#five times softer than cotton

[lexirosewrites]

It's traditional for parents to keep their pup's stuffed animals after they stop using them or decide they don't want them anymore for whatever reason in case they present as an Omega later in life and crave those things for their nest. It's a bit like a hope chest but it's filled with baby blankets, stuffies, and one or two larger blankets for a future nest. If the pup presents as something other than an Omega it's up to them what happens with the trunk since they won't be building nests.

By the 80s it's become normalized for high-bred parents who give birth to a son to collect those things after a certain age and dispose of them as a kind of superstition/way to say, "we know our superior genes will give us a Male Alpha so we can just get rid of all this stuff." Steve's parents are of this variety and take all his nice, soft things away from him when he turns seven. Originally they planned to let him keep everything until he turned ten but they agreed their son was a little too attached to his stuffies and dollies for a future Alpha and took them away early. They tear apart his room, take anything soft and "omegan" out, cover the soft blue walls in wallpaper, and move him to a double bed with starchy cotton sheets.

Steve hates it. He hates the feeling of rough cotton on his skin, the stiff blue jeans his mom makes him wear, and the scratchy, too-tight polos. Every now and then, he sneaks a softer shirt into the fold, and those become his favorites. He feels wrong and it makes him quick to temper and roo wrung out for school.

When he presents as an Omega at 17 he has a terrible false heat that lasts for five days. First heats usually only last a day or two and aren't full blown, but Omegas also usually have their packs present and ready to supply them with their chests and make them feel comfortable and safe. It's usually a time when packs bond as they teach the Omega how to build their first nest. Robin comes early on day three after not hearing from Steve for 48 hours and helps him through the rest. She rushes home and takes a blanket out of her own nest and a couple others from the living room and helps Steve build a nest to his own liking and helps him eat and drink.

Afterward, Robin tries to insist that he take more from her nest but he refuses because he knows how important those things are to settling an Omega and Robin is a ball of nerves as is. She relents but makes him keep the blanket and comes by at least once a week to roll around in his blankets to keep her scent fresh.

Once the kids start handing out with Eddie in their freshman year, the Alpha takes advantage of his new proximity to Steve to finally pursue him. He's been half in love with Steve since before he even presented as an Omega and has just been waiting for an in that didn't make him look like every other desperate Alpha chasing his tail. The guys all say he has no chance and he's going to make a fool of himself and to be fair, he kind of does. He amps up the dramatics and makes a fool out of himself on the daily, showering Steve with praise and admiration every time they meet and it isn't long before Steve is falling for this goofy, kind Alpha who makes him laugh.

When Steve invites Eddie to see his nest for the first time, Eddie is heartbroken at the lack of Steve's presence in his own nest. He has the blanket from Robin and a couple he bought after he presented but that's about it. Steve explains what his parents did and Eddie is so fucking mad and tells Steve so, but he lets his Omega pull him into the barren nest and scent him until they fall asleep.

Eddie wakes up early the next morning and sneaks out of bed and heads for the trailer. When he gets back to the Harrington house Steve is still asleep, so Eddie wakes him up with soft touches and light kisses all over his cheeks.

Eddie presented early due to stress at the age of 12 right before he moved in with Wayne. It's what ultimately got him removed from his Father's care. But the one thing Al Munson never got to touch was Eddie's presentation chest, which his mom had made sure to stash with Wayne before she died. When Wayne reunited him with his chest that first day at the trailer, he made sure to tell Eddie that he wouldn't think less of him, think him any less of an Alpha, if he decided to keep it, and so he did.

Eddie tells him that he knows it's not the same, but if Steve would like to have the contents of his presentation chest then Eddie would be more than happy to give it to him. Steve gladly accepts, crying tears of love into his Alpha's neck.

They spend the rest of the morning rearranging Steve's nest to include Eddie's favorite childhood toys and blankets, both of them relishing in the scent of home.

stopppp this is too sweet🥺😭

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Spaghetti Squash (The Surprise, Part 12)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: pregnancy times, established relationship, literally so much fluff, just fluff on fluff on fluff, some explicit language (please let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.4k

Summary: As your pregnancy progresses, Emily starts to feel disconnected from the experience, sad that she can't feel what you're feeling. She tries to control what she can, but you help her see that letting go isn't the worst thing in the world.

Week 22: The Spaghetti Squash

“What about that one, Em? It’s pretty.”

You pointed to Emily’s laptop screen, at a nice, oval crib, made of natural wood. Very modern looking. 

“Honey, I don’t care if it’s pretty. I care that it’s safe.”

“Well, I care if it's pretty. Click on it and see!” you badgered her, yawning.

You leaned heavily on Emily’s shoulder, trying hard to keep your eyes open. You’d been scrolling through baby site after baby site for nearly two hours now, checking things off Emily’s ridiculously extensive shopping list. Normally, you’d be interested. The problem was that Emily had to do a solid half hour of research into each and every item.

“Bossy…” Emily mumbled, lifting up her arm so you could snuggle into her chest. She scrolled through the page, looking at all of the crib’s features.

“Look!” You pointed at the screen. “It converts to a toddler bed and a kid bed. So it can grow up with her.”

“And it’s GreenGuard Gold Certified!”

“Wow.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm. “Adorable.”

“Hey,” she protested, pinching the skin under your arm. You squirmed and giggled. “I’m keeping him safe. You can keep him cute.”

You yawned again, shutting your eyes for a moment and sinking into her.

“Y/N,” Emily cooed, cupping your cheek and rubbing her thumb against it. “Stay awake, baby. You promised we’d get through five things tonight.”

You groaned, noncommittal.

“Y/N,” she prompted again, this time patting your face lightly.

“I didn’t know it was gonna take literal hours…” you grumbled.

“Here,” she said, lifting you up a bit and kissing your cheek. “You can pick what we look for next. Something fun.”

You squinted at her.

Her eyes were huge, and she had that hopeful, pleading half-smile that she knew would get you to do anything. As a final blow, she bit the corner of her lip. Fuck. She was just too irresistible, it wasn’t fair.

“Ugh. Fine.” You stretched and sat up as Emily placed the laptop in your hands.

“What do you want to look for?” she asked, looping her arm around yours and rubbing her thumb against your bare skin. She placed a quick kiss on your shoulder and nuzzled into your neck.

“Crib sheets?” you suggested, perking up. “I found a brand I really like.”

“Are they–”

“Green, gold, whatever-the-fuck certified?”

She blushed a bit. “Yes,” she said softly.

At this rate, you'd spend another hour and a half with Emily deep-diving on crib sheets.

“Emily,” you sighed, turning to look at her. “You are the love of my life and the mother of my child and I love you more than breathing. But for fuck’s sake, you’ve gotta cool it a little bit.”

Her eyes turned a little sad, a little embarrassed.

You continued, a bit softer now. “I know it’s just because you love her and you want to keep her safe. And I know it’s hard for you right now because I’m the one who’s carrying and I can feel her moving and this is the only thing you can control. But, baby, I promise you that a couple of 100% organic cotton crib sheets that might not have that super special certification aren’t gonna kill her.”

Emily was quiet. You turned to hold her face in your hands, tracing her angles, all her lines–you knew them better than you knew your own body. She smiled a little as you brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead.

“Maybe you should be a profiler,” she chuckled, leaning into you and looking at the website you’d pulled up. “Goddamn.”

“Sorry,” you said, drawing her to your chest and tucking her head under your chin. “That was a little harsh.”

“No, you’re right.” Emily exhaled deeply and nodded. “Alright, let’s see these sheets.”

Your stomach did a little flip, excited to share one of your finds with Emily. So far, she’d picked most of the things, and you’d let her, knowing that the lack of control was hard for her.

“Okay.” You scrolled and clicked on a crib sheet, crisp white and covered with tiny dinosaurs. “I mean, look! It’s got little brontosauruses!”

In a rare show of letting go, Emily squeezed your arm and said, “Add it to the cart.”

“Really!?” you squealed.

“Yeah, of course, honey. It's cute.”

You kept scrolling, but Emily stopped your wrist. “Oh, baby, look at that one! It’s got bananas!”

“Adding it,” you decided with a dramatic click.

After a few more minutes of looking through crib sheets, you’d placed your order and shut the laptop for the evening, proud to have made it through all five of Emily’s predetermined list items. You knew you both needed to go to bed, but you were just so comfy sprawled on the couch. Emily’s head rested on your baby bump, and you carded your fingers through her hair.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so controlling about the shopping,” she whispered out of the blue.

“It’s okay, honey,” you said, softly massaging her head.

“No, it’s not,” she sighed. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t letting you pick anything.”

“Em, I promise it’s okay.”

She didn’t answer, instead running her hands along the side of your belly, as if feeling for something, anything.

“Has he been moving tonight?” she asked, her voice almost sad.

“Mmhm.” You hated to see her sad. You wished so desperately that she could feel what you were feeling. You didn’t want her to feel left out of the pregnancy. You didn’t want her to feel any less the baby’s mom than you were.

“Tell me what it feels like.”

You thought for a moment. “Mm… kind of like butterflies. Or, like, when you’re nervous and your stomach does a flip.”

She was quiet again, and you pulled her face up to your chest, pressing kisses to the top of her head. “It’s gonna be okay, Em. You’re her mom, too.”

“I know,” she mumbled.

“You know, I think the baby can feel you.”

“What?” She lifted her head a bit, looking at you quizzically.

“Maybe you can’t feel her yet, but I bet she can feel you. She can hear you, and I read today that babies feel their mom’s emotions.”

Emily looked up at you, her eyes shining a bit.

“I always feel happy and safe and loved when you’re with me. And that’s what she feels, too. She can hear you and she feels those things when you’re around because I feel them. So she knows you’re here. She can feel you.”

Emily blinked back a few tears and pressed her face to your stomach, planting a few kisses on your baby bump.

“I love you,” she whispered to your stomach, and you thought you might cry, too.

“Can you hear me, little one? I love you. Maman loves you so much.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying not to cry, trying (and mostly failing) not to let your overwhelming love for this woman turn you into an absolute puddle. For neither the first time nor the last, you were utterly flabbergasted that this was your life. That there was a baby inside you, growing strong and healthy. That the baby would have two moms, something you’d never thought possible when you were growing up, imagining your future. And, best of all, that you had Emily. Sweet, strong, beautiful Emily. Who loved you so well. Who made you so happy you sometimes thought you'd explode with it. How did you get so lucky? How was it that, despite it all, despite all the tragedies, big and small, along the way, you’d somehow stumbled into a life so good that it was, quite literally, beyond your wildest dreams?

“I love you, Em,” you blurted out, unable to stop yourself or stop the tears from brimming in your eyes.

She looked up at you, and you could tell she was happy, truly happy. And if you could do nothing else in your entire life except make this woman happy, you’d die satisfied.

She sat up a bit, pulling on the collar of your shirt to draw you into a kiss. A soft kiss, one that you melted into, one that reminded you of your very first. All butterflies and excitement for what was to come.

“I love you, too,” she said, pressing her forehead to yours. “So much.”

[fairyyarchive]

Hey homegirl can u write ab fwb zoro and the reader wants to take a nap w him (preferably when he’s shirtless)… it doesnt even have to be straight smut i wanna feel the TENSIONNNN

ok first of all. absolutely omg. fwb w zoro is one of my fav things and I just love seeing him get a lil nervous around you because it's so cute <3 this ended up being a lot softer than I initially thought, so I hope you enjoy! <3 faye contains: fwb's reader + zoro, nicknames (darlin' from zoro drives me crazyyy ugh), mentions of sex but no explicit smut, cuddling, fluff, naps, shirtless zoro, fwb but they have feelings

sleep in the sun

Sometimes, life at sea could get a little boring. Sure, there were always new obstacles to overcome with the Straw Hats, people to help and fights to win (and one triple-armed swordsman to patch up) almost every day; but the in-betweens left you to entertain yourself. On a ship in the middle of the sea, all you could do to pass the time was reading, pacing the deck, bothering Sanji, or … underneath the aforementioned swordsman. 

Look, it’s not that either of you intended for this to happen, but with days at sea and only five other people to talk to and the tightness in your chest when he stood too closely behind you, it seemed almost inevitable that few drinks one night led to a kiss, a soft “C’mere,” muttered as his strong hands pulled you on top of his lap. 

Since then, a silent agreement between the two of you kept you returning to each other during sleepless nights and empty afternoons. It wasn’t exactly official, nor was it exactly public, but it was a closeness you both craved – a calm safety you’d never found in your travels alone. Zoro was strong and kind beneath the hardened exterior he’d built to protect himself, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said the sight of him shirtless and sweaty after a fight didn’t do a little something to you.

Today in particular found the two of you bored out of your minds; the others exploring and no doubt causing a ruckus the town at which you were docked. Feeling the effects of last night’s rendezvous and resulting lack of sleep left you and Zoro opting out of the outing, with the ship to yourselves and the warm afternoon sun and misty sea breeze creating the perfect weather to laze about in. 

As you wandered up to the deck of the Merry, you smiled softly when you found your green-haired swordsman lounging in a hammock, cotton pants tied low around his waist, and bare chest soaking up the sun’s warmth. His arms were folded behind his head, eyes closed. He looked so peaceful like this, the slight scowl he usually wore melted, taught muscles relaxed. You tried to ignore the tug in your heart when you saw him like this, a fondness that had made its home in your chest sometime lately.

“You asleep?” You approached him quietly, trying your best not to disturb him if he was.

“Nah,” Zoro opened his eyes, turning to face you. A lazy smile reached his lips when he saw you, hair a bit tousled and eyes gleaming in the light. His own heart panged at how beautifully the sun painted you, and he silently thanked the universe for blessing him with your company on the ship. 

“Can I … lay with you for a bit?” You bit your lip, suddenly shy. The man had seen you naked several times now, in various positions and much more embarrassing situations. So why did the concept of simply napping in the same hammock, mostly clothed at that, make your heart race?

Zoro cleared his throat, brows raised a little in surprise. Was he blushing too? “Ah - sure, yeah you can. C’mere darlin’,” he extended his arms to wrap them around your waist, allowing for you to climb into the hammock on top of him. 

You settled into his embrace, your head resting on his just above his heartbeat and his sun kissed skin warming you. Zoro shifted beneath you, getting comfortable with the added person to the hammock. His arms wrapped firmly around your waist and held you close, as if he thought you may float away from him if he didn’t. You breathed him in, all clean musk and sweat and bright citrus, with a bite of sea air. Warm, comorting, Zoro.

“Mmm. You smell so good,” you sighed against him. 

“Yeah?” His chest rose and fell in a soft chuckle, eyes already closed again as you relaxed against him. You nodded, nuzzling further into the crook of his neck and peppering soft kisses on the bare skin of his neck and shoulder. A soft grin broke across his face, the joy in his heart unavoidable with you on him like this. 

Your eyes drifted closed as the breeze ruffled your hair, your breathing beginning to slow as your mind drifted off to sleep. Zoro drifted off soon after, his breathing steady and heartbeat calm as he held you tight, a warmth in his heart that he knew always belonged to you.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

let me know how you like this! I'd love to do more fwb with zoro <3 ty for all the love! <3 faye

☆.。. Masterlist

☆.。. Requests open!

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Bad Idea, Right? - Part 6

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s Daughter

Eris and Y/N seem to have a knack for putting themselves in unsavory situations. Bonus: Eris has a flashback to the night they met.

Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

Warnings: Alcohol, Language, Attempted SA

Oh gods. I rolled over slowly only to be met with a wave of nausea and a killer headache. I blinked several times, enough to bring the bedside table into view where a glass of water and a hangover tonic awaited me - at least I had the foresight to brace myself for the impending hell that awaited me after such an intoxicating night out.

It was an effort to pull my arm out from beneath the covers of my bed - which felt so much softer and warmer than usual. I drank a few sips of water and the tonic quickly cured the unease in my stomach but the remnants of the headache still remained. My impetuous little shadows tugged at me to get out of bed but it was just so comfortable - tuning them out I yanked my comforter over my head and drifted back asleep.

——————

Eris

Eris started awake as Y/N roused slightly from her sleep, just enough to find the tonic he’d left on his bedside table for her. Several hours ago, he’d settled in a lounge chair on the opposite side of the bed after she’d spent an hour with her head in the commode, alternating between heaving and berating him for being a “shady motherfucker” all while he held her silken hair back and rubbed soothing circles on her back.

Once she’d completely emptied herself of both the contents of her stomach and insults, she insisted she needed to bathe herself - managing to stumble into the bath tub with her clothes still on and demand “something fried and something bubbly, good sir.”

She refused to undress so he could fill the tub, so he left her there to her own devices while he torched some breaded chicken tenderloins in the kitchen - his fire power really came in handy in times like this - where a five foot whatever heathen was demanding sustenance ASAP. “High Lord my ass.” He mumbled to himself as he carried a tray of seltzer water and her fried chicken into the bathroom… where she was sound asleep in the tub.

Good lord, what had he gotten himself into with this beautiful mess. The mother only knew.

So he’d carried her to the bed, feeling a bit sleazy for changing her out of her dress while asleep but it was either let her rest in a liquor and vomit splattered dress that did everything for her curves and absolutely nothing for comfort… or change her out of it and into one of his cotton tees. Perhaps his male ego beamed slightly at the thought of her sleeping in his shirt but he assured himself that her comfort was his top priority.

He warmed the sheets using his fire magic and tucked her in before setting out the tonic and settling in on the lounge.

————————-

Y/N

When I reawoke, it must have been hours later. Whoever came in and opened the curtains could go to hell as the sunlight filtering in assaulted my eyes.

“Mother’s tits.” I groaned out as I stretched, careful not to turn my head too quickly in an effort of staving any sudden returns of nausea or shooting pains from the headache.

As my eyes slowly began adjusting to the damned sunlight, three things stood out. One: my shadows were swirling in front of me and intertwining with my fingers excitedly. Two: Someone was….cooking? In my bedroom. And as my vision fully cleared, three: This wasn’t my room, it was a fucking studio apartment.

“Owww.” I whined as I turned my head toward the direction of whatever greasy delight was cooking only to see red hair pulled up into a bun, a glorious muscular bare back hindered only by the tie of an apron, and delicious toned legs exposed by cloth shorts hemmed at the mid-thigh.

Mother’s tits indeed. Just when I thought the bastard couldn’t get any hotter.

An opportunist, traitor of a shadow shot away from me, caressing his arm as it handled a pan on the stove.

“Morning sunshine.” Eris purred, not even turning to look at me.

I scrunched my nose, lowering my tone into that of disgust - a futile effort to appear unphased by the sight before me “Why are you here? And where the fuck are we?”

“Always a pleasure to see you too, little one. Breakfast first?”

I desperately wanted to object but the bacon he was cooking smelled delicious and fuck if he didn’t look delicious too.

“Whatever.” I muttered, rolling my eyes at either his ability to tolerate whatever I threw at him or myself for being so internally captivated by the half-naked high lord cooking breakfast for me.

He didn’t need to turn around for me to feel the smirk forming on his lips as he began plating our food.

Breakfast was….. silent. Eris sat in a chair watching me with mischief in his eyes and I did my best to focus on the borderline ecstasy inducing combination of grease and whatever smokey, apple seasoning he’d flavored the bacon with.

After a long ‘bout of silence I finally gave in to his game. “Alright Eris,” His name rolled off my tongue like more honey and less venom than intended. “I’ll bite. Where are we anyway? And how?”

“I told you last night, little love. We’re at my apartment.”

Hazy memories rolled back just a bit. A blur of red, a steadying arm, and-

“In Velaris?”

“Is it so shocking that I invest my funds into properties. How many palacial homes do Rhysand and Feyre have now? More than three, yes?”

I crossed my arms. A bit like a petulant child, yes, but it did the trick as it shelved my breasts perfectly enough that Eris was caught off guard. Good.

I leaned forward, the gap in the neck of my - his shirt allowing a glimpse of the unclothed breasts beneath.

“Quit deflecting.” biting my lip, I leaned in a bit closer tracing a finger along his jaw, over the stubble shadowing the sharp angles of it, my palm then meeting his cheek just lightly enough to make his eyelids flutter as he leaned into it.

A fresh wave of the hangover nausea churned through my stomach causing me to tense, slightly drawing back and breaking the trance I had him in.

Eris tsk’d “Uh uh, clever girl.” His eyes darkened as that stupid, perfect sly smirk of his crossed over his features. “You won’t seduce answers from me, though I do love to see you try.” Letting out a sigh that I could have sworn was a bit condescending he continued, “Had you not ghosted me following our delightful night after Starfall, you’d have known.”

“Perhaps Eris, had you not kept information from me and threatened MY High Lord with violence over whatever you’re keeping from me then I would not have resorted to such measures.”

Eris leaned back in his chair, one leg arrogantly crossed over the other as one elbow rested on an arm of the chair and the other hand’s thumb and pointer finger rubbed curiously at his jaw.

“And how- pray tell, do you know of such violent threats? Nothing came through my end of the bargain tattoo so I know that Rhysand did not inform you.”

“No. You should be smarter, High Lord, about what you say beyond established wards. You never know what little ears may be prying.”

Realization crossed Eris’s features as he pieced together who had heard him.

“I simply stated that there would be retaliation. Your High Lord would reciprocate similarly if there were facets of my end of the bargain being broken.”

I leaned closer, inches away from Eris’ face.

“You can tell me what information is so important that a bargain is required to withhold it from me - or I can leave now.”

I could have sworn pain crossed his face briefly before he cooly said, “I’d hate to see you go, my little shadow but I always enjoy watching you leave.”

“I’m sure you do.” I stood up, swaying my hips as I walked toward the door, powering through the lingering hangover symptoms.

“Taking my shirt with you?”

“Ah, you’re right. Best to leave the dirty laundry here.”

Facing Eris and making a show of so slowly pulling the shirt up over my head, giving a perfect view of the rise and the bounce of my breasts as I tossed his shirt back to him.

“Your dress is covered in vomit and liquor.” Hand gesturing lazily toward the dress hanging over the bathroom door knob.

“Guess you’ll have to stay a while longer.

And damn my stubbornness because this was not a battle I was about to let him win.

“I’m winnowing home, Eris. Fuck the dress.”

“Wards extend to the street, sweetheart.”

I faltered but only for a moment.

I’ve never been ashamed of my body but strutting naked into the streets of Velaris wasn’t ideal.

Eh - C’est la vie

I grinned. A sharp, wicked thing.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He growled.

Was - was that jealousy? Possessiveness?

And with that, I strutted out of his apartment in only a lace thong.

“Wait!” He called but I didn’t miss a beat.

As I walked into the street, onlookers gawked but I paid no mind. “Y/N! Stop. Come back!” He yelled, grabbing my wrist right as I winnowed to the back door of my home.

“What the fuck was that?” Eris growled, voice low with anger and something else.

I turned to face him as he slung a jacket he’d grabbed on his way out over my shoulders, barely hiding my ass and doing nothing to cover my tits but it’s the thought that counts I suppose.

Had I not still been a bit inebriated from the prior night perhaps I would have remembered I had shadows at my disposal to give at least the illusion of modesty but -

I sobered up quickly as my father stepped out of the door in his leathers - likely headed to meet Uncle Cass before heading to Windhaven - only to be greeted by his mostly naked daughter and half-naked High Lord of the Autumn Court.

Icy rage and total discomfort crossed his features, his shadows shooting out to cover me.

The war of emotions was palpable as he clenched his fists, siphons glowing, eyes shooting daggers straight through Eris.

Eris tensed before dropping his typical arrogant bastard mask into place. “Greetings Spymaster.” An arrogant smirk plastered onto his face.

Father’s jaw clenched and his fists fought a battle of wills as if he’d beat Eris to a pulp right then and there. Finally he managed to ground out, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

——————————-

Eris flashback

The prior night

Y/N let out a rather loud snore in her drunken slumber, stirring him from the sleep he’d just begun drifting off to. Her hair had fallen over her face and he couldn’t resist leaning forward and gently tucking it behind her ear.

“Mm, Eris” she whispered in her sleep followed by the slightest upward twitch of her lips.

Fuck - it was so hard sometimes. He wasn’t a perfect male but he did his best to do right by those he cared about.

Sometimes he had to distance himself from her to prevent himself from laying it all bare - tell her everything instead of letting her believe him to be the “sneaky motherfucker”. She was so young, sure in fae society five years, fifty years, five-hundred years age difference, nobody batted an eye but he’d lived so much life compared to her less than thirty.

Amusement and longing rang through him as he took care of her intoxicated ass tonight, reminding him of the night out that brought them together in the first place.

Lucien and Vassa were busy in the Day Court and Adish was going out with a couple of friends - visiting a new tavern in a recently modernized town in the northeastern territory of the Autumn Court. The town itself was safe but there were still the ocasional ruffians passing through. Lucien had requested that Eris send eyes out to ensure their protection. Something urged him to just go himself and damn, he’d never stop being grateful that he did.

The evening itself was boring. Mostly high fae but even lesser fae who had become adjusted to the “new era” ushered in with his reign came out to the tavern. There were harsh punishments for unjust violence within the Autumn Court now. Still, there was so much change needed but it would come in time. His people were rather set in their ways but a new justice system was starting to usher in change.

He nursed a beer in a corner booth, catching the eyes of plenty of fae nearby but managing to avoid the attention of Adish and his crew - which included Nyx Archeron and the little Shadowsinger who he’d heard was quickly rising in their ranks.

Nyx and Adish had both wandered off with a couple of gorgeous females with the classic red hair of his Court along with interestingly enough, Tamlin’s daughter. Layla - if he recalled correctly.

Interesting.

His attention caught as he noticed two brutes who were definitely not from here vying for the little Shadowsinger’s attention. He chuckled to himself as she waived them off, turning back to a group of females she’d stumbled out of the bathroom with. She danced without a care, holding one hand in the air as her shadows steadied her wrist in an effort to prevent spillage.

He’d give it to Rhysand’s Shadowsinger and the Archeron sister who nearly broke his brother’s heart, they passed down all of their best genetics to the stunning female on the dance floor.

The males continued irritating her, going so far as to cut her off from the group by dancing their way between them. She kept dancing but he could have sworn she was letting them cut her off, despite the obvious malicious intentions the males had for her. As they backed her to a quieter portion of the dance floor the larger male grabbed her wrist, tugging her towards the door. She shook her head no but he kept pulling as the other male corralled her from behind. Eventually she waived off the grip on her wrist and walked out with them.

Fuck. He really had no interest in lighting anybody’s asses up tonight but someone had to get the trash out of his court. And despite the fact that he and Azriel were never the best of friends, his daughter deserved more than to be ignored due to their indifferences.

So he sighed, exited out the front door and strode toward the alleyway the other entrance had led to. As he rounded the corner, he came to a halt, lurking in the shadows and taking in a sight that he hadn’t anticipated.

The Shadowsinger sat unbothered on top of a barrel with an elbow on the knee that crossed over her opposite leg. Her face filled with complete and utter boredom as she rolled her eyes at the males bound in shadow before her.

“You couldn’t have just let me be, huh boys? I was having fun with the girls in there too.

I suppose I should thank you though. After all, you won me my next three rounds of drinks. You see, the girls and I had a bet on how quickly you’d give in to your sleazy nature.

One of them bet two hours, another an hour, and me? I know a pig when I see one. Less than thirty minutes from the first time you hit on me and, well, here we are boys.”

The males couldn’t speak through the gags her shadows had placed on their mouths but the rage was apparent in their squeals.

“Anyway, since you were so desperate to find release tonight, I’ve decided to help… remedy the situation.”

With a snap of the wrist and the exception of their underwear, their clothes disappeared while the shadows binds remained in place.

She gave them each a once over and a disapproving laugh, withdrawing the shadows that were gagging them.

“Alright boys, I’ve so generously removed your gags as a thank you for helping me win my bet. You may kiss eachother now.”

The males gaped. The burlier of the two seemed to lack the understanding of the fact that he was at the disadvantage in this situation. “You little whor-“

“Uh uh.” She wagged her finger. Shadows aiming at him like daggers. “That’s no way to speak to a lady. Not that it seems anyone ever taught you manners. Pity.”

The males were visually appalled. Glancing back and forth between her and eachother as if saying “what now?”

Both males fought the restraints to no avail as the little Shadowsinger grinned with amusement at the predicament she’d put them in.

“Honestly, I should just have my shadows castrate you. Would that be more appealing? You two seemed perfectly inclined to share me, what’s a kiss between friends?”

“Please. Sorry - just let us go.” The smaller of the two pleaded.

“Once you kiss - perhaps I’ll consider. Best do it soon though, I’d hate for the little situations beneath your underwear to be revealed to the patrons of this lovely establishment when my friends come looking for me.”

The males glanced once more at eachother, leaning closely in, still hesitating but resigning themselves to their fate.

When their lips were mere centimeters apart, she held up a hand. “Ah- just a moment, boys. We have company.”

Eris started at the comment. Looking down he found a shadow winding around his ankle - was he imagining things or was it almost playful?

“High Lord.” She mused. “How do you dispose of the trash in your court?”

Mask in place, he casually stepped out of the shadows with his hands in his pockets and a devilish grin on his face.

Her gaze fixed on him. Her beauty even more striking up close, and her scent - utterly mouth watering. And when his eyes met hers

Snap.

He knew then and there that he was wholehearted and irrevocably hers for the rest of his days.

He’d wait another 500 for it to snap for her too if he had to.

She was his mate. His.

————————-

A/N: Sorry (kind of) for always leaving you all on chaotic little cliffhangers. I hope the flashback made up for the torture at least a little bit!! 😏

Tags: @b0xerdancer @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thelov3lybookworm @starryhiraeth @5moremin

[captain-hawks]

shinichiro sano + books + purple

(congratulations on 1k! 💖)

(thank you so much<3!!!!)

shinichiro sano x reader

c: fluff, book store meet cute

“Got any books on bikes?”

Attention pulled away from the book propped open beneath your hand, you slip a bookmark between the pages and glance up. The man standing across from you on the other side of the counter sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the bookshop’s overflowing shelves and kitschy armchairs, the large, lazy feline lounging beside the register lifting her head to appraise his appearance.

Messy black hair flops over his forehead, despite his futile attempt at carding a hand through it as he offers you a lopsided grin, the thumb of his other hand hooked in one of the belt loops of his jeans with a lighter lodged between his fingers. A leather jacket is thrown over one of his shoulders, a few dark smudges breaking up the stark white cotton of his t-shirt and lingering across his knuckles as well. And with that, you’re certain he doesn’t mean bicycles. 

The cat hisses.

He laughs, and he reaches out to pet her, despite the menacing swat of one of her furry, orange paws.

Shinichiro Sano is far softer than he looks.

And he makes a habit of it—coming into the bookshop.

Coming into the bookshop and disrupting all flow of rational thought from your brain, your mind losing focus the moment you hear the now-familiar sound of his bike coming down the busy street, heart fumbling in your chest without fail the moment the rumble of the engine cuts out. 

Shinichiro has to know—that you haven’t the slightest damn clue which of the various books on motorcycles and auto mechanics nestled away in the reference section are the best reads. They’re topics that are entirely out of your depth, those shelves an entire universe away from your favorite well-worn paths in the romance and fantasy aisles. 

But you do the same dance every time—

He smiles, he waves.

He ambles up to the register, busying himself with haplessly trying to win over the cat if you’re occupied with another customer.

(Several cat toys have mysteriously appeared over the past few months.)

And then he vaguely rattles off the name of some book he’s looking for, shooting a boyish grin over his shoulder as he waits for you to come and guide the way like he has no idea where he’s going. Like he doesn’t end up in the same exact aisle every single time he comes in. 

Shinichiro Sano is far softer than he looks, because despite the loud bike he parks out front and the bold tattoos that wind up and down his arms—

—despite the way his heavy black boots scuff against the carpet—

—despite the fact that he disrupts the shop’s pleasant scent of books with the distinct, heavy smell of motor oil—

—despite the fact that you’re more than a little certain at this point that he’s got history with Tokyo’s motorcycle gang scene—

—he opens each book like it’s a precious artifact.

(You’ve found yourself distracted by the sight of his long fingers carefully turning pages more than a few times.)

He wipes his shoes on the little welcome mat at the door.

He pets the cat.

He brings you tea from your favorite café two streets over.

And maybe it’s ridiculous, how you think perhaps you’re a little bit in love with this man already.

—

It’s that goddamn purple book that does it, in the end.

The book’s an eyesore—a thick tome bound in a gaudy shade of purple, the spine embellished with an equally offensive sprawl of lime green text. 

It’s some odd collection of new age poetry, one that you’ve contemplated tossing in the garbage bin time and time again in the five years that you’ve worked at the shop, given that it’s clearly destined to live a life in shelved purgatory. (It would be a merciful sendoff.)

It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon when you spy the book nestled away in the wrong aisle on the wrong shelf, staring at you tauntingly beside an otherwise aesthetically-pleasing row of classics. 

A very high row of classics. 

And naturally, rather than taking the time to fetch a stool, you opt for your tiptoes and outstretched fingers instead, hand coming up empty as you predictably lose your balance and stumble backward—right into something solid.

Someone.

Shinichiro’s far warmer than you expected.

It’s all you can think about as you hear the familiar sound of his hushed laughter behind you, the sound reverberating through his chest.

“And yet you always yell at me for doing the same thing,” he huffs in amusement, sending a shiver jolting down your spine at the intimate feeling of his breath hitting the shell of your ear. 

“The stool is across the store,” you protest, trying and failing to keep your voice steady despite the onslaught of emotion frying the circuit board of your brain at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you.

He’s—

He’s reaching for the book.

One hand outstretched, he asks, “Which one?”

His fingers flutter lazily in the air, like he has all the time in the world.

Like he’s not pressed up against you in an empty aisle, his hair tickling the side of your face as he leans forward. And for once, it’s not the scent of books that pervades your senses as you stand before the shelves, nor is it the whiff motor oil that incessantly clings to him.

It’s the light, pleasant fragrance of detergent that envelopes you, the smell gentle and calm like an early summer breeze. 

(Softer than he looks.)

There’s no use in hiding the hitch in your breath.

“The purple one,” you whisper.

“That’s the ugliest book I’ve ever seen.”

And then you’re laughing.

You’re laughing and his hands are on your shoulders and he’s spinning you around to face him and his smile is so soft and he’s looking at you so intently your heart might just burst and—

“I love it when you laugh.”

And he’s kissing you.

An ugly purple book lies forgotten on the shelf and Shinichiro tenderly takes your face in his hands and kisses you. Again. And again.

And again.

[qvrcll]

college melodrama — V.

summary: ellie survives with a bruised lip and a throbbing pain that keeps her awake in her own bed. abby is elsewhere and of little care to you — you are beside ellie and nursing her wounds. tender touches lead to tenderer tellings and something worth recalling, perhaps.

warnings: injuries mentioned, food / medicine mentioned, just fluff, some angst but let’s be honest, it will be drowned out by the fluff 🫶🏽

a/n: part five and can i just say… THE POLL RESULTS ARE MAKING ME CREASEEEE. we love to see it! i love ya abby but you went too far… also my old divider stopped working for some odd reason :( + sorry for the slow updates, life has been brutally interruptive. anyhow, hope you enjoy this :-]

You’re tapping your feet anxiously beside the cotton of Ellie’s comforter the next time Dina checks in. Some part of you jumps from the familiar sound of the notification, but you put your good faith in Dina. You’re still shaken from the party’s brutal givings — besides Ellie’s bruised lip and cruddy looking jaw, the fight had taken flame amongst the entire college. From videos to whispers, you can feel the tension tenfold when you enter a room. People are nice enough to ask how Ellie is, but not nice enough to keep their eyes from telling.

You’d left her room when the messages rolled in, so it was safe to say that Ellie couldn’t hear the squelch of your heart playing in your throat right now. She couldn’t hear the deafening plea in your lungs drying the substance there, robbing it of the air that was. But she’s quick to realise, quick to ease you of your worries. You feel stupid, feel bad for even being upset but seeing her this battered and bruised hurt the world beneath your eyelids.

She knows all the right things to say and you’re really too hopeless to stay this way. You realise you’re unknowingly blaming Ellie for what’s transpired and make quick work of assuring her that no, it’s not her. It’s you and your dumb, full, thudding heart that is tipping over depravity. For her. But Ellie’s message makes you stop, makes you think. Makes your fingers shake as she loses her mind over her own recklessness with her feelings.

This is tipping close into uncharted territory. Into something of a ruse or something… warm and blanketed. Into something you’ve both hidden. But you’re not sure and Ellie is second guessing every bit of your letters, words, sentences. She’d rather have a shockwave plummet her to death than to lose you to her feelings. But if you were to be the same, she’d only dare to fall, no?

It’s an easy route to her dorm room. With her injury, prone to Abby, it had been a frequent endeavour and now, you were quite literally soaring through different altitudes. Savouring sweeter tastes. Hoping for something you’re sure you haven’t lost your mind to gain.

“Ellie?” your hand is on the door knob and the creaky, old thing flits back to allow you some space inside.

I’ve done this before, so many times. Why is it so much harder now?

“Y/N?” her voice comes softer, like the feel of peeled tangerines, in the commodity of her humble dorm. As you glance up, she’s standing in her flannel jacket, comfortable and so much like the reason as to why your heart is unrelenting in this very moment. But you can’t do this without surety — can’t do this without reason and lose half your mind with it too.

You step forward. It’s the right thing to do. You convince yourself that much, and whatever truth there is in that, is only helping you steer clear of what’s… meant to be yours, “You feel any better?”

“Y… Yeah. Totally. See,” she points ardently to the flesh that has begin to heal against her lip, “Already good. On the way… to be good, I hope.”

This is endearing, you think.

“And good, you will be, Ellie,” you reply, feet lambent against her floors, as you take her hands in yours in a complete show of camaraderie. But underneath the flesh and bone of it all, there’s something raw and pulsing there. Something alive and aware of consequences. Aware of a few of things. Curious of a lot more.

Curious of her hands.

Curious of her lips.

Curious of the row of hairs above her neck.

And of so, so much more.

“Is there… something else… you wanna say?” she suddenly asks. Rips the breath out of your lungs as her hands work to shield yours in some tight grip. Certainly not camaraderie. It’s something sacred in a nuanced sense; a telling? Or maybe one of her hidden shows of affections? But you need to try. Have to.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“When have I, Ellie, ever been wrong?”

“Dickhead. I won’t tell you now.”

“No, wait, hey! I’m sorry!”

You purse your lips, bite and swallow and throw away the smile that burdens them. But a ghost of it remains anyhow and she’s teeming with hope too, you see now. Something illusive made seen with her curiosity. She’s twice as nervous and holding you tighter and… leaning in.

Fuck.

Your lips meet slower than expected. Your nose budges against her cheek. Her teeth taste like oranges and medicine and raw, hot, scary love. Her hands are in your hair and you push the speed of them to match her—

“Ow. Ouch,” she bites her groans of pain, still holding you close. You shudder, afraid suddenly of the truth that she’s still not fully healed, “My lip… it’s just…”

“I’m so sorry—“

“Don’t be. Please?” she whines and her eyes are pouring into yours and you see her past the line you’ve always drawn between the two of you. It disappears till you can no longer smell it in the air anymore. Nothing to stop you anymore. Nothing to be afraid of anymore.

“Okay. Okay,” you laugh against the flannel of her shirt and she coughs out a laugh, the light in her smile, “but you’re going back to bed! Heal, first. Kiss me later?”

“Mmm. Promise you won’t leave?”

“When have I ever?”

“Right” her spit of auburn hair seeps against her ears and despite your words, her lips cut the skin of your cheek anyways. Light, airy, yet leaving with the air of your lungs. You curse comically as she laughs, exits to her room, and you’re doing your best to follow when suddenly…

You hadn’t blocked her. Everything is redrawn and spilt in red. Anger, confusion and curiosity is alive in you when suddenly you become aware. Aware of your buzzing phone. Aware of the back of Ellie’s figure as she retreats to bed. Aware that whatever has started has yet to be resolved.

THE DECISION IS UP TO YOU: YOUR ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES.

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[taglist: @theganymedes @nil-eena @ximtiredx @inf3ct3dd @oceanparadox @cjrights @eveshyper @sosobaker @hsangel64 @zombie-catz @twsmalie @badbye666]

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Just to kiss me (Part 4)

pairing: Finnick Odair x reader

(AO3 mirror)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Five, My Hunger Games Masterlist

summary: You take care of Finnick, in the aftermath.

warnings: mentions of drug use, depictions of a psychotic breakdown, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt comfort, aaaangst, fluff.

required reading: The song "We'll never have sex" by Leith Ross <;3

a/n: a short but sweet chapter, I hope. Calm before the storm, etc etc

wc: 2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was simple, it was sweetness

It was good to know

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“....Are you mad at me?.” Finnick winces as you dab at the cut above his eyebrow.

You’re perched on his kitchen countertop, between his legs as he stands and leans towards you. Due to the height difference, it was the easiest way you could get to his injuries; the contents of his first aid kit strewn onto the marble. Still thawing from the cold; your fingers clumsily swipe at the wound. Your eyes are red-rimmed from crying; more out of frustration and exhaustion than anything. Your arms hurt, your back aches, and you’ve got a pounding headache. Finnick almost died and he’s barely fazed; giving you a lazy grin in the soft light of the kitchen.

Admittedly, you didn’t know what to expect from his house. It certainly wasn’t this: a modest home at the Capitol’s edge. You’d expected the sterile white and marble that you’d seen a thousand times over. Instead it feels like a home: warm lamps and clutter and throw pillows. It looks like someone lives a life, here. 

You chewed your bottom lip on the way there, silk slip dampening the leather of the car seats. You were worried; eyes darting between the road and him - looking for jittery hands or glazed eyes. Every bump in the road puts you on edge; you can barely feel the warmth of the car’s heater - sitting in dull cold despite it all. Even Finnick was quiet, bundling you up the stairs and into his room with few words. When he hands you a sweater and joggers, there’s nothing to be said except in the brush of fingers; I’m sorry it hurts. The words die in your throat.

His fingers brush the soft fabric, his hands flat on the countertop. Pressing cotton heavy with disinfectant to his temple, Finnick hisses softly. He takes your hand in his to stop you, momentarily.

“I’m sorry.”

You can’t help but laugh. It’s insensitive, sure, and makes you look insane. The first time you’ve so much as smiled in the past couple hours, and he has no idea why. 

“W-What are you-” You’re still laughing, soft and melodious in the hum of lights. “-What exactly are you sorry for?”

“Uh..” He cocks his head. Despite the circumstances (he thinks you’re delirious from the adrenaline of it all), your smile hurts him in a way he didn’t think possible. “For… everything. You didn’t have to do what you did.”

“You weren’t awake for what I did, Finnick.” And then, softer. “I thought you were dead.”

“I know.” 

You tuck his hair behind his ear. Dirty blonde locs, curled from the spray of lake water. 

“You keep surprising me.”  

“Surprising you? How?” Cradling his cheek now, he waits with baited breath.

“Hmmmm,” you titter, pretending to think. “You’re funnier than I thought you would be.”

He smiles, crooning. “...Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hand is still on yours. “And you’re perceptive. You see everything with those freaky green eyes of yours.”

Lidded, his eyes flit down to your lips. He’s in a trance, unable to think of anything but the way his heart swells when you talk to him like that.

“And you’re kind. You were kind to me, on the balcony. You didn’t have to stay, or remember me but you did. And… when you talk to me, it’s like I’m the only person in the world. You’re good at that; making people feel wanted. Making me feel...”

“I like you.” It tumbles out of his mouth, wincing at how desperate it sounds. Suddenly, he’s barefoot on the shores of District 4, gap-toothed and sunburnt. He’s stretching sticky fingers towards the other kids, trying to make friends. To be seen.

“I like you too. I-” you swallow, imperceptibly. He notices the quiver of your lip. “I know it’s not my place. You’re a grown man, and you don’t need a lecture - but whatever you were taking; you need to be more careful. I need you to be more careful-”

“I can’t sleep. That’s why I was taking them.”

“Okay.” Your voice is soft, free of judgement. You’re not satisfied with his answer, but it’ll do, for now. You don’t want to push him away. Gently, you nod. “You scared me.”

“I know. M’sorry.” He presses his forehead to yours.

“Stop apologising, Finnick.” You close your eyes, and lean into his touch. 

You stay like that for a little too long; basking in the warmth of each other. Slow steady breaths to remind the other that you were both alive. When you separate, you brush light fingers at the apex of his cut. It stopped bleeding long ago, split and angry red on his flesh. Peeking out from under his sweatshirt, you see the dull mauve of bruises; older, they couldn't have been from today. Finnick looks as exhausted as you feel. 

"You need stitches." He nods, resigned. 

They're serviceable - likely to scar, but serviceable. His grey-green eyes follow your hands, your lips, the tilt of your head; and suddenly, you're grateful that you've learnt at least one thing from your years with the Junior Peacekeeper Scouts. The rest, you've learnt from your years around the capitol's elite: how to hide shaking hands under scrutiny. You're tying the knot on his stitches when you hear soft creaking coming from the stairs. 

From the kitchen, you see a pale hand wrap around the bannister. Annie, in a nightgown and robe pads onto the hardwood. Her hair flows down her back as she steps into the warmth of the kitchen - like a ghost in sheets. 

"Lucas?" Her eyes are wide and glassy - wet-rimmed like she's been crying. Again, she squeaks. "Lucas?" 

His body language changes, but Finnick doesn't miss a beat. Slowly, he closes the gap. "You ok, Annie?" 

Her voice cracks. "T-think I had that dream again."

You see his Adam's apple quiver. Hoarsely, he swallows. "Okay. Let's get you t-"

"No!" She clenches her fist and stumbles backwards, into the counter. "Please don't- I can't- please don't make me…. Lucas-" 

"-to bed." He says, impossibly soft. You've fallen away to the sidelines as they are framed in lamplight. He throws a glance to you over his shoulder, unreadable. "Annie, let's get you to bed."

He stands in front of her, hands at his side. Hesitating? No, asking for permission. When she pulls at his shirt, manic, he wraps her up. The woman's eyes are frenzied; her breathing speeding up and hands clawing at her wrists and throat. He's gentle when he takes them and places them in his own; whispering something you can't hear. She stills, breathing erratically, but calmer by the minute. 

"Finnick… F-Finnick, I can't-" 

"I know… I know,"

"-where did y-you go? Finnick, I called for you and you weren't t-there. Where di-" 

"I know… and I'm sorry," He soothes. She still can't see you. They make their way up the stairs; where you can hear the dance of their voices. Finnick: low and calm. Annie: frantic, strained. 

You're left feeling bare in the aftermath. Like you've just seen something you shouldn't have. Her face is etched into your mind's eye - terror you've only ever seen on a screen. A voyeur, looking in through a dirty spyglass - gripped with the shame of getting caught. You look around, and reality slams into you at full force. You shouldn't be here. 

You clean up, close to tears. 

It's almost an hour before he comes down again. You've cleared what's left of the first aid kit from the counter, and curled up onto the sofa. Before you know it, you've passed out like that; knees drawn into yourself between plush cushions. Finnick finds you there, wading in fitful sleep. You look peaceful; in his clothes, in his house, nestled in his couch. It feels right, he thinks. 

You start awake, blinking back sleep. You're met with Finnick above, arms full of blankets and pillows. 

"Shit. Didn't mean to wake you." He sighs, collapsing onto the sofa. 

"S'okay." You mumble. Stretching, you move to get up. "It's probably time for me to get going anyw-" 

"-No! I-I mean…" Exhaustion creeping in, he rubs at his eyes. "You must be tired. Sleep, even for just a little bit." 

And then, quieter. "Stay. Please." 

You lean your head back and look at him, tilted 90 degrees. Even from this angle, his puppy-dog eyes claw at your heart. 

"You can take my bed?" He adds, hopeful. 

You scoff. "And where will you sleep?" 

"Down here's just fine…"

"No, no. Absolutely not. Finn, you need rest - in a proper bed with back support, and silk sheets and-" 

He cuts you off with a snort. It's cute, he thinks. When you get passionate and a little mad, you shake your fists at him like a fairytale villain. He shrugs."Haven't been getting much sleep anyways. S'how we got into this mess in the first place."

You purse your lips. There's a grab made at the pillows in his lap, but he snatches it away just in time. You feint, elbowing him playfully, before going for the blanket by his other side. Successful, you ball it up crudely, and stretch onto the sofa. Makeshift pillow under your head you fake a yawn, pointedly (smugly, he thinks). 

"Goodnight." He rolls his eyes at your dramatics. The white woven blanket, the one that had been with you both for the night, ends up on your back. Finnick leaves the extra pillows at your feet, before turning off the lamps. He gives you one last look, before heading to bed. 

"Goodnight." You whisper into the dark as the sound of steps subside. No-one answers. 

~~~

In the morning, you're woken up to the smell of coffee and something sizzling in a pan. Light streams in from where you lie, bundled up in blankets and pillows. A dull ache settles in your bones, as you try to blow away the morning fog - blinking back sleep. Through the doorway to the kitchen, you see a sliver of someone's bare arm. 

Finnick stands at the stove top, dressed in a light tank top and sweats, a flowery tea towel slung over his shoulder. The tip of his tongue sticks out when he pokes at the pan with a wooden spoon; deep in concentration. You walk in and lean on the doorframe. 

"Morning." The pan nearly goes flying, Finnick almost jumping like a startled cat. His hand grazes the heat of a burner, and he hisses in frustration. Without thinking, you leap to his side, quick to guide him towards the sink and run his burn under cold water. 

"Morning," He says despite himself, leaning into your soft touch. You trace the lines of his palm under the running water.

"They say," You're careful to circle around the burn forming at its base. "…you've got your future written out in your palms," 

"And what do my palms tell you?" He says softly.

"It's not that simple, see," You huff. "Like…. roots in a tree. All mapped out before you were even born. This one," you trace one spreading the width of his hand "..is your heart line. It tells me all about the way you love the people around you. It says you give too much, despite yourself. The one below it, is your head line. Right now, it says you're stubborn and…" You laugh. 

"…pig-headed."

"Really?" Unwittingly, he's been reeled in. 

"No. Not really. I wouldn't know, Finn. Made it all up." Your lips pop at the last sentence, grinning up at him. 

"Very funny." His tone is dry, but still he smiles. 

"I've got a friend who's obsessed with it: divination, fate, destiny, all of it. She'll probably give you something a little more accurate than I can." 

He hums. "Does that mean…. you want to see me again?" 

You're standing shoulder to shoulder with him at the sink. You shut off the tap, and grab a piece of toast from a plate on the counter. His plate, most likely. Your answer comes in the form of a flash pink tongue. 

"...Maybe."

"I want to see you again." 

There it is; something red-hot at the base of your chest, spreading like a wildfire until it makes your fingers numb and face warm. You'd die before you admit how what he said made you feel; I want, I want, I want becomes a broken record on replay in your head. 

"I'd like that," You breathe, and then clear your throat. “I’d like that.”

_

_

_

taglist: @starhastoomanyfandoms

[nuhahani]

3:15(Breathe)

3:15(Breathe) - Angst. Multi Fandom/Character. GN(No pronouns for reader)

It started out as it always does at the beginning of the fall. A missed call or two. Staying later at work. Cancelling plans more and more. You had been together for five years and suddenly it was like living with a stranger every time he came home. The distance between you and him grew larger with each attempt to close the gap. It was 2am, then 3am and then it was 4am. He wasn’t coming home tonight. It was the third night in a row in a pattern that had become the new normal for the past month. How did it all fall so far from where it began? 

“You smell like perfume.” 7am, he walked through the front door. Hair disheveled, clothes that looked as if they were carelessly thrown on. A small hum left his throat, the only response he gave. Your voice was softer than cotton itself. “Why do you smell like perfume?” 

He didn’t even glance at your figure on the couch, knees tucked under your chin and arms locked right around your legs. He wasn’t even that close to you, and you could still smell her from the distance. He no longer cared. There was no point in hiding it, he was perfectly fine hurting you. Showing you that your relationship was no longer a priority. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, undoing the shirt he wore to work yesterday as he continued to ignore you. Were you not enough? You worked even though you didn’t have to. You cooked and cleaned, took care of him. Kept his secrets and held him in his distress. Keeping it together was the hardest thing you had to do. You wanted to scream, cry. You wanted him to show any type of emotion, something that showed he still cared. That you were still important. But you weren’t, he showed you that you weren’t. The light left his eyes every time he looked at you, you had watched it happen for some time now. Eyes that now stayed glued to his phone as he left you alone just like always. The sound of water running down the hall answered your unspoken question. Soft sandy carpet felt as if it were hot coals under your bare feet. Your feet that didn’t need eyes to see you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Weight that slowly breaking everything ounce of your soul.

The bedroom at the end of the hall that was a haven from everything now turned into an empty isolated hell-scape. A home built by two people now being rented by one. Your body refused to step forward past the threshold of the doorway. Paralyzed by lost and foreign memories. 

“I’ll love you long after my lungs stop breathing.” He spoke so genuinely to you, his lips not wasting a second afterward to kiss you. Soft, gentle lips that spoke poetry to you with every word. Hands that felt like home on your cheeks as they cupped your face to pull you closer. Hands that would never let you go.

A moment that used to make you feel so warm and at peace now caused the familiar ache of abandonment in your chest. This was no longer home; he was not coming back. There were no thoughts as you packed a bag full of clothes. Your hands moving faster than you would’ve thought in your dissociated state. Shirts and pants that seemed to weigh a thousand pounds in your hands. A backpack would be all you needed; it would have to be for now. Running water could no longer be heard as you slung the bag over your shoulder. You pushed past him in the hallway as he stepped out of the bathroom. The gaze of his eyes on your back, but you couldn’t turn back. You couldn’t because if you did you would stay. 

Trembling fingers snatched your keys as you maneuvered your way around the kitchen counter. This apartment was suffocating you with its silence. The prickling sensation of tears welled along your waterline threatening to fall if you didn’t move quicker. A voice cut through the tension calling your name. The ringing in your ears muffled the sound of your name leaving his lips. Lacing your sneakers seemed a nearly impossible task. The frustration and anger brought on the swelling sensation in your throat as if you were choking. Your shaking hands yanked the front door open only to slam it shut behind you as he kept calling after you. 

Time had seemed to be racing and slowing around you simultaneously as your alert body pulled you towards the complex parking lot. A dazed and hazy state that not even drugs could replicate. Walls and doors turned into pavement and parked cars. Tossing the bag into the backseat you locked the doors as you started the engine. Once you pull out of the parking lot there is no turning back. You would have no choice to go back, there was nothing to go back to. A home that built turned to one that you rented and was now one you watched burn to the ground. A fire that had been started by the man who vowed to love you until death do you part, the same man that tried to trap you inside the fire. 

Parking spaces and pavement turned to traffic lights and tears as you pounded your fists against the steering wheel at a red light. Screams that the rest of the world would never hear escaped your lungs, threatening to burst them into confetti sized pieces if you held them in any longer. Where would you go? You left but where are you running to? Your phone vibrated in the cup holder. There was no point in checking it. He only called because you left.

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

The Boy Who Broke His Own Heart [Part Five]

Fandom: Harry Potter [Marauders Era]

Pairing: Sirius Black x Original Female Character

Characters: Sirius Black, Original Female Character, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Jasmine Potter, Peter Pettigrew, Marlene McKinnon, Lily Evans, Mary MacDonald, Euphemia Potter, Filius Flitwick, Fleamont Potter,

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3896

Summary: Sirius would rather break his own heart than hers.

Tags/Warnings: James Potter has a sister, Self Loathing, Commitment Issues, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Smut, Angst, Fluff, Smoking, Accidents, Harm, Marauders Era, The War is Not Happening in this,

LINK TO ALL PARTS

Even though their end of year prank went down spectacularly well, cheering Remus up no end the entire day he managed to spend outside the hospital wing before break came, Sirius couldn’t wait to finish school for Christmas. He tried to reason that the absence of school and Christmas cheer was enough to get anyone in a jovial mood but he knew that it was the prospect of spending two whole weeks with Jasmine. Of course they weren’t alone and it wasn’t like the summer but it was better than the time they’d spent apart.

He missed her. Which he knew was selfish of him and yet he couldn’t not. That’s why every minute they spent together even in this awkward cohesion they managed to find he savoured. Jasmine however wasn’t feeling as at ease about their newly rekindled friendship. She was still hurt and though she wanted to be his friend, if only to relieve the tension around her brother, she couldn’t help but feel like that wasn’t possible. Because it was easy to be over him at a distance. It was easy to be happy when he was off with random girls. It was easy to love Theo when he wasn’t around to eclipse him.

But to have him break into a smile when she came to the breakfast table, as though he’d been waiting all night to see her again, or to have him listen intently when she rabbited on about the new book she was reading when James had tuned out and was busy throwing a snitch back and forth, well, it was hard not to be his friend then. It was hard not to love him then.

That was why she tried her best to avoid him. Even in a house as big as theirs it wasn’t easy, if James Potter wanted something he was determined to get it which often meant she was ambushed, whatever she was doing often left behind as she was forced to spend time with them. When this happened she allowed herself to be as friendly as possible but it was getting harder and harder every time not to slip back into their old ways.

Which was why she was relieved to have a moment to breathe. Seeing as it was Christmas Eve James had decided they should have a holiday tipple which had left him too squiffy to notice when she’d slipped away and headed to bed. Since Sirius had been matching him drink for drink she had hoped he hadn’t noticed her absence too much either and apparently she was right as he seemed stunned to see her when he flung the bathroom door open with such force it rattled off the wall.

Jasmine was getting ready for bed, her long hair hanging neatly down her back, trailing along the cotton nightie she was wearing that stopped far too high on her thighs to stop Sirius from staring. Yet he finally managed to as he felt her watching him, his intrusion questioned through a raised eyebrow rather than words.

 ‘Sorry didn’t know you were in here,’ he said, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

‘Evidently,’ Jasmine said sarcastically, before her voice turned softer and she added, ‘I’ll not be long.’

‘S’alright,’ Sirius mumbled though where she’d expected him to turn around and wait outside he didn’t, moving to rest against the marble countertop, his arms folded across his chest as he watched her. Jasmine tried to ignore him, focusing on the motion of brushing her teeth, rinsing and spitting, but his gaze was hot on her face.

She swilled her mouth with water and spat, wiping the minty fresh speckled water from her lips before looking his way and asking, ‘what?’

‘Nothing,’ Sirius said, though she could see that look behind his eyes. The one that always came when he’d been thinking of something that he wanted to bring up but didn’t know how. Jasmine braced herself as he continued, ‘James said Lil’s coming to the Christmas party.’

‘Yeah he said,’ Jasmine replied, confused that this was his chosen topic.

‘Maybe now he’ll stop moping over her,’ Sirius mused, earning himself a wry smile as Jasmine turned around to lean against the sink as he was. The proximity made his pulse thrum especially given the way she had the excuse to leave now and didn’t choose too.

‘Doubt it he could mope about her going to the toilet without him,’ Jasmine ribbed, earning a grin from the boy. She returned it, the pair chuckling at her brother.

Though James’ heartsickness over the red head was often a target for mockery she couldn't deny the unashamed way he loved Lily was something to be admired. A force to be reckoned with. Then again she supposed one of them deserved to scream their relationships from the rooftops rather than thrive in secret rendezvous or placid respect. Her smirk died out at the flash of Theo through her mind, the knot in her stomach about him returning and worsening as Sirius said, ‘is erm, is Theo coming?’  

‘No,’ Jasmine said, immediately moving away and finding something to busy her hands with though her bottles and creams were already as straight as can be on the counter top.

‘Oh, didn’t he fancy it?’ Sirius asked in his most casual voice though his gaze was rigid on her face. Jasmine paused, her fingers that had been fiddling with a damp flannel stalling nervously.

‘I didn’t invite him,’ she said quietly.

‘Why not?’ Sirius pressed. Jasmine huffed and pulled away from him, moving between him and the door as if she was going to flee through it. She hated it when he was like this. Not because he wouldn’t take no for an answer but rather because she felt obligated to give him one. He got under her skin just as easily as he pulled her back into teetering on the verge of loving him.

‘If you must know he’s got a lot of family things to go to. I didn’t want him to feel obligated to be here,’ she said firmly though her firmness weakened as he made a sceptical face, ‘what?’

‘Nothing, it’s just Lil’s coming…don’t you want him to meet the parents and all that?’ Sirius pressed.

‘Like I said he’s busy,’ Jasmine snapped.

Sirius stood up looking down on her with a sympathetic expression. He could feel his words coming and he knew not to say them. He and Jasmine were just becoming friends again and to piss her off now would be detrimental, especially given how much he had missed her. But he couldn’t help himself.

‘It’s alright you know,’ Sirius said.

‘What are you on about?’ she asked irritably.

‘If he’s not what you thought…if you only got with him-’

‘What to make you jealous?’ she laughed. Sirius frowned. It wasn’t the reaction he was hoping for and he could see the fire building behind her eyes as was his own, the laugh enough to rile him.

‘I’m just saying,’ he said angrily.

‘Oh yeah ‘cos everything’s about you isn’t it?’ she said, rolling her eyes and moving away from him. The feel of him so close to her making her heart thud in her chest as the tension rolled off them both.

‘I didn’t say that,’ Sirius said hotly.

‘No but there couldn’t possibly be a reason that I’d like Theo could there? It has to be about you,’ she snapped.

‘Oh c’mon Jas,’ Sirius sighed, ‘he’s not exactly…’

‘Not what?’ she asked angrily.

‘Well…he’s a bit of div,’ Sirius reasoned.

‘Yeah well funnily enough I like that,’ she replied heatedly. Sirius scoffed and looked away but Jasmine didn’t let up, ‘at least he’s got something about him unlike the tramps you’ve been through recently.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Sirius lied, looking up to find her face thunderous. He knew he should’ve kept his mouth shut even if she did look ridiculously pretty shouting at him.

 ‘You. You have a new girlfriend every five minutes! Or was that for my benefit?’ she asked.

‘As if,’ Sirius scoffed. If anything that was the truth. In those first few weeks he hadn't been trying to make her miss him or jealous, he’d simply been trying to forget her. Forget how she made his heart sing and his brain spin. Forget how they could have each other up in arms or in fits of laughter. Forget how ridiculously good she smelt like she did now, the waft of vanilla and caramel intoxicating to him even amidst an argument.

‘No but my going out with Theo has to be about you! Because my life revolves around Sirius fucking Black. God forbid I have a life of my own,’ she said heatedly, stabbing her finger into his chest as she glared at him.

‘Alright Merlin you can have your own fucking life,’ he retorted far too loudly given she was barely a foot away, ‘be bored stiff with Theo see what I care.’

‘Fine I will,’ she replied angrily.

‘Fine!’ Sirius growled.

They stood there for a moment, chests heaving from the shouting, just staring at one another.

And then they weren’t staring at all. Before either of them could realise what was happening they were up against the bathroom door, slamming it closed as he pressed her up against it, their mouths now working in tandem rather than opposed to each other. They knew they should stop, that every kiss was falling further into something they couldn’t just shake off and yet neither of them could bring themselves to. The wooden door was hard against Jasmine’s back which should’ve been enough to pull her to her senses in itself and yet she found herself leaning back into it, scrambling to find purchase as her limbs ensnared him against her.

None of it was thought through, every kiss and touch hurried along as if it’d be snatched away if they thought about it too long, and yet it still felt like enough to heal that hurt inside both of them that had been festering away since the end of summer.

Sirius couldn’t believe how he’d ever fumbled this. How he could’ve thought that anything would be better than where he was right now, that anything could be better than her. Even when he paused, shrouding himself in vulnerability as he murmured her name, practically begging for permission, jeans bunched around his thighs and lips swollen from kissing her, he still found that a better feeling than being without her.

‘Pads,’ she panted, her breathy moans music to his ears after so long of being without them. Sirius had to fight a smile, burying his face into her neck as she knotted her fingers in his hair, losing herself in the moment.

To neither of their surprise it was over pretty quick and yet the come down wasn’t a crash but a gentle descent. The anger had ebbed, leaving behind an unsure reverence in its place. As they realigned their clothing neither of them spoke, the uncertainty of the situation making both of them reluctant to make the first move. After all, neither of them was quite sure what this meant. Jasmine watched him closely, wondering what to say. Did this mean they were getting back together? Was it a one off? What about Theo?

Oh God, Theo. She could feel the panic coming, the idea of having to tell him what had just transpired giving her a pain in her chest that she couldn't shake. Sirius saw the change in her expression and moved his hand to her face, tracing his thumb along her jaw gently as he readied himself to speak but she didn’t get the chance to as they were interrupted as James’ voice echoed through the door, ‘Oi mate! Where’s your box of records?’

‘What?’ Sirius replied loudly, making Jasmine flinch as he was so close to her.

‘The box of records. It’s not with the player,’ James said, ‘did you bring it upstairs?’

‘No!’ Sirius replied angrily.

‘Well can you find it? Lil said she wanted to-’

‘Can you fuck off I’m trying to piss,’ Sirius shouted angrily, looking down at Jasmine who was still squashed between him and the door though she was looking away from him. Sirius cursed James. He could see her going into her head, whatever she was worrying about squirreled away for his protection. He was only distracted as he listened to James reply, ‘alright fuckin’ hell. I was only asking.’

He listened to his friend potter away, waiting for the telltale creak of the stairs that signalled he was a decent distance away, before he looked down at Jasmine who was pushing him away, out of her space as though she couldn’t think with him as close as he was.

 ‘You should go and help him,’ she whispered, looking up at him with sad hazel eyes that made him frown.

‘Jas,’ he sighed.

‘He’ll be waiting,’ she said and before he could protest she slipped out of his reach and out of the bathroom leaving him standing there, his mind reeling.

✵✵✵

‘Hey,’ Jasmine said as she slipped into the office, closing the door behind her. Sirius looked up from where he was perched on the window ledge, knees tucked up in front of him providing a rest for his arms. She had known he’d be in here. The irony was not lost on her that after spending all her time trying to avoid him she was now seeking him out but after what had transpired in the bathroom she found she couldn’t leave whatever it was hanging in the air. It was one thing to hide something from your nearest and dearest when you knew what you were dealing with. To hide this felt like an uncertainty. An unknown entity.

‘Hey,’ he replied with a soft smile.

‘What are you doing in here?’ she asked, moving into the room though as she did she felt a breeze from an open window, which given that it was less than five degrees out would’ve shocked her if Sirius had not held up his packet of cigarettes that had been tucked down between his leg and the window pane. Jasmine smiled, ‘you know James will have a heart attack if he sees that.’

‘Eh, I’m by the window,’ Sirius shrugged.

Jasmine rolled her eyes and took a seat opposite him on the ledge, watching as he took a long drag on the cigarette he’d been smoking. When he noticed her watching him he grinned and offered it across, never releasing it from his fingers as she took a drag herself. Like her brother she had never been into the smoking fad like Sirius was. Whilst James’ stance was based mostly on how it was unbecoming for athletes she rather focused on the smell and taste of it. It never really appealed to her, just another muggle habit Sirius craved to learn about. She’d only taken to it this summer, mainly because participating in it meant she got to spend more time with him alone. That and even for all its faults she couldn’t deny it made him look incredibly alluring.

As she pulled back, revelling in the instant buzzy feeling it gave her, Sirius watched her closely. It never failed to amaze him how she could look just as pretty in the nightdress she’d been wearing yesterday and the evening gown she was swathed in now but he had to admit tonight she looked radiant. Her hair was swept behind her, falling down her back in a waterfall of brown curls meaning that her face was open, radiant eyes and supple lips enhanced by swatches of neutral pinks and oranges. And her dress was fitted, floaty chiffon clinging to every line and curve of her body as she sat before him.

 ‘You look beautiful,’ Sirius said without thinking. Jasmine smiled softly.

‘Thanks,’ Jasmine murmured, ‘you look handsome yourself. Sophisticated.’

‘Oh yeah, finest dress robes and a fag for good measure. Really sophisticated I am,’ Sirius mused, glancing at the black dinner dress he’d been sporting all evening, though his jacket and coat had been shed a while since. Jasmine smiled before looking out the window. On this side of the house there wasn’t much of a view, mainly manicured lawn which backed onto the adjoining fields and yet it was the most interesting thing in the world to her, well until she could figure out what she was going to say.

Truth was she didn’t really know what she wanted to say. Even after lying awake reliving the moment or thinking about Theo she couldn’t line up what it was she wanted to tell him. Because like always whatever she was feeling about Sirius Black melted the moment she got within three feet of him. Any uncertainty she had vanished because he made her feel as though this was just where she was supposed to be. Anger and frustration didn’t come near her when she was this close. And guilt, the guilt that had been gnawing at her all day that felt like a distant memory. 

So even though she’d been desperate to hash it out with him she didn’t bother bringing it up, opting to make small talk instead as she asked, ‘why are you hanging out in here? Where are the boys?’

‘Left them talking to Ludo Bagman about how he’s moving from professional playing to ministry work,’ Sirius said, taking another drag of his cigarette.

‘And you didn’t want to join in because you just hate talking about quidditch?’ she teased knowing that he would have just as much of a desire as the rest of them to bend a professional quidditch player's ear. Especially one who was transitioning into a post that gave him access to complimentary tickets from every team in the league.

‘I hate talking about my mother,’ Sirius muttered bitterly, silencing whatever teasing words were on the tip of her tongue. He didn’t say anything more and she didn’t press, allowing another lull to fall between them.  

 He watched her, knowing they should probably dissect whatever it was that happened the night before, but to do that would risk her pulling away from him. And he didn’t want that. So all he offered was a mere, ‘Jas…we’re alright aren’t we?’

‘Yeah,’ she nodded, ‘fleeting moment of madness right?’

‘Yeah,’ Sirius said, a touch disappointed.

‘We should probably go back before they come looking for us,’ she murmured.

‘Yeah probably,’ Sirius agreed, flicking his cigarette through the open window and pulling it closed which left them unnaturally close. Sirius paused, leaving himself open and vulnerable. He didn’t want to kiss her this time, he wanted her to kiss him. To prove that despite her brushing him off this was not a moment of madness. That this was real.

 And she did, capturing his lips gently at first before her kisses turned to hunger, pulling him to her as they made their way to the couch, a flurry of hands and lips. It was so frenzied the pair were stunned to find themselves on opposite sides of the room the moment they heard the door click open, Jasmine still laying haphazardly on her father’s sofa as Sirius tried to enact a natural stance, perching on Fleamont’s desk as if he’d been sitting there the whole time.

‘What are you two doing in here?’ James asked as he strolled in, kicking the door closed behind him and flopping down on the couch next to Jasmine who immediately took it as an excuse to straighten up her somewhat dishevelled appearance. James didn’t seem to notice.

‘Needed a break,’ Sirius said casually.

‘Tell me about it. I’m sure I’ve been stuck with Bagman for at least half an hour,’ James grumbled, leaning forward to scoop a handful of nuts from a bowl that had been on the coffee table.

‘You got fed up talking about quidditch?’ Jasmine teased.

‘I got fed up with him and Pete arguing about the match tomorrow. Pete’s so sure the Cannons are gonna win he even put twenty galleons down on it. I told him he was mad to but he wouldn’t listen so I left them to it,’ James said with the crunch of a nut.

‘Where are Moony and Lil?’ Sirius asked.

‘Talking to Flitwick about that test we’re having first week back,’ James replied boredly, ‘figured I’d leave them to it. See what you two were up to, anything good?’

‘No,’ the pair said quickly. James eyed them both curiously, though his suspicions seemed satiated as he leaned towards Jasmine and got a whiff of cigarette smoke.

‘Ugh,’ he grumbled, ‘you’ve been smoking haven’t you. You smell like an ashtray.’

‘I was me mate,’ Sirius said, glancing at Jasmine who had stalled over an excuse at her current state, ‘must’ve blown back from the window. Sorry Jas.’

‘It’s fine,’ Jasmine nodded.

‘Well I should bloody hope not,’ James chuckled, ‘here I was thinking you were being a bad influence Pads.’

‘Well I have got previous,’ Sirius said, not looking in Jasmine’s direction.

‘Well anyway I suppose we best get back to it,’ James said with a yawn, ‘ready?’

‘Yeah,’ the pair of them said, rising from their seats and following James back towards the party.

 ✵✵✵

Sirius couldn’t sleep. He was trying and yet every time he closed his eyes all he could see was flashes of Jasmine and him together. They hadn’t spoken after their session in the study and everything felt more up in the air after that one kiss than the night previous. So he lay there, wondering what she was doing, if she was up worrying about the whole debacle as he was. He worried so hard he exhausted himself, finally slipping into a fitful slumber that was broken as he felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him so quickly from sleep he sat upright forcing his visitor to have to move back save bumping heads.

‘Jas?’ he asked, confusedly, the low light making it hard to distinguish though there was no one else who would sit with him like this. No one else whose hand would ghost along his neck, pulling him toward her in a kiss that stopped him from asking any other questions until they both broke away breathlessly.

‘What are-’ he started but she cut him off.

‘Fleeting moment of madness yeah?’ she asked, her hazel eyes begging him to say yes. He knew he shouldn’t. That they were only digging a hole deeper and deeper and if they kept going they may never be able to dig themselves out. He knew he could not be what she wanted, what she needed, and yet he couldn’t resist her. He missed her too much. To know she was consumed with him, unable to distance herself as much as he was made him happier than ever.

‘Yeah,’ he nodded, flipping her over onto her back, a smirk on his lips at the squeal she offered in return.

 James was right. Sirius Black was a bad influence.

Sirius Tags

@caitlin1996 @imthebadguyyy

[mortally-beloved]

my favorite softer early seasons hameron scenes

the first season was, in my opinion, the best hameron season and this scene is one of the prime reasons why. he was so attentive while she was talking about her husband and had such a soft tone speaking to her. literally could not stand to see her cry, looking so miserable seeing her being miserable.

again with the soft tone of voice, listening to her speak without interruption and even offering to listen to her more if she would come back. trying to look into her home, wanting to go inside and just see her and be with her. I remember a commenter (I’m not sure which platform but I think youtube?) saying how every-time we see her through his perspective it’s as if though her beauty was magnified and that was such a lovely outlook to it.

this is just like, a given that I include this scene. their first (and only </3) date and though it didn’t end so good it was still so cute that he agreed to go on it in the first place and they were like so happy (for the most part, at least.) she was also so, so cute here and like gothic. if you get it, you get it.

can this be counted as their second date actually? though they both said, “minus the date part” I honestly believe it was, basically, a second date to them, and it did end on a better note so. but like, it was so adorable that, despite him not wanting to discuss his past relationships, he still told her about stacy(?) and how he used to live with her. also that last scene where she takes the cotton candy away from him after “letting” him have it and having him take a bite out of it first before running away while he’s just like “you’re kidding” is so funny .

I love scenes like this one where nothing happens other than just like them being cute. sure you can say it was necessary as they’re on a motorcycle but that little smile he gave at the end… you can’t deny that.

I love that we got another scene like the first one and it was in the chapel(?) this time??? oh my gosh??? him saying “I’m proud of you” just to comfort her and placing his hand on her shoulder and her leaning into it and closing her eyes. I think this scene might just be in my top five (if not like top eight.)

HUG SCENE!! at first when I watched this scene I thought she was going to go in for a kiss and I was silently hoping for it but the hug is so adorable as well. he just like lets her too before being like, “okay it actually feels nice… stop it now.”

there is nothing really much to say about this scene it’s just like so funny and cute at the same time. him just admiring and staring at her after inhaling all that laughing gas(?) and she just looks at him like, “okay…”

hello??? him pushing aside all the things on his best friends desk just to make room for her beside him because like. she can’t just stand, that would be unreasonable. and them just staring at each-other so hard like just kiss already omg.

everything about this last scene was golden but I think it’s just the patheticness from him that really seals in it for me. she shows up at his door, says one sentence, and he immediately just goes to open up the door. and when she sees his arm she wastes no time in going inside his home and he looks annoyed but in actuality he’s grateful to be with her. and then she’s helping him and kneeling and he’s looking down at her, silently wishing she would stay longer and she’s desperate for him to get better and he just can’t take that.

[betweenthings2]

Ahh i would love gatty with 10, 15 or 23 from prompts that has me lying on a highway. Love your writing so much ❤️‍🩹

Thank you and thank you so much for the ask!! I am so very sorry it took me so long to get to this. I have no good excuse.

Here's 15. "I'll come over there and make you shut up, then." "You can try," 23. Curled up on the bed together, face buried in their chest, and 10. "Tell me what you want, baby."

10 came out smutty, so I've put it last.

15. "I'll come over there and make you shut up, then." "You can try." 

Matty has been talking for the past twenty-seven minutes. About what, George has no idea, but he does know what Matty has been talking and it's all he can do at this point to not tell Matty to just shut up. He's done that a time or two and Matty always looks horribly hurt and guilty. No, doing his best to simply let Matty's rambling fade into the background and put his headphones on.

George wraps up with what he's working on about twenty minutes later, and when he slides his headphones off, Matty is still talking. He's probably changed topics about four times in that space and he probably hasn't even noticed that George hasn't been listening. No, he's just wandering around the space, now with a just-lit joint, talking.

"Matty," George interrupts.

Matty stops, and turns around. "Yeah?"

"Have you been talking this whole time?"

Matty nods. "Yeah. Have you been listening?"

"I had headphones on, love."

"Rude," Matty says. "What if I said something brilliant?"

"Did you?"

"Do I look like I remember what I was talking about?"

George can't help but laugh.

"I mean, really," Matty continues, pausing only for a drag from his joint, "aren't we supposed to be partners? I thought-"

"Matty you were talking for like forty-five minutes," George interrupts again. "Forty-five minutes is a long time."

"Yeah, but what if I said something brilliant? Sometimes I do. Sometimes I say great things when I'm rambling, like, half of our album names have been things I've just said." 

"Matty," George says, exasperated, "I love you, but please, five minutes of quiet."

Matty sighs, dramatic, but agrees, "Fine," and sprawls out in an armchair. He takes a purposeful, deep drag from his joint and blows smoke toward the ceiling, like he's making a point to not offer the joint to George. Not more than two minutes have passed when he says, "Has it been five minutes yet?"

"No."

Matty groans. "I have things to say, ya'know, George. We can't all be quiet and stoic. Have you ever thought about stoicism? I think-"

"I'll come over there and make you shut up," George warns.

Matty makes a kind of disbelieving face and says, "You can try."

So George gets up and crowds into Matty's space, one knee on the edge of his seat. The first thing he does is pluck the joint from between Matty's fingers and take a drag, earning some indignation from Matty.

"That was mine," Matty starts. "I even-"

"Not anymore," George cuts in. He leans in for a kiss, a little bit rough, but Matty reciprocates eagerly, letting George do as he likes.

Matty stays quiet for a just a moment when they separate, then starts talking again with, "In terms of strategies to shut me up, I'd give that, like, a six out of ten. Not the worst, but could be better, ya'know? You could-"

George cuts him off with another kiss, tangling his free hand in Matty's hair. He keeps his hand in Matty's hair when they separate, tugging a bit to say, "You gonna be quiet now?"

"Six and a half out of ten," Matty decides, half daring George to do something.

George stubs out the joint in the ashtray on the side table and says, "You're awful. I love you."

Matty smiles and leans in for another kiss, this one a little bit softer, then says, "I love you, too."

----

23. Curled up on the bed together, face buried in their chest.

George's fingers trail up and down Matty's back, gentle through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. George's own t-shirt is damp where Matty's face is pressed against his chest. He's been crying. That's not really saying very much--Matty cries a lot--but today he clearly needs some comfort. George isn't really even sure why, Matty had just come back from the interview he'd been roped into, changed his clothes, and tugged George into bed, hiding his face against George's chest. The tears had been slow to come, but come they did in quiet sniffles and shaky breath. George doesn't say anything. He doesn't really need to. All he needs if for Matty to know he's there.

Eventually, Matty mumbles, "Thanks."

"'course," George murmurs. "Wanna talk about it?"

Matty stays quiet for a few moments, then he admits, "Not sure there's anything to talk about. Just needed a cry, ya'know?"

"Can I ask why?" George pushes, still rubbing Matty's back.

Matty gives a half shrug, then stays quiet for a while. His breath is warm against George's chest and they fit together just right, like they were made to. George wouldn't trade him for anything in the world.

After a few minutes, Matty moves so he can glance up at George, then looks away and admits, "Dunno why," and tucks his face back against George's chest.

George cards his fingers through Matty's wayward curls and opens his mouth like he's about to say something profound, but all he says is, "I'm here if you do wanna talk about it."

Matty nods, but he stays quiet. He kind of knows why he needed to cry, the words just aren't quite there. It had been A Day, even though it's barely midday. The interviewer had been full of pressing questions that hit just a little bit too close to home for Matty to feel comfortable answering, so all his answers had been awkward and full of stuttering and lots of words that made it sound like he had a lot to say but amounted to nothing. The real answers, the ones that were too honest and personal for a magazine were still there, and Matty still had to contend with them, no matter what he told the interviewer.

All the real answers are still there, words still lodged in back of Matty's throat. All the answers about all the bad things Matty has done in his life, all the poor choices he's made and the ones had no doubt are coming done the line because he knows he won't be able to help himself. And somehow, he's here, in a hotel room with a man he loves who loves him on a tour because people care about the art he's making. Matty has everything he's ever wanted and he can't shake the feeling that he's going to lose it.

"George?" Matty asks after a while, words muffled slightly by George's chest.

"Yeah, love?"

"I, erm, I'm sorry. I think."

"What're ya sorry for?"

Matty pauses for a moment, then, "I don't know. I just am."

"Did you do something you need to be sorry for?"

Matty shakes his head. "I don't think so. I just, I don't think I'm a very good person. I know I love you. I know I care about the fans. I know I care about what I think we're trying to do. I just don't think that I'm a very good person. Fundamentally."

"That's not true, Matty. It's not. No one but you thinks it is. I don't even think you think it is most of the time."

Matty sighs. "Interviewer this morning kept asking questions I couldn't really answer. It was all too honest." He pauses. "Dunno. Maybe I'm just feelin' sorry for myself. I'll feel better in a bit."

George presses a kiss into Matty's curls and says, "Well, I'm here. I'm always here and I always love you."

"Thanks," Matty murmurs. "Really. Thank you."

----

*This is adult content, proceed accordingly*

10. "Tell me what you want, baby."

Matty has been in a mood all day, snappish and short and argumentative with everyone. Well, everyone but George. With George he's been almost sickly sweet, like he's trying to ask for something without coming out and saying it. George knows exactly what that something is, of course, but he's also not going to let Matty get off that easily. He'll have to ask for what he wants. They have the time and the space. All Matty has to do is ask.

Matty urges George toward the bed when they get back to the hotel room, never mind that they're still in their street clothes, practically draping himself over George when they lay down. It makes him feel small. George has been taller than him, broader than him, bigger than him, since they were teenagers, but he's filled out and gained some muscle in the past few years, both of which have helped him look less small next to George. Still, he can't change the fact that he's simply shorter and less broad than George, and despite his complaints and instance that he's not short, sometimes Matty likes that George makes him feel small.

George lets quiet settle over the room for a bit, listening to Matty's even breathing. After a while, Matty trails his hand up George's shirt, and presses a collection of kisses to the underside of his jaw, asking without the words.

"Matty," George warns.

"What?" Matty asks, feigning innocence.

"Tell me what you want, baby," George murmurs, low and dangerous in Matty's ear.

"You," is Matty's automatic response. "I want you."

"You've got me," George responds, pushing.

"You know what I mean," Matty tries. "Don't make me ask. I hate asking."

George smiles softly, pressing a kiss to Matty's forehead. He know Matty hates actually asking, be it for a hug or some cuddling, or to be tied up and fucked until he can't think. "I know," he says quietly "But you know the rules, Matthew. I can't read your mind. You have to tell me what you want."

"I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me like you don't like me."  

George runs his hand up Matty's spine, and takes a fistful of hair at the back of his head. "Like I don't like you?" he asks.

Matty nods as much as he can, and says, "Yeah. I want you to be rough, treat me like my pleasure is secondary."

George tugs a little bit on Matty's hair, then lets go, and says, "Why don't you go get the lube and get yourself ready for me?"

Matty nods and scrambles to his feet. He digs through their luggage for a few moments, then strips out of his clothes before retuning to the bed. He pauses for a just a moment, then, in a small voice, like he's expecting a negative answer, asks, "Can I suck you off? Please?"

George sits up and cups Matty's jaw, thumb coming to rest on his lower lip, and says, "You wanna suck me off?"

Matty nods. He looks half desperate.

"Alright," George agrees. "Get on your knees."

Matty tosses the lube on the bed and drops to his knees as soon as George tells him to with a dull thud from knees hitting the carpet.

George stands, unbuckling his belt and undoing his jeans, then stroking himself to full hardness, and says, "Eager little thing, aren't you?"

Matty would protest being called 'little,' but he can't really find it in himself to be upset about it, not now. He just nods.

"Go on, then," George urges.

So Matty takes George into his mouth, eager and full of want. George gives him a bit to adjust, then takes a fistful of Matty's hair and uses it to take a little bit more control. Matty lets him, lets him take, lets him have. When George finally uses his grip to guide Matty's mouth off his cock, Matty is flushed and teary and completely desperate. George helps him to his feet and pulls him in for a kiss that's almost too gentle, then guides Matty to the bed.

Matty looks up like he's looking for some kind of affection or gentleness, but "Get yourself ready," is all George says.

"But-"

"You do what I tell you," George interrupts. "Now get yourself ready."

Matty sniffs and nods, stilly teary, and does as he's told, slicking his fingers and reaching behind himself. It takes only takes a few minutes for Matty to try again, saying, "George, please. Please help. I can't, I can't reach, please?"

George's voice is full of mocking sympathy when he says, "Aw, poor thing. Can't do anything yourself, can you?"

Matty shakes his head and repeats, "Please?"

"Get on your hands and knees, then," George decides, shedding the rest if his clothes. He kneels behind Matty on the bed and sinks two fingers into his hole, avoiding his prostate. Matty whimpers when George adds a third finger, but he chokes on his little noises when George angles several firm strokes into his prostate and shifts so he can press his face into a pillow to muffle his whimpers. Before Matty can get too used to it, George removes his fingers and leans down to press a gentle kiss to Matty's shoulder and ask, "Ready, love?"

Matty nods. "Yeah, 'm ready. Fuck me, please."

"So polite," George murmurs, squeezing Matty's hip. "So sweet, so good for me, aren't you?"

Matty nods. "'m good," he promises.

Matty chokes on a sob when George sinks inside, but he's quick to urge George to keep moving. George fucks him slow at first, then gets a little faster and little rougher as Matty adjusts. When Matty reaches for his own cock, hard and neglected,  George wraps an arm around him and urges him to sit up so his back is against George's chest.

"You're gonna let me make you cum or you're not gonna cum," George says, tugging Matty's hand away.

Matty lets out another sob, but he nods, clinging to George's arm still wrapped around him and lets his head fall back against George's shoulder. He whines every time George hits his prostate and before long, he's begging George to touch him. George ignores Matty until he's properly crying and begging, desperately on the edge.

"Please," Matty chokes out. "Please touch me, George, please, please, please. I need it, please. Please."

"You poor thing," George murmurs in Matty's ear. "You're gonna cum just like this."

Matty doesn't respond, but he begins trying to follow George's thrusts with his own hips, and finally, with a particularly well placed thrust, he cums, crying out a little too loud for a hotel room. He slumps fully against George after that, exhausted, letting himself be used, until George cums, too.

George is gentle when he pulls out and helps Matty lay down, pressing another kiss to his shoulder and promising to be back soon before he goes to the bathroom for a towel to clean up. Matty protests when George leaves, and protests a bit more when George urges him to move a bit to clean up.

"You did so well," George murmurs when he lays back down with Matty, holding him close. "You were so good for me. How do you feel?"

"Like you love me," Matty responds quietly, the inverse of what he'd asked George for in the beginning.

"I do," George responds, smiling. "I really do."

[wendigonamecaller]

Deadly Kiss.

Desc: Asher wasn't a bad person. She was quiet, well behaved, and had a gentle beauty about her that naturally made people flock to her. Asher was a good person, until she was given a reason not to be. 2002, she's only 22, never willingly been intimate with anyone, when police stumble upon her body in the Tennessee senator's home, a single gunshot wound to her head and a gun in her corpses grasp. She wakes up in hell, with a new appearance and powers, which present her with new opportunities, until she meets Angel Dust and becomes mixed up in Charlie Morningstar's hotel, unevitably becoming mixed up with Alastor.

Taglist: @sparrowrye

Pt. 9: Just Golden

The tests were relentless, one after another until finally it was time for Asher to be paired with Alastor.

They had been teleported to a swamp-like area, and Asher realized it was made to resemble the swamps of New Orleans, a place Asher vaguely remembers visiting in her past life.

Asher was about to begin trudging through waist length swamp water to reach another area of the swamp, when Alastor grabs her by the waist with a tight grip and halts her. His hand lingers, claws digging into the supple flesh of her gray stomach before retracting as Alastor summoned a bridge made of shadows.

"I guess that works." She says, looking up at the Radio Demon.

His usual grin was in place as he chuckled before gesturing for her to go ahead and cross.

"Ladies first." He nearly purred, his eyes giving her nothing but a neutral glint.

She shrugs before doing so, her tail swishing back and forth as she looked around the swamp. It held a melancholic type of beauty to it. Alastor follows behind her, noticing a name on her lower back that had been crossed out.

"My dear, pardon me but.. what is the name on your back for?" He asked, walking slightly faster so he could match her pace.

"It's a demon I made a deal with, he died sometime last year. I reckon it was the extermination or another overlord." At that, Alastor was slightly taken back.

"You make deals?" He asked, raising a brow.

"Rarely. I've made five the entire time I've been in Hell." She answers as they step off of the bridge and it dissipates. Alastor hums at the information.

-♡

"It's odd, we've only got five more minutes until the test is over and we've not been attacked." Asher comments before seeing a doe on the trail ahead of them.

"That's because this last test is meant to be peaceful." Alastor tells her, hands clasped behind his back.

"Wait, seriously?" She asked, golden eyes peering up at the red demon.

"Indeed my dear." He said his grin much softer than she's used to.

The softer disposition of the Radio Demon takes her slightly by surprise and her ears furrow slightly. "Come, my dear. Let us settle for the next few minutes until Charlie pulls us out." Alastor says, holding his arm out for her.

She tilts her head slightly in confusion. "I thought you despised touch?" She asked.

"I do, unless I consent to it or initiate it." He told her, and she relaxed before laying her right hand in the crease of his elbow and her left hand on his upper arm.

The fabric of his waist coat was soft, but not soft like a false fur, it felt like a mixture between satin and cotton, it was a nice feeling and the feeling plus the warmth Alastor radiated drew her smaller, colder self into him as they walked to a bench.

Once sitting down, Asher removed her hands from his arm and folded them in her lap. Two minutes left, and as they waited, a doe with a very soft colored fur coat approached them, her snout blew out smoke before she lowered her head briefly at Asher.

Asher reached out slowly, tempted to touch the doe. The doe met her in the middle, pressing her snout against Asher's hand gently. Alastor watched quietly before joining in, scratching the deer gently between her ears. Asher smiled, having never gotten to see a deer so close up, let alone pet one.

Her eyes glowed gold as she revelled in the tranquility of the moment, the scene beginning to fade too early for her liking until finally they were standing in the parlor of the hotel, the doe long forgotten by now. Alastor was mesmerized by how gentle someone in Hell could be, she was just golden in his eyes in that moment.

[philosophicalparadox]

I wanted to ask a question, usually you know a lot of information. If you don't know, you can ignore. Landsknechts did not have one leg covered and in one post I read that "it was so pike drills could be carried out with greater dexterity." How is this related? Can I have more details? Thank you in advance <3<3

To put it simply: because clothes get in the way of movement.

There are actually two parts to this answer - one a matter of comfort and the other a matter of practicality.

You have to remember that the types of textiles available in the 16th and 17th centuries, while more expansive than before, were still basically linen. This was especially true of fighting attire, because linen is tough and durable and actually quite sword-proof if you weave it right. It also takes up dyes better than cotton, which had its uses, but was not the most common crop at the time courtesy the fact only Spain was producing it in any measurable quantity because they could use New World species with higher yields right at home and abroad and were the first to discover them.

Point is, while linen is fairly flexible, it’s a lot stiffer than cotton. Think pure polyester fabric but a little bit softer, or like a course denim weave. It has very little elasticity, which makes it very sturdy stuff, but not always the most comfortable material to do intense, fast physical labor in, because it chaffes.

In fact, chaffing was a pretty big problem for military attire, to such a degree that all sorts of remedies and solutions were tried, with talc (powdered gypsum or marble) or straight up chalk being the most common. But it doesn’t take long to note that talc becomes almost useless once it’s wet, and whether doing drills or battle, you’re gonna sweat.

So, one way around that was just, not to put fabric around the joints. Problem with that is that joints are vulnerable in battle, and every man fighting you has been trained from the ages of six to eight to specifically target your joints with deadly accuracy.

But, 99% of the time you’re not going to be in battle, but you ARE going to be doing drills. Lots and lots and lots and lots of drills. Every day, up to five times a day and maybe once in the middle of the night. As a mercenary you live, breathe, eat and sleep war as your profession. It was not just a job, it was their LIFE. All the more so for Landsknecht, who had been doing war and killing as their primary profession for anywhere from thirty to forty years, being mostly retired knights.

Point is, when you start out as a Page, age ten, up through your Squire years as a tween, you’ve got no choice but to wear full attire when you train, because you’ve got to get used to it. The chaffing, the sweating, the awkward way fabric buckles around the knees when you crouch, the irritation of the neck seam soaked in salty, itchy sweat; you just gotta power through it and let your skin adapt.

But when you’ve been doing daily drills in those clothes for forty years, at some point you just go “you know, I’m not as agile as I used to be, and that’s more important right now” and just ditch the clothes that are in your way unless you really need them in favor of moving more comfortably and therefore more confidently. Yes, they’d been drilling for forty years, but they were not immune to aging and it was easy to feel like they were losing condition since there was a huge bias against age related deterioration, so if anything those forty, fifty, sometimes sixty year old men did more drills and more intense work than when they were twenty and just entering knighthood. They had to, or their bodies would cripple.

After all it wasn’t like they weren’t accustomed to the clothing being in their way, so if they needed it it wasn’t going to be a hurdle.

But, also, oddly, the clothing was not always seen as necessary. There are trade offs in battle; either you’re wearing very little and have greater dexterity, or you’re wearing a lot and can tank a hit.

Landsknecht had an advantage in this trade off - they were pikemen and lancemen. Pikes, in case you don’t know, are about twenty feet/five meters long - pleeeeenty long enough to keep your enemy safely away from your tender bits if you know what you are doing. Situated in front of these pikes in formation there were lances, which are about ten feet /three meters long, also plenty long enough, and sufficient to cover the distance between pikeman and spearhead in case anyone did come that close.

And they definitely knew their stuff. All knights were trained to a spear-like weapon, regardless of their preferred speciality, at some point in their training, because spears, pikes, estocs and halberds all are A) really really common, and often something that can be reached for if all else fails and B) extremely good at keeping a guy with a sword or bludgeon far enough away from you that he can’t kill you, while also giving you a literal edge. Plus spears specifically (which are four to six feet long) require the least amount of specified training.

Pikes are a little more unwieldy, as are lances, and require a lot of dexterity and stamina to use. So Landsknecht were never going to be able to wear heavy armor or clothing anyway, and, being specialists with sufficient confidence in their ability not to get in range of an opponent, having been doing this type of stuff for decades, some just decided to forego some of the stiff fabric in favor of being just that much more able to move quickly to or fro; after all, the better part of the dexterity needed to use a pike or lance was in the legs, since thrusting with those weapons uses the entire body.

Hope that answers your question!

[lineandspace123]

5 Essential Factors to Consider When Buying Curtains or Blinds

Have You Ever Thought of the Role Which Curtains and Blinds Are Capable of Assuming in Your Room? Curtains and blinds are more than just items with which to close your windows— they can fully change the design and feel of how the room looks. Imagine sticking a heavy curtain in a very modern room: would it go? No. Or imagine a short curtain for a big door: strange, right? Now imagine applying the bright-coloured curtain with full patterns to an otherwise simple room that has light-coloured walls and furniture. That will be totally out of context.

Choosing the correct curtains or blinds is not only an aesthetic choice. It should complement your room and also be of some kind of service to you. Below are five must-remember things when buying curtains or blinds, to help you find the perfect ones for the place.

1. Purpose

This is one question you must ask yourself before choosing what kind of curtains or blinds you want. Do you want to block sunlight off from a room, or maybe you just need some privacy or a great decoration in the space? For instance, in the bedroom, one can use black-out curtains to nearly blackout the room while in the living room, sheer curtains help brighten up the space from direct sun rays. To find the right option, first of all, one has to identify his/her specific purpose and find the best curtain dealers. The best blinds and curtains suppliers in Qatar, in fact, really offer wide selections to meet your needs. They provide a variety of selection options when considering your preferences, budget, and purpose.

2. Material

The type of material you are using will have a significant influence on the durability, appearance, and maintenance of your curtains or blinds. Lightweight materials such as cotton or linen are used for a casual, airy look while heavy materials such as velvet or polyester are utilized to create an upscale feel. Materials such as wood, aluminium, or fabric blinds can fit in different styles. Consider always the climate and level of maintenance needed when you select the material.

3. Style

The style of your curtains and blinds should complement the overall appearance of your room. Use colours, patterns, or textures that complement your furniture, wall colours, and decor theme. Neutral shades create a soothing, classic look, while bold colours or prints add a pop of personality. For modern houses, minimalist designs are best; traditional spaces do better with intricate patterns or softer shades.

4. Measurements

Getting the right size is important to give a classy look. You should measure your windows carefully to ensure that your curtains or blinds fit perfectly. You can choose to have them cover the window fully or have them extend down to the floor for a dramatic effect. Proper measurements not only improve the looks but also make sure that the functionality is correct, such as effective light blocking or insulation.

5. Maintenance and Budget

Think about how much time you would spend cleaning your curtains or blinds, as well as money spent. Some materials need to be washed or dry cleaned frequently, while others are dusted periodically. Acquire a budget that will result in quality and affordability, so you get a product that will last long and align with your requirements.

Sum Up 

Conclusion

Not all curtains and blinds will complement the room. Even the fabric or material and type of pattern as well as how long or short they will fit in a certain room might cause a major disturbance. That's why it may be true, that even though the material and design are preferred choices, budget still dictates most times. So the importance is planning everything that comes inside beforehand. Considering the purpose, material, style, measurements, and cost involved beforehand will ensure that the curtains or blinds you choose not only look great but fulfil their purpose perfectly.

It is great to consult the Best interior designers and subcontractors in Qatar just to make sure that the one chosen suits the space, style, and budget. So take your time, evaluate your needs, and make an informed choice for the perfect finishing touch for your space.

[random2908]

I mean... OP is from Australia, I think? As are some of the other commenters? This isn't entirely about the US.

In America, the degree to which this is unadorned truth versus exaggeration depends what you're buying. I expect a sweatshirt to last at least five years of daily wear; however, I don't wash them unless they are visibly dirty or it's been, like, several months. I expect a t-shirt to last about 5 years in rotation where I might wear it once every 2 weeks and wash it regularly. My winter jacket was purchased 16 or 17 years ago (from a random store at the mall) and my fall jacket was purchased 8 years ago (from Kohl's, a mid-range department store), and although my winter jacket doesn't fit all that well anymore, neither jacket is nearing the end of its lifetime. I generally keep 2-4 pairs of jeans in rotation, washing them about monthly, and expect them to last about 3 years. My dad bought me two bed sets from Target (cheap department store) 20 years ago, and for a long time I just alternated between them; the fitted sheet on one of them tore after about 7 years and the other lasted 19 years. (Admittedly, I'm apparently really gentle with all of my possessions, because my electronics, furniture, etc also seem to last relatively long.)

So yeah, some stuff lasts. However.

My jeans that wear through in 3 years, first of all, would wear through in a couple months if I treated them like a child would--I know this with some certainty because I do occasionally tear them at work. Whereas when I was a child in the 80s/90s, my jeans lasted 1-2 years of running around and falling down. And some people have jeans from the 1970s that are still wearable. So yeah, my jeans don't wear out in a season, but they do last at most 1/2 as long, probably a lot less than that, compared to jeans of decades ago. And you can feel that the fabric is much thinner.

I remember in 1998, on a road trip, my mom bought me a t-shirt from a t-shirt stand, for $5, and the material felt completely different. Much softer, much thinner, than any of my other t-shirts. (I was 15, so I'd had a lot of time to learn what a t-shirt should feel like.) But it still said 100% cotton--it wasn't a different material, just a worse construction. These days, it's the other way around: I have exactly one t-shirt with the texture of the ones of my childhood, and all the rest feel like that one cheap shirt. And all but that one t-shirt has ripped on my belt buckle no matter how well I file down any sharp edges, because the shirts are so thin and flimsy. Sure, I usually wear these shirts for about 5-6 years until the holes are bad enough that they aren't presentable. The design has usually all the way worn off by then. But I was still wearing t-shirts from middle school when I was in grad school, and some of them had almost no degradation of the design (luckily when I was in middle school oversize t-shirts were in, so they fit properly when I was a young adult). Also, the t-shirts from my childhood, when they finally wore out when I was an adult, it was because the seams ripped. The t-shirts from my adulthood, when they wear out, it's because holes tear in the fabric itself.

So far I've been mostly talking about all-cotton clothing, except for the sweatshirts, and sometimes the jeans, which are a mix. The synthetic stuff falls apart a lot quicker. I have a dress that I've worn twice, that I washed once (careful of the instructions on the tag) and it's already pilling. Pilling means significant fabric loss, which means its days are number until it's ready to tear.

So yeah, a lot of generic clothing does last longer than people are saying--but some doesn't. And even so, the failure still happens a lot faster than it used to, and the failure points are in different places than they used to be.

I'm so pissed right now. I know that fabric has been declining in quality for a while but I just bought new pajamas from kmart and they are literally see through. Not just through one layer of fabric either; I can see through the leg, that is, through 2 layers of fabric. These aren't clothes. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have strained soup through cheesecloth thicker than these pants. These are men's flannel pajamas, the kind people wear in winter, and they are made if shittier thinner fabric than even the most bargain bin bullshit halloween costumes. This "flannel" feels like plastic and is thinner than a chux wipe. Why is this even for sale.

[lakorahome]

5 Reasons to Switch to Washed Cotton Bed Sheets Today

Choosing the right bed sheets can significantly impact your sleep quality and overall comfort. While there are numerous options available, washed cotton bed sheets stand out for their exceptional qualities. Here are five compelling reasons why you should consider making the switch today.

Unmatched Comfort for Restful Sleep

Washed cotton bed sheets are celebrated for their softness and comfort, offering a luxurious feel that enhances your sleep experience. The unique washing process these sheets undergo softens the fibers, making them incredibly gentle against your skin. Enhanced Softness: Unlike regular cotton sheets, washed cotton undergoes a special treatment that breaks down fibers, resulting in a much softer texture. This makes them ideal for anyone seeking a cozy and inviting bed. Perfect for Sensitive Skin: The smooth texture of washed cotton minimizes skin irritation, making it perfect for individuals with sensitive skin or those prone to allergies. Say goodbye to rough, scratchy sheets that disrupt your rest. Temperature Regulation: Washed cotton sheets are breathable, allowing air to flow freely. This helps regulate your body temperature, keeping you cool in the summer and warm in the winter. You'll no longer wake up sweating or shivering in the middle of the night.

Exceptional Durability for Long-Term Use

Investing in high-quality washed cotton bed sheets means you're choosing durability that lasts. The washing process not only enhances softness but also strengthens the fibers, ensuring your sheets remain in excellent condition for years. Resistant to Wear and Tear: Washed cotton sheets are designed to withstand regular use without showing signs of wear. They maintain their integrity even after numerous washes, making them a cost-effective choice. Easy Maintenance: These sheets are machine washable and tend to wrinkle less than traditional cotton sheets, saving you time on ironing. Simply toss them in the wash, and they'll come out fresh and ready to use. Color Retention: The washing process also helps maintain the color of the sheets, ensuring they look vibrant and new over time. You can enjoy your favorite hues without worrying about fading.

Hypoallergenic Properties for Healthier Sleep

If you suffer from allergies or have sensitive skin, washed cotton bed sheets are a fantastic choice. The natural fibers and hypoallergenic properties provide a safe and comfortable sleeping environment. Allergy Relief: Washed cotton sheets are less likely to trap dust mites and allergens, providing relief for allergy sufferers. This helps you breathe easier and sleep more soundly. Chemical-Free Production: Many washed cotton sheets are made without harmful chemicals or synthetic dyes, reducing the risk of skin irritation and allergic reactions. You can rest easy knowing your sheets are safe and gentle on your skin. Environmentally Friendly: Choosing organic washed cotton means supporting sustainable farming practices that avoid pesticides and harmful chemicals. This not only benefits your health but also the environment.

Stylish Aesthetics to Elevate Your Bedroom

Washed cotton sheets are available in various colors and styles, allowing you to customize your bedroom decor to match your personal taste. Their natural look and feel add a touch of elegance to any space. Versatile Design: Whether you prefer minimalist, rustic, or modern decor, washed cotton sheets offer a versatile option that complements any style. Their subtle, natural texture adds depth and character to your bedroom. Wide Range of Colors: From soft pastels to bold, vibrant shades, there's a washed cotton sheet set for every color scheme. You can easily switch them up for different seasons or moods. Chic, Lived-In Look: The washed finish gives these sheets a charming, relaxed appearance that looks effortlessly chic. It's the perfect way to create a welcoming and cozy atmosphere in your bedroom.

Eco-Friendly Choice for a Sustainable Lifestyle

Switching to washed cotton bed sheets is a step towards a more sustainable and environmentally conscious lifestyle. Cotton is a renewable resource, and many washed cotton products are made with eco-friendly practices in mind. Biodegradable Material: Unlike synthetic fabrics, washed cotton is biodegradable, reducing your environmental footprint. When it's time to replace your sheets, you can rest assured they won't contribute to landfill waste. Support for Organic Farming: Many washed cotton sheets come from organic farms that prioritize eco-friendly farming practices. This supports biodiversity and reduces the use of harmful chemicals in agriculture. Ethical Production: Look for brands that prioritize fair trade and ethical manufacturing practices. By choosing these products, you're supporting better working conditions and fair wages for workers around the world.

Conclusion

Washed cotton bed sheets offer an unbeatable combination of comfort, durability, style, and sustainability. They provide a restful sleep environment, support your health, and enhance the aesthetic of your bedroom, all while being an eco-friendly choice. By making the switch today, you'll enjoy a better night's sleep and contribute to a more sustainable world. Don't wait—experience the luxury and benefits of washed cotton sheets for yourself! Additional Tips for Choosing the Perfect Washed Cotton Bed Sheets:

Thread Count: Aim for a thread count between 200 and 400 for a balance of softness and durability. Higher thread counts may feel smoother, but washed cotton provides comfort even at lower counts. Check Certifications: Look for OEKO-TEX® or GOTS certifications to ensure your sheets meet high safety and environmental standards. Consider Your Climate: In warmer climates, opt for lighter sheets to keep cool; in colder areas, choose heavier weaves for added warmth. By choosing washed cotton bed sheets, you're not just upgrading your sleep environment—you're investing in quality, comfort, and sustainability. Make the switch today and discover the many benefits these sheets have to offer!

If you want to learn more bedding knowledge, you can read the following articles:

1. Uncover the Benefits of Washed Cotton Bed Sheets for Allergy Sufferers

2. How to Fold Your Flat and Fitted Sheets: A Step by Step Guide from Lakora

3. From Nature to Your Bedroom: The Elegance of Bamboo Quilts