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#don’t care who knows i’m down horrendous anymore

hawkeyeslaughter · 5 months

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( lying ) babe please i’ll change my lockscreen from wet hawkeye pierce to you i promise

#don’t care who knows i’m down horrendous anymore #i’m cringe but i’m free #m*a*s*h #mash #mashposting #mashblr #mash 4077 #hawkeye pierce #hawkeye #lgbt #lgbtq

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danikamariewrites · 1 month

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Lost

Eris x reader

A/n: sorry for ripping your hearts out a lil with this one. Know that when i reread this my heart broke

Warnings: angst

Another party in the Autumn Court, another night Eris spends wearing his mask as the cruel heir. Eris scanned the ballroom keeping mental notes of people’s comings and goings.

His gaze caught on you. His beautiful mate. A secret you both hate keeping but must for your safety. Gods forbid Beron or your parents find out about the bond. You would be the one in mortal danger from Beron’s wrath.

Eris watched you and your mother speak, trying to keep your motions limited so no nosy court members would stare. He quickly noticed an angry frown pulling at your lips. One he knew all too well.

You froze. Your face contorting into anger and confusion. Eris reached out to your end of the bond to feel your mood. Your chest felt hollow, your mother’s words continued to pelt you. You stopped listening to her. Ears ringing in anger.

Holding your hand up your mother stops speaking. Looking taken aback she steps away from you. Her signature scowl gracing her lips. Turning quickly on your heel you flee the ballroom. Without thinking twice Eris races after you.

Following your scent Eris finds you in his mother’s parlor. His ears pick up on your soft sobs as he searches the moonlit room. He finds you curled up behind the couch, face in your hands. Your shoulders shake with each sob that tears through your body.

Eris sits beside you, pulling you onto his lap. You grip his jacket continuing to sob into his chest. He cradles your head, smoothing your hair in calming strokes. “Hush, wildfire. It’ll be ok.” Eris coos.

“I can’t do it anymore, Er.” You stutter out. “I can’t keep pretending that I’m some cruel, social climbing, unfeeling person. Being presented suitor after suitor, being my father’s loyal daughter I just-“ your words cut off from a sob shaking your body again. “The shit our fathers do to our people is beyond horrendous. I don’t know how much more I can take.” You wail, slumping against Eris.

Eris feels his heart cleave in two as you look up at him. Eyes red and cheeks splotched with tears. He feels tears of his own prick the corners of his eyes. Eris is at a loss for words. Not knowing what to say to make the situation better.

But nothing could have prepared Eris for the next words out of your mouth, “I don’t know who I am any more Eris.” Your expression turns desperate. “I can’t tell if I’m this cruel thing my parents have built me up to be or-or if I am kind and caring. This mask is suffocating me, my love. And I’m not sure how much longer I can wear it.”

Your mate hugs you to his chest once more. Leaving a long kiss atop your head. You relax into his embrace as Eris sends wave after wave of love down the bond.

The two of you sat together long into the early hours of the morning. Your crying has long since stopped. Eyes burning from exhaustion. Eris let his tears fall silently. As the sun rose he made his decision. It was Beron’s time. And Eris will not rest until you two are free from the High Lord’s rule.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #acotar fanfic #acotar Eris #Eris vanserra #eris vanserra acotar x reader #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fic #eris vanserra x reader #eris acotar #eris vanserra x you #eris x you #eris x reader

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harry-styles-obsessed · 3 months

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Request: all day i’ve been thinking about harry x reader who matilda is about, maybe reader was a fan before they met, they somehow started dating, and i just neeeeed to know your opinion on her first reaction to the song

Omgggg I adore this!! Thank you so much for the request!! I hope this is okay, and what you were looking for!! ❤️‍🩹 apologies for the delay and not writing!! Life has been crazy.

Im sorry but I literally LOVE the line ‘I know they won’t hurt you anymore as long as you can let them go’ thats such a beautiful multilayered thing to say, like- don’t hold onto the people who hurt you… just let them go. Gods it’s so beautiful I can’t 😩🥹

©️ please do not copy or translate my work.

You can let it go

It was safe to say you always struggled with your mental health. You were constantly battling that alongside your family. Your family weren’t the best. Sure they took care of you, but didn’t look after you properly. They didn’t make you feel loved… it hurt you terribly. But then you met Harry and your family became nonexistent. Harry became the light in your life, your happiness, your world, your absolute joy… you remembered the time you told him about your family. How he listened. Holding your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it oh so delicately as he nodded occasionally as if to show that he was listening… he actually cared and that broke you yet made you beyond happy all at once, you remembered how frightened you were to open up to him. To tell him that your family didn’t take care of you… that you were lost… but in the end it was the best thing you could’ve done for it opened up the fact that you were struggling. He acted as your life jacket: he saved your life.

You had been a fan of Harry for years, you never thought you’d meet him but you did and well the rest is history… you and him hit it off pretty quickly and immediately began dating but you both kept your relationship with each other out of the public eye. It was easier that way. Privacy was important to the both of you. You were sat in your bedroom that you shared with Harry, the man had been on his phone nonstop and it was starting to really worry you. Sure you struggled with abandonment issues but it wasn’t necessarily your fault. You had experienced nothing but horrendous treatment from your family and it was frankly something you didn’t like to look back on.

“You know you’re kind of freaking me out” you murmur towards him, his emerald green eyes instantly meeting with yours his expression softening “I’m sorry baby… I’m just getting permission for something real quick.” He spoke eyes returning to his phone and you gave him an exasperated look clearly confused and worried all at once. What seemed like hours passed by but really only a couple minutes passed Harry’s lips tugging upwards into a warm smile before he stood up “come with me” he spoke extending his hand out towards you, you quickly taking his hand as he walked with you downstairs and guiding you gently into the living room,

“Sit”

He spoke softly and you sat down watching as he turned on the speaker that was situated just beside the tv, connecting his phone to it “you ready sweetheart?” He glanced at you and you only nodded, still a bit worried and soon enough Harry had set his phone down onto the table coming to sit beside you as a beautiful melodic tune began, echoing from the speaker and wrapping around you like a warm comforting hug your heart suddenly threatening to jump out of your chest… a new song. You licked over your lips anxiously immediately melting into Harry’s side as he held you close his slender fingertips stroking just against your hair as he began pressing soft kisses to the top of your head.

You were riding your bike to the sound of “it’s no big deal.” And you’re trying to lift off the ground on those old two wheels. Nothing about the way that you were treated ever seemed especially alarming ‘til now. So you tie up your hair and smile like it’s no big deal. You can let it go you can throw a party full of everyone you know not invite your family cause they never showed you love, don’t have to be sorry for leaving and growing up.

Tears suddenly brimmed your eyes a shaky breath leaving your lips as you sank further into Harry’s side, your lower lip trembling as he began rubbing soothing circles against your back… he said that the first time you opened up to him. “Don’t worry about them y/n. This is their loss. You don’t have to be sorry for leaving.” A lump formed in your throat as you held onto harry tighter your knuckles turning white from the grip you had on his T-shirt your chest aching,

Matilda you talk of the pain like it’s all alright. But I know that you feel like a piece of you’s dead inside. You showed me a power that is strong enough to bring sun to the darkest days. It’s none of my business but it’s just been on my mind…

A tear trailed down your cheek finally as a sob bubbled from your throat, your head falling onto his shoulder… it reminded you how before you and him started dating he would always ask why you didn’t want to go home… he knew it was none of his business but he was worried about you and it wouldn’t leave his mind. It was beautiful… he had written this song about you. About your troubles. About what made you feel weak. What terrified you… and he turned it into something truly beautiful and it was honestly leaving you awe-struck. He converted your pain from agony and sobbing all through the night in his embrace to something comforting… that it was in fact alright that you didn’t want to waste your time on the family that showed you no love what so ever.

You can let it go. You can throw a party full of everyone you know, not invite your family cause they never showed you love. You don’t have to be sorry for leaving and growing up, you can see the world following the seasons anywhere you go you don’t need a reason cause they never showed you love don’t have to be sorry for doing it on your own. Your just in time make your tea and your toast…

That line was significant to you. You always arrived a little later than expected but always nearly on time at Harry’s house and he would make you tea and toast, every single time, and you’d both have a catch up because you couldn’t leave your home at that time… Harry guided you through the process and helped you leave. He never gave up on you. Never.

You don’t have to go. You don’t have to go home, there’s a long way to go. I don’t believe that time will change your mind. In other words I know they won’t hurt you anymore as long as you can let them go. You can let it go, you can throw a party full of everyone you know you can start a family who will always show you love don’t have to be sorry for doing it on your own. You can let it go you can throw a party full of everyone you know you can start a family who will always show you love you don’t have to be sorry, no….

Your tearful eyes moved to look at Harry who had the same look in his eyes yet he looked so fucking proud. Whether that be pride in his song… or pride in you. “Do I have permission from you to release this song onto my album?” Your lower lip trembled as you nodded your head quickly wrapping your arms around him holding onto him tightly not daring to let go of him as soft sobs left your lips, his large hand stroking up and down your back as he gripped onto you tightly “you can let it go… okay sweetheart?” You didn’t answer, instead holding onto him tighter, not daring to let go your fingers curling into his hair your breathing shaky as your sobs continued escaping your lips. “I love it so much… it’s so beautiful… s-so comforting…” he pressed continuous kisses to your head not letting you go as he rocked you back and forth ever so slightly “I love you so much y/n.” He murmured against your head gently and you smiled weakly, emotions continuing to smash against you rather roughly “I love you so much too Harry… thank you. Thank you for sav-“ “shh. I didn’t do that y/n. You did all of that. You did.” He pulled back looking into your eyes gently pointing one finger against your chest “you, did all of it. You left the home… yet you remained strong. And that was all you.” His hand caressed against your cheek and you smiled lower lip continuing to tremble before you leaned in pressing a kiss to his lips keeping you lips against his “you. Saved. My. Life.” You spoke against his lips before you hugged him again, now sprawled out on his lap his hands rubbing up and down your sides holding you lovingly not daring to let go of you making sure you knew you were loved. Because you were and are so so loved.

Never forget that. You are loved. Never apologise for doing what’s right for you. Love yourselves.

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chris-continues · 10 months

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Unconventional, Unusual, and Unapologetically Yours

Inspired by this text post I made!

In which you enter a relationship with an unfamiliar creature.. yet he’s the sweetest person you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

TAGS: @beanibon @vashfantasy @h4venpha @lune010

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

Available on ao3!

NOTES: I cranked this out in like less than an hour I think. Uncanny Vash makes my fingers type like the fucking wind LMAO- ALSO I MIGHT DO PT2 <33 ^^lmk if you don’t want to be tagged! Some people asked and I know others like uncanny Vash a lot, so I thought you’d enjoy. I tried to add a bit of creature Vash as well, please feel free to comment/reblog if you enjoyed! And lmk any ideas you have :D

Your boyfriend deviated from what one would call the standard partner.

Well, not that such a thing was negative. He was by far one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen, that much you noted from your first encounter. An abandoned warehouse, where you’d been forced to do an odd job when tight for cash. “Get a photo of the infamous Humanoid Typhoon!”, they said, giving you directions out of town. The warehouse then had appeared nothing short of shady, with its shabby walls, unfamiliar state, and a slight mildewy smell you weren’t too fond of.

That would soon change, becoming your safe haven, as you recalled how you’d met.

Your tentative steps inside, phone flashlight beaming as you explored for a good few minutes before- “Ah!” You jolted, the wide smile of a tall man, startling you. He apologetically waved his hands before you, attempting to reassure you, “Aw god, I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“It’s uh, fine, yeah.” You cleared your throat, turning your flashlight down slightly, “Who are you?” “Vash.” He chirped, quite literally. “And you?”, he offered his hand, ever so charming. If you recalled correctly, his pupils dilated a bit too much at the touch of your hand against his.

Humanoid. Not human.

It took you an embarrassingly long time to connect the dots, your attempt to search for the man of the hour futile (or successful, depending on how you viewed it). Searching for any extending corridors, or perhaps a hidden room. His company was originally slightly unsettling, as he was a stranger just tagging along for the ride, but he had no ill intent and with each sweet remark you found your night to not be a complete failure, swearing you’d return next weekend, same time to find the Humanoid Typhoon together.

It turned into a game of stalling.

Searching the same wall as last week, fingers tapping at the eroding wood of the building. His fingertips had brushed yours a handful of times as he blamed it on the darkness, a slight squeak leaving him each time, and maybe it was your fatigue riddled mind but you almost swore a slight glow emanated from him each time.

After the 3rd week of searching you really didn’t care about finding this Typhoon guy anymore, figuring he was just some urban legend. Why did you keep going? For Vash, of course. He was a great listener, funny, and seemed to enjoy your company, and you really enjoyed his, and by god were you absolutely horrendous when it came to romance. So continued your pining of poking and prodding at an abandoned warehouse at the late hours of night. Too nervous to ask for his number (you found out later he didn’t have a phone), too shy to initiate anything further.

Aha, until one night.

Your searching had become less investigative of the building and moreso of each other, legs crossed and sitting in the middle of the warehouse with music playing from your phone on occasion. Discussions ranging from god knows what, each interesting in their own right. What confused you was that something as mundane as you telling a story in which you got your neighbors mail left him at the edge of his seat, but you simply chalked it up as him being a good listener and eager to engage in conversation, (that being partially true). Exhaustion creeped at you one night though, your horrendous sleeping habits having caught up with you as you rested your head against the derelict floorboards and gazed up at the ceilings.

Vash had a habit of humming to fill in silences, and much like the rest of him you found yourself inexplicably drawn to it.. So sue you for being soothed to sleep by such a thing.

He didn’t tell you until much later, but that night he’d let his hand graze the back of yours, feathers peeking from beneath his jacket with the slight bumps ever so comforting against your skin. You let out the cutest hums, rolling just a bit closer to him.

His breath caught in his throat, as he let himself touch your hand just a bit more. His long, inhuman tongue laved over his several rows of sharp, unnatural teeth in a fidgeting motion. His pupils expanded, admiring you. You always appeared a bit nervous or tense around him- of course that diminished over time, he noted, but why were you so nervous? God, he hated being like this sometimes. To be.. A normal human companion of yours was something he found he craved. Every week, waiting for you in this dingy, subpar hiding place..

You were the highlight of his week.

He had to hold himself back from instinctively curling into your side, wrapping his lanky limbs around you and allowing his vertebrae to extend to his full height.. Several feet taller than you. He wants to engulf you whole, keep you forever close and cherish you with chirps you couldn’t possibly understand.

When you awake, he lays beside you. His body is as stiff as the wooden planks lining the warehouse floors, glancing at you as you finally make a move.

You scoot an inch closer.

His breath hitches in his throat.

He can feel a draft making its way through the building,your body shivering as you shift just a bit closer.

“You.. are you cold?” He hesitates, arm stiffening as the fabric of his jacket meets the sleeve of your shirt.

“Yeah, kinda..” You murmur, eyes darting away from him then back to him- god, you could stare at him and never tire of it.

Your arms are pressed against one another, his fingers- wait, they’re uncharacteristically smooth, toying with the end of your sleeve. Oh god. The cutest guy you’ve ever met and he’s- oh god- you’ve dreamt of this more than you’d care to admit, hugging a pillow to sleep most nights, mind drifting to the cute guy you meet every weekend outside of town.

Your fingers graze his once more, breathing pausing once more.

He intertwines his fingers with yours.

You think you’re going to die.

He chirps happily, and with your curiosity getting the better of you, you can’t help but ask, “What’s that noise mean?”

He blinks owlishly, sheepish smile crossing his face, “Oh uh, I don’t know really. It just.. happens?”

“Ah, mhm. That’s fair.”

You peek down to your intertwined hands, only to see-

“Vash?”

His mouth gapes open to speak, and you get another peek of his- oh god, now that it’s morning you can see better.

Rows upon rows of his sharp teeth. His mouth forcibly staying together in one piece rather than three. Unnaturally long limbs. Feathers sprouting from him.

“You.. you’re not human, are you?”

Oh god. He scared you. He’s so ugly, and you’re frozen, backing away slightly- “Oh my god you’re not- are you?”

The Humanoid Typhoon.

“Yeah. I.. I am.”

It takes you a moment to collect your bearings, mouth agape. “You.. you never planned to hurt me, right?” Your eyes are wide, hands in your lap as you now sit up, legs criss crossed.

“God no! Never! Oh god, I'm so sorry.” He buried his face in his hands, hiding it from the peeking rays of sunlight peering through the wood of the warehouse. “I don’t try to hurt anyone really, it just.. happens.” He swallowed thickly, “You can leave, if you’d like. I won’t hold it against you.”

You shake your head adamantly, “No, no I trust you. Just surprised me is all. I’ve never seen anything like it, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Vash.” Your hands fidget within your lap, “I enjoy your company and you not being human won’t change that.”

He peeked at you from his fingers, pupils dilated. “..really?”

You nodded.

He certainly didn’t appear very convinced, but as you offered one of your previously fidgeting hands out to him.. he took it. Hand much larger in yours, inhumanly smooth- you found upon closer inspection he had no fingerprints.

You stayed like that for god knows how long, until you checked your phone, “Shit! I’m sorry Vash, I’ve got to-” Aw god, his face, he was so cute..

“I’ll return soon.”

He walked you to your car parked outside.

Your next few visits were a lot more different. He never directly said it, but before long you started staying the night, pressed close to one another, easing closer and closer to one another with hesitant touches. His eyes pleaded for your company each time you left, a small pout forming on his lips.

You hated leaving him each time.

Your first kiss was sweet, clumsy, and absolutely adorable. Just like him.

He laid atop you, the world’s best weighted blanket, wrapping his unproportionate, lanky limbs around you to pull you flush against him. “I like you Vash. A lot.” You admitted into his hair quietly, shyly kissing the crown of his head. He chirped excitedly, a few clicks escaping him as he shifted to have your eyes meet, lips peppering pecks on your cheeks, jaw, and the corners of your lips.

You both were too nervous to initially confess, just basking in one another’s company.

“Like you too.” A series of inhuman noises escaped him, elated by your flustered giggles.

He almost felt bad for temporarily silencing you with a shy and quick peck to your lips. His eyes widened, before going in for another.

Another, another, another, purring contentedly as he pressed closer to you in hopes to mold you both into one.

Your hands tentatively reached to cradle his face, grinning into the dorky kiss you two shared.

Now though? You glance at him, wrapped in a mini nest you two share atop your bed. He nuzzles into your neck, teeth gently nibbling at the flesh as the rays of morning peek through your bedroom window. His legs hang off the bed with how tall he is, but he couldn’t care less.

Is it unconventional? Sure. Unusual? Most definitely.

But you’ve never been more happy than you have with him.

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pasukiyo · 2 years

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Could I bother you for a part 2 to Go For It? Maybe where reader snaps at some point and then starts avoiding Steve or smth? And he goes to Robin(who knows what went down) for advice only to get chewed out? Up to you whether it ends with angst, fluff, and/or smut!

𝐠𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐭. | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨.

read part one here.

— steve harrington x f!reader

warnings; angst? horrendous writing? very brief smut implication at the beginning

a/n; …I AM SO SO SORRY THAT THIS IS LATE! my week has been absolutely crazy with unexpected things popping up left and right and i just couldn’t find the time to write anything so i am so so sorry for being late 😭 but it’s finally here! did not expect the first part to blow up the way it did so thank you:) i don’t really feel like i did my best on this one so i’m sorry if it’s a little underwhelming

word count; 3.7k

“i heard nance is going to the game tonight.”

“i saw nancy when she came to pick the boys up from my work earlier.”

“did you see nancy’s new hair?”

“god, i just wish i could tell her how beautiful she is like i used to.”

nancy, nancy, nancy, nancy, nancy.

it was almost all he could ever talk about these days. she hated how much she came to loathe the girl who had never really done anything to her personally, who had no idea of her affection for her best friend. of course, she could never say no when steve asked her to come over, and although she hated every time nancy’s name fell from his lips, she came right over with no hesitation.

“fuck, nancy, right there, baby..”

her eyelids snapped open, and she gazed up at steve as he hovered over her, his own lids closed in ecstasy as he pounded his hips into hers. she recalled feeling everything and nothing all at once, as if she was caught in a wave, unable to claw her way back to the surface. she remembered feeling numb— since when did he begin to imagine her as someone else entirely in their moments together?

“steve, stop,” she murmured, her voice hardly above a whisper, too quiet for him to hear over the sound of skin assaulting skin. a string of curses tumbled from steve’s lips as his cock twitched inside of her, but she couldn’t even bring herself to relish the pleasure anymore— she wanted nothing more than to leave, to get away from him. “steve, i said stop!” she spoke much louder and clearer this time, and his eyelids snapped open when she pushed her palms against his chest, his cock sliding out of her as his body plopped on the mattress beside her.

“shit, did i hurt you?” he questioned as her chest heaved, tears stinging the rims of her sockets as she tried to gain back her composure, to ease the pounding of her heart in her chest and the ringing in her ears. it wasn’t until steve placed a gentle hand on her shoulder that she she back to her senses, and her body tensed beneath his touch, causing him to remove his hand almost instantly. “hey, hey, did i do anything—“

“i just— i just need to go,” she interrupted, practically scrambling off of his bed as she began a frantic search for her clothes where they had been scattered all across the room, swift to redress herself. steve simply watched from his bed, a wrinkle in his brow as he sat there, dumbfounded. “do you.. do you need me to drive you home? is everything alright? do you need any—“

“i’m fine,” she managed to emit as she threw on the remainder of her clothes, tossing her bag over her shoulder before making haste towards his bedroom door. she knew steve was calling after her— but she didn’t even care.

because everything was clear to her now.

at first, steve may have only proposed the idea of their arrangement as a way to relieve his stress, to feel close and connected to someone when he needed that connection the most. but somewhere down the road, as he became more and more obsessed with getting nancy wheeler back, he found a new way to look at their arrangement. he may not have been able to have nancy wheeler physically, but at least, with someone else, he could pretend.

the idea made her absolutely sick to her stomach.

all these years of being second after nancy wheeler, never once did it bother her this much until now. it felt as though someone had reached inside of her chest to rip her heart straight out of it— never did she ever believe that steve harrington would be the one to hold her heart in his hands.

nor did she ever believe that steve harrington would be the one to crush her, and leave her to bleed.

the walk back to her home felt longer than usual, but when she did eventually get there, she made a beeline for her room, ignoring her parents as they sat in the living room.

she couldn’t catch her breath. she threw her bag down on the floor beside her door, kicked her shoes off of her feet, and sunk down onto her mattress. the tears wouldn’t stop flowing from there, her sobs wracked her body as her fingertips did their best to wipe the evidence away from her face, only to come to no avail.

why was it so hard to let go of him? why couldn’t she find anyone else to fall in love with, why couldn’t she just forget about steve harrington?

no matter how hard she tried, it would always be him— he’d always be the one she thought about, the one she dreamt about, the one she yearned for.

why hadn’t she gone for him all those years ago? if only she had had the courage to tell him how she felt before high school, before he met nancy wheeler, before nancy turned his entire life— and coincidentally, her’s— upside down. maybe then she wouldn’t be feeling the pain she felt now, maybe then, things would have been different for the better.

she clutched the pillow where her head laid, tears streaming down the side of her face and pooling on the plush below. she wasn’t sure when her eyelids finally began to droop, nor when she seemed to slip into the realms of unconsciousness..

“i just don’t understand. she just.. left. and she left in like.. a hurry, too. she didn’t even talk to me.”

steve scanned robin’s face as she listened to his reminiscing of last night’s events, his eyes darting from the road beyond and back over to where she sat. she narrowed her eyes as she turned to look over at him, her eyebrows raised to her hairline. “what?”

steve’s own brow wrinkled and he pouted, “robin! i’m asking you for advice here, since you know,” he gestured towards her with an outstretched palm, “you’re a girl and all.” robin couldn’t suppress her laugh at this, balling her fist and giving him a soft punch to the shoulder. “dude, why’d you say it like that?”

“robin! can we focus?”

“god, steve, please don’t tell me you’re actually that dumb?”

steve blinked, puffing his cheeks out, his brows furrowed in downright confusion. “what are you—“

“steve! she’s in love with you!”

steve blinked again, his foot on the pedal suddenly feeling heavier than usual, the engine of his car revving as they sped up. he suddenly found it hard to breathe as he recalled the night before, the moments leading up to her leaving. in his confused state the night before, he couldn’t seem to recall what had set her off, not until this very moment..

“goddammit,” he muttered beneath his breath. “i said nancy’s name while we were..”

“oh my god! oh my god, you are so screwed.”

his eyelids narrowed over at robin as he turned into the school’s parking lot, swerving to the front entrance where he always dropped her off. he put his car into park and slammed his forehead down onto the steering wheel, his cheeks crimsoning with heat.

how did he not see it before? how could he not have seen the way she looked at him every time he talked about nancy, how could he not have seen how she didn’t hesitate to drop everything for him, how she didn’t even hesitate to agree to their arrangement?

the signs were all there in front of him, as clear as crystal, and he still didn’t realize what was happening until it was far too late. he lifted his head and turned towards his best friend in the passenger’s seat, his lips falling agape with the intention of saying something, but words fell short when he caught a glimpse of the girl he knew all too well trudging her way towards the school’s entrance, hugging her books to her chest.

“steve,” robin said in warning once she realized who he was looking at, his hands subconsciously slipping down to the buckle of his seatbelt. he pressed the pad of his thumb down onto the red button and tugged on the handle of his door, slipping out of the car before slamming the door shut behind him. he ignored robin’s protests as he jogged over to where she was, her name slipping from his lips. her muscles visibly tensed underneath her blouse when she heard his voice, but before she could slip inside of the school, his hand locked around her upper arm, tugging her back.

“steve, please, leave me alone,” she murmured, her eyes cowering away from him and all the other people giving them glances. “please, i need to talk to you,” steve whispered, his irises murky with something she couldn’t name, his brows furrowed in sorrow. “i’m sorry. i think i get it now, you—“

“steve, just stop it,” she hissed this time, snatching her arm away from his grip, adjusting her bag back up onto her shoulder. he called her name again, her jaw tensing and her expression hardening. “you don’t get it, do you hear me? you don’t know how i felt, watching you drive yourself insane over nancy when she already has someone else. you don’t understand what it’s like to feel second to someone else when they haven’t been there like i have, steve. so don’t try and bullshit me and say that you understand, okay?”

steve was silent. his heart was pounding— how could he have been so blind?

she blinked the glossiness away from her vision, pinching her bottom lip with her teeth. “i don’t feel like talking about this right now, okay? just, please, leave me alone.”

and that was that. she pivoted around on her heel and pushed her way inside the school, steve’s lips falling agape, words he wished to say sitting on the tip of tongue but never emitting. robin came up behind him, circling around him to give him a look. “i tried to tell you it wouldn’t go well,” she said. “just give her space. i think you really hurt her, steve.”

robin gave his bicep a soft squeeze before she, too, left him to enter the school, and steve stuffed his hands into his pockets, practically shuffling his feet all the way to his car.

after sliding back into the driver’s seat, he slammed the car door closed as hard as he could, unable to bring himself to care about anything breaking. he leaned back into his seat and ran his fingers through the hair atop his head, his heart thumping so hard inside of his chest that he could hear the beating in his eardrums.

his mind wandered through all the years he’d spent hung up on nancy wheeler, all the years that he’d wasted trying to find a way back to her, only for every single one of his attempts to come to no avail. all those years she’d spent watching him chase after nancy wheeler, when she, herself, wanted nothing more than him.

how could he have been so stupid?

it was like she had said earlier, she was always, always there for him, through thick and thin. she was right there with him to support him at every basketball game, at every swim meet, she even supported him and was there to comfort him every time he’d get into it with his father. she was there before nancy, at the beginning of nancy, at the end of nancy, and even now, she was still there trying to pick up the pieces of himself nancy wheeler had managed to break.

how had he never seen that she was right there all along?

something inside of him felt like it had changed, like all the gears had shifted, as if all the puzzle pieces had suddenly fallen back together perfectly. she was the one holding him together, not nancy, like he had initially thought. she was the only one he had ever fully opened himself up to, and he took all of it for granted, even used her body as his escape, as his stress reliever.

how could he have been so shitty to her?

and even then, she was still there, willing to give herself to him as long as it meant he felt alright.

and that was something he could never replace.

so how could he ever even begin to express how sorry he was?

“robin, i know what you’re doing. and i really don’t want to go to family video right now.”

it had been a few days since she had last seen steve in front of hawkins high, and she wasn’t sure how to feel. a part of her hated to be away from him for so long, for they had hardly even gone a day without seeing each other since middle school. she longed to be with him again, even if things would never be the same again.

she wanted steve harrington back.

the other part of her hesitated, afraid of the pain she knew she’d feel if she saw him again. she was afraid of change, because it was inevitable that it’d happen, and she couldn’t shake the idea that it wouldn’t be for the better.

“come on, it’s been days. you’ll have to talk to him eventually,” robin nudged her with her elbow, and she sighed.

“i know but.. i just— i don’t—“

“for christ’s sake, please! just go so i don’t have to hear the dingus whine and cry about you anymore!” robin groaned, “believe it or not, but he’s extremely sorry. so just get your ass over to family video because he said he has something for you and i told him i wouldn’t tell you anything about it but you’re clearly not gonna budge so i’m breaking a pinky promise right now and—“ robin paused to catch her breath, shaking her head as she squeezed her eyelids shut, trying to find the right words she wanted to say. “just.. go. i think it’ll be worth it, for both of you. please?”

she blinked as robin gazed at her expectantly, her irises glimmering with desperation. she couldn’t help but crack a smile at the idea that steve was this desperate to make things right with her, and that even robin herself wanted her to go. so, she gathered air into her lungs and pressed her lips together, nodding her head.

robin let go of breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in, pulling her in for a brief squeeze. “thank you. now get over there, he’s waiting and even though he’s a bit of a dingus, i don’t wanna make him feel too stupid.”

she smiled and released a small laugh as she gathered her things, rising from her chair, blinking away the tears brimming her sockets. “thank you, robin.”

she drove to family video in silence, and as she pulled into the parking lot, she swore she could see steve running around inside, most likely noticing her car and panicking. she braved a soft smile at the idea as she turned the car off, taking one, last deep breath before sliding out of her car, and making her way to the entrance.

her hands subconsciously soothed down the wrinkles of her sundress and her fingers ran through her hair before she pushed open the door, ambling into the lobby where steve was, leaning over the counter on his elbows, gazing over at where she stood.

“hey,” he barely managed out, coughing behind his fist as he stood up straight, adjusting the family video vest whilst he made his way around the counter. “hi,” she replied, and it came out as more of a squeak, and she squeezed her eyelids shut in mortification. “so, uh,” steve began, rocking back and forth on his heels, his hands behind his back, seemingly holding onto something. he must’ve noticed she was curious about what he was holding, for he swiftly outstretched his arms towards her, nearly swatting her in the face with the bouquet of beautiful pink flowers. he puffed his cheeks out, his skin scarlet and burning, and she smiled— this was the awkward steve harrington she used to know. “i.. got you these. they’re a little.. crumpled. must’ve been the car ride.”

“oh, steve,” she murmured, taking ahold of the stems and bringing them to her chest, the petals tickling the tip of her nose as she hid her smile away. “they’re beautiful.”

steve stuffed his hands into jean pockets, pressing his lips together as he scanned his brain for anything, anything at all that he could say. there was so much he could and truly did want to say, but words simply just didn’t come easy. would words even be enough to express how sorry he was for hurting her so badly?

“i.. i got you something else,” he chose to say instead, and she followed with her eyes as he made his way back behind the counter, disappearing when he squatted down to grab something she couldn’t possibly imagine. he took this time to take a deep breath, squeezing his eyelids shut before snapping them back open and rising from the ground, making his way back over to where she stood.

has she always looked this beautiful doing absolutely nothing?

did his palms always seem to grow clammy when he was around her?

did he always seem to feel tongue-tied whenever he tried to speak to her?

did his heart always beat this fast around her?

he wasn’t sure, but all he knew to do in this moment was to go for it, the small scrapbook he had spent the past few sleepless nights working on now resting in the palms of her hands. his breath hitched as she stared down at it, wondering if maybe it was a mistake after all to give this to her, if it was a mistake even calling her here at all.

she glanced back up at him, her irises glossed over with something somewhere between sadness and happiness, her eyebrows knit together as she flipped to the first page.

it was unlike anything she’d ever been given before.

polaroids that she and steve had taken together, some that she hadn’t even remembered taking, had been glued on every single page, steve’s handwriting in black ink on every one of them as well. sweet little captions underneath every photo, small letters on every other page, all in steve’s slightly sloppy yet somewhat neat handwriting. she could feel the sting of salt brim her eyelids, and it wasn’t long before droplets fell to the scrapbook below, and steve’s brow furrowed, her name tumbling from his lips in a whisper.

“nooo, no, no, please don’t cry, i don’t want you to cry anymore over me—“

“steve.”

“—because i am honestly such a shitty person and—“

“steve.”

“—and you deserve so much better and—“

“steve.”

she cut him off by nudging his side, a smile peeking through the cracks of her tears like a ray of sunlight. she hugged the flowers and the book close to her chest as if she couldn’t bear to let them go as she let her forehead fall against his shoulder. “i’m crying because i’m happy, steve.”

she could feel the rise and fall of his chest, and although he was hesitant, his arms did eventually wrap themselves around her shoulders, drawing her closer into his warmth. “i’m so, so sorry that i didn’t see,” he mumbled into her hair, his lips peppering kisses to the crown of her head. “i can’t— i can’t believe i took what was right in front of me for granted.”

“but.. what about nancy?”

her smile wavered when she remembered how in love steve had been with nancy wheeler until seemingly this point, and she felt small all of a sudden— did he really have an epiphany or did he just feel guilty?

she wasn’t certain if her eyes told what she felt, but if they did, then steve caught it. he cradled either of her cheeks in his palms, and her heart beat against her chest once again at how close he was. this felt different than anything she’d ever felt before, different than when they had sex with no strings attached. something had changed within steve harrington, and right now, as she stared into his irises, falling further down the depths of brown, she could see it as much as he could feel it.

“i don’t wanna spend any more time talking or even thinking about her right,” he murmured, and he was closer than ever now, his lips a ghost over hers. “she’s already taken so much of yours.”

her lips were sealed with his, and she just about lost her grip on the bouquet and the scrapbook as she rested her knuckles against his elbows, losing herself in the kiss she’d only been dreaming of for years on end. he kissed her with fervor, and she kissed him back with just as much. her heart was feral now in her chest, and she could only hope that she wouldn’t be pinched, in fear that this was all just a dream after all.

but it wasn’t.

she was real, steve was real, steve kissing her was real— it was all real.

their lips never once broke apart as steve walked her back until she could feel the edge of the counter against the small of her back, and she gasped, using her knuckles against his chest to push him away. heat surged to her cheeks as she panted, air slowly finding its way back into her lungs. scarlet seeped through steve’s cheeks, and his teeth pinched his bottom lip, his hand slithering around the back of his neck as if he were trying to find an itch to scratch.

“as happy as i am right now, i still should remind you that you’re at work right now..”

“..yeah, yeah, i know,” steve winced, the corners of his lips twitching as he tittered, drawing her in once again for a peck, her lips tingling with the memory of his when he pulled away. “i.. i can pick you up after work? and i’ll take you out on a real date, one you deserved to go on a long time ago.”

she was hardly strong enough to bite back her smile, “yeah. yeah, i’d like that.”

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington x you #stranger things headcanons #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine

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gaysindistress · 11 months

Text

Dial Drunk - part 2 of Fine Line

Pairing: Mafia!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: angst and the feels oh and Peggy Carter slander

Word count: 2.1k words

Master list

Fine line 1 & Cocaine Jesus 3

Tag list: @vickie5446 @cakesandtom

a/n: I love a good song fic. Dial Drunk by Noah Kahan sponsors this fic so I highly suggest you listen to it.

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest

“Son, is there someone I can call for you?” the Sheriff asks while half dragging and carrying a drunk Steve into the station. Under the dead weight of the mafia boss, the elderly Sheriff struggles to get them inside as the rain pelts them so hard, he’s expecting there to be bruises on both of them.

Steve mumbles something as his head lolls to the side but the other man cannot make out a single word or number for that matter. At the door, he waves to his deputies to him with the door and he all but drops Steve onto his younger deputies.

“Son, I don’t know your name. Where is your wallet or your phone?”

Steve shoves his hand into his coat pocket which sends all of them into high alert but it’s all false as he dumps the asked for items onto a desk. The Sheriff gets to work to figure out his name and find an emergency contact or anything at all that might be helpful.

“Alright, Mr. Rogers,” he announces as he types away at a computer, no doubt pulling up Steve’s criminal record as well as his contacts, “Should I call a Mrs. Margaret Carter Rogers? Is that still current?”

Steve scoffs at the name as he falls into a seat next to the Sheriff, “My own wife hates me.”

A deputy gives the Sheriff a look but he ignores it and calls the number nonetheless. Steve slumps back into the hard chair and drops his head back in attempts of sleeping off the horrendous hangover he’s going to have. The phone rings and rings, leaving him with just the dial tone as Peggy ignores the call. They try again but nothing happens. She ignores the call. They try a third time and finally she answers.

“Hello?” her accented voice wakes Steve.

“Hi is this Mrs. Margaret Carter Rogers?”

She snorts, “Not anymore. If this is about Steve, call someone else. I don’t care”

The dial tone replaces her voice and all of the officers look at each other in disbelief.

“Did… Did she just hang up?” the same deputy asks.

The sheriff clears his throat and brushes over his thick gray mustache as he thinks about what to do next.

“I told you she hates me,” Steve pipes up, “Wasted your time.”

“Is there anyone else we can call?”

He shrugs, “She won’t answer either.”

Behind them two deputies are whispering to each other about how wrong it was of Peggy to hang up but quickly stop when the Sheriff gives them a pointed look.

“Maybe SHE will answer. What’s her name and number?” He extends the phone out to Steve who drops it and has to slowly reach down to pick it up. It takes him longer than usual to open it and find the number of the woman whose house he practically ran from. After he left Y/N’s house, he found the nearest bar and drank the place out of anything that would numb the rejection pain. For ten years, he dreamed of nothing but seeing his girl again and when he finally did, his past decisions ruined any chance of a relationship with her again. For ten years, he resented Peggy, his father, his mother even and himself for not fighting harder for Y/N. For ten years, he regretted everything he had done and prayed that somehow he could go back in time to just be with her.

“Y/N hates me too.”

Still the sheriff dials the number and hopes that this mystery woman will answer the phone. It rings five times and they’re all beginning to think that this will be a repeat of the first call but she does answer.

Her voice is raw from crying but she answers, “Hello?”

“Hi ma'am, is this Y/n?”

“Yes, how can I help you?”

“Well ma’am, this is the Kings County sheriff department. I’m Sheriff Anderson. I have Steve Rogers here and he’s going to be held overnight in the drunk tank or you can come pick him up.”

“Shit, okay. Um…” there’s a long pause but they can hear her shuffling around, “I can be there in 45 minutes, is that okay?”

“Yes of course ma’am. We appreciate you answering the phone so late and coming right away.”

“Uh… yeah no problem I guess,” she mumbles something else but Steve doesn’t catch it.

Anderson motions to his deputies and has them take Steve to a cell while he waits. He’s half asleep and even heavier than before as they haul him into his own cell. Next to him is another lonely drunk stranger who was ignored and left to figure their shit out alone. Regardless he can’t be bothered to care and he shucks off his overcoat to use it as a pillow. Crossing his arms over his chest and his legs over each other, he settles into a short nap while he waits for Y/N. A part of him isn’t even sure that she is actually coming and he’s starting to convince himself that she never answered the door in the first place. She’s not coming to take him home…there's no home where they live together. There is no place where they love and support each other because he destroyed that when he married Peggy. Tears begin to grow heavy on his eyes but he won’t allow himself to cry over the past no matter how recent it might be.

He pulls his arms tighter across himself and rolls over so that his back faces outwards. With his face hidden, the tears start to fall against his will and he does nothing to stop them even though just moments ago he vowed that the past wouldn’t bother him. He doesn’t try to wipe them and lets the pain metastasize in his body, growing a tumor of emotions that can’t be cured by anything.

Time slips away from him as the memories and hurt wash over him. Anderson clears his throat to get Steve’s attention and starts to unlock the cell’s door.

“We took his keys so you can drive it home if you didn’t bring your own car,” Anderson says to Y/N.

She smiles and nods, taking the keys from him and clutching them as she stares at the sad excuse of a man laying on the bed. Steve wipes at his eyes and groans as he slides off of the hard jail bed. Shaking out his pillow coat, he puts it on before making eye contact with her. She sighes at him and thanks Anderson for all that he’s done even though it’s not procedure. When Steve stands, he sways and she’s quick to catch him, waving off Anderson who offers to take him. They don’t say anything to each other as she acts as his crutch and walk towards his car. She fumbles with the keys and drops them.

“Lean on the car,” she tells him as she bends down to pick them up, “Do you need my help getting in?”

He furrows his brow like a toddler, “No I can do it myself.”

Shaking her head at him, she unlocks the car and lets him struggle to fold his large body into the passenger side. She slides into the driver’s side and takes a deep breath. Never again did she think that she would dealing with Steve let alone driving his car as he’s almost black out drunk in the passagner seat.

He mumbles something along the lines of “It’s a remote start.”

Y/N hums her understanding and finds the button. It blinks to life and heavy metal music greets them at an unbearable volume. He whimpers at the noise and slams his hand onto the power button to turn it off as quick as he can. Satisfied that the offending noise has stopped, he curls into himself against the window and rests his head on the cool glass.

“Did you put your seat belt on?”

He answers by puling the belt over himself and clicking it into place.

She backs out of the spot and leaves the Sheriff’s station behind. Silence fills the space around them as the street lights and porch lights pass through the window. The lights splash across her face and unbeknownst to her, Steve is stealing glances at her through the window’s reflection. What little he can see of her breaks his heart even more as he can see the fatigue and hurt tense in her features. Her hair, usually styled and pristine, has been hastily clipped up with a claw clip that’s holding on for dear life. Under the long winter coat she’s wearing is just a pair of pj pants and a white crop top. She’s not even really wearing shoes but instead a pair of worn down clogs that should only be worn inside. Seeing how vulnerable she is, he can’t help himself grow protective and upset that she left in such a hurry.

“I hope you drove,” slips out albeit slurred.

“What?” she asks, quickly looking over at him.

“I said I hope you drove.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Do you see what you’re wearing?”

She blinks and scoffs at him, “I just picked your drunk ass up at 2 am and you want to lecture me about my clothing choices.”

“That’s not what I….”

She cuts him off, “Stop. You’re sleeping on the couch and I expect you to be gone when I wake up.”

“Honey.”

“Don’t. I already made myself clear earlier; I want nothing to do with you. I should’ve left you at the stupid station,” she mumbles the last part to herself but he still hears it and sews his mouth shut. The rest of the car ride back to her house is quiet aside from the normal noise of the car and the city.

She wants to regret hurting him with her words but she can’t find it in herself to care anymore. Maybe it’s the exhaustion or the petty side of her that strives to inflict as much pain as she can onto him. He did deserve it after all and he’s not protesting at least out loud.

Internally he wants to confess his undying love for her but he knows she won’t care and it won’t change her mind. He does deserve all of her hate and anger. It’s all just no matter how harsh it might be.

Steve keeps stealing glances of her in his window’s reflection and accepts the heartache it induces. Her house comes into view and he can feel her relax when it does. She pauses before fully pulling it and has the garage door open to hide his car from sight in it.

Once inside, she turns it off and waits for the door to shut completely before getting out. Steve watches as she kicks her shoes off and takes off her coat, leaving her in her thin pjs. He climbs out and does the same as her. Following her inside, she instructs him to sit at the island like before while she goes to get him blankets and pillows.

His eyes find the Polaroid again and the memories replay again. The sound of Y/N dropping a stack of bedding brings him around again.

“Here’s a couple blankets and a pillow. Don’t worry about folding them, I'll have to wash them.”

She turns to leave but he calls out softly and stops her, “thank you.”

Her hand rests on the wall beside her and she drops her head to rest on it.

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

“I want you back. I want YOU.”

She faces him again, “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to make a reappearance and magically everything goes back to how it was.”

Steve pushes off and is before her in a few short strides. He gently holds her face in his warm hands and refuses to let go even though she tugs lightly at his wrists.

“Give me another chance. Please honey, just one more chance,” he begs her as he touches his forehead to hers. Y/N’s eyes flutter closed and her breathing grows shallow, hot breath brushing against his face.

He nudges her head back and ghosts his lips over hers, waiting for her to push him away. When she doesn’t, he captures her lips in a slow and intimate kiss. Everything he’s felt over the last 10 years is flooding her as he moves his lips over hers. Every promise he’s made to himself in her name is conveyed as he sighed against her lips.

She’s the first to pull away and is shaking her head when she does so.

“No.”

#mob au #mafia! steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x y/n #mafia steve rogers x reader #mafia steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #fine line steve rogers #steve x reader #Steve rogers #marvel imagine #mafia au

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comfort-person · 3 months

Note

all day i’ve been thinking about harry x reader who matilda is about, maybe reader was a fan before they met, they somehow started dating, and i just neeeeed to know your opinion on her first reaction to the song

Omgggg I adore this!! Thank you so much for the request!! I hope this is okay, and what you were looking for!! ❤️‍🩹 (apologies for the delay. Work has been hectic and I haven’t been able to write lately but I hope you like it nonetheless!!)

You can let it go

“Sit”

Never forget that. You are loved. Never apologise for doing what’s right for you. Love yourselves.

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delicatekissez · 4 months

Text

I Bet On Losing Dogs. | EVERLARK

All three parts of my completed fic, I Bet On Losing Dogs.

Originally posted on Ao3, check it out Here.

Please lemme know what you think!! .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。

Part One.

I bet on losing dogs I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place By the ring.

My fingers tap a nonsensical pattern on the side of the window, I’m sure I’m irritating every stuck-up doctor in this room but I don’t care, they can’t shout at or chastise the girl with the bruises around her neck. The girl who, no doubt, looks more like a thin ghost of a person than a sixteen-year-old.

“Why isn’t he waking up?” Haymitch asks. It’s still a shock to see him sober, to see his coal, Seam eyes unclouded. Sober Haymitch is sharp, and not quite as willing to mock me as drunk Haymitch is, and I’m starting to get really sick of the way his eyes keep darting to me from across the room. I don’t want his sympathy.

“He will wake up any moment now. It’s just taking longer since we had to increase the dosage of the relaxer after his last episode,” the doctor answers, not once looking up from his clipboard, scratching at his stubble as he writes down some more medical mumbo-jumbo.

I’m not supposed to be here, there’s no doubt that several people would freak out if they knew that Haymitch had lied about Coin authorising this visit.

But I needed to see him again, maybe because I thought that the rabid dog that had greeted me with it’s hands around my neck had just been all a bad dream, and my sunshine boy, the boy who smelt like bread and looked like summer, was going to be in here, ready to mock me for falling for this horrendous new prank.

Got you good, didn’t I sweetheart? He would say, and he would grin at me and I would scowl at him, just like it was supposed to be.

But as I watch him through the one-sided glass, I realise just how naive a hope that was, there was no prank, there is no sunshine boy anymore. There is just this… thing. Even in his sleep, he looks different, gaunt and somehow still angry as he lies on his back, shackles tight at his sides.

It’s been over a week since he had choked me, but the bruises are still here. And the feeling of his clammy hands squeezing the life out of me lingers on my skin. I suddenly forgot why I had requested this at all, why would I want to see that thing? This isn’t my Peeta.

“Haymitch I think this is a—”

My sentence is interrupted by a flurry of activity as Peeta wakes up, sitting up abruptly in the bed, his wails louder than I have ever heard them to be.

“Let me out! She’s going to kill you all!” the rabid dog screams, banging its wrists on the shackles. It’s strange, I think to myself. For something to look exactly like my beautiful Peeta, but be so utterly different.

“I think he’s talking about you sweetheart,” Haymitch quips dryly, stepping out of the way so that a doctor can open the door to calm Peeta.

I don’t have it within me to bother with a snide remark back, my eyes fixated on how the doctor approaches him like he’s a wild horse to be tamed, her arms raised in defence as she shushes him, her crackly voice sounding through the speakers in the room.

“It’s okay Peeta, everything’s okay,” the doctor soothes, pressing a finger to Peeta’s wrist. She’s holding a syringe behind her back, just in case the rabid dog bites.

“Nothings okay if she’s here. Katniss is going to hurt us, the Capitol sent her to hurt us!”

His voice is like venom, spitting out the words. His blue eyes are dark, unhinged. His voice, something that could spin out stories like silk — is now used only to tell everybody what he thinks of me, and I can’t stand it.

“Girl, are you okay?” Haymitch asks, and suddenly he is next to me, startling me immensely.

I jump and step a few paces back, not unlike a wild animal myself. “He sounds the same,” I say, my voice cracking. Technically I’m supposed to still be on vocal rest but I’ve given that up. I don’t know why this is what I say, but I am startled by the fact he sounds like he always has, his usual distinctive boyish drawl which used to be reserved for joking is now used to scream obscenities about me.

Haymitch just nods, not bothering to stand any closer. He drags a shaky hand through his long dark hair, looking like he wants to say something I’m not going to like.

“Maybe today isn’t—” “I need to talk to him,” I reiterate, my gaze unwavering on his face. Haymitch looks somewhat yellow, and I realise probably for the first time in years, he has shaved neatly and without cutting himself.

“Just… just prepare yourself.”

I don’t want to have to prepare myself. I want to be able to walk into a room and open my eyes and see those light, cerulean ones staring back at me. I want to be able to walk into that room and see Peeta’s easy smile, I want him to open his arms and tease me for not brushing my hair. I want him to laugh with me over how silly the clothes are and how bland the food is.

“You have five minutes, Soldier Everdeen,” the woman tells me, placing the syringe back on the table. She had managed to calm him down with her words enough so that I could see him. I don’t know whether to be grateful or not.

“Stand three paces back, and try not to talk about anything too taxing,” the male doctor adds, finally drawing his ruddy eyes from the clipboard.

I don’t acknowledge their instructions, but I look to Haymitch for a moment, seeing my own worry reflected in his eyes. Slowly, he gives me a nod and I let my hand grip the door, opening it and entering the room.

The lights are bright, twinged with green. It smells like antibacterial spray and mint. No wonder Peeta can’t sleep here, there’s not a single window for him to crack open. He can never sleep well if the window isn’t open.

“You,” the rabid dog spits, his dark eyes trained on me. He is oddly still, but his eyes are entirely focused on my movements. It’s all so unlike how he used to watch me, he used to look at me like I was something to be admired. Now I am watched like an enemy.

I remain silent as I walk in, suddenly self-conscious of my ill-fitting District Thirteen uniform, my knotted hair and my shallow skin. I have never felt insecure around Peeta before — his eyes used to strengthen me, but now they make me want to hide under a table.

“Can I ask you something, Mutt?” He asks, calculating and sly.

“Only if I can do the same,” I answer, my hands are restless, and I want to badly bite my nails down to the quick, I want to do anything but stand here.

“Why would I ever be in love with a measly thing like you?” The dog asks, a brow raised at me. His curls are flat, almost mousy brown with sweat. I wonder for a moment if they are cleaning them properly, the way he likes to — by lathering the soap up and letting the conditioner soak in.

“I don’t know — but you were,” I answer, determined not to cry, determined not to blink. This fact, I am confident in, Peeta used to love me. I wanted to close my eyes and relive the memory, but the rabid dog speaks. drawing my attention.

“I was?” he repeats, drifting off in a line of thought, his eyes turning glassy. My eyes flicker to his leg, why haven’t they removed his prosthetic? Don’t they know that he sleeps better with it off?

“Ask me your question then,” he spits out suddenly, exasperated by me already. I shift from foot to foot.

“Do you remember… everything?” I ask, my voice trembling.

I can’t say what truly I mean here, not with the nosy doctors craning their necks as we speak. I’m beginning to think they are no better than the Capitolites, watching me and Peeta perform, their attention glued to our every move.

Peeta looks puzzled, his sceptical brows dropping as he scans my face. I blush deeply, the heat on my cheeks obvious to anyone looking, and his face softens. It only lasts a moment, less than a millisecond, but I see it, the true blue of his eyes.

“You’re talking about how we fucked on the train, aren’t you, Mutt?” An evil, cunning grin takes over his bruised face.

I wince, not from embarrassment but from the clinical way he’s talking about our nights together. Those nights that were meant only for us, nights spent desperate, afraid, and so in love.

“You are, you’re talking about how you fucked me, deep and good. And then proceeded to ignore me in the daytime. Of course I remember those, Mutt. Those are the memories they didn’t want me to forget,” he clarifies, loving the way I am frozen to my spot, a stray tear escaping from my eye.

My throat closes, and the shame burns from within. Somewhat from my embarrassment of him saying this in front of Haymitch, but also from the fact he said it exactly how it was, that's what I did, I fucked him and then acted like it didn’t happen.

“Thanks for your time, Soldier Mellark,” I say dryly, wiping the tears and squaring my shoulders, walking out of the room.

“Mutt! Enemy! Someone stop her before she kills us all!”

His screams are somewhat muted once I shut the door to the room, everybody's eyes fixated on me as I lean against the door, my face emotionless.

Haymitch approaches me, his own face long and much too serious.

I step away from the door as I watch the doctor from earlier prepare her syringe. I almost wish she would stab me instead, maybe knocking me out for a few hours would help me try and convince myself that this whole terrible interaction was just a dream.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to your room,” Haymitch says, his voice stern as he takes my shoulders, guiding me out of the doctor’s room. I’m crying, and they are silent fat tears. I hate crying, especially in front of this new severe, sober Haymitch.

“I knew we shouldn’t have done that,” Haymitch mutters under his breath as he walks me through the long corridors, the tears won’t stop, no matter how many times I wipe them away they return, fatter and wetter than ever.

Other than the occasional sniffle, I am silent on the way back to my room. I want to scream.

I want to punch, kick and wail, and I really wish that Haymitch had some moonshine on him right now.

It hits me all at once, the fact that he will never be the same.

I will never see my boy with the bread again. I will never be able to tell him how much I love him. I will never be able to let him know how sorry I am for never being brave enough to tell him that before.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。

He’s leaning over me, his arms pinned on either side of my shoulders. His eyes are closed but I want to see open them so badly.

“Peeta, what are you thinking?” I ask, my voice is quiet and I’m panting.

Peeta chuckles and groans slightly, “I’m thinking about anything else right now, so that this doesn’t end too prematurely.”

He exaggerates his point as he fully deepens inside of me, and my eyes pop out of my head. This is the second time we’ve done this, and I’m still not used to the way he feels as he fills me.

I can’t help but grin as I watch Peeta’s face melt into that of pure pleasure. I lean over and kiss his forearm that rests beside me, his chest is glistening with sweat and if I could, I would lick every last drop off with my tongue.

“Katniss oh my… Sorry sweetheart, it’s just that you’re s-so tight,” Peeta moans, dropping his forehead and resting it against my own. I laugh and kiss his sweaty cheek, the skin salty and tempting.

“Are you hurting?” He asks, pulling away and looking into my eyes. Last night I had bled all over Peeta’s bed, meaning that we had to sneak over to my chamber half-naked in the middle of the night so we could sleep. I was selfishly glad in that moment that Avoxes couldn’t speak, because we were screwed if they could tell anyone what we were up to.

“No, it’s okay, you can move,” I say, the burning has subsided somewhat, and I’m amazed that Peeta has been able to keep himself so still, when I can tell all he wants to do is move.

He considers me for a moment before moving, checking my eyes to see if I’m telling the truth. The feeling of him filling me over and over again is unlike anything else I’ve ever felt, and It’s significantly better tonight.

Peeta’s moans are low and plentiful, and I close my ears and commit these sounds to memory, mainly for when we’re back in the Victors Village, so that I can add to my repertoire of Peeta-related thoughts whenever I’m alone and touching myself.

“So good Peeta, faster,” I panted, gripping his back and trailing my manicured fingers over it. I wish I could mark him, but there would be too many questions from both of our prep teams, so I am cautious not to make a single identifiable scratch.

The pace quickens and my stomach burns, that familiar building sensation is a lot stronger than the night before, and I manage to match Peeta’s pace, crashing my hips with his, wanting to feel some friction on that little nub between my legs.

It’s perfect as we move, with just my high-pitched, involuntary moans and his grunts filling the room. And all I can think about is how I never want this to end.

I’m building up to my release when Peeta stiffens, and his body shakes, I feel that burst of heat as he fills me.

“Fuck. Sorry Katniss,” he moans loudly as he comes, sinking on top of me and breathing in deeply. He lasted about twice the amount of time compared to the night before, and I had truly enjoyed it, so all I could do was kiss the top of his head and bury my fingers in his soft curls, whispering sweet nothings as he comes down from his high.

“That's okay baby,” I whispered, a nickname so tender that I would ever only dare to use it in moments such as these. Moments where it seem as if the world was just made up of Peeta and I.

“My baby,” I repeat as Peeta slumps against me, softening inside of me and humming as I push his sweaty hair out of his face.

After a few minutes, Peeta finds the strength to move over, pulling out of me as he does so. I throb slightly at the loss of him, but I turn over immediately, watching his face in the glow of the moonlight from the window beside my bed.

Outside the window was just a blur of trees as the train whizzes by, and I mourn the loss of our bliss for a moment as I remember that we were destined to be pretend lovers for the rest of our lives.

Peeta leans on his side, looking at me as I think. The touch of his hand on my shoulder is enough to bring me away from my thoughts of President Snow, blood and the feeling of dread.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry you didn’t…” Peeta says, his voice is small and even though the room was dark, I could tell that he was blushing.

“That’s okay, I still enjoyed it,” I said, a blush of my own springing to my cheeks. How could I ever break this boy's heart? How could I ever tell him that I can’t love him?

Who knows what Snow would do to him if he knew that what I feel for Peeta is real.

So when I snuggle further into Peeta’s chest, I hear him sigh contentedly. I pretend not to hear it when he kisses the top of my head, and whispers in my ear;

“I love you, Katniss Everdeen.”

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。

“Fine,” I say, “Send me to Two.”

I march away from Plutarch, from everyone in this godforsaken place, because they don’t understand. I can’t be here. I can’t be in a place where the boy I love doesn’t know me, doesn’t love me back.

I’m weak. I bet on Peeta, I bet that he would be the same boy as he was in the Quell. I bet that he would return from the Capitol and take me in his arms and fuck me and love me and call me his. I’m just an idiot girl who bet on the wrong, rabid dog.

So I need to get out of here, and I need to go to District Two.

Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down I'll be there on their side I'm losing by their side…

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。

Part Two.

My baby, my baby You're my baby, say it to me.

Sharing a room with Johanna Mason is harder than I thought it would be.

At least in District Two there had been the chance for some fresh air and hunting, but being back in Thirteen has been nothing but confusing.

Training with Johanna and being outside is a chance at fresh air but a hard-fought one. Plus, rooming with her is getting to be more irritating than helpful at this point.

Like now, as she lies awake, humming a tune so incessant that I can’t even think — let alone sleep.

“Do you have to do that?” I snap, finally losing my patience.

Johanna smirks and the orange glow from the lamp that separates our beds illuminates her gaunt features. “It’s the national anthem for Panem dear Brainless, I have to show my patriotism wherever I can.”

I growl and try to scooch down in my rickety bed, burrowing my head under the thin blanket to try and block out the sound. To my dismay, Johanna has found amusement in my reaction, and as a result she starts to sing the words of the song aloud.

“Gem of Panem, mighty city, through the ages you shine anew-w-w-w!” Johanna sings, her scratchy, off-key version of the cursed song seeps into my ears, and I snap.

“I can’t do this, I’m going for a walk,” I say, throwing the duvet off my body and slipping on my hunting boots. I must look quite the sight in my long grey nightgown and big boots, but I could care less.

“Just don’t get caught Brainless!” Johanna calls after me as I slam our room door shut, huffing as I do so.

My rage brought me to the end of the hallway. It was lit with the same dim orange lights that were present in our room, giving the place an creepy atmosphere.

The sounds of me stomping down the hall and the whirring of some sort of machinery in the walls were all that filled my ears, and I swore internally at District Thirteen and all of its fucking practicality.

I march for a minute or two longer, holding my arms crossed to avoid the chill in the air. I haven’t even spared a thought about the night guards that were posted around the place, making sure the District was safe at night.

District Thirteen heavily frowns upon anyone wandering about at such an hour, so I presume that the guards are more to keep us in rather than to keep the Capitol out.

Before I can even register what I’m doing, I find myself at the hospital ward. The shiny metal reflecting from the sign snaps me out of my grumpy stupor.

Why have I brought myself to the hospital? I hate it here. After waking up from my sleep-syrup Morphling fever dream where I thought, idiotically, that Peeta was holding me, I haven’t been back here. I even made my mother dress my gunshot wound in my bedroom.

But I knew why I was here, why my legs had subconsciously walked me here. Peeta.

I wrinkled my nose at the sight of the entrance doors, the antiseptic smell was overwhelming. I haven’t even seen Peeta since he’d told me that he remembered about that night with the bread, and again, called me ugly and plain.

I was still staring nonsensically at the doors to the hospital when I heard an echoey laugh. A low male one at that. Footsteps followed and quiet chatter. The night guards, I realised, and my heart immediately started racing.

I did not need any more shit from Coin, or Haymitch or even fucking Plutarch, so as I saw the light of their flashlights I thought fast, and scurried through the hospital doors and into the ward, hiding behind the first corner I could find.

My bare arms were covered with goosebumps as I heard the voices get louder, the two men approaching where I was standing.

“Did you see that door close?” one of them asked, his voice reflecting a familiar District Twelve twang.

“It’s probably just Mellark again, Heavensbee told us to just leave him alone when he’s wandering about — could be dangerous.”

My breathing is laboured as I listen, Peeta? Are they talking about Peeta wandering around the District at night?

“Yeah, yeah, he’s probably just off to the Everdeen’s floor again, let’s leave it,” the District Twelve one affirmed, and the two men turned around, talking about something so boring I don’t even care to listen.

Everdeen’s floor? Not only is Peeta allowed out of his room at night but he… Comes up to my floor? God, what is Plutarch thinking letting him do that?

“You’re lucky they didn’t see you. Those two would sell their soul for some entertainment at night.” I freeze as I hear the voice, the familiar voice of a boy who I used to know filling the quiet of the night.

I stopped breathing as I burrowed more into my corner, trying to see in the dark where he could possibly be.

“No point in hiding Mutt, I’ve already seen you. Now come out,” Peeta says, his voice thick and more demanding than I’ve ever known him to be. I curse myself as my cheeks break out in a hot flush.

He’s getting better — physically at least, he sounds stronger. I haven't seen him in quite a few weeks. He’s clearly still brainwashed though, my Peeta would never demand anything of me, ever.

Frustratingly, I find myself peering around the corner of where I am hiding, and I see him — dressed in sleep shorts and a grey District Thirteen t-shirt. He’s sitting on a hard plastic chair, and the glow of the orange cancels out the bruises on his face.

His leg is stretched out, the titanium shining. He’s leaning forward like he’d had his head in his hands before I’d come in. He looks a lot healthier, and more like my version of Peeta. How I didn’t notice him sitting there before was beyond me.

“I won’t attack you Mutt,” he adds, leaning back, his head back on the concrete of the wall. He’s sitting outside of his room, and I wonder if he’s as cold as I am.

Slowly I creep from my corner, standing cautiously three metres from him — as if the doctor with the clipboard was standing near us, instructing me what to do.

“I don’t sleep anymore, and apparently walking is good for me… so they turn a blind eye to my night-time adventures.”

I shift from foot to foot, the leather of my boots is rubbing against my heel, and I’m sure I’ll have a blister by morning.

“I can’t sleep either,” I mumble, I hate how much of a pull I still feel to him, how much I still feel the urge to wrap my arms around him, tug my fingers in his cropped blonde hair.

“Dreaming of Hawthorne, no doubt,” he chides, looking up at me, those dark eyes scanning me from my oversized boots to my messy braid. I blush even more.

“Don’t worry Mutt, I’ve still got these pretty bracelets, I couldn’t even hurt you if I wanted to.”

“Do you?” I test, “Want to hurt me?”

He puzzles at me, and his hands are rubbing his thighs as he scans my face.

“I don’t know,” he finally says, it’s less cocky and more shy. A tone more familiar.

I look down at the linoleum floor, I pine for him even now. The sound of him was so close to what it used to be I could almost imagine him breaking out into a toe-curling smile.

“I keep on painting you,” he sighs and tugs a hand through his short hair. I catch the action in my peripheral and again, it’s so familiar that it hurts.

“I paint you like you are in my dreams, evil and seducing and wanting me dead,” he elaborates, and I lift my head, only to see that his eyes are screwed shut.

“I paint you naked, laying across the picnic blanket after that day on the rooftop,” another long sigh, “I paint you in the Games, wild and afraid.” I swallow, my throat dry and forming a lump.

“I paint you, and I can only paint you ,” he sighs, and his eyes meet mine. I step forward, watching as his eyes widen. He reminds me of a deer in the District Twelve woods, the ones so afraid to die, not like the unbothered ones of Thirteen.

I don’t know what to do, I feel like I’m grieving. Grieving for my boy, grieving for the damaged one that sits before me now.

“W-when you go to bed tonight, take off your leg, you’ll sleep better,” I blurt out, my gaze fixated on the latches that separate his real thigh from the metal of the prosthetic.

Peeta furrows his brows, looking down at the leg like he never even realised he could do that.

“How do I even…” he asks, and I breathe in, stepping slowly towards him. I look at his cuffs, and his wrists around them are red and inflamed. He must be digging them into his flesh on purpose.

I’m closer than I’ve been to him for weeks, close enough that when I kneel in front of his leg I can smell his familiar scent, a scent so uniquely Peeta that it dazes me for a moment.

He looks down at me expectantly and I gesture over the latch on the left side, cautious not to touch him and push my luck.

“You just pull the latch on each side and pull it off gently. You have to do it when you’re already in bed though, because you can’t walk once it’s off,” I explain, pointing to the latches on either side of the leg. His eyes are following me, his lips slightly parted.

“How do you know this?” he asks, his hands tracing the latches gently. His voice is shy again, and he sounds younger than he is.

“I’ve done it — before. For you,” I say, blushing again as I remember the circumstances of doing this for him.

I expect him to reply with some sort of quip, maybe a harsh comment about me being a common Seam slut, or that I was the spawn of Satan, hellbent on destroying him.

“Thanks Kat,” he whispers, and my head snaps up. His eyes are blue, and his hand is trembling. It’s like he’s come up to the surface, and I hold my breath, watching as his eyes darken once again, and he disappears again.

We’re both quiet for a moment as I stand up, stepping back as I watch his expression change. He starts to shake, and his legs are spasming. I think he’s beginning to have an episode.

“Get. Out.” he spits suddenly, holding his head in his hands.

“Peeta—” I say, quiet and desperate.

“Get out!” he screams, loud enough for anyone around to hear.

I scramble back, determined to leave now. Peeta digs his wrists into the cuffs and groans. Everything in my body is telling me not to leave but I have to, he’s warning me. About himself, so I sneak one last tortured look at him and escape from the hospital ward, sneaking back to my room as fast as I can.

Thankfully Johanna is sound asleep as I slip back into the room, removing my boots and tucking myself up in bed, willing myself not to cry as I shut my eyes and think only of Peeta.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever,” he says, and my stomach flips in that familiar, welcome way.

I’m blushing, and wishing that I could have the luxury of telling him that we’ll live together forever. But instead of spouting such deceiving, naive promises, I just settle on a simple; “Okay.”

“Then you’ll allow it?”

“I’ll allow it,” I say, and I kiss his hand, the one that’s wrapped around me. His eyes are so blue, and I take my time as I stare into them. When I’m about to die in that Arena, the last thing I want to remember is the colour of his eyes, and how a small ring of yellow wraps the blue iris’. Quite like how the sun reflects on the ocean during the sunset.

“What?” he asks as he notices me staring, dragging a hand through my hair, the gesture is so soothing, and I don’t regret for one second for letting him mess my hair up.

“Just thinking…” I say, adopting my best effort at a teasing tone. “About last night.”

His pale, freckled Merchant skin bursts into a wonderful, decadent blush. I smile and settle my head further into his lap, dragging a finger from his bicep to his hand.

The night before we had shared my bed yet again, despite the many protests from Effie about ‘etiquette’ and ‘saving ourselves’.

It had been at dinner when Peeta had scoffed in Effie’s face, telling her that it was too late for that. I cringe as I remember how Haymitch had spat out his wine, and Effie’s jaw had practically dropped to the floor.

That had silenced Effie as I followed Peeta to my room, making sure that the door was locked before I got down on my knees, taking his length in my mouth for the first time.

“Do you remember what I promised you?” Peeta asked, his hand moving from my hair to my cheek, bringing me back to the present, back to the rooftop.

I nodded, remembering how he’d looked after he’d come, his shy smile and his promise of returning the favour for me.

“Maybe,” I answered, squeezing my legs together slightly as I imagined Peeta between my legs.

I could feel Peeta hardening underneath my head — it seemed like I wasn’t the only one imagining that.

“Peeta… I don’t think we can do this up here,” I breathed out as I sat up, shifting to sit in his lap. I had no idea how little or many cameras were up in this place.

Peeta grinned and leaned forward, stealing a kiss from me. “I don’t care Kat. I’m going to be dead in a matter of days. And I want to die having been a man who has tasted you.”

My gasp is audible, and I can’t help myself as I cup his face, pulling him towards me and kissing him with such a ferocity that I hadn’t before. I couldn’t handle him and his words. I wanted to scream that I’ll be the one to die in a few days, not him. But this was futile, and his lips tasted too good to pull away.

His hands twisted around my waist, and I extracted a low moan from him as I flicked my tongue along his bottom lip, tasting the inside of his mouth. My hands ended up in his hair, as they always did, and I tugged at the strands, wanting to hear him make those soft sounds again and again until the day I die.

His hands became bolder, skimming the hem of my top and escaping up the fabric. His big hands felt so good on my back as he explored all of my skin like it was the first time he’d done it.

I couldn’t stop myself as I ground into his jean-covered hardness, my clit throbbing for attention as he cupped my breast, his big hand covering it over my thin bra, eliciting my own moans from my lips.

“Peeta I w-want,” I moan embarrassingly loudly, grinding down on him once more, feeling his erection hot and heavy between my legs.

“What do you want?” He asks as he pulls my shirt up, and I raise my arms so that the now offensive garment can be removed. I’m uncaring of the chill in the air, or of how feral I must look, half-naked and begging for more.

As Peeta pulls away, admiring me in my shabby District Twelve bra that I had chosen to wear today instead of the Capitol contraptions. I squirm under his gaze, suddenly embarrassed over how plain I must look to him.

“No, none of that,” Peeta says, picking up my chin and forcing me to look at him, “you’re so beautiful Katniss. My imagination did not do you justice.” He’s grinning, and he leans forward to kiss my erect nipples, and I giggle from the pleasant sensation.

“Now ask me what you want me to do to you. And I will do it.”

I bite my lip and huff. I’m not used to asking anybody for anything, but Peeta has always made me break all of the rules that I made for myself.

“Can you… taste me ?” I ask, mimicking what he’d said to me moments before.

Peeta practically growled as he grabbed me, whipping off my bra and his own shirt, kissing me with a newfound passion. I giggle again as he lays me gently down on my back, kissing down my neck and breasts.

“No marks remember. I do not need my prep team asking questions,” I say as he sucks on a spot that connects my neck to my shoulder. He’d discovered just how much I liked being kissed here a couple of nights ago, and he hadn’t left it alone since.

“You’re no fun,” he huffed, pulling his lips away and focusing on my breasts, suckling and nipping at them wonderfully. He seemed to be obsessed with them, and I remember the look of pure awe he had given me when I had taken my top off for him for the first time.

I moaned and squirmed as I felt my clit throb, it was begging to be touched. I could feel just how wet I was as I pressed my legs together, hoping that Peeta would get the hint of where exactly I needed him to be.

“Shush baby, I’ll get there,” Peeta says as he looks up at me. He’s slotted perfectly between my legs and I flush at him returning the nickname I can only call him in our most intimate moments.

I whimper once more and unbutton my pants, deciding to take action some myself. Peeta tuts disapprovingly as he pulls his lips from my chest, but he helps me peel off the pants from my legs, his hand running up the smooth, hairless legs that the prep team have insisted on me having.

I’m left in my underwear, and again it is my usual, plain District Twelve attire, and I cringe as Peeta’s finger swipes the outside of the material, where he can surely feel just how much he has affected me.

Peeta smiles in wonder as he cups my mound, making me wriggle to try and gain some much-needed friction.

“I’ll never get used to how wet you are,” Peeta whispers, leaning down and breathing a deep, hot breath over my underwear-covered pussy.

“Peeta,” I whine, unashamed and getting more desperate as each moment passes.

Peeta just kisses my inner thighs, the soft untouched skin is sensitive and I find it hard to keep my legs open.

“Peeta,” I moan again, and Peeta looks up at me, his hair messy, his eyes wild.

“Ask me Katniss. Ask me what you want,” Peeta says as he kisses my inner thigh once more — and I’m so desperate I don’t even hesitate in begging.

“Please Peeta just taste me already,” I beg, and Peeta closes his eyes as I speak, soaking up my words.

I hesitate for a moment as he stops, a small beautiful smile plastered on his face. After this quiet lull, Peeta reaches for the band of my underwear and tugs them down, revealing my centre and the small thatch of hair that the prep team let me keep.

I watch so closely that I fear that if I look away from Peeta I will wake up, and it will just be another one of my dirty dreams. But as Peeta groans, leaning down and literally breathing the scent of my sex in, I can’t help but moan and close my eyes in pleasure.

“Katniss you are truly unreal,” Peeta moans, and I don’t even have a moment to mentally debate this before his tongue is on my clit.

I moan loudly, way too loudly by anyone's standards, as Peeta attacks my clit. He suckles and licks and even bites my small bundle of nerves. I am so tightly coiled that I feel like sobbing as my orgasm builds.

I feel Peeta’s fingers swipe along my folds, gathering my wetness before entering me. He pushes them in and out of me as he sucks on my clit, and my eyes roll to the back of my head involuntarily — and my head drops down to the picnic blanket.

I focus on the sensations acutely, on the feeling of Peeta so attentively sucking and licking me, on his little words of praise between nuzzling my sex and kissing me. The feeling of his fingers plunging in and out of me over and over again was too much for me to bear.

I’m close, and I know I am, so I moan louder, desperate to crash and achieve that relief that I have been waiting so long for.

“Cum for me Katniss,” Peeta says as he pulls himself from my clit, his fingers still unrelenting. The sound of his voice, thick and sexy is what does it, and I finally snap, coming all over Peeta Mellark's face.

I’m instantly boneless, and my hips drop against the picnic blanket. The feeling of pure satisfaction is one I am not used to at all, and I open my eyes to see Peeta hovering over me, a small, loving smile on his face.

“T-thank you.” I manage to choke out, throwing my hands around his neck and kissing him, finding it strangely arousing that I could taste myself on his lips.

Peeta kisses me with intent, and he sinks against me, only then do I feel or notice the wet patch at the front of his jeans.

“Peeta did you…” I ask, pulling his lips from his and looking down at his hips. I was fully ready to return the favour to him. And even to an extent, I had been excited to do it again.

Peeta flushed crimson, a shade so dark I was afraid he was going to pass out.

“S-sorry it’s just you were so, and I couldn’t…” He explained, his voice timid, and I growled, kissing him passionately as I imagined him losing it over merely giving me oral.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, baby,” I whisper into his ear, my hand stroking the soft hair at the base of his neck, twirling the small curls with my finger.

Peeta visibly relaxed, kissing me. I let him place a blanket over our mostly naked bodies. And I allowed myself the luxury of burrowing into his arms so that we could watch the sunset together.

I’m glad my back is pressed up against Peeta's chest, meaning that he can’t see my eyes tear up as I think of how little sunsets I have left, and how little time I have to spend with my sunshine boy.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。

The Capitol is somehow colder than District Thirteen. I wrap myself tighter into my thick jacket and hope that the chill I feel will go away as I rub my hands together.

“You don’t have to be on watch you know,” Boggs reaffirms, staring down at me with a sceptical stare, his eyes flickering from me to Peeta, who was sitting motionless across from me, staring blankly at the sky above us.

“I know,” I say, trying my best to force a smile, “But I want to. Get some rest Boggs.”

Peeta looks over at me as I say this, his weak eyes are no longer dark, instead now replaced with an inherent sadness. This made it so I couldn’t look at him for more than a few seconds at a time without my throat closing up.

“Okay, any issues, any of you — don’t be afraid to wake me,” Boggs repeats, both to me and Jackson, but he knows that the point is useless now, it’s so drilled into us now.

Boggs finally gives up, sighing and returning to his tent, and I watch him flop down onto his sleeping bag. I wonder who he was before all of this, has he always pictured himself as a commander? Or when he was little did he wish to be something or someone else?

Peeta is knotting and unknotting Finnick's rope, and I watch him carefully from the corner of my eye as he starts to get more and more agitated, tugging at the rope like it is a snake that needs to be strangled. He wants to say something, and I let him.

“These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not.”

Peeta sighs and drops the rope, looking down at it in his lap for a moment before he continues, “Back and forth. Back and forth.”

I have no idea how to reply. I think of our interaction in the hospital ward that night, how he had come back to me for a mere moment, the blue of his eyes unclouded and the darkness disappearing.

“I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me,” I answer honestly, and I manage to pry my eyes from my twitching hands, looking up at him, “After that I always thought of you as… an ally.”

Ally. Ally. I curse myself for my stupidity. What an idiotic word to use. He was so much more than that to me.

I think over Haymitch’s sentiment to me, what would Peeta do if our roles were reversed?

I pine for the reality in which the Capitol had picked me up in the Quell. Peeta would’ve made a much better figurehead. And he would’ve stayed untouched.

I could’ve handled whatever they would’ve thrown at me in the Capitol because I would’ve known that he was safe, that's all that would’ve mattered to me.

I think about Peeta and the way he used to have with words. I think about his tongue and how hot it used to be against my skin. Ally? Peeta would’ve never merely called me an ally.

“Ally,” Peeta repeats, his eyes boring into mine. His hair has almost fully grown back, now thick and curly enough that I could’ve run my fingers through it. Long enough to hold onto.

“Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbour. Hunter. Tribute. Ally.” He lists all of the words off with a nervous stammer, and even now he is still better at expressing himself than I have ever been.

“I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try and figure you out.” He picks up the rope again, his shaking hands slowly winding it into knot after knot. “The problem is, Kat, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.”

I look away from him, stealing a glance at Jackson, who I have forgotten is sitting right opposite me. She is watching the scene silently, her hands busy picking at the skin of her thumb.

“Then you should ask, Peeta. That’s what Annie does.” Finnick's voice rises from the shadows, and I freeze, having had no idea that he had been awake this entire time.

I watch as Peeta nods, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to get it out of his eyes. I want to tuck a loose tendril behind his ear, just like I used to do.

“Ask who?” He asks, looking over to Finnick with his sad, pale blue eyes. “Who can I trust?”

I pang once again. A reality where Peeta doesn’t trust me is one that I’m not used to living in. Jackson eyes me and Peeta from opposite, stopping her fidgeting as she speaks up. “Well, us for starters. We’re your squad.”

Peeta’s gaze is directed to Jackson, his eyes narrowing as the rope twists in his fingers. “You’re my guards.” he speaks with a small, unamused scoff.

“That too, but you saved a lot of lives in Thirteen. It’s not the kind of thing we forget,” Jackson replies, and her tightlipped smile is the biggest one I have ever seen from her.

I blink in wonder at Jackson, grateful to her for saying this. I had somehow forgotten this myself, how Peeta had saved me, again — even when he wasn’t even sure if I was alive or dead in Thirteen.

The group falls into a stagnant silence, the sounds of the snoring from the others and the rustling of the rope filling our ears as I fight an internal battle. All I want to do is hug Peeta, to discover if his arms wrap around me like they used to.

I want to ask him what he remembers from those nights on the train and after. I want to know if he remembers the bliss that was our final day on that rooftop. I want, I want and I want.

Peeta suddenly drops the rope again, his nose wrinkling with effort as he turns to me. “Your favourite colour… it’s green?”

His voice is so small, so small and so familiar.

“That’s right.” I can’t stop it when my gaze meets his, and I want him to remember so badly. “And yours is orange.”

“Orange?”

“Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say, and the memories flood in. Of him and me, sweaty and spent and laying in my bed, his hands drawing shapes in my naked skin. I flush all over and add, “at least that’s what you told me once.”

He looks at me for a moment, his eyes flicker down, staring at my chest before looking back in my eyes again. And I know that even if it’s hazy — he's remembering exactly what I look like with no clothes on.

The tips of his ears turn pink, and he picks up the rope again, focusing on it a bit too closely. “Thank you.”

And because I’m an idiot. And I’ve been a complete idiot this entire time — from the day that I never took the chance to thank him for the bread, to the day where I pretended to be asleep, instead of telling him how much I loved him back.

Because of this, I cannot stop myself as I lean towards him, my voice shaky and quiet, spilling to him exactly what I’m thinking.

“You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. Your skin tastes like the sunset. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.”

Peeta’s eyes widen, and I freeze. Acutely aware of the fact that Jackson, Finnick and probably Gale heard me spill out this frantic confession.

His skin tastes like the sunset? Who have I become to even confess that aloud?

“Y-you…” Peeta begins, dropping his head to his legs, looking so tired and so confused.

“You can’t just. You…” His voice is weak and my confidence is shattered, my eyes fill with tears and I ache to lick my wounds in private.

“Goodnight, Soldier Mellark,” I say, rising from my seat and diving into my tent, crying those silent, wet tears as I think of my baby. My boy who is so close yet so far away all at the same time.

Baby, my baby Tell your baby that I'm your baby

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。

Part Three.

I bet on losing dogs I always want you when I'm finally fine How you'd be over me looking in my eyes when I come.

I’ve hated being below ground for as long as I can remember. Our class trips to the mines left me nervous and sweaty, even before my father died. My time in Thirteen had been tainted by the fact that there’d been so many layers of thick concrete between me and the earth.

Now in the Capitol, where we are being forced to hide and navigate the underground tunnels like a group of disease-ridden rats. Being here in these tunnels is only driving me more and more to the brink of pure insanity.

My only solace during this time was my hidden mantra. To kill Snow. To watch him bleed and fade away slowly and painfully. For Rue, for Thresh, for Cinna, and Darius. For Peeta.

For how he has irrevocably and permanently changed my Peeta.

I was born to breathe the fresh air, to feel the earth on my feet. No wonder Pollux was reliving his trauma of being trapped here, I couldn’t think of anything worse. The last day has been a truly hectic one, with Boggs, poor Boggs, having his legs blown clean off. And now Mitchell — having been shoved into a deadly pod by a hijacked, rabid Peeta.

Nobody seems to blame Peeta, and Finnick spent a good deal of time pleading his case, but I know that Peeta blames himself immensely, and as I think of this. Of how he is punishing himself, it reminds me of the old Peeta, the one who took every single death so personally. I still remember the terror on his face when I told him that Foxface was his kill.

I’m on my night watch, and I’m now forcing myself to eat some of the canned potato and bean stew. It’s somehow both incredibly wet and oddly dry. I swallow chunk after chunk and imagine it’s anything else. Pollux is one of my main concerns. I hate watching how much the tunnels affect him, he’s been rocking himself for about five minutes now.

“Would you like to check out some stuff on the Holo with me?” I ask him, lightly tapping him on the shoulder so he will know that I’m talking to him. He opens his eyes, and the worry in them reminds me of myself. No doubt I have looked this feral several times in the past year.

I hold out the Holo, and he takes it. He seems to know how to work it at least a little bit better than me, and I ache to be able to talk to him about this, to have him explain to me how it all functions.

Jackson, the only other person who also probably knows how to work the Holo, is currently not speaking to me, she was clearly not happy with Boggs’ decision to leave the crazy, revenge-driven seventeen-year-old in charge of their most valued navigation system.

To Pollux’s credit, he shows me the best he can, and we discover more and more traps closer to the centre of the Capitol. It’s all so overwhelming, how big these tunnels truly are — that I give up after ten minutes of doing this. I hand Pollux the device, leaving him to his mappings, glad that it seems to provide a decent enough distraction for him.

I lean against the damp wall and survey the crew, most of these people I barely know, and most of them will not make it out of these tunnels alive.

I can’t help it, but my eyes are drawn almost instantly to Peeta. He’s lying down on the wet floor, his head resting by my feet. I sneak a look at his raw wrists, if I could’ve let myself, I could rub them and soothe his pain. But I hold back, he doesn’t love like that anymore, and that would be inappropriate.

He looks pained, his blonde brows furrowed. He’s looking down at his wrists with concentration. A wave of concern fills me as I watch him, the ever-present need to protect him is still there, even after everything.

“Have you eaten?” I ask and watch as he snaps out of his stupor, bending his head to look at me.

He looks soft, his blue eyes sad again. And he shakes his head to indicate he hasn’t. I presume he has been punishing himself too much to even consider his hunger.

I sigh and shake my head back, indicating to him my disapproval of this. I reach for a can of chicken and rice soup. I consider it for a moment before removing the lid myself. I don’t fully trust this self-punishing Peeta not to take extreme actions with a sharp piece of metal.

I nudge him slightly with my foot and shake the can, and he sits up, his wrists still together. I watch him silently wince as they rub against the cuffs. I hand him the can and watch him practically chug it. I blame myself for not considering his hunger sooner.

As he eats, I think about Snow again, about all of the things he has taken and all of the people I will miss. A tall, red-headed boy with a cheeky smile and a ragged Peacekeeper uniform comes to mind.

“Peeta,” I say and his gaze switches to me, putting down the empty tin on the floor.

“When you asked about what happened to Darius and Lavinia, and Boggs told you it was real, you said you thought so. Because there was nothing shiny about it… What did you mean?”

Peeta looks at me with some shock, clearly, he hadn’t expected me to be so blunt. Or maybe he hadn’t expected me to listen so attentively to his conversation.

“Oh. I don’t know exactly how to explain it,” he tells me, bending his head back down and digging his wrist slightly into the cuff. “In the beginning, everything was just complete confusion. Now I can sort certain things out. I think there’s a pattern emerging.”

He sighs and I know he aches to run his hands through his dishevelled curls, but as he strains his hands up in the cuffs, I can see that he knows he won’t be able to reach.

“The memories they altered with the tracker jacker venom have this… strange quality about them. Like, like they’re too intense or the images aren’t stable.” he continues, shutting his eyes to try and picture them.

“You remember what it was like when we were stung?” he asks, opening his eyes and meeting mine. They are less sad now, and more determined.

“Trees shattered. There were giant coloured butterflies. I feel in a pit of orange bubbles,” I laugh emptily, fidgeting with my braid. “Shiny orange bubbles.”

He laughs with me and meets my eyes again. “Right. But nothing about Darius or Lavina was like that. I don’t think they’d given me any venom yet,” he says with a shake of his head.

I nod and consider him for a moment, and wonder if he hates me for forcing him to talk about his worst memories, “Well, that’s good isn’t it? If you can separate the two, then you can figure out what's true.”

He shakes his head again, a coy smirk on his face, “Yes, I guess. But if I could grow wings, I could fly. Only people can’t grow wings,” he says, his dry sarcasm returning after such a long time.

“Real or not real?” he asks, and I entertain him even though I know he knows the answer.

“Real,” I say. “But people don’t need wings to survive.”

He nods and shifts, turning to face me. He looks suddenly severe as he gazes into my face. He’s trying to solve me like a puzzle again.

“Mockingjays do.” he says, picking up the soup can and handing it to me. Our hands brush and I feel what I’ve always felt with Peeta, that little spark of excitement whenever his skin brushes against mine.

My breath halters, and as I pick up the can I look into his eyes, the purple rings from lack of sleep remind me that he should be resting. “There’s still time, you should sleep.”

He doesn’t agree, or argue but lies back down slowly. He’s closer to my feet now, and I want to be able to lie down with him. For him to wrap those arms around me and tell me that it’s all okay. That everything’s going to be okay.

As I watch him watch me, I suddenly can’t help myself, and I reach down slowly. Moving so gently, treating him like that wild, skittish animal again. I press my cold hand to his forehead, gently brushing back the stray curls that have fallen over his face. He freezes, closing his eyes for a moment and I stop my hand for a moment.

But he opens his eyes again, and they are unclouded and as blue as ever. I start to breathe easily again and move my hand gently. The endearment of the baby rests just behind my lips, and I watch as Peeta’s cheeks flush.

In a moment of pure weakness, my fingers brush from his forehead to his cheek, feeling his still soft skin that is tainted by some blonde stubble, and I smile as my fingers find his lips. I press my finger to the contours of his bottom lip, and he kisses my finger lightly.

As I pull away, my stomach flips and that wonderful feeling of fire igniting returns for the first time in forever. He opens his eyes and questions me.

“You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real?”

“Real,” I say instantly, pausing before I finally say exactly what I’m thinking for once.

“Because that's what you and I do. Protect one another.”

He nods and closes his eyes, and I sit back, pressing the finger he’d kissed to my lips, placing my kiss in its place.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。

As I look out into the blue of the water that laps around the Cornucopia, and I think of my lake in District Twelve.

The lake was the closest thing I ever got to a beach like this. The grainy sand in the Arena is no match for the soft mossy banks and mud that line my lake in Twelve. As I look into what seems like endless miles of water, I think of how my lake could probably fit about ten times into the ocean that surrounds the Cornucopia.

I look to my right, studying Peeta’s profile for a long moment. He’s attentively watching the jungle behind us, and I know I should be watching the water ahead just in case any Careers intend to make their move, but I can’t bring myself to tear away my gaze from his face.

He’s sunburnt, and the few freckles that he has have sprung to life, tracing his jawline like delicate kisses from the sun. I know that on the other side of his face, there are the faint remains of the blisters from the gas, but as I look at him from this angle, I can just imagine that this is what he looks like after a sunny day at the lake.

We’ve never spoken about what we’ve done together. How we’ve made love on the train, in our rooms at the training centre and on the rooftop. But now I ache to be able to talk freely about it, to know what he thinks about it, and if he can feel those same sparks that I do.

Our hips are pressed against each other, the damp sticky suits we are wearing rub together and just the feeling of this familiar pressure of his body on mine soothes me.

As I watch Peeta, a small smile appears on his face, and he turns to me, his eyes squinting slightly due to the low sun that frames the sky of the Arena. For once, I don’t tear my gaze away from him, instead, I mirror his shy smile with my own.

He looks pleased with this, and the sight is so warming that I can’t help myself as I lean my head on his shoulder, indulgently breathing in the salty scent of his skin.

Even though the Arena is the last place I will ever be alive, I can’t entirely hate it. The presence of the Capitol and all of the cameras allows me to touch Peeta freely. There is a certain amount of freedom in kissing and accepting Peeta’s kisses. And this time around, it doesn’t feel so fake.

As Peeta grasps my hands, intertwining his fingers with mine, I sigh into his shoulder, gently kissing the skin that the wetsuit doesn’t cover. He shivers slightly, and I close my eyes and think of what he looks like when he comes, the way his eyes roll back, the way his mouth parts slowly.

I feel my core throb at these thoughts, feeling so suddenly ashamed of thinking of such things when I’m on the verge of death. When my only thoughts should be on protecting Peeta, not making love to him.

“Katniss,” Peeta whispers softly, his voice thick and deep. It reminds me immediately of how he sounds at night, how he sounds when his head is between my thighs.

“It’s no use pretending we don’t know what the other one is trying to do.” I tense, and breathe out slowly, raising my head to look up at him. His hair has gone spectacularly blonde in the sun, his curls slightly sweaty with perspiration. I sigh and think of the cameras. Oh, how I wish for even a moment alone with Peeta without the blasted cameras. And I just know that this will be a scene that the entirety of Panem will be tuned into.

I look desperately into Peeta's eyes, and he continues, “I don’t know what kind of deal you think you’ve made with Haymitch, but you should know he made me promises as well.”

I know this, and he knows I know this, and I curse Haymitch and pray that he keeps my promise. Because I am ready to die so that Peeta can live. I have prepared myself for this inevitably.

He sighs, and drags his free hand through those sun-bleached curls, “So, I think we can assume he was lying to one of us.”

“Why are you saying this now?” I ask him, and I grip his hand tighter, worried that he’s going to let it go.

“Because I don’t want you forgetting how different our circumstances are. If you die and I live, there’s no life for me at all back in District Twelve. You’re my whole life,” he says, sealing these words with another kiss atop my head, and my heart pangs as I try and remember every detail of his face.

“I would never be happy again,” he finalises as he pulls his lips from my head. “It’s different for you. I'm not saying it wouldn’t be hard. But there are other people who’d make your life worth living.”

I open my mouth to protest as Peeta lets go of my hand, reaching to take his necklace, his gold token from his neck. I let my mouth close as I watched him hold out the necklace, his thumb stroking the Mockingjay symbol engraved on the gold. I think he’s reminding me of my duty to the people of Panem, and I want to sneer.

But I see just how wrong I was as his thumb finds a small latch, and he pops open the necklace, I feel like an idiot before for not knowing that it was a locket.

He places the locket carefully in my hands and my thumbs graze the pictures. On one side is my mother and Prim, a rare photo that I captured one day on my father's old camera. And on the other Gale, my pretend cousin. The picture is also one I took, and Gale is smiling softly.

My chest constricts, and I blame myself for thinking that Peeta would ever go along with my plan, for thinking that Peeta. Kind, generous, loving Peeta, would never not sacrifice himself for one second.

“Your family needs you, Katniss,” Peeta says, and the small mournful smile on his face is what makes me tear up.

He taps the photo of Gale one last time, and I know exactly what he is trying to say. Pick Gale, marry Gale. He can be your family, your future one day. I imagine my life, sharing my life with Gale and all of his fury, but it doesn’t feel right.

“No one really needs me,” Peeta says, and there is no self-pity in his voice. No indication of any bitterness, and I know that Peeta means this — which is what makes it hurt all the more.

I try to imagine my life without Peeta, without him a couple of houses down from mine. I try to picture returning home without him. I imagine living in Victor's Village without him.

A life without Peeta is one without laughter, without cheese buns and paintings. Without safety and solace.

Nobody else knows me as well as he does, I realise.

I watch him as he watches me, how could he think like this? How dare he think that nobody needs him? I need him. I need his arms and his kisses and everything else. I need him to make fun of Haymitch with me. I need him to give my little sister flowers he’s picked from his garden. I need his bread, and his warmth, and his kindness.

I realise how broken I will be if I live without Peeta, and I need him to know this.

“I do,” I say with a sudden seriousness, “I need you.”

Peeta sighs and looks down at the sand, his eyes are welling with tears and I reach out and brush a curl from his face.

“I need you Peeta, more than you could ever know. And I’m sorry I’ve never said that before,” I add, unable to keep myself from doing so. He needs to know before he does something ridiculous like sacrificing himself for me.

The look in his eyes is unlike anything I’ve seen before as he looks up at me. The blue of them has darkened slightly, and as my hand cups his check, he raises his own hand and places it over mine, sighing as he closes his eyes and leans against my touch.

“I love you Katniss. Please let me do this,” he begs, opening his eyes. Love. That's what I see tucked away in his blue iris’.

I have no idea how to reply, I wish that I could express myself as easily as Peeta does, but all I can do is just lean forward and capture my lips with his. I want to show him with my kiss how much I truly care for him.

In last year's Games, the kisses I gave Peeta had been shy and close-mouthed, merely just a duty I was fulfilling to survive. But now, as Peeta sighs against my lips, and his big hands find their way into my hair, undoing my braid to allow my dark hair to cascade down my back, I know that this is different.

Some part of me knows that my mother and Prim must be watching and that I have to rein myself in. But another part of me wants this, I’ve missed our nights together, tangled up between Capitol bedsheets.

I deepen the kiss almost instantly, my tongue winding around Peetas with practice and precision. He groans softly against my lips, and I can’t stop my hands from tugging at his hair, the curls are still so delightfully soft.

I try to compare the way I feel with Peeta with anything else, but I fall short. Nobody has made me feel this way before, no kiss has ever compared. Gale’s kiss in the woods was short, but nothing compared to Peeta’s. He had demanded a kiss from me, whereas Peeta always allowed me to take the lead, and I always showed him with my tongue where exactly I wanted him to be.

“Katniss,” Peeta groans against my lips, and I pull away, just enough so that I can rest my forehead on his. I’m shamefully wet, and the familiar throb of arousal has reared its unwelcome head again.

I gasp as his hands skim my sides, running his fingers up and down the sensitive skin. I can see out of the corner of my eye that he’s hard, and I’m glad that he’s positioned himself so that I’m the only one who can see.

“If we were alone, I would take you in my mouth,” I whisper in his ear, quiet enough that nobody, including those fucking cameras, can hear me.

“Kat…” Peeta sighs, and I watch him twitch under the thin fabric of his wetsuit.

“I wouldn’t let you come though, you could only do that once you're inside me,” I continue, the cloud of arousal is making me dizzy. This is crazy, what I’m doing is insane.

“Katniss you’re going to kill me,” Peeta whines as I lick the shell of his ear, unable to stop myself.

“You make me so hard Katniss,” Peeta whispers back, his hands gripping my waist possessively as I pull my mouth away from his ear. I grin and kiss his lips innocently, my hands thrown around his neck.

We spend some more time kissing, and Peeta's hands keep roaming across my back. We both ache for him to be able to grasp my breasts. I moan as I push my hard nipples into his chest. I’ve somehow ended up in his lap, my hands back in his hair as he kisses me.

Without warning, the crack of the lightning storm stops our wandering hands. We both jump as we watch the bolt hit the tree, and I jerk out of Peeta's lap suddenly. He shifts uncomfortably in the sand as he tries to hide his erection, and I am thankful that my own hunger is not as visible as Peeta's.

The lightning wakes Finnick up from his fitful sleep, and he jolts awake with a sharp gasp. Peeta slowly removes his hands from me as Finnick gets up and approaches us.

“I can’t sleep anymore,” he says, his nose scrunched as he watches the water. “One of you should rest.”

My hands are still gripping Peeta’s neck, and Finnick notices this with a small victorious grin. “Or both of you. I can watch alone.”

I wish for the luxury of being able to sleep in Peeta’s arms, but I know that he will not accept this. “It’s too dangerous,” Peeta insists, and I let go of him, snapping out of the dreamlike state the arousal has taken me to.

“I’m not tired. You lie down Katniss,” Peeta says, sitting up stiffly on his prosthetic and grabbing my hand, leading me over to the area where the others are sleeping.

He has the locket in his hand and he wraps it around my neck, patting it down with a determined look. A look that tells me that he hasn’t changed his mind.

I sit down on the makeshift bed and watch as Peeta hovers over me, planting a kiss on my hair and placing a hand on my stomach. I remember then that I’m supposed to be pregnant, and I try to make my face react as he does this.

“You’re going to make a great mother, you know,” he says and he kisses me. I watch him walk back over and sit with Finnick. And I allow myself to dream of a place where there are no Games, where I can tell Peeta that I love him.

A place where his baby can grow and love and learn without fear.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。

The crowds cheer. The sounds of their screaming remind me of being in a fire chariot, of grasping onto Peeta’s hand and holding on for dear life. However, the crowds don’t cheer for me anymore, they cheer for my bow. They cheer for Snow’s death.

I’m numb as I walk the path, my Mockingjay outfit is loose on my skinny frame. My body is woefully out of practice. Prim has been dead for weeks, and I feel like a part of me has died alongside her.

I reach the mark on the ground that indicates where I am supposed to stand, and I receive another cheer as I reach into my quiver and retrieve the single arrow that rests there.

My grip on the arrow loosens as they bring out the former President Snow, and the voices shriek and wail as he’s tied to a post. His frail, old body is manoeuvred roughly by the guards, and I stand and observe him for a moment. How could a man so small cause so much pain and suffering?

He’s a mere ten yards away from me, and Coin speaks on the platform above, her hair is shiny, and her uniform is pressed neatly. I feel ill as I reminisce on Snow’s words to me earlier.

“Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other.”

Bile rises in my throat as I secure the arrow. I’ve done this exact motion so many times that my arms are carried by pure muscle memory. My eyes are sharp as I stare defiantly into the President's eyes, the dried blood around his mouth frames his smirking lips. He knows.

He always knows, and I have no idea how exactly he knows what I plan to do. I think of my mission ever since I lost Peeta in the Quell. Kill Snow, take back the pain.

As I stretch the bow, I feel the skin grafts from my burns stretch unnaturally on my shoulders, the permanent reminders of the fire that took away Prim. That turned me into this Fire Mutt.

Snow laughs, and I wish I could hear it, but the cheers and excited roars of the crowd overpower it.

I stretch further and shift my arrow upwards, to the direct path to President Coin’s heart, and I release the string. I blink and the arrow is lodged into her skin, and she collapses from the platform, lifeless and dead.

I breathe out for the first time in seventeen years.

Snow’s laughter reaches my ears then, it’s loud and crackly and I stand stunned as spurts of blood escape his mouth. The crowds stream into the area, blocking the bloody President from my view and leaving me with the harsh reality of what I’ve just done.

I breathe shakily and mentally check off step one of my plan. Grey uniformed guards approach me and I think of what's to come. Trials and executions, the sight of my mother, alone without me or Prim.

I see the guards getting closer and I drop my bow, determined to make the second part of my plan come to fruition.

“Good night,” I whisper into the screams, and I suddenly wish that there was someone around to hear me.

I raise my left arm, determined to rip that little pill of death from my sleeve. I won’t even know I’m gone before it passes my lips. I won’t know any more pain or love or loss. Only nothing. As my mouth travels to the pill I am startled to find that my teeth sink into soft flesh. I throw my head back and my eyes meet blue. So impossibly blue.

Peeta looks betrayed, and his hand, which is bloody from my mark — is firmly positioned over the night lock pill. Unmoving.

“Let me go!” I snarl, attempting to wrestle from out of his grasp, but Peeta is strong. He always has been, and not just physically.

“I can’t,” he says desperately, securing his fingers even tighter against me. I thrash and scream until the guards come over and take me away.

Peeta and I watch as the little violet pill flies free from my pocket, getting crushed underneath the boot of one of the grey guards. I’m suddenly quiet as I watch the powder dissipate, and watch the relief fill Peeta's eyes.

I can’t.

It rings over and over again in my ears. I never even considered Peeta. He surely would’ve been better off without me. He doesn’t need me anymore. He doesn’t love me as he once did.

As I thrash and kick and bite I realise I am being sedated by a large needle. As the world fades to black I am overcome with memories of blue eyes and dead children. Of fire and my little sister’s last word.

Katniss…

………

“Katniss?”

I’m awake. Drenched in sweat and kicking off cotton bedsheets.

“Katniss, it was just a nightmare, it’s okay. You’re okay,” Peeta soothes, and his arms are around me again, his fingers smoothing my drenched brow. We’re in our bed, and once I realise this I calm down. I stop thrashing and I stop biting.

“S-sorry,” I say, my throat is scratchy from screaming. Peeta shushes my apologies, and I lean against his chest, revelling in the bare skin that meets my cheek. He’s only just allowed himself to sleep shirtless, and every time I remember it my cheeks heat wonderfully.

“Which one was it?” He asks, his hands curl around my sides, his thumb running over the burn on my arm.

“Coin’s assassination,” I answer, shuddering as I remember my dream of reliving that cursed day. The day when I finally ended the Hunger Games. It has been over four years since that day yet it is still as fresh in my memory as ever.

Peeta kisses the top of my head and hums in response. My heart is still thumping, I can practically feel the taste of his blood on my tongue from where I bit him that day.

I grasp his hand and hold it in front of me. Peeta’s hands are so much bigger than mine, his long fingers are now used to hold mine. He lets me skim the callouses from years of baking. He lets me trace the burns that roughen his skin.

“I never thanked you,” I whisper, kissing his fingers one by one. “For saving me that day.”

Peeta’s hand stills, and he turns, his eyes meeting mine.

“That’s what we do, Kat. We protect each other,” he answers, leaning forward and capturing his lips with mine.

Our comfort within each other had been hard fought. After that day, the one that repeats in my dreams and haunts my sleep. I was shipped to District Twelve and left to rot. And that I did, for months I rotted as Greasy Sae watched over me, and then one day Peeta was there.

Peeta had come back and had planted a garden.

I didn’t know what to say to him for weeks, but I let Greasy Sae brush and untangle my hair. Let her cut my feral nails and bathe me.

Every morning Peeta would arrive with bread, and every morning I would stare at him, until one morning I spoke, and once I did, I never wanted to stop.

Years later we still have nightmares. Peeta’s episodes are few and far between, and I try my best not to lose myself in the madness.

One day, a simple normal day; we were sitting in the back room of the rebuilt bakery, and I looked at Peeta, and I knew. The boy who tasted like sunsets and looked like home had never disappeared, he had always been there, and he had always loved me.

So I kissed him. Deep and long.

The next night when we had tentatively made love for the first time since before the Quell, he asked. “You love me. Real or not real?”

I didn’t even hesitate as I answered, “Real.”

Now, as we lie together in our bed, in our house. I relish the fact that he can hold me on nights like these.

“I couldn’t let you die that day, not after everything,” Peeta continued once our lips pulled apart.

I leaned my forehead on his and inhaled deeply, somehow expecting to smell blood or roses or the smoke from the fire. Instead, I smelt cinnamon and dill, and the sunset.

“Thank you.”

I kiss Peeta once again, and my fingers wind around the back of his head and into his curls. I know him inside and out. I know that he’s going to groan and buck his hips as I kiss down his neck. I know that he’s going to come in my mouth when he grips my hair and rolls his eyes back.

I know that every night, without fail — he will let me take his prosthesis off, he will let me undo the latches and kiss the stump left behind. I know that the first thing he will do when he wakes up is kiss me.

Most importantly, I know that when he’s ready, and when he asks me to be his wife. When he asks me to toast with him, I know I will say yes.

Because I was wrong, I didn’t bet on the wrong dog. I bet on the man who will love me and plant me a garden when I’m upset.

I bet on Peeta Mellark, the boy with the scars that match mine but a smile that dazzles me every single time I look at it.

I bet on the love of my life.

I'll be there on their side I'm losing by their side.. Will you let me, baby, lose On losing dogs…

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。.❀。

Please lemme know if you liked this!

Feel free to drop me a message, prompt, request here at any time. And check out my Ao3 (under @/delicatekisses)

Xoxo.

#everlark #fanfiction #thg fanfiction #tbosas #thg katniss #thg series #thg #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 #the hunger games #peeniss #smut

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mrs-han · 2 years

Text

To Love You

A Mystic Messenger Fan-fiction

Jumin’s deeply furrowed brows lifted as soon as he noticed tears slipping from your eyes.

His worst nightmare had come true. He had made you cry.

Arguments were a normal part of any relationship. But with Jumin being who he was, the arguments you had with him were… different. They weren’t about what you two were going to eat that night, nor were they ever about money.

They were always about why you didn’t want to attend another function with him, or why he insisted on working so much.

But that night, you two were arguing about something far more intimate.

You wiped your tears, looking around for a quick escape. You hated crying in front of anybody, and crying in front of your husband humiliated you. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about this… but now that we are, I… Jumin, you haven’t touched me in months. Months! And I know that you’re busy, I know you have a life outside of our marriage, but every time I try to touch you, you shoo me away like I’m some… insect!”

Jumin’s fingers twitched. He wanted to take your face into his hands, wipe away your tears… but he stood frozen in place.

“Even now, you can’t come to me and hold me while I’m crying like an idiot!” More tears gushed from your eyes. “I — I love you, and I know you love me too — but I don’t feel it anymore! I don’t feel your love anymore!”

Jumin’s feet staggered towards you. He couldn’t rip his eyes away from the pain in your eyes, or your voice, or your body. And he was the cause.

He reached a hand out towards you, fingers trembling, unsure if he should be in your presence at all. “Please, don’t think that. I do, I love… I love, I love you.”

You shook head, lower lip trembling. “Why did you hesitate? Maybe I should go —”

Jumin took a larger, more confident step towards you. “Please. Please, don’t leave me — I love you. I love you, darling, I love you. I do, I do.”

“Yeah, okay —”

Jumin fell to his knees; he winced as pain radiated over them, but the pain in his heart was much deeper. “I’ve taken you for granted. I’ve grown comfortable, too comfortable, and I’ve forgotten — I’ve forgotten you, you, my —” his throat started to close and tears threatened to spill over. “My wife.”

Jumin gripped your hand far tighter than he ever had. His hands were cold now, like the blood had drained from them entirely. “Stay with me. Stay with me, don’t leave me here on my own. Allow me to make up for my horrendous behavior. Allow me to show you just how much I adore you — please.” He pressed shaky kisses to your hand, whispering please after each kiss.

“No… no, don’t do this to me now…” you tore your eyes from your husband, your grief seemingly endless. “I need time to think, I need air — I need to be away from you, Jumin…”

Jumin lifted his head, eyes stormy. “How long. How long, ten minutes? Twenty?”

You tore your hand from his grasp. “You don’t… get to suddenly care about me!”

“No… no, darling, I’ve never stopped caring —”

“Yes you have!” You roared.

Jumin flinched. You had never yelled at him like that. You quickly realized what you had done, but you were far too hurt to apologize. “I need time. Leave me alone.”

Still on the floor, Jumin stared at his hands as you grabbed a bag, threw your necessities in and took off without another word.

He would never go against your wishes. But just this once, he would.

Jumin jumped to his feet and chased after you, his feet bare.

You spun around and turned to take the stairs, the elevator taking far too long. “I told you to leave me alone!”

“Darling —”

“Don’t…! Call me that!” You ran down the stairs as quickly as you could, heels clacking loudly against the smooth linoleum.

Jumin’s cheeks burned as you moved further away from him. He wanted to make it better. He wanted to fix this, just as all past arguments had been fixed. So… he chased after you. “Wait, just — wait and allow me to —”

Your scream filled the stairwell. A scream — and silence.

“MC…?” Jumin held his breath, attempting to hear something, anything from you. “MC?!” He skipped several steps, spinning on the ball of his foot at every turn.

That’s when he saw you, crumpled on the floor, hair in your face and a disturbingly obvious red liquid pooling around your head and dripping down the steps.

“Oh… oh, oh no… no, no!!” Despair dripped from Jumin’s words as he ran to you, falling over you as soon as he reached you. He pulled you into his arms, eyes landing on the gaping wound close to your temple. His palm cupped your cheek, turning your head up to face him. “MC… sweetheart, wake up, please —” Patting his pockets, he cursed loudly. He had left his phone on his desk.

“Darling? Darling, open your eyes —” Jumin dug his hand into your purse, gripping your phone while dialing emergency services.

“Hello —”

“My wife is bleeding, please!! My wife, she fell and — Han Jumin, my name is Han Jumin, my wife’s name is Han MC! The address is 46F 102 S. Cherry Street in the Cinnamon District!”

“Yes sir, we’ll send someone right away. Please stay on the line with us and tell us what happened.”

“Please, please.” Cradling your body much closer to his, Jumin spoke distractedly at the phone, now placed on the ground. “My wife and I were arguing and she ran from me — what does any of that matter, get here now.”

“You two were arguing? About what?”

“Is an emergency team on their way here or not.”

“Mr. Han, please calm down. We need to get as much information to help your wife.”

A loud bang on the bottom floor startled Jumin. “Mr. Han? Emergency services are here, we’re coming!”

“Mr. Han, please tell me how your wife fell down the stairs.”

“We’re on the forth floor, forth floor!” Jumin yelled, his composure long gone as he noticed you much paler now. “Sweetheart? My love, don’t…” his voice cracked. “Don’t do this to me. Stay with me, the paramedics are coming to help you.”

The last thing Jumin remembered was a paramedic’s boot on the step with your blood.

“Mr. Han Jumin.”

Distracted by you, Jumin didn’t think to look towards the officer calling his name.

“Excuse me, Mr. Han.”

Annoyed, Jumin ripped his eyes off of you and looked at the officer. “Yes. How may I help you.”

“Sir, if you don’t mind coming with us, we have a few questions to ask you.” The officer’s unyielding stare nearly rivaled Jumin’s. “The report given to us by the operator has caused us major concern.”

Jumin’s eyes scanned the officer’s defensive body stance. “Pardon me, but what concern is that.”

“We have reason to believe that… you may have attacked your wife.”

Jumin stood still. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t blink… he didn’t even take a breath. “This allegation is ridiculous. I would never — ever. Hurt my wife.”

“Husbands who abuse their wives say things like that all the time,” a rookie officer spoke, crossing his arms over his chest. “We need to be sure. And when your wife wakes up, she can confirm your alibi.”

“In the meantime, sir. With all due respect, I ask that you come with us calmly.” The senior officer stood off to the side, his hand guiding Jumin’s line of sight to the police car.

Jumin glared deeply at both officers. “No. I need to be with my wife.”

“You’ll need to wear these. It’s a precaution.” The rookie officer took out a pair of handcuffs.

And Jumin clenched his jaw so tightly, he could hear a ringing in his ears.

#mystic messenger #jumin han #mein schatz #jumin x reader #jumin x mc #to love you #A little bit of angst!#tw: blood mention #I SUCK with part 2’s but I kinda like what I have up my sleeve #Spotify

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theaudacitytowrite · 2 years

Text

Keep the Faith - Epilogue

Series Masterlist

A/N: The last installment of this Series:( I’m gonna miss it to be honest. And I might have gotten a bit emotional during writing... Please let me know what you think of this series! That would mean the world to me <3

Enjoy reading!

word count: 1.509

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

Equipped with two plates of food Y/N slowly approached Loki who sat at the entrance of the cave, his eyes focused on the smudgy scribbles in Y/N's notebook.

"Are you satisfied now?" Y/N joked as they sat beside him and passed him one of the plates.

“Almost,” he nodded thoughtfully as he put the notebook aside to take the plate, “I need you to know something important though. What you wrote about the first day when Glaive killed your Variant… I don’t think you were oversensitive," Loki's gaze locked with Y/N's, "I know I act like I’m not bothered by what is happening around us, but to be honest, I still haven’t figured out how all of this can even be true. I just went with it so it wouldn't drive me crazy down here. All these people, some of them looking like a reflection of myself, dying because of the hands of another Loki... it's so surreal. Like a sick play of the universe that wants to teach me a lesson that I just can't grasp."

Loki had finished his meal a while ago, his arms pulling his knees up to his chest. His brow was furrowed in thought as his teeth were chewing on the insides of his cheeks.

Y/N didn't know how to answer so they simply nodded. Loki had never been this voluntarily open and vulnerable. The last days surely had taken a toll on him.

They began eating in silence, their eyes avoiding each other, instead watching the bleak landscape.

"I thought it was you in the pond, you know?” Loki spoke up again, his gaze firmly directed into the distance, “I think that was the day I gave up. That’s why I didn’t mention the stab wound. Why would I? No one would read it anyway. So I left because I couldn’t stay there anymore. I wasn't able to clean up the mess in the bunker by myself anyway. You wouldn't come back so I had nothing that held me there… so I just got up and left. I didn’t even know if I could make it to the mountains but to be honest, I didn’t really care either.”

“That’s why you didn’t heal yourself?” Y/N whispered shocked in realisation.

"And when I arrived in the bunker and you weren’t there… I don’t think my heart had ever felt that heavy in my life. I fought against this horrendous smell and combed through the bodies as I tried to find your face. But you weren’t there. I was about to collapse… but luckily I dragged myself to my room where I finally found your notes.

“What’s the point of living if you die alone in the end anyway?” he shrugged sorrowfully and his gaze fell to his feet, “I was surprised when I arrived here alive. But that’s the curse of us Lokis. We do not die when we desperately want to, no instead we persevere no matter what.” Y/N reached out for Loki’s hand, squeezing it caring.

“I thought you were dead as well.” Y/N swallowed hard, “When the third day had passed I felt this overwhelming guilt. I felt so guilty for failing you, for leaving you alone with the other buffoons, for getting caught and especially for not keeping my promise to return in time.” Y/N chocked out, their throat closing up as they tried to fight against the emotions they had repressed to be able to function. Everything that had happened the last two weeks was bubbling up at the same time now.

I don’t think I could've forgiven myself if I really had arrived too late." Y/N sobbed, hot tears finally overcoming their restraints.

“I see, we two are fools of our own hearts.” Loki chuckled bitterly as his thumb softly stroked over the back of Y/N’s hand that he was still holding.

“And I wouldn't want it any other way.” Y/N wiped away the stray tears with their sleeve, retracting their hand from Loki’s in the process, “Even if it hurts sometimes, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Loki gave them a tired smile as their words resounded in his head. All he wanted was for Y/N to be safe. He hated to see them this heartbroken and spent. But at the same time, he didn’t know how to comfort them. How was he supposed to know if he couldn’t even comfort himself?

“How did you even manage to escape from there? What did you do to the TemPad?” he tried to stir the conversation in another direction.

“A kill switch.” Y/N sniffled, “When I presented it to Red Skull I turned it on so it would explode at the next use.”

“Very clever.” Loki grinned proud at them, “But didn’t you get knocked out as well?”

“I did but only for a short time. The guards that were supposed to bring me to my cell and I were already far enough away from the explosion centre. To be honest… I got quite lucky that some of the debris didn’t hit me… I can’t say the same about my guards though. When I woke up I had a massive headache and a ringing in my ear which didn’t go away until I got half of the way up to the mountains over and done with.”

“And how did you retrieve the TemPad?” Loki tilted his head in interest.

“I made my way through and over the ruins into the throne room where I found it scattered around. It must’ve flown out of Red Skulls' hand when it went off. So I gathered some more parts that looked like they belonged to it and rummaged a bit through Red Skulls storage rooms before I fled.” Y/N recounted.

“And Red Skull?” the question had occupied Loki’s head since Y/N had mentioned their captivity in his hands.

“I have no idea. I didn’t find a trace of him in the chaos. The explosion had attracted the Allioth’s attention and he was charging for the base. So a bunch of his pack, that had survived, made the sensible decision to run away. So Red Skull might have been smashed by the rubble or he could have run away as well.”

“Let’s just hope we don’t have to deal with him any time soon again.” Loki sighed a bit more at ease now. Even if Red Skull had survived, it was unlikely that he would come for them. He had no protection and probably no henchman who would make their hands dirty for him. For now, Y/N and Loki were relatively safe.

“Exactly. We have much more important things to think about.” Y/N chimed in cheery, pulling Loki out of his thoughts.

“Like?” Loki asked intrigued.

“For example, what’s the first thing you want to do when we can escape this hell hole?” they smiled at him. He thought for a while before he answered.

“I have to visit my mother.” he finally revealed without any more reasoning, “What about you?”

“I want to watch how the sun rises over the horizon until the first beams lay onto my skin. When this infinite darkness has finally come to an end, then and only then, I will be sure that we really are still alive and have gotten out of this nightmare.” Loki smiled at them almost content, but a twinge in his heart overshadowed this feeling with gloom. Once they would escape from the Void, would there still be an us?

“Would you watch it with me?” Y/N turned to look at him. Loki’s eyes lit up at their question and a smile spread over his lips as he couldn’t hold his head back from nodding.

“Only if you come with me to Asgard,” he replied cheekily.

“How can I say no to that?” Y/N beamed at him, “I just hope I will be able to fix the TemPad.”

Loki scooched closer to them, this time taking a hold of their hand.

“We’ll find a way, don’t worry.” his gaze was reassuring, “And even if not, I don’t mind being stuck here, as long the company is right... I could live like that.”

Y/N bit their lip, trying to prevent new tears to spill from their eyes. But this time, not tears out of agony but gratitude for their friend. Loki put his arm around their shoulder, pulling them close to his side. Y/N didn’t struggle against the unfamiliar closeness they were sharing. Instead, they embraced it, resting their head on Loki’s shoulder.

Far in the distance, the Allioth was feasting on a new appeared city, the purple clouds soon enclosing a whole perimeter of the valley. Loki sighed deeply as they both watched over the wasteland.

“What’s on your mind?” Y/N asked timidly.

“I wish that somewhere out there, in this vast multiverse of myriads of timelines is at least one where we met under different circumstances... the right circumstances.” Y/N slung their arms around Loki, hugging him tightly against themselves.

“As far as I care, we already did.”

A/N: This is it... at least for now:)

Taglist: @lucywrites02 @funsized-mimi @gaitwae @queenjosielaufeyson @1marvelnerd3000 @darkacademicfrom2021 @lostgreekgod @tendertalesmain @donttouchmylaevateinn @asgardianprincess1050 @msturi2u @high-functioning-lokipath @elius-learns-to-write @plainlo-inthemorning @kokinu09 @midnights-ramblings @donaweasley @itsreallyjustmeh @sititran @lindsey-laufeyson @ethanshide @delaber @anonymousfiction211 @itsybitchylittlewitchy @iamalinarose @xorpsbane @vbecker10 @limiworld @ilovefanfictions @crazzycrackers04 @tinctureofmaddness @marvelfanfn2187a113 @cosplayingwitch @sylvies4ever @tanushreeg27 @kellatron55 @loveshineslikethesky @scram1326 @camerons-specialinterest @mooncat163 @leucoratia @acefeather2002 @mochie85 @usagishira @michelleleewise @mischief2sarawr

Let me know if you want to be added:)

#loki #loki x reader #president loki #president loki x reader #loki x gn!reader #president loki x gn!reader #loki drabble #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #president loki fanfic #president loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #loki odinson

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snellyfish · 2 years

Text

oh good lord--

To preface, it’s impossible to keep this as short as possible while still getting my point across clear enough, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the Danganronpa fandom it’s that people love misinterpreting the Hell out of each other. This is not meant to be the public’s issue, I wanted to keep this quiet because it literally does not concern anyone else in the slightest, but I’ve been hearing more and more instances for the past few months of me being repeatedly slandered and shit-talked in both servers AND in public posts (vague or not), and my refusal to feed into the terminally online community’s craving for niche fandom discourse is not helping my case, since no one’s getting a chance to hear my side. But my desire to keep personal issues personal does not equal blind racism. Lol.

To put this into context for anyone who’s unaware:

AS FAR AS I’M AWARE-- The only claim of racism towards me is about me feeding into Angie’s islander stereotype in the content I have made about her in the past. Which I understand, I see, I’ve heard people with islander ancestry’s take on it and I hear them, I’ve heard both sides from islanders and I don’t know what to think in the end. It’s a much greyer area than one white internet activist would think.

Ultimately, Angie is not a character I want to make in-depth content for anymore, (been that way for a while, honestly, dunno how obvious that’s been) I don’t know how to properly handle her but some people seem very confident they’re doing it perfectly right, so I’ll just let them do their thing I guess lmao. I’ve heard out one islander, who said that her entire character in general is bad, making content for her character is bad, liking her in any form is bad, to them she is entirely irredeemable. And I respect that. The white person who started this spiel about me is an avid creator for content of her, (last I saw? I personally don’t hatestalk them back so idk) but they do it in what they deem a more acceptable way. Are they right to still make content about a character that islanders are horrendously uncomfortable with? I don’t care at this point, I really don’t have a say in this, I am white, too, afterall! But if I’m gonna be put down for my portrayal, I only hope they’ve listened to actual islanders too.

I entirely stopped making blood sacrifice/ritual stuff with Angie for almost a year at this point and people still aren’t happy. I have avoided the word Atua for most of my time in the fandom and people still aren’t happy. Who am I making happy at this point? Literally just myself? The handful of people who tell me so? My followers who only care that I’m drawing their blorbos and will happily skip over a post like this?

Angie is a sensitive character. Characters representing any harmful stereotypes are sensitive. POC characters in general are sensitive--especially if they’re dark skinned and foreign to their setting.* I understand this, and I don’t wish to try and portray these characters beyond a simple drawing because I like their designs, personalities, ships, or whatever else.

*Sensitive as in they HAVE to be handled by the right person who understands all the nuances and good representation, not to mention some cultures should exclusively be written by those who live(d) that life. I don’t think I’m fit for that as of now but I’m learning, (Only took a LOT of vagueposts, anon hate as well as direct hate, and no one trying to Actually listen to me or explain to me what I’m doing wrong before having it dramatically blow up but...alas) I only ask people to have patience with me (and anyone for that matter!) trying to better themselves, and let the past be the past.

I have trans friends who are entirely uncomfortable with any mention of Chihiro or Mondo. I have trans friends who embrace both of them.

I have lesbian friends who are uncomfortable with Tenko. I have lesbian friends who embrace her.

I’ve listened to an islander talk about how they’re entirely uncomfortable with any mention of Angie. I’ve seen islanders embrace her.

I understand now that my attachment to Angie and lack of public acknowledgement of the clear racism in her character that I somehow overlooked for a long time is...well... kinda bad. To be as honest as possible, I feel obligated to admit the first thing that made me love Angie when I first played V3 was that she was a quirky sacrificial freak, because I LOVE that in fictional characters. I LOVE weird characters who stand out like that with taboo themes. So...after realizing how harmful that is, being informed it’s a stereotype, and coming to terms with the fact my favorite thing about her ended up being something racist, it’s very difficult for me to actively enjoy her because sometimes people even get upset at the portrayal of her literally just being a “weird girl.” Hell, I’ve seen people completely erase religion from her character in an attempt to “fix” her even more!

I’ve had people of color inform me my Angie portrayal is their favorite they’ve seen. I’ve had white people inform me my Angie portrayal is racist. And without cherry picking, I’ve heard it the other way around for both sides, too. I know I’m a broken record at this point so I’ll wind this down, but I don’t think anyone is anymore right than the other, no matter how much each party vehemently believes otherwise. I just don’t like how elitist this fandom can be, man. I’ve always tried to portray Angie in a significantly brighter light than most anyone else I see, so I think my initial stubbornness with this whole situation was caused by how everyone just sees her as an evil antagonist, and I thought that they thought I was doing the same? I dunno. Maybe that’s unrelated at this point. Either way--

I am sorry.

I apologize to anyone who might be personally offended by my portrayal of an islander, if anyone wants to talk to me about it and help me see any clearer, please do! That being said, I do NOT apologize to the non-islanders (mostly white people) who attack me for this and won’t accept someone trying to move on from their wrongdoings. Thank you for reading.

TLDR;; Is Angie’s character inherently racist? Yes. Have I drawn and written into that stereotype ignorantly? Yes. Did I initially handle this wrong but have now realized my mistakes? Yes. Have I apologized for this already and acknowledge what I’ve done? Yes! Am I free from this year-long hell yet? No, but hopefully soon. 🥴

Also...

I appreciate the apology, thank you, this ask honestly gave me a chuckle because I read it before the first ask LOL. I only pray next time you come to anyone with super serious claims you have something to back it up, or any context. And to keep it in a DM where it’s less hostile. I don’t think anyone’s going to get mad at you for genuinely wanting their input on something wrong they may or may not be doing. Doing it anonymously feels aggressive and careless, it forces it to be public discourse.

Hatestalkers if you’re reading this, can you PLEASE leave me alone, you already blocked me man, let me go,, the crash was 9+ months ago 😭😭😭 if you guys aren’t letting go of this I can’t really either

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tekka-dan · 1 year

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Ever since I cut off my toxic family, my life has never felt and been more peaceful.

For the first time in my life, I’m not hypersensitive to the way I’m perceived by other people. I can be around different groups of people without this looming thought of “what do they think about me? Do they like me? Am I talking too much? Too loud?”

I realize it’s because I’ve discovered who I am instead of being reminded by toxic people of who I’m not. People don’t talk about the serious effect your esteem takes when you’re constantly surrounded by people that tear you down, invalidate your emotions / experiences, undermine your achievements, question your autonomy and discourage your visions.

For twenty six years I let people around me dictate who I was because they tore me to shreds enough that my entire identity was based on what people thought or said about me.

It took me breaking free from them entirely to realize I’m none of those things they implanted on my psyche and I’m not destined to be a woman whose emotions can continue being invalidated and routinely having my fire stomped out.

I’m around people that are safe emotionally and mentally, for the first time in my life. When I felt like crying, my friends hugged me and I wasn’t terrified of being touched. When I expressed my pain in losing my dog, they affirmed my feelings of relief and grief at the same time. When I needed to talk about all the horrendous things I went through in a toxic relationship, they listened and validated me.

These same people allowed me to hold myself accountable because they showed me true and soft, genuine love. They allowed me to figure things out on my own, not repeating my same dead story - because they didn’t shut me down or out, it allowed me to outgrow my story and eventually stop talking about the pain, so that my happiness could grow. They safely allowed me to flourish through my pain instead of diminishing the pain I was in.

This is why I’ve blossomed into who I’ve always been: my peaceful, genuine and compassionate self once again. All of my friends know my true nature, they know how deeply and passionately I love. My parents and siblings my entire life called me a narcissist and selfish for the few times I reacted to their emotional abuse.

I know I’m none of those things they call me but for such a long time, living in that constant state of flight and fight mode - you start believing what people tell you, just to find some peace within yourself, to stop the arguments, to stop the shame, to withstand the guilt - to fucking survive.

However after cutting off my toxic family, I don’t have pretend that every single time I needed them and they let me down, that it was “okay” anymore. Because now I’m living in my truth. Because my father chose to be an unreliable and emotionally unavailable or healthy man, I have learned the value in showing up for myself and the people I cherish. I have learned the value in taking care of myself and not depending on another man to rescue me.

My mother kept trying to force me to rely on my father for things, and he let me down every single time. I told her about my car issues and I needed him to work on it (he’s a mechanic) and she kept forcing me to trust him to take care of it for me. I took him my car on a weekend I was off, he didn’t fix most of the issues I presented and not even a week later it was back where it started. I expressed disappointment to her and she replied “you can’t keep expecting everyone to rescue you” and in that moment, I decided to accept my truth.

My truth was that I didn’t ever actually trust my father to be reliable or dependable, it was my mom who would force me to be. When she said that sentence to me, it freed me. I know my father won’t rescue me and now that I can stand in my truth, I don’t have to keep pretending to trust him when I don’t. I don’t have to live in a state of anxiety anymore knowing I’m going to be let down. I can just rely on myself and find a local mechanic that I know will fix my car right the first time.

I’m saying all this to say that while november hasn’t been kind to me, it’s been the most reflective month I’ve experienced.

I recently went out with a guy on a small “date” who I decided to stand in my truth knowing he’s not for me. In the past, I would’ve entertained this man because of not knowing how to be alone, believing a narrative to keep distrusting and going against my intuition and pretending, like what I’ve done my entire life.

No. On that “date” I peeped things I didn’t like and I’m standing in my truth that I can move around. I don’t need to tell a man it’s disrespectful to be texting someone while on a date. I don’t need to coach a man how to have conversation without dominating it.

I’m not raising another grown man and I’m not settling for bum ass behavior because I watched my mom do it with my dad and pretend he’s a good man.

I’m done pretending. 2023 I will be myself unapologetically. I’m not hiding in plain sight, I’m not going to refrain from speaking my truth, I’m not going to be hyper sensitive to toxic people - I’m controlling my own narrative and standing in my own truth.

Cutting off my toxic family helped me realize I don’t have to keep living in foolishness and pretending anymore.

I can finally fucking live and be myself without stipulations, consequences or criticism. That means not putting up with shitty behavior or finding a way to excuse it.

#personal

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veronicasanders · 2 years

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"Suggest how you might resolve the staging difficulties inherent in a production of Ibsen’s Peer Gynt." if you get the reference I'd love you forever, but it's not the question for this week. Here it is: If you could change the way any movie/play/book was made, which one would you change? how?

Okay well I do not get this specific reference so I guess you can only love me for a finite period of time, but fuck do I love this question. 🥰🥰🥰 Alright…*gets out my 2,000 page binder and slaps it on the table*…here we go! 💖

No, in all seriousness, I do have like a thousand answers for this but I’ll try to think of some highlights that are potentially entertaining.

I guess an obvious one is RENT? Because the movie adaptation was just so EGREGIOUSLY wrong? I mean starting with, choosing a director best known for Home Alone and other cheesy family shit. And then casting the OG Broadways actors, most of whom were bordering on too old to play those roles when they did them the first time around, because that’s just how Broadway works, and then the whole “color blind” phenomenon of the 90s which resulted in the bizarre situation where not only is the pretentious Ivy League snob a Black woman, which…like, okay, maybe you could have gotten away with, I guess, but also the oppressive rich douche landlord who’s fucking the teenage stripper? Why did anyone think it was progressive to give this role to a Black man? It wasn’t progressive in the 90s on Broadway and it certainly the FUCK wasn’t progressive when they made the movie in 2005 and you know what this question is supposed to be fun and I’m giving myself a migraine so I don’t want to talk about RENT anymore.

Mommie Dearest - this is a perfect film and not a frame should be touched. Okay actually, I have a theory that like, 95% of what makes this movie so weird and campy is the pacing? Like, the fact that the shots are held for SO long after people finish talking? I wonder what it would be like if some editor took it and cut in a more normal way? I know the acting is still over the top and like, there’s no cutting around the terrible wigs on Old Christina (although…maybe with some good vfx…?). Anyway, a recut could be interesting experiment. I bet it would be like an hour and 15 minutes, tops.

Along those same lines….I really want a recut of Drag Race Season 7, where instead of focusing on petty drama that no one actually cared about, they instead give us the “everyone wants to fuck each other” cut we deserve. I mean the fact that the best scene we saw all season was a CUT SCENE (the one where Violet yells "SHOW US YOUR DICK!" to Trixie) really tells us everything we need to know.

Okay this one is for Andy Cohen - I want have a section, maybe even a whole episode, of the Real Housewives Reunions, where an actual licensed Marriage and Family Therapist, who is familiar with the show, has seen ALL seasons and read all their blogs and tweets and shit, sits down and coaches them through the layers of miscommunication and ego bullshit so that the stupid nonsense can actually be resolved. Because as a viewer, it actually stresses me out when a simple miscommunication gets amplified and blown up and dragged out over 4 seasons just because people are fucking stupid. I’d rather see them all be drunk idiots having fun together. Yes, watching them fight is fun, but watching them have the SAME fight over and over makes me want to push them all into moving traffic.

The L Word - I would kill Tina in the pilot and then like…I dunno change a bunch of other stuff, especially the horrendous way they handle the Max plotline, but mostly kill Tina. Bette deserves better and so do we.

Oh also, I'm happy that we made Dawn pansexual in the Baby-Sitter's Club series, but where's the Kristy lesbian icon plot line? It needs to happen. Also I want Alicia Silverstone to say "Clueless" more because that's only happened once and I found it deeply emotionally satisfying.

(I know you didn’t say TV but I’m garbage and TV is very important to me.)

I have a lot more, but I think that’s what fanfic is for, isn’t it? Like, what I’m doing queering up the Parent Trap and stuff like that? Anyway this answer has gone on too long so I’ll stop torturing you.

#walking down the glittertrail #this was fun #I can do more

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survey--s · 2 years

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295.

Have you ever written a song?: Just when I’ve had to do it for class.

What was the last drink you had?: Pepsi Max.

Do you ever feel numb?: Sometimes if I’m really stressed, I kind of switch off my emotions until the situation is over, as I find it easier to cope with that way.

Which do you think would be scarier to experience, an avalanche or tsunami? : I would hate to experience either. I’ve seen avalanches from a distance in ski resorts and they are SO fast and loud.

Do you currently have a honey jar in your pantry?: No. I do like honey but I go through phases of eating loads then I don’t touch it for months, lol.

Do you always find a silver lining in bad situations? : I can do if I really try.

Do you prefer being inside or outside?: In nice weather, I love being outside - like, yesterday I was house-sitting and the weather was gorgeous. I sat in the hot-tub and chilled out for ages in their hammock/cocoon chair thing. But it’s pissing it down and blowing a gale today, so I’m more than happy curled up on the sofa.

When did you last use a lighter or matches?: This morning when I lit the candle in my wax melter.

Do you think the ocean needs more exploring? : Most definitely. There is so much down there that we know nothing about.

Do you ever experience panic attacks?: I have done in the past, but I’ve not experienced one for a good couple of years now, thankfully. They are horrendous.

Have you ever had to call 911 or your country's emergency number?: Yeah, for a client of mine who had basically drunk herself in a stupor. I really don’t miss dealing with her, as horrible as that sounds.

What was the last conversation you had about?: Asking Mike to ring his dad about having the dog tomorrow.

Are you doing okay?: Yeah, life is goooood :)

Do you know an Olivia? : Not anymore, but I went to school with two people named Olivia.

Is there a past relationship/friendship you miss?: Friendship, yes.

Do you like mangoes? : I love mango but it has to be the perfect ripeness otherwise it’s either too sour or has a weird texture. I love dried mango too.

Last song you listened to?: Wellerman by Nathan Evans.

What do you believe in the most?: People (as a species) are good at heart.

What was the last movie you watched and enjoyed?: Lion King 2.

Do you use captions when watching TV?: Only if it’s a foreign-language programme.

What was the last app you used?: BingoBlitz.

What's your most used app?: BingoBlitz, Klondike, Facebook, Mumsnet Talk and Reddit.

What percentage is your phone battery on?: 30%.

Are there any recipes you'd like to try?: Sure, loads, but I’m a very lazy person when it comes too cooking, lol.

Did you use Vine when it existed? : No. I never really understood the appeal of it.

What decorations do you have in your bedroom?: Not much - a few paintings on the walls, plus a mirror lol.

Who is a celebrity you'd like to hang out with?: Barack and Michelle Obama.

How many amusement parks have you visited?: Three or four, maybe.

Do you prefer chewy or crunchy textures more?: Crunchy.

What last broke your heart?: I just found out one of my clients’ dogs has gone into liver failure - she’s only just turned one :( she’s on palliative care for now but there’s nothing else that can be done for her except painkillers and medication to keep her comfortable. It could be weeks or months - we just don’t know. In all honesty, I’m not entirely surprised as she’s been poorly since before I started walking her, but

What is happiness in your own words?: Peace.

Do you still live in the town you grew up in?: Nope, I live about seven hours away.

Are there any events coming up you're looking forward to?: Summer holidays in six weeks, lol.

What's the most random collection you've had or known someone to have?: I can’t think of anything too random off the top of my head.

Are you currently wearing anything green?: No.

Do you google your symptoms everytime there is something wrong?: Yeah, I google them and then proceed to do absolutely nothing about it, lol.

Have you or would you ever go see a psychic? : No.

Who is the strongest person you know? : Physically? My husband. Mentally, I have no idea.

What's your go to Chinese food order?: Sweet and sour chicken balls, special fried rice, chips, crispy seaweed, duck spring rolls, beef and broccoli. I order enough to last me three days, hahah.

When was the last time you visited family?: Uhh, I saw my in-laws on Friday.

Do you currently feel restless?: Nope. I’m kinda hungry, though.

What is something you're naturally good at?: I’m good with animals. I did visits yesterday with this old Jack Russell who is apparently really snappy and horrible - she was a real sweetie and followed me everywhere, lol.

Have you had coffee or tea today?: Yeah, two cups of coffee. One at Tracy’s before taking Bailey and Poppy for their walk, and one at home after I’d done my laundry and had a shower.

What flower did you last see?: Uh, just random wildflowers.

What's your favorite fictional book?: Alice in Wonderland, Neverhwere or The Night Circus.

#survey #surveys

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bookfreaky · 4 months

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Book Cover (Available - x)

I wonder if I’ll be calm someday, If I’ll just wake up in the morning and breathe lightly, and not feel like something is missing or maybe something horrendous is going to happen. And I can maybe have coffee with almond milk without having a rivotril right after. So I don’t have to go though this daily routine between picking up running or staying in bed all day. I’m so tired and I’m so nervous, and it seems like I have lost the only person who had the ability to calm myself down without yelling at me. I miss him. Every single day, I miss him.

My doctor told me that in spite of not presenting any classical symptoms of depression, like I can get up and do things. That depressive undertone is there, under my skin, that grief and that loss that never leaves me. 7 years, then shit. And I am moody, like a small child, yelling at everyone who’s nothing to do with it. Irritable. Nothing is ever good enough, well, nothing is ever going to be good enough because he isn’t there.

I just want this to be over, sincerely. I want to be done with the interviews, with the social media posts, and honestly, I can’t stand looking at the cover of that book anymore. Looks like this yearning woman laying down the bed waiting for his lover to fuck her – ironic. I feel just like the cover of that damn book. He had such a calming presence, although his anxiety, like nothing could really take his off is rocket, but when it did, he would run and I’ll be the one to sit down next to him and touch his ear, fix his moustache, then I knew that he likes his moustache being fixed while he is jerking himself off. I feel ashamed to get fixated in such sordid details of this relationships that never came clear to me. So many things never came clear to me.

I ask myself if with the time passing, all these feelings that live inside me like the drums of some kind of matching band will cease, and I will move to a farm like my grandfather did. And do everything that we talked to each other about doing, growing weed and tomatoes, raising horses and hens, having space to get musical instruments. I don’t know why I keep returning to this future, to this plan, to this specific idea of happiness. Maybe, maybe, my happiness will be going from plane to plane, to interview to interview, book after book, living in an apartment in a city that makes more noise than my own head. No space for the kids jump on the trampoline at the backyard, no space for them running around and learning to swim. None of your features on his faces, your nose, your thin hair mixed with the thick curly mine. What would I see if I could look at their faces, would it be just like the cover of the book, or would I be so overwhelmed with joy and love that I would never love again, anything.

I didn’t matter. I wanted you and I want the vestiges of you, they follow me everywhere, even in my dreams. I feel like I was your Persephone, I went down to the Hates, and now, now I can’t know who I truly am. The flowers growing from me feel like an imitation of happiness. I loved you so much, I never truly was able to tell the size of it. I can’t bare kids, I am barren, I am trans, but God had given me this miracle I would allow you plant your sperm in me, in the same way you planted your seed in many different ways inside my soul. And I would carry a child that would look just like you and love them, educate them and put them to sleep, I would take care of them even if you weren’t around. They would be the testimony of you, now the only testimony are words.

#Mine #Literature #Fogo em Minha Pele #Fire On My Skin #HeartBreak #BookCover #personal

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le-trash-prince · 6 months

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My sister in law keeps trying to bring me back into Christianity and I never know what the fuck to say about it

About a year and a half ago, my mom and I were talking to each other about these books we were reading in a “here’s what media I have consumed lately” sort of way. And my SIL sat down with us partway through the conversation to listen, and then as soon as my mom got up for some water, my SIL started telling me about this book she was reading that was about how “just because someone leaves the church doesn’t mean they have left Jesus, and I just thought that was really interesting” AND I WAS JUST LIKE UH HUH

Like it felt very pointed in a “I know you don’t go to church but you can still be a Christian” and in my head I’m just like lady that boat has sailed

Then today we were all sotting around together and she goes “Em I’m reading this book that your mom read called ‘Losing My Religion’ and it’s about this pastor who didn’t say anything in support of Trump and got ousted for it. And I was wondering if it’s something you would be interested in.”

So then I’m put on the spot in front of my family trying to figure out a response??? And I honestly struggle with not wanting to create family in-law drama but I really just have an absence of care for this person. I put in like fifteen years of trying to care and I’ve finally accepted that I don’t really like her and I probably never will, and I only put up with her for the sake of my brother and their kids.

I don’t talk about it to the rest of my family, but I also don’t put up a front of “yeah I’m so super friendly and positive about spending time with you.”

But it can be really awkward to ride that line of “I don’t like you but I don’t want to be rude but I don’t like you.”

Anyways my response was just “Oh uh, I mean it’s certainly a relatable topic I guess. I remember you [turning to my mom] talking to me about it. But I don’t think I would be interested enough to read a book about it?”

And then she said “Yeah I just thought you might be interested in reading a book and then talking about people who are Christian but don’t take part in the culture.”

AND I WAS JUST 🙂 DID I NOT JUST SAY THAT I AM NOT INTERESTED ENOUGH TO READ A BOOK. SO I JUST SMILED AND DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING ELSE AND LET THE TOPIC TRAIL OFF AHDJFJFJSBE

When my mom had talked to me about it, it wasn’t in a “I think you should read this,” sort of way, it was more part of a series of conversations since 2016 where she’s vented about problems she and my dad have had with people in their church—lifelong “friends” who turned on them for speaking out against the Republican party. It was a “this is a problem I’m dealing with and I’m talking to you as someone who I know isn’t going to try and get me to be understanding about my fellow church goers.”

But my SIL is not like that at all and even when she says “Christians who resist the culture” I’m not entirely sure what she means. Like maybe that not all Christians are homophobic or racist? But I feel like that’s an obvious statement. I don’t think she realizes that I’m not all that comfortable with the sort of Christian she is even if she’s “resisting the culture” lmfao. Like she goes and knocks on her neighbors doors to ask if they want to hang out and then gets upset that people “don’t want to build community” with her. Like bro if one of my neighbors dod that I’d assume they wanted to kill me. And even if they just wanted to socialize that’s still horrendous.

She and my brother also trick us into socializing by inviting us over and not mentioning that they’ve invited ppl we don’t know. Which is honestly fucking horrendous in the age of COVID.

Anyways I’m still just like “what the fuck was the conversation. No I don’t want to read a Christianity book and talk about it with you—why can’t you just talk to my mom about it thanks don’t talk to me anymore.”

#em post

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