#and that might start to make you uncomfortable

[mielthebee]

Yes, and I’m noticing that a lot of this comes from an inability to understand the necessary conditions for regulation.

Regulating safely IS POSSIBLE for people that have “strange or uncomfortable ways” of making those “big feelings” in your body go away so you can move on with your life. There are toys that are made for a reason like chew toys and stim toys and fuck it, even SEX TOYS fulfill this regulation need!

Your body NEEDS stimulation. Your brain is asking for something and it NEEDS a response from you to move on. It’s a programming language that society doesn’t understand yet but we can get to that later.

Your brain is asking you for something. It asks your BODY for something. Sometimes what you feel in your body is very BIG. Therefore there are BIG FEELINGS that LIVE IN your body.

Your body doesn’t know what to do. But it knows it needs SOMETHING, so you start STIMULATING.

I personally really like chewing. Dogs have that shit figured out, chewing feels GREAT. I love it and it always “itches” the parts of my brain that I need it to when I need to focus. I am literally communicating with my brain THROUGH my body. It’s possible and everyone does it!

You need head scratches to calm down because you need to feel like you’re soft and deserve to be treated gentle? Girl, put on those fake nails and give yourself that head massage you deserve! You need to write all your big ideas somewhere but you just have no room? Put those big ass rolled up papers on the walls and go nuts! You’re making art that will be useful for your therapists and your loved ones if you ever need to explain what you went through that day.

Your body knows you. You are the only one who knows your body. Sometimes your body needs things that are really scary or can hurt. This is where accessibility tools come in. Some people use markers or pens to draw on themselves or use makeup to satisfy the need to see yourself with marks on your body for “punishment” or “relief”.

My love, your body is art. Listen to the songs it sings for you, and remember to ask yourself what you can do to make these moments safer for you. Don’t be afraid to be afraid. Don’t be afraid to be childish. Don’t be afraid to cry, and don’t be afraid to feel your big feelings. I’m going to fight hard to make it safer to feel them.

They live in your body for a reason. It’s not a betrayal to your past self to choose what you think might be the path to get better.

I hope me from the past is as proud of me as I am of her for listening to her body.

Hey, here’s a concept. What if we stopped saying “but autistic people CAN do all those things” (erasing high support needs) and instead started saying “not being able to do those things doesn’t impact someone’s value as a person nor does it make it okay to commit eugenics”.

[moonstruckme]

Idk if you’ve done anything like this before but maybe reader who’s feeling insecure in her swimsuit with Steve 🩵

cw: reader's swimsuit is compared to underwear, reader is insecure about her body, Steve is a silly boy

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 735 words

From beneath the surface of the water, you hear a voice. Deep, resonant. Your heart skips pleasantly as you kick upwards. 

You crest the surface to find Steve halfway to you. He’s squinting in the sun, one hand brought up to shade his face. There’s something indescribably but undeniably handsome to you about Steve’s frown. It brings those ultra-expressive brows of his down and together, causing his lips to purse and his jaw—you don’t know how, but you swear—to appear more defined. Or maybe it’s just that there’s usually a sort of exasperated care about the look, and you like to think that care could be directed at you.

“Hey,” you say, the word curving with your smile. “What’re you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” He crouches by the edge of the pool, leaning down for a kiss. Afterwards, you set your chin on your crossed arms to look up at him, lips buzzing. Steve touches your face with a finger, unsticking a piece of hair that’s become slicked to your cheek and combing it back in with the rest. “They’re showing Jaws at the movies for a buck a piece. You wanna go?” 

“Right now?” 

“In an hour. Plenty of time to get dried off and grab snacks.” 

You kick your legs idly, pondering. Really, nothing sounds better to your sun-warmed brain than showering and putting on some comfortable clothes to go sit in a dark room. Steve will probably have you half in his lap by the end credits, too, it being a scary movie. 

“Sure,” you say. “Want to hang out here while I rinse off and stuff?” 

Steve grins; it’s nearly as handsome as his frown, enough to send your stomach into fits. “Sounds good to me.” He reaches for your hands to help you out. 

You start to take them automatically, but hesitate. You and Steve are pretty comfortable with each other, but you haven’t had your clothes off in front of him. The bikini you have on now is really no different than underwear. You glance down at the body currently distorted by rippling pool water, insecure.

“What’s up?” Steve asks at your pause. 

You feel trapped. There’s really no way out of this for you. You could ask him to go inside so he doesn’t see you and you know he’d do it, but that feels worse. The only thing scarier than him seeing you like this might be confessing how worried you are that he won’t like what he sees. 

If Steve isn’t acting like it’s a big deal, you decide, neither will you. 

“Nothing,” you say, putting your hands in his. Steve hauls you out of the water without another delay. 

It’s not a pretty process. Your back bends forward as you emerge, tummy sticking out and water streaming off you. In your mind it glistens most obviously in the places you’d like not to show, the rolls and curvatures you’d rather Steve’s eyes sailed past unseeingly. You get one knee up onto the warm tiles surrounding the pool, letting his hands go so you can crawl the rest of the way up on your own. As you straighten, you fight hard not to bend your shoulders and cross your arms over yourself. 

But Steve has already turned away. Not in repulsion or some attempt at preserving your modesty, just to grab the towel you’d set nearby. He wraps it around your shoulders. 

Your stomach flips at the appreciative glance you catch him dropping to your chest. Steve notices you noticing; his cheekbones tinge a pretty pink. 

“Sorry,” he says hastily. 

You wrap the towel around yourself, feeling rather flushed yourself. “It’s okay.” 

“I just, I—you know, we haven’t—” 

“I know,” you say. “It’s fine.” 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You’ve never seen Steve so flustered. It makes it difficult to feel very self-conscious yourself, a laugh bubbling in the back of your throat. “Like, if you don’t want me to see, but you’re—you—obviously, you’re--” He gestures helplessly at your body, now mostly covered by the towel, then looks like he regrets that, too. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m going to go inside, okay?” 

“Okay.” Your smile is irrepressible, now. “Steve, it’s really fine. You’re good.” “You go shower.” Steve turns around, walking face-first into your back door. He continues talking as though this doesn’t register. “I’ll be in the kitchen, just—not thinking about—uh, yeah.”

[drabbles-mc]

Invisible Silver Linings (1/7)

Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x F!Reader

Series Warnings: 18+, Thunderbolts* spoilers, language, angst, mentions of scars, mentions of self-harm/suicidal ideations

Summary: You signed on to become part of a study when you realized that you didn't have anything left to lose. What harm could it really do? How much worse could it really get? ... You didn't expect to get answers to those questions. You also didn't expect to meet Bob. You'd end up thankful for at least one of those things.

Chapter Index

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: i know i haven't written for Marvel in a while, but i started working on this lil series the second i left the theater on Thursday. it's so nice to see Lewis Pullman getting the creds he deserves. 🥰anyway!!!! I've finished this series and will be posting updates on a weekly or twice-weekly basis until it's all up here and good to go. please let me know what you think!

“They've been taking us in batches,” you told him. You hadn't even bothered to introduce yourself to him, but from the moment they brought him into the room with the rest of you, he'd been looking around, a little twitchy and on-edge. You supposed that you couldn't really blame him. It was a strange position that you were all finding yourselves in. Then again, you had all chosen to sign up for it.

He turned and looked at you, eyes wide and worried at the same time. “Wh-what?”

You nodded in the direction of the doors on the opposite end of the room, not the ones that he had just walked through or anyone else either. One set brought you in, another set brought you out. You had yet to see anyone come back into the room after they left, and while there were plenty of things that that could mean, you wondered if it was the worst case scenario that had crossed your mind before. Judging by the look on his face, it wasn't going to take him long to think of that worst case scenario either.

“The doctors. Scientists. Whatever you wanna call them,” you gave up on titles with a shrug, “have been taking people in batches.”

His mouth dipped into a frown as he took in what you said. He looked around the room that the two of you were in, looked at all of the other people who were in there with you. No one looked very happy to be there even though, if their situations were anything like yours, they had signed off on being here. Not that you looked ecstatic either, so maybe you shouldn't judge. You were just tired. And uncomfortable. All these people stuffed into this room and they couldn't find better seating arrangements? At least the clothes they were forcing you all to wear were comfortable, even if they weren't exactly fashionable. Sure, they kind of made you feel like you were in an asylum of some kind, but they were baggy and soft so it could’ve been worse. The new guy looked like he was close to swimming in his.

He looked around long enough to realize that most people were sitting. There were limited chairs and tables, but you clearly hadn't let that deter you as you found a pocket of space on the floor to sit on. Not quite in the corner but you were far enough off to keep an eye on most of the people in the room with you. The entry door was also close by, and while you didn't have any plans or desire to make a break for it just yet, you figured that it might end up being your best bet if it came down to it. Staring down at you, he watched as you rested your head back against the wall behind you. Your legs were bent at the knee, and your arms were draped over the top of them. Whatever it was that he saw in your facial expression must've been just safe and inviting enough for him to decide to sit down next to you.

It wasn’t a graceful descent on his part, but he didn't fall on top of you. He was closer to you than maybe a stranger should've been in a place like this, but he didn’t seem like he even noticed. He crossed his legs, hands resting in his lap as he looked back and forth between you and the room around you. Something about the way he was sitting, the look on his face, he looked a little bit like a boy stuck in a man's body. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who should be signing up for sketchy medical trials that bring you to undisclosed places.

You would've been content to sit there in silence until it was your turn to get called, but apparently you were alone in that sentiment. “I'm Bob, by the way,” he said, sounding more sure of himself than he had the first time he spoke to you.

When you turned to look him in the eye, you found him already waiting and watching, an expectant look on his face that only added to the little aura of innocence around him. You figured one good turn deserved another if the two of you were going to be stuck together for now, so you gave him your name in return. He smiled at the sound of it, giving a tiny nod of acknowledgment.

“I think you're the first person I've talked to since I got here,” you told him.

He tilted his head, brows furrowing in thought. “When did you get here?”

Looking up at the ceiling, you thought about it for a moment. Being in this strange, mostly empty room that had no windows for natural light had already messed up your sense of time even though you hadn't been there that long yet. “Day before last.”

His eyes widened again. “And they still haven't taken you?”

You chuckled. “You should've seen how many people were in here. I think that's why they're doing…whatever they're doing, in batches.”

“How are they choosing people?” he asked, looking now at the small clusters of people who were still waiting. Some people were keeping to themselves, much like you had been before Bob showed up and decided to switch things up on you.

Letting your eyes close while your head was rested back, you shook your head. “No clue. I don't work here.”

He let out a quiet laugh at that. “Right. Sorry.”

Even though you weren't looking at him, choosing instead to stare at the backs of your eyelids, you could still feel the nervous energy that was radiating off him. If he kept this up, he was going to tire himself out before he even got to the hard part. If he couldn’t handle waiting, there was no way that he was going to be cut out for whatever was waiting on the other side of the exit doors. You didn’t have any words of comfort to offer him, mostly because you had no idea what the hell was really going on yourself. Something told you, though, that it wouldn’t take very long for him to pick up another topic of conversation. Wouldn’t take long for him to start asking more questions that you wouldn’t have any answers to.

As if he could hear your thoughts, he said, “Anyone say what exactly it is that they're doing?”

You didn’t open your eyes. “Nope.”

When he spoke up again, his voice was softer, almost like he was afraid for anyone to hear what he was saying. “I hope it works.”

That got you to crack one eye open so you could give him a bit of a sideways glance. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead his stare was fixed on the hem of his pants. He'd found a loose thread and was starting to pick at it.

“What'd they tell you?” you asked.

You wondered briefly if his eyes would ever end up getting stuck wide like that. “What?”

Turning your head to face him in earnest once more, you elaborated. “What'd they tell you they were doing? What'd they offer you to do this?”

His expression dampened, and suddenly it was like he couldn’t meet your eyes. His focus shifted back to the thread. He was shaking his head, and something told you the action wasn't directed at you, but rather at himself. “They said that they could make me great. They…they could make me better.” He found it in himself to look at you, and it was then that you could see how glassy his eyes had gotten. “I really wanna be better.” He sniffed, blinking a few times to beat his tears back into submission. Giving his head and shoulders a small shake, he tried to get himself sounding normal again as he asked, “Wh-what'd they tell you?”

“Something similar.” The point of your elbows dug into the tops of your knees as you dropped your head into your hands. Raking your fingers back along your scalp, you rested with your head down for a moment before looking at Bob again. “I'm not really looking to be great. I just,” you shrugged, “it can't get much worse for me so I figured why not?”

The genuine sadness on his face shocked you. All those feelings for someone who was a complete stranger to him. “Oh. I'm sor—”

You waved him off before he could finish the apology. “Don't be. Not like any of it was your fault. Besides, we both still ended up here regardless,” you made a brief gesture to the room, “so what the fuck does it really matter?”

There was a thoughtful frown on his face as he considered your words. “Right.” Quiet filled the space between you again. You could only try to venture a guess at what Bob was thinking about. Probably everything that led him here—that's what you'd spent most of your time thinking about, anyway. Wondering if this was the right choice or not, not that there were many other choices at your disposal anyway. No use in regretting it. You were here in your pajama uniform with Bob and dozens of other people whose names you hadn't bothered to try and learn. This was what you had now. There was nothing more to it than that.

Marvel Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added!): @garbinge @artemiseamoon @late-to-the-party-81 @blackhawkfanatic

[feinv]

asking könig to make you feel better during your period ;)

cw. subby könig if you squint. period stuff. fingering. könig is clueless and dumb. requested.

you’ve been really annoyed since the sun came up, every single thing getting on your nerves because of the period cramps that just wouldn’t go away.

and unfortunately, könig was a victim of your mood swings too.

the first time you snapped at him, he just stared at you with confused puppy eyes, not exactly understanding what he did wrong. but he didn’t give it much thought, and he wasn’t the kind to push it or make a big deal out of something, so he just forgot about it.

but with every passing hour, you grew more and more irritated, every smell and every noise making you want to go on a rampage.

when you told him to get up from the couch cuz he was taking up the space (there was plenty for you to lay down) and to shut up and overall talk less (he didn’t even say anything), he knew something was up.

he fucked up. but what did he even do, schatzi? :(

might not be the brightest in the room in regards emotional maturity, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how the fuck did he manage irritate you so much.

“i’m sorry- liebe, i-i don’t understand what i did but i’m sorry. but can we talk? i fucked up but i don’t kno-” he almost started stuttering when you interrupted him.

“könig, it’s fine. my period just started. you didn’t do anything,” you whined, needing to reassure him just so he can shut up and just do something.

you could see him visibly relax, sighing in relief as he realized he wasn’t the reason of your ruined mood, but he needed to do something, and internet was his best friend in situations like this.

he went through almost every webpage and miraculously managed to skip over the parts where they talk about pain-reliefing orgasms.

like a good and caring partner, he quickly got you your favorite snacks, sodas and even a hot tea, a warm blanket, a heatpad, and put on your favorite tv show.

it was nice, and you always appreciated everything he did for you, but those devilish cramps mixed with sexual frustration AND his cluelessness were just the final straw.

“is this okay, schatz? i can also get you a medication if you need and i hope this will make you feel better-”

“könig i want you to make me feel better,” you almost yell at him as he leans back a bit from where he was sitting next you on the edge of the couch, eyes a little wide in shock as he registered what you just asked him to do.

“oh- i didn’t know- is that allowed…? i mean i ca-”

“just get a towel,” you huffed and half-demanded.

with that he quickly shut up and practically ran to the bathroom to grab a towel big enough to be folded several times, and scooped you up and away towards the bedroom, because for the next hour at least, his only purpose was to satisfy you.

usually he would start off with slow, soft kisses and hickeys all over your body, worshipping your every inch, but knowing how pent up you already were, his fingers immediately started pulling off your underwear and getting to work.

his fore and middle fingers slowly slid in, careful not to hurt you too much, but when he saw you exhale and lay your head back in bliss, he curled his fingers inside, rubbing your inner walls as his thumb started drawing lazy circles on your bud, making you whine out loud.

from what he read earlier, your period not only made your pussy sensitive — hence the cramps — but it applied to your breasts too.

he pulled your shirt up, exposing your bare tits to him as his free hand started playing with your nipple, kneading the plush skin around. his mouth planted kisses along the other one before he started sucking on it, his toungue swirling around your sensitive nub, and up and down, sucking-playing-kneading again and again.

your moans alone were anough to turn his dick hard, his shorts becoming tight and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t about him, he had to take care of you first, and if you allowed or even begged him to use his aching cock too, only then he would comply.

but for now, he solely focused on how tight you were squeezing his fingers and how teary your eyes were from all the euphoria, your wet cheeks matching your saliva covered chest.

your choked moans mixed with sobs reached his ears as you gushed all over his fingers, your orgasm feeling more intense than usual.

with your attitude gone, you peppered his cheeks with kisses as he slowly removed his fingers while his other hand was massaging your hips and tummy.

he knew he was fucked up in the head when his first instinct — upon seeing your juices mixed with blood dripping down his digits — was to put them in his mouth and suck them clean, his dick twitching like a teenager.

but that’s a story for another time ;)

# könig masterlist | main m.list | join the taglist

[gatorbites-imagines]

request for sinners, Smoke x m!reader

reader is at the juke joint and is constantly being flirted with or hit on by women and Smoke becomes super jealous

can either be smut or just hurt/comfort

Elijah “Smoke” Moore x male reader 

Headcanons 

Was in a mood, so this probably got a bit more fluffy/cute than I had planned. Cuz what's better than a jealous guy who yearns. I wanna rewatch Sinners so badly, but they only showed it for two weekends in my city, can't wait for it to come out other places, hopefully. 

Imagine going to the Juke joint, not because you really like to party all that much, but because youve missed the Smokestack twins a lot.  

You three used to run together when you were kids, then teens, and then you all split when the war came. You went back to Mississippi, and the twins went off to do their own thing. 

It might also have a lot to do with the fact that it was Smoke that asked you to come. Had it been Stack, you might have had the ability to say no, but Smoke has this way of looking at you when he wants something that makes you crack. 

Smoke is a man of a few words, but his eyes tell so much when you know where to look. The way hed chewed the inside of his lip, hands twitching at his side, clearly wanting to busy himself with something. 

He was adorable, to you anyways. If you told anybody else that you found Elijah “Smoke” Moore adorable, you would probably be claimed a lunatic. 

But you knew him. Not as much as Stack did, you don't think anyone knows Smoke that well, but you gotta be second on that list. Or else Smoke wouldn't have snuck all those kisses and comforts during your lives. 

You being an attractive man, a single man, in the eyes of the world, means you are like meat thrown to lions. Lionesses?  

You have to be one of the better options around. A good man, respectful, never yells, doesn't drink too much, smoke too much, hell, you even appreciate a womans feedback as much as a mans. You are perfect. 

Smoke knows this too, which is why he's got eyes on you the entire night. His attention is as much on the business as they are on you, because he can smell sharks in the water everywhere you go. 

The two of you being men means that Smoke cant even go down there and tell them to fuck off, or threaten them with his gun for trying to sink their claws into whats his. 

At least he knows you aren't returning the advances, as you glance up at him every now and then and smile that cute little shy smile of yours, the one that always has his heart racing. 

Its when people start getting more inebriated, and women's advances become a lot bolder and obvious, that Smoke almost bites right through the cigarette he's had hanging between his teeth for the past while, unlit because hed been too busy watching you. 

If anybody else noticed how hard Smoke was staring at you, they would have to assume you screwed him over somehow, and that he's gonna get his money back. Only you, Smoke, and probably Stack, knows the real reason. 

When Smoke sees you getting uncomfortable with the bolder advances, he almost breaks the wood railing under his hands. He gives a throw of his head, a “come here” movement, that you use as an out. 

People assume you and Smoke are going to one of the back rooms so he can shake you down for money, or threaten you to pay him back, so you get some pitying looks along the way.  

Except for Stack, who wiggles his brows at you over everyone's heads. 

The moment you two are alone, Smoke is on you. At first you thought he was gonna jump your bones right then and there with how fiery his eyes were, but instead he just clings to you. 

Smoke buries his face into your neck, clinging to the back of your jacket, tense like a bowstring as he huffs and puffs, clearly trying to suppress whatever burning anger he's got going on. 

It's always a sight to see Smoke getting so angry that he's trembling, only time he gets like this is when Stack or you are hurt, or when you get flirted with, it seems. All that time apart must have made it harder to deal with his emotions. 

He doesn't need to speak to express what he's feeling, his loud shaky breathing and tight grip is explanation enough, so you hug him back just as tight and mutter loving words and promises. 

You two stay in there for a good while, with Smoke just not wanting to let go of you, because if he does, he knows hes gonna lose it. Its a miracle he hasn't caused problems yet. 

Having you kiss him and hold him does start making him less tense. Smoke is always tense, it comes with the lifestyle, but with you it's less bad.  

When he gets this jealous, Smoke kisses you like he's trying to suck the very soul out of your body. All your half-baked complaints never work, even when you mumble between the smack of lips that it'll expose your relation. 

Hes only satisfied when you have kissed him back just as hard, and you two have reaffirmed your love and relationship. That yes, you are his, but he is also yours. No, Smoke, their advances dont mean anything, and no Smoke, you cant hurt anybody. 

I feel like part of Smoke would become more at ease when you express wanting to kill people too when they look at him too long. Like, two very possessive wolves guarding their mates. 

Sadly, you two cant express these feelings in public, or stake claims on each other in visible ways. 

I do imagine you end up wearing something of his after your “closet meeting”, like a ring, or dog tags, unless you guys were already wearing each other's dog tags. 

Everyone assumes your lips are so red cuz Smoke punched you, or smth, well, except for Stack, who grins and offers to buy you a drink, clearly assuming a lot more happened than actually did.  

Smoke hovers close by for the rest of the evening too. Its assumed he's doing it as a threat for whatever he punched you for, but its cuz he's jealous and wants to be close to you. 

[revelboo]

Since were sharing, these are my cool cats Sake (Tie) and Precious (Bowtie). Would love to see some more rung totally not trying to bribe with my cute fur babies. (〃'▽'〃) Anyways love all your work! Thanks♪(･ω･)ﾉ

🤣 stylish little guys

Friendly heads up- I have a class for work all day this Tuesday and I’ll be driving 7 1/2 hours next Sunday and again the Sunday after, so I won’t be as active as normal those day

Anything For You Pt 6

Rung x Reader

• “Not happening so back off,” you snarl as his current patient, a bot you don’t know crooks a servo like he’s trying to coax you closer. How’d he talk you into this again? That’s right. He’d just picked you up and carried you to his office without asking or giving you a choice. Deciding for you that you were going to help him.

• Tiredly clearing his vents as Bluestreak frowns and sinks back in his chair, Rung taps his stylus on the datapad. Deciding that bringing you to a session was a mistake, but he’d thought it might do you some good to interact with others. And Bluestreak is preoccupied with you, door wings flicking, but he’s not letting his guard down, not talking. “The dreams,” he prompts and the younger bot grimaces.

• Wandering to the far side of the desk, you’re aware of the strange bot watching you. What had Rung said his name was? Blue-something. And the guy looks uncomfortable, attention dropping to his hands. “I don’t know. I forget when I come online,” he mumbles, door wings flicking and you zero in on the way he can’t look at Rung, can’t seem to be still. Recognizing a liar. ‘A detail, then? One thing that stayed with you,’ Rung prompts, removing his weird glasses and pretending to polish them, attention off the bot.

• Obviously wants to talk about it or he wouldn’t keep coming to sessions, but then something always stops him. Optics sliding to you, he’s surprised you’re focused on Bluestreak, your expression carefully blank. “Sirens,” Bluestreak mumbles, glancing at you and away. “I remember sirens.” Remembers more than that, but it’s like the young bot is afraid of dredging up those memories. Knows they still hurt. They must. He’d read the bot’s file and already knows, but he needs Bluestreak to talk. To start healing.

• “How did they make you feel? Anxious?” Rung asks, tone surprisingly gentle. Coaxing. And the new bot’s jaw is working, servos trembling faintly as he just stares at them. It’s not a dream he’s remembering. Whatever this is, it happened and he doesn’t want to relive it, but he seems to realize it’ll keep poisoning him if he doesn’t get it out. Swallowing a groan as you watch the bot’s face and wonder if they can cry, because the guy looks like he’s about to cave and start ugly bawling any second. Gritting your teeth, you walk over and sit by his hand. Waiting and not at all surprised when he runs a shaking servo down your spine, because apparently you are going to play therapy doggie. ‘Angry. Terrified,’ Bluestreak says, the words bursting out of him. ‘There wasn’t any warning.’

Previous

[ilguna]

☼ the connection web (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you didn't stand a chance, finnick knew that as soon as you were reaped for the 74th games. it was a punishment directed at him for disobeying. little did he know, that wasn't the only trick snow had up his sleeve.

warnings; swearing, death mention, weapon use, psychological torture (jabberjays), death by birds in description, mention of prostitution.

wc; 5.7k

notes; this was a very specific request. this is a little sister fic, please see the request -> HERE. before deciding to continue. ignore the tags, i did to make sure my fic gets out like usual.

--

Finnick numbly watches as his allies peer into the jungle, checking to see if they can tell what hour it is. They don’t dare to pass the treeline, bending in awkward positions to see past the trees that block their view. He doesn’t bother to join them, just keeps an eye on the beach to make sure the Careers don’t come back.

“Well, it must be monkey hour. And I don’t see any of them in there.” Peeta says, turning to look at Katniss. “I’m going to try to tap a tree.”

Finnick shakes his head, he can’t let Peeta go in. He’s already barely functioning after yesterday’s fiasco with the force field. The last thing he needs is a mutt to attack and for Peeta to step in and get himself killed.

“No, it’s my turn.” Finnick says. 

Besides, if Enobaria and Brutus are out here, it’ll be easier to fight them if he’s not worrying about Peeta. He may have teamed up with the Careers briefly last year, but he was never really an ally of theirs. He can’t fight Brutus and Enobaria the way Finnick can. Although, he will give some credit to Peeta, because he was building up his muscles in the months leading up to the Quell.

“I’ll at least watch your back.” Peeta offers.

“Katniss can do that.” Johanna says, sharing a look with Finnick. She gets it. “We need you to make another map. The other washed away.” She reaches up to pull a large leaf off a tree, handing it over to him.

He’d much rather take Katniss, anyway. She’s the one that figured out what the spile was and she’s an excellent hunter. If anyone or anything comes running at them, she’ll be the first to spot it. 

Katniss looks between Peeta and and Finnick for a moment, gauging the situation on her own. She must decide it’s nothing to worry about, because she ends up giving Peeta a shrug, then turns to Finnick. He leads her about fifteen yards into the jungle before he finds a good tree. Using the awl Mags owned, he starts stabbing at the bark, digging a hole. 

It’s uncomfortably quiet out here, usually there’s some sort of noise with the birds and the bugs. They must’ve been startled when Finnick started to drill into the tree. He glances at Katniss out of the corner of his eye, making sure she’s keeping watch, and she is. 

She’s staring off into the green, an arrow readied on her bow.

Finnick flicks out a large piece of bark, watching it disappear in the grass. He sticks his pinky into the hole, confirming it’s big enough to fit the spile, before looking back at her. “Katniss, got that spile?”

Katniss yanks the spile from her belt, vine still hanging on. He’s barely grabbing the metal tube when a scream cuts through the air. His hand freezes, Katniss’s head whips in the direction it came from. The spile slips from her fingers, Finnick barely catches it in his hand, and watches her take off like a bat out of hell.

“Katniss—!” Finnick reaches out to grab her, but she’s gone.

He struggles to get up to his feet, following after her trail. He watches for swinging branches and ferns, anything that might give away what direction she’s run off in. She’s faster than Finnick thought, but that might be because she doesn’t care. She’s ripping through vines and branches as if they don’t exist.

“Prim!” She cries. “Prim!” A scream pierces the air, one that belongs to her little sister. “Prim!”

Finnick’s lost Katniss now, he’s just following the sound of her voice at this point. He sucks in deep breaths of hot, humid air, ignoring the stinging in his muscles. He can’t blame Katniss for her reaction. He would run after his sister, too, if she were in the trees.

“Prim!” Katniss shouts again.

Finnick can see where she’s gone through a wall of green. He ducks through the hole she’s created and comes to a slow jog in the clearing she’s been brought to. Her head is tilted back to observe the tree above, there’s a piece of moss in her hand that she uses to clean an arrow.

“Katniss?” He asks, heaving breaths.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” She turns to him. “I thought I heard my sister but—”

A scream. Her scream cuts Katniss off. The blood washes from Finnick’s face, the same way it had when he heard her scream for the first time in the arena. His eyes widen, mouth opening. As if drawn by a magnet, his feet start to move without a thought behind it, going to her.

“Finnick, wait!” Is all Finnick hears before he’s gone.

She’s alive, Finnick thinks, as he barrels himself further into the jungle, my baby sister is here. 

It’s his turn to create an unmistakable path that Katniss would have to be blind in order to miss. He elbows vines and ducks under branches and trips over snarls of roots hidden in the grass. They barely slow him down, and even though he’s traveling uphill, he seems to gain momentum the further he goes.

“(Y/n)!” Finnick calls. “(Y/n), I’m coming!”

I’ll save you this time, Finnick will make sure of it. He’ll take her into his arms and get her far from here. It’s been so long since he last saw her. He might squeeze her to death before she even gets a word out.

“Finnick!” Her voice calls back.

He’s here, he’s made it. He stops by the giant tree, throwing his head back as he circles the trunk, trying to catch his breath, observing the places he could climb. He’s never had to scale a tree before, but he will if he has to. He’ll get her down. 

“(Y/n)!” He shouts. “(Y/n)!”

Katniss has finally caught up with him, looking over his state. There’s so many questions on her tongue that she wishes she could ask him, but she can’t. Not now. Not while he’s screaming her past ally’s name up the tree. Which she would climb if the limbs didn’t start about twenty feet up.

She chooses an adjacent tree to get up to the bird’s height, using her arrow to shoot it down. She slides back to the ground to join Finnick, who has the bird in his hand, staring down at it. There’s gears turning, lips turned downward. 

The Capitol has successfully tricked him into thinking they had his sister alive. They’ve taken her away from him a second time, and using a jabberjay might as well have been a shot to his heart. The Gamemakers knew what they were doing when they decided to plant this mutt here.

“It’s all right, Finnick. It’s just a jabberjay. They’re playing a trick on us.” She tells him. “It’s not real. It’s not your… (Y/n).”

“No, it’s not (Y/n).” He agrees. “But the voice was hers. Jabberjays mimic what they hear. Where did they get those screams, Katniss?”

He knows they must’ve recorded his sister’s final moments last year. He wonders if Katniss recognizes the screams. She was there, after all. She was helpless to the situation. His sister was always going to die, Coriolanus Snow waited until the final six to eliminate her.

Katniss pales. “Oh, Finnick, you don’t think they…”

“Yes. I do. That’s exactly what I think.”

Katniss slowly sinks to the ground, fingers gripping at the grass. Finnick stares at her, not knowing what to say. Another bird interrupts the silence, this time belonging to a man. Katniss jerks in response, eyes wild and ready to run again, but Finnick is able to grab her arm this time.

“No. It’s not him.” Finnick has a tough hand on her, dragging her downhill, back to the beach so they can escape this nightmare before it gets any worse. “We’re getting out of here!” Katniss is struggling against him. “It’s not him, Katniss! It’s a mutt!” Finnick shouts at her. “Come on!”

It takes her several moments to register what Finnick is telling her. When she gets it, she stops fighting, and the two of them lightly jog down the hill, which is easier to navigate. It isn’t long before they find Johanna and Peeta standing at the treeline, palms in their direction, mouthing words at them.

Katniss and Finnick run directly into the transparent wall, and they’re thrown back several feet. There’s a wetness that spreads across Finnick’s lips, fingers tentatively touching the sensitive area, finding blood on his skin. His nose is gushing blood from the impact. Katniss cradles a shoulder in her hand. 

Finnick watches as Beetee shakes his head on the other side, telling them there’s no way to escape out of the wedge during the next hour. Peeta and Johanna swing their weapons at the wall, but nothing makes a dent. Katniss places a hand on it and follows it several feet in both directions, and comes to the conclusion it’s going to be like that in every direction.

Finnick mops at the blood on his face with his undershirt, pinching the bridge of his nose in hopes it’ll stop the bleeding. Peeta and Katniss press their hands against the wall on each side, trying to stay connected. She can’t understand a word Peeta’s trying to tell her, though.

The moment of peace is interrupted when the screaming starts again. One by one, the birds begin to arrive, perching on trees and looking down at them. An orchestrated attack, made to drive them crazy. All it takes is a scream from Annie, his beloved girlfriend back home, before he’s hunching over on the ground, clamping his hands over his ears, using his entire force to block it out.

He hates Coriolanus Snow, possibly now more than ever. At this rate, the old fucker has it coming for him. He won’t even know what hit him when this arena’s blown to pieces. When he realizes his Head Gamemaker has been planning an attack against him since the day he was elected for the position.

Katniss Everdeen is going to save them—the thousands of children that could’ve been reaped for hundreds of years to come. Whether she likes it or not, she started something, she began to stir trouble when she volunteered for her sister. When she laid those flowers out for that girl from Eleven, Rue. When she put Finnick’s sister out of her misery.

He can never scrub the image of her gurgling her own blood, eyes wide and vacant as she stared into the sky. Her lips were moving, it could’ve been her reciting her favorite line from a tragic sea song that Finnick begged her to stop singing. Or it could’ve been her pleading for Finnick, for her older brother, to come and save her before it was too late.

He couldn’t save her. All he could do was watch in tears as the Gamemakers dragged on the seconds of her death, instructions from Coriolanus, himself. Katniss wouldn’t allow it to happen, though. One arrow through the murder of crows and his sister was gone, no longer suffering.

Finnick knew Coriolanus Snow was right when he said that Finnick would come to regret saying no to him. It was the Seventy-Third Hunger Games, and Finnick was just trying to get through the year, it’d already been rough leading up to his departure, and the Capitol hadn’t made it any easier. 

At the fifth late night visit denial, Finnick had been called into Coriolanus’s mansion, like he’d done many times before. Coriolanus wanted to know why Finnick was being so combative, and he got his answer. Finnick was tired of being a prostitute for the Capitol, he had other things to worry about.

His sister was getting older, she’d just recently become eligible for the Games. He wanted to be in a better mental state to take care of her. Annie was having relapses in her progress, and it’d be easier to convince her that he loves her if she didn’t see the bruises on his body when he came home every year.

He wanted to be done, permanently. And it would start that year.

Coriolanus made a face at him, lips turning upward in a knowing smile. “You will regret saying no to me, Mister Odair. You may go.”

After the meeting, Finnick was terrified of what would happen to his sister. The first time he said no to the president, he’d slaughtered his parents. The only reason why he spared his younger sister was so that he’d be able to use her as leverage in the future, if needed.

When he came home that year, he was sure she’d be dead when he entered the home, but she was fine. Still the same ray of sunshine she’d always been, and she couldn’t understand why Finnick held her so tight that night. He didn’t want to scare her into thinking something would come, because there was no telling when it’d happen.

The next year went as it normally did. There were no freak accidents that came close to stealing her from him. She went to school with her friends as she always did, she fished on a boat with him, she baked sweets with Mags, she made flower crowns with Annie in the village.

Finnick thought he was in the clear. In fact, he forgot all about the threat, until the morning of the Seventy-Fourth reaping. Finnick had a hushed conversation with Mags, telling her how worried he was for his sister. She was fourteen now. The same age he’d been when he was reaped. Who’s to say she won’t suffer the same fate?

Mags must have genuinely believed nothing would happen to (Y/n), because she told him that if Snow wanted to punish Finnick, he would have done it already. It’d been almost a year to the day when he said no. There’s a chance Snow had moved on to more important problems. He punishes with a quick hand.

Well, that wasn’t the case when it came to (Y/n). 

Finnick had a front row viewing of the reaping, as it was tradition for the victors to sit on the stage where it took place. He watched as the escort pulled the girls name from the bowl, adjusted herself in front of the microphone, and paused for a couple seconds, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

She then cleared her throat, trying to regain the confidence she’d lost, “The female tribute for the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games is (Y/n) Odair.”

The crowd went silent, no one moved, they didn’t want to give away his sister. Maybe she’d be able to blend into the crowd if she stayed still enough, but Mags had bought her this beautiful blue dress that could only be bought by the wealthy. She was picked out of the fourteen section in seconds, the Peacekeepers coming down on her.

Finnick’s hands gripped the bottom of his seat, leaning forward to look at Mags, shaking his head. This was his worst nightmare come true. The last thing he wanted was for his baby sister to suffer the same fate he did in the arena, much less the Capitol.

She made her way up to the stage gracefully, minding the manners she’d perfected, thanks to Mags. She stood by the escort, back to Finnick, staring off at her peers. Finnick crossed his fingers, hoping, praying, someone would come to her rescue. Fourteen is too young to have your innocence stolen.

The boy that was reaped was some seventeen year-old, he didn’t hear his name. He was too focused on the escort, begging her to ask for volunteers, to continue with the customs. And she did, you could hear the wind whistling from how quiet it was. No one dared to speak.

At that moment, she’d turned to look at Finnick, lips parted, absolutely terrified, tears welling up in her eyes. It took everything in him not to get to his feet and demand a volunteer. To remind the district the tragedy of his parents just years after he’d won his own Games.

They would let them take his sister too?

The mayor completed the speech, he watched his sister shake hands with the boy that would go to the Capitol with her, and then they were whisked away into the Justice Building. Finnick jumped at the escort, hands on her arms, shaking her, asking her what she knew, if it was rigged.

He had to be pulled away by Peacekeepers, sent to the nearest car to be brought to the train. He wouldn’t be allowed to see her, and neither would Mags since they were her mentors. He’s sure Annie would’ve tried to stop by, if (Y/n)’s name being drawn hadn’t sent her into a meltdown. 

Finnick knew he was in trouble when she got to the train. How red and puffy her eyes already were from crying in the Justice Building. He hugged her, held her, consoled her as long as he could. This punishment would be the death of him, and possibly her, too. 

He tried to keep her close, savoring every last moment he had with her. He knew the interview would creep up on him before he knew it, and that would be his final night with her. They’d watched a recap of the reaping together, where Finnick’s heart sank further and further with every tribute that came on screen.

The Career pack would be impossible for her to take on by herself. But there was a young girl from Eleven—Rue—that had been reaped, and he had a small shimmer of hope she’d be able to make friends out of her. He couldn’t make sense of the volunteer from Twelve, if that would make any difference in the Games at all. 

It would.

The week in the Capitol was hell. Finnick did all he could to encourage his sister to seize every opportunity. He tried to remind her the Games are hers if she can manage it. He’s never seen by Snow again, but he knew it was a matter of time before they came face to face again.

(Y/n) did her best telling Finnick what she observed in the Training Center and what it could mean for her future. Rue didn’t really seem interested in her at the beginning, still they were able to make friends out of each other by the end. His sister scored a solid seven, which was better than what Finnick thought she could get. It was only because of the rigorous amount of training he’s put her through these past couple of years that allowed her to score so high. 

Finnick hated every moment of the interview process. From arguing with her stylist about what was appropriate for her age to sending her off to talk to Caesar. She was so polite, though. She held her hands in her lap, she gave Caesar this dazzling smile that reflected Finnick’s. She answered every question with an edge to keep them guessing.

“You really are Finnick Odair’s sister, aren’t you?” Caesar had remarked at one point.

“I am not him and he is not me.” She answered, which is something Finnick surely would’ve said if the roles were reversed.

In their final hour together, Finnick tucked her into bed. He reminded her she was loved and she was a fighter when she wanted to be. She had training, she knew what to do in tough situations, all she had to do was remember. Remember what she’d been taught. Remember it’s first nature.

When he returned to the living room, Coriolanus Snow was there, a classic teacup in his hand. “I warned you that you’d regret your choices.”

“I’m not going back on anything.” Finnick dug his heels in. He was already in deep, what else could the president do? “She’s already reaped, there’s nothing worse that can happen.”

“Are you sure about that?” Snow challenged.

The start of the Games were smooth. She ran from the Cornucopia, stopped about a mile away and scaled a tree. She waited until the bloodbath cannons had sounded, gave it another hour, and then went back to gather any supplies she wanted. The Careers had cleared out by then, beginning their hunt.

It wasn’t long before (Y/n) came across a pond, and since it was a perfect place to set up base, she did. She stayed for several days, drinking water, eating the food in her backpack, scoping the pond out for any fish that may be inside. It was a perfect situation for her. If she could find a steady source of food, she could hide out the Games like many other victors had. 

One of the days, while she’d been sitting out by the pond, observing the water patterns, the volunteer from District Twelve had stumbled in. His sister froze, afraid to move, as she watched the girl collapse face first into the mud, unmoving. (Y/n)’s eyes darted around, slowly raising herself from the ground to go back into hiding, not sure if the girl was dead or not. Or if she had someone with her.

Twelve’s fingers had dipped into the mud, swirling. His sister made the decision to flee while she could, until the other tribute brought themselves up, crawling through the mud, stopping just at the water's edge. His sister had enough sense not to move, waiting for the girl to get distracted before she did.

She held onto that spear like her life depended on it, knuckles turning pale. She must’ve moved just enough to set off the girl from Twelve, because her eyes landed on his sister, who’d been caught in the middle of trying to back away. They stared at each other, trying to decide if a fight was worth it or not. 

Maybe his sister could get away and hide, after all, the girl from Twelve was clearly exhausted. But (Y/n) didn’t want to run, Finnick knew that. She was hungry, she hadn’t had a real meal since she left the Capitol, and she’d never had to go more than a few hours without eating. The hunger was getting to her. And the girl from Twelve had a belt full of rabbits.

“I’ll trade you water for the rabbit.” She said to the girl.

Twelve’s eyes narrowed, looking his sister over. He knew exactly what was going through her head. Why would she trade for water when it’s right in front of her? It wasn’t until his sister had readjusted the spear in her hand, did the girl from twelve realize she didn’t have a lot of choices.

“Sure.” She’d agreed.

In an instant, his sister dropped her bag to the ground, pulling out a plastic bottle full of water. “It’s clean.” She told the girl. “Help yourself.”

She tossed the water over to the girl from Twelve, watching her slowly take it in. She scored an Eleven. (Y/n) must’ve been full of curiosity on how she was able to do that. After all, Finnick was always saying the Twelve tributes are notorious for scoring low.

(Y/n) made her way over to the girl, taking her empty plastic bottle and filling it with pond water, purifying it, and setting it aside. That way, if her new friend was still thirsty, she’d be able to grab and drink the next one. However, she must’ve been satisfied with the first gallon, sitting back, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

“I’m (Y/n).” She told her, hold her hands out for her bottle back.

“Katniss.” Katniss said, passing over the empty container. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. My brother’s always telling me I need to take chances in order to advance.” She looked at the rabbit, bottom lip sucked in her mouth.

“Oh, right.” Katniss said, digging through her back. She unfolded a square of plastic to reveal cooked meat, ready to go. She picked a piece off, popping it in her mouth, showing his sister that it was safe to eat. “Here, take all of it. I can cook more later.”

“Thank you.” His sister murmured.

She took her time pulling apart the meat, one bite every minute, trying to savor the taste. When she was done, she packed up her water and her gear into the backpack, and got to her feet.

“Where are you going?” Katniss asked.

“To find somewhere to stay for the night. It was nice meeting you.”

“You could stay with me.” Katniss offered, shaking her head. “You don’t have to be out there alone.”

“I’ll be okay.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll see you later.”

She left, traveling several miles away to put some distance between her and Katniss, possibly afraid she wasn’t as friendly as she seemed. His sister found another bush to crawl under, using the backpack as a pillow, not entirely interested in the Fallen when it played.

She was woken in the middle of the night by the wall of fire, an event started by the Gamemakers to push the tributes together. She was fast, gathering her belongings and taking off. While she was never touched by the fire, the smoke infiltrated her lungs, coating her throat.

By the time she made it to the lake, she was barely hanging on. She took several gulps of her water, trying to get rid of the thick feeling. After, she dove into the lake, heading for a cave she spotted. It wasn’t long after when Katniss showed up, too. She didn’t see his sister, though, she was more focused on the burn on her leg.

(Y/n) spent too long deliberating whether or not she should reveal herself. By the time she started to move, the Careers came and they had their eyes on Katniss. So, she kept quiet, let them chase her off. When she knew the coast was clear, she waded out of the water, going right back into the woods.

She was in the trees for maybe a half hour before she ran across the little girl from Eleven, Rue. They didn’t seem threatened by each other. In fact, they stopped to have a conversation about Katniss. Where she was, where she might’ve gone. Rue told (Y/n) that she was going to scope out the local area to see if she could find Katniss.

His sister let Rue go, while she found a cozy place to stay to wait. About a hour later, Rue came back, told his sister there was a tracker jacker nest above Katniss and that she’d stay with her until the situation clears. Rue told (Y/n) that it’ll probably end with the nest being dropped, so his sister should probably find another place to stay.

They went their different ways, and a couple days later, they managed to find each other again. Katniss had just come out of her hallucination when they stumbled across paths. The three of them agreed to a temporary alliance, since the count was beginning to get low.

Rue healed Katniss’s stings, his sister shared the fish she’d caught, Katniss offered the balm to help the burns from the fire. It turned out to be helpful, there was a benefit for all three of them.

It started going downhill when Katniss decided she wanted to blow up the Career’s pile of food. Rue told her what it looked like, Katniss drew up a plan, his sister agreed to aid. They agreed to rendezvous after it was done, and they split up again. 

The fires Rue lit drew the Careers away from their stockpile. (Y/n) watched the woods to make sure they didn’t return too quickly. Katniss shot at a bag of apples that triggered the sensitive explosives. Katniss was able to find his sister first, and together they went to go find Rue, but it was too late.

Rue died, and Katniss made sure she was seen as a child in her final moments. She looked peaceful lying beneath the willow, the flowers tucked in her hair, the bouquet between her fingers. 

In less than three hours, his sister would have the same fate. 

Katniss had split from her briefly, going to hunt for more food to support the two of them. It was clear Katniss was struggling with the death of their young ally, so (Y/n) let her go. Katniss didn’t make it very far before she heard the screams, of bloody murder, of pure agony.

He remembers what it was like standing in the Betting Room, surrounded by sponsors that had been buying him for years, up until his recent refusal to continue. The way his name, clear as day, pierced the air as (Y/n) cried for him to save her. As the birds took chunks of skin from her body, throwing their heads back to swallow before going in again.

By the time Katniss came back to base, a bird had already nosedived at his sister’s throat, taking away any chance of her living through the attack. Her skin turned red from the blood, lips coated in the thick stuff as she mouthed something. Maybe that song he was saying earlier, maybe telling Finnick it wasn’t his fault, maybe begging Katniss to get it over with.

Katniss ended her suffering. All it took was one arrow. 

“Finnick?” A muffled voice says. “Finnick!”

A hand on his body makes him swing, slapping them off. He jerks in their direction, expecting to see Katniss, but Johanna’s standing there, axe in her hand. There’s a solemn look on her face, lips pressed together. She knows what he heard. 

He gets to his feet, muscles sore from being tense for so long. The two of them walk back out to the beach, where Peeta, Katniss and Beetee are sitting together. Finnick picks a place to sit in the sand, staring off at the water, his mind full of Annie and (Y/n).

“Katniss, Prim isn’t dead. How could they kill Prim? We’re almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?” Peeta asks Katniss.

“Seven more of us die.” Katniss deadpans.

“No, back home. What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?” He asks her, lifting her chin. “What happens? At the final eight?”

She pauses for a moment. “At the final eight? They interview your family and friends back home.”

“That’s right.” Peeta nods. “They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they’ve killed them all?”

“No?”

“No. That's how we know Prim’s alive. She’ll be the first one they interview, won’t she?” He asks her. “First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge.” He continues. “It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We’re the ones in the Games. Not them.”

“You really believe that?” She asks him.

“I really do.” Peeta says.

“Do you believe it, Finnick?” Katniss turns to look at him.

He’s staring at Peeta, weighing the possibilities. He could be right, (Y/n) is dead, she’s been dead for over a year now. But then they switched to Annie, who’s still alive back home.

“It could be true. I don’t know.” He says. “Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone’s regular voice and make it…”

“Oh, yes. It’s not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school.” Beetee says.

“Of course Peeta’s right. The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on their hands.” Johanna tilts her head down at Katniss. “Don’t want that, do they?” She throws her head back to shout, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

She looks back down at Katniss and Finnick, rolling her eyes. “I’m getting water.”

Katniss grabs at her. “Don’t go in there. The birds—”

“They can’t hurt me. I’m not like the rest of you. There’s no one left I love.” Johanna says, freeing her hand. She returns a minute later with a shell of water, which she offers to Katniss. 

The group splits up after this, with Johanna going to collect arrows, Beetee messing with his wire, and Finnick drags his feet out to the water. Katniss doesn’t move from Peeta’s arms for a long time, but when she does, she heads straight for Finnick. 

“Finnick.” She murmurs, he turns to look at her, eyes tired. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” He says, but doesn’t fully move to face her. 

She wades into the water, going to stand beside him, back facing the beach. She watches the rocky waves, hovering her hand just above the surface. “You called for (Y/n).” Katniss says, looking at him. “How do you know her?”

Finnick was afraid this moment would come. He knew Katniss hadn’t put two and two together yet, because she likely would’ve brought it up a while ago. Possibly during the Tribute Parade when he approached her privately. She must not have paid attention to the last name when it was announced, or listened when Caesar called her his sister.

“(Y/n), the (Y/n) during your Games last year. She’s my sister.” Finnick tells her, watching the color drain from Katniss’s face. Her mouth opens, and then snaps shut, eyes falling to the water in front of her. “It’s okay you didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry.” Katniss says. “I never would have left her—either of them—if I knew what was coming.”

“She was always going to die.” Finnick tells her, shaking his head. “There was nothing you could do to stop it.” He nudges her, making her at him. “You made it so she wouldn’t suffer. Thank you.”

Katniss shrugs. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Mags and I, we were doing this all for her.” 

Katniss’s face twists. “I don’t understand.”

“You will.” Finnick tells her, because by midnight, it’ll all be clear. “Thank you for being her ally while you could.”

[angstingantlers]

For me it's about the unflinching look at the most uncomfortable and tragic experiences that can happen to a person and what comes after.

The human condition is beautiful and complex, and trauma and pain and illness and survival are just as important as any other element of it. Whump is a stark and brutal exploration of that whilst also being more honestly hopeful than any other subgenre I've seen. It doesn't see the world as an ideal place where things just work out even in the most dire circumstances. Characters often don't come out of the story the same as they went in. But much of the time, they do make it through. They endure. They survive. And many do get to the other side, and they have an After -- a Future -- despite everything they had to fight through to get there. It's not easy and the pain might never go way, but they're here. They survived and now they can start to live again.

So many people see things like this, in fiction AND real life, and they turn away and hide it as far back in the shadows as they can. At the very least they sanitise it and simplify it to make themselves more comfortable and pretend people just get over the pain they endure and go back to 'normal' again. But pretending wounds never scar, both physical and mental, makes me frustrated -- honestly, sometimes straight-up mad. So I appreciate whump for showing the darkest corners of life, of pain and anguish, without shying away from it. Whump embraces and honor the violence and the gross and the complicated, and who treat imperfect people as just that: people. Sometimes they improve, sometimes they don't, but they're still people and they're still given the same empathy and care.

There are other aspects as well that further enhance my enjoyment of whump -- horror is one of my Main 3 Special Interests, I have a fascination with injuries and blood and gore and such, I'm a Crim & Forensic Psychology graduate and the psychology of people who harm and people who are harmed and the effects of trauma and loss and such in those contexts is extremely compelling to me -- but first and foremost, I like whump for saying the quiet parts out loud. Shit hurts. Things change people. Sometimes you can't change them back. But just because they're different, doesn't mean they're wrong -- and doesn't mean they can't forge a new way forward.

Reblog/reply with your reason! I'd be super interested to see what others do it for!

[simp4jungwonn]

Enhypen’s reaction to you wearing something revealing

Genre:fluff,possessive trope

Pairing: enhypen members x fem reader

Warning: smut,jealousy

Heeseung: Lowkey possessive but not in a jealous overbearing way. Heeseung would raise an eyebrow and give a small smirk when he first sees you. He’d let you know you look good, really good but then he’d gently tease you like, “Are you trying to get me in trouble?” He won’t stop you, but he might hang a little closer to you and touchy in public, protective but never controlling. Later, though, he’d whisper something flirty in your ear just to remind you who you belong to.

Jay: Blunt and confident Jay would straight-up say, “You’re not cold?” or “That’s… a lot of skin,” with a completely unreadable expression. But deep down he’s dying because you look amazing. He’ll pretend he doesn’t care, but he’ll be watching you like a hawk. Expect him to throw his jacket over your shoulders casually. If you ask, he’ll say, “Just in case. Not because I’m jealous.” He totally is.

Jake: he’d be Supportive with a tiny bit of jealousy. Jake would be speechless at first. He’d be all heart-eyes and probably say something like, “Wow, you look… stunning.” He’s proud of you and wants you to feel confident, but if too many people are staring, he might pull you closer or wrap an arm around your waist. He won’t say anything directly, but his jealousy will start to kick in.

Sunghoon: Sunghoon might act unbothered at first, but his eyes would linger on you a little longer than usual. He wouldn’t say much,but he’d walk up behind you and grab your waist, he knows what he’s doing. He starts to get touchy and at this rate you can just forget about going anywhere because he’s about to fuck you senseless for even thinking about going out like that. “You thought I was gonna let you go like that, no now you’re not going anywhere and you’re going be a good girl and take everything I give you”

Sunoo: he would be Possessive but also very sassy with it because cmon now it’s Sunoo, duh. “Oh, so we’re doing that today?” he’d say with a raised brow and a teasing smirk. Sunoo would gas you up but also throw in some shade if too many people look your way. “Do you want a whole fashion show or just attention from me?” And “I don’t know why you think you could dress better than me” he says with a huge side eye. Expect dramatic sighs and maybe even a selfie session to make sure everyone knows you’re his. Underneath the sass, though, he’s really proud of you.

Jungwon: jungwon is very Mature for his age but he gets shy when he's flustered. Jungwon would probably blink a few times and look away fast. "You look beautiful," he'd mumble with pink cheeks. He trusts you and won't say anything to make you feel self-conscious, but he'll definitely be hovering nearby, keeping an eye on things. If he feels uncomfortable, he'll talk to you about it calmly and honestly, never with judgment.

Niki: niki is bold and a little possessive, but tries to act nonchalant. Ni-ki would do a double take and be like, "That's what you're wearing?" with a half-smile. He'd try to act chill, but deep down he's a little jealous. He wouldn't stop you, though. Instead, he'd make sure everyone knows you're his, whether that's through holding your hand, keeping his arm around you, or shooting death glares at anyone who stares too long. He'll never admit that he's jealous but you can tell by the way he's looking at everyone man that looks at you

[drshock3r]

Yan! Barista x Reader

18+ audiences only, warnings for smut, gore, and heavily triggering subjects. Please do not contact me or interact with me if you are a minor! It makes me very uncomfortable and can harm you in the long run if you interact with mature content at such a young age.

It had been one of those long, dragging afternoons, the kind where the café lights felt too warm and the music looped on repeat until it stuck in your brain. The smell of burnt espresso and caramel syrup hung thick in the air, and the hiss of the espresso machine broke the silence in bursts—loud and sharp. He stood behind the counter, his apron wrinkled, the shirt clinging to his back in damp places where sweat had soaked through. His hair was a mess, strands falling from the loose bun he must have tried to tame that morning. The name tag on his chest was flipped backward, unreadable, but he didn’t seem to care. He didn’t even seem to notice the way his fingers moved automatically over the counter, cleaning the same spot over and over again. His eyes were tired, unfocused, as if he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in ages. Then you walked in. You were a little winded, the kind of tired only a day full of dull errands could bring. But when you stepped through that door, it was like the world shifted for a second. His hand slowed. His lips stopped moving mid-hum, and a small, barely noticeable smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Hey," he said, voice just a little too smooth, "look who decided to show up." You shrugged off your jacket, the weight of your bag pulling on your shoulder as you stepped closer to the counter. "You always this dramatic, or is today special?" - "It’s special because you’re here," he said, his grin crooked, more genuine now, "And because I’ve had to explain 'unicorn syrup' is just vanilla with blue food coloring about a dozen times." You snorted, the laughter easy. "You’re still doing that fake story about it coming from some fantasy unicorn farm?" - "Of course," he said, leaning in closer, his breath faintly tinged with coffee. "They love it. You should hear the questions. One lady asked if it was dairy-free because unicorns are mammals. I told her it depends on the breed." You laughed again, settling into your usual spot at the far corner near the outlet with the temperamental plug. Without asking, he turned, started your drink, pulling out your favorite mug—the one with the chipped rim you always said gave it character.

"So where’ve you been?" he asked, his voice soft, drifting over the hiss of the steam. "You usually come in a few times a day." "Work’s been hell," you replied, plugging your phone in. "And I was out of town for a bit. Family stuff." He nodded, his eyes narrowing for a moment, but he didn’t press. He never did. He slid the drink across the counter, his fingers brushed yours, just for a second longer than usual. Not too long to give any sort of discomfort between the two of you, but enough to make your pulse stutter. He didn’t pull away as quickly as you'd expect. "Let me know if they finally fix that plug," he said, nodding toward the outlet. "Still sparks." - "You think I might catch fire one day?" you teased. "Only if I’m the one roasting," he said, a sly smile twisting his lips. He turned away then, but there was a moment—just a brief moment—where his shoulders tensed. The muscles in his back pulled tight, as if he was holding something back. Then it was gone, just like that.

You settled into your chair, doom-scrolling through your phone, but you couldn’t stop glancing up at him. He was busy with the usual crowd—joking with a kid, sliding a coffee into a regular’s hands. There was something about the way his eyes would flick back to you. When the rush slowed down, he slid into the seat across from you, uninvited, but not unwelcome. You didn’t stop him. This wasn’t the first time. "Can I ask you something weird?" he said, his voice low, but steady, like he was trying to gauge how far he could go with you. You raised an eyebrow, setting your phone down. "Do I get to say no?" - "You do," he said, folding his arms, his fingers curling over the fabric of his sleeves. You just stared at him for a beat, watching the way his eyes tracked your movements, the way his fingers flexed and relaxed on the table. "When people come in here, they usually have this..wall," he said, his voice quieter now. "Like they’re just here for the caffeine and WiFi. But you.." He hesitated. "You always talk to me like we’re friends."

"Aren’t we?" you asked, your voice sharper than you meant it to be. "No, I like that we are," he said quockly, leaning forward just a little. "That’s not what I mean. It’s just..makes the job easier. When you walk in, it feels like the day actually has something to it." You didn’t know how to respond, so you just took a sip, the cup warm in your hands. He didn’t look at you, but you could feel the weight of his attention. Finally, you broke the silence. "I think about that too," you said, your voice quieter now. "That we talk more than most people. I noticed." "Yeah?" he asked, his voice just a bit more hushed. "Yeah," you said, glancing up to meet his eyes. "You’re..easy to talk to. And not in that fake customer service way." He smiled then, "Thanks," he said, "Means more than it should."

You hesitated, unsure whether to say it, but then you did. "Actually, I’ve been seeing someone. Just recently. Kind of new." The air between you shifted, just slightly. His eyes tightened, the briefest flicker of something darker shadowing his gaze. It was quick, so quick you might’ve missed it. His mouth tightened, but he didn’t say anything. "S'that so?" His voice was lower now, a little quieter, more distant. "Yeah. He’s nice. Sweet, actually," you said, unsure why the words felt hollow. "Well," he said, his eyes lowering to his hands, "that’s good. You deserve someone nice." You left a little later than usual, the conversation weighing heavier on your chest than it should have. As you walked out, he waved, but the smile he gave you didn’t feel quite the same.

Later that night, after locking up the café, he stood by the front window, watching the street. When he turned and walked to the back, he quickly pulled his hoodie on and gloves over his hands. He knew where you lived. Had known for a while. Heard you mention the corner shop, the view from your window. He didn’t invite himself in, he was no rookie at this. He knew that approach would lose you. Just stood across the street, behind a tree, watching you through the dim light of your apartment window. He saw you moving around inside—sipping a drink, laughing softly. Comfortable. Relaxed. His hand clenched in his coat pocket. He watched you until the light turned off, until the curtains shifted closed.

Until he was sure you were alone.

[hakxs]

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ⎯‎⎯‎ㅤ ㅤ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ HIGHER ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ TIMES.͏ ㅤ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ \

ཻ ﹑ ♥︎ ⌉ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ 2 instances where nat let her guard down around you, in the form of a cigarette and a few lingering touches.

ཻ ﹑ 📝 ⌉ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏dusted off this draft in my notes and got to work :—) as always, mistakes might be here cause I didn’t double check the writing ( whoops! )

you and nat always had this weird tension towards eachother, it was hard to name. not sure if it was easier to ignore it or let the feeling die.

it all started when you took a drag of her cigarette at one of lotties celebration parties after the yellowjackets won a game.

a few minutes ago, nat had spotted you inside in the kitchen. you looked a little uncomfortable because you were just sulking in the corner without a cup watching a bunch of people drink. so, nat grabbed you by the arm and dragged you out here without saying much of anything.

you had been sitting there with her on the poach stairs for a minute and the situation was awkward. not sure if you wanted to thank her for saving your ass, or, if you wanted to go back inside to get away from this situation.

she suddenly shuffled beside you. and pulled a cigarette from the pack tucked into her jacket and lit it with ease. you must’ve been staring at her too hard because she raised an eyebrow and held it out to you. “ do you wanna try? “

nodding, nat gives you the cigarette. watching you take your first blow. it obviously wasn’t perfect, she giggled at how you inhaled the smoke and choked on it, coughing up a storm.

“ don’t inhale it, idiot. breathe out. “ she snaps, her thumb brushing against your bottom lip in a quick motion as she snatches the cigarette from your mouth and wears a big grin, “ watch after me. “ nat says as she takes a puff, blowing it off to the side and handing it back to you.

if you weren’t already embarrassed, you definitely are now. but you swallow your pride, holding the cigarette in your hand.“ alright, watch this. “ you say, determined to not choke on your own smoke.

once you got the hang of it you two were sharing the cigarette and tossing it back and forth to eachother — smiling ear to ear as you both talk about nothing and everything, you and nat were already close because you shared classes together and played on the same team, so the both of you were just catching up. after awhile the topic eventually lands on the current and how you both felt about the party.

“ i dunno. ” you said, exhaling a trail of smoke, “ I don’t exactly love these parties. they’re always loud, full of weird people, sweaty .. kind of... exhausting? too? “ your voice cracks, nose scrunching a little.

for a moment, your focus shifts. the music thumps in the background, too loud. you think. but your little bubble that consists of just you and nat on the steps was just right. nat’s coughing cuts through your thoughts and brings you back to the moment.

“ okay so, “ nat fiddles with the cigarette inbetween her pointer and middle finger, “ you seriously came to a party you didn’t want to go to in the first place? ” she asks, wheezing a little as she begins to laugh at you.

you grin, leaning back as you examine her face. “ I didn’t want to be mean to lottie and turn the invitation down, I know parties mean the world to her after big games. “ you pause, “ even laura lee comes to them sometimes! I’d feel like a loser if I didn’t go. “

“ right, like you aren’t already one. ” nat hands the cigarette back to you after she rolls her eyes, making you smile alot harder than you were — nat’s fingers brush against yours a little longer than necessary. or maybe you imagined it? hard to tell with the way your thoughts are starting to drift.

unfortunately, your thoughts were cut short when the front door behind you suddenly flew open, the loud creak making you flinch.

“ hey, nat! we’re playing beer pong inside, get in on this. “ some guy shouts from the doorway. nat looked over at you, getting up from her position as the guy wanders back inside, leaving the door open.

she looks down at you now, leaning on the railing of the stairs. “ come with me? I promise I’ll be with you the whole time. “ nat starts, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “ it’ll be a bunch of fun, even if you just watch. “ muttering out, nat gives you a reassuring smile.

you could hear the faint sound of music drifting out from the house, rolling your eyes at how enthusiastic everyone inside was, but the way she looked at you made it harder to say no.

“ no, yeah– I’ll go with you! “ you speak up, cutting off her nervous rambling, you flick the cigarette off to the side and nat reached out a hand to help you up from the stairs and you took it. her grip on you was stronger than you expected as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders and the two of you headed inside.

after this night, nat was alot more talkative towards you — definitely not full conversations, but brief greetings if she saw you around school.

the second time you talked to her, this building feeling felt unbearable .

you were at practice this time, it felt like it was going on forever. however, much to your relief coach ben called a quick intermission to talk through a few future game plans with jackie, the team was free for a moment.

you wondered off and looked for nat like it was second instinct, spotting her across the field, you walked towards her.

she was sitting on the ground by herself, absentmindedly picking at the grass around her as you squat down next to her and sat down, she was sitting with her legs extended out.

abruptly, nat breaks through the silence; “ you ever think about quitting? “ nat asked, you couldn’t tell if she was serious or completely honest.

“ hummmm.. “ you start, dragging your humming out for a second, “ quitting the team? “

there was a quiet moment that passed by, she only looked up at the sky before she spoke up again. “ partially. “ she finally said after a long pause, “ quitting the team, leaving wiskayok, do you ever think there’s something better we could be doing right now? “

you glanced over at her, watching the way the sunlight lingered on her face, perfectly hitting the curve of her jaw. “ uh, sometimes I think about leaving the state, does that count? “ you admitted. “ but then I’d miss this. ”

you definitely didn’t mean to admit that to her, but nat immediately caught on and turned her head to the side to look at you, like, really look at you. “ .. this? “ nat questioned.

“ yeah,” you said, pausing to think about how you could save yourself. “ i like practice. seeing everyone happy, playing around, it’s nice. “

she gave a lazy nod, not responding for a moment. the silence wasn’t uncomfortable at all; it just felt heavy in a weird way. nat started to fidget with the grass again, looking down at the ground.

“ you remember that party? ” she asked after a while, not looking at you, moving her legs to hug them. laying her head on her knees.

“ lotties last party? ” you ask, laced with confusion. how could you forget it? you went home that night and thought about her the whole time, you've been thinking about her smoking with you again in the back of your mind during your classes every so often.

“ mmh. “ she hums in response.

you smiled. “ it was hard to forget. you made my night uhh.. “ you trail off, “ bearable. “ settling on that, your sentence sounding unfinished. you really wanted to say she made your entire night and leave it at that, but you fought the urge.

“ okay well.. you looked so sad just standing inside in the corner! I had to save you. ” nat explained, then she spoke up once again. “ it was fun. being out there with you.” she whispered, the mood suddenly changing — or maybe it was just you again? imagining it like before? just like how she brushed your fingers at the party? but nat kept talking.

“ and you fuckin’ suck at beer pong, had to save your ass a billion times. “ you both laugh, but she cuts it short and starts to murmur again, “ I don’t usually have that much fun at parties, so thanks. “

you stared down at your shoes, unsure what to say for a moment. “ I had alot of fun too, even though I didn’t want to be there. “ you comment, lightening the mood a bit.

nat chuckled, but the moment was cut short after a whistle was blown from across the field, coach ben calling everyone back to the center.

nat stood up quickly, brushing grass off her shorts. then, without hesitation, she offered her hand to you. you took it.

“ alright loser, let’s get our head in the game. “ her fingers intertwined with yours for a second — not by accident. you were sure of it this time. she held your gaze just a little too long before letting go, smiling in that subtle way of hers.

and this time, you knew you weren’t imagining things.

[erwinsvow]

Do you think pope is embarrassed/ uncomfortable with PDA? Especially in front of his family?

He gives me the vibe that he would hate pda but at the same time maybe he loves it? Maybe he likes claiming his girl, especially if someone else flirts with her. Idk?

this is such a good question!! i don't think pope is embarrassed particularly, because i think some part of him would really like that other people get to see that he finally has what he wanted, maybe like some part of him that thinks he could never be 'normal' in the way he wanted so this is his way of almost feeling normal? if that makes sense? like normal in the way that you never flinch away from his hands, that you lean against his arm and rest your head against him when you're both standing and waiting in some line (probably coffee, probably for you, he likes the stuff at home but you like going out for it and he takes you even though he already had a cup that he made). normal in the way that you smile and hug him when he comes to pick you up at your door (before you two live together) even when your neighbors are around, even if his brothers are there... idk i love him so much and i honestly don't know how anyone would resist being affectionate because he's so touch starved.

and in the same way he's a 'my wife this' and 'my wife that' kind of guy, i think he is clingy but not PDA, if that makes sense. especially in front of his family! i don't think he'd let you walk anywhere by yourself, i don't think his hand would leave your thigh at the dinner table, i don't think he would let go of your waist if you were standing. that i think is the possessiveness coming out because he's worried if he lets go you will literally disappear and get sucked into his family's issues and he won't get you back. i also think esp for wifey (i just love them bad lol) he would be so guarded bringing you around everyone but he can't separate it because he wants to marry you and have you protected incase something happens to him.. you know what i really think?? i think he gets affectionate more often in front of baz or smurf because he knows those are the people who would be most threatened by him having someone just in his corner.. like actually does not let go of your body, he's in complete guard dog mode. which is why him going to prison and having to entrust you in their care would be so much more angsty... has to ask baz to take care of you and torments himself because he just is plagued by what might happen if baz decides he wants you for himself or whatever the case might be. and also smurf who he knows would never like you, since you keep him level-headed and calm and smurf likes being the only one who can do that. but like i said i think smurf would play the long game with wifey and try to be nice to her to manipulate pope through her.

this is not even what you asked, i'm so sorry. i think after prison so when the show starts pope would be extremely clingy and guarded and doesn't want to expose you to his family but if he has to, trust that he's there hovering right behind you with a hand on your waist, always takes the seat right next to you, doesn't let you get in anyone else's car and gets angry if they won't let you stay for family meetings, through which he keeps one tense hand on your knee the entire time. i think all he says is my wife and i think yeah, he's not making out with you in front of everyone all day or being sappy and soft like you two are at home, but it's very clear to anyone with eyes that you two are very attached. and i think when he gets hurt and you're there to help him or whatever is one of the only times he doesn't care what everyone sees and is just happy that you're there with him. like that scene where he's bleeding coming out of the pool, like he lets you run up to him in your swimsuit and fuss over his wound while the others watch, or when his arm got hurt in the ambulance, like doesn't say anything when you (obviously) run to him first or when you check on it over the next few days and i think he just likes it when others can see how much you care about him, even if he's not physically showing it to them through pda. and do not get me started on guard dog pope when someone tries to flirt with you lol i'll be here for hours

[oneglass-zinfandel]

Hungry Heat

Pairing : Ron Weasley x FEM!reader

CW : implied consent? Spit as lube, oral (f receiving), Fingering, size difference implied, enjoying the scent of sweat, finishing untouched, (idk what I could have missed)

Plot : It's a hot day in Hogwarts, leaving you and Ron to sweat together in your bed, trying to cuddle somewhat. What starts as simply trying to cool off quickly turns into a nice meal for Ron

Warning : 18+ Smut, Lemon !!!

A/N : I was so bored and I need more Ron Munch smut stories, also I totally didn't study for my three tests I have this week- so wish me luck!! Oh and feel free to recommend some Ron Smut one-shots and such<3

For the past four months you've dated the one and only Ron Weasley. It was wonderful. Sure he had his grumpy moods at times, but he loved you deeply. He asked you to be patient with him, so you were. In return, he never rushes anything between you. You leaned in for the first kiss, and he finished it, you started talking about a date, and he'd ask you out. All you needed was to give him a subtle 'go ahead'.

Naturally, that thoughtfulness spread to sexual activities. You have only really made out, even though that took a while to get to. He never really talked about it or made sexual remarks. Some would say he's a gentleman for it...but something told you he was just holding back.

It was a warm night, the Hogwarts halls were steaming with how hot it was. The number of students didn't help. But at least you had alone time with Ron, seeing everyone in your dorm was out for ice cream and would be gone for a while. Taking all the blankets off your bed, opening the windows and only leaving one pillow on the bed wasn't enough. It was hot. Really hot. Sure you were cuddled up and that could be a good reason for sweating...but you wouldn't let go anytime soon

Ron laid down beside you, his head on your shoulder, both sprawled on the small bed, trying to stay close but also fighting the heat.

Your eyes lock with his as you mutter, breathless "Why don't you take your shirt off?"

Ron's eyes widen slightly flustered as he spoke bewildered "excuse me?", which makes you roll your eyes. "Well technically it's more acceptable for a guy to just have his shirt off than a girl, weirdly enough" you state referring to the norm. He shakes his head confused by your statement but looks over to you, sitting up on his side, supporting himself with his elbow "you're weird mate, I'm not sweatin' all over you"

Despite his words he takes his shirt off. You can't help but look over at his subtle muscles in his arms, the thin layer of sweat on his body making you question yourself. Of course he notices, Snickering to himself but not mentioning it. Instead he looks over at you, still shy and slightly insecure about his body, "what about you? You're still fully clothed.."

His words snap you out of your daydreaming as you look at his face and down at yourself, sitting up. "What do you want me to do? I don't have a bra under here.." you trail off slightly, thinking it would be too weird to casually have your boobs out, no matter the size..

The comment makes Ron flustered, imagining it for a second before shaking his head and shrugging. "Well you could always take off your shorts..you've got underwear on don't you?"

Sure he has a point but..would that be any better? Being in your panties? To be fair it might help with some airflow..in your full defense he said you could.

Trying to be casual you shrug and undo your shorts pulling them down. Ron tries not to stare but he can't help but glance from your pretty panties up to your face. They were cute and white, a nice crisscross pattern and a little bow on the top with lace...casual yet oh so tempting..you notice him looking blushing slightly before speaking up, "I can put my shorts back on if you're uncomfortable..?". Which Ron quickly shakes his head to. Of course he wouldn't want that!

"no no, it's okay- they're um- pretty..like a dove or sum.." his voice was nervous and slightly lustful, he couldn't possibly help it. You looked beautiful, as the sun shined thru the window hitting you just right..your face and your pretty panties. Ron had to clear his throat, looking away embarrassed.

You take a little second to respond. All you needed to get him closer was to...merely give him the idea you wanted it.. maybe the sun was hitting your head for to long to the point your brain melted, but you couldn't help the desire bubbling for so long. It's not actually sex right? I mean...he'd just use his mouth..maybe a finger or two.. definitely not three- he was to big! Your mind clouded with the idea of him eating you out. You can't say you're exactly new to those thoughts, especially recently with him wearing T-shirts and rolled up sleeves. The sweat and the muscle..oh you were dazed.

Ron grew more nervous at your silence after his compliment, but before he could apologize you break the silence.

"You know..." you start off slow, dragging out your words a bit, gentle and curious, "I'm really hot still..". Your statement is simple, as you look up at him Thru your eyelashes almost, pretty doe eyes. Ron gulps a bit, sucking in a little breath. "Yeah?" "Yeah."

"Maybe you could..slip my panties off for me?"

That little request that took courage from you, awakened something within Ron. But not really a beast, not yet at least. The desire in your eyes turns on the signal in his head like for everything else. A sign. He nods slowly, his words coming out slightly breathless but he composes himself. "Yeah..yeah alright"

His accent came out thick, as you sit up more, spreading your legs just a bit, his eyes lock on your pretty panties. His large hands go to your hips, silently asking you to lift them for him. His thumb rubs agents the fabric of the cotton panties. 'Focking hel' he thought to himself, as a finger hooks under the waistband on each side. Slowly pulling them down. Perhaps he didn't understand the assignment or maybe he was just too dazed, but the second they were down enough to reveal your pretty cunt? He stopped tugging them down for a moment.

Ron's eyes lock on you, maybe the slightly musky scent from the sweat would set someone off, but Ron? He couldn't care less, not like it was awful. Only natural his pretty girl got hot under all those clothes right? From your little 'ahem' his eyes dart up at yours before pulling your panties fully down and throwing them wherever, quickly regretting it because he kind of wanted to take them..

"Thank you Ronnie..you always listen to me" you coo at him oh so sweetly, your sweet boy. Ron's pretty eyes look at you, the praise making his cock harden, he didn't even realize how hard he was from the sight alone. His hand rubbing your hip, itching to touch your pussy. The sight making you melt.

"You really deserve a reward don't you? Maybe I could buy you a meal..." You trail off again, your words offering an idea of a cute date, but the implications of the moment made something in Ron's brain..twist. just the right way. He quickly nodded, his other hand at your inner thigh spreading your legs, before lifting it

"Yeah..yeah I'm fuckin' starving Hun.."

With those words he lifts your hips, making you arch up, putting your legs on his shoulders. He couldn't possibly lay down with his aching dick in the way, instead lifting your pussy up for him. The action surprised you as you gasp a bit holding onto the mattress under you. You feel his breath so clearly on your cunt, slightly leaking already.

Ron's eyes look over every inch of your pretty pussy, taking a finger to spread your lips apart, making some of your juices leak out, he chuckles to himself oh so proud. But he wouldn't want anything to go to waste as he quickly licks it up making you catch a whimper in your throat. He pulls away once more speaking softly right to your cunt "think you can hold yourself up for me like this? Just a moment baby.." he asks looking at your eyes over your pussy. Confused slightly you nod, what did he need two hands for?

As you steady yourself in that position he takes both hands putting them on your thighs, using his thumb to spread your lips apart. His dick throbbing at the sight. Your pussy clenching over nothing, leaking just for him. Just for him. No matter how embarrassed you felt from that alone, your moan was worse, pornographic, as Rons tongue probes at your entrance. Giving your cunt a firm kiss before grabbing your hips again and diving in.

His tongue was skillful in its own way. Sure he never did this before oh but he thought of it. He was a munch. And he definitely thought about this before, what could possibly make you feel good. His lips were big leaving saliva all over, his nose nudging your clit taking in your sweaty scent. He closed his eyes with a groan as his tongue entered you, trying to drink up everything you had to offer.

Your moans and wiggling get his attention, whining how good it feels and how the position slightly makes your body hurt. His eyes only half lid at your remarks as he grips you tighter at the expense of bringing your pussy closer.

Your moans of his name made his dick twitch. Your taste and smell made him groan right in your pussy. Only ever pulling away to spit on your clit, watching it dribble down your hole before pushing it in and drinking it alongside your fluids. Sucking on your clit every so often, teasing it with his tongue. You both had to admit the spit was turning you both on. Maybe it was cuz of how it looked, maybe because of the simple reason it was sloppy, but you were getting wetter by the second.

And Ron was so messy. Wanting more of you. More of your taste and essence. He pressed to your lower abdomen as you let out a chocked moan at the feel spurring him on even more. Finally, he brings his hand to your pussy. But he needed you bad. And he needed you now. Talking into your pussy how you're 'such a good girl' and how 'you can take it', he pushes in two fingers at once making your legs shake a bit, moaning at the stretch. It felt so good and his fingers were thick, the idea of his cock being thicker made you absolutely lose your mind.

As he fingered your poor puffy pussy, sucking on the clit, he felt his cock twitch so much..he was gonna cum untouched. Working harder and speaking into your pussy while fucking his fingers inside you made you see stars.

"cum for me"

"give me more, more of your cunny"

"fuck, taste so good"

"on my tongue pretty"

His words and the constant stimulation on your pussy made your head spin, as you whine his name humping up into his face further if possible, as you cum on his fingers and tongue.

Like the starved man he is, Ron licks up every drop. But not before humping into the air, as his shorts get stained with a wet patch, his underwear soaked.

After your orgasm, Ron pressed a sweet kiss to your pussy before setting your legs down on the Bed. As you pant you can't help but notice his shorts. Your breathing is shallow but you speak up "you..came?"

Thru his embarrassment he nods slightly, whipping his mouth with the back of his hand cupping his own cock thru his shorts. Still hard, and oh so wet.

You can see the tent clearly, the size..it was like out of an inaccurate romance book. But you can't help but sit up and pull his pants down without a word, alongside his boxers. Not only do you pull them down, you stretch the elastic looking down into his boxers where the cum stained. His cock standing agents his stomach, hard, red and leaky.

Your eyes meet his as a hiss left his lips, maybe even a whimper. "Maybe I should return the favor~", "please do baby.."

[push-and-hold]

Wholeheartedly agree.

He definitely takes pride in his professional self as 'Dr. Doofenshmirtz', and for better of worse his last name is a fundamental part of his identity. It brings him pain and joy, shame sometimes for what he's had to live but an immense amount of validation for what he has accomplished thanks to all the mixed feelings his past brings him, utterly impressive, specially if one takes into account that even amongst other evil scientists that we see are far more malicious he is on the top three OWCA's public enemy list.

It's also true that he's often called 'Heinz' by people that are objectively close to him. He might sense them as hostile, or that they hold some animosity towards him, but it's an undeniable fact that Roger and Charlene do not do it out of malice. It is literally his name. His, and despite the complicated relationship he has with both his brother and his ex-wife they use it without mockery, and while yes we mostly see him be referred as 'Doofenshmirtz' and are used to that, there's some characters on the background calling him Heinz.

Now the important part is — He is fulfilled with both.

There are people on both sides that use his name and last name while looking down at him (See Monogram and Carl for Doofenshmirtz/Doof/Doofy and Dr. Gevaarlijk or Rodney for Heinz) but the important part is that he presents himself as 'Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz' during his monologues. He addresses himself as 'Heinz' and as 'Doofenshmirtz' other times, as well.

It could be argued that he should dislike being a 'Doofenshmirtz', due to his family and all the abuse they put him through. But as questionable as still loving his his parents despite that is, he just doesn't dislike it. He has some Doofenshmirtzs that loved him and that he found cool, and he doesn't mind being called Heinz either. It's just matter of perseption because we are more used to him being called 'Doofenshmirtz'.

Now, I'm not saying being uncomfy with it is wrong either. I used to feel uncomfortable using it too, until I started thinking that Charlene calls him Heinz and Roger calls him Heinz and he wants Perry to call him Heinz, so maybe, he likes it when others call him that.

And, stepping away from an in universe analysis, I can understand. I started thinking how having your name be a mockery can hurt someone. But you know what? We can change that. I started calling him Heinz because while I was never made fun for my name irl I understand how being addressed by your preferred name/nickname can brighten your day and make you feel respected. So, while I still LOVE to call him Doofenshmirtz, I'm of the firm opinion that once you start, it feels even more natural to call him Heinz (and, it helps a lot when writing fanfic lol).

I may be crazy, but I think the only people in Doof's life who call him Heinz are those who look down on him, or at least those he feels looks down on him. Roger, Charlene, his parents, Dr. Gevaarlijk. Probably part of why it feels so wrong to call him Heinz to me is that it's a name I associate with the people who belittle him.

For the most part he goes by Doofensmirtz, and this can partially because we mostly see him in a "professional" context, as an evil scientist. The evil scientists all go by "Dr. Last Name". So that's also the way Monogram and Carl refer to him. And most of what we see of Doof is him in evil scientist circles.

But he DOES usually go by Doofensmirtz even in less formal occasions.

It does get shortened pretty often to Doof (or Doofy) sometimes to make fun of him, so. But also just neutrally. Like it's his name. Sometimes it's what he refers to himself as. I could maybe even argue he uses it like its his given name, after all its what Martin calls him at least once in MML, despite the fact they're both middle aged men.

Dr. D is the other friendly way of referring to him, and is probably the more common of his nicknames. It's more how the kids tend to refer to him. Obviously as kids are younger, they do usually refer to adults as, Honorific+Last name, so "Dr. D" is a natural shortening of that. It's casual, but polite. It's also how Norm refers to him, when he's not calling him "sir". Although generally speaking "Doof" and "Dr. D" get used interchangeably by both adults and kids in MML. Phineas is pretty consistently Dr. D as far as I can tell at least.

Interestingly the most healthy relationships in his life are those that don't use any name at all. Obviously Perry doesn't talk, so he doesn't call him by name. Same probably goes for his ocelot family. And Vanessa of course calls him dad.

[moonlitsmile]

Only with you

anon- Can I request a sweet Joel x reader where Joel can be comfortable enough around reader that he just let's the silliness out around reader, like a dog that has the zoomies

summary | Joel being a silly lil boy and soft with you (headcannons and small Drabble)

- Joel isn’t the kind of man who shows so much to the world. Keeps his cards close, face unreadable, voice flat. But with you? Something in him eases. Like he doesn’t have to brace for impact anymore.

- Every now and then, when the house is quiet and he’s feeling good, really good, he gets this restlessness in him. You call it “the zoomies,” jokingly. He rolls his eyes and mutters something like “Ain’t a damn dog”, but the second your back is turned, he’s right there, messing with you. Pulling you into his chest. Sneaking up behind you just to see you jump.

- His version of playful is like all dry and teasing. Deadpan impressions, fake serious accusations (“You’re the one who ate the last cookie. I saw the evidence.”), or tackling you gently onto the couch like it’s a wrestling match he plans to win.

- He might even dance sometimes. Not on purpose, not really, more like he gets caught in a rhythm when he’s cookin’ or tinkering. You’ve caught him swaying, tapping his foot, muttering lyrics to a song stuck in his head. When you smile at him, he’ll act all gruff, like “What? Can’t a man move his feet?” But there’s a twitch of a smirk he can’t quite hide.

- On days when things feel heavy, your shoulders weighed down, eyes tired, he tries a little harder. His voice gets softer. He pulls out the dry humor, the over-the-top voices, anything to get a laugh out of you. It works. You always crack.

- Sometimes he pokes fun at himself for it. Says he’s “too damn old to be chasin’ you around the house like a kid,” but that never stops him. Not when you’re laughing like that. Not when your eyes are shining just from being near him.

- He doesn’t open up easy. Doesn’t get silly. Doesn’t play alot. but you bring that out of him without even trying. You’re the only one who gets to see him like this, unguarded, warm, and just a little ridiculous.

- I feel like he’d mess with you when he’s bored, in the driest way possible. You’ll walk into a room and find him sitting there holding your book upside down. When you call him on it, he just says, “Somethin’ feels off. Can’t figure what.”

- When he’s feeling antsy and you’re curled up on the couch, he’ll slowly invade your space, stretching his legs across your lap, inching closer, sighing dramatically like you’re keeping him from something. “This is the most uncomfortable seat in the house,” he’ll mumble while refusing to move.

- He hums when he’s in a good mood, especially when he’s fixing something. You’ve caught him adding a little rhythm to his hammering before. When you teased him about it, he said, “You want the chair fixed or not?”

- If you’re laying together and you won’t look at him, he pokes your cheek with one finger. Once. Then again. Then again. Until you give in and laugh or smack his hand away.

You’re standing at the kitchen counter, halfway through making two grilled cheese sandwiches, when Joel walks in holding… a sock.

Not just any sock. A single, sad, gray one, clearly his, and he holds it between two fingers like it personally betrayed him.

“You seen its partner?” he asks flatly, lifting it in the air like it’s evidence in a crime scene.

You glance over your shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Did you check the dryer?”

“Checked the dryer. Checked the washer. Checked under the bed, behind the couch, even in that weird drawer you keep takeout menus in.”

You blink. “You went that far?”

He sighs deeply, shoulders slumped like a man who’s known true loss. “It’s gone. Gone like the damn wind.”

You try not to laugh. “I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

“It won’t. This is how it starts. First a sock. Then my favorite flannel. Then I’m out on the porch yellin’ at birds and forgettin’ what day it is.”

“You already yell at birds.”

He points at you. “That was one time. And that pigeon was starin’ at me.”

You’re giggling now, fully turned toward him, spatula in one hand. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Joel steps forward, socks the sock dramatically onto the table, and says, “This house is where good laundry goes to die.”

You snort softly

He smiles, barely, but it’s there, that little twitch at the corner of his mouth he doesn’t bother hiding around you anymore.

“Grilled cheese almost ready?” he asks, like the sock funeral never happened.

“Two minutes.”

He nods. “Guess I’ll survive. Barefoot. Cold. Emotionally scarred, but survivin’.”

You shake your head as he walks off muttering something about “damn haunted dryer,” and you’re still smiling when you bring him his sandwich.

[kxsagi]

May i request an angst/comfort of Reo where reader has a genuine relationship problem she needs to solve with him but Sinc Reo hates conflicts, he just continued spoiling her which leads to an argument (with a happy ending 🙏🙏🙏🙏)

“𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐱”

a/n: this would be so canon i fear

(art credits go to りん on twitter)

you didn’t need another gift. 

not the new earrings he slipped into your bag when you weren’t looking, not the weekend reservation at that spa in hakone, and definitely not the rose gold watch sitting in its pristine little box on the table between you. 

you needed him to listen. 

“reo,” you start softly, picking at your sleeve. “can we talk?” 

“of course,” he says, smiling like he always does. the kind of smile that’s all shine and charm and sugar, designed to soothe before you even know why you’re hurting. 

you glance down at the untouched gift again. “not about the watch.” 

reo chuckles. “you don’t like it? okay. i’ll return it and get something else –” 

“reo.” 

your voice cracks. not loud. not angry. just... tired. 

his smile falters. 

you inhale shakily, eyes fixed on the expensive little box that’s somehow so much easier to look at than him. “you keep doing this thing,” you say, “where you shower me in all this stuff when i’m upset. like you’re trying to... make the problem go away by wrapping it in tissue paper and tying a bow around it.” 

reo shifts uncomfortably, fingers twitching against the armrest of the couch. “i just want you to be happy.” 

“but i’m not,” you whisper. “and i’m trying to talk to you about why, but you keep acting like if you buy me enough things, the issue won’t matter.” 

he doesn’t respond. not immediately. 

the silence stretches long enough that you finally look up at him, and your chest aches at what you find. 

reo’s brows are drawn together, mouth parted like he wants to speak but doesn’t know how. he looks… scared. 

and somehow that hurts worse. 

“reo,” you say gently, “i don’t care about the gifts. i care about you. and if we can’t talk about things that upset us, then what are we even doing?” 

he flinches. like you hit him. and maybe in a way, you did. 

"i’m sorry,” he mumbles finally. “i just... i hate it. conflict. fighting. i grew up watching people around me argue about money, control, business, everything. and it always ended badly. so when you’re upset, i panic. i think, what can i give you so you don’t leave me too?” 

you blink. “reo…” 

his voice wavers. “i know it’s stupid. but every time i see that look on your face, like you’re hurting and i might be the reason, it scares the hell out of me. i thought if i could give you everything, you wouldn’t have a reason to walk away.” 

“reo,” you repeat, heart breaking now, “i’m not leaving you. i just want to feel like you’re with me in the hard moments, too. not just the pretty ones.” 

he exhales sharply. stands. then walks over and sinks down beside you on the couch, head in his hands. 

"i’m sorry,” he says again, quieter this time. “i didn’t realize how much i was shutting you out.” 

you lean into him, resting your forehead against his shoulder. 

“you don’t have to fix everything,” you murmur. “you just have to face it with me.” 

he nods, arm curling around your waist as he pulls you into a proper hug this time, no watch, no bag, no new thing in his hands. just him. 

“okay,” he whispers. “no more running. just us. even when it’s messy.” 

you close your eyes against his chest, exhaling in relief. 

“even when it’s messy.” 

and for the first time in weeks, it actually feels like he hears you. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢