#even small shit like I got told I was feminine and it hit me like a truck | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lemonluvgirl · 1 year ago

Text

Hitting The Target (Now with Ch 4)

By SparklingStella & LemonLuvGirl

I know I said I wasn't going to post much context but I figured I should just post everything I have for this story just in case some people aren't caught up yet.

Summary: “When you shoot, you’ve got to keep both eyes on what you want to hit.” Katniss tells him seriously. “Do you bring this kind of tenacious focus with you to all aspects of your life?” Peeta asks, hoping his wildly mounting attraction for her isn’t as obvious to her as it feels to him. “When the situation calls for it. I’m good at going after what I want. And I find my mark almost every time.” She tells him with such a straight face he would have believed they were still talking about archery if her smoldering grey eyes weren’t glued to his mouth.

When hot shot college archery rookie Katniss Everdeen makes it to the USA Archery Collegiate National Championships in her first year on the team, the university’s newly appointed college sports reporter Peeta Mellark is sent on assignment to cover her and the archery team’s meteoric rise to fame. What he never intended was to get so invested in the subject of his article, or to get so infatuated with the girl herself.

“Where’s this afternoon’s advance run? And why wasn’t it on my desk 30 minutes ago?”

A frustrated feminine voice rings out through the university newspaper workroom, and the clicking sound of her power heels marching across the linoleum heralds the end of the afternoon’s peace.

It’s never a good sign when the editor of the Panem Chronicle steps out of her office to check up on the underlings that scurry around nervously and do her bidding. The woman is intimidating and has a tongue so sharp it’s been known to leave the first-year interns emotionally scarred.

She might be small, even in her 4-inch stilettos, but she casts a long shadow. People start fidgeting at their desks and shuffling their papers nervously. One girl actually backs out of the workroom before she can be spotted, when she sees Johanna “The Axe” Mason has left her lair and is on the prowl for unsuspecting victims.

“Where’s that article on the golf team’s latest tournament?” She questions in a clipped tone that is all business.

“Fuck me,” I mutter tiredly under my breath while trying to simultaneously shrink down to inconspicuous levels so that Jo Mason, won’t hear or see me.

But I know that no matter how hard I hunch my shoulders and try to turn invisible, it won’t help me now. She knows I’m here. She knows I’m not done. I feel a sweat break out on the back of my neck as she approaches my workstation.

Knowing Johanna she’d take my avoidance of this confrontation as an invitation to initiate a few rounds of verbal sparing, not as an expression of utter unenthusiastic dread. She always seems to get a kick out of finding any excuse to go toe-to-toe with one of the only guys in the department who wasn’t terrified of her. It was fun at first, but now it’s getting old. I find myself almost resenting her in recent weeks. She's the reason I’ve got writer's block right now. I’m dreading having to finish this article. It's driving me nuts.

I hate golf, (I told Johanna this when she gave me the assignment) and I’ve been doing nothing but covering their university’s shitty golf tournaments for the last few weeks. And even though I’ve seen enough mediocre college golf to last till the end of eternity, I can’t for the life of me finish this pathetic golf article that was due half an hour ago. The thing is just a boring, uninteresting, cold fish piece of shit. And I hate myself for writing it. I hate Johanna even more for assigning me this piece. It's like she knows exactly which soul-sucking assignments I desire least and saves them just for me.

“Mellark! Are you still stuck on the conclusion? Stop playing with your dick and finish the fucking article already! We’ve got a deadline to meet!” Johanna says when she finally reaches my desk and stands over my shoulder, only to find I’m still stuck in the same spot I was an hour ago.

“I’m trying Johanna! But this--this story is just--”

“Just what asshole? Too hot for you to handle? It's a damn 600-word news piece, not a 60 minutes interview for god sake!”

“It's BORING! And there’s no way to make it interesting! I’ve tried! It's just---garbage! Dry, utterly boring, and sleep-inducing garbage!”

Johnna stands stock still for a minute. I worry I may have gone overboard, for a second.

Then she starts shaking with silent laughter.

“Well, yeah duh! I mean it's college golf, not exactly riveting stuff. ” She says in between involuntary shoulder shakes.

I inhale sharply.

“So you knew. You knew it was a crap assignment and you made me write it anyway! That’s just great Jo. That’s terrific. Why couldn’t you assign it to Beetee or Wireless or something? They’ve been asking to go out on assignments instead of always getting stuck on research or box design. Didn’t you tell me when I joined the paper that I had the best ‘authentic writing voice’ you’d heard in years? And yet Marvel and Cato get to cover our basketball and football teams every season! What am I doing here JO? How is this a good use of my skills?” I explode in frustration. I’m so tired of getting stuck in this cycle. But I can’t just put up with her shit quietly like the rest of them. If it’s a fight she wants today, then I guess it’s a fight she’ll get.

Instead of spitting some quickly thought-up insult at me, she surprises me by sighing and shifting to lean against my desk next to me, looking directly at my face instead of over my shoulder.

“Mellark, you’re talented. That’s exactly why I give you the tough assignments. You can dress up a pile of shit and make it look like a chocolate sundae. But, you’ve only been on the team for a year. You still have to pay your dues, rookie. Look, I’ll make you a deal. Finish this shit show of an article, and make it readable. If you can do that I’ll give you a better assignment this coming week. Not basketball or anything super big, because you know, baby steps, but I promise it will be a step up from the golf crap.”

“Fine Jo. But I’m holding you to your promise! Maybe I should make you sign a contract so you don't go back on your word,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her.

“Yeah, yeah, Mellark. No need to break out the ritual sacrifice knife to make me sign my soul away in blood. I'm a woman of my word. I'll deliver on my promise. But, you better wow me with this conclusion, or else it's back to the golf carts, pretentious khakis, and designer sunglasses for you.” She threatens, but there’s a twinkle of respect in her eye that boosts my confidence.

“It's going to be the best shit sundae you’ve ever had Jo. I promise.” I vow.

I managed to tweak and finish the article until it was an interesting and engaging college sports piece, and by the time the story had to go to print Joanna was smiling.

“So, I take it that smile means I’m going to get assigned something decent this coming week?”

“Well, since you pulled it off, I’d say so.” Johanna slams a piece of paper down on my desk. It contains a name, email address, and office phone number.

Haymitch Abernathy [email protected] 555-451-1213

“What’s this?”

“Contact info for your next assignment. Email this guy and set up a time to go and observe his team at practice. He’s the head coach for the university’s archery team. Word around campus is a new freshman is blowing all the competition out of the water. The team’s got a shot at nationals this year. I want you to do a full piece on her, and the team. You can interview the coach too. The higher-ups want to make this feature article a two-page spread.”

“Two pages?!”

“Yep. So don’t say I never did anything for ya Mellark. Oh, and take your camera and get some candid shots. She’s a real hot shot. Hits the target every time. And she looks good doing it, or so they say. That’ll be good for the article too.”

I laugh, only Johanna would so openly comment on sex appeal as a way to increase our reader base.

“Ok, Jo. Sure thing. And thank you! You won’t regret it!”

“Yeah, yeah. Bring me back something spectacular and we’ll see if you deserve to be bumped up permanently to something more substantial after this.”

I nodded and smiled. I was hopeful, enthusiastic, and most of all intrigued to find out more about this newest assignment and the girl who seemed to be lighting the college archery scene on fire.

(Katniss POV)

I lifted my bow, breathing in steadily, and lined up the tip of my arrow with the target. Shooting with a recurve barebow required a different technique than the modern sighted bows, with their fancy pins and bubble levels. String walking was my preferred method of aiming, and even without the technical assistance of an adjustable sight component, I was still the best shot on Panem University’s archery team. I brought the string back and adjusted my bare bow tab slightly since this was a 40-yard shot. I took another breath in and as I began exhaling the carbon dioxide from my lungs, I felt my hands still. Then I blew out the silent puff through my parted lips and released.

The arrow flew fast and true and hit dead center.

I heard Finnick and Gale and my other teammates whooping in appreciation behind me. I resisted the urge to smirk. Lest our coach, Haymitch, the surly old man who sometimes came to practice just a tad hungover, started giving me shit about being cocky.

“Girl you are on FIRE! You haven’t missed the mark once today!” Finnick cheered as I tucked my bow underneath my arm and walked back to the cooler filled with ice water where my teammates gathered for breaks in between shots. I grabbed a paper cup and proceeded to pour myself a drink to cool my parched throat before I replied.

“It's just practice, Finnick. No need to get so excited.” I reminded him and he chuckled.

“He’s just stoked that now we have enough high-scoring members to register as a team this year for the collegiate 3D nationals,” Gale states proudly as he looks over at me. He had practically begged me to try out for the archery team when I got to Panem U.

He had promised the team could use someone like me and after a few weeks of his pestering I’d given in, thinking they’d take one look at me and my old hand-me-down bow and cheaply homemade arrows and laugh me off the field. But to my surprise, no one mocked me when I showed up with my old recurve bow, they just gave me quizzical looks. And they didn’t laugh when I sunk arrow after arrow into the bullseyes of the targets. I’d been invited to join the team right afterward. Our coach had even put in a good word for me with his friends at the sporting goods store closest to campus. After saving up for a month, and using some of my financial aid surplus, I’d been able to buy a new recurve bow. It was a beautiful SAS Courage and I’d never owned anything more beautiful or powerful in my life. And my shooting only improved soon after.

“You mean you didn’t go as a team last year?” I asked Gale and Finnick, as we all drank down gulps of water greedily. We were all a little sweaty since practice had been running longer and longer to prepare for the upcoming competition. Archery was an outdoor sport, which meant a lot of time in the sun. So hydration was important.

“The university wouldn’t pay the team fee to send everyone, since only Gale and I showed a chance of placing. So it was just me and Finnick and Haymitch, and they put us all in one room. With only two beds. It was cruel and unusual punishment, and I considered contacting the human rights advocates.” Finnick jokes.

“But now that you’re here Catnip, and kicking ass, they’re going to spring for the team registration this time around. And since you’re a girl, they’ll probably spring for two rooms! And I won’t have to listen to Abernathy’s snoring or twist myself into a pretzel trying to sleep on a tiny hotel couch.” Gale said hopefully. I frowned, wondering how my getting my sleeping accommodations would translate into his not sleeping on the couch.

“Hey, man you gotta be quick to call dibs next time!” Finnick joked and Gale shot him the middle finger with a scowl.

“I don’t feel like sharing a hotel room with any of you-” I began but Gale interrupted.

“Oh, come on Catnip, we can share. It's not like it's anything I haven’t seen before,” Gale says with an unconcerned grin. I tense up immediately and shoot him a warning look.

Sure, Gale and I had dated in the past. And yes, we’d slept together before, so he’d seen me naked. But we hadn’t been anything more than friends and hunting buddies for a very long time. And one of the conditions of my joining the same archery team with him had been that he wouldn’t make things awkward by bringing up our past dating history. I was naturally a very private person and didn’t want to get around the team that Gale and I used to sleep together. I narrowed my eyes on him.

His grin quickly fades and is replaced by a repentant expression.

“Sorry, Katniss. I shouldn’t have said that.” Gale apologizes quietly and after staring at him for a second I nod. Finnick looks between us with a highly amused expression.

“Don’t worry mighty huntress, I’d be more than happy to spoon with you in your hotel room when we head to the 3D competition,” Finnick says with a suggestive tilting smile and a slightly raised eyebrow. I feel Gale bristle a little beside me.

I rolled my eyes and prepared to tell Finnick that he’d only be spooning at the 3D competition would be Gale or Haymitch again, when I was interrupted.

“Odair, keep it in your damn pants. I don’t need you or Hawthorne fucking up this team dynamic with your overzealous libidos and underwhelming dicks.” Haymitch, our grouchy old coach cut into the conversation with his usual crudeness.

I couldn’t fight a loud snort that escaped, and neither of the guys could hide a flash of embarrassment at the comment aimed at their male egos.

“Now that we’re going to register as a team this year, does that mean the girls have to bunk together?” Glimmer, the only other female on the team, asked as she eyed Gale appreciatively.

I wanted to snort again. Glimmer was a terrible shot, even though she’d been on the team a whole year longer than I had. But that probably wouldn’t matter to Gale. She was blond and giggly and slutty. I saw him holding back a smile at her apparent attraction to him and I rolled my eyes. She had no real interest in archery and had probably only joined the team to meet guys. I doubted the university would even pay for her to go.

Objectively, there were a lot of hot guys on the team. Finnick and Gale probably stood out the most but there was also Thresh Anderson who doubled as a university basketball player as well when he wasn’t going to classes or shooting targets. And Thom wasn’t bad-looking either, just kind of lanky and lean. But I had zero interest in dating any of my teammates. One, because Haymitch was right. Sex and relationships tended to fuck up team dynamics. I mean, look at me and Gale. We’d only dated for two months and it had almost ruined our ability to hunt together. It took almost a year for us to get back to some semblance of normalcy and even then we still had our past to contend with at times. Like just now, when he not so subtly alluded to sharing a room with me.

“Sorry to break it to you, Glimmer, but we’re not taking the whole team this year. Only the ones who placed in the preliminaries. So that means Hawthorne, Odair, Anderson, and Everdeen here are the ones going. And nobody’s bunking with Sweetheart. University policy. If they pay for the room, it's not going to be co-ed.” Haymitch announces to us all and Glimmer’s face falls. But Thresh and Gale and Finnick quickly start celebrating amongst themselves, with plenty of fist bumps and back pounding. Soon, even the other team members who didn’t qualify began to offer their congratulations. I smiled over at Thresh, who was probably my second favorite team member after Gale, and he flipped me a thumbs up.

“Alright, alright, before you animals start planning a kegger, I need your attention. Now, since we’ve had such a good year the university newspaper is looking to do a story on us. They’re sending one of their reporters down today to interview the team, and take photos. I need you all on your best behavior. Show ‘em what you got and maybe next year they’ll spring for some new equipment. God knows our targets are practically falling apart!” Haymitch orders with surly annoyance. Everyone begins to disperse and go back to shooting. But I hadn’t failed to notice that throughout his whole speech, his eyes kept darting back to me.

I crunch my paper cup aggressively and throw it away and turn to face Haymitch. I’m nervous and wary about this turn of events.

“A reporter?” I ask and Haymitch nods.

“Yep.” That is all he says.

I feel my palms grow sweaty. I have never liked being in the spotlight, or the center of attention. And right now I am getting the sinking sensation that this reporter coming to interview us might have something to do with the judges at the last competition calling me the ‘Ken Griffy Jr.’ of archery.

“Do I have to talk to him?” I ask.

“No, you have to take him to the prom and divest him of his virginity," Haymitch said with a straight face and my eyes widened before I glared at him. Him and his stupid jokes.

"Everyone has to talk to him, Sweetheart. He’s interviewing the team. And last time I checked, that includes you.” He says more seriously.

“Fine.” I bite the word out in annoyance.

“Oh, and Princess? Might want to towel off some of that sweat. You’re glistening like a pig over a spit, and not in an attractive way.” He comments in a falsely pleasant voice.

“Alcoholic old son of a bitch.” I mutter as I stomp away.

“I heard that!” Haymitch calls and I resist the urge to flip him off as I resume my place and knock back an arrow. I imagine that the center of the target is Haymtich’s eye and start shooting at a rapid pace, ignoring everyone else around me and getting lost in the feeling of hitting my mark time and again.

(Peeta POV)

We arrived at the archery field a little later than I’d planned. I had decided to pick up my friend Annie Cresta last minute to help me take pictures. Annie was a good photographer, having taken pictures for her high school newspaper before she started at Panem U, and a lot of reporters on the paper knew about her talent. Seeing as I needed to interview the whole team and get their pictures too, I figured I could use the extra set of hands and a friendly face.

“Whoa, I didn’t even know there was anything back here!” Annie exclaimed in surprise.

“Me neither,” I muttered as we exited my vehicle and started to grab our equipment.

There in the back lot of one of the university’s unused outbuildings, was Panem U’s archery practice field. It was dotted with rows of targets at various distances. There was a group of people lined up and practicing with bows and arrows dutifully despite the heat. The grass was a little long, and the sun beat down almost mercilessly in the late September afternoon. Hot days like this were rare this late in the season. But this year had been unusually warm, and the extra sun was probably contributing to the grass growth. The field was covered in a blanket of mixed grasses and weeds.

Their green and yellow tips brushed against us at ankle-high length and outside of the car’s air conditioning the warm air threatened to make anyone who was too used to sitting down in lecture halls and at a desk in the university’s school newsroom break out in an uncomfortable sweat. I sighed. Going on location to interview a subject was just another part of reporting that could either be great or terrible. Today it was just mildly uncomfortable.

“So, what do you need from me today Peeta?” Annie’s gentle voice asked as I took the camera bag from her and hoisted it over my shoulders. I had offered to get her a gift card to her favorite restaurant as repayment for her helping me out last minute, but I was still a gentleman. I didn’t want her carrying the bags if she didn’t have to.

“Johanna just said to get some candid shots of the team, especially the new girl. Katniss Everdeen.” I told Annie.

“Katniss? That’s an interesting name. You don’t hear that very often.” She commented.

“Yeah, I looked it up. It's a type of edible water plant.” I explained and she shot me a contemplative look.

“Maybe her parents were botanists,” Annie says with a shrug.

“Or hippies.” I offer with a humorous smile. And Annie chuckles. We’ve been friends since freshman year of college and she’s almost like a sister to me. I find her quiet unassuming demeanor restful, and she says she remains friends with me because I bring her baked goods on her birthday. It's an easy sort of friendship that works for both of us.

“Alright then, ready when you are, Captain!” Annie announces with a sarcastic little salute. I laugh and wave her on as we walk towards the group of people shooting in the field.

As we reach their general vicinity, I lay the equipment bag down next to the table with the water cooler and Annie starts to unpack. I scope out the individuals I’ll be interviewing. There’s a middle-aged paunchy-looking man who’s growling out corrections to a cute looking blond in yoga pants and twin ponytails. But by the way, her arrows have all landed outside the blue third ring of the target I’d say she’s not the new wonder girl. My eyes sweep over the group again and I find the rest are male. One extremely large guy, with chocolate brown skin and close-cropped hair, who looks more like he belongs on a football field or a basketball court than an archy field stands with intense focus, eyeing the target but not shooting yet. Two other taller, but less bulky men with dark hair and olive-toned complexions shoot arrows at targets that are marked as 30 paces away. One of them, the more muscular and good-looking of the two, hits almost all his arrows inside the yellow of the target, the bullseye. Next to them is a bronze-haired smiling guy who looks more like he belongs in a catalog than on a forgotten old archery field in the university's back lot.

“Hello there!” The bronze-haired man calls out as he approaches us. When he gets close enough to make out his features more clearly, I notice his eyes are a startling aquamarine color.

I feel Annie shift nervously next to me.

“Hiya! The name’s Finnick Odair, I take it you’re the people from the University newspaper?” Finnick asks as he holds out his hand to Annie with an award-winning smile. She blinks at him blankly for a second before tentatively shaking his hand but doesn’t move to introduce us. That’s Annie for you, shy as they come around new people. That’s another reason our friendship works. I’m better with people in general.

“Yes, hi. I’m Peeta Mellark, one of the sports writers for the Panem Chronicle. And this here is my photography assistant Annie Cresta.” I say as I thrust out my hand to Finnick in greeting with an easygoing smile. Finnick shook my hand in a perfunctory way, but the majority of his attention remained on Annie. She squirmed underneath his gaze and I started to get a little concerned. So I take a step closer to Annie, in an effort not to leave my friends defenseless against this guy’s charms. His gaze darts between the two of us in concern.

“Peeta and Annie, that’s nice. Are you two a team when you’re not interviewing local athletes?” Finnick asks with an interested stare. But he still looks a little nervous looking back and forth between us.

“What?” Annie asks, perplexed. It's the first word she’s spoken but by the way Finnick is smiling at her with rapt attention you’d think she’d given an eloquent speech.

I shake my head at Annie’s confusion and bite back a grin. The guy, Finnick, was trying to ask if we were together. He’s interested in her, and they just met.

“Annie and I are good friends. Have been ever since we met in freshman psyche two years ago. She’s got pretty high standards for the people she dates.” I tell him good-naturedly but also add a serious look at the end to let him know subtly that I’m looking after Annie. He smiles, at us both, a little more relaxed this time, and nods.

“Well, that’s good to hear. Come on, let me introduce you to the team.” Finnick says with a tilt of his head towards the field. Annie picks up her camera and snaps a shot of him just like that, with his head tilted and his hand beckoning, and the sunlight behind him. He smirks at her, but her face remains expressionless. I grin at Finnick’s confusion and move toward where the rest of his teammates are practicing.

We quickly got introduced to the team. Turns out there are six members and one coach. Haymitch Abernathy sounds just as grumpy and impolite in person as he did over the phone, but he does seem to try his best to accommodate us.

“Where’s your last team member?” I ask Coach Abernathy and he scowls.

“Little Miss Sunshine is taking a powder break. She’ll be back soon so you can get your story, kid.” He replies gruffly.

I nod and Annie and I set about taking pictures and talking to the other teammates. I get to learn their rankings, their scores from the last competition, and who’s been selected to go to an upcoming tournament in Arizona. I get so invested in taking notes for my article that I don’t notice when the number of people on the field increases by one. I didn’t hear or notice her return, even though she takes up a spot very close to where Annie and I are standing as we take shots and interview the 2nd best-ranked archer on the team. His name is Gale Hawthorne and he’s kind of taciturn, but he does look impressive as he pulls his bow back, lets the arrow fly, and hits the target just a half-inch shy of the absolute center. Annie is shooting him from the left, trying to get a profile shot. I turn, trying to see if we could get a better angle. And that’s when I see her.

She’s smaller than I imagined, maybe 5’3 at the most, petite and slim. But the way she holds herself, with such a straight posture, without being rigid as she draws her bowstring back, makes her seem larger than life. Her ebony dark hair trails over her left shoulder, a couple of flyaway strands dancing in the breeze. Her eyes are almond-shaped and luminous, and I’m startled to see a glint of silver grey where I expected to find chocolate brown. She wears a grey tank top, and shorts, obviously accounting for the heat and hours she had to spend outdoors. But the miles of smooth golden brown skin that’s exposed, from her thin muscular arms to her toned and well-shaped legs are practically mouth-watering. Most of all it's her calm and stoic demeanor that captivates my attention. She’s so focused and determined. I watch as she waits for just a beat, steadying herself, before taking the shot. I don’t have to look at the target to know she hit a bullseye. It's written in the way her eyelids lower for just a second, with a pleasure she tries hard to conceal.

I suck in a ragged breath. Damn. This girl was more than hot. She was something else altogether, something incredible.

“Good one.” The guy we had been interviewing, Gale, tells her and she nods at him in acknowledgment. I look back at the two of them and wonder if they are somehow related. They have very similar features, but different last names. Cousins maybe?

“Hi,” I call over to her and she turns her head to look at me, and I feel the weight of those intense grey eyes land with almost as much force as her arrow did hitting the bullseye.

“Hello.” She replies curtly. Ok, so maybe they are related. They both seem so reluctant to speak. But I just adjust my smile so it’s a little bigger, a little more friendly, and start over to her side.

“My name’s Peeta Mellark. And I’m a reporter with the Uni’s Chronicle. You must be Katniss.”

“Yes. Katniss Everdeen. I’m a first-year student, and I have yet to declare a major. I’ve been hunting since I was 6. I’ve never shot competitively before, and I hope to make the university proud in the next tournament. You can take my picture but don’t get in the way of my shots.” She states dryly and returns her attention to the target. I hear Gale behind me trying and failing to stifle a snicker.

“Was that your way of trying to shut down the interview?”

“No. Of course not. Those are all the relevant facts you need to know for the article. I’d rather not waste valuable practice time any more than I already have. We have a tournament coming up and I need to focus.”

“Your aim seems fine, best I’ve seen today. Are you telling me you couldn’t spare a minute or two to answer some questions?”

“I already answered everything you need to know. So just take your pictures and get it over with.”

“You should widen your stance. If you displace your weight a little more, your feet and knees will probably feel better at the end of a long day after standing and shooting for hours.”

“Excuse me? Are you an archery expert or something?”

“No.”

“Well, I’ve been shooting for years. I know how to stand. Forgive me if I don’t take your word as worth anything on the subject.”

“Are you a writer, or a reporting expert?”

“What?”

“Do you have any experience with interviewing or writing an article?”

“No.”

“Ok, well, excuse me, if I don’t accept your bare minimum responses for my article. I know nothing about archery. And you know nothing about my field of expertise. So why don’t we just agree to let each other do what we do best?”

“Are you also an expert in acting like a dick?”

I let out a stunned, strangled sound that is followed by Annie’s subsequent gasp.

Katniss stands, defiant eyes blazing, her bow lowered and one hand on her hip.

“That was rude.” I point it out to her but she doesn’t even flinch.

“I don’t win tournaments because I’m sociable. I win them because I focus. And you are taking away my focus. So I’d appreciate it if you would just ask whatever pointless questions you need to so I can move on with my life.”

“Do you honestly have no respect for someone else’s work? The time and energy put in? Annie and I are here to do a story about you and your team! It's for the university paper, it could mean more exposure for the archery department, maybe even donations! Will you just let me do my job without being such a--”

“Such as WHAT?”

I stumbled for a word, mortified that this had escalated into a full-blown argument, with a person I’d just met nonetheless. But she’s impossible, insufferable, no matter how good-looking she may be.

“An asshat!” I finally exclaimed. And Annie behind me started giggling to my utter humiliation. But Katniss didn’t seem amused. She seemed livid.

She stalked towards me, like a predator stalking its prey, all lithe-limbed and graceful even in her anger. The look in her eyes was deadly.

“The only ass I see around here is YOU!” She yelled, shoving a thin delicate finger into the middle of my chest. I freeze, seeing her this close-up. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are flashing, she’s breathing hard and our gazes lock for a long inexplicable moment. And I fight the urge to crush her to my chest and kiss that scowl off her beautiful face.

I stare down at her, my eyes catching for a moment on the swell of the tops of her breasts visible because of the scoop of her tank top. My chest is heaving as I feel a drop of sweat trail from my temple to my jaw. Her eyes trace the movement reflexively and I see her lips part just a tiny bit, to curse me out some more no doubt. But I stay mutely silent, unable to form a response as I stare at her slightly parted full lips.

“Everdeen! What the hell did I say? Didn’t I tell you to play nice? God damn it, girl, don’t need you to fuck up the one piece of good publicity our department has gotten in years!” Coach Abernathy’s angry voice rings out somewhere behind me and the spell is broken.

Katniss takes a step back and looks down, seemingly chastised. And I swallow thickly around the dryness in my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Abernathy isn’t the only one who witnessed the argument. The rest of the team was staring at us in obvious dismay. The old archery coach makes his way to my side and sighs tiredly.

“Look, kid, it's getting late, practice is supposed to be over by now. Maybe the heat’s making everyone touchy. Why don’t you and Red come back tomorrow? Finish the interview then?” Abernathy points his finger in Annie’s direction, his voice inquiring in a tone as close to diplomatic as I think he can get.

I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and nod. Maybe he was right. Maybe things will go better tomorrow.

“Yeah, ok. We’ll try again tomorrow. But the university wants to do a 2-page spread. And I can’t do that if the whole team doesn’t cooperate.” I warn him and he nods seriously.

“Don’t worry kid. Everyone is gonna do their part, I promise.” He says, staring Katniss down. She huffs indignantly and picks up her bow and turns on her heel to walk away.

“I hope so. Alright Annie, let’s pack up.” I conclude, wanting to get off this field and out of this heat. It's driving me crazy. That must be the explanation for the raw and incomparably powerful sexual attraction I felt for a woman who almost tore my head off.

Annie nods and we both head back to the water cooler table to pack our equipment away. The rest of the archery team is packing away their bows and arrows already, preparing to leave as well. But when we get back to the car I spare a glance over my shoulder and catch sight of her. The girl with the bow and the dark braid, still sinking arrows into the targets despite being utterly alone on the field.

I wonder if she’ll be able to work out her frustration before tomorrow’s redo interview. I wonder if I will as well.

(Katniss POV)

I empty my entire quiver into the target, once, twice, almost a full third time before I’m hitting bullseyes with my usual accuracy. Today was an incredibly slow start. And I blame the before practice ‘pep talk’, that was more of a guilt trip/gossip session.

It had been a full day since the blond pretty boy reporter showed up causing a ruckus with his 1000-watt smile and his thickly laid-on charm. But everyone was still completely hung up on the visit. He was a tool. Most likely. Probably.

How could he not be with his eager and earnest introduction that lasted all of two seconds before the real him came out when we argued? And instead of being the all-around ‘nice guy’ he pretended to be, he was a condescending know-it with a thing for control when it came to his interviews.

But that didn’t stop Glimmer from announcing before practice in front of everyone that she’d definitely ‘do’ him if need be to salvage the archery team’s publicity.

“I appreciate the dedication to the team honey, but let’s not bring out the big guns just yet. I have a feeling Everdeen can still salvage this if she manages to pull that stick she’s got that’s the size of Montana out of her rear end. And just answer some damn questions.” Haymitch lets Glimmer down in a half-satirical, half-appreciative tone. She pouts like a twelve-year-old.

“Whatever, I was just saying. You know, because he's mega-hot.” Glimmer replies with a shrug. I stifle my immediate distaste at the off-hand comment. I mean, I know this is college and hookups are the norm, and of course, Glimmer can do whatever she wants with her body, but wow. The girl works almost at the speed of light, is all I’m saying.

“If worse comes to worse, I’ll just throw Finnick at him,” Haymitch replies sarcastically.

Finnick is the first one to laugh at this, while I roll my eyes. Coach Abernathy doesn’t even know the meaning of tact.

“Oh, I don’t know Coach. He’s good-looking, but the redhead he was with was stunning.” Finnick’s praise of the camera girl surprises me. It's so...G-rated. And so unlike him. Usually, he’s the first to come up with sexual innuendos and double entendres when he meets a pretty girl. But this time he simply called her stunning. How strange.

“And besides, I think our resident Girl on Fire had a really strong hate-fuck vibe going on with Peeta. And I would never cock-block a dear friend.” Finnick needles me with a laugh and I fight the urge to shoot him in the foot with my bow. After I gasp indignantly, of course. Gale scowls and mutters something angrily under his breath. I just hope no one took Finnick seriously. But several people were looking at me curiously.

“That’s complete and utter bullshit Finnick! You should probably get your eyes examined. I can’t even stand the guy!” I spit out the words irately. Finnick just grins slyly back at me in response.

“Whatever, I just call them like I see them. And blondie got you more worked up than any guy I’ve seen you with all year.” Finnick’s sea-green eyes glint playfully at me in the late fall sun and I grit my teeth to keep from chewing him out because something about what he said gave me pause.

Finnick usually hangs out with Gale a lot, and Gale was pretty much the only other friend I had at this school besides my quiet roommate Madge. So I did spend an inordinate amount of my social time around Finnick, plus archery practice. If only because we had common friends and hobbies. And he may have witnessed me turning down a few guys who asked me out, and some casual flirting with guys who I shared classes with when we all ate together in the student cafeteria. Ok, sure I wasn't usually that welcoming to men’s advances. But to say Peeta had gotten me worked up? As in, a sexual way, was just ludicrous.

And yeah ok, Peeta was attractive, in that popular boy band, mass appeal, widely marketable way, with blond hair, blue eyes, a dimple when he smiled. It was like a teenybopper’s wet dream. But it sure wasn’t my wet dream. Because he was a nosey pencil-pushing pain in the ass.

Even if he was fit and toned. (How that was possible was a mystery to me, the guy worked a desk job for crying out loud). It was obvious in the way his jeans clung to his thick muscular thighs and firm rounded backside that he worked out. In the stifling heat yesterday he had quickly almost sweated through his shit. And not in an unappealing way. More like someone had staged a rugged outdoor photoshoot and specifically planned the way his shirt clung to his muscled torso...molding itself onto his defined abs and stomach...stretched tight across his wide shoulders and chest...

And ok...maybe for a minute while we were yelling at each other I’d considered licking the sweat off the hollow of his collarbone and trailing my tongue down his body so I could feel and taste every delicious dip and groove. But it was only for a moment. And it was only because I hadn’t had sex in...how long had it been again? God, Gale and I had broken up over a year ago. I just hoped my vagina hadn’t acquired cobwebs from lack of regular use by now. I’d just been so busy with a new school, and then the archery team. I was on a scholarship so my grades came first and I studied religiously. I hadn’t had time for dating or sex. But last night for the first time in a long time I had pulled out my vibrator from the bottom of my nightstand and gotten myself off, twice, before bed. Luckily Madge had stayed late with Gale in the library to study for a mutual class they had and I’d had the room to myself.

But the masturbating hadn’t been specifically because of anyone. And certainly not Peeta. More specifically, it was because I hadn’t gotten laid in forever. This was due to the fact I hadn’t found anyone interesting enough or worth the effort to get to the stage where getting laid was possible. So I just needed to scratch an inch at the end of a long and stressful day.

And when I pictured big hands gently kneading my breasts and ass cheeks it wasn’t Peeta’s hands I was picturing. A lot of guys had big hands. And when I’d imagined full soft pink lips kissing all over my body trailing up the insides of my thighs and finally stopping between my legs to kiss and suck and nibble at me until I was a quivering frantic sopping mess, it wasn’t Peeta’s infuriating mouth I had pictured.

They were all abstract images. Random things I found attractive and used at the moment to get me off.

Except...maybe the second time I had pictured sparking blue eyes full of intense heat staring up at me underneath an adorable mop of ash blond waves right before I exploded in a fit of orgasmic bliss of gargantuan proportions.

Shit.

Finnick was right.

I wanted to hate-fuck the goddamn reporter.

That was just great freaking news. I could hear the announcement now.

“This just in! New archery team 3D collegiate national qualifier Katniss Everdeen is too horny to function. She’s lusting after obnoxious blond acquaintances and starting arguments for no reason!”

It was pathetic. And I needed to do something about it. But what?

Well...I could handle this revelation in two ways. I could repress my desires, stuff them deep down so they would never see the light of day again. Or….I could do the opposite. I could screw him and get him out of my system. The 3D collegiate archery competition was coming up in two weeks. And I needed to get my head back in the game. Needed to focus. I was kind of a mess in my classes this morning. And my shots had been off since yesterday and I thought it might have been because of Haymitch nagging me to play nice. But maybe it was more than that. Maybe I just seriously need to let off some steam. But could I bring myself to hit on the guy who almost drove me nuts within five minutes of meeting him?

I didn’t know if my ego could handle it. I mean he had said some pretty nasty things about me, including calling me an asshat in front of the whole team. Not that asshat was the be-all end of all of the insults. It was a pretty weak comeback. But still, it was the principle of the thing. Could one bed someone as obnoxious as Peeta Mellark and live with the shame afterward? Probably not. At least for me, I didn’t think so.

Unless he apologized. Maybe. But what were the chances of that? A know-it-all like him admitting he messed up? Yeah, right. I guess repression was the way I was going to have to go.

And yet when he showed up 15 minutes into practice, wearing an obscenely low-side-cut olive green tank with some grey athletic shorts that hugged his ample backside, every single fantasy I had tried to shove down from last night came surging up. Made all the more intense and worse because even at this distance I could see something I had never expected from the wholesome pretty boy I thought I met yesterday.

He had tattoos. And not just one douchey-looking tribal band around his bicep that a lot of college guys had that screamed ‘fuckboy’ loudly and obnoxiously. No. Peeta Mellark had a nice collection of several decent-sized motifs all along his upper arms. They had been hidden yesterday by his casual striped button-down with the white undershirt. He has even nicer arms than I originally thought. Thick muscular arms, that catch me off guard by how much I squirm at the sight of them. And to top it off they were accentuated by the impressive collection of ink.

Then he had to go and turn to the side just enough that I caught a glimpse of his exquisitely sculpted obliques, latissimus dorsi, and serratus anterior muscles. Over which was tattooed a block of flowing script that I couldn’t follow because his tank obscured the rest of the view but undoubtedly it had to continue over his ribcage.

Not fair. It was not fair for him to be this attractive. As if she read my thoughts, Glimmer speaks up right then.

“Well, dick me dead and bury me pregnant. And here I thought he couldn’t get any yummier.” Glimmer murmured lowly so that only the team could hear. Amused laughter and Gale’s annoyed huff could be heard despite the steady thunk of arrows hitting the targets. The team is used to these kinds of comments from Glimmer. And most find it charming if not predictable. But today I find it annoying as hell.

“God, Glim, could you get any thirstier?” I muttered in aggravation and she smiled over at me indulgently.

“If you wouldn’t jump on that deliciousness and ride it six ways to Sunday you’re even more uptight than I thought Katniss.” She hissed and I immediately shut my mouth. There was no point in furthering the conversation. As much as I wanted to argue with Glimmer about how I didn’t want to ascend Peeta's throne, I worried I wouldn’t sound convincing enough. Especially while he looked like hot sex on a stick.

“Hi, there!” He says with a friendly wave aimed at all of us while he sets down the equipment bag he had with him yesterday and begins unzipping it. I don’t even bother attempting to wave back.

The red-headed girl was with him again. The one Finnick had called stunning. And looking at her today, in her cute cut-off jeans shorts and a breezy peasant top with the camera hanging low beneath her sternum I could see why. She looked younger and freer in her casual clothes, much like Peeta. Her red hair lit up like strands of fire in the (thankfully more muted and less heated than yesterday’s) afternoon light, and her green eyes were spectacular. Like shards of polished jade that stood out even though she stopped by the water cooler table some yards away.

I turn to see Finnick entranced, eyes following her every move. His mouth even hangs a little open.

“Close your mouth Finnick, or you’ll wind up swallowing a bug.” I tease him right back for the comment he made earlier about me and Peeta.

Finnick snaps his mouth shut and blushes. Like actually gets pink-cheeked and bashful looking for a second. I snort through my nose like an uncultured swine and he shoots me the evil eye.

“Don’t be a dick Katniss.” He hisses at me.

“I’m pretty sure that’s physically impossible, Fin. But I’ll let you off easy this time if you promise to keep your wildly unfounded theories about who I want to take to bed to yourself.”

“Deal.” He says quickly. We both nod at each other and I watch in abstract fascination as Peeta lifts a bright blue box out of the equipment bag gently and places it next to the water cooler on the table. It looks oddly like a large cardboard donut box, with a shiny reflective plastic window on top.

Had he brought some kind of food for everyone? Or maybe for him and his partner while they worked?

He spoke with Coach Abernathy for a minute. They seemed to be discussing the box, and although Haymitch looked like he grumbled and scowled at the reporter, in the end, he nodded and looked out toward the team members on the field

“Alright, listen up. Everyone take a 5-minute break and grab some refreshments if you want, courtesy of the University’s journalism representatives. As a gesture of goodwill and cooperation… What’d the hell you call it again boy?” Haymitch breaks off and looks at Peeta for a second, Peeta says something behind his hands I don’t catch, “Respect for the spirit of cooperation. To cut the shit, take a goddamn break and load up on carbs kids.” Haymitch finally just spits the words out impatiently and walks off, grabbing a muffin from the box before he leaves in the direction of his car. Probably to find a half-open bottle of liquor to wash the muffin down with. His liver must be cringing in fear.

What follows next is a loud and almost desperate migration towards the newly dubbed ‘refreshments’ table, by everyone but me.

I don’t feel like selling my soul for the price of some mediocre coffee shop baked goods that are probably stale having been left out all day. So, I return my focus to the target and keep shooting. Albeit my shots are slightly off-center, I tell myself that’s just because I’ve got to work harder and focus more.

It's not until I hear his arrestingly soothing voice from behind me that I snap out of my angry determined reverie.

“Why didn’t you grab any of the snacks? Got some kind of gluten allergy?” His blue eyes assess me lightly.

“No,” I say, uncooperatively as he comes to stand a few feet away from me, on my right side.

“Ok, no allergy. Maybe some weird trendy diet where you have to cut out bread?” Peeta asks.

I scoff. “No.” In a mildly offended tone.

“Oh, good, because dieting would be a bad idea for you.” He says, blurts out even, like he wasn’t thinking. And then his face freezes in anxiety.

I flush in anger. I know I’m not as big-chested as Glimmer, or as round-hipped as a lot of other girls on campus but I wasn’t anorexic or anything. If he was telling me I needed to eat more because I was too skinny then he was an even bigger douche canoe than I originally thought.

He seems to pick up on the anger in my eyes and backpedals quickly, his hands palm out in surrender.

“I didn’t mean you don’t need to--wow. And here I thought today would be so much easier with a peace offering and ample time for both of our tempers to cool down.”

“Well, you’ve managed to kick things off to a great start. So kudos to you.” I snap. He sighs, and runs a hand absentmindedly through his hair, musing up the soft waves.

“Look, I’m sorry for losing my temper yesterday and cursing at you. I’m also sorry for patronizing you. It was wrong. And I’d like to start on a better foot before we try the interview thing again. But, well, I keep putting said foot in my mouth so…” He trails off in embarrassment. And his pink cheeks look so….humiliated and adorable like a kindergartener getting sent to time out. It's like kryptonite and I feel my indignation slipping. I make a joke instead of starting another argument.

“Now you barely have one leg to stand on.” I quip without looking at him and pull back my bowstring.

“Something like that.” He says, and his voice is closer. I fight the urge to look over at him to determine exactly how close. I can feel his eyes on me, but not in a leering or critical way. It was almost like he was studying the mechanics of it, my shooting, anticipating the shot as much as I am making it. It should have felt nerve-wracking. But with my bow in my hands and him having gone peacefully silent, it didn’t feel nerve-wracking at all. I breathe in and out deeply before letting go.

This time my arrow flies straight into the target, dead center. The corner of my mouth kicks up slightly.

“Damn, that’s impressive.” He mutters under his breath and I let out a shaky exhale. It was probably the best shot I’d made all day. And I’d done it with him nearly two feet away from my side. Strange.

“Hopefully impressive enough to place at the 3D competition,” I tell him as I lower my bow and turn towards him fully. He was extremely attractive looking from across the field, but he’s magnificent up close. My eyes run over his sunlit golden waves, strong sturdy shoulders, down his thick and pleasingly decorated arms. Before I have a chance to examine him further he asks me another question.

“Are you looking forward to going?” He asks and my eyes snap back to his face. I wonder if he caught my casual perusal of his goods. I don’t want to keep talking about myself, but Haymitch did say to play nice. So….

“Sure. I’ve never been to a national archery competition before. Actually, before this year, I hadn't ever competed officially. So, it's kind of exciting making the team and getting to go to nationals right away.” I responded honestly.

Peeta nods at me, his blue eyes clear and bright and behind them, I can see a sharp intelligence that is mentally cataloging every word I divulge. It's like an inner world hidden behind the boyish smile and easy-going mannerisms that are so disarming.

He’s good at this, I realize. Offhand compliments and getting people to talk about themselves, asking seemingly unimportant questions that lend themselves deeper explanations. Now he’ll probably probe deeper into my background. Find out why I started university so late, and why I’ve never competed before. All the sordid little details of my depressing life. I brace for the inevitable.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try some of the pastries I made?” He asks again, catching me off guard. I fumble with my bow a bit.

“Made?” I say in shock. I wasn’t expecting the question, or to find out he cooked something for the team. He smiles that sweet but just the perfect hint of a shy smile of his and I have to bite my lip to keep from returning it.

“Yeah, um, I grew up in a bakery all my life. I still bake sometimes as a hobby.” Peeta tells me and I blink at him in surprise. I did not expect that. He was catching me all sort of off guard right now.

“Really?” I ask stupidly, still incredulous. What college guy liked to bake in his spare time? Was he for real? But judging by the look on his open and guileless face I could tell he was being honest.

“Yeah. I enjoy it. It's a stress reliever, allows me to take my mind off things you know?” He says as he stretches his back lightly and rocks heel to toe. I catch another glimpse of the rib cage tattoo and I feel my curiosity sparking. I wonder if it would be strange to ask him about his tattoos. Probably. I mean I supposedly can’t stand him.

“Archery is my stress reliever,” I answer him shortly, to distract myself from ogling him.

“Oh, I can tell. It's like your whole being quiets down when you shoot. Like everything else in the world is just white noise and the only important things are you and whatever you’ve got your eye on.” He says as he looks back at the target and then back at me. His gaze is weighted, but not uncomfortably so. Just heavy with the feeling of an unexpected truth that settles in the air.

I flush involuntarily at his words. It kind of did feel like that whenever I shot. But how did he know? How could he? We’d met one time, and hadn’t spoken long enough to get much further than introductions before the argument started. Was he simply that observant?

“It's just something in the way you hold yourself and concentrate.” He tells me, answering the question that must be in my eyes, nonchalantly, as if he’s just described me walking to my car instead of the unexplainable and undefinable feeling that connected me to my beloved sport.

“You certainly have a way with words,” I tell him dryly. And he chuckles, a deep amused sound that has me trying not to stare at the way his eyes crinkle and his abdomen tightens attractively underneath his thin shirt.

“I’m even better with baked goods. Come on, accept a carb-laden olive branch from me?” He asks and there’s a little something in his voice, and his offer that feels slightly like flirting. But that can’t be right.

“Alright, but only because it's kind of sexist of you to think a woman won’t eat bread because she’s watching her figure. Or has some kind of allergy.” I tell him with a scowl.

He groans, but it's the exaggerated, joking kind of groan.

“I’m sorry about that too.” He pleads and beckons me after him with an outstretched hand and curling of his thick strong-looking fingers. I mentally chide myself to stop looking at his fingers.

“Well, if your pastries are as good as you claim, I might let you interview me without the threat of bodily harm.” I tease and he visibly brightens.

“Alright, then you have to try the cheese buns. They are the best thing I make and they’re my recipe too.” He suggests as I fall into step behind him.

“A cheese bun? What’s that?” I ask, intrigued. Anything combining bread and cheese catches my interest.

“Come on, I’ll show you.” He offers. We make our way to the snack table and I catch sight of Finnick nervously trying to chat up the shy-looking red head.

“Peeta man, this stuff is amazing!” Finnick calls out enthusiastically when we make our way over.

“Thanks, man,” Peeta says happily. He practically trots over to the box and starts searching.

“Shit!” He exclaims in frustration a second later. My head snaps to him, leaving whatever question Gale was asking me unanswered.

“What? We left stuff for you and Kat,” Finnick says, coming over and looking in the box. And from where I stand I can see there are a couple of muffins and cinnamon rolls but I don’t see anything else.

“All the cheese buns finished,” Peeta says in an extremely dejected voice.

“Oh,” I say, surprised to hear the disappointment in my voice.

My teammates look a little sheepish, probably at having eaten the best of the baked goods. But our team is made up of mostly robust young guys, who are always hungry, Peeta’s lucky nothing was even left at all.

“It's fine,” I tell him and try to brush it off.

“No, it's not. This was the white flag. The peace offering! I should have set one aside.” Peeta chastises himself and I shake my head.

“You want something else Katniss? There’s still muffins and they’re hella good.” Thresh offers and I politely decline. I tell them I’m more of a savory than a sweet eater. Peeta looks kind of devastated. I feel bad about it.

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get started with the interview.” I tell him and he looks over at me, seemingly to gauge my sincerity.

“Alright, I’ll just owe you one.” He replies.

I shake my head again.

“No,” I reply and his countenance falls. I feel bad but I don’t want there to be any sort of debt between us. I hate owing people and I hate it when people feel like they owe me too. Then I get an idea.

“How about this, you ask a question and I ask one back? Would that be fair?” I offer and he looks up at me suddenly. He nods.

“Yeah, that could work.” He agrees and his perfect pink mouth sketches into a tentative smile. I nod back.

“Ok, so where do you want to do this?” I ask and when something like interest sparks across his gaze I fight the urge to blush. Parapraxis is bitch sometimes.

He looks over at Annie and she marches to his side.

“Can you get some candid shots of the whole team, like wide angle lens with silhouettes and a few close-ups on profiles and faces? But stay in the background this time? I don’t want it to feel posed” He tells her, and the photography jargon is hard to follow. I have no idea what a wide-angle lens is for, but it seems Peeta is not only good with words and pastries, but he also knows quite a bit about photography. Annie murmurs a quiet yes and sets off towards the 20-yard targets where some of the others have already started shooting again.

But unluckily not everyone has scattered yet.

“I’m ready for my close up Mr. Reporter,” Glimmer throws out in a flirty voice and even winks at Peeta.

“Oh, that’s great Glimmer, but I’m gonna try to catch up on Katniss’ interview today since we didn’t get much usable info yesterday.” He tells her gently. I bite my lip and turn away. Of course, the two best-looking blonds would find a way to flirt with each other. She looks especially cute in her yoga tights and crop top. People could say whatever they wanted about her intelligence but Glimmer was still beautiful.

“You poor thing,” She coos and tries to place a conciliatory pat on Peeta’s shoulder but he turns at the last second and faces her so her hand ends up patting empty air.

“I love my job. And I’ve learned over the years that usually the more difficult the subject the more amazing the collaboration turns out.” He says firmly. She looks taken aback.

“Collaboration? I thought you were the reporter. Aren’t I just here to answer your questions?” I ask him in a concerned voice. Momentarily forgetting to reveal too much in the shocked look of disappointment on Glimmer’s face.

“Nope, in fact, you have the biggest part to play in this article. You’re a newcomer to the sport and the university, you’re talented, and you're unbiased. So you can give an extraordinary window into the dynamics of collegiate archery and life at Panem U. If I let you tell your story correctly, this thing is going to be a smash, for the university and the archery department.” Peeta says confidently and begins to walk back to my spot at the 40-yard targets. I follow him silently.

I suddenly feel nervous as I take in his words. Is that true? Is that what everyone is expecting of me? I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of pressure.

When I get back to the targets Peeta seems to sense this, maybe because of the terrified look I’ve probably got written all over my face.

“Hey, hey, sorry. That must have sounded like I expected you to do all the work in this interview. But really, you won’t. The burden’s on me to ask the right questions. All you have to do is answer honestly. I’ll be doing the majority of the heavy lifting ok?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat and will myself to calm down.

“How about this, you take a couple of shots to relieve the stress I unfairly and idiotically put on you, and then you ask me a question to start.” Peeta offers gently and I find myself nodding.

“Don’t you need a pen and paper or something to take notes with?” I ask.

“No, I’ve got a pretty good memory. But if it makes you feel more comfortable I can use an audio recorder so you won’t be misquoted.” He jokes.

“Um, no, that’s fine. Unless you need it, then go ahead.” I tell him quietly.

“Alright, well let’s just see how far we get. If I start having trouble remembering I’ll use the recorder. You go ahead and set up your shot. And ask me your first question when you start feeling comfortable.” Peeta tells me.

So I do. I shoot for a bit and then start by asking him how he got assigned this story. He tells me a little bit about being on the journalism team for the university newspaper and makes me laugh when he talks about how he begged his boss for a more exciting assignment after he got stuck with golf last time.

“Little did I know I’d be meeting you the next day.” He jokes and I laugh, unable to stop myself.

“Be careful what you ask for I guess,” I tell him as I sink another arrow into the target.

“Oh, I’m glad I asked for this assignment. It's probably the most intriguing subject matter I’ve studied all year.” He tells me with a sly smile, looking right at me when he says it.

My eyes flit back to the target and I pretend to study it for a bit. I still am having a hard time reconciling the fact that he’s flirting with me. But I’m getting that vibe. At least, I think he is. He’s been sweet and disarming and courteous all afternoon.

That alone is shocking, after the extremely rough start we had. But maybe pretty boy Peeta isn’t so easily deterred by surly dispositions or bad first impressions. He seemed to handle Haymitch pretty well at the start of practice. Even got him to deliver that funny little speech. Maybe he’s good with difficult people. What’s even more startling is that I hope he is. Good with difficult people and also that he is interested. In me.

Because the longer we talk, the more interested I become. And I want to find out what the heck his tattoo says. I look back at him and find him openly admiring my stance, the way I pull back my bow. I may not have the bust size of some other girls, but I’m pretty fit. I’m particularly proud of my toned arms and legs, not to mention my shoulders which stayed in good shape because of archery. Also, Gale had once told me after we broke up that he missed my ass because no other girl he’s met had one like mine. I’d threatened to break his nose if he ever said that in public but privately I’d been pleased. Maybe Peeta was an admirer of derrieres as well.

Only one way to find out.

I shoot my last arrow and it sinks just right of center. But of course, there are so many arrows clustered together in the center there hadn’t been any more room for my last one. I had been aiming for the spot to the right anyway.

“Let me just go and retrieve my arrows,” I tell Peeta sweetly and he looks a little surprised.

“Need some help?” Peeta offers immediately.

“No, you just stay right there,” I told him. You’ll have a better view if you do. I think to myself. He obliged me and just looked on as I walked off.

I jog over to the target and begin pulling out arrows one by one and placing them back into my quiver. I’m so nervous my palms are sweating. By the last arrow, I don’t even have to pretend to drop it by accident. I feel my heartbeat racing a little. I’ve never been this bold or suggestive with a guy. But if I want to get Peeta out of my system so I can go back to concentrating on my studies and the competition coming up, then I can’t wait for him to make the first move. Peeta seems like the type to want to date and woo a girl. And I’m not interested in a relationship. I need to work out this sexual tension I’ve got with someone who I can see myself getting off quickly with during sex. And Peeta checks a lot of my boxes. All of them if I’m being honest with myself. I turn for a second to see if he’s looking and thankfully he is. He’s staring right at me.

So, I just go ahead and go for it.

I bend over to retrieve the fallen arrow, slowly. I’m wearing tiny black athletic shorts that are loose enough at the bottom to not be distracting when I’m standing. But when I bend down, especially at the right angle….

I grab the arrow and stand back up after what I surmise is an appropriate amount of time. I’m still facing away from him. But I know since I didn’t wear any tights underneath my shorts today that I just gave Peeta an eye full of my ass cheeks and he probably knows what color my underwear is now too. (olive green like the tank he’s wearing).

When I look back at him he looks different. Startled for a second. But when he sees the look on my face it's like something clicks. Gone is the friendly smile. The casual charm that usually emanates from him is nowhere to be found as I slowly walk back, my flushed cheeks betraying me. Instead, there is just this quiet anticipation that rolls off him in waves.

Good, I think to myself.

Hopefully, after tonight Peeta Mellark will become a college fling I had once.

But the way he bites those perfect lips of his and crosses his arms over his chest so that his muscles stand out attractively I think that maybe one might be underestimating him. Because Peeta Mellark looks like he wants to devour me twice over.

And judging by the slickness of my underwear I think I might want him to do just that.

(Peeta)

I’m struck speechless by the tantalizing view of Katniss bent over in those little shorts of hers. I can’t talk, I can’t move. I can barely think. It’s like my operating system has crashed and I need a second to try and reboot it.

My efforts seem to be failing spectacularly and what’s worse is that I don't seem to mind their apparent failure.

The only thing that does seem to be working properly is my dick. Which is rapidly growing harder in my shorts the longer my eyes linger on the delicious golden fleshy globes of Katniss’ perfectly sculpted ass that are peeking out of her shorts and lacy-edged green underwear.

The green itself is doing wonders for her complexion, the artist in me notes.

I quickly adjust my hard-on so that my erection is trapped against my stomach and the waistband of my shorts. It’s uncomfortable but it’ll have to do until my cock starts to behave again. I really don’t want to be walking around with a huge tent in front of the entire college archery team.

I refocus on Katniss again, and I get this sudden urge and mental image of me pulling down her shorts and smacking her ass hard, with an open palm just to watch the perky swells retreat from impact and then bounce back.

I’d love to see what her bare ass looks like decorated with the outline of my hand on it.

The thought floats up unbidden from somewhere in the recesses of my mind.

Whoa, where did that thought come from?

Great, now I was having spanking fantasies about her. Which was weird because usually, I wouldn’t consider myself a kinky guy. But damn. Katniss just brought out a whole different side of me and I don't know if that discovery is appreciated or not.

As if it wasn’t bad enough before this. Yesterday I couldn’t get her out of my head and I had jerked off this morning in the shower to the mental image of her flushed face and sweaty cleavage during the argument we had when we met.

Ok, that’s it. I have to do something about this, or I’ll go insane. I have to try to get this girl to go out with me. At least.

From the look she threw my way before she bent over I’d say I have a good shot. She checked to make sure I was looking before she pulled her little stunt.

Suddenly she straightens up and turns back around to face my direction. The look on her face is different. For a moment she seems unsure, but then our gazes lock and even at this distance I can see it in her eyes.

She wants me. Maybe as bad as I want her if that's even possible.

Fuck.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on by a girl I haven’t even seen naked yet.

But there was just something about Katniss that stirred up my blood. From the lusty yet slightly embarrassed look on her face as she walks back towards me, cheeks flushed and gray eyes flashing in the afternoon light I know that she has no idea. The true extent of the effect she has on me. I don’t even think it's purely physical.

But I think I’d give my left leg to get to know her better on a purely physical level to start out with.

Man, that little show she put on. That was all for my benefit. And the way she’s looking at me right now, as she sexily bites her lip is making it very clear what her intentions are.

Well, two can play at this game I think as I cross my arms over my chest and return her gaze, spark for spark.

“We match,” I tell her quietly, tugging on the front of my muscle shirt and letting my eyes drift down to her lower half. Those olive green panties of hers may be covered up right now but I had seen enough to know that my shirt and her underwear were almost the same shade of green.

She blushed even harder and blinked at me for a second before swallowing thickly and nodding.

Shooting her a coy smirk, I run one hand through my hair, making sure to flex my arm as I do. I’m gratified to see her molten silver stare flit over my arms and chest before struggling to settle back on my face.

My smirk deepens.

“Makes you wonder what other things we might be a match in,” I say smoothly, my eyes trained on her face to gauge her reaction.

“Possibly.” She replies quietly, her eyes shifting down to my mouth.

If we were alone I’d probably kiss her right now. But I take a quick look around the field and see that Coach Abernathy has made it back from his liquor break and is watching the two of us intently from some distance away. No doubt waiting to see if Katniss and I blow up at each other a second time.

The bronze-haired guy named Finnick is following Annie around like a lost puppy, but it seems she’s barely acknowledging his attempts at conversation as she moves around the field taking pictures of the other archers.

Everyone else seems to be focused on practicing.

I take a deep breath and look back at Katniss trying to gather my courage.

“I feel really bad you didn’t get to eat any of the food I baked. I mean, by the time practice ends you must be starving, what with a long day of classes you probably have.” I try to segue into my pitch carefully.

Katniss is eying me expectantly and it gives me the confidence to continue.

“Would you wanna grab a bite to eat after this?” I ask, deciding to just go for it.

She looks down and does that thing where she bites her lip and I stare as she worries a little piece of skin in between her teeth.

“Maybe you could take me back to your place and whip up some more of those, what did you call then? Cheesy buns?” She proposes in a slightly suggestive manner as she fiddles with the end of her braid.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding in. It's becoming more and more clear the direction she wants to take this in.

“Yeah, I think that could be arranged,” I say quietly before reaching out and running one finger down the smooth texture of her plaited dark hair and stopping at the end of her braid before giving it a playful tug.

“But first we really should finish the interview. My boss chewed me out something terrible when I came back to the office yesterday empty-handed.” I admit with a chuckle and she has the decency to look embarrassed.

“Sorry if I got you in trouble.”

“No worries. Johanna can be a bit of a hardass but she’s alright. I just promised her I’d get some really interesting stuff today.”

“How could you promise that before you even interviewed me? I mean what if I’m totally boring?”

“Katniss, you may be a lot of things, but boring isn’t one of them. That much I’m sure of.”

She rolls her eyes at me and huffs a little, before taking up her stance again. She pulls out an arrow and notches it on her bow. Then she turns her head slightly to look at me as she raises one eyebrow.

“Well, start asking your questions already.” She instructs and I grin at her.

“Tell me about your aiming process. How do you ensure such accuracy everytime you fire?” I ask.

“When you shoot, you’ve got to keep both eyes on what you want to hit.” Katniss tells me seriously. We’ve been at this for the last 20 minutes. She shoots while I ask her questions. Sometimes she asks me stuff back. Its been working well, and I am pleasantly pleased with the amount of material I’ve collected for the interview so far.

Even though the words we’ve exchanged have been entirely professional ever since she gave me the green light to continue with the interview, the fire hasn’t left her eyes. Nor my blood. I’m just counting down the minutes until I can end the interview and get her all to myself back at my apartment.

“Do you bring this kind of tenacious focus with you to all aspects of your life?” I ask as evenly as I can, I find myself almost out of breath as I watch her lean muscular arms go through the motions of pulling an arrow out of her quiver.

I wanna know what those strong but delicate arms feel like wrapped around me. This leads me to think about her legs wrapped around me too.

Which leads to….distraction.

I shake my head and try to refocus, hoping my wildly mounting attraction for her isn’t as obvious to her as it feels to me.

“When the situation calls for it. I’m good at going after what I want. And I find my mark almost every time.” She tells me with such a straight face I would have believed we were still talking about archery if her smoldering gray eyes weren’t glued to my mouth again.

I lick my lips in a knee-jerk reaction. I see her eyelids lower, fractionally, and she purses her lips just slightly. It's enough to make my heart speed up and my hands clench.

“So does that mean you feel confident about Panem U’s chances at placing in the upcoming D3 National Archery Competition?” I ask, after clearing my throat and bridging up back on topic.

At this, she smiles a bit. It's not a conceited or cocky smile. It's enthusiastic and dare I say, hopeful.

“Yes. We’ve got a great team this year and one of the most knowledgeable coaches in the sport. I think the odds are in our favor this time around.” She says as she looks back over in the direction of her teammates and Haymitch.

I can see the affection she has for them, even if she doesn’t say it out loud. The more I get to know her the more I realize that her tough exterior is most likely hiding a softer side.

Which is a side of Katniss Everdeen I’m just dying to get to know. But I know I have to proceed cautiously. She didn’t seem like the kind to open up right away.

“I think the D13 competition isn’t going to know what hit them this year.” I agree quietly.

Just like me, when we first met, I add, in my head but don't say it out loud.

#HTT #hittingthetarget #lemonluvwrites #sparklingstella #thg #thg fanfiction #modern au #college au #enemies to lovers

4 notes · View notes

lorbanery · 8 months ago

Text

Shapeshifters used to get a handful of transmed assholes in the comments when we first got on Instagram a while back. We were the first US company to start making and selling binders in colors and prints instead of the black/white/beige that were the only options at the time, and they SUPER did not like that.

Here's a couple of more granular talking points and ideas we saw for folks to look out for (note again that this was several years ago, around 2017-ish, so the specifics may have changed or evolved):

Chest binders are medical devices for the treatment of a medical diagnosis of gender dysphoria.

Related to the first point, it is ableist to claim binders are just clothing.

It is ableist to claim that medical devices don't have to be plain or in only boring neutral colors.

Suggesting that people who are not trans men (meaning someone who identifies as a man and has been medically diagnosed with gender dysphoria relating to that) can wear binders causes some vaguely defined harm to trans men.

Trans men (as defined above) need to wear binders, anyone else just wants to.

Trans men don't wear bright colors or prints. Anything other than white, black, grey, brown, navy blue, and maybe red is Feminine and trans men, being men, cannot stand to wear anything Feminine.

Ergo, any trans man who wears bright colors or prints isn't a Real Trans Man.

Any company selling products specifically marketed to trans men that are brightly colored or have prints is deliberately and maliciously feminizing trans men and are transphobic.

Wearing gender affirming clothing cannot be a source of joy or empowerment because to be trans is to be in constant pain and misery.

The constant pain and misery is inherent to the trans experience and anyone who claims to feel good about the way they look, even if it matches their binary trans identity, is not really trans.

Anyone claiming that a trans person can find ways to feel good about their bodies, presentation, and gender is giving people false hope and taking advantage of a vulnerable population.

This is not an exhaustive list, just what I was able to remember off the top of my head since I blocked anyone who put that shit in our comments as soon I saw them.

Which brings me to my advice for anyone who encounters this, but especially folks with professional accounts: Don't engage, just block.

Because here's the thing, you're not going to change their minds. You might notice I harped a lot on the whole "being trans is pain and misery" thing. That's what they truly believe. Why? Because it's what they've been told and it matches their personal experience. These are people who are deep in the throes of some serious depression and self-loathing. Does that justify their bigotry? Absolutely not! But it does mean that a random stranger on the internet debating them about their personal reality stands a vanishingly small chance of doing anything but making them double-down in their belief that everyone making a cruel mockery of them and their identity.

They got their momentary hit of seratonin by dunking on you. The kindest thing you can do after that is just block them instead of spiking both of your anxieties by replying and essentially starting a fight.

"But isn't it important for other people to see you stand up to them?"

Counterpoint: It's MORE important for your trans customers/audience/followers to not be exposed to that kind of rhetoric in the first place. Given how many trans folks under 25 are on social media and are in that developmental stage where emotions are high and every opinion related to something they feel is part of their identity is either support or an attack specifically on them? They don't need to see that shit, it's harmful for folks of any age.

But also, MANY OF THEM WILL FEEL OBLIGATED OR PUSHED TO DEFEND YOU. This is really shitty, if you're an influencer or a company or someone else who uses their account for professional reasons! Your audience should never be put in a position where they feel they have to engage an asshole in your comments to defend you. Yes, it can be unavoidable, not ever asshole deserves to be blocked. But in this particular case it's better to get rid of them than allow folks to start debating them. Again, it creates unnecessary stress for everyone involved, but it also gives the transmeds a platform to justify and rationalize their position.

You can stand up to them in other visible ways, like by making periodic posts/comments specifically mentioning that you don't tolerate that shit and why.

"But isn't it bad to remove negative comments?"

Sure, if it's an opinion about the actual substance of your product or service. If someone really feels strongly enough that your work is shoddy and cheap that they're compelled leave a comment about it, that's information your customers deserve to have, regardless of if you think they're wrong. If someone never received an order they placed a year ago, or received the wrong product. If they felt they had a terrible customer service experience. If they think the audio quality in your videos is shit. If they think your videos are too long. If they think you post too often. If they think you post too much about subjects they feel are too tangential to the way you market yourself. Those are all valid opinions about the substance of your product/service/channel/account/etc that might be useful to other customers/viewers/followers.

And, like, feel free to respond to those in a polite and professional manner if you feel there's some context you can add, or to point them to how they can contact you directly about their order, or whatever.

But someone saying "this is transphobic and oppressive because it's marketed to trans men and has glitter on it" isn't about the actual substance of your product. Trans men are allowed to like glitter. The ones who don't are welcome to not buy it. The ones who do do not need to see people telling them that they're not really trans in the comments of your posts/videos/etc for various reasons that you, presumably, know are false.

"But isn't it wrong to block people from having access to your business?"

No it the fuck is not! If someone walks into a restaurant and starts harassing the other customers for eating food that person personally thinks are gross and unhealthy, that person's going to get kicked out. Just because it's happening on the internet doesn't mean they should get a pass! Unless you run some kind of non-profit or a government-funded group, no one is entitled to access to you, your social media account, or your business/services.

Your obligation is to your customers/followers and those folks criticizing the quality of your products/services/content in good faith.

Blocking people from your account doesn't censor them from talking about their gripes with you. They can hate you all they want for the most petty of reasons and rant and rave all they want on their own account. But they don't have a right to be able to do that in your comments/replies.

Bigotry is bigotry. Just because trans meds are usually trans themselves doesn't change that and you don't need to play host to it.

ive been seeing a new wave of transmedicalists lately I think we gotta start being vocal again about how nasty they are. you don't need to take hormones or have surgery to be a trans person. changing your name and pronouns is gender affirming care. wearing new clothes and hair and makeup is part of transitioning too. you dont need to pass to be trans, you don't need to be male or female.

nonbinary, agender, genderfluid, genderqueer people are trans too if that's a label they want to use for themselves. and anyone who says otherwise is a piece of shit. it's not "anti-transitioning" to say so, it's anti-telling other people what to do with their bodies. it's pro-minding your own fucking business and letting people do what they want with their gender and treating them with compassion and enthusiasm

29K notes · View notes

ms-understand · 10 months ago

Text

him/he/me + she/her and what was 2B.

I saw an image of a face. A bald man screaming bloody anger. It reminded me of myself, or more like, my past self. He didn't know how many times he had been touched. He couldn't count how many times he had been hit. He only had a few small scars to remind him that he was there. The little one. The skinny runt. The sissy. The pussy. He didn't understand, but knew it wasn't how it was meant to be. The runt grew. Saw some punk rocker type "skinheads" and adopted some of the look. Started going to places where only the wild ones go. Learned to drink learned to fuck learned to dance, but never learned to fight. Punched someone once. Opened up some skin. Hated the way it felt. Men get a rush from that sort of thing. I got guilt and depression. So, I could hurt somebody the way they hurt me. No thank you.

I did hurt people though. I made myself look mean. I worked hard jobs with my body. I lifted weight when not working. I kept drinking and I yelled when angry. People stayed away. I met men. Older men who would get me drunk. If I liked them, they could do whatever they wanted with me. If I didn't like them, I would see how much I could get out of them before they cared.

Then I met her, and she had a kid, and the kid became my daughter, and she told me she couldn't have kids, but then we did and even the doctor said she couldn't have anymore and that seemed true for 6 years and then we had another. I kept on drinking. I kept on yelling. I got sick of myself and wanted to change while she got sick of me and wanted someone else. She found someone else. That's another story.

This is my story. I found someone else too. I quit drinking with a 12-step program. I got sent home from work because of COVID 19 for a month. I was an essential worker, but I got a month off. In that time, I discovered the girl I was. In my memories. Playing with my sisters and their friends and how playing with the boys in the neighborhood was always a nightmare. I started to realize that I'm definitely not like any man I've ever known. Not even feminine men. I stopped caring about clothes and hair long ago, but I never stopped trying to repress my feelings and behavior. The way I walk, talk, eat, the way think, has all been conditioned. The girl had not been beaten out of me, but pushed way far back, and I learned to keep her there, so people wouldn't act hateful to me, but the real me, at any given opportunity, like being drunk in a comfortable place or all alone quarantined in 2020, would come out, and I would wish I had breast or wish I didn't have my genitals. I learned what gender dysphoria is and started to wonder if that was what's going on. I looked into it, more and more, and I started to figure out that, yes, that's what it is. Then, denial. It had to be something else. I'm autistic and that could be it, somehow, so I look into it and shit. Damn, yes that could be it, because autism and being trans often go together. I said often, not always. So, I start asking for others' opinions and it's suggested I see a gender therapist. I didn't want to do that, but after three years of going back and forth with am I this that or the other thing, and being way more stressed than usual, I am going to see a gender therapist. I felt a sense of relief just signing myself up for that. They gave me a three month wait, period. I can see why. I have one month left. Over the past two months I have gone back and forth and thought about cancelling the appointment. I haven't.

Why the big deal? Why worry? It's internalized transphobia. I pinned something that sort of explains, but maybe not good enough. I know I'm not a feminine man, because I've known a few, and that's not me.

Why not embrace being a trans woman? I want to, but there's that little boy who got slapped in the face for wearing moms make up, when his siters did it, it was cute, but he got a slap. The little boy who was constantly told to stop acting like a girl, even though he didn't understand why, just wanted love. There was even the young man who wanted to be loved and love a man but didn't know how. That wanted to be loved like a woman, not like a gay man. I didn't understand. Every so often a woman would come into one of the bars I'd visit, and she wouldn't be like the guys in drag. She would be a woman. A trans woman, but a woman all the same. I wanted to be that, but I didn't think it was possible. I was and still am big, bald, and to some, intimidating. But when I was around trans women, it was as if I knew that I wanted what she had. Courage. To be me.

What am I getting at? Internalized transphobia. The things I experienced caused me to repress and fear, myself. Does that make sense? The society and system I have always lived in taught me that being big, bald and scary, means being a man and being soft, having nice hair and being pretty, is being a woman. Obviously, this is wrong. Conditioning. Being told a lie over and over until it becomes truth. It's hard to break away from that at any age, but I believe the longer we wait the more difficult it becomes.

#transgender #trans issues #trans woman #transphobia #internalized transphobia #or am I wrong?#reasons to see a therapist.#me

0 notes

itsmeagentlethem · 11 months ago

Text

Dating While Trans.

I have been out as trans masc for over 5 years at this point. I am medically transitioned and pass fairly well to the general public. I have always dated queer and trans people and haven't ever really had to deal with toxic parents. I am the type that prides themselves on being the parent's favorite and being the golden child. I just started college and started dating this person who are the very stereotypical NY Italian parents. Comes from a catholic family, doesn't go to church or mass or any of that nonsense but definitely still hates the queers. I had seen their parent briefly mutliple times on our college campus and they were nothing but lovely to me and we had joked, laughed, and made small talk. So when it came to a point where me and my partner had been dating for about a month they wanted to tell their parents. ( This was also right before the holidays and we were being delusion in thinking I could come to see them for their family Christmas eve.) They had texted their mother and was immediately called and got yelled to on the phone saying they don't accept and telling them they have to break up with me. I come from a really liberal single mother household who has always been accepting of me. So dealing with parents who are so against my entire exsistence is not really something I have had to deal with. Like of course I have dealt the comments of random people and the opinions of my extended family but my partners family is a new terratory. Also coming from a very close "family before everything else" ideology family I understand the pressure they are coming from. I never want to be the guy that is making them pick between me and their family. I will not give them an ultimatum. My partner vents to me a lot about the things their parents says about me and our relationship; and its a lot of really hateful transphobic shit. I have been struggling feeling comfortable in my identity even before this dealing with unlearning toxic masculity and being more comfortable showing my feminine side. So in addition to that being told I am not a real boy (What am I Pinocchio?) and that I'll never be accepted is a very big hit on me. I also feel really bad because I want to be there for my partner but I don't want to listen to the hateful language their parents are saying about me anymore. My partner tells me all the time that this situation isn't fair to me and they would understand if I broke up with me because of it. I know this situation sucks a whole bunch but not being with them would be so much worse. I know breaking up when we really like each other is not going to work. I don't think we would be capable of being friends without there being more. I am worried about the same thing that they are going to break uo with me. Like on one hand I understand and I want them to pick their safety over me but also on another hand it is really going to suck to be broken up with for being trans. Today is their birthday and their parents called to tell them that they are upset that we are still dating and that they want my partner to know they will never accept it. ON THEIR BIRTHDAY. I hate them. The controlling malicious manipulativeness of them is fucking disgusting. I don't even know what to do at this point cause its not like I am going to de-transition and I don't plan on breaking up with them. I am just stuck. I don't want to say I hate being trans because most of the time I do really enjoy my idenity and I have gotten so much more comfortable. But this is a part I really hate. I don't hate being trans, I hate bigots. I hate being in this Romeo and Juliet situation. There is nothing I can do, I am just stuck.

#transgender #dating #relationship #parents #bigots #college student #vent post #personal vent #trauma dump

0 notes

blueicequeen19 · 2 years ago

Text

Oppression Pt. 4

Warnings: unprotected sex, mentions of violence, mentions of drugging, manipulation, daddy kink, semi public sex, jealousy

I stop at the sound of my fathers laughter, mixed with a more feminine laugh that sure as shit wasn’t Rose. I knew that laugh. I round the house just in time to see my father sitting at the patio table with Y/N. She was wearing a very revealing, strappy red bikini. It made my dick hard but also pissed me off. Was this her plan? Seduce my dad next?

“Shouldn’t you be with Sarah?” I bite out and they both turn to look at me.

“Rafe, where are your manners? Y/N knows she’s always welcome here.” Ward scoffs at me, not seeing through this little siren like I am. Her eyes narrow in warning at me until my father turns back to her then it’s like a veil drops. The doe eyes and small innocent smile return. Manipulative bitch.

“Since when does she hang around without Sarah? I thought you didn’t take in free loaders?” I hit her where it hurts and her face darkens in anger but it earns me a glare from my father.

“What is your problem, Rafe? I don’t say anything to you when Kelc comes over and eats everything in the pantry? Or when Topper needs to borrow some of my tools? You need to remember who’s house this is. Plus, last time I checked, you don’t live here anymore so show my guest some respect or go.” It’s like a punch in the gut. Him picking her over me. Just like how he always picks my sisters over me. How he picks Rose over me.

The only one who ever picked me was my mother and she was dead.

“Whatever. Don’t come crying to me if shit starts going missing.” She wasn’t a thief but I could plant the seed. I stomp off, their laughter reaching me just as I slam the door behind me.

Weeks go by and she’s always fucking there. Every dinner. Every event. It’s like they’ve taken on another daughter and she eats it up. I can tell Sarah is growing jealous but she never says anything, too caught up with her loser boyfriend. Probably glad dad is ignoring her now and let’s her do whatever she wants.

Midsummers comes and I think it’s going to be a great night until she gets introduced with us, hanging on my father like arm candy while throwing me shitty knowing looks. What was her problem? Because I told her she couldn’t tell people we fucked? Because I didn’t want her? I’d post it on the news if it meant getting her the fuck out of my life. That fake innocence is a game she plays too well. It worked on me and now she was trying to seduce my father. A shoulder bumps into me and I look up to see Kelc sipping on champagne following me line of site.

“Maybe she has a thing for the Cameron’s. Supplying the alcohol until she gets what she wants from you.” I blink at him.

“How many drinks did I have that night?” I ask and Kelc looks at me confusingly.

“I don’t know, man. I don’t keep count. Seemed like less than usual. One minute you were fine and the next you could barely stand.” Kelc turns away and starts talking to some girl like I’m not even here. I know I don’t get that drunk. Ever. I don’t like hangovers. I drink and snort until I feel good then I stop. I know better by now. She had to have fucking drugged me.

I grit my teeth as I watch her hand another glass of champagne to my father. Where the fuck was Rose? I turn my head and spot her flirting with the new young deputy and I roll my lip in disgust. Of course. I look back towards my father, shocked to find them both gone. I spin around, taking in the crowd but coming up empty. Where the fuck did they go? They had to have gone inside? If she fucked my dad, I’d kill her. I got away with it once, I’d do it again.

I sit my glass down and go inside the country club. This place was huge. No way I’d be able to find them by myself. A blonde Pogue waiter starts to rush by me and I stop him, nearly knocking the tray of drinks from his hands.

“Have you seen my father?” I ask and he raises a brow at me in annoyance.

“Obviously I’m not babysitting grown adults so no, I haven’t seen your father, Rafe.” He turns away from me as I drag my wallet out, holding up a twenty dollar bill.

“Try again.” I growl and he thinks for a second before glancing at a set of stairs on my right.

“Just missed him. Some girl was leading him upstairs. She was hot.” I slap the money on the tray, causing some of the drinks to spill as I turn and race up the stairs.

I try every door I find but they’re all locked. My heart was racing. I could barely breathe. What if I was too late? My dad was smart. He’d see right through her. He’d be able to tell that she was the devil in disguise. That she was probably just another gold digger.

I spin around. Racing back and forth as I try more and more rooms. What the fuck? Where would they have gone? I hear a gasp around the corner, furthest from the party and my blood runs cold. I know what I’m going to see as I move closer, the sound of slapping skin and heavy breathing reaches my ears and I start to see red. That feeling inside me is building again. The need to take charge and end the problem. To kill.

I peek around the corner. Y/N is pressed against the wall with her slutty little dress lifted up over her ass with her thong hanging out of my fathers pocket as he fucks her from behind. His hand is over her mouth to keep her quiet as he slams into her like a brute, smashing her body against the building.

“You want daddy’s cock? Want me to fill you up with my cum? You’re a dirty girl. Flirting with me then spreading your legs like a little slut. I can’t believe you were still a virgin with an ass as ripe as this.” He buries his face in her neck and her eyes suddenly meet mine. I’m frozen but she smirks even with his hands over her mouth. I know she’s smiling. Even as her eyes fall closed.

I bite my lip so hard it bleeds into my mouth. This girl was dead. So fucking dead. The ocean would be an open grave with her fucking name on it by the time I was done. No place would be safe for her after fucking with my family.

#smutwarning #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron smut #outerbanks rafe #drew starkey #dark!fic #dark!rafe cameron

252 notes · View notes

chernayawidow · 1 year ago

Note

Hell yeah let’s do this, there’s nothing better then having a bunch of Zepskies fics to catch up on so LETS GET INTO IT!! 👏

“You really were going to die this time. The thought was both a conviction and a deranged mantra as you stood hunched over the bathroom sink.” — This got me right in the feels 😓 It’s like my uterus has declared war on me when I’m on my period!

““What, are you pregnant?” he asked.” — Mans getting excited over her feeling nauseous is fucking hilarious to me 🤣 I can imagine his reaction as something akin to a golden retriever getting told it’s going for a walk!

“His hand was warm, as usual, and the weight of it was a small relief as he rubbed back and forth into your aching muscles.” — His body heat would feel soooo good, like a personal heat pack.

“You can barely move,” Ben said. “How’re you gonna work like that?” — Unfortunately women don’t have the luxury of taking time off when going through this Benjamin 🤷‍♀️ we’ve gotta suffer through and soldier on!

“With a buttload of painkillers and a heating pad under my desk…speaking of, where is that thing?” — A heating pad? I’ve never heard of that before.

“You plugged it in just to make sure it was working, but to your frowning suspicion, it didn’t turn on.” — Yeah it’s official, I’ve never heard of these 😂

“Damn it. Don’t tell me this thing’s broken!” — The good thing about my heat pack is that it just requires a microwave heheh!

““You’re not going to work,” he said. His tone was matter of fact, and your brows rose even higher.” — What I would give to have him in my life, ain’t nobody gonna argue with me staying home on my period if Soldier Boy is the one to say it 😓

“It’s fine. You’ve got the day off,” he said. “Just relax.” — Awh I love him 🥹

“Going above your manager to call Grace wasn’t the protocol for taking PTO in the slightest, but you couldn’t help but smile.” — Pookie, I doubt your manager is gonna even BEGIN to complain about Ben not following protocol!

“Please, baby. You don’t know how much it hurts right now. You really want me to go to the store like this?” — Its like you wrote her with my personality 😂!

“Oh, hey.” You paused the movie. “I’m okay. It’s just…Marley & Me.” — AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! The way I winced and teared up when I read ‘Marley & Me’, because this movie SHATTERS my heart and soul EVERY DAMN TIME!!! It’s one of my favourites and holy shit it kills me but it’s also such a comfort movie OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!!! Nononono how could you make me emotional like this oh god I feel like I got punched in the heart… and now I want to watch it again 😓😭 A dog doesn’t care if you’re rich or poor, clever or dull, smart or dumb. Give him your heart, and he’ll give you his 💖 I remember when I watched it after my dog Misha got put down, and it hit me even harder because I actually understood the pain fully 🥺

““It’s this true story about a dog…just, don’t ask. It’s ridiculously sad,” you sniffed and wiped your eyes.” — I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS TRUE!! 😭😭

“Sure it’s not just your uh…situation, making you all weepy?” — Benjamin you motherfucker you did NOT just say that 😒 she needs to make him watch the movie, and if he doesn’t cry, maybe he’s not the one!

“You smiled as you realized what he was doing. You felt the warmth emanating from his body as it seeped into yours. Along with his calming touch, it slowly managed to relieve your pain.” — This sounds like heaven 🤌

I adored this little slice of heaven, especially because I like to imagine how my faves would handle me when I’m going through my intense cramps. And I love that in spite of his macho opinions about not wanting to be seen buying “feminine products”, he pushed past it and did it for her 🫶 Love your work!

Hey! I was wondering if the requests are still open? I’m so obsessed with BMD💗✨ I was wonder how Ben would react to his gf having cramps during her moon cycle✨

Tysm for sharing these awesome stories with us hun🫂💗✨Hope you’re healthy and happy💃🏻❤️

Hey there!

I'm so glad you love BMD. 🥰 I’m slowly but surely working through my inbox of requests! And because I’m currently on my “moon cycle” as I’m writing this [last week. I was suffering for four days], I just had to do this prompt. So thank you for it, lovely!

And you're so very welcome. It's my pleasure. I hope you're healthy and happy as well!! ❤️❤️

AN: This one is set in the Break Me Down-verse, but can be read as a stand-alone. Considering where we're going next in "Strong as Blood," I thought it'd be good to release this first lol.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Word Count: 2,700 Tags/Warnings: Period talk, of course. Hurt/comfort, fluff, grumpy Ben.

Imagine: How Ben reacts to his girlfriend having cramps during her period.

You really were going to die this time.

The thought was both a conviction and a deranged mantra as you stood hunched over the bathroom sink. Nausea and pain warred for dominance as you pressed a clammy hand over your forehead.

Jesus Christ, end me please. I beg of you.

Meanwhile, your boyfriend was in the bedroom getting ready for work. Both you and Ben worked at Supe Affairs now, with Butcher and the rest of the team.

You were one of the top agents in the Surveillance department, while Ben was considered a “contractor,” catching rogue supes and dealing with the remnants of Vought.

He was just about to undress from his shirt and sweatpants and start getting his supe suit on, when he heard the toilet flush in the bathroom…for the third time now. He realized then just how long you’d been in there.

He went over and knocked on the closed door.

“Hey, you planning on going to work today?” he said, with a teasing note to his voice. “Or making breakfast, for that matter?”

“Not now, Ben,” you replied, barely stifling a groan.

A frown tugged at his lips. “What’s the matter?”

“Debating if I’m gonna start my day by throwing up last night’s pot roast,” you replied sourly.

Ben’s brows crunched when he heard the strain in your voice. But at the same time, he couldn’t help smiling.

“What, are you pregnant?” he asked.

He heard your dry huff from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Most definitely not,” you said. “But at this point, I’d much rather be knocked up.”

Ben didn’t like the sound of that. He twisted the doorknob and let himself in, just to see his girlfriend locked up with pain. He read the misery written across your face. You were still in your pajamas (one of his old shirts that hung almost to your knees).

“What’s the matter?” he asked gruffly. He rested a heavy hand on your back, between your shoulders. You let out a breath.

“Move that hand lower?” you requested. “My period came early this month. Hit me out of nowhere with a vengeance.”

His brows crunched a bit, but he obliged you, moving to your lower back. His hand was warm, as usual, and the weight of it was a small relief as he rubbed back and forth into your aching muscles.

You let out a deep breath and briefly closed your eyes. Finally, the nausea was starting to pass. And if you dawdled any longer, you were going to be late for work.

“Okay,” you breathed. “I need to get ready.”

You tried to straighten up, even though what felt like your entire lower body protested.

“You can barely move,” Ben said. “How’re you gonna work like that?”

“The way all women have managed to do for centuries,” you tartly pointed out. “With a buttload of painkillers and a heating pad under my desk…speaking of, where is that thing?”

You moved past him to look for said object. You knew you put it somewhere…

Ah! You found it in the top drawer of your nightstand. You plugged it in just to make sure it was working, but to your frowning suspicion, it didn’t turn on.

“Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me,” you said. You pressed the “on” button several times, but it didn’t light up. You touched the fluffy heating pad on both sides, but it was still cold. “Damn it. Don’t tell me this thing’s broken!”

You were about ready to tear the thing apart with your bare hands, when a sudden cramp spasmed in your lower belly. You inhaled sharply and held a hand there with a wince. Your back bent forward on reflex, and you grabbed onto the nightstand to steady yourself.

“All right,” Ben said. He took the defunct heating pad out of your hand and guided you to sit down on the edge of the bed. He went over to his side to grab his cell phone where it sat on his nightstand.

When you twisted to see what he was up to, you raised a suspicious brow. “What are you doing?”

“You’re not going to work,” he said. His tone was matter of fact, and your brows rose even higher.

“What? Ben—”

He ignored you when whoever he was calling finally answered the phone.

“Yes?” came Grace Mallory’s steady, but slightly incredulous voice. Ben never called her, nor did he want to. But he didn’t have your manager’s number and didn’t feel like scrolling through your phone to find it.

“She’s not coming in today,” Ben said, without preamble.

"Ben," you tried. Again, he ignored you.

In his ear, Grace spoke your name, both a question and a clarification.

“Yeah, she’s sick. Get someone else to fill in,” he said.

Grace sighed. “…All right, but just so you know—”

Ben hung up the phone before she could finish. He then tossed it onto the bed. You shot him a wry, questioning look.

“What did she say?” you asked.

“It’s fine. You’ve got the day off,” he said. “Just relax.”

You sighed. Going above your manager to call Grace wasn’t the protocol for taking PTO in the slightest, but you couldn’t help but smile.

You beckoned him over with a hand. "Come 'ere."

A smirk tugging at his lips, Ben came back around to your side of the bed. You pulled him down by his shirt until he sat next to you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck in a hug. Maybe it was a small thing, but sometimes your boyfriend surprised you with the ways he showed that he cared.

“Thanks, baby,” you said softly. You carded your fingers through his hair, rested them at the back of his neck.

“Mhmm,” Ben nodded, rubbing your back again. “I gotta get going.”

“If you must,” you sighed. You pulled away enough to see his face, and something occurred to you. “Oh, can you get me some more feminine pads on the way home? And some Midol, and a new heating pad?”

Ben raised a brow at you. This was where he drew the line. He wasn’t about to be caught dead browsing through pads and tampons in some pharmacy aisle. God for-fucking-bid, some kid would be there with a camera phone. He’d learned about the internet, and it was worse than the tabloids used to be.

But you read the pullback in his face. You implored him with your eyes, and your gentle fingers in his hair.

“Please?” you asked. “I’d do it for you.”

Ben’s frown deepened.

“I’m not the one with the…” He gestured at you vaguely. “Monthly problem.”

You grinned a little. The way he reluctantly phrased it amused you. Despite his deplorable sense of humor, and often vulgar language, not to mention his blatant love of pussy, you supposed his fragile male disposition wouldn’t allow him to say the words.

Period.

Menstrual cycle.

Bleeding from the vagina.

“Exactly,” you countered, and you leaned up to once again snuggle your face into his neck. “Please, baby. You don’t know how much it hurts right now. You really want me to go to the store like this?”

Ben held you back with a terse sigh. You were somehow ready to go to work a minute ago, yet you couldn’t drive around the corner to the drug store?

“Fine,” he groused. His voice was nearly a growl, but you still smiled behind his back. You laid small, sweet kisses into his neck. When you leaned back, you pressed a lingering kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” you said between kisses. Ben just shook his head when you were done bribing him with affection.

“Yeah,” he dully replied. The things I fucking do for you, said his tone.

He finally withdrew from you to continue getting dressed, leaving you to crawl back under the covers and try to find a comfortable angle to lay down. You used all the pillows on the bed, even dragging his toward you. That one you rested your head on, as it still smelled like him.

Ben watched you settle in out of the corner of his eye, like a cat curling up in her bed. A smile tugged at his lips when you sighed in relief and turned on the TV.

He didn’t see so much pain in your features anymore. You seemed in a better mood, relaxed as you held his pillow like an anchor.

So that’s how he left you. However, it wasn’t until he got to the Supe Affairs building that he saw your text pop up on his phone:

Here’s a picture of the pads I like. If you don’t see them, call me and I’ll help you. And don’t forget the heating pad! 😘

He rolled his eyes in annoyance.

By the time he got home that evening with takeout and a plastic bag (filled with the things you'd asked for), he spotted an empty cup of yogurt in the kitchen.

It meant you’d gotten out of bed at some point, at least. He set down the takeout bags on the kitchen counter and made his way up the stairs.

He found you in the same place he left you: in bed, in your pajamas. And you were crying while watching a movie.

Ben frowned. He stood in the doorway in his supe suit with the pharmacy bag.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. You looked up and finally noticed him.

“Oh, hey.” You paused the movie. “I’m okay. It’s just…Marley & Me.”

“What?”

“It’s this true story about a dog…just, don’t ask. It’s ridiculously sad,” you sniffed and wiped your eyes.

He raised a brow at you.

“Sure it’s not just your uh…situation, making you all weepy?” he asked.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You did not just say that.”

Was he really calling you hormonal right now?

His lips pursed, but he held up the bag.

“Before you start blowing your top, I got your female shit.” He ventured into the bedroom and laid the bag in your lap.

Giving him some annoyed side-eye, you peered into the bag. You nodded in approval at the correct brand and size of the pads you wanted, and a new pack of Midol. You then had to smile, as he even got you a couple of Twix bars. Your favorite chocolate covered candy.

“Admit it, I did good,” Ben said with a smirk. Your side-eye was begrudgingly amused this time.

“Color me surprised,” you replied, but you still treated him with a genuine smile. “Thanks, baby. This is perfect…”

Though you realized something was missing. Ben’s smirk started to fade as he caught on.

“Wait.” You sorted through the bag. “Where’s the heating pad?”

Fuck, Ben thought. He forgot.

His expression slackened, making you sigh in disappointment.

“Okay, it’s fine,” you said, ripping open the box of Midol. This would have to be enough to relieve your pain (but it never was). Even now, your cramps were starting back up again.

Ben nodded in response. You were no longer looking at him though.

He let out a sigh. Didn’t he get credit for fucking trying here?

Without another word, he started unzipping his supe suit and disappeared into the bathroom for a shower.

By the time he returned, you were nearly in full fetal position. The Midol had only put a dent in your pain. The First Wives Club movie from the '90s was playing on the TV, but not even that could make you laugh, let alone relax right now.

You were truly miserable, and Ben saw it as he got dressed in a clean pair of sweatpants and a shirt.

“Hey, you hungry?” he asked. He wasn’t sure about the last time you’d eaten anything.

You paused the movie and moved your head enough to meet his eyes.

“Not really,” you admitted. “You go ahead and eat.”

Oh, he was starving. After the day he’d had, rounding up another telekinetic that tried to trash Midtown to evade capture, Ben could go for about five burgers. But there was a part of him that…didn’t feel right, leaving you like this.

Still, he needed to eat. He went downstairs and grabbed his meatball sub out of the takeout bag. He also took your sandwich along too, just in case the sight of food managed to make you hungry. He brought it all upstairs and sat next to you in bed. Though he was also kind of behind you, the way you were curled up.

You'd felt when his body dipped on his side of the bed. His presence both soothed and annoyed you. The former, because you did love your man. The latter, because he forgot the most important thing you'd reminded him not to forget.

You reached back blindly, eventually finding his hand that wasn't occupied with holding his sandwich. You placed that hand on your lower back.

"Massage, please," you grunted into your pillow. (Well, his pillow, but semantics.)

He sighed through his nose and a mouthful of meatball.

"I'm eating," he replied.

"What, you can't multitask?" you quipped.

Ben's gaze hardened with annoyance at the back of your head.

Still, he found himself reaching over and rubbing across your lower back. He applied gentle, but firm pressure with the heel of his hand. You sighed in appreciation.

“Thanks,” you murmured. Ben nodded and continued to polish off his sub while watching the movie. He usually wasn’t into chick flicks, but Bette Midler was hilarious, and Goldie Hawn was hot as fuck.

“I got you turkey and provolone,” he said. You nodded.

“Thanks. I’m still not hungry though.”

“Are you nauseous?”

“No…just in pain.”

Ben frowned…until he got an idea. He crumpled up his trash and tossed it onto the nightstand for now, along with brushing off the crumbs from his chest. He grabbed a couple of your pillows and propped them up behind him, against the headboard.

You shot him an annoyed look. “Hey!”

“You’re like a little dragon with her hoard a’ gold,” he remarked, smirking. Before you could start getting all huffy, he reached for your arm. “Come ‘ere.”

“What?”

“For once, just do what I'm telling you," he said. His lips twitched at your narrowing eyes. "I’ve got an idea."

With a loud sigh, you reluctantly (and slowly) uncurled and turned towards him. Ben laid back against the headboard, and he guided you to lay on top of him. You often complained that his skin was too hot at night for summer. Sometimes you woke up sweating.

It was a result of the power that emanated from his chest. Ben couldn’t exactly control the heat; at least, not when he was sleeping. But he was sure you were going to appreciate it more when winter came.

Not to mention, right now.

He positioned you just right, with your knee curling around his hip and your head resting against his chest. His large hand once again soothed against your lower back, underneath your shirt, and his fingers massaged into your skin.

You smiled as you realized what he was doing. You felt the warmth emanating from his body as it seeped into yours. Along with his calming touch, it slowly managed to relieve your pain.

After a few minutes, you let out a deep sigh and pressed a soft kiss to his chest, before you went back to resting on him fully. You couldn’t see it, but Ben smiled.

“Better?” he asked.

You closed your eyes with a soft smile. “Yeah. My new heating pad’s working wonders.”

Ben huffed a bit at that.

Just then, your stomach growled fiercely. Your eyes popped open.

You met your boyfriend's wry look, biting your lip. He smirked and reached down into the bag that still laid beside the bed. He retrieved your foil-wrapped sandwich and handed to you. You took it and happily began breaking through the foil.

Ben looked down at you, both fond and resigned. You clearly had no intention of getting off him. Which meant you were about to try and use him like some kind of makeshift man table.

You eventually took a bite of your sandwich, your eyes lighting up as you hummed in appreciation. You glanced up at his raised brow with a happy little smile.

“So good!” you said, still with your mouth full.

Ben restrained the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he thumbed at a bit of crumb on the corner of your mouth.

“Just don’t get mustard on my shirt,” he said.

AN: Lol I hope you liked this! I had fun with it, even though I don't have a body heater for my cramps. 😭

(It's fine. I bought a new heating pad online. ❤️‍🔥)

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

SB Tag List:

@melancholictearz @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman

@iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @skyesthebomb @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore

@agothwithheavysetmakeup @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @emily-winchester @tearsfortheyouth @solo-pitstop-vibes @dope-trope-105 @liuope @beautyvaliant @xxlaynaxx @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @tmb510 @iamsapphine @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @syrma-sensei @roseblue373 @lacilou

#soldier boy #soldier boy x reader

875 notes · View notes

bitches-who-write · 3 years ago

Note

I got some new ideas if ya don’t want somethin repetitive. I’m thinking how the Bowers gang would react to reader pulling out the hard hits in a verbal fight. Like screaming at Henry ‘that’s a lot coming from a boy who gets slapped around by their daddy everynight’. Of course, the insult is so-so deserved because they probably said something sexist or just rude.

Sorry this is so late!

Try Me Bitch

Warnings: Foul language and Sexist terms

You have been next door neighbors with Henry Bowers since you were toddlers.

So you basically grew up with him and his sexist/rude comments.

Now that you’re older the shit he says started to really offended you more and more.

On this particular day you were already in a shitty mood.

Your teacher had called your mom the night before and told her you were failing her class and she should look into getting you a tutor.

You’re not entirely sure how it happened but it happened.

Henry Bowers somehow heard about you failing this particular class.

Just your luck.

As you were walking out of your house to head to the library to meet up with the tutor your mom got, you heard someone yell your name.

“Hey Y/N!”

You sighed already knowing who it was and really not being in the mood to deal with him you decided to just keep walking.

But that didn’t stop him. “I heard about you failing Mrs. Mannion’s class, that's a real shame. It must be hard being female.”

This caused you to stop walking. You turned to look at him and his friends. “What the fuck is that suppose to mean Bowers?”

Henry had a big smirk on his face. “You know, because women have such small brains.”

You dropped your bag and began walking over to them. “I know you did not just say that.”

Patrick chuckled and spoke up “Relax princess. Everyone knows men are smarter than women.”

You glared at Patrick “How’s your brother Patrick? Oh wait you killed him. Nevermind.”

Patrick laughed even more. “Oooh she’s getting mad now guys. That's so cute. Don’t you have some laundry to fold or something?”

You clenched your fist “Go to hell Patrick.”

He had an amused expression on his face “I’ve already been there. It's quite nice actually.”

They guys started laughing when Victor spoke up.

“Hey if you’re going back in the house can you make me a sandwich?”

You turned your attention to Vic. “Hey Victor, what's it like being the btich of the group?”

This caused all the guys except for Vic to start laughing. Vic just looks dumbfounded.

You rolled your eyes and before you could even fit in another word, Belch finally spoke up.

“Don’t you know women should only talk when spoken to?

You started laughing “Oh wow, that's rich coming from the Momma’s boy. I saw you in the store the other day buying feminine products for your mom.”

At this point Henry and Patrick were the only ones left laughing.

You sighed and began walking away. “I’m not fucking with you guys anymore. I’m going to be late.”

Henry being Henry had to get the last word in. “You know I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up with a guy who slaps you around.”

You laughed and picked up your bag “That's funny coming from the guy who gets slapped around by his daddy every night.”

That was the last thing you said before getting in your car and leaving.

You knew you crossed the line with that last comment so you quickly sped off.

#headcanons #henry bowers #henry bowers x reader #imagines #patrick hocksetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #victor criss #victor criss x reader #belch huggins #preferences #it movie #it 2017 #it stephen king #itmovie #the bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #bowers gang #requested

1K notes · View notes

missymurphy1985 · 3 years ago

Text

The Writer (Tommy Shelby X Fem.Reader) - Part One

Warning - SMUT (eventually)

Request? Yes

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @heidimoreton

You looked in the mirror, straightening out your dress and taking a deep breath. Your boss David, who also happened to be your older brother, had arranged a meeting with you in the offices of the Birmingham Herald at 6pm sharp.

On the way there, you couldn't help but marvel at how you'd ended up here. Your husband had died two years after returning from war having suffered severe injuries, and after you'd taken on his job at the Herald while he was away fighting, falling ill on his return and subsequently dying, your brother, the editor, had kept you on so you weren't destitute. It was against all the principles of the time, a woman working, but your brother never once allowed the other men at the newspaper to talk down to you. You were the best storyteller and strongest journalist they had on the books and he would always have your back. The other men had grown to look at you as a sister almost - you were blessed to be in the position you were in.

Arriving at the Herald, you made your way to David's office.

"Y/n, I'm sorry to call you in this evening..." He smiled, embracing you and offering you a whiskey which you gladly accepted.

"I never have evening plans David, you know that. What was so important it couldn't wait til morning?"

"We've had an incredible offer and I want you to be the one to report it. The story is made for you."

"What is it?"

"Thomas Shelby has agreed to an article on his life to date!"

"Thomas Shelby? As in the Peaky Blinders?! Not a fucking chance David..." You recoiled in horror. You knew the man's history very well, you'd gone to school with his younger brother John and the stories of the Peaky Blinders were infamous. You hated the man - the thought of interviewing him mad your stomach turn.

"This story could launch your career into the big time Y/n! Think about it! The most secretive, elusive man in the country wants to tell his story to you!"

"To the Herald."

"No, y/n, to YOU. He asked for you. By name."

"How the hell does he know my name?" You'd written your articles under a male pen name so as not to distract readers from the content. Not all men were as modern as your brother and coworkers.

"No idea, but he specifically asked for you."

You mind turned - no one knew you worked at the Herald. You'd kept yourself to yourself, even moving out of Small Heath after your husband passed away. You'd lost touch with John just before he went off to war. There was no connection to the Shelby family at all.

"The reason I dragged you in at 6pm is because he wants to make a start today. This evening actually, there's a car picking you up in 30 minutes."

"David!! I can't do this interview for goodness sake, I'm not even close to prepared!"

"You have 30 minutes! Pull your finger out!" He laughed.

You'd crammed as much as possible in that 30 minutes as you could - your mind was whirring at 70miles per hour when the silver Bentley pulled up outside. Glaring at David, who simply smirked in response, you got in the car as the driver greeted you.

"Arrow House ma'am, won't take long to get there," the driver smiled as you asked him where he was taking you. Arrow House? His home? Why would the most secretive man in Birmingham want to meet you in his sanctuary?

************************************************************

Pulling up outside the huge mansion, you couldn't help but be impressed. The gardens were immaculate.

A middle aged lady greeted you at the front door and offered to take your coat. You smiled and handed it over, as she led you through to the dining room. You took the seat she offered.

"Would you like some tea Ms. Y/L/N?" You nodded, and she signalled one of the younger maids to action.

"Mr Shelby will be with you in a moment, please make yourself comfortable," the lady smiled warmly and headed out the door with your coat. You looked around the room. A large painting on one wall of the man himself with a large horse. There was a smaller picture on a cabinet just underneath that caught your eye. A beautiful blond woman, with piercing eyes and a loving smile, holding a small boy in her arms. You didn't know Thomas was married, let alone had a son. The house didn't seem to have much of a feminine feel to it though, it was borderline drab in its decor.

"My wife, Grace. And my son Charles." A voice behind you startled you, and you turned to see Thomas himself walking towards you, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

"She's beautiful, Mr Shelby. And your son is adorable," you smiled, but he didn't return it.

"She certainly was." Your eyes grew wide as the realisation of what he'd said sunk in.

"Oh I'm sorry -"

"No need. It was a long time ago. Shall we get this over with Ms Y/L/N?" You nodded and he led you out of the dining room into a smaller one - clearly an office. The large oak desk sprawled out in front of the bay window. You took your seat opposite his at the desk and pulled out your pen and pad as he poured himself another whiskey. You shook your head when he offered you one, drinking the tea the young maid have brought in to you instead.

Your questions for him were simple at first. You asked about his childhood in Small Heath. His schooling. His childhood friends. Pretty much all one word answers, driving you insane, until you asked about his brothers.

"You knew John, didn't you?" He asked.

"Yes. Same year at school."

"Sadly, he's no longer with us. Shot by the Italians last year." You heart dropped - you heard through the grapevine that John had children and a wife and the news hit you like a freight train. You took a breath and a moment to compose yourself.

"I'm so sorry Mr Shelby..."

"I'm sorry too, I didn't realise you were so close?"

"We were close before the war. Lost touch after that."

"I don't remember seeing you with him?"

"My father wouldn't let me see him, so we had to be careful.."

"You and John were..."

"No no.. god no! Just friends Mr Shelby." He went quiet again, and sipped his whiskey.

Back to the questions. Mundane as they were, you needed them to get the full story. He wasn't forthcoming with the details. You had to really press him, but he spent most of his time drinking his whiskey and looking out of the window at the dark clouds rolling in outside.

"Listen, Mr Shelby, you clearly don't want this any more than I do so please, if you don't mind, I'd like to end the interview here." Your voice was stern, patience had officially gone out of the window he was so fixated with.

"Jack said you were feisty." You froze at mention of your late husband's name.

"How did you know Jack?"

"We served together in France. Good man."

"Is that how you knew my name?" He didn't answer, just nodded, again watching the weather changing quickly outside.

"Storm looks bad."

"If I leave now I should be fine." The first rumble of thunder made you jump, Tommy noticed your fear instantly.

"Scared of storms?"

"They used to scare Jack.." a second rumble had you grasping onto the chair.

"Stay until it passes." Was that a request or an order.. you weren't sure but he took your hand gently and led you into the hallway away from the window, into the main dining room again.

"Frances, have the curtains closed please." He spoke to the older woman who greeted you at the door and she dutifully obliged, closing the curtains in the large windows.

Tommy sat you at the table and gave you his glass of whiskey, your shaky hands accepting it this time. Every thunderstorm brought flashbacks of Jack's terror filled eyes.. his anguished cries of pain.. and ultimately the sound of the gun he placed at his temple before he took his own life. You took a sip of the warm liquid as Tommy sat beside you, a fresh glass of his own in his hand.

"Jack saved my life."

"He did?"

"Yes. We were underground digging.. we could hear the Germans on the other side of the dirt digging towards us... They broke through first and grabbed me. Jack beat them to death with his hammer to get them off me." Tommy's memory made you smile, and you laughed gently.

"He was always brave.. and strong. Put everyone else first. He never told me.."

"He never wanted praise, it was just part of his job. In return.. I said if anything happened to him I would make sure you were looked after."

"What?"

"The men at your office? They're under my watch. They respect you because you're a damn good writer, but they also know if they gave you any shit..." He raised his eyebrow and you couldn't help but smile. Even after his death, he was making sure you were okay. That was the Jack you wanted to remember.

"In that case Mr Shelby, I thank you."

"Call me Tommy eh? Here's to the bravest man in France." He clinked his glass with yours and you felt him almost begin to relax.

"I noticed a piano in the hall - do you play?"

"I did as a boy. My mother was a keen player, I used to watch her all the time. Gave it up after she died."

"I played for Jack all the time. It soothed him when he couldn't sleep." He smiled, a warm genuine smile that you couldn't help but return.

You'd spent the evening drinking whiskey and talking with Tommy, the whiskey hitting you much quicker than it did him, and you could feel your eyelids growing heavier.

"I have a spare room upstairs y/n, maybe stay tonight, I'll have my driver take you home in the morning." He stood before you had chance to argue and you followed him up the stairs.

He led you into a beautiful bedroom, the decor in here much more appealing than downstairs and the large oak double bed even more so.

"I don't want to impose Thomas..."

"That storm isn't letting up any time soon, and you're exhausted. You're welcome to stay. There's fresh clothes in the wardrobe. My wife was the same build as you, they should fit. I'll have my driver take you home at 7am. Goodnight Y/n..." His blue eyes lingered on yours a moment and you felt a rush of something you hadn't felt in a long time... Scaring you. Quickly looking away, you bid him goodnight.

#tommy shelby x smut #tommy x fem!reader #tommy x y/n #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x smut

254 notes · View notes

mackeydoodledoo · 3 years ago

Text

Twice the Chaos: Chapter 1

Pairing: Rosalie Hale x (Fem!DemonHybrid)OC: Pandora Barlowe

Summary: You were only passing through. You had nowhere to go; you were the spawn of Satan himself. There was no place in the world for you. Until you met a blonde vampire.

Warnings: Parental Abandonment, Depression, Chaotic Life

A/n: Listen... I’m just tryna see something here...

Key: Bold/Italics = Telepathic Conversation/Thoughts

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

Your mother had left you when you were of age; not wanting to take care of a freak. That was how your mother always referred to you. Your Father? He was never around. Since being left out into the streets, life has been absolute chaos. You try to make a living for yourself; but you began developing new features.

“I’m sorry, we can no longer have you be working at our establishment,” The owner comes up to you

You were just trying to clean tables; next was you getting fired?

“What? Why? I haven’t violated any of your rules,” You try to counter-argue, “More so, I’ve been trying to not violate them...”

“Your... Vibe... Everyone’s giving us weird looks... It’d be better if you no longer worked here,” He doesn’t budge

You storm out of your former workplace.

That is IT! I’m done!

You try running your hands through your hair but you felt something knock against your fingertips.

Stubs?! That can’t be...

You saw something move from the bottom corner of your eye.

A tail?! What the absolute hell is happening?

You run off to the woods in order to avoid getting any further attention from humans. You did everything... Just simply trying to get through like at the age of 18. Clearly it wasn’t going to happen...

You are beginning to become like me...

Who said that?!

You were beginning to freak out.

Your father...

What are you talking about?! My dad was never around! He could be dead for all I know and care!

You don’t get it do you?... I am your father...

Father?

You were sure your father just ran off with another woman. But, it wasn’t logically possible to have someone telepathically speak to you.

Why am I going to believe some voice in my head that’s never been around until now?!

You just try to get the same voice out of your head.

You’re like me... You can come home. You won’t have to worry about being judged here...

Home?! My mother threw me out as soon as I turned 18... Since then I couldn’t even keep a single job afloat without anyone that comes within my radius getting me fired because of my “bad vibes”! Well, look at it this way-

No! Face it! There’s no place for me!!!!! Heaven or Hell? Doesn’t matter... There’s no damn place for a freak like me...

The voice in your head ceased then. But, the development of new features hadn’t. Your stubs? Grew into small horns. Tail? Resembled a Demon’s tail. Pointed end and everything.. It’s been months since you had your last job... Anyone really. You use a beanie to cover your horns and you shove your tail into your pants or jacket; whichever was comfortable. You mysteriously was still stable enough to create your own little place in the woods. But, it was still depressing for you. You still thought about how your mother abandoned you, getting fired just because of the vibes you give off, despite trying to be a normal human.

“Why me?...” You ask yourself, “Why me?....”

You look up as soon as you felt a single raindrop fall.

I need a new tarp... But, I’m not in for going back into town... They wouldn’t eve just as so sell me a new tarp... Whatever I guess...

You had passed out while the rain was going on. However, when you open your eyes, you were expected to feel wet. But, you felt warm. You look up to see a brand new tarp draped over your small hideout and you look back down to see a Sherpa-lined blanket engulfing you in warmth.

Who?...

“Got me these?...” You ask yourself

You crawl out of the hideout and try to look around the woods to see if there was anyone else that had been camping out. But, no such people were there. You scoff but felt thankful that someone was sympathetic enough to give you a whole new tarp to go over your head and a blanket.

Fortunately it had stopped raining by the time you went out to go fishing to get your fill for the day. To be honest, it didn’t feel so bad when you would be out fishing, you found a big enough lake to see the sun rise and set over the horizon, you were able to catch a handful of fish to get you through each day.

I see you’ve grown accustomed to living on your own... Nice job kiddo.

What did I say about coming out to “chat”? Don’t try and persuade me to “Come home”.

I’m not. I’m just checking in on you. You claim that there’s no place for you here... Yet, you’ve made a small place for yourself?

Might as well be somewhere off the grid.

Not to that once blondie...

A blondie?... Who?...

Not sure, but that new tarp and blanket? That’s from her.... She’s been coming nearly every night...

You watch me sleep?...

I do it to protect you so you could sleep.

Don’t try and act like my dad... I’m fine without him....

You still don’t believe me?..

Still haven’t seen you face to face.

You wouldn’t want to see me face to face....

Good, we’re on the same page then. Don’t think I’d want to meet my old man anyway...

Once dusk had hit, you were putting out a firepit you had set up to cook the fish you had caught not too long before.

I got you kiddo. Go ahead and sleep.

I said don’t treat me like you’re trying to be like my dad. I never knew him anyway...

You take the blanket and use a couple of your flannels as a pillow.

Goodnight...

Night.

The same old routine persisted. You felt the off-putting vibes on how you were able to be this stable, especially living in an unused shed of all places that was clearly in a state of decay.

I think that blondie has taken a liking to you.

She’s still in question? She doesn’t even know me... How could you know?

When she would come check on you, just last night she was lying next to you. I know because she’s been visiting every night.

And she can’t see you?

No one can.

That’s a ‘shocker’... But can she not hear you?...

Only you and myself.

“Weird...” You take a deep breath as you sit against the tree

You were kind of fishing from sitting on a tree branch, decently high from the ground.

You’ve thought about the last several nights you were sleeping in your little hideout space. You would open your eyes, but still be half asleep. As you were half awake and half asleep; you could have sworn you felt an arm hooked around your waistline. But you don’t think anything of it as you pass right back out. The feeling would be gone in the morning.

You really think there is someone?

She’s come every night. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be taken to where she lives.

Out here? In the middle of nowhere? I doubt it..

Like clockwork, you set up your makeshift flannel pillow and lay across the old tarp you decided to use as a covering form the molding hardwood floor.

You open your eyes and realize the cold morning feeling is no longer around. Your eyes begin adjusting to so much light coming into the room.

“You’re awake now?” A feminine voice asks you

You were startled. Startled to the point where you fell off the bed. You groan at the impact. Trying to gain your vision back, a figure comes walking over to you. You immediately sit up and begin backing away.

“You-you don’t wanna be near me,” You say, almost in a drunken state, “I’m no good around people...”

“Says who?” She asks

“Says the many people that have fired me from jobs because of the vibes I give off,” You groan when you feel the wall against your back

“Well, they just go by the book cover,” She says, helping you back into bed, “You should lay down... You hit your head there pretty hard.”

In your still blurred vision; the woman’s hair was brunette.

That isn’t her...

But, she isn’t giving off any bad vibes...

I’ll be the judge of that...

You try to sit up again but a hand is gently pressed against your shoulder.

“My daughter will be here any minute to check on you,” She says, calmly, “You should thank her when you have the chance... She felt miserable watching you every night.”

She... Felt miserable?...

See? She does like you.

But, she still barely knows me. I don’t even know her name and vice versa.

That could change here.

Will you just stop talking?....

The next time you open your eyes, your vision slowly coming together; you saw a faint color of blonde.

Could it be?...

“I told you you shouldn’t have brought that... Thing in here. She’ll get us all killed,” A male voice tries to persuade the blonde

“I couldn’t just leave her there,” She argues, “She was miserable. Carlisle and Esme already said she could stay here under my care.”

“If you get us killed it’s your fault,” He replies

You hear him storm out of the room.

“You’re awake for real now?” She sits at the bedside

“Where?-” You ask, trying to sit up

“My family estate,” She explains

“My-my stuff, some of my stuff-” You begin freaking out

“Already taken care of,” She slightly smiles

You sit up from the lush bedsheets, taking deep breathes as you try to wrap your head around the last several hours.

“How long was I out?” You ask the blonde

“Several hours,” She answers, “I continuously checked on you... You were... Crying, tossing and turning, talked in your sleep...”

“Oh? What about?” You ask

“Does... ‘Why me?...’, ‘What am I?...’ Ring a bell?” She asks

It does for me.

Shut up.

“I may have had those kinds of panic attacks while I slept...” You explains, “Which is why I look like shit right?..”

“I was going to say that you’ve slept for so long,” She says, cocking an eyebrow at you, “But if you think that too than you do you.”

It was an awkward silence for the both of you. You didn’t know what to make of this blondie.

I like her.

I said shut up.

What? She’s pretty, she’s looked after you the last serval nights.

That doesn’t mean she’s my soulmate or anything... We barely know each other, let alone each others’ names.

“My name’s Rosalie Hale,” the blondie answers

“Huh?” You ask, removing the bedsheets from your legs

“You... Didn’t know my name so... Thought I’d tell you,” She says, “Now, you must be hungry.”

“Yeah,” You say, in a suspicious tone, “Lead the way blondie.”

“It’s Rosalie,” She corrects you

“Alright blondie,” You continue using that nickname

Rosalie turns to you to try and hit you. You easily block her arm with yours. For the first time since childhood, you laughed. A genuine laugh had come out of your mouth. You stopped dead in your tracks; making Rosalie turn to you.

“You okay?” she asks, walking up to you

A chill runs up your spine as you feel her gentle touch against your forearm. You look back at her with a slight surprise. But, Rosalie didn’t seem phased by your sudden change in expression.

“Yeah,” You sigh, “I haven’t laughed in awhile... It’s.. Been a very long time.”

“How long is a long time?” She asks

“Probably when I was a little kid...” You sigh, “Since then, I’ve never really learned to smile, laugh or experience any sort of positive thing...”

“I’m so sorry,” She says, her expression changing to concern, “Well, what matters most is that you now have an actual roof over your head. You are under my care now.”

“You- don’t do me any favors blondie!” You try to protest

“Too late!” She smiles, letting out a small giggle

Ooooh, I do like her.

Aren’t you a fire spirit or something? Lay off buddy.

Oh we getting jealous now huh?

What?!- No! You aren’t physically here, so that means you can’t have blondie.

So you can?

That’s not what I’m saying- you know what, shut your trap!

“Your friend there is fond of me I see,” Rosalie blushes

“What? Him?” You ask, “You... Can hear him?”

“He’s in your head no?” She asks you

“Well, yes but- how can you know that?” You ask

“Let’s just say I’m full of surprises,” She smirks

You watch her walk off into the kitchen as you make eye contact with what looked to be her family members.

“I hope you’re well rested now sweetheart,” A brunette speaks

“That’s the adoptive mother and father; Carlisle and Esme,” Rosalie explains to you

“I’m sorry you have had a tough time these past few months,” Carlisle says, “But, you are more than welcome here.”

“Oh, just at least I can get back up on my feet,” You say, bashfully, “I wouldn’t want to take up any more space than I already have..”

“Nonsense!” A male voice enthusiastically says

Your feet lose contact with the ground. You let out a yelp as you try to get a vision of who had just grabbed you.

“That is my brother... Emmett Cullen,” Rosalie scoffs, “He’s a little bit... Chaotic..”

“Chaotic is my middle name,” He jokes as he sets you right back onto the ground

“Four of our other kids are somewhere around...” Carlisle explains, “Oh, they must be out hunting. You’ll see them when you see them.”

“Thank you again,” You say

Quite a family...

You’re telling me...

After you had gotten a proper meal for the first time in months, you found yourself in the library. You don’t really read that often anymore as you have come to the conclusion that it would take you a century to read a single book.

“Looking for something in particular?” Rosalie asks from the doorway

“To be honest... No,” You answer, “I guess I’ve just been wandering aimlessly. Never really been in a house this... Spacious..”

It’ll be much more spacious when you come live with me.

Like I said before. You are not my father and don’t try to have me come to wherever the hell it is that you live in.. Not a chance..

“You don’t get along with your dad very well?” Rosalie asks

“Never knew him...” You sigh, looking out to the forestry that surrounded the estate, “My mother said he left as soon as I was born...”

“Hey, before you go on, do you... Want to talk about it elsewhere?” She asks, placing her palm over your upper arm

“That would be nice,” You slightly smile

“I know a place,” Rosalie smiles

In one swift motion, Rosalie hoists you over her shoulder.

“You better hold on leech,” Rosalie teases

“That should be ME telling you that,” You nervously chuckle

Rosalie hops out of an open window; breaking into an inhuman speed. You weren’t sure where to hold on along Rosalie’s clothing without touching an area where Rosalie wouldn’t want you to touch her. So you just hang over her shoulder. Almost like a heavy weight.

“You doing okay?” Rosalie asks

“Yep!” You sort of lie, “Good as we can be blondie!”

“We’re almost there!” Rosalie announces to the both of you

Chapter 2

#Rosalie Hale x Reader #twilight saga #twilight #jasper hale #carlisle cullen #esme cullen #emmet cullen #edward cullen #bella swan #rosalie hale #female reader

124 notes · View notes

chil2de · 3 years ago

Note

Hi!! if possible can i please request yuuta having a girlfriend that’s his childhood friend? (So like instead of rika it’s y/n and she doesn’t die) that loves to dote on him cause that boy needs some love. Thank you!! <3

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE THIS MADE ME SO SOFT!!!!! ohmygod!!!! growing up with yuuta would be THE best onshdhfsh thank you sososos much anon this was such a pleasure to write! i don’t know why but the “and she doesn’t die” had me screaming LMFAOOOO

enjoy! no warnings, just old fashioned cute fluff and heart wrenching moments! thank you for giving me the opportunity to write for the best boy mwaaah you deserve eternal happiness! hope no insects bite you during these warm months <3

“okkotsu!” you cried out, feminine and shrill voice ringing in the air. the cicadas chirped melodiously, calling out their delightful songs in the spring air.

the young boy staggered around, losing his balance from spinning too fast. his fragile hands reached out, pulling in small grabby motions towards your innocent and joyous face.

you were always so optimistic, even when you were younger. yuuta could only huff and wail as his caretaker hauled him away from the playground, gesturing it was time for him to come home. thick and messy tears spilled out the corners of his eyes which hadn’t yet endured countless sleep devoid nights.

he was so far away, but that was okay because you knew you’d see him the very next day.

“okkotsu! promise to play with me again tomorrow!” you cupped your hands, exclaiming as much as your little lungs could endure. yuuta could see the tears heavy in your gaze, but even then, you prevailed. you grinned, all for him.

ever since the very start. till ‘death do us apart.

“okkotsu! come oooon, don’t cry, okay? (y/n)’s got your back! see, see?! look! they don’t bite!” you braved a smirk on your features, beckoning the shy and introverted young man over. his face looked uncertain and his lips wobbled as though he could crack at any moment. he took a few cautious steps, maintaining his distance between you and the furry animal on the floor.

“r-really? it won’t bite?” he coughed, reaching his unstable fingertips out.

“eh?! that’s the first time you’ve spoken to me! your voice is so nice! it’s so cool! hey! can i hear it again? pleaaaase? i know you’re shy but i’d really like to hear it! hey, okkotsu, say my name? pretty please?”

“um- i, uh.. it’s okay.. you can call me yuuta.”

“yuuta! you’re going to be late for your first day of junior high! i totally told you to wake up on time too!” you stood with your hands rested firmly on your hips, face stern and tone impatient.

“sorry! sorry- it’s um, my hair. i don’t know how to style it.” he admitted, albeit sheepishly by trailing the last few words off into a murmur. you only gave him a sigh before kneeling down behind him, propping yourself up to take a look at his hair in the reflection of the mirror.

“how on earth are you so tall already? we eat the same food, you know. slouch over a little.” you pinched his cheeks before glossing over his hair.

when you ran your fingertips through his hair, you felt butterflies and anxiety rock your stomach.

that’s never been there before.

you’ve touched yuuta countless times, whether that was accidentally hitting him, holding his hand to cross the street…

so why was it different?

you could feel yuuta’s body tense up and run rigid underneath your touch.

that definitely wasn’t there before.

“relax. it’s me.” you cooed quietly, roughing up his hair into different styles.

“like this? looks like you just woke up, sorta, but i think it’s cute.”

yuuta’s heart rate skyrocketed through the roof and his breath hitched.

“cute?” he reiterated, chewing out the phrase like he’d never heard it before in his life.

“hm? yeah-“

you caught his gaze in the mirror, eyes half lidded and attention averted. the tips of his ears were tainted a deep red with small flicks of blush painting his cheeks.

“eh?! nononono- not like that i’m- i just think it suits you, you know? oh, crap, would you look at the time? okay we gotta go and leave!” you clambered out of his bedroom, thudding the door shut behind you.

yuuta only gawked at you with bewilderment, lips slightly parted and fingertips outstretched in his failed attempt to stop you.

he turned to himself in the mirror, studying his features before running one hand through his jet black locks.

“cute, huh?” he muttered, avoiding his own judgemental gaze.

the bittersweet part about growing up with a childhood friend is change.

for all the time that you’d spent with yuuta, you didn’t realise that your relationship with him was something to not take for granted.

especially with those around you who would kill for what you two have.

you’d always get mundane questions from high school girls who thought they could have a shot with him, “what’s his type?” “do you think he likes me?”

meanwhile you only played along with their charades, laughing inwardly when he was actually extremely introverted.

“so? what’s the deal with you and okkotsu-san? you guys dating?”

“no. we’re just friends.”

“seriously? you guys are always glued at the hip. you know he has a picture of you in his locker, right?”

“yeah? so do i. it doesn’t mean anything.”

“it’s kind of a shame, he’s such a nice young man.. gone to waste like that..”

“what’s gone to waste?” yuuta inquired with an indifferent tone, plopping down beside you with his bento box. the classmate sat opposite you only gave him a phony cheerful temperament, twirling her index finger around her hair.

“oh! okkotsu-senpai! we were just talking about you! how was your da-“

“please leave.”

you could only gape at him in your peripherals, sputtering on your sandwich as you watched the life drain from your classmate at his monotony. yuuta didn’t spare you or the girl a glance as he worked to unpack his lunch, hell the guy even murmured a small itadakimasu as if nothing happened.

“wh- okkotsu senpai?”

“listen.” he let out a deep sigh before proceeding.

“whatever shot you thought you had with me? it’s gone out the window. don’t disrespect (y/n) in front of me like that again.”

“you’re making us uncomfortable, so get up and go.” he motioned with his chopsticks, giving her a dead gaze towards another table.

the girl scoffed, mouth hung wide open as she picked up her bag and stormed out of sight.

whilst your face was as blank as a stone, internally, you were only screaming in the depths of piping hot hell visible from the sun itself.

baby girl? that was when you noticed how fucking fine of a man yuuta grew up to be.

“that was seriously nerve wracking.. my stomach hurts so bad right now” yuuta coughed through a bite of his sandwich, refusing to meet your gaze.

you slapped his back, because, holy shit??? awe painted your face like you just witnessed your own child talking or walking for the first time.

“what the shit? yuuta? are you kidding?”

“oh, huh? did i overdo it or something?“

“no?! are you kidding? that was fucking awesome! i swear! this is why i love you-“

oh.

uh oh.

oh no.

yuuta let out a shrill squeak unbeknownst to any human being able to produce such a volume. it was a cross between a floorboard creaking, a mouse sniffing and him choking on his food. the poor boy had to excuse himself to the bathroom, hacking and sniffling in an ugly fit of coughs from the food that got caught in his windpipe.

your blood rushed to your head, veins lit ablaze, bones rattling as you could hear the chatter pound and drill into your skull, scoring you deep and down into your bones.

“did she just say she loves him?”

“i totally knew they were going out!”

“i can’t believe it…”

“do you think he’ll reject her?”

it replayed over, and over, and over. what a fucking fool you felt. did he even feel the same?

that’s why i love you.

i love you.

a blob of black clouded your vision and you could hear the glass breaking.

yuuta sat himself back down, excusing himself.

you could hear nothing but the tune of his heartbeat. or was it yours? it sounded too heavy to belong in either of your bodies.

his voice came as a wobble because of his anxiety, but this was the one thing in his life he’d be absolutely certain of.

“that’s okay. i love you too.”

“yuuta? you okay? you’ve been spacing out for at least five minutes. something on your mind?” you lightly shake your boyfriend, grip reassuring but firm. it takes a couple of seconds for his gaze to gloss over as he returns back to reality.

“sorry. was just thinking about our childhood, that’s all.” his voice comes out deep and masculine. it doesn’t have that tremor as it used to before, like he’d break down at any minute.

you can say with absolute certainty as you stare up your entire 5’10 boyfriend that he’s matured well.

his hand snakes around to your waist, pulling you into him for comfort.

some ways better than others, you suppose.

“can we stay home today?” he hums, resting his chin on top of your head,

“same as ever, yuuta, aren’t you? it’s fine, i’ll tell nobara my period’s making me act up. she’ll understand-“

“hm? you’re not due for another week though, right?”

you crease your eyebrows as you type out an apology to nobara for cancelling plans, glancing up at yuuta curiously.

“how the heck do you know that?”

“i’m not supposed to? i’d always count your cycle so i wouldn’t irritate you on the wrong day. besides, don’t you think it was too convenient for you to always find snacks in your locker when it rolled around?”

“those snacks were you?! oh my god! i was trying to figure that out for forever!”

“i know. i remember you ranting to me about it.”

“you just sat there?! yuuta! you’re so cheeky sometimes, i swear!”

“only for you.” he chimes, peppering a soft kiss onto your head. you smile against him, though unfortunately pry out of his familiar and welcoming touch.

“i’m gonna step out for a second tho, ‘kay? i think that’s itadori at the door with my chocolate and painkillers” you snort, giving yuuta a bold wink as you put on your best act, keeling over and clutching at your abdomen as though you’re on death’s door.

“you’re awful.” yuuta chuckles, slumping down onto the sofa to hear the events unfold right in front of him.

you clear your throat and slouch your shoulders as you pry the apartment door open.

“(y/n)-senpai! i came as fast as i could and i brought you some of your favourite sna- oh, okkotsu-senpai! hello!”

“hi there.” he leans his head back, giving itadori a small wave.

“i won’t interrupt you guys so get well soon! and fast! cause i wanna hang out with you! bye!”

you cradle the necessities itadori brought whilst gleaming at yuuta with a wicked grin plastered on your face from ear to ear.

“you want anything?” you cock an eyebrow, showing him the arrangement of snacks.

it’s not the answer you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t unwelcome. it made you feel warm inside, like eating warm and soothing soup on a cold winter’s day. this, for you, was okkotsu yuuta at his best, stripped clean and vulnerable.

you’re the only one who he can relax around, act like the world is carefree. like he’s young again, prancing around in that dingy colourful playground he met you at.

“i want you to kiss me.”

#okay hold up #yuuta’s little ‘hi there’ HAS ME ACTING TF UP #OOOOOOOHHH THIS MAN #anyways i hope i wrote him well!!#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jjk headcanons #okkotsu yuuta #jjk yuuta #yuuta x you #yuuta x reader #okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu imagines #yuuta okkotsu

213 notes · View notes

manonblaqkbeak · 3 years ago

Text

The Reunion

Day 5--I had completely forgotten that I had written this lol. It’s more fluff as usual. Can’t wait to read everyone else’s later on!

Enjoy! :)

1.8k words

Rowan couldn't wait to get home. Today had been...exhausting, to say the least. He was a personal trainer, and with that came the territory that people would talk about their issues while working out. Which was fine, Rowan understood that letting out emotional issues when working out helped people to stay motivated. He himself had been known to rant about his issues when working out himself.

But today had been a lot. One of his regulars had put on weight over the Yulemas holidays and was beating himself up over it. Another regulars marriage was over and was dealing with that guilt. Someone had lost a favourite aunt. Another one had to break off an engagement because it was a loveless relationship. And on and on the issues piled up.

Rowan was good at compartmentalizing, but after a while, he ignored his lunch break in order to go to the park to just...not think for a while.

Being at the park cheered him up a little, but his break was soon too over. And he was back to work, and that was when the skies decided to open up and pour down buckets of rain. Making a bad day into a shittier one.

His wipers were on the fastest setting and he was driving at a snails pace when he looked away for one second, one fucking second, when he heard a thump and a feminine voice yell out “what the fuck!”

Slamming on the brakes, Rowan came to a speedy conclusion.

He was at a pedestrian crossing and he just hit someone with his car.

He just hit someone with his car.

“Fucking hell!”

Pulling up the handbrake, Rowan got out, not sure what to say or do when he came across a golden haired woman, her eyes spitting out blue and gold fire.

Rowan blinked at her, because despite being covered in rain and sitting on her behind, hand rubbing at her hip, she looked familiar.

But now wasn't the time to thinking about that. He had to see if she was okay. “I'm so sorry,” he got out, “I have no idea what happened. I looked away for a second, that was all. I'm so fucking sorry. Are you okay?”

“My hip and my ass hurt, and I suspect that I'm going to have a wicked bruise, but I think I'm okay,” the stranger said. “You should really watch what you're doing, though.”

“I know. I'm sorry, again.”

The stranger sighed, and even that sounded familiar. “What a fucking day I'm having,” she mumbled.

“Bad day?” He probably made it worse, too. He should also really get her into his car, but she starting ranting before he could do anything about it.

“The fucking worst. I'm facing a deadline that I can't finish, because I'm having dreadful writers block. My landlord is a fucking creep who came to my place today saying that my underwear 'accidentally' got mixed in with his laundry. My cousin's dad recently came back into his life, so now he's angry all the damned time and it's leeching into me. And you just hit me with your car.”

Rowan nodded in understanding, but only could manage to say, “Yeah, your day definitely sucks.”

She glared at him, silently telling him that that wasn't really the best way to respond, but he was having a bad day, also.

Which wasn't an excuse he knew, but Gods, it wasn't really his day either.

Rowan helped her up, her hands warm despite the cold and took her to his passenger seat and pulled over to the side. He couldn't help but notice that she smelled like jasmine and lemon verbena. A calming scent.

“I'm not sure what the protocol is,” he admitted after handing her a hand towel from the glove box. “Do we call the police? Or my insurance? I should take you to the hospital, I know that much.” Even if all she said was that she hurt her behind and hip, it'd be best to ensure that she didn't fracture anything.

When she said nothing after a moment, Rowan turned, noting that the silence from the woman was a little concerning, scared to death that maybe she hit her head and was going into shock.

Her blue-gold eyes were wide. “Are you okay?” he asked again. He really should get her to the hospital.

“Are you...? This is...you couldn't be. Rowan? Rowan Whitethorn?”

Rowan blinked, his concern turning inward. “Yes, that's my name. How did you—?”

“I, uh, it's me. Aelin Ashryver Gala—”

“Galathynius?” He finished for her. She nodded.

They sat in silence as Rowan stared at her, taking in her blue-gold eyes, golden hair, the lemon verbena and jasmine smell of her. Recalling the familiar sigh. All of it.

Rowan wanted to bang his head on the steering wheel when all of it came crashing down on him. He had just hit his high school crush with his car.

Rowan, for whatever reason that he couldn't name, wanted to laugh. He never would have suspected that he would hit Aelin Galathynius with his car ten years after high school graduation.

He was fairly certain that high school him had been in love with her from the moment he saw her. Rowan had wanted to ask her out at least a dozen times, but he was an awkward seventeen year old that didn't know how to talk to women that weren't family members and never gained the courage to do so.

It was one of his biggest regrets from his teenage years.

The last time he had seen her was at the after party of their graduating day. She wore a daisy flower crown and was sparkling in a golden dress. He had never seen someone as beautiful as her—even to this day.

Unbeknownst to Rowan, Aelin had felt the same way. She was confident back then as she was now, but every time she wanted to go up to Rowan to talk to him, to get to know him, the butterflies in her stomach threatened to strangle her.

So she never did ask him out. And here she was now, ten years later, in his car. He was still the most handsome man she'd ever seen.

She was still pissed as hell though that he hit her with his car.

It had only taken a moment, a single moment, for her to realise who it was she was sitting next to. The moment that the hand towel touched her face and she breathed in the pine and snow scent of it, she was transported back to the past.

“How have you been?” Rowan asked her after long minutes. His green eyes still as pretty as the day Aelin saw them. She was sure that was what she loved about him the most all those years ago. Other than Lysandra's, Aelin had never seen such a stunning green.

Aelin snorted, her fond memories disappearing at the inane question. “You were listening when I was ranting, weren't you? My day has been shit.”

Rowan gave her a small smile, and her heart skipped a beat. He still smiled the same. She had liked that about him, too. Still did, apparently.

“No, I mean how's life been since graduation? You mentioned writers block. Are you a writer then?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I write fantasy-adventure-romance novels under the name of Celaena Sardothien.” She had liked the animosity of it all, with none of her books containing a single photograph of her.

“That's amaz—wait. You mean to tell me that you're the writer of the 'Fireheart' series?”

Aelin smiled proudly. “That's me. Have you read them?”

“I have. It's one of my favourite series.” They were his guilty pleasure, really, but it felt rude to say that out loud, as if it was shameful.

Aelin blinked, taken aback at the confession. “Really? You mean to tell me that brooding Rowan Whitethorn reads romance novels?”

Rowan frowned a little bit at that. “I don't brood. Not anymore.”

“You're brooding right now.”

Rowan grumbled. Okay, maybe he was, just a little bit, however.

“How about you, though?” Aelin asked. “How's life been?”

“Busy. And right now, it's a bit shitty. I'm sorry for hitting you with my car, truly. We should get you to a hospital, though. Just to make sure that you're okay, please,” he added, when he saw that she opened her mouth to likely protest. “I won't be able to sleep if it turns out you need a hip replacement or something and I didn't take you to get checked out.”

Aelin truly doubted she would need a hip replacement, but nodded anyway. “Okay, you can take me to the hospital. And then afterwards, I'll give you my number and you can take me out to dinner.”

Rowan blinked at that and then smiled. He had always like confidence in a person. “Okay, it's a date.”

“I've never had a date after a hospital visit.”

“Well, then, I better make it great.”

Aelin smiled, warmth filling her. The day turning out a little nicely, despite it all. “You better.”

x x x x x

As Rowan lead Aelin to the dance floor, he couldn't believe his luck. Never in a thousand years did he think that accidentally hitting Aelin with his car would lead to this.

To their first dance as husband and wife.

It had been exactly one year to the day when he saw her again after ten years. It was very much an Aelin thing to want to have their wedding anniversary to match the date.

The story had been re-told by a slightly tipsy Fenrys as part of his best man speech, about how Rowan would be the only man in the world to meet his future wife by way of a car accident. The story always made people laugh, with people saying that the universe must have wanted to get them together and was sick of them taking too long.

Because as it turned out, when Rowan and Aelin's relationship grew and they learned more about their ten years of life, they were always somehow minutes away from running into each other. From when Rowan was starting his hike in the Southern Continent, Aelin had just finished hers and was going back to her hotel—the very fact that they were staying at the same hotel, but floors apart.

When Rowan had missed out on book tickets to a signing of her third novel in the Fireheart series, and he had to turn around and leave the bookstore since it was a private function just as Aelin was moments away from going on.

From going to the same concerts, to the same festivals, from seemingly everything that they had in common, they had missed each other by minutes.

They silently thanked the universe, even if the way they ran into each other was less than ideal. But they wouldn't change it for the world.

Rowan kissed his wife and thanked his lucky stars.

#rowaelin #rowaelinmonth #my work

91 notes · View notes

andydrarch · 2 years ago

Text

Getting down in words how I think Heinkel’s gender identity works bc I am not an expert, I am cis but I do have an enby sibling, and I just wanna Express My Thoughts woergwiergjw. I’m sure someone could take one look at this and immediately tell me what identity this counts as so hey, feel free to do so ha ha

Details under the cut, discussion of intersex anatomy, mentions of transphobia and shitty handling of puberty by adults

Okay so my interpretation of Heinkel is heavily based on her having 5AR2D, which is a disorder that can cause intersex in XY individuals. Google exists if you want more specific details than that, but essentially I see Heinkel as having *approximately* female genitalia (large clitoris, fused labias, very small vaginal canal), but that is literally it for female body characteristics. Like most other individuals with 5AR2D, when puberty hit Heinkel had the usual changes a genetically male person might. 5AR2D doesn’t inhibit testosterone production (testes are present, just undescended) or keep that from having impacts, so yeah, physically Heinkel looks like a cis male, just with a lot less body and facial hair (I PROMISE this is a real part of the disorder weroijgweoirjgo)

WITH THAT OUT OF THE WAY, keeping all of this in mind, growing up Heinkel was raised as a girl at the orphanage. She always had to share rooms with other girls, she was made to wear feminine clothing (although Father Anderson was very supportive of stretching that definition for her), and out of her friends (mainly Yumi and Enrico), she got along with girls better. In general, as a kid, the most Heinkel ever considered herself was a tomboy, and for the most part no one gave her too much shit for that. And then puberty hit.

All of a sudden, Heinkel’s finding that literally all of her roommates, including Yumi, are changing in Very Specific Ways, and her experiences don’t match up with those at all. Heinkel realizes at some point oh shit, I’m starting to look like a guy, which she doesn’t hate! She likes looking like a guy, she likes dressing like a guy, being masculine and looking masculine feels good. Her appearance isn’t what bothers her about all of this, it’s how people start treating her.

Because her whole life, she’s been told she’s a girl and she’s roomed with girls and experienced things from a female perspective, and now suddenly everyone at the orphanage pushing for her to dress feminine are realizing that this young teen who by all accounts looks like a teenage boy, looks less ‘’’’’’’’’proper’’’’’’’’ in feminine clothes. And Heinkel is facing a strange reversal where now she’s ONLY allowed to wear masculine clothes and she gets her own room, which might be cool except everyone else rooms with a bunch of other boys or girls and it makes her feel weird, and suddenly no one cares if she acts like a tomboy. And Heinkel doesn’t HATE that people are expecting her to be more masculine, but she hates that she’s ONLY allowed to be masculine now.

If someone were to ask Heinkel if she was a man or woman, she’d probably say it doesn’t really matter, she’s a bit of both. If SPECIFICALLY asked if she was a man, she’d say no, but if asked if she was a woman, she’d probably say kind of? Sorta? In the way that carbonated water is pop, she is a woman. But it’s not something that she thinks about really, because she was raised in an extremely conservative environment where there are ONLY male and female, and out of those two options yeah, she’s picking female. I don’t know if Heinkel, at least in the time Hellsing canon exists in, would ever encounter terms like nonbinary, and even if she did, I really don’t know how open she would be to them?

To like, be even more specific, at some point Heinkel absolutely has to get those undescended testes removed, whether it’s of her own volition or some doctor in Iscariot goes They Gotta Come Out (MAJOR cancer risk), and absolutely Heinkel would be on T after that. I think she likes having masculine characteristics and would want to maintain them

Maybe I’m overanalyzing and this is just a butch lesbian I’m describing because Heinkel is hella gay and is too busy having a crisis over being gay to think too deeply about her gender identity as a teen lmao. She’s going ah FUCK why are girls so fucking hot, girls aren’t supposed to be hot I’M a girl,,,,,,,

#hellsing #heinkel wolfe #hellsing ultimate #headcanons #again this is my OPINION you can disagree #literally this is just the context of my fic on ao3

11 notes · View notes

everlarkficexchange · 4 years ago

Text

Hold Me Up

Prompt 42. Group of friends. Economic disaster, no jobs; eventually in desperation someone in the group suggests making a porno for $, the idea takes off, as they work on a script and put out ideas, a lot becomes clear, like who has kinks, who has tried a lot, and that one is an inexperienced virgin. Does the writing experience have consequences to the group dynamic, will they actually film and sell it, will they stay friends? Are any couples or siblings part of the group? Are secrets revealed through brainstorming?

Submitted by @567inpanem

Author: JLaLa

Rated M

Summary: “What the hell are you suggesting?” Gale asked.

“I thought it was obvious,” the woman next to him said. “I’m suggesting we make a porno.”

Strapped for cash, a group of friends—plus two strangers—decide to go all out.

Multiple pairings, and of course, Everlark.

“Hold me up in the palm of your hand Lying to you is a river of sin Your metaphors, your silent calls Your feelings are too real…”

-Live

Hold Me Up

Part One

Katniss closed her eyes as the rush of hot water hit her face. It had been a hell of a day.

Her boss cut her hours at the record store due to the lack of sales. She had done everything short of offering to blow the man—wouldn’t have worked, he was gay—to get as many hours as possible. However, everyone was suffering due to Panem’s economic disaster and Heavensbee’s hands were tied.

All she wanted to do tonight was eat the leftover Chinese in the fridge, binge watch Bridgerton for the hundredth time and use her vibrator until she climaxed to the image of Simon Basset eating her out—

“Katniss!” There was a quick knock before the door opened. “Sorry, but I have to piss like a racehorse—”

She pulled back the shower curtain to the sight of her roommate and friend, Peeta, unzipping his jeans.

“Seriously, couldn’t you do that somewhere else? Like, maybe get a plastic cup or do it in the sink?”

“Last time I did, Gale totally flipped out on me,” her friend replied. “It’s not like you haven’t seen my dick before. You’ve seen it plenty of times, most of the time it was erect.”

The peril of living with two boys was that you always seemed surrounded by morning wood…any kind of wood really.

“Fine.” Katniss closed the curtain. “Try not to be loud about it though.”

“How am I loud while I pee?”

“‘Oooh fuck, finally…I’ve been holding that in all day!’ Katniss mimicked mockingly. “You’d think that you were doing something else instead of emptying your bladder.”

“Honestly, sometimes a good pee is better than sex,” Peeta retorted. “I don’t think that I’ll be able to stop it once it starts so just sing something really loud or you’ll be hearing me hitting the porcelain pretty hard.”

Katniss walked under the shower to rinse her hair and belted out the first song that came to her.

“I got a new life

You would hardly recognize me

I’m so glad

How could a person like me care for you?

Why, why do I bother

When you’re not the one for me

Is enough enough?”

“I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes…” Peeta sang along and Katniss giggled hearing his melodic baritone. “I saw the sign…life is demanding without understanding—”

“We should start a group,” she offered as she turned the nozzle and the water stopped. “Especially since I’ll likely be laid off soon.”

“Oh shit! I’m sorry, Katniss.” A hand peeked through the curtain, holding a towel and she took it, quickly wrapping it around herself. “We’re all taking it up the butt, aren’t we?”

She pulled back the curtain and stepped out. “What do you mean?”

“Haymitch and Effie will probably have to close down with everything happening,” he informed her. “The rent for the bakery space is just too much for them. I mean, we still have our regulars, but they’re not making enough to pay me to make a dozen danishes and scones.”

“That sucks.” Peeta was still wearing his apron around his waist, a red bandana covering his blond locks, along with his usual baking uniform of a fitted white tee and jeans. “I know how much you love that job. Not to mention, Haymitch and Effie are pretty kickass.”

“Well, at least we have Gale,” her friend replied as he opened the door, letting her step out first before putting a companionable arm around her waist. “Old reliable Gale—”

There was a cough and they found Gale sitting on their couch lighting up their emergency joint.

This was bad.

++++++

“My whole department was pretty much eliminated,” Gale explained once he stepped out of his daze. “They led us in, one by one, into that small office and gave us the whole spiel about making cutbacks before handing us our severance checks. This will hold me for about six months of my piece of the rent—”

“This is probably the worst time to tell you,” Katniss started. “But Heavensbee reduced my hours at the store and I’ll probably be getting the boot soon.”

“Effie and Haymitch can’t afford to keep me at the bakery,” Peeta told him. “They’re also likely to lose the business, too.”

Gale nodded, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. “Well, we’re fucked.”

“Now there’s that positive attitude that we know and love,” a sharp feminine voice said.

The three looked up to find the rest of their friends stepping into the apartment led by Johanna, who lived across the hall from them. Madge, her roommate, followed in with a pizza box and the group was finished out with Finnick, who lived downstairs and was—until today—Gale’s teammate.

“Well, we’re fucked!” Gale repeated, his voice hitching up at the end. He looked to Johanna. “Good enough?”

“We’re all getting it,” Madge said, sitting next to him calmly. “The Forever 21 I’m working at is closing. So, I’m screwed, and I won’t even have severance like you and Finnick.”

“I have thousands of dollars in debt over the camera equipment I just bought,” Finnick told her. “I’m supposed to be working on my documentary.” Their friend was a budding director. “Now, I’ll be using the rest of my severance to pay it off.”

Johanna plopped down in their lone seat, putting her feet on the table.

“Not that I don’t love you guys, but I’ve been out of a job for months, so your sob stories mean nothing to me,” she said. Grabbing the joint, their friend took a long inhale and breathe out in relief. “The job market is non-existent at this point.”

“God, maybe I should’ve pushed on blowing Heavensbee,” Katniss muttered.

Finnick snorted. “What?”

“He’s gay, but probably not getting any,” she replied, next to Peeta. “If you close your eyes, it feels the same.”

“You might have something there,” Johanna suddenly said, her oak eyes contemplative.

Peeta glared at her. “Not funny. You really want Katniss turning tricks for rent?”

“Hardly,” their friend replied. “No offense—” Johanna looked to Katniss. “—you alone have no sex appeal, and this is coming from a full-fledged lesbian.” She turned to Madge. “She would—with the pouty lips and the big titties. Not to mention those golden locks. Put a little red hood on her and you’ll have those Fairy Tale freaks begging to see what’s underneath.”

Katniss crossed her arms. “Well, thank you for telling me that I’m undesirable.”

“I didn’t say that.” Johanna looked between Katniss and Peeta. “I said you alone would have no sex appeal but put you with him—” She nodded at Peeta. “—or her.” A hand waved over at Madge. “People will pay big money to see that. A nice little ying and yang.”

“What the hell are you suggesting?” Gale asked.

“I thought it was obvious,” the woman next to him said. “I’m suggesting we make a porno.”

++++++

Several beers in, the idea started to make sense.

“Babe, if this thing took off, we could pay off the camera equipment,” Annie, Finnick’s fiancée, said. She had joined them a little after the major freak out over Johanna’s idea. “Also, you could get some experience in handling the equipment and I could get experience with the boom mic.”

“That is true,” Finnick mused.

“Guys, do you know how many different types of porn there is out there? How would we make one that people would be interested in?” Gale asked. His voice had taken on a rough slur, five bottles in, as he leaned against a drunken Madge.

“Simple,” Johanna smirked. “We do our research. This neighborhood is full of not-so-reputable places; it’s why rent used to be freakishly low. We can ask what men and women would like to see. Also, we’re all decent looking.”

“What about the fact that you’re talking about us having sex with each other?” Peeta asked, eyes bloodshot. Katniss laid on his lap, singing along to the music on her phone. “No offense, but I don’t want to have sex with you. You scare me a little.”

“Well, who would you want to have sex with?” Madge asked with a buzzed grin.

“Easy.” Peeta looked at the giggling woman on his lap. “Katniss.”

“Really now?” Finnick leaned forward in interest. “Why her?”

“I’m comfortable with her,” he explained. “We were each other’s first kiss, granted we were only five—but also, she’s seen my dick plenty of times.”

Katniss drunkenly waved her finger at him. “I’m not scared of it…”

“Dude, why aren’t you together?” Annie asked.

Peeta shrugged. “Seemed better to stay friends.”

“Those two are such chickens,” Gale called out. “They just tiptoe…and tiptoe…and it’s all like ‘I think Katniss is beautiful’…or ‘I want to have Peeta’s babies’…and I’m just like why don’t you just fuck already?”

“Fine.” Katniss slid onto the floor and held her hand out, palm down. “We’ll do this. I get to fuck Peeta because everyone is so invested…but we all have to be in this.” She looked at the rest of the group, her eyes landing on Peeta. “Do we agree?”

Johanna placed her hand over Katniss’. “I’m in.”

Madge followed immediately. “Me, too.”

“Fine,” Gale muttered before his hand landed on the pile.

“We’re down,” Finnick said, adding his hand.

“But only as the filmmakers,” Annie added before placing her hand on top of her fiancé’s.

Katniss looked to Peeta; nervousness laced in her grey eyes. “And you?”

He examined her, almost losing himself in her gaze before placing his hand down to seal the pact.

“Let’s do this.”

++++++

“Do you like oral?” Katniss asked the scantily-clad waitress. “Giving? Getting?”

“Yes, to both,” the pretty blonde answered.

Johanna and Gale had gotten to work quickly, both making up the questionnaire that they were using for research. While that was happening, Annie and Finnick put up an ad looking for available actors and actresses to add to their production.

Two days ago, their questionnaire had revealed that threesomes, double penetration, and girl-on-girl were high on the list. Unfortunately, they didn’t know who would be doing what except for Katniss and Peeta.

“And anal?” Katniss continued as Peeta joined her at the table.

“Sure,” the woman answered. “I’m pretty open. Me and my ex used to film ourselves all the time.” She looked at the two. “You two looking for tips?”

“Maybe,” Katniss replied. She turned to Peeta. “Did you want anything?”

“Coke, please,” he told the woman. “I’m still recovering from the past few days.”

“Coke for him and a Lagavulin for me,” Katniss told the waitress.

“You like the good stuff.” She gave Katniss a saucy wink. “I’ll be right back with your drinks. I’m Delly, by the way.”

“Katniss.” Katniss gestured over at Peeta, who gave Delly a light wave. “Peeta.”

She nodded. “Nice meeting you.”

As soon as Delly walked away, Katniss turned to her friend. “What do you think?”

“Decent rack, sweet face, and she has experience apparently,” Peeta replied. “Thoughts on having her on the team?”

“Well, she seems friendly,” Katniss replied. She eyed him. “Would you do her?”

“If I had to…sure,” her friend replied. “How about you?”

“Me and Delly?” Katniss looked to the woman at the bar, awaiting their drinks. She was pretty with wavy, shoulder-length hair and wide eyes. Not to mention, her body was banging—the bejeweled bustier made her breasts look incredible—and her personality was easy. “Sure. Why not? I mean it will make me more…desirable.”

“Are you still pissed off that?” Peeta asked. “Johanna loves to rile you up.”

“I hate that she can.” Katniss sighed. “Are we really going to do this?”

“Haven’t you ever been curious?” Peeta’s gaze fell warmly on her. “How it might feel like between me and you?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “We kissed that one time, but nothing came of it. I thought maybe you didn’t like it…or me.”

“I do like you. I love you.” Peeta reached for her, pulling her onto his lap. “I guess we were just both too scared to explore what kind of love we could’ve had.”

Her arms wove around his neck as Katniss pressed her forehead to his. “I love you and I like you, too.”

“Your drinks, lovebirds.” Delly approached them, a bright smile on her face. “Anything else I can get you?”

“Actually.” Katniss stood up, pulling out the business card with Johanna’s number on it. “I have a proposition for you.”

++++++

“What are your special skills?” Johanna asked as she looked over Delly’s resume.

Delly gave the group a bright smile, her eyes landing on Katniss with a wink.

The group gathered the following day for auditions for the two additional actors at Finnick and Annie’s place.

Currently, Annie and Peeta were reviewing resumes and headshots in the hallway while the rest of them assessed the auditions.

The group had agreed to hold them at Finnick and Annie’s since it looked the most professional. The couple’s apartment was stylishly decorated thanks to Annie’s chic but budget-friendly taste—most of their furnishings from Target and IKEA.

“Can you look into the camera?” Finnick asked from where he stood in the center of the living room.

“Sure.” Delly looked straight into the camera, smiling into it. “Well…I can do a handstand and suck dick at the same time.”

“Can we see?” Madge asked from where she stood next to Finnick.

“The sucking dick part or the headstand?”

“How about we just see how it looks?” Finnick suggested. “Have Annie bring the next male audition in.”

Gale stood from his seat. “I’m on it.” He quickly came back, followed by a tall, dark-skinned man who flashed them all a handsome smile. “Everyone, this is Thresh. Thresh, why don’t you join Delly in front of the camera?”

“Sure,” he said easily and walked over to Delly, holding out his hand. “I’m Thresh.”

Delly shook it, her mouth widening in a grin. “Delly.”

“Okay, whenever you’re ready,” Johanna told the two.

Nodding, Delly bent over, pressing her palms to the floor. Then as she steadied, the woman easily lifted her hips…then her legs…before straightening them, her toes pointing in the air.

“Amazing,” Madge whispered.

Next to her, Gale nodded in agreement.

Katniss stood from her seat, going to Finnick, and looked at the camera’s viewfinder.

Delly and Thresh made a strikingly good couple on camera. They were at ease, chatting as if Delly wasn’t in front of the man’s crotch and at a perfect angle to go at his junk.

“Thresh, any special skills?” Gale asked, handing Johanna the man’s resume.

“I can get an erection on command,” Thresh told them.

“Okay, we all need to see this,” Johanna said. “Someone get Peeta and Annie in here.”

“Delly, you can get off your hands now,” Katniss said.

“Let me help—” Thresh held her hips as Delly eased down. As she did, the crotch of her leggings met his groin, and she wrapped her legs around his to steady herself.

“The perfect standing wheelbarrow,” Finnick remarked from behind the camera. “Bravo!”

Peeta and Annie stepped inside as Thresh helped Delly onto her feet. She smiled gratefully, kissing his cheek before dashing over to where the rest of the group was gathered.

“Even if you don’t hire me, I need to see this,” she told them.

Peeta joined Katniss’ side. “What are we looking at?”

Finnick signaled Thresh. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The man simply undid the top button of his jeans, unzipped, and holding the sides of his jeans lowered them down.

Taking a deep breath, the man closed his eyes, as the group watched his cock—a rather thick one—go from half-mast to full in less than a minute.

“Well, that deserves some applause,” Peeta told everyone and began to clap.

The group quickly joined in, but not before hiring both Delly and Thresh.

++++++

“Okay, two things,” Gale announced, going to the easel and whiteboard that he had set up in their living room. He wrote out ‘Location’ and ‘Plot’. “First, location. Any thoughts?”

“We can’t just do it in one of our apartments?” Finnick asked.

“Would you want to sit on your living room couch thinking that Johanna ate Delly out on it?” Gale asked him. “Or Katniss and Peeta on your kitchen counter—”

“True,” Annie said. “Let’s not shit where we eat.”

“Maybe we can rent out space for very cheap,” Thresh said. “I might know some club places where I work security that might be in our price range.”

They learned that Thresh was a part-time security guard and a returning student at the local community college. He was trying to get his Business degree and planned to open a gym after he graduated.

“Great idea,” Gale wrote down, ‘Thresh-club spaces’. Anyone else?”

“That bar I work at might be willing,” Delly told them. “I might have to give the owner a boost—”

“No way,” Peeta interrupted. “We don’t want you doing those kinds of favors just to get us a workspace.”

“Definitely,” Katniss agreed, smiling at the girl. “We’ll figure it out together.”

“Okay, what about a plot?” Johanna went to the board. “Every porn needs one to entice an audience. Why don’t we do a round robin and everyone says one thing that turns them on? I’ll start.” She turned around and wrote on the board—‘A clean bush’.

“Doesn’t everyone like it to be clean down there?” Finnick remarked before looking to Annie. “I mean you keep it pristine—”

“No need to tell everyone about my cat, love,” his fiancée retorted.

“I mean, I don’t mind it being wild down there,’ Gale told the group. He took the marker from Johanna and scribbled, ‘Bossiness’. “I like a dominating woman.”

“Definitely a good BDSM storyline,” Madge remarked as she walked up to the board, writing ‘Rough play’. “I like manhandling and being manhandled. I worked with this guy and we use to hook up all over the office. Once after everyone left, we were going at it and he takes me and lifted me—” She mimicked her lover with her hands. “—onto the copy machine before pounding the living daylight out of me.”

Everyone stared in shock at the seemingly sweet blonde twirling a tendril of her hair.

“Come Monday, everyone was trying to figure why there were a hundred copies of someone’s bare pussy on the copy machine tray,” she said in a daze.

“Damn—” Gale swallowed harshly. “—thank you for your contribution.” His gaze went to the person sitting next to Madge. “Katniss?”

“I…I…” Katniss bowed her head. She wasn’t thrilled with everyone knowing just what got her going. However, at some point, they were all going to be seeing her being thoroughly fucked by Peeta. “I like…dirty talk.” She shifted in her seat, aware that next to her sat her soon-to-be co-star. “I don’t have any experience, but when I’m…masturbating, the voice in my head is usually whispering very depraved things in my ear.”

“Care to expand, sweetheart?” Thresh asked from where he sat across.

“Well—” Katniss folded her hands in her lap. “The voice will tell me how much he loves feeling his fingers being squeezed by my cunt, how drenched I am around his dick, how he wants to fuck me until I can’t feel my legs…sometimes he talks about fucking me in both holes…his dick in my pussy and his thumb in my asshole—”

Peeta suddenly jumped from his spot. “I’m going to grab some water from the fridge. Anyone?”

He quickly disappeared into the next room before anyone could even answer.

“You just gave Peeta a boner,” Delly cackled from her seat on the carpet. “Why aren’t you dating?”

“Because—” Katniss searched for a reason, finding herself unable to answer. “—let me check on him.”

She found him bent in front of the fridge.

He pulled back sans water and turned just as she stepped in.

“We ran out of water.” Peeta met her eyes fully, watching as she approached. “I didn’t mean to run off—”

“Peeta, what turns you on?” she found herself asking.

Katniss stopped in front of him and her gaze took her friend in—swept-back blond waves, a firm jaw, and blue eyes…hazed with arousal. They never really talked about the fact that they had admitted to their friends that they were curious about fucking one another.

To be entirely truthful, the voice in her ear, the one that spoke such deliciously sinful things—was Peeta’s voice.

She didn’t know when the mystery man had morphed into her best friend, but sometimes the image of him—in his usual uniform of a pair of jeans, a tee, and an apron—would cause a heat that threatened to burn her to the very core.

However, this precipice between friendship and whatever it was, scared her.

So, Katniss held back.

Peeta shook his head. “It’s kind of stupid.”

“I just told everyone that a mystery voice gets me wet with talk of double penetration.”

He laughed roughly. “That is true.”

Meeting her eyes, Peeta leaned back against the door of the fridge.

“I like sex in different places…the element of danger…of being caught.” His golden complexion tinged with pink. “It’s a major turn-on.”

She nodded, toeing in closer to him. “Have you ever—"

“No, just fantasies,” Peeta said. “Compared to the rest of our friends, I’m pretty daisy fresh.”

“Tell me the last place that you’ve fantasized having sex in,” Katniss said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he replied, his hand reaching to cup her cheek.

His thumb grazed the corner of her mouth and she resisted the urge to take it into her mouth to taste.

“The bakery.” His gaze fell to her lips. “Specifically, against one of the ovens as it’s warming up and y—whoever and I just get so caught up in the smell of sugar…of rye…and one another that we don’t know where the heat is rising from—”

Katniss suddenly straightened. “Ohmigod…the bakery.”

“What?”

“The bakery,” she repeated.

His eyes widened in realization. “The bakery.”

END OF PART ONE

This will be multiple parts, not sure how many though.

Yes, before you ask, this is loosely based on Zack and Miri Make a Porno which I think is a hilarious movie with some great music.

Speaking of music, the title comes from Live’s ‘Hold Me Up’, which was used in the soundtrack of Zack and Miri. It also plays during a pivotal scene.

Other music used: ‘The Sign’-Ace of Base

I hope you’re enjoying it so far—as if now, I have just completed the second part.

Thanks for reading!

-JLaLa

#jlalafics #567inpanem #prompt 42 #Springtime edition 2021 #submission

143 notes · View notes