENNA ON YOUR FEET!!! THE FIRST PIC SO CUTE IM GONNA PASS OUT

liked by yourusername and carlossainz55

ynwifey THEM DANCING IS SO ADORABLE

carlossainz55 posted a story

caption: everyone is tired 🫨

yourusername

caption: 🥳🥳

yourusername

caption: Congratulations didi (older sister) and jiju (brother in law)

carlossainz55

carlossainz55 fun couple of days with mi amor

tagged: yourusername

yourusername carlos drank so much chai, he has become a certified indian now🫡

carlossainz55 mazaa aaya (had fun) yourusername Im glad 😘

landonorris better get an invite to y'all's wedding

yourusername of course lando carlossainz55 could be any day now so you better check your mail ynloversz WHAT

carlitoyn always eating with the looks queen 😍

f1wags you guys are a beautiful couple truly ❤️

comments have been limited on this post...

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

author's note: Y'all would not believe how much i enjoyed this. Ive been super inactive because ive been super busy with stuff plus with not wanting to write but hopefully im back and will be writing more stuff, a lot F1 related bc im into F1 rn.

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz jr #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 smau #f1 social media au #formula one imagine #lando norris #charles leclerc

[paper-mario-wiki]

one of the things that appeals to me the most about the idea of a reaction video is the chance it allows me to break out from the opinions of not only people who are already aware of something i like, but also from people who might already have a significant amount of context for the thing they're engaging with. when watching a lets play of someone playing the new final fantasy, i will not be as entertained by their reactions because, to some extent, they already know what to expect broadly from the game. beyond that, even if it's a streamer who HASN'T played final fantasy, but is nonetheless connected to the greater sphere of gaming knowledge that would have passively instilled in them basic knowledge of things like chocobos and sephiroth and the buster sword and whatnot, there is still diminished impact in their opinions, because their opinions had at some point already been tempered by foreknowledge of some kind.

i have been enjoying the fallout show a great deal. i think that the quality of it is undeniable (pirate it, by the way), which means that the people watching the show are getting an accurate sampling of not just the setting and atmosphere of the games, but also the writing, the depth of the world design which has been built up over decades, and even to some extent the GAMEPLAY, as the story of the show matches the pace of a main story in the games in their sidetrackability (the golden rule of the wasteland "thou shall get sidetracked by bullshit every time"). that quality (and the positive reviews that come with it) leads to a much broader spectrum of reaction videos coming from it.

what i mean to say with all of this is that i find it incredibly enjoyable to watch, like, some 40 year old piano teacher (this is a random description, i havent actually seen any musician-type reactors watching fallout) who doesn't play video games form sincere and thorough theories about what vault-tec is up to, and critiquing the guiding principles of the brotherhood of steel, and commenting on the nature of discrimination against mutants, is VERY enjoyable to me. i think that observations which are not based in preconceived notions of what you already may know about the media can be so much richer to take in.

#text #random thought #fallout show

[peachypinkygloss]

money is success — kth

Son of a powerful business owner, Taehyung rules the society, strictly surrounding himself with rich people. Money is his success, his greatest pride. Too immersed in his work, he doesn't realize the love story he's missing on until it's gone.

➝ pairing: rich kid!taehyung x rich kid/fem!reader (ft. seokjin)

➝ genre: childhood friends to lovers, friends with benefits, high society au, unrequited love, angst, smut

➝ word count: 10.4k

➝ warnings: reader's a brat, tae's kinda mean but he loves her (he won't admit it though), he's also a brotherly figure to her, daddy jin (he's like the devil in disguise but idc he's hot), age difference, insecurity, possessiveness, dom tae/sub reader, degradation and praising, sir kink, sensory deprivation, unprotected sex, oral (m), orgasm denial, tummy bulging, thigh riding, monster cock...?, facial.

a.n.: i talk too much

playing: Hanging High & National Anthem

You are not a woman that any guy could handle, that's obvious. Even Taehyung himself wonders how he still hasn't lost his sanity by being by your side so often. Sure, not all women are delicate and polite, but can you not be dramatic for at least one night? It's becoming a habit of yours at this point.

"Doll, can you please calm down?" Taehyung asks you in a stern voice, still octaves lower than yours, but serious enough for you to listen to him.

It's a weak attempt to get you go down the stairs because the only thing you decide to hear right now is the sound of your own voice. If Taehyung didn't know you attended theatre class in high school, he would maybe believe in your act at the moment.

"I'm not your doll, Kim Taehyung!" You shout, throwing your little tantrum in the middle of the stairs that lead to Taehyung's bedroom. Your words resonate through the immensity of his house, so big you actually imagine yourself on the scene, above everyone so they can all lay their eyes on you.

Maybe the alcohol in your blood also influences your actions, but your personality is responsible for the most part. You're also mad about something else, something really stupid in Taehyung's opinion, but that's why you're acting like you're the queen of the world. Up those stairs, nobody can touch you, no one is strong enough to get to you and stop you.

Not even Taehyung, who doesn't bother to walk the few stairs that separate you both from each other. In reality, it's all just an illusion because everyone knows that he's more powerful, more serious, richer, stronger... more everything than you.

"You might think I am! Bringing me to all those boring parties..." Your arms move everywhere as you talk, trying to emphasize your words, to bring more effect to your speech, but you just look silly up those stairs in your skimpy short dress. "Exhibiting me to your business partners, or whatever their names were, because of my money. You want to impress them... show that you can get a girl like me at your arm."

You point a finger to your chest, narrowing your eyes at Taehyung as your other hand stays on your hip. Oh, he knows you could hurt him really badly if you wanted to, but luckily for him, you would never. As bratty as you seem, you're his little puppy to whom he can do whatever he wants.

"Okay, I want you to come down stairs right now, am I being clear?" You pretend to be thinking about his question - even though it's an order, shifting your gaze to the side and biting down on your bottom lip.

Taehyung feels himself getting more and more annoyed as the time passes, wondering how he got himself stuck with a brat like you. The story is not complicated; two powerful families, one son and one daughter becoming friends through an economic alliance between their rich parents.

So he knows why he is in this situation. He's taking care of you because if not, who else would? Not you, that's for sure. You're too irresponsible for that, too immature to comprehend the real world.

You finally sigh, and Taehyung thinks you will comply, but nothing's that easy with you. "No, I don't think so," you say with an exaggerated pout on your lips and you flick your hair behind your shoulder.

"If you don't-"

You cut him off right away, not afraid of his threats at all. "You will count to three, Taehyungie? Is that what you'll do? Hmm?" You bat your eyelashes, smiling deviously when you notice that your remark makes him angrier. "Will you spank me, Sir? Will you make me scream your name so loud it's gonna be the only thing I can remember?" You mock him, using the same words he loves to tell you in bed.

You feel so powerful at the top of your tower, but Taehyung will make sure that you fall from it very hard so you understand who's superior here.

When he's about to retort, you run up the stairs, not looking once behind you. You don't want to listen to him and you won't as well. You like being chased, that's something Taehyung noticed about you since you two were teenagers.

Boys come to you - not the opposite. It caused you to suffer from the stupidness of some jocks, only seeing you as a body, as a girl who baldly needs male attention.

This habit of acting hard to get is a façade, though. Or maybe you just really like Taehyung, letting him use you however he wants because he's the only man who truly knows you. Inside and outside out, he knows every part of you, even the ones you try to hide.

He calls your name, expecting you to come back, but you don't. He sighs and decides to follow you, giving in to your whims. If someone has to put you back into your place, it has to be him. Hard to handle, but never for too long...

He approaches his bedroom, the door is already wide open. You're probably in there, doing whatever your bratty self wants to at the moment. Perhaps going through his closet, discarding his neatly folded clothes on the floor, opening his drawers, shuffling through his box of expensive jewelry. Making a mess of his room because you cannot stand how Taehyung's life is so organized while yours seems to be nothing but a black hole.

Engulfing everything, leaving nothing behind but empty places. Like your heart and your family.

When he enters, it is exactly how he imagined it. You are acting childish, and sometimes he feels like he's your older brother, having to scold his little sister. The only difference here is that he fucks you and he's not your brother by any means, just two years older than you.

His eyes lay on your figure coming out of the bathroom, perceiving your pair of heels on the tiled floor near the bath. He should be upset, but he's not, not really. That's how it is every time, and you never fail to get your frustration out on him and he surely doesn't miss to fuck the attitude out of you later.

Being friends with the daughter of a rich CEO has its advantages and disadvantages. One being the reputation that comes with it, and the other the outburst of rage that little body of a woman can create. You are important to him, too, but why should he care about his emotions when they usually bring bad things?

"Do you care about me?" Your question makes his eyebrows lift up by surprise. Are you really asking him that? A silly little question that doesn't even deserve to be asked as the answer is so obvious.

You look at him with desperation in your eyes, anger going down while sadness is taking over.

"Don't be so silly, doll."

"Answer me!" You yell and Taehyung's breath is cut short.

He remains calm while you're freaking out for some reason. You couldn't think he didn't care about you, could you? Solely because he brings you to his business parties. Maybe you're right, maybe it has an exhibit aspect to make you follow him around so you can tell everyone your name and that it's associated with his.

"I do," he steps closer and you have to raise up your head to look at him, "A lot."

"I don't believe you," you say rapidly after, just to contradict him.

He eyes you up and down, taking his time to respond, making you languish for him. You're frail compared to him, and you keep your head up no matter what, only lowering it when he asks you to submit.

Taehyung is the only person on this planet to know your weaknesses and despite everything, he never uses them against you. You're naturally submissive, that's all. If he's forcing something out of you it's certainly not the pathetic little moans you make when he pounds his dick into your hole.

He cups your face, holding it tightly, his fingers pressing on each one of your cheeks. "Then don't. Why would I give a shit?" He shifts his hand over your throat, enveloping it with his large palm. You say nothing and swallow your pride, him feeling the movement under his hand. "Undress and lay on the bed. Don't make me repeat myself or I will severely make you regret your little tantrum of earlier."

"Yes, Sir."

He keeps you close for an extra second, boring his eyes into yours, lacing his dominant aura over your poor little body. Eventually, he lets you go. He hears you breathing heavily, heart beating as fast as the flapping of a humming bird's wings.

He scans his room, seeing his clothes scattered all over his floor and his shoes off the shelves. What a fucking brat. Begging for his attention when his eyes never leave you, never. He gives you everything he has; his time, his care, his love, his cock. Still not enough.

He walks to his closet, letting you time to get naked and execute what he asked you to do. He bends down, picking up a pair of trousers that was previously folded perfectly before being thrown on the floor carelessly. He folds it again, placing it on the shelf. He looks around him, sighing in exasperation.

He then opens his ties' drawer that didn't get destroyed by you, fortunately. He takes two of them, laying them on his open palm. He comes back to you and he's satisfied to see you totally naked, sitting on the middle of the bed.

You crawl over the edge when he stands in front of it, waiting to tell you further instructions. "Give me your wrists." When you do, he passes the cloth under them and then over, finally tying them together. He pulls on it to verify the knot is strong enough and uses his second tie to band your eyes.

Though, you flinch away before he can. "No, please..." You mumble, looking at him with pleading eyes.

"Stop being such a brat, I'm tired of your nasty attitude," he grabs your bicep to pull you closer, tying his tie behind your head. You're deprived of your most essential sense and even though it's not the first time he has done this to you, you're still disoriented and afraid.

"Sir, please," you beg him, but it's useless at this point. He has you in his grip, he can do whatever he wants and you have no right to complain.

He takes a hold of your jaw again and his grip is tight, hurting you, leaving an indelible mark. But you don't mind, not at all.

"You're going to let me use your little body however I want without complaining," he's looking at you, but of course, you can't do the same. It makes him feel good. You have such a powerful name, yet you're a submissive little girl with him. Your status means nothing in a moment like this. "Do you understand, doll?"

He glances at your mouth and he can't help but inserts two fingers in, slowly pushing your lips apart from each other. He presses his digits down on your tongue, covering them in your spit. He loves your mouth, so annoying, but when he puts it to good use, it's perfect.

You nod, closing your lips around his slender fingers. "Good," he says lowly, just loud enough for you to hear. His digits don't stay long in your mouth, he pulls them out when he feels like you will finally listen to him. He taps your cheek, wetting it with your own saliva. You flinch slightly, your head tilting to the side.

He backs away and you whine, disliking the fact you can't feel him against you anymore. The only hint that lets you know Taehyung's there is the clanking of his belt buckle.

This sound always makes your breath go erratic and your heart drum in your chest. You know what that means and the thought of having his dick down your throat does something to you. A wave of heat goes between your legs, clenching your thighs to feel some type of friction since Taehyung is not providing you anything.

"Tonight was important for me," he begins, skillfully unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. Goosebumps travel all along your body, anticipation creeping into you. "You knew it pertinently..." He continues, summarizing your evening in a calm tone, tricking you into thinking he might be gentle with you.

He likes to do that; luring you in to better break you after. Love comes with pain and no relationship can be perfect. There's always a crack somewhere, huge or small, that can't be repaired unless you replace it.

But sometimes you don't want to replace it because you're simply emotionally attached to it. Then, the crack stays forever, but we learn to ignore it or to work with it. That's how Taehyung does it with you, he works with your flaws.

"You look pretty beside me, don't you think?" He asks and you nod, giving a positive answer to his question. He tugs on his boxers, freeing his thick cock out. You don't see it, but you sense it. "Right, you're so beautiful, why wouldn't I want to show you to my colleagues?"

He steps closer and grips his base, guiding it toward your face. He swipes the mushroom head across your lips and you taste his pre-cum on your tongue.

"I- I don't know, I'm sorry," you mumble against his dick, feeling small and vulnerable under him. If you thought being pathetic would endear him, you're wrong.

He chuckles, laughing at you, at your lack of responsiveness. Starting the night by roaring like a tigress and ending it by meowing like a kitten. Pathetic, yes, but not smart.

"Why do I even bother asking you," he wonders, talking to himself rather than to you. "You have no brain." He concludes the talk with that, pinching your nose between his thumb and index finger.

You're forced to open your mouth, chasing the air as it was stopped from entering your nostrils. A trick he learned in the early days of being sexually active with women, especially with the ones that refused to obey. He quickly operated it on you, finding its utility indispensable since you have the habit of not listening to him.

He pushes his cock into your mouth with his other hand, making you take a mouthful of it. Your mouth expends to accommodate the sheer size of his erection, weighing on your tongue, stuffing you full of himself.

You inevitably choke around it, he's too big for your poor little mouth. You might be sassy, but you never understood how to properly suck a cock. You're too dumb for that. And you're not a people pleaser, obviously, but it's not much of an issue for Taehyung. If you can't do it, he'll do it himself.

Nonetheless, you still try, opening your mouth to welcome him in. He lets go of your nose and you eagerly breathe through it. You flatten your tongue underneath him and drool doesn't miss to drip down your chin, making a mess.

He always stays in long enough for you to not be able to breathe correctly anymore, wanting to feel your throat contract around him. Despite your airflow being restricted, you don't pull him out or tap his thigh. You endure the intrusion of his girth in your mouth because that's what you're meant to do.

He grits his teeth, loving the warmth and the wetness of your mouth, enjoying every second until you finally gag repeatedly around him. He takes a handful of your hair, pulling on it to get his cock away from you. A strand of saliva connects your lips to his swollen tip and you cough, your throat burning painfully.

It drives him crazy having you so weak under his grip. Your tiny body kneeling in front of him, shaking and aching - you don't complain, as he ordered you not to. You love that as much as he does.

"So fragile, but you still want to be seen as strong," he observes, noting the clenching of your thighs and the wetness pooling from between your legs. "You're not meant to be in charge, puppy."

He directs his penis between your lips once again, sliding in just nicely. Tight, but that's how he likes it. His tip brushes the back of your throat and his dick twitches happily, buried deep into your mouth. He uses your face as a flesh light, bouncing your head on him as he pleases.

Taehyung groans, throwing his head back while still having his eyes down on you, "You're meant to be my cumslut, doll. That's all, only my little bitch who follows me around."

You hum around his cock, agreeing with him. What is the point of denying when clearly, you spend all of your time with Taehyung, never leaving his side as he's the only reason why you wake up every day.

His fingers pass through your hair, brushing it down and gripping them in his fist. He guides your mouth slowly and you move your head at his desired pace. His growing pubic hair sting your lips each time you reach the base of his dick, your nose pressing against his pelvis.

"Ah, shit-" he grunts and he can't stand the layers of clothes he has on his shoulders any longer. "Keep moving your head, baby..." He says breathlessly, his hand leaving your hair to remove his blazer off him. The clothing falls on the floor in a thud, joining your dress and panties.

It's more difficult than you thought sucking a cock as long as Taehyung's while being blindfolded. You balance yourself forward with your hands, holding on the edge of the bed, his tie still around your wrists.

You move your head up and down over his hard erection, eliciting deep moans from him. He rapidly unbuttons his white shirt, throwing it away as soon as possible.

You're sucking his dick so messily, eagerly engulfing the whole length into your mouth as if Taehyung was going to disappear. That's how he knows his cock is the only one you've ever tasted because you eat his like it's your first meal, staining the outline of your mouth with your drool.

He lets you work for some time, looking down at his shaft going in and out of your mouth, glistening in your spit. You feel the veins under your lips and the hardness of his cock on your tongue, so long it has you bobbing your head until the muscles of your neck hurt.

"You're fucking hungry, slow down a lil' bit. You're going to choke," he warns you mockingly, but he's genuinely concerned that you're going to suffocate around his cock at this rhythm.

You take a break as his tip remains in your mouth and you suckle gently on it. You lick it, taking a breath between each one. Taehyung loses interest even though you mean every lick you're giving to his pretty cock.

Taehyung exhales loudly, almost as dramatic as your tantrum of before. "Useless," he insults you, his voice sounding like a whisper. He places his hand over your throat and thrusts into your mouth as he brings your head closer to his crotch.

You whine, but the noise is muffled by his thick cock into your mouth. He tightens his grip around your neck, loving the gagging sounds your throat is producing.

But then, he pushes you away by your throat, slipping out of your warm and wet mouth. You're lost for a second, panting as you wait for something else to happen. Taehyung lifts his cock up against his toned stomach and forces your head down toward the base of his shaft.

"Suck my balls," he breathes out.

You part your lips and suck up one of his balls into your mouth gently, knowing that this area is fragile. It feels heavy on your tongue, but you love it. The spiky hair tingles your lips and skin, your ears graced by the sounds of Taehyung's grunts. You coat his balls in your spit and the tip of your nose brushes against his wet cock.

Your back is aching from behind arched like this and your limbs feel sore as well, the blood not circulating well. Fortunately for you, he decides he's finished with your mouth as he pulls your head away from his crotch.

He pushes you against the mattress and a little gasp leaves you, his action taking you by surprise. He undresses from his bottoms, now as equally naked as you. His knees dip into the bed as he straddles you, but you move back on your butt despite the fire burning at the pit of your stomach.

Your back meets Taehyung's pillows and you can't run away anymore, totally at his mercy. "Taehyung-" His name comes shakily out of your mouth, sensing his body hovering over yours. You're a little mouse caught under a big cat's paw.

"What did you call me?" His tone is menacing, daring you to make another mistake.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I'm- I'm just nervous..." You admit shyly, keeping your arms close to your chest.

He eyes your body up and down and he softens, seeing your legs shaking. He flattens his palm over your heart, feeling it thundering in your chest. His touch warms you and you remember why you love him so much even if he doesn't feel the same for you.

He cares, it would be simpler if he just didn't. This way, you wouldn't have a reason to love him.

"It's okay," he murmurs, tracing the outline of your breast and running his fingers down your cleavage to then softly caress your tummy. It goes up and down rapidly and he finds it amazing how all of your other senses are more sensitive, flinching every time he lays his hand on you.

He positions himself between your legs, bending down over you and placing his arms on each side of your shoulders. His breath fans across your face and you slightly frown your eyebrows, silently begging for him to pamper you in kisses.

He notices you searching for his lips, extending your neck toward him. He can't reject you, not when you look as pathetic as right now. So he dives in, settling his pillowy lips down on yours. You're relieved, kissing him like nothing else matters.

You whine during your exchange, stroking Taehyung's chest with your small, tied up hands. He lets you touch him, liking the way your nails scratch his burning skin, leaving white trails behind you. He takes a hold of your jaw, always needing to have control over you even when you're trapped under his larger body.

He tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss, dominating you with his tongue in your mouth. It's a short exchange, but it feels like the contrary; it's everything you needed, a pure and gentle sign of love.

Just when the butterflies in your stomach were happily flapping their wings, he breaks the kiss. He sits back on his heels and holds the back of your thighs up, pushing them toward your chest. Your cunt is completely exposed to him, glistening from your juices.

He licks his lips at the sight, your pussy just seems so delectable right now. He can't resist from having a taste and dips his fingers through your folds, collecting some of your arousal on his digits. He brings them to his mouth and he sucks them clean, furrowing his eyebrows when he tastes you on his tongue. Always so sweet.

"Sir, please, can you-" You stop yourself when his palm lands harshly on your pussy, rubbing so deliciously your puffy clit and splattering your juices everywhere on his bed sheets.

"You only speak when talked to, baby." Normally, he allows you to speak and scream whenever you want, but guess tonight isn't one of those usual nights. So you seal your mouth shut, not wanting to go against him again.

He reports his attention in between your legs, slapping his tip on your clit, making you squirm as whimpers leave your mouth. He circles your hole with his cock, playing with your pussy lips and swiping his mushroom head between them. You clench your walls and Taehyung notices it, watching your little pussy quivering helplessly.

He finally settles down, pushing in, stretching you out around his long and thick cock. You gasp, your mouth hanging open, and arch your back, this one lifting from the mattress.

"Mmh-!" You refrain yourself from saying anything because usually you would say his name, but you don't want to anger Taehyung even more. You would like to sink your nails in his back to inflict him the pain he's putting on you right now, but your wrists are still attached together.

"Fuck," he moans into the crook of your neck, his soft hair tickling your face. "Always so tight. No one's fucking this pussy beside me, am I right, doll?" He stays buried inside of you, balls touching your ass, so you can get used to his size.

His cock is long and curvy, pulsating in the comfort of your velvety walls. No lubricant needed, just your wetness. This is how Taehyung likes it, raw and sensual, wanting to feel your pussy clenching around his dick.

"No one..." You confirm, locking your legs behind his back. "Only you, Sir," you whisper the words he wanted to hear, amplifying the possessiveness he has toward you.

"Good girl," he groans, giving you a deep hip thrust, claiming your pussy - your whole body and mind - as his own. "Only me..." He repeats, so the both of you remember that you're his, no matter what.

With that, he begins pounding hard into you, but so slowly it makes you question the real meaning of his touches. Is it just for the sake of having sex? Or does he also feel the connection between you two?

But for Taehyung, fucking doesn't have to be fast - where's the true pleasure in that?

When he slides in, his cock grazes your bud of nerves and hits the magic spot inside of you that makes you see stars. He rolls his hips against you swiftly and you want to grip his butt, scratch his honey skin, impregnate your odour on him. As much as you love being his, you wish you could call him yours, too.

You raise your arms, incapable of keeping them for you anymore, and search for Taehyung's face, finding it pretty quickly. You run your fingers on him, deciphering his nose and lips under your digits. He grunts, but doesn't stop you, rocking his hips against yours.

A little gasp escapes from your lips as Taehyung bites your finger that was tracing the shape of his bottom lip, trapping the digit between his teeth. He doesn't force, only holds it, and your stomach flutters.

You pull on your finger and he loosens his jaw, letting you go. You resume your previous actions, going up to his hair and gripping it, pulling on strands of hair. He grasps your arm and passes your tied up hands over his head, settling down around his neck. You moan contently, loving having Taehyung's chest flush against yours, the position squishing your breasts between your two bodies.

He sucks on a patch of skin on your neck, licking and biting it. His tip can't stop leaking pre-cum, so happy to be in your tight, wet cunt, impatiently waiting to blow his load into your sloppy pussy. Wet sounds fill the room, occasionally accompanied by the noise of his balls slapping against your ass.

You're whining while Taehyung is moaning, hissing when he thrusts in, feeling your walls closing around him. You pull on the hair at the nap of his neck, scratching his scalp by the same occasion. It feels animalistic, all the grunts and pants, his cock fucking your little hole restlessly to satisfy both of your sexual needs.

"Mmh, fuck. You're so wet, baby," he mumbles against your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin, sending shivers all over your body. "Soaking wet..." He rasps out, holding your hips tightly, long fingers digging in your flesh.

One of his hands moves up to your face while the other stays on your hip and he pulls up your blindfold, allowing you to set your gaze on him, finally able to see him. You blink up at him in awe, your heartbeat accelerating when Taehyung's face is centimetres away from yours.

"Never disobey me again, please, fuck-" He places his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes before he closes them, his mouth hanging open. He's in ecstasy, bucking his hips into yours, sliding balls deep into your little quivering hole.

Your thighs shake beside his torso, both from staying up for a long time and the orgasm threatening to arrive. You don't respond and he hopes it's only because the pleasure is too overwhelming and not because that's something you can't promise him.

Instead, you push his head toward you and catch his lips, moaning into the kiss. He devours your mouth, not letting you a second to breathe, giving you open-mouthed kisses everywhere. His big hand travels along your body, sliding down between your tits and caressing your belly, where he's pleasantly surprised to feel the tip of his cock bulging in.

He pushes down on your tummy and you moan out into his mouth, nails sinking into his neck, leaving small crescent forms. He breaks the kiss, but keeps his sweaty forehead against yours, both panting onto each other's faces.

"God, do you feel that, puppy?" He asks in a husky voice, but sounding almost whiny, as if this situation is slowly destroying his sanity - in a good way.

You lazily look down and Taehyung shifts his hand to the side, letting you see what he is talking about. He pushes in and you get the glimpse of his cock moving in your belly. He watches it too, groaning like an animal at the sight.

"So big..." You add on, dizzy and a little dumb from Taehyung's dick fucking your leaking pussy.

He only hums, replacing his hand over the bulge in your tummy. He could get off just at that thought, being so deep into you he almost reaches your belly button.

After all this time, you never left his side. He's the one who possesses your first kiss, your virginity, your heart and your literal soul. If you leave, then you say goodbye to all of those. So when it hurts the most, you push him to his limits because that's the only way you can have his attention on you, feel like everything he took from you wasn't a loss.

"Taehyung, Taehyung..." You exclaim under your breath and he snaps his eyes up at you, ready to smack your ass, but the next words you say dissuade him from doing it. "Please, I love you," you whine out, tears forming at the corners of your eyes and pussy contracting around his thick cock. "Love you too much..."

He knows it, and yet, you're stupid enough to confess it over and over again. Even though he'll always keep his feelings locked in cage, destroying the key after, yours encourage him to fuck you harder.

He picks up your hips, settling you at the perfect level for him to hit your sweet spot repeatedly, never missing a beat. "Oh, I'm sure you do, baby," Taehyung clashes his hips against yours, making you slide up on the bed from the intensity of his thrusts. He keeps you close, handling your hips down on his hard cock.

"Oh! Tae-" Your voice breaks, ending into a sinful moan, eyes rolling back into your skull.

Because of his tie sealing your wrists together, Taehyung can't sit up, but he hovers over you slightly, enough for him to pound into your messy cunt mercilessly. It has you melting into his hands, his fingerprints inked into your skin, your neck butchered by his previous love bites.

"Shit, I'm close," he exhales heavily, hissing and gritting his teeth as if he's full of anger, but the knot at the pit of his stomach is only tightening, making him clench his jaw. His abs flex, thighs tensing up, hands shaking.

Your release is approaching too, but something tells you Taehyung's intentions are not in your favour.

He thrusts in and out fast until he comes to a halt, burying himself in you, pelvis flushed against your clit. "Ah, fuck, fuck..." He groans and with a twitch of his long cock, he shoots his hot cum into your little pussy. Loads of it come out of his wet tip, painting your walls white, marking his territory.

He pants, looking into your eyes, seeing the worry passing through them. He doesn't react when you call his name, pulling on strands of hair, squirming around. He gives a weak thrust, milking himself dry.

"Taehyung, keep going!" You pout, thumping your feet against the mattress. "Please-" He shuts you up by a kiss, opening and closing his mouth over yours, distracting you while he slips his softening penis out of your cunt.

He backs away and removes your arms from around his neck, quickly untying the knot. He rolls to the side, discarding his tie somewhere on the floor of his bedroom. He doesn't think too much about it before passing an arm around your waist, bringing you against his chest.

You accept his embrace, laying your face against his burning skin. The lights are turned off and this is what concludes your night with Taehyung. You close your eyelids and your tears roll down your cheeks. You cry silently after checking that he's deep into sleep.

Early in the morning, you escape Taehyung's bed. You put your clothes back on, leaving the room on your tiptoes, but of course, he was awake all this time.

"Don't forget that we're attending the Grand opening of Min's society tomorrow night," he says, his eyes still closed. "Put something green on."

You want to say 'fuck off', but you only huff, closing the door in a thud behind you.

You're wearing a short green dress with thin straps, four inches black stilettos and the smallest purse you've ever carried. You followed Taehyung's orders to the letter, despite your will not to. Green suits you the best and you wouldn't have matched his pretty custom made suit.

Entering the elevator, you press the button that will take you to the eleventh floor. What is there on the eleventh floor? You don't know and that's not something you care about at the moment.

Just when the doors are about to close, a hand sneaks in, making the doors open again. You frown, wondering who would want to escape the Grand opening at the same time as you.

The figure of a beautiful tall man is revealed to you, a fluffy head of black hair parted in the middle. Thick and sharp eyebrows, heart-shaped lips, broad shoulders... This man has everything for him. Who is he?

He smiles when he sees you, not a polite one, but a smile that lets you know he's already aware of who you are. It disconcerts you that this stranger may know you when you have no clue of what his name can be. A friend of the host? Taehyung's colleague? Or just another rich man who got his fortune from his father?

Though he seems old, much more mature and experienced than you, there is something jovial about his gaze. Something playful, something that warns you he won't bore you out.

As he joins you into the elevator, he checks the buttons and notices the blue light around the eleventh. He leaves it like that, leaning his back against the wall, shoving his large hands into his pockets.

He turns his head in your direction, smirking when you don't dare looking his way. The doors finally close, trapping you alone with this handsome stranger. "You're Kim Taehyung's girlfriend, aren't you?" His voice is not as deep as you would have thought, but it's still manly and really soft.

So he knows you. You wonder what he heard about you, good or bad things?

"I wouldn't say that I am." Because if you were, you would be at his arm right now, at the head of your father's company. You would be a hard and serious worker, leading your business to success and blah-blah-blah.

You would be exactly like him, but you're not.

"Hmm, I see. Hard to handle," he states, not having to talk to you more to understand what kind of attitude you have.

"Excuse me, do I know you, old man?" You turn around, which makes the man smirk, exactly what he wanted you to do. You bark, but don't bite. Everything's always an act.

He tsks, stepping closer to you. You have your arms crossed over your chest, trying to look intimidating, but you just remind him of a child puffing out her chest to appear stronger. "Old man? Oh, sweetheart, how old do you think I am?"

You narrow your eyes at him, pretending to scan his face, as if you really think he's that old. Hardly thirty-five, that's for sure. "I don't know, probably forty," you bluff, making him laugh heartedly. "Only creeps follow women into an elevator."

He shakes his head, chuckling as he licks his lips, bending down to have his eyes on the same level as yours. "I'm twice your age, little girl. You better show me some respect or I'll make you regret acting like a fucking bitch with me," he grasps your bicep and before he can do anything else, a ting resonates in the elevator.

He makes your heart accelerate and your breath quicken, swallowing as he holds eye contact with you. It's like with Taehyung, but something is consequently different with this man. He doesn't have empathy for you, he doesn't know your barriers and he certainly doesn't care about you.

This feeling is new and thrilling. You like it, you're curious to see where you can go, how further he'll bring you into Hell.

The only place Taehyung has ever made you discover is Heaven, the sadness and loneliness of it. A magnificent white paradise, but so silent and empty it makes you hate it more and more each time.

As if he realized what he was doing, he straightens his back and moves away from you. He eyes the panel, pressing the first button, the one leading to the indoor parking. The eleventh floor is long forgotten, somewhere you'll never step into anymore.

"What's your name?" You ask normally, like he didn't just threaten you. But you know how men like him function. Their words mean nothing, only their actions will let you know what they expect from you.

"Seokjin," he responds mindlessly as he searches for something in his pocket. "But for you, it's Mr. Kim," he pulls out his car keys, raising up his gaze to check on which level you're on; the fifth.

You bite down on your lip at that, your pussy already mewling. You think you heard his name before, one of Mr. Min's most faithful friends. You wonder why he's leaving the opening then, but it doesn't matter anymore as the elevator's doors open, the familiar ting signalling you you're on the parking lot floor.

"Does Mr. Kim want me to keep him company?" You flirt, completely oblivious to the future consequences your nasty tongue will bring you.

You follow Seokjin behind, him looking over his shoulder to send you a smirk. You pass in front of Taehyung's car and you feel a little bit guilty, but you rapidly erase this feeling. You don't own him shit.

You watch his tall figure walking and you can't help but find him so powerful. His age is still a mystery to you, but you have a clue that he's at least ten years older than you. It excites you so much, you've never been with a man like Seokjin before. Well, you've never been with that many men in your life, but still.

"Shouldn't you be with your boyfriend, little girl?" He presses a button on his car key, unlocking his car's doors from afar. The lights of a white Mercedes turn on. It looks brand new as you can see Seokjin's reflection on the body.

"Taehyung's not my boyfriend," you grumble, rolling your eyes. "And I don't have to be with him twenty-four seven. I'm a big girl," you stop walking when he does too, turning around to face you. "Where are you going?"

He tilts his head to the side, finding you particularly curious. Even after calling you a bitch, you still crave his attention. "Home," he fidgets with his keys, his long fingers passing through the metal loops, making them turn around on his finger.

"Kids and wife waiting for you?" You toddle toward him, slowly closing the distance between you two.

He scoffs before answering. "I don't have a wife, and surely not kids," he eyes you closely, watching the corners of your mouth lift into a smug smile.

"My presence won't be such a bother then, right?"

Arms around Seokjin's neck, you hump his thigh like a deprived virgin, whining and moaning so loudly you're sure the neighbours can hear you. Oh, why does doing something wrong feels so good?

He gropes your breasts, gritting his teeth at the filthy view you're offering him. The material of his trousers rubs deliciously against your pussy and as he tenses up the muscles of his thigh, that's when you think you see stars.

"Oh! Mr. Kim..." You can't believe you're still not calling this man by his beautiful name, but you get it. Well, you think you get it because how unfair is it to refuse you from calling him by his own name during sex?

No names, no attachments, no feelings.

A stupid girl like you dry humping a man in his thirties while Taehyung must be searching for you right now, how unconscious have you become? Love makes you do crazy things.

He slaps your butt, leaving his handprint behind, and you moan at the stinging pain. You're totally naked and Seokjin only has his cock out, stroking it as he watches you rut your hips on his thigh.

He's long, really fucking long, but not as thick as Taehyung. You know this dick has seen so many pussies before you and will see more after. You normally don't do things like that, fucking men you didn't know about hours ago, but it's clearly in your attitude to do things out of impulsivity.

"Mmh, look at this," his free hand lays on your waist, no need to guide you as you move your hips up and down on his thigh greedily. "Fucking my thigh like you never got dicked before..." He observes and you can't deny the fact that your pussy's on fire. You're so horny it doesn't even make sense.

Surely it's because Taehyung left you hanging high as a punishment, your poor clit throbbing and begging for a little bit of attention. You didn't even masturbate, you don't really know why, maybe because it wouldn't have been the same.

So all your frustration has builded up in your tummy, only waiting for a gentleman to give you a hand. It should've been Taehyung, it should have... You'd have probably got on your knees and begged him to just put that dick inside your cunt. Yeah, you'd have done that or something similar at least.

But you fell upon a beautiful man and it doesn't matter whether or not your encounter was planned. Seokjin was there, Taehyung was not.

"Rub that wet pussy on me, little girl, go on," Seokjin encourages you and your eyes roll back in your skull, breathy moans escaping your mouth. He gently and slowly runs his hand on his length, the loose skin folding on itself.

"Y-Yes... Feels so good," you whine out, pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck. He groans at the pain, gritting his teeth like an animal. "Mr. Kim, I'm really... really close," you announce to the man, closing your eyes and throwing your head back.

His slender fingers dig into the flesh of your waist, nails sinking in as well. He grips his cock tightly at the base, stopping his strokes as he lays his hooded eyes on your fucked up face. "Little slut, you have no shame, do you?" He encircles your waist with his strong arm, pulling your naked chest flushed against his.

As you hump him, your nipples brush against the material of his white shirt, making your stomach clench. He kneads your ass with his big palm, teasing your little asshole with his middle finger. You shiver from his actions, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

His cock twitches and he can't wait to shove it down your throat. You chase your orgasm, feeling the pleasure bubbling in your belly. You rut your hips frantically against his thigh, his pants now fully soaked from your juices. You hope he doesn't mind having his expensive clothes stained.

"Cumming for another man... I pray for you he doesn't find out," he whispers in your ear, laughing cruelly after. "Come on, princess, show me how much of a big girl you are..." Seokjin has no remorse, that's for sure. Only the most evil people enjoy seeing others suffer.

At the moment, you have no remorse at all as well. You want your release and that's it.

"Mmh-!" Spasms take over you, thighs and arms shaking, humping Seokjin like there's no tomorrow. "Oh, my God!" You mumble in the crook of his neck, hips stuttering as your orgasm explodes in you.

You feel your heartbeat in your bud of nerves, telling you just how good of an orgasm it was.

"You ruined my pants... You're lucky I like you," he lets go of his cock to grip the back of your neck, pulling you upwards. "Because normally, I wouldn't let that slide." His expression is unreadable, or he just doesn't have any emotion. You think the latter option is more accurate.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kim," you apologize and pout, crunching his shirt between your fists on his shoulders.

He presses his fingers on each side of your neck, applying more pressure as he observes your face contorts in pain. It's as if he analyses your reactions, noting how your eyebrows furrow when his thumb digs forcefully on your jugular.

It feels like a predator playing with his prey, watching it suffer in pain before eating it. He said he would let it slide, but apparently Seokjin isn't good at sticking to his words.

"Mr. Kim-" You call him, small pearls falling from your eyes. His gaze follows the tear rolling down your cheek, hanging down on your jaw. The pressure slowly disappears as he looks back up at you, his grip leaving your neck.

"On your knees, princess. I'm not done with you," he orders and you nod repeatedly, getting down from his lap. "I hope you know how to suck a cock because if you don't, I'll be obligated to fuck your mouth," he says as he settles his elbow against the armrest, rubbing his chin between his index and thumb. "And I'm not known to be particularly gentle..."

You position yourself between his legs, glancing up at him with uncertain eyes. It's not that you don't know, it's just that Taehyung never taught you and it's not like you could've practiced with other boys. He always takes control of your mouth and rarely lets you do it on your own.

So you doubt your skills will impress Seokjin, but you wish it'll be enough for him to not face fuck you, especially if he's particularly rough.

You've barely laid your eyes on his enormous cock that he already takes a handful of your hair in his fist. "Don't make me wait, little girl," he pushes you closer until your head is shoved onto his crotch. You feel his hard erection straining across your face, long and pulsating angrily.

You whimper a little, trying to back away, but he holds your face in place. "Mr. Kim, I can't-" Your lips graze his dick as you speak and this position is really not comfy for you.

"Are you telling me a slutty bitch like you can't take a dick in her mouth?" He asks severely, eyes filled with burning anger. Or is it desire? You shake your head the best you can from side to side, swallowing as you feel small and totally defenceless under him. "Then fucking do it."

He doesn't need to tell you twice, surely not while looking at you so menacingly.

You open your mouth and close it, giving kisses to his beautiful length. You do so until you're met with his tip, pre-cum spilling on your lips. His hand grips at your scalp, tightening his fist around your hair, making you wince in pain.

You swirl your tongue around his mushroom head, passing your pink muscle over the slit, smearing the pre-cum and your drool over his hard cock. You play with the tip because you don't want to engulf the whole thing in your mouth, you're not even sure you can.

You're used to Taehyung's cock, but Seokjin's is too long, it almost surpasses the height of your head. Nonetheless, you suckle the head, trying to keep the man entertained. You move your head accordingly to your licks, licking the underside of his shaft and then going up to put the tip back in your mouth.

"Scared to take the whole thing in your mouth, little girl?" He questions you, his voice surprisingly soft. "I understand, it's not everyday that you see someone like me..." He smirks and you look up, meeting his devious gaze.

Your forearms are placed beside his thighs, which part wider as he forces your head down on him when you didn't expect him to. You whine around him, protesting, but you know it's useless. He holds your head firmly over his erect penis and you're too weak to escape his grip.

"Shh, pretty girl. Take my cock," he says calmly and it would be almost soothing if you weren't focusing on breathing through your nose as he sinks himself in the warmth of your mouth. "I told you I would fuck it if you weren't capable of sucking me off."

Your jaw stretches open, letting Seokjin penetrate your mouth so slowly your eyes start to water again. He pushes you down and you don't even have him whole in your mouth that the tip of his cock teases the back of your throat. You gag around him and you're scared you'll throw up.

"Guess I'll have to work with that..." He sighs in exasperation, but he understands he can't go further if he doesn't want you to die of asphyxia around his dick.

He then yanks your head up by your hair and you gasp for air, tears running down your cheeks. You try to get a proper breathing, but Seokjin pulls you down before you can. He slides between your lips, his cock totally smooth from your saliva. You form fists beside his thighs, scrunching your eyes shut and enduring the painful intrusion of his penis inside your mouth.

He plants his feet on the wooden floor and raises his hips, thrusting in and out of you. Slurping sounds are heard as well as Seokjin's grunts and hisses. He uses you as he desires, fucking your face and ignoring your cries while he grits his teeth from the overwhelming pleasure building in his stomach.

"Relax your jaw, fuck, that's why it's painful..." He instructs you and you tense down the muscles of your jaw, allowing a smoother entering of your mouth for his long cock.

Your lips never touch his pubic hair and your chin occasionally brushes his balls as they move up from Seokjin's thrusts. You really want it to be less painful, but you come to realize that maybe your mouth is just not made for sucking cocks.

But the men you have had sex with always manage to take you the way they want it anyway no matter how difficult it is for you to accommodate to their sizes.

You hollow your cheeks, one of the few things Taehyung taught, and you hope it makes Seokjin feel good. The little moan he produces tells you that he does, so you keep on hollowing your cheeks.

He fucks your throat until he feels his balls tightening and his cock twitching inside your mouth. "Shit, filthy girl... You're not as bad as I thought," he rasps out, passing his long fingers through your tangled hair.

The more he pushes into you, the closer your nose is to his pelvis. You swallow him despite the burning you feel in your throat, you're sure it'll be sore by tomorrow.

"A-ah, fuck," he moans and that's when he pulls out of your mouth, standing up on his feet.

Your heart accelerates as he towers over you with his full height, cock in hand ready to shoot his cum everywhere on your body. He's still fully dressed, totally intimidating you. You look so helpless down on your knees before a man so much older and so dominating.

It scares you and you really want to find Taehyung's warmth and care at the moment. It was fun at the beginning because you were angry and upset, but now, you see that Seokjin is just a man using you for your body and naivety.

His hooded eyes don't leave your little figure sitting on the floor as he runs his hand up and down his huge dick. Seokjin wants to ruin you, break you, only to toss you after on the street when he'll be done with you. He's cruel and you only realize it now because a man as powerful as him knows how to hide his double personality.

He brings your head over to him, his cock hovering over your face. He fucks his fist, going impressionably fast. He directs his erection toward your face, aligning it perfectly so he can cum where he wants it.

"Open," he grumbles the word out and you pull out your tongue, flattening it against your chin. He groans and his hips stutter as he feels the knot in his stomach tightening.

And then a hot liquid lands on your face and you blink several times while he shoots his cum on you, marking you in his seeds. He milks himself dry, painting your cheeks and tongue white of his release.

When he lets go of your head, Seokjin looks at you and he almost chuckles at how you seem completely pathetic. Covered in his cum, core leaking on your thighs and hair in a nest. Your makeup is not any better, all smudged up on your face.

You look like a whore. An expensive one, he'll be generous, but Seokjin doesn't pay for sex, he never does. He doesn't have to because lost and frustrated little girls like you throw themselves at his feet. He doesn't need to say anything.

After that, you don't stay with him, you don't sleep in the same bed as him, you don't even get a glass of water for your poor throat. You take your things and you get out.

At least he called a cab for you.

"His little girlfriend is kinda dumb, but you can do whatever you want with that mouth, Goddamn."

That phrase wouldn't leave Taehyung's mind since this morning when he heard Seokjin saying it. And it's infuriating him how he imagines the scene, how he pictures it so easily...

"Get in the fucking car," his eyes are literal daggers, fire glinting in them, making anyone who looks at him shiver in fear.

But not you.

"No! Tell me where we are going!" You yell, thumping your feet like a child.

His nostrils flare as he breathes furiously, fists clenching by his sides. He really wants to hold it in, but it's so difficult, so fucking difficult when you refuse to obey.

"Get. In."

"No, I'm not-" You squeak when your feet leave the ground as Taehyung throws you over his shoulder, securing your body with an arm over the back of your thighs.

He yanks the passenger's door open and you tightly holds the fabric of his vest between your fingers, legs dangling in the air. He bends down and lays you on the leather seat, shutting the door just when you're about to open your mouth again.

Taehyung gets around his car, entering the driver's side. He joins you in and he doesn't grant you one glance. He's mad, really mad.

"Put your seatbelt on," he orders as he adjusts the rear mirror. "Now." He says even more severely, sending you the first glimpse of the night, but it's cold and full of anger.

You quickly put on your seatbelt while he does the same, turning the key and making the car's engine roars. It's not loud enough to cover the beating of your heart, feeling it thundering in your rid cage, threatening to explode.

Taehyung pulls out of the parking lot, reaching the road in a few steering wheel strokes. He uses one hand to turn the wheel, doing it swiftly and precisely. He has a clear idea of where to go, and when he doesn't stop for the red light you understand you're in deep shit.

"Taehyung! Are you unconscious!?" You yell, your eyes widening and eyebrows furrowing when you notice the kilometres per hour increasing as his foot weighs on the speed pedal.

You look back and forth between him and the road in front of you. He dodges the cars, passing through gaps, not even bothering to turn on the flashers.

"Since when are you giving older men head?" He growls through his teeth, eyes focused on the road.

He turns the wheel hastily as he was getting too close to a car and your two bodies follow the movement of the car, balancing to the side before going back in place when Taehyung gets back in line.

"W-What?" You breathe out, too weak to talk louder. Luckily, he hears you despite the loud roaring of the engine.

"Kim Seokjin, out of all people," he sends his venom at you, fire dancing in his eyes. "You picked this piece of shit," he isn't screaming, but it feels like it with the way his tone sounds so furious and uncontrollable.

You think it was just a matter of fact until he would find out, but you thought that maybe he would dismiss it like he always does with you.

"You always open your mouth, never close it," he states, taking a road that leads you both out of the city. "Oh, no, that's right... The only time I don't hear you is when you have your fucking mouth around a literal stranger's dick!" He slams his palm against the steering wheel, the ambiance in the car becoming heavier.

He has to turn on his headlights as you two enter a road where there is no street lamp. You glimpse at the dashboard, your breath now erratic. 110km/h, 120km/h, 150km/h...

"The second I don't give you attention you go turn around older men like a fucking dog in heat," his words are sharp, cutting through your heart. "Is that why you offer your body to other men? Is that fucking why!?" He barks and you close your eyes, pearls falling on your face.

But your heart is stronger than that.

"No!" You scream, the sound making Taehyung tightens his grip around the wheel, knuckles turning white. "I'm not a fucking dog, I'm not a whore or a pathetic dumb bitch!" You affirm loudly, turning your head around to look at him.

You curse yourself for finding him beautiful, loving the crease between his eyebrows, the way his jaw clenches, wishing he could only be yours and no one else.

Fuck his money, fuck his dad, fuck his business partners, fuck his company worth million of dollars.

"Then what are you, huh? Tell me, smarthead," he laughs, but not because it's funny, because he's nervous he's not right this time.

He's asking it, playing stupid as if he doesn't already know the truth, as if you didn't tell him before.

"I'm in love with you, Taehyung! That's what I am, okay! I'm in love... with you," you desperately say the last two words and just like that, his muscles tense down. Just like that he calms down, realizes his mistake. "And I want you to love me, too."

He slows down, raises his foot from the gas pedal, as a road sign appears afar in the dark; max 70km/h. You've come back to the city and Taehyung's little race comes to an end.

The ride back to the parking lot is silent, no one daring to say a word. When Taehyung parks the car, you unbuckle your seatbelt and quickly reach for the door's handle. You get out and he follows you, walking around to finally face you.

You're crying and he's not. Your heart compresses in your chest and you place a hand over it, feeling it screaming and beating incessantly. Him, he only feels guilty.

He's started a fire in you only to watch your heart burn in front of him. He always knew you like him, it was pretty obvious even since you two were children. His attention slowly drifted off of you as he grew older, taking an interest in working with his dad, enjoying earning money and the esteem of many people.

You stayed by his side anyway, even when money was more important than you.

"Doll, listen, I'm-" He stops when you raise an arm in front of him.

You pass by him, walking away as you leave him wondering why did he act like such an asshole for years.

#bts fic #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts imagines #taehyung drabble #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung fanfic #taehyung imagines #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #bts x reader #seokjin x reader #seokjin smut