#messy half cursive

[idkstuffiguess]

Sometimes writing is scribbled in half dead pen on the back of a bus ticket bc you forgot your notebook at home and would rather die than write on your phone AGAIN and so your hunched over definitely giving yourself some form of sicalous or some shit only to chuck it in your book as a bookmark and forget about it ONLY TO FIND IT THREE MONTHS LATER

[arokel]

leveling up my outline technique to those little 4x6 yellow legal pads so i physically can't do fucking This

[inmyheaddd]

✦ love story, (scribbled version) - percy jackson x reader

summary: percy’s handwriting is more difficult to decipher than ancient greek code - but with the sleepy sea eyed boy laying next to you, you end up asking him to translate almost every word in his blue birthday letter. warnings: nothing really, mentions of kissing, v fluffy and silly overall wc: 700

you sat on your bed, still in the outfit from your birthday party, a small plastic tiara your friend gave you perched on your head. percy was lying next to you, sprawled out across your pillows, one arm slung over his eyes.

he looked half-asleep already, his hair a little messy from the day’s chaos, and from you constantly running your fingers through it when you would kiss.

you glanced down at the letter in your hands, biting back a smile. it was his birthday letter to you—sweet, definitely, but completely illegible.

"perce?" you asked, your voice quiet, tapping his shoulder.

he groaned softly, shifting but not removing the arm over his face. “hmm?”

"what does this word say?" you asked, tilting the letter towards him so he could see it.

he peeked out from behind his arm, blinking lazily. “uh… ‘best.’”

you raised an eyebrow. "you sure about that? ‘cause it kinda looks like ‘beast.’"

“well, it’s not,” he mumbled, pulling his arm back over his eyes. “you’re the best.”

“aw,” you fake cooed at him, and you could practically hear the eye roll he would do to hide his flush. “thanks.” you smiled, trying to keep reading, but almost immediately got stuck again.

“…okay, wait. what about this one?”

he sighed, rolling onto his side to face you, his hair falling into his eyes. “it says ‘beautiful.’”

"oh," you said, glancing back at the letter. "right. obviously." you nodded, the scribbled mix of print and cursive still looked like a mystery to you, but you didn’t want to bug him too much.

you tried to keep reading, but less than two sentences later, you hit another roadblock. “percy…”

this time, he didn’t even open his eyes. “seriously?”

you held the letter infront of his face, pointing to something that looked like ‘federal’.

“what does this one say say?”

he cracked a single eye open, looking embarrassed now. “uh... ‘forever.’ it says ‘forever.’”  

his face was flushing slightly, his usual confidence diminishing as he realized just how many times you had to ask.

as he lay back with both his arms over his eyes, you continued reading.

okay, now you were going on a streak. that was two whole sentences you understood without having to ask percy! 

“okay, i’m sorry, but—”

“again?” percy groaned as he sat up, rubbing his face with his cheeks going pink. “how bad is it?”

he glanced at your face, glanced at the scribble on blue paper, and then sighed. “that says ‘cute.’” he said, “i was calling you cute.” 

he let himself fall back on the bed with a huff, propping himself up with one elbow and resting his head on one hand as he looked at you.

you held back a laugh, placing the letter down in your lap. “perce, you know i love you so much, right?”

“…yeah?” his voice was cautious, clearly not trusting where this was going.

“and you know that even though you may be…” you trailed off, “less academically inclined than others, i still love you more than anything?”

he groaned once again, rolling onto his back and covering his face with both hands now. “okay, that’s not a compliment.” he said, “and does not make me feel better in the slightest.” 

you laughed, sitting back against the pillows. “no, i promise, it’s cute!” you doubt calling it cute helped, but you said it anyway. 

“i’m just saying, next time you could, i don’t know, type it? maybe make it a little easier on the birthday girl?”

he dragged his hands down his face, peeking at you from beneath them. “you’re killing me,” he muttered, though there was a smile tugging at his lips. “i’m never writing you a letter again.”

you grinned, adjusting the little crown on your head. “oh, come on. don’t be like that,” you teased, “it’s sweet. messy, but sweet.”

“yeah, well, now i feel like an idiot,” he said, cheeks pink as he sat up a little.

you leaned over, pressing a kiss to his temple. “you’re not an idiot, percy. seriously.” you said, and you weren’t lying. he was way smarter than what people gave him credit for.

“it’s the thought that counts. but maybe... practice your handwriting?”

he hummed a groan again, this time pulling you down onto the bed with him. “on your next birthday, my handwriting will look like times new roman. just you wait.” 

“i’m holding you to that.” you teased, resting your head on his chest as you got comfortable. 

he reached over and took off your tiara, placing it carefully somewhere on the bed side table before running his fingers through your hair lazily. 

he then picked up the letter off the bed, having a read of it himself. you couldn’t see, but he was struggling to read it even more than you were with his brows knitted together to the extreme.

he tsked in frutstation when he couldn’t get past the 2nd paragraph, shaking his head as he put the blue card on the bedside table, alongside the tiara.

“less academically inclined, huh?” he mumbled, running his fingers through your hair again. “is that what you said?” 

you giggled, already feeling tiredness wash over you, tilting your head to look up at him. “yep.”

he attempted a half-hearted glare, but his grin broke through far too quick as he looked at you, “alright, yeah, i can’t even argue with that.”

taglist: @lovethornes @littlemissmentallyunstable @midiosaamor @maybxlle @imaseabear 

@sheisntyou @off-to-the-r4ces @anintellectualintellectual @wish-i-were-heather

[eiralunaire]

AU soulmates: with the same theme because if

Since time immemorial, mankind has known an inexplicable phenomenon: soulmates. Those destined to meet each other have the first words they will share with their other half inscribed on their bodies. The phrase varies from person to person, often leaving more questions than answers, and many spend a lifetime waiting to hear those exact words spoken by their soulmate.

For Damian Wayne, heir to the Wayne dynasty and apprentice under the shadowy mantle of Batman, the words inscribed on his right arm were both a mystery and a source of constant irritation:

*"I don't give a shit that you're Robin and that you came out of the sewer, but this is a public road and therefore, get out of here. You're in the way!"*

For as long as he could remember, those words were there, etched in elegant black cursive. He often wondered how anyone could say something so disrespectful to him. He, Damian Wayne, grandson of the infamous Ra's al Ghul, a prodigy trained in combat and strategy since childhood, getting in the way? The mere concept filled him with an indignation that his mother, Talia al Ghul, often found amusing.

Damian had tried to ignore the inscription. During his years of training with the League of Shadows, soulmate tattoos were considered a distraction, something irrelevant to a warrior. But ever since he joined his father, Bruce Wayne, in Gotham, he couldn't help but notice how other people around him spoke excitedly of finding their soulmates. Dick Grayson, his adopted brother and former Robin, had even told him with a goofy grin the story of how he'd recognized his mate thanks to a phrase inscribed on his collarbone.

Damian didn't see the romance in his situation, though. How could someone who insults him be his soulmate? If one thing was clear, it was that his soulmate would be just as irritating as the words implied.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was a night like any other in Gotham. Damian, now 15, was patrolling as Robin. He had perfected his combat style and had earned the respect of his father and Batman's allies. However, patrolling always came with its drawbacks, especially when nosy citizens interrupted his mission.

Reader, a young high school student with a character as strong as her will, was heading home after a long day at the library. She carried her backpack on her shoulder and a coffee in her hand, trying not to think about the exams that awaited her. She had no time for distractions and no patience for trouble. As she turned the corner of a lonely street, she came upon a peculiar scene: a boy dressed in a strange suit, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking the way.

Unaware that she was about to change the course of their lives, Reader blurted out the words that had been inscribed on Damian's arm for her entire life.

“I don’t give a shit that you’re Robin and that you came out of the sewer, but this is a public road, so get out of here. You’re in the way!” he snapped, with a mix of exasperation and frustration.

Damian turned around with a withering look. His green eyes locked on the young woman who was staring at him with her arms crossed, completely oblivious to the importance of what he had just said. For a few seconds, the world seemed to stop. Damian, who rarely showed any emotion other than indifference or anger, was speechless.

“What’s wrong with you? Didn’t you hear?” Reader continued, taking a step towards him with all the confidence of someone who has no idea who he’s talking to.

It was then that Damian remembered the words on his arm. Everything fell into place suddenly, like pieces of a puzzle that had refused to come together for years. His heart, for the first time in a long time, raced.

“It can’t be…” he murmured, almost in a whisper, staring at Reader.

“What can’t be?” she asked, confused but still defiant.

Damian didn’t answer right away. His mind was racing. How could this ordinary girl, with her messy hair and irreverent attitude, be his soulmate? Everything he knew, everything he had planned, suddenly felt irrelevant.

Although the first meeting wasn't exactly romantic, something changed in Damian from that moment on. Reader, for her part, didn't understand why Robin, Batman's famous sidekick, seemed so intent on finding out more about her. What had started as a casual street meeting soon turned into something more. Damian found himself looking for excuses to see her again, intrigued by her brutal honesty and the way she treated him like a normal person and not the prodigy he was.

Reader, in turn, found herself drawn into the chaotic world of Gotham and its vigilantes. At first, she found him irritating, but over time she began to see beyond Damian's serious facade. She discovered a boy who, despite his arrogance, was surprisingly vulnerable and who, like her, was just looking for his place in the world.

[nameless-jamie]

Meet me on the Pitch

Valentine's Day Special - Day 1

A Jamie Tartt x fem!shy receptionist reader

Masterlist Valentine' Special

TW: cursing, kissing

Y/N had never been one to put much thought into Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t that she hated it—she just didn’t expect much. Working at AFC Richmond meant watching the players fumble through grand gestures for their girlfriends while she quietly sat behind the reception desk, perfectly content in her little corner, far from the chaos of romantic declarations.

At least, that was the plan.

But when she arrived at work that morning, a bright red envelope sat neatly on her desk.

Her name was written on the front in bold, slightly messy handwriting.

Frowning, she picked it up.

Y/N blinked, her heart fluttering nervously in her chest, her fingers trembling slightly as she glanced around. The office was bustling with the usual morning energy, but no one seemed to notice her. She slowly opened the envelope, pulling out a small card.

Inside, in a mix of rushed cursive and print, was a simple message:

Meet me on the pitch.

Her stomach did a little flip. There was no name, but something about the hurried scrawl felt oddly familiar.

"Exciting, isn’t it?"

Y/N jumped, a small squeak escaping her as Keeley Jones appeared beside her, practically bouncing with excitement.

"Oh my God, Keeley," she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "You scared me half to death."

Keeley didn’t seem to notice the shock in Y/N’s voice. Her eyes were locked on the card. "So... are you gonna go?" she asked, her grin far too knowing.

Y/N eyed her suspiciously, her voice soft. "Do you know who this is from?"

Keeley’s grin widened. "Maybe."

Y/N narrowed her eyes. "Keeley."

"Just go to the pitch, babe," Keeley said, winking. "Trust me."

Y/N wasn’t sure why she trusted Keeley—especially when she felt like her stomach was doing backflips—but she did. So, when her lunch break came around, she found herself walking to the pitch, the chilly February air brushing against her cheeks.

For a few moments, nothing happened. She just stood there, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, wondering if maybe she was just imagining it. Then—

A football rolled toward her, stopping just at her feet.

Before she could process it, a certain Richmond striker jogged into view, his hands tucked into the pockets of his training jacket. Y/N froze, her heart jumping into her throat.

Jamie?

"Y/N," Jamie called, his voice sounding unusually tentative as he nodded toward the card still clutched in her hand. "Guessin’ you got my note."

Her throat went dry, and she blinked, taking in the football, then him, and then back to the football. "This was you?" she asked, her voice small.

"Uh, yeah?" Jamie rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. "I mean, I was gonna just ask you, but Keeley said I should do somethin’ a bit more… y’know, romantic, since it's Valentine's Day an' all that."

Y/N swallowed, her heart hammering in her chest. "Ask me what?"

Jamie shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his usual confidence faltering for a moment. "If you score a goal on me, I’ll tell you."

Y/N’s eyes widened. "And if I don’t score?"

Jamie’s smirk returned, but it was gentler now. "Then you gotta go on a date with me."

Her stomach churned. "Jamie—"

"Look," Jamie interjected quickly, his grin growing mischievous. "I could’ve just asked, yeah? But then I wouldn’t get to show off my world-class goalie skills."

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his usual cocky attitude, even if it was wrapped in a layer of shyness she hadn’t expected. "Alright, Tartt. Game on I guess."

She took a step back, trying to steady her nerves, and lined up to kick the ball—

Only for Jamie to dramatically dive the wrong way as the ball barely rolled into the net.

Y/N burst into a laugh, her hand flying up to cover her mouth in surprise. "Jamie, that was pathetic. On purpose!"

Jamie sat up, grinning like a fool. "Oi, don’t disrespect my skills."

"That wasn’t skill," she teased, feeling the butterflies in her stomach flutter. "That was pity."

Jamie rose to his feet, brushing dirt from his sleeves, though his grin didn’t falter. "Yeah, well, either way—you won. So, I guess I gotta tell you."

He stepped closer to her, his expression softening, and for a brief moment, Y/N’s anxiety melted into something warmer, something sweeter.

"I like you, Y/N," he said, his voice quieter now. "Like, a lot."

Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Was this really happening?

"I know I can be a bit much sometimes," Jamie continued, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly, "but I wanted to do this proper. And I figured... Valentine’s was as good a time as any. I've liked you since you started working the front desk, you're the first person I see every morning and the last I see when I leave... I want that to be a permanent thing."

Y/N felt her cheeks burn, but the warmth in her chest spread, making her smile shyly. "So… uhm— could I maybe still— If you want— could we still go on that date?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jamie’s grin returned, but there was something softer in it now, like he was genuinely relieved. "Well, yeah of fucking course. Now it’s a celebratory date."

Y/N’s heart swelled, and before she could overthink it, she quickly leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. That took all her courage...

Jamie froze, his eyes wide with shock, and Y/N immediately regretted it, pulling away faster than she intended.

"I'll be ready at seven, Jamie," she murmured, her voice almost cracking as she turned to walk away, her hands shaking with nerves. She couldn’t believe she’d just done that.

As she left, she could feel Jamie’s eyes on her, and for the first time in forever, she felt like maybe this Valentine’s Day wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Jamie stood there for a solid two minutes, hand drifting up to where she had just kissed his cheek, his brain still buffering.

Did that just happen?

Did Y/N actually say yes?

Did he just win at Valentine’s Day?

Behind him, someone wolf-whistled.

Jamie whipped around to see a few of the lads—Sam, Dani, Colin, and Isaac—watching from the sidelines, grinning like they’d just witnessed the best rom-com moment of all time.

“Oh my God,” Jamie groaned, rubbing his face. “How long’ve you lot been standin’ there?”

“Long enough to see you completely fumble that confession,” Colin teased.

Sam crossed his arms, nodding approvingly. “But it was very sweet.”

“You are so in love, my friend,” Dani added, beaming. “It is beautiful to see!”

Jamie scowled at them, but it didn’t hold much heat—not when he was still floating from the fact that Y/N had kissed his actual face.

He cleared his throat, ignoring the fact that he was blushing like an idiot. “Shut up, all of you. At least I got a date on Valentine's Day.”

That only made them laugh harder.

Y/N spent the rest of the afternoon definitely not replaying the entire interaction in her head. She definitely wasn’t thinking about the way Jamie had looked at her, or how surprisingly sweet his confession had been.

Nope. Not at all.

“You’re staring at the clock,” Keeley said, smirking as she leaned against the reception desk.

Y/N blinked, snapping out of it. “I am not.”

Keeley raised an eyebrow. “Babe. It’s fine to be excited, y’know.”

“I—” Y/N hesitated, then sighed. “It’s just… Jamie’s never exactly been the romantic type, has he?”

Keeley’s expression softened. “People change, babe. And for what it’s worth? I know he likes you.”

Y/N bit her lip, nerves and excitement warring in her chest.

“Well,” Keeley continued, grinning, “you better go get ready, because it’s almost six.”

Y/N glanced at the clock—and sure enough, the workday was over.

Oh God.

This was actually happening.

At exactly seven o’clock, Jamie showed up at her flat, standing on her doorstep in a fitted blazer over his usual flashy attire.

He was holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Oi,” he greeted, grinning. “You look… really fuckin’ pretty.”

Y/N felt her face heat up. “And you look very handsome, Jamie.”

Jamie rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, figured if I was gonna take a gorgeous girl out, I should make an effort.”

"Thank you so much, I've never gotten flowers before..." She took the flowers from him, unable to stop smiling.

"Never gotten flowers?! What fuckin' idiots did you date before? Get used to receivin' flowers every day from now on."

“So, where are we going?” She asks, eager to change the topic, because she's completely blushing now.

His grin turned cheeky. “It’s a surprise.”

Y/N gave him a look, but she let him take her hand and lead her to his car.

The “surprise,” it turned out, was a cozy little Italian restaurant, where Jamie had somehow managed to get them a quiet table tucked away in the corner. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, and the food smelled amazing.

“I’m very impressed, this is beautiful,” Y/N admitted, sipping her wine. “I was expecting… I dunno, a club or something.”

Jamie scoffed, leaning forward. “What, and have us both screamin’ over the music? Nah. Wanted to, y’know… talk to you.”

Her heart did a little flip.

They did talk—about everything and nothing, about work and football and the stupid things the lads did in the locker room. Jamie was charming, as always, but there was a softer side to him tonight. A sincerity in the way he listened, the way he laughed at her jokes, the way he made sure she had enough of the garlic bread they were sharing.

Somewhere between the main course and dessert, Y/N realized she was having fun.

Like, actual fun.

Not the kind of fun where she was being polite or trying to make the best of a bad date. No, this was just… easy. Natural.

And when they left the restaurant, strolling toward his car under the glow of the streetlights, she realized something else.

She really wanted to kiss him.

As if reading her mind, Jamie slowed to a stop, turning to face her.

“So,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Did I fuck it up?”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“The date,” he clarified. “Did I—did I fuck it up? ‘Cause, y’know, I do that sometimes.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “No, Jamie. You didn’t fuck it up. I loved it. I had so much fun, thank you.”

Relief flooded his face. “Good. ‘Cause I really wanna kiss you right now.”

Y/N’s breath caught. “Yeah?”

Jamie took a step closer, smirking. “Yeah.”

She barely had time to process before he leaned in, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

It was warm and sweet, with just the slightest hint of cocky confidence—so very Jamie.

When they pulled apart, he was grinning.

“So, this means you’ll go out with me again, right?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, Jamie. I will. Definitely.”

Best. Valentine’s. Ever.

[thewickedjazzy]

Artificial Paradise ➵NSFW MDNI ˎˊ˗

➵Pairing: soft dom! fyodor x afab! reader.

➵Summary: fyodor helps you with your studies, but things start to get a bit heated between you two.

➵Tags and word count: 1.8k nsfw, minors dni, fluff, smut, soft dom! fyodor, teasing, explicit language, rough sex, gentle aftercare, light biting, praise, mutual desire.

➵A/N: @charkvc 's request, sorry pookie, i accidentally deleted the ask by mistake (｡･-･), but hyg, thank you for the sweet request i'm always down for fedya's big brain.

you sigh in frustration, rubbing your temples as you stare at the dense pages in front of you. how on earth are you supposed to write an entire analysis on hamlet in just one day? the play feels like trying to run a marathon in quicksand, and hamlet’s constant overanalyzing seems to stretch endlessly.

you notice your lover's presence in the room immediately, feeling his slender fingers gently resting on your shoulders. his touch is ever so gentle, soothing even as he begins to knead the tension away.

“fedya, how am i supposed to finish this?” you murmur, glancing back at the daunting stack of papers scattered across the desk.

his lips curve into a soft smirk that you can feel more than see. “you’re overthinking it, my love. hamlet is just like you—burdened by choices, unsure of the right path.” his fingers press into a knot in your shoulder, and you exhale in relief, the stress momentarily forgotten.

“you’re making it sound too easy,” you sigh.

he hums, lowering his lips closer to your ear, his warm breath brushing against your delicate skin. “let’s start with the basics. what does hamlet fear the most?”

“death?” you answer, almost instinctively.

“not quite.” he gently holds your arms from both sides, rubbing them softly. “it’s not death itself he fears… it’s the uncertainty. the unknown.”

you pause, your mind working to decipher his words while he continues to massage you, each touch making your skin tingle.

“he fears what comes after?” you murmur, leaning your head back to look up at him. he looks ethereal in his black half-sleeved turtleneck, his hair tied back in a low, messy ponytail, with a few strands softly framing his face and one resting between his eyebrows. his amethyst eyes, half-lidded, gaze tenderly over you.

he chuckles lightly, his soft tune ringing in your ears. “exactly. now, let’s use that. how does it relate to his indecision? and how does shakespeare weave that into the soliloquy you’re struggling with?”

“well, uh..” you mumble, feeling your mind finally beginning to understand the coded texts, “he’s caught between acting and inaction because… he doesn’t know what’s worse—suffering or the unknown suffering that may follow.”

fyodor smiles softly. “excellent my dear. now, why don’t we dig a little deeper into that?”

his hands move along yours as he leans slightly from behind, hovering over your seated form. slender fingers gently take hold of the pen between your fingers, while his other hand rests on your left shoulder. he guides the pen smoothly, highlighting a few key lines.

“let’s explore how this fear of the unknown impacts his decisions,” he says, “look at how shakespeare contrasts hamlet’s contemplation with his actions. the more hamlet fears the future, the more paralyzed he becomes. we see this tension play out in the soliloquy.”

you nod, trying to follow up with him as he writes 'action' and 'inaction' in a beautiful cursive handwriting. the connection between his fear and his hesitation starts to become clearer, and the analysis begins to take shape.

but as you work, you can't help but find yourself distracted by how close he is. the way his body leans against yours and how his expensive cologne filling your senses. you gaze at him, admiring how effortlessly beautiful he looks. his features seem almost ethereal, and you can’t help but think how perfect a kiss would feel right now, completely forgetting the assignment.

“you’re distracted,” he says suddenly, glancing up and catching your admiring gaze. “focus on the text, my love. we need to get this done before 7 pm tomorrow.”

you try to shake it off, your attention returning to the marked passages, but it’s futile. the way the soft candlelight flickers against his skin, the delicate curve of his lips, the slow rhythm of his breath—it’s too much. your heart flutters every time his fingers brush against yours, guiding the pen, and the assignment feels like a distant memory.

he notices that you’re still not responding to his questions, and his smirk returns, teasing yet knowing. “you’re still distracted,” he murmurs, his voice lower this time, more intimate. his eyes, a deep shade of amethyst, meet yours as he pauses his explanation, leaning in just a fraction closer.

you swallow, pulse quickening, your gaze drifting to his lips. screw the assignment, you think, as the temptation becomes unbearable.

“fedya...” you whisper, the sound barely escaping your lips as your hand moves instinctively to his cheek, pulling him gently toward you.

he doesn’t resist. in fact, his smirk widens, as if he knew all along that this moment was inevitable. his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you in as his lips press against yours—soft, warm, intoxicating.

the pen slips from your fingers, forgotten, as your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer. his other hand finds your waist, gripping you firmly. the world feels like it’s spinning, and all you can think is that you never want it to stop.

your hands clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer as if you’re trying to fuse your bodies together. the taste of his lips against yours makes your mind fuzzy. the soft brush of his tongue occasionally meeting yours in a sloppy slow kiss. you feel his fingers tightening around your waist, his other hand cupping your cheek, completely getting devoured by him.

the candlelight flickers casting erratic shadows on the walls, mirroring the rare intimate moment. your focus narrows to the sensation of him—his warmth, his taste, the way he clutches you as if you’re the only anchor in a storm.

he pulls back just slightly, his lips brushing yours as he pants softly, orbs completely dilated with lust. “milaya,” he murmurs, “this isn’t helping with your assignment.”

you laugh breathlessly, “i think… i think we’ve found a new way to procrastinate,”

he grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “well, at least you’re not distracted by the texts anymore.”

he smirks before gently closing the gap between you, cupping both sides of your face as he presses his lips against yours again.

with ease, he lifts you and places you on your desk, the papers crumpling beneath you and pens tumbling to the floor. the fact that he rarely gets aroused like this only heightens your arousal.

you both share a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses, tongues exploring and breaths mingling in a heated exchange.

he slips his hands under your shirt, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head tossing it aside. he leans down, kissing a trail down to your breasts, humming in delight as he inhales your sweet scent—flowers mixed with a hint of fruity lotion—oh how he adores the way you smell.

his soft, wet kisses continue down your skin as he expertly unclipped your bra with on hand, while the other holds you closer to him, the warmth of your body presses against the cotton fabric of his turtleneck shirt.

you press your hips against his moving in tight circles that elicit deep groans from both of you.

his hand that was holding you tight slides down to tug at your pants, and you eagerly help him get it off of you.

“this needs to come off,” you say with a half-chuckle, gesturing toward his turtleneck.

“giving orders now, milaya?” he replies, a teasing smile on his lips as he lifts the shirt over his head, revealing his pale, perfectly soft sculpted body. unable to resist, you lean in, kissing and licking along his chest and neck, your warm breaths brushing against his skin. soft mewls escape his lips as you explore every inch of him.

taking his time, he slowly removes the rest of your clothes, revealing your bare skin to him. soon, both of you are completely naked, your bodies molded together as you share another heated kiss. the warmth of your skin against his makes him harder every passing second that he thinks he might just cum from just being this close to you.

you feel his hands glide teasingly over your drooling cunt before he chuckles and pulls away slightly. "oh my love, look at you— hardly need my preparation"

before you can utter a word, he swiftly lifts you by your ass, sliding you along the desk and sending the remaining papers cascading to the floor. at this point, you hardly notice. he carries you to your shared bed beside the desk and sits down, pulling you to straddle his lap.

"my lovely darling, are you going to take your pleasure and ride me?" he murmurs against your lips and you whine softly humming in response.

his slender fingers guide your hips to grind against him as soft mewls escape your lips burying your face into the prominent crook of his neck.

you lift your hips to guide his tip into your slick entrance. even though he slips in easily, your walls stretch around him, yearning for the fullness you haven't felt in nearly two months.

sweet sweet soft moans escapes his lips, as your legs tremble trying to hold yourself up, only to sink down more on his cock. he spreads your ass cheeks with both hands helping you slide down on him easier.

you pull your head away from his neck, only to see the blissful sight before you—his eyebrows furrowed, eyes tightly shut, and jaw slack. as you quicken your pace, your moans blend with his soft mewls, and you both glisten with sweat while you bounce up and down on him.

"ngh- moya lyubov, let me hear your sweet voice," he murmurs, "ah- I missed you so much, milaya," his soft moans—oh those lovely soft moans, how he mumbles in his native tongue when he's too spent.

he starts thrusting up into you as you bury your face again but now into his chest, moaning against his skin feeling his cock twitch and pulsate before a sharp groan leaves his mouth.

his thrusts quicken, each one leaving you breathless for a moment before the next one knocks the air from your lungs again, your body rendered completely paralyzed by the picked up pace, his tip brushes against your g-spot repeatedly, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body.

then you feel the familiar heat coiling in the pit of your stomach, your ears growing muffled by the sound of your heartbeat. "fed-yyaa i- i'm coming aahh-"

you can’t help but grind against him, striving to keep pace, feeling him twitch inside you before he shoots thick streams filling you completely, throwing his head back with a deep moan. "bozhe! chert voz'mi da da" (translation: jesus! fuck yes yes)

he collapses back against the sheets, trying to catch his breath. you slide off him and join him, stretching your arms before resting your chin on his chest.

“you look so handsome with your hair in a ponytail like that,” you say, biting your lower lip to stifle a teasing giggle.

“ah, it has grown a little indeed... I’m thinking about trimming it down a bit.”

you lightly hit his hand, exclaiming, “don’t you dare!!!”

he giggles, pulling you closer to place gentle kisses on your hairline. “anything for you, milaya.”

[0wlettie]

based off this tweet that kind of just hijacked my brain and now i’ve gotta jot something down for it, with my own added spin ofc; warning, messy asl and incredibly self indulgent idk man i just love reader being down bad and unhinged for the boys ;;;;

professor!rafayel x obsessed stalker!reader

you love art. though your own skills are mediocre at best, you still find joy through creating and observing.

your love for art leads you here now, in your final year of high school and on a field trip to a nearby pop up exhibit filled with rookie artists looking to showcase their works. and, as one of the few kids actually engaged in the different mediums shown and being the only senior in the class, your teacher allows you a bit more freedom to wander on your own. so you casually meander down the different exhibits, fascinated by the sculptures and different paintings you come across. there are even a few of the artists loitering about, and you have a conversation here and there with them about their pieces and other things like that. eventually, you find yourself in a small corner of the pop up, drawn in by the red velvet ropes blocking off people from getting closer, as well as the few envious and awed whispers you can pick up from nearby gossiping rookies.

curious, your eyes sway over to the area. your breath hitches and your mouth drops a little in shock at what you see.

stretched to fit the wall from top to bottom, it’s the largest painting at the pop up. half the painting is cut by dark, rolling waves, the other half covered by a jagged cliffside. moonlight reflects off the top of the ocean, the stars dotting across the sky in abstract patterns. you even think you can make out a few constellations nestled among the sparkling white dots.

you can almost hear the gentle ‘whoosh’ of the waves as they crash against the bottom of the cliff. can almost feel the sea breeze as it brushes against your cheeks, cool and akin to a lover’s caress. can almost smell the sea salt rising on the cold dark of the night. there’s a profound feeling emitting from the painting, one that surprises you in its intensity.

‘loneliness.’

the beauty you see is absolutely breathtaking, but the loneliness stands out to you the most. there’s a sorrow buried within the dark shade of the ocean, empty despite reflecting the brilliant light of the moon. a yearning found within the jagged strokes of the cliff, like it’s sitting there and waiting for someone they know won’t return. the differing shades of blue that make up the piece echo out strong notes of melancholy, and your eyes burn the longer that feeling lingers around you. tears prick the corners of your eyes and a lump forms within your throat. its visceral, the ache you feel looking at this painting. you understand intimately how crushing and all consuming that feeling of loneliness can bring.

you instantly fall in love with the painting.

your eyes flick to the plaque sitting in front. there’s no name for the painting you can see, but the artist name is printed in flowing cursive script that you easily read. ‘rafayel’ sprawls across the starch white of the card, and you have the sudden need to meet this person. to see them and figure out just what made them create such a painting like this. a painting that seems to speak directly to you.

it doesn’t take you long to search up the artist online.

rafayel qi is a few years older than you are and hails from verona. he’s a newbie in the art scene, a nobody really, but his natural talent and skills quickly make him somebody. you understand why, seeing one of his paintings first hand. what you don’t understand, however, is the lack of information about him besides his name, age and his birth city. there’s basically nothing about him on the web; no pictures, social media, no interviews or q&a’s, not even a website for him to showcase his art. nothing! it drives you insane that you can’t seem to find out anything about him, and for a week straight you try your damndest too. even begging/bribing your nerdy techie of a classmate to try and dig up something, but even she can’t find much more. which leaves you out of two hundred dollars and with no answers.

so you desperately keep your ear out while weeks turn into months and you graduate from high school. when you get the barest of news that rafayel signed with an agent and is now doing more galleries, you nearly cry from joy. you try your best to get tickets to his future galleries, but they’re all so stupidly expensive and high class that your poor wallet can’t afford to spare the money—not when you’ve got to pay for the university expenses that your scholarship can’t cover.

(and yes, you did manage to skirt by just well enough to snag the art scholarship you have. you don’t personally think you have what it takes in terms of talent, but your hard work pays off when you really set your mind to it and buckle down. your medium of choice is a bit old fashioned and tricky to maneuver, but you like the feeling of charcoal and how pretty you can make those dark smudges look. you even experiment a little when it comes to adding color to your sketches, though your various attempts are abysmal and you vow to never show anyone how bad they look.)

so you try and wait for another opportunity, stalking forums and art news websites for any other information you can possibly get your hands on. it’s here, one random wednesday afternoon while scrolling through your social feed in the university library, that you come across an article. they’re talking about up and coming artists, and your fingers are already clicking on the link before you can even think about it. it takes a moment for the page to load, but when it does, you choke your spit.

there’s a picture there to greet you, one that sets your face ablaze and makes your chest throb with how fast your heart is beating. in the lower right hand corner, you can see in tiny text words that frazzle your mind. ‘rafayel qi (left) posing with interviewer lea smith (right) in front of his newest piece.’

your eyes bounce back and forth from the painting you see to the ethereally beautiful man shooting the camera a slight smirk. his arms are crossed, one hand buried within the crook of his elbow, the other almost playfully clutching a paintbrush. his hair looks artfully tousled, colored a pretty purple that compliments the strange color of his eyes that you can just barely make out from behind the screen of your phone. you still aren’t sure what color they are, and no matter how many times you crop and zoom in, you can’t be certain if they’re purple or blue. fitted in an unbuttoned white shirt and tight black slacks that emphasize the length of his legs and the tight shape of his waist, with flawless pale skin and an unfairly pretty face, you know that you’re immediately gone.

the need coursing through you to finally meet this man is intense. you feel as if you’re about to shake out of your skin the longer you look at the photo, and you don’t hesitate to download it and crop out the lady, until it’s just rafayel staring back at you. you immediately switch back to the article and read through it, taking your time to admire the newest piece to his collection before rereading the article a few times—just to really cement the information in your mind. as lame and bland as the questions are, you feel as if you’re accomplishing something anyway. the little information you get paints a picture of the artist that’s captured your attention so thoroughly. of rafayel, who is hands down the most gorgeous person you’ve ever come across.

it becomes sort of a…compulsion, after that. you use that picture you’ve gotten as your home and lockscreen. and your idle time outside of school work and your part time job is spent endlessly searching for more crumbs. as the months morph into a year, then two, your collection of rafayel pictures grows exponentially. the artist chooses to somewhat engage with the outside world more, and you honestly can’t be more grateful. you don’t get many interviews after that, unfortunately, so your information is still limited even now. but still! any piece you gather feels like a win, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem.

you know he’s a pisces and that his birthday is march 6th. you know that he never officially went to any art school, and that he’s got a natural gift for picking apart color swatches and shades. you know that he’s charismatic enough to carry conversations, and while you can see someone playful peak through his aloof demeanor every now and again, he more often than not stays distant when being interviewed. you know that he truly has a passion for art of any kind, and that his own speaks deeply for him. he continuously paints about lemuria, the recently discovered ancient ruins of a civilization long thought to be a myth. you know he holds that place close to him, based off the haunting and sorrowful energy radiating from his works, but the why of it still escapes you.

you think you know him as well as a certified stranger can, and it gnaws at you that you don’t know more. you feel like a beast, really, with how much you hunger for more of him. with how strong the desire to meet with him, to speak to him is. it frightens you, these intense feelings you have. but that fear easily gets pushed to the wayside whenever you catch a glimpse of rafayel’s picture in your phone, or when you happen to catch sight of a lake or ocean wide enough for the reflection to glimmer underneath the sun. there’s just something about him that captivates you entirely, and you have no choice but to give in to that desire to be near him. but he rarely makes physical appearances outside of private galas and exhibits. so you’re stuck watching him through your screen, constantly checking for updates or idly staring at his pretty face captured in various subtle expressions.

you glance at your phone screen as you stick close to the walls of the university hallway. it’s a picture of him, caught in a side profile and wearing an expensive dark blue suit. a candid caught by a fansite you’ve been following—a fansite that takes commissions for a hefty price. a price you were more than willing to pay two weeks ago. as bad a financial decision that was, it still makes you happy regardless. you’ve got two brand new pictures of rafayel, two pictures that only you have access too. it’s like you were the one to take those pictures, if you really think about it.

because you feel like it, you flick open your phone and look at the second picture you paid for. rafayel’s face is turned to the side and some of his hair is obscuring his eyes, so you still can’t determine the damn color, but the visual of his defined and exposed collarbone more than make up for it. you sigh a little, a smile curling up the corner of your lip as you click your phone closed. you shake it a little and wait for it to briefly light up, sighing again when you get another glimpse of the first photo.

looking at rafayel so early in the morning is like a shot of espresso for you. this particular course—art theory & critical studies—is one that’s criminally early, and you’re dead fucking tired from being up the night prior reading the latest article about rafayel. nothing new for you was found, but it’s hard for you to ignore things like that, not when there’s a chance you could find out something new. you notice the time and grimace a bit, picking up your slow walk to more of a power walk/light jog mix.

you’re on your way to class now, and while you aren’t exactly late, you will be if you don’t hurry. it’s the beginning of your third year at university and while you feel like your artistic sense has grown, you still don’t feel super confident in your work. not enough to want to deal with professor kim and his harsh critiques and boring lectures. but, unfortunately, if you want to continue being in school at such a steep discount, you have to follow the rules and guidelines to your scholarship. so here you are, power walking into class with a grim look on your face more suitable for a soldier rather than a uni student.

you walk so fast in your haste that you actually end up tripping over the lip of the door to class. your phone slips out of your hand like it was especially greased for you to drop, and it clatters to the floor with a loud noise. the sound immediately draws stares to you, and you can feel your face burn from embarrassment. and because your day can’t get any worse, you watch as your phone slides across the ground until they land at an unfamiliar pair of loafers. you frown, eyes trailing up mile long legs clad in brown slacks. up, up, up your eyes go until you land on a face you never imagined you’d see in person.

you swear that everyone in the room can hear how your heartbeat stutter and stops, like the dying engine of a motor as you stare into the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. you understand why you’ve never been able to place the color now, the bright blue of rafayel’s iris mingles with a soft pink, producing a hypnotizing effect as he blinks. you’re suddenly reminded of sunsets; of those moments right before the sun fully peeks over the horizon, the sky blazing in various hues of purple, pink and blue.

embarrassingly, you find that your throat is completely dry as you watch him glance down. with a raised eyebrow and a decidedly unamused quirk of his lip, he bends down and picks up your phone. your jerk forward, but it’s already too late because as soon as your phone jostles, your screen lights up and rafayel is faced with your lock screen.

he freezes in place, the look in his eyes going unreadable as he stares down at his own photo.

your entire body tenses, and you feel like the entire class is staring at you two, which only serves to make you even more nervous. you didn’t think this day would come. never in your life would you have imagined seeing him here if all places, in your uni class. and dressed like that? a smart brown suit that molds to his lean figure, black leather gloves, sparkling silver glasses and small black gauges to top off the look. you think you might actually just keel over and die—either from the fear, embarrassment or the sudden wash of horny thoughts flooding your mind. you honestly don’t know which one you’d prefer.

he finally moves what feels like years later, but was in actuality only a few moments of awkward silence. you’re expecting him to be grossed out, maybe even a little scared and uncomfortable. it can’t feel good to come across a complete stranger and see that they have you saved as their lockscreen, like some creepy fan. what you aren’t expecting, however, is the smug curl of his lips. his eyes flick to meet yours, and your rapidly pounding heart stops at the look he gives you. full of something dark and hot enough to make you twitch.

‘you dropped this, miss…?’ he easily hands over the phone, bending down slightly like…like he wants to get a better look at you. the musical lilt of his voice turns the slightest bit playful as he lightly cocks his head to the side. it’s a cheeky gesture, and you awkwardly fumble for your phone, keeping his stare the entire time. your fingers brush against his skin and you can’t fight off the shiver that travels down your spine and up your arms, goosebumps raising long your skin. you go to take your hand back, but you freeze when you can feel the slightest hint of resistance. he raises an eyebrow, and you nearly short circuit at the sight of his pretty eyes staring at you over the slouch of the silver frames hanging low on his nose.

right, your name. he’s asking…oh my god fucking rafayel qi is asking for your name—

‘[✦].’ you shakily tell him, and your phone easily goes with you next time you pull. he hums, eyes giving you a full once over before standing to his full height. he gives you a smile, the expression polite and distant as he nods. his entire body language screams professionally cold, but the stare he gives you is the complete opposite.

‘alright then, have a seat miss [✦]. class is about to start.’

your brain turns to complete mush, and you move on autopilot as your name in his voice echoes in your mind. before you realize it, your seated in the front row of the lecture hall. it’s only after rafayel introduces himself to the class, after he begins a powerpoint on art theory and what it means, after you’ve been dazedly staring at him for nearly half the class, do you finally understand what this means.

rafayel is here, teaching your uni course on art theory.

rafayel is going to be your professor.

yah so, uh, this is a thing i hope ya’ll like it >_< i really like how this turned out and am v proud of it so maybe this will get a part two ??? we’ll see, but for now enjoy this lil bit !!

i am a 18+ blog so if you follow and are a minor/ ageless you will be blocked

[drakulana]

all it was // law x reader

this is the part two to the first spark. i definitely recommend reading that one first. read part one here!

part 3

content: fem! reader, more sloooooow burn

wc: 4.2k

༺☆༻

The crew had been preparing for departure all day. A day full of running checks and tests on all the engines and reactors within the ship. A day spent in a small boiler room with crewmates, having no choice but to shove past one another in the narrow halls, mumbling quick apologies to one another. It took five long hours to run all the tests, and they still weren’t done. They still had to start up all the generators along with actually turning on the reactors. They hadn’t even started warming up the engine room yet. Normally, they wouldn’t take this long to depart, but when given the opportunity their captain made it mandatory to run all of the checks and tests to the furthest extent. Trafalgar Law was not one to cut corners, and for once, they were not pressed for time.

The boiler room was humid and stuffy. (Y/n) was standing shoulder to shoulder, sandwiched in between Penguin and Shachi as they worked on the turbine's connection to the nuclear reactor, an assembly line formed between them. One soldering wires, one tightening bolts, and one looking over everyone’s work to make sure no mistakes were made. There was no room for error when working on machinery that was heavily relied upon. Once they were done with one part of the turbine, they’d move onto another while a fourth person would come in to look over to make sure nothing was missed. This went on for about an hour and a half, until they were finally done. However, (Y/n) still had lots of work to do. 

She had spent a week and a half on the pestilent Bronze Island gathering up all the information she could. From citizens, to landmarks. Countless hours of talking to locals, gathering double the amount of information for both her and her captain. The past week and half was filled with sleepless nights where she spent organizing all of her information, trying her best to keep quiet while she snuck off to an empty corner of the submarine. She had worked hard, and she still wasn’t done with all of her work. She made her way up to her quarters to gather up all of her things while pondering on where she wanted to do her work. She needed some place quiet. While pondering over where she was going to work tonight, a memory played back in her mind. If you ever need a place to hide, don’t hesitate to come in here to read or to finish your research. Her captain’s offer rang through her head, however, he had been scarce within the past week. Only ever mumbling a soft acknowledgment whenever accidentally brushing elbows in the narrow halls. He was busy, she knew that, and she wasn’t going to be the one to disturb him. She would hate to be a nuisance, and no matter how oddly comforting his presence was, she was not going to be selfish when it came to his time. It was not her place to do so. 

(Y/n) was exhausted, but she could not get herself to abandon her pen for just one night. She was already in the zone. Why spoil the tenacity? Walking through the mostly empty halls, she found herself in the kitchen. It was quiet, it had better lighting than the library, and was more comforting than the metal walls in her bunk. She settled into the chair and spread out her papers, eventually getting lost within her work. Pages upon pages, scrawled across in shorthand cursive. Ink smeared slightly on the edges of some of the paper, some in better shape than the others. (Y/n) paid no mind to the misspelled words, or the messy handwriting, these were rough drafts after all, and she had no plan to show them to anyone. 

It was maybe an hour before her exhaustion started to catch up to her, all the information of Bronze Island becoming one big daydream about the island. The work they did there, the people she met, all the new little details about a place she had only ever researched before were still fresh on her mind, ready to be recorded in those notes of hers. It wasn’t long into her small reverie that her captain had wormed himself into her mind. This was not the first time, and she knew it certainly was not the last. He had a way of appearing in her thoughts, her mind always coming up with a way to bring him to the forefront. Although she had to admit the thought of him was nice, it was distracting. It was inappropriate. It was unprofessional. It was many things, but why had none of the moral obstructions present stop her from indulging in her thoughts. 

She would be lying if she said that she didn’t entertain these thoughts late at night. She’d be lying if she said that she hadn’t thought about him in ways that she shouldn’t have been thinking about her captain. How his golden eyes caught in the light, gleaming like fine jewelry. How he carried himself with such conviction, and how his predominant intelligence seemed to exude from him. There was also a dark air around him, a dangerous one. One that she found too enticing for her own good. One that shouldn't draw her closer, shouldn’t leave her wanting to understand what was under the surface. She would tell herself that it was her curious nature, alway wanting to record facts about certain people. Yeah, that’s all it was. She would reason with herself every time. It wasn’t at all the way he still seemed to look good no matter how much sleep he missed. It wasn’t the dominant energy around him, that gave everyone a reminder on why he was in charge. It wasn’t the way his commands, and comments towards her made her stomach turn, and mind wander. She was only interested for research purposes. Yeah, that’s all it was.

༺☆༻

On the other side of the ship sat Trafalgar Law. He was working on recording all the samples that he had made on the island. The steady grumble of the engines vibrated through the walls. It was comforting for them to be back to sea once again. It made him feel better to know all the checks and tests had been run on their ship before they had left as well. His crew had worked hard, and he was proud of them. It was days like this he was grateful for each and everyone of them. After all, what is a captain without his crew? He let himself feel proud for once. It was a rare feeling, he never liked to indulge himself in such petty things, like pride. Pride made a man reckless. Pride was a damning distraction. Distractions were not the kind of thing Trafalgar Law liked to mess with, not when he had goals that he had not yet accomplished. Tonight though, he let himself feel the tiniest miniscule of pride for his crew. He let himself revel in the thoughts of every single one of his crew members, but one just kept sticking out to him. (Y/n). He told himself it was because she was still newer to the crew. She was new, and had this amazing drive for new information. Her knowledge was astonishing. He would tell himself that these thoughts were strictly professional, and not at all personally rooted in the feeling that he would get when she called him Captain. It wasn’t at all the way her eyes lit up whenever he asked her about something she was writing about. It wasn’t at all the way that her cheeks would tinge pink whenever he would give her an order. He was simply just proud of his crew member. Tonight, he was letting himself feel a little proud. That’s all it was. 

The praise never stayed long when he allowed himself to feel such things. Whenever thoughts like this would arise too much for his own liking, he would bury himself in more of his work. He didn’t have time to concern himself with superficial feelings. Law stared at the pages in front of him. The recorded data was written in that same pretty cursive handwriting that had seemed to scrawl across his mind from time to time. Against his will, the owner of the handwriting was now back at the front of his mind. Two weeks ago, Law had offered his space to her. Fourteen days and she had yet to take him up on his offer. Not that he was counting. Part of him was thankful for that. Thankful that he wouldn’t have to confront the warm bubbling feeling he would get in her presence. Grateful he could ignore the electricity that would course through his limbs whenever the two brushed against each other by accident in the narrow hallways. He could ignore the way her laugh harmoniously bounced off the walls in the common area while conversing with her crewmates. He could ignore how their gazes were usually held for a second too long. On the other hand, something nagged him deep down. Thoughts of regret towards the offer threatened to arise, but whenever they did, he found himself burying himself into more of his work. The papers on his desk had remained twice as high in the past fortnight. Books were more scattered than usual. Crumpled up papers with ink smears fell around his desk. Every now and then, his mind would drift to (Y/n) and he would find himself stalling his work, staring at a page for far too long. Tracing the arches and curves of her letters and words within her work. It unnerved Law how undisciplined his mind had been lately, and over a crew member of all things. He huffed to himself and looked over at the clock that was hanging on the steel wall. 11 p.m. He needed a break, opting to go get a cup of coffee to wake him up. 

In Law’s book, 11 p.m. was hardly late. His crew turned in earlier than usual, leaving the cold corridors of the submarine empty. He made his way into the kitchen of the submarine, only to find the woman who had been taking up his mind for the past two weeks. She was sitting there at the table, papers laid out in front of her as she wrote short handedly on her notes. A small pang of odd discomfort settled when he realized she had opted to do work here rather than in the quietness of his office with him, like he had offered. The feeling quickly went away whenever she raised her head and peered up at him with her pretty eyes that always seemed to captivate him, as of lately. A small smile graced her lips as she noticed it was her captain. There it was again, the odd warm feeling that he seemed to get around her. “Good evening, captain,” she said warmly. “I see you have emerged,” she teased him. Law had been cooped up in his office for nearly a week, not counting the times he had to leave, like to eat or go to the bathroom. It wasn’t unusual for Law to work in his office for days on end, everyone knew that. Law stalked over to the woman who was sitting at the table, “What’re you working on?” he asked her, picking up a paper that had been pushed to the side. He examined the paper, holding it in between his fingers. Little doodles adorned the corners of the page, and messy shorthand was scribbled onto the lines. Information about the island that they had just departed from about a week ago. (Y/n) studied his movements closely, he had never seen the rough drafts of her work, just the edited and refined versions. “Just adding some information about Bronze Island,” she replied as she watched his face closely as he analyzed the paper. The rough draft of research was not something she shared. From corner to corner, the pages were filled with messy shorthand, and various notes in the margins while tiny doodles adorned the spaces in the corners. She was very nervous for her captain to see these. She watched as his face remained still as ever, the only movement were his golden eyes. After a few anxious moments, he laid the paper down, “This is very good work, I can’t wait to see it when it’s done.” His praise was rare. A small smile broke out onto her face. 

“Thank you, captain,” she beamed up at him, grateful for his praise. Law nodded at her, walking away from her to fix himself a cup of coffee. He stood in front of the coffee pot, glancing over his shoulder at the girl sitting at the table, papers spread out in front of her. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” He broke the silence in the kitchen. She thought for a second. A coffee would probably wake her up enough to get to the stopping point she had planned to. She peered up at her captain, “I would like that, thank you.” 

Law continued brewing the coffee, pouring two cups as (Y/n) made her way towards him. He handed her the cup of coffee, their fingertips brushing. A familiar warm feeling bloomed within the both of them, the same one they had been trying to push away. They locked eyes as everything seemed to stand still. A silence fell around both of them. The mere few seconds felt like hours. As quickly as the feeling came, it went, and they pulled their gazes away. (Y/n) took her coffee and made it the way that she liked, Law opting for black. Predictable, she thought to herself. They stood there in the comfortable silence, before Law spoke up. “I am working on the trials we ran on the island, I could use some of your notes, would you come to my office with me?” He asked her. Her eyes locked his once again, that twinkle he had found all too beguiling present in her irises. “Yes! Let me just grab my things,” She beamed, “Here, hold this,” She placed the coffee cup in his hand before turning to grab her things. She gathered up all her papers in her arms, and all her pens, denying any help that Law had to offer as they made their way to his office. 

Law’s office was dimly lit, the only light coming from a lamp in the corner of the room. It was bright enough to illuminate the workspace, but not bright enough to spread to the corners of the room. It was cold in his room, probably to aid him in staying awake if she had to guess. His desk was stacked high with papers and books. Crumpled up pieces of paper scattered around his desk, not enough to make his office too messy, but enough to be noticed. In the right corner of the room was Law’s bookshelf, lined with books, mostly medical, but a few novels scattered throughout. (Y/n) wondered what kind of novels the Surgeon of Death liked to indulge in reading. She couldn’t fathom him reading anything of fiction. In the corner of the room was her captain's bed. The blankets were thrown to the foot of the bed, while two pillows propped up on each other at the top. (Y/n) pulled her gaze away from all the furniture and how it was set up in his quarters, and set her things down. She took the papers that contained all the information she had and spread them out in front of her. She looked up at her captain, “So, where are we starting?” She asked him. 

“Let’s start with the sample records you recorded the other day,” He said. They had collected a bunch of samples from the island they were visiting. These samples ranged from swabs of sidewalks and door handles, to buccal and nasal swabs from willing citizens. Law had been culturing the virus over the past few days, checking up on it every hour to see how it was developing. No wonder the man hadn’t gotten any sleep. Law constantly worked, it brought him a sort of peace. It was something he had complete control over. He rarely let anyone assist him if unneeded. Everyone on the crew knew that. 

Y/n took out the data that she had collected from the culturing virus in the lab, flipping through the pages to make sure she included everything. As she flipped, her finger glided across one of the edges of the paper. A sharp pain traveled through her finger causing her to yank her hand back from the stack of papers. Muttering a curse under her breath, she laid the pack of papers in front of Law before looking down at the finger that had started to ooze red. “I’m sorry, excuse me for a second,” she said as she stood up from her seat. Before she could make her way to the door, Law stopped her with a gentle, “Let me see.” Hesitantly, Y/n reached towards Law as he took her hand to examine the measly paper cut that hardly needed a bandaid. As Law reached to hold her hand, butterflies erupted within her stomach. A heat rose to her cheeks, and she looked away. Law didn’t miss her reaction, but he didn’t say a word cause he was dealing with his own stomach flipping. He kicked himself, telling him that there was no reason to give such notice to something as small and ordinary as a papercut. He blamed the doctor within him for his following actions. Opening a drawer in his desk, Law pulled out a small first-aid kit. It contained antiseptic, bandages, and antibiotic ointments. Y/n started to protest, “Captain, that’s really not nec-” she started, but being cut off by her own hiss as he poured antiseptic on the papercut, paying no mind to her protests. “You don’t want to lose your finger to an infection, do you?” He asked her, as he cleaned her wound. She hissed at the cold sting from the antiseptic. “I hardly think anyone has ever lost their finger to a papercut,” She mused, as he added some antibacterial ointment and wrapped her finger in a bandaid. Law gazed up at her, catching her eyes that reflected the light of the small desk lamp. In that moment he could’ve sworn he was putting a band-aid on the finger of an angel, not that he would ever admit to that. He quickly pushed the thought away before replying, “You’d be surprised at the results of an untreated cut. Even the smallest ones can fester into a nasty infection,” He told her, as she gazed back at him. She held his golden gaze, pink still resting in her cheeks. 

A small smile broke out onto her face, “Well, thank you doctor. Whatever would I do without you?” She teased him. It had been a while since she had shown her playful side to him. He secretly wished that she would do it more. Law’s usual smirk crept up, “You would have no fingers,” He played along, “It’d be bad to have my researcher have no fingers, how would you record all the data I need?” He paused, “Besides, don’t you need these to write your book?” He held up her fingers between his inked one before gently letting them go.

“So I’m a useful asset to you?” She asked him, her tone still playful, however the question held some truth in it. She had worried she wasn’t enough for this crew. She remembered the words Law had said to her when he asked her to join. Your knowledge outweighs your weakness. However, not a day went by where she didn’t think that she was a burden. Her strength did not match the crew’s, and no matter how hard she trained, her work always seemed to get in the way of her actually improving. She knew she was the weak link, and she knew her captain knew that too. Law looked up at her, furrowing his eyebrows. The joking was now over, “You’re not an asset, you’re a member of my crew,” he said seriously, “I wouldn’t let anyone I didn’t think was worthy onto this submarine. Each and every one of my crew members has their strengths and weaknesses. Just cause you’re not out on the battlefield doesn’t mean you’re not valuable. You’re a very hard worker. Having you around takes a lot of my workload off. You’re more than needed around here,” He assured her. A small smile came back onto her face. Seeing her smile at his words did something inside of him. Something he wasn’t sure if he should indulge in. Something that made him want to whisper sweet praise to her if that’s what it took to make her smile like that all the time. It took a few moments of them standing in front of each other for them to realize how long they had been looking at each other. Law cleared his throat before pulling away, pushing down all the rising feelings again. It was unprofessional. It wasn’t right to feel these things. Law had to pull himself together. 

༺☆༻

After about two hours of going through data, the caffeine had started to wear off and drowsiness started to creep in. Law was unyielding when it came to his work, never stopping for more than a few minutes before delving right back into the research. An unwelcome yawn ripped through Y/n’s system. Law noticed this, and he knew she had been working more lately trying to get all the data recorded on top of adding all the information she had gathered for her book. “Y/n, you can go to bed, it’s almost 3:30.” He had told her with a sincere tone. Y/n shook her head at him, “No, it’s okay, I can keep working,” she assured him before looking back down at her page. Truth was, she was exhausted and felt as if she could hardly keep her eyes open, but she didn’t want to seem like she couldn’t keep up. Just a few more minutes, she thought to herself. The sound of the clock on the wall was almost hypnotizing as it aided in lulling her into closing her eyes. I’ll just rest my eyes for a second, she told herself as she let her eyes close, propping her head up with her hand, still holding her pen in her dominant one. The chair she was sitting in was hardly comfortable, but right now it felt as if it had become one of the coziest places on earth. A few seconds turned into a few minutes. A few minutes turned into her letting the darkness of sleep welcome her.  Law looked up at her when he heard her breaths start to become slower, and deeper. He let himself study her for a minute. He watched as her chest rose and fell with her soft breaths, her hair falling across her face as one of her hands propped up her head. He stood up and made his way in front of her to wake her. He gently reached out to shake her, almost feeling bad for having to wake her. He didn’t want to disturb her peace, he knew she had been putting in a lot of extra work lately. He could tell she hadn’t been getting any good sleep since their arrival to the island. His tattooed hand gently gripped her shoulder, giving her a light shake. He whispered her name a few times, but to no avail, she was out cold. Law gently shook his head as he contemplated his next moves. He didn’t want to leave her asleep in the chair, she would surely be sore in the morning, however the thought of carrying her to her bedroom was quickly written off. The crew would never relent if one of them saw, even if it was late at night, you never knew who could be awake wandering the halls. Law glanced over at his bed, and then back at the sleeping woman. He gently reached down and removed the pen and notebook from her hands, setting it on the desk in front of her. He was careful, but was sure of the fact that she wasn’t waking up when she didn’t so much as stir at the sudden absence of the items she was holding. Law hesitantly scooped her out of the chair before laying her down in his bed, covering her up with his blanket, letting her head rest on his pillow. He stood there and stared for a minute, selfishly reveling in how she looked in his bed. He knew it was strange behavior for him. He’d never let anyone fall asleep in his office, let alone move their sleeping body to his own personal bed. He mulled over his decision for a split second, and then did what he did best. Ignored the gnawing feeling, and buried himself in his work for the hundredth time that week. He ignored the small breaths and snores that left her body. He ignored the warm feeling that rose whenever he looked over at her. He had to remind himself, she was a part of his crew. He was her superior. He brushed off the unprofessional thoughts. She was his subordinate and that’s all it was.

@drakulana 2024 // i do not give permission to copy, translate, or repost without my consent

taglist: @pinksaiyans , @buttmishaaaa

lmk if you would like to be added to the taglist!

[creepybah]

RANDOM WHIMSIGOTH + SPACE THEMED HEADMATE PACK 🌌💫🌗

names - astaria, sin, edenne, ambrosine

pronouns - she/null/star/nym

genders - stargender spacegender duskgender nocturlance woman

neu, masc, or fem terms ? - fem terms

orientations - lesbian demiromantic claustramor

age - 25

species - half human half elf

kin - spacekin

roles - caretaker + assidumate

likes - space, fashion, make-up, debates, working

dislikes - ppl who try and debate w/o facts, being bored, over-confident ppl

personality - confident, motherly, serious but can be fun, energetic, very extroverted

aesthetic - whimsigoth

fashion style - whimsigoth meets business casual

hand writing - neat, small, and cursive-y

typing quirk - Italic text.

religious / spiritual beliefs - astrolatry (the worship of celestial bodies, like the sun, moon, stars, etc)

appearance - she has pale, almost pure white skin. her hair is dark blue up and in a messy bun, and it has a few shining silver strands here and there. her body is thin. she’s very tall, standing at about 6’3 in height. she has the capricorn constellation birth mark on her lower left back in a glowing purple color.

HEX CODE #481494

[asdfghjklmals]

SUGAR DADDY✩༶‧˚

GENRE + T/W: sfw, fluff. suggestiveness at the end. pregnancy comment. WORD COUNT: 2.2k words. TAGS: satoru gojo x fem!oc. boyfriend!gojo, established couple. adoptedkiddos! megumi & tsumiki. not an actual sugar daddy lol.

SYNOPSIS: for once, oc gojo girlfriend and the kiddos get to celebrate father's day with satoru. so the three try to find ways to make it special. AUTHOR'S NOTE: happy early father's day to all the dads out there! i will be busy this weekend, so i wrote a quick fathers day fic for satoru a couple days early 💚 oc gojo girlfriend is here and ready to get this day started! REMINDER: if you want to imagine yourself in oc gojo girlfriend's character descriptions instead, please do!

satoru gojo was usually the first one to wake up in the mornings, even on his day off.

there was something he enjoyed about the quiet, serene atmosphere before you and the kids woke up. maybe it was the appreciation of doing life with you and the giddy feeling he experienced when he looked over at your side of the bed to see the love of his life sleeping peacefully, or maybe it was when he went to check on the kids by cracking open their bedroom doors to see them also sleeping soundly without a worry in the world.

his body naturally woke up at 6am on the dot since that was the start of his morning routine, but this sunday morning, he felt something was off. his six eyes sensed that your cursed energy wasn’t next to him. (read ‘morning routine’ here)

he reached to your side of the bed, expecting to glide his fingers up your back and under your oversized tee (which was actually his t-shirt) to feel the warmth from your body like he always did. however, you weren’t there.

he didn’t even hear you wake up. you didn’t tell him you had plans today. there was no way you’d leave your shared bed without your coffee that he made for you every morning and good morning kisses all over your face.

he took a moment to collect himself before he started to panic. after a moment’s focus, he was able to sense yours and megumi’s cursed energy in the kitchen. he sighed in relief.

the white-haired sorcerer stretched his arms and legs and groaned, taking a deep breath. he looked over at his phone on the glass nightstand.

“7:30am?” satoru grumbled out loud.

he thought to himself, ‘how did i manage to sleep in so late? and why didn’t my alarm ring?’

he got up from bed and came to a halt.

‘is that coffee i’m smelling?’ he thought to himself again.

there was no way that you were up this early making him coffee, that was his job.

he opened the door to your master bedroom to peek out the door. he saw your black hair in a messy bun at the top of your head, his oversized t-shirt swallowing your body, his briefs hugging your hips loosely. he would never tell you, but he loved seeing you dressed down in his clothing. you looked beautiful in anything—especially in his clothes in the morning.

satoru chuckled as he closed the door and went to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth.

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

tsumiki sat at the dining table with half-asleep megumi.

“(y/n), what should i write for the first note for gojo-sensei's coffee?” she asked, markers spread across the dining room table with different colored sticky notes.

this was the first time you, tsumiki, and megumi were celebrating father’s day for satoru since you had became their guardians. even though it had already been a couple years since megumi and tsumiki became your children, coincidentally, satoru always had a mission or business trip during father’s day.

“how about… ‘we love you a latte, we cannot espresso how much’?” you suggested.

you definitely did not spend all night looking up puns and dad jokes for this occasion. satoru loved dad jokes.

tsumiki wrote down the pun in her recently learned cursive as megumi watched her. he jumped out of his seat and ran to the fridge to take out a cup of vanilla pudding.

“this is gojo-sensei’s favorite, right?” he asked you.

you nodded your head at him and went back to watching the coffee maker drip.

megumi sat back down and wrote in his own neat penmanship, 'thanks for ‘pudding’ up with me.'

you walked over to the family calendar on the kitchen wall and wrote on the acrylic whiteboard, 'you are re-mark-able, gojo-sensei!' you smiled and giggled proudly at your witty jokes.

over at the foyer, a box of donuts from satoru’s favorite bakery was sitting on the bench. megumi’s demon puppies were laying just below the box, enjoying the scent of the freshly baked donuts. you took kuro and shiro out on an early walk this morning as you waited in line at the bakery down the street. you knew satoru frequented that bakery, even though he would always deny it. there was no way he wasn’t a regular if you walked into the bakery together and they already had his double chocolate donut in a bag for him.

“what’s this? why is everyone up so early?” you heard your lover question in a curious, but sarcastic tone.

he knew exactly what today was.

kuro and shiro woke up and ran towards satoru, jumping on his legs, clawing for attention. he crouched down to pet them before megumi recalled them back into the shadows.

“i made you coffee.” you said with a sly smile, handing him a mug that said, ‘best dad ever’ with a pink sticky note tsumiki scribbled on attached to it. he took a sip of his coffee.

“thanks for trying babe, but how many sugar cubes did you put in here?” he questioned as he was hoping you’d put four in his cup.

“i put three of them in there… does it taste okay?” you frowned, you knew you put enough creamer, but you weren’t sure about the sugar cubes since satoru always made the morning coffee.

“close enough,” he kissed you on the cheek with appreciation, “so what’s this cup for? you pregnant?”

you glared at him and smacked his chest with the back of your hand as he hehehe’d into his mug. leave it satoru gojo to start off the morning with an inappropriate joke.

“it’s for father’s day, gojo-sensei!” tsumiki shouted happily, “did you see the note i wrote?”

he read the pink sticky note on his mug out loud, “we love you a latte. we cannot espresso how much.”

satoru had a huge grin on his face.

megumi tapped satoru on his waist and handed him his favorite pudding, avoiding all eye contact with satoru. his face a blazing crimson red. “happy father’s day, gojo-sensei.”

satoru recited out loud the blue sticky note attached to his plate of pudding. “thanks for pudding up with me.”

“ya don’t say?” he laughed as he ruffled megumi’s hair, the blue-haired child tried to grab satoru’s hand to stop.

“am i going to get in trouble if i have all these sweets this early in the day? somebody pinch me.” he peered at you to make sure he wasn't dreaming. you always nagged him for eating too many sweets. you wondered how he never had any cavities.

“because it’s father’s day, i’ll let it slide.” you winked your green eyes at him.

you handed him the box of donuts as he gasped, “you really went to stand in line at the bakery before they opened?” he was stunned.

“yes, so you better worship the ground i walk on.” you laughed as satoru pretended to bow towards you.

another yellow sticky note caught satoru’s eyes, “we donut know what we’d do without you.”

he started to smile widely. his heart swelling with love and adoration. he was eating these dad jokes up.

“oh, one last thing! we got you a card.” you raised your eyebrows at tsumiki and she ran to her room on the signal. the smiling child ran back to satoru to give him his father’s day card.

“it’s not a dad bod, it’s a father figure. happy father’s day, we love you.” satoru read out loud, laughing boisterously. “babe, you really did your research on these dad jok—wait, am i losing my snatched figure?”

he lifted up his shirt to examine himself in worry that he was losing his six pack.

you and megumi rolled your eyes at the white-haired sorcerer while tsumiki comforted him in his time of concern, “don’t worry sensei, (y/n) would still love you even if you didn’t have a six pack.” she smiled at him and he picked her up to hug her.

“thank you, my partner in crime!”

you didn’t think yours and megumi’s eyes could roll back any further.

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

you had the spent the rest of the morning making breakfast with tsumiki while satoru and megumi watched tv on the couch enjoying the donuts and coffee.

it was an easygoing day in the gojo/(l/n) household, and surprisingly, satoru was okay with that. he could hear your saccharine voice guiding tsumiki in the kitchen on how to dip the toast in the egg mixture. he loved hearing you speak to the kids because your tone was always gentle and loving.

he inhaled the scent of cinnamon from the french toast and the sweet maple syrup that was sifting through the kitchen into the living room’s open layout.

it was days like today where he wondered if he could always have this—a family to come home to, a lover as beautiful and caring as you, children as intelligent and loving as tsumiki and megumi, and a home to call a safe haven from the horrid curses outside of these four walls. he was truly happy, as a matter of fact, he was in a blissed out state. the smirk on his face wouldn’t fade even if you tried scolding him for leaving his socks around the house later.

“you look pleased with yourself,” you teased satoru at breakfast.

he cut into his french toast as the kids awaited a witty remark from him.

“i am pleased,” he laughed, a mouthful of food. “—and i’m just happy.”

his cerulean blue eyes looking into your emerald greens with adoration.

“happy father's day, satoru. i love you and i wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else." you said softly.

satoru grinned at you and the kids. he reached out his hand to squeeze yours. leaning in for a kiss on your lips that tasted like maple syrup.

"gross, can you guys not do that here? we're trying to eat." megumi complained, disgusted with his guardians for making out in front of him at breakfast.

tsumiki just smiled and laughed it off. she felt content knowing that her guardians loved each other. you and satoru made sure that tsumiki and megumi grew up in a home full of love.

"just for that, megumi, i'm doing it again." satoru deadpanned the blue-haired child. he turned back to you and kissed you with a little more passion as you smacked his arm with the back of your hand, pushing him away from you.

"stop it... save that for later." you laughed while your adopted child gagged.

"you got it, boss." satoru winked at you.

EXTRA:

“so, what did you say about saving my kisses for later?”

satoru turned to face you. you started to laugh as he moved closer to you in bed, his body hovering over you. he pinned you down with his arms. you moved his arms and reached out to lock yours around his shoulders as you looked at him with a loving gaze.

“just because it’s father’s day, you think you can get away with anything, don’t you?” you teased him, booping him on the nose with your index finger.

“even if it wasn’t father’s day, i can always get away with giving my beautiful girlfriend kisses.” satoru mumbled into your neck, trailing kisses up your cheek, to your forehead, and then to your lips.

“satoru, stop, that tickles!” you shrieked, giggling loudly.

“nope, not stopping—”

a knock at your bedroom door interrupted the assault of kisses he was about to commit to your face.

“go get the door!” you pushed satoru off the bed as he caught his own fall swiftly. he stumbled to the bedroom door and grinned at you as you sat up in your bed.

“hey kiddos, what’s wrong?” satoru asked his two adopted children as he scratched the back of his head. they looked antsy.

“we couldn’t sleep.” tsumiki said with a sad face, “can we sleep with you and (y/n)?”

“i had a bad dream too.” megumi added.

“oh, well, tonight me and (y/n) were supposed to…” satoru trailed off, “damn it...”

satoru turned to look back at you with disappointment in his face, but you smiled at him and nodded. giving him the signal to forget about having a night together and to let the kids come into the room.

the white-haired sorcerer gave the two children the stink eye and muttered, “okay, you two owe me though.”

he opened the door to the master bedroom and tsumiki and megumi ran to the king sized bed, jumping into their spots while laughing.

you tucked the smiling children in next to you. you and satoru always slept on the edges of the bed while megumi and tsumiki slept in the middle. it was a tight fit now that the kids were older and bigger, but you both knew they would soon grow out of this phase.

“happy father’s day, sensei!” tsumiki chirped.

“yeah, happy father’s day, loser.” megumi chimed in.

“oh, you two soooo did this on purpose.” satoru grumbled.

the last thing you heard before you fell asleep was the laughter of your tiny unconventional family and satoru complaining dramatically about how he never gets any love.

© 2023 ASDFGHJKLMALS — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK.

DIVIDERS PROVIDED BY @/ANLIAN-AISHANG

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Lute smiled as she saw Adam standing there in front of her in Hell.

Lute: Sir! You're alive!

Adam: That I am.

She paused when she noticed the horns on his head, those didn't look like his helmet.......

Lute: Sir, we need to go back to heaven.

Adam tilted his head: Why? I have everything I need here.

Lute: What?

She looked past him to see Lucifer standing a small distance away. The brim of his hat casting a shadow over half his face so only his devilish smile and red glowing eyes were visible.

He held up a glowing golden piece of paper, it looked like a contract. At the bottom written in messy cursive was Adams name. In a flash he was close, his other hand on Adams shoulder.

Lucifer: He's mine little girl, he always has been.~

Lute thought she was going to faint when she saw the devil pull Adam into a kiss and he didn't fight him.

Lute gasped when she woke up and once she calmed down saw she was in her home in heaven.

Right. Just a nightmare.

Down in Hell, Adam was panting as he tried to catch his breath from another amazing sex session with Lucifer. He was laying on luxurious sheets completely blissed out.

Lucifer lit a smoke and took a drag before offering it to Adam.

Adam accepted and took a haul off the cigarette.

Lucifer: How was that darling?

Adam: Good as always, sex wasn't bad either.

Lucifer slapped him playfully: Bitch.

Adam: Sensitive.

Lucifer: Maybe I should try again.~

Adam: If you think you have it in you.~

[princeloww]

campbell would have really messy unjoint handwriting i think. and the ink would always be smudged from his hand rubbing against it. very round letters, all over the place and pretty big

alec hardys handwriting is just DTs in my mind. specifically when he does cursive but like for alec it's a casual sort of half-cursive. fully unjoint if it's on a board or whatever, but in his own notes it's probably half joined up and half apart (as if just doing whatever is quickest)

i feel like chris from learners would be one of those people who do tiny little letters and take way too much care in making sure each one is perfectly drawn (like a comic sans type font)

I can't explain why, but I feel like peter carlisle has really nice handwriting. but in a super casual way, just without thought. this makes no sense it feels right to me

also ginger littlejohn definitely does fuckass scribbles that are supposed to look fancy but nobody can read it

yes this seems like a valuable post. presses send

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

Lolly ran up to the Shepard’s mailbox, her was in two braids with lavender ribbons at the ends. She wasn’t supposed to be this far into the east side- god when her brother got out of the hospital he was gonna be so disappointed. The 14 year old Soc quickly placed a light blue letter into the mailbox. When she saw the door to the house open she ran away. Inside the letter it stated,

‘My brother says some of his other friends are gonna get payback- I’m sorry if anything happens, I don’t know what he’s gonna do. He says he told the police that Dallas jumped him n his friends, he won’t tell me anything else. Sorry. I don’t know what to do.

-Lolly S.’

it was clearly written hastily, because her usually neat handwriting was messy and sort of looked like scribbles instead of cursive.

'Jesus Christ.' The door swings open n Dallas slinks out onto the porch just in time to see the blonde whip of the girls braids disappear. 'That kids got some nerve, huh.' But his voice ain't condemnin, a low note of almost, respect, in his voice.

Tim ain't far behind, lookin after Dal at the now empty street corner. His gaze is unreadable, lingerin. 'She's... one of those assholes sisters, ain't she?' Dal twists, gives Tim a searchin, inscrutable look.

'Yeah. I think she left another note.' He brushes by, reaches into the mailbox n pulls out the colorful parchment, scoffin lightly. 'Jesus, you'd think she was givin us a tea party invite.' Tim finally tears his eyes off the corner n takes the letter Dal offers.

'Fuck.' He crumples it angrily, clenches it tight in his hand before Dallas gently pries it out, reads it over.

'Huh. Some help. Thanks kid.' Dallas mutters, drily, before smoothin the note out, slippin it in his pocket. Damn Darry, those letters had to count for somethin. Tim says nothin, his jaw clickin quietly as his works it back n forth, back n forth. 'Tim?'

His eyes are dark when they lift back to the corner, the single flickerin light illuminatin the empty sidewalk. 'Those Socs. They must love their sister an awful lot huh.'

Worry flashes across Dal's face as Tim stares past him. There's a low, growlin suggestion there, flickerin along the half hidden planes of his face. A reminder. One Dallas forgets. The slips unsuspectin past light-hearted threats n the soft hands that can pick locks n fix eggs as easily as they can break bones. That Timothy Fuckin Shepard is dangerous.

'Tim?' When he finally looks to Dallas he's already decided. N there ain't no convincin him otherwise.

'What d'ya think they'd do to keep her safe? Or maybe the real question is what wouldn't they do.'

[beingsuneone]

Sunset & Vine

PART ONE | PART TWO

SYNOPSIS: one year was all you had, and the winners of the previous hunger games. You didn’t know them that well, but they were still youre only friends. Now you’re thrown back into the Games with some new confusing feelings.

FANDOM: The Hunger Games

PAIRING(S): Peeta Mallark x Victor!Reader

RATING: G

CHARACTERS MENTIONED: Peeta Mellark, Katniss Everdeen, Haymitch Abernathy, Coriolanus Snow, Johanna Mason, Finnick Odair, Effie Trinket, President Coin, Gale Hawthorne

GENRE/AU: Dystopia, Angst, a very small amount of comfort,

WORD COUNT: 5.2k

WARNINGS: Katniss is slightly OOC, Canon divergent in some ways but not others, CATCHING FIRE AND MOCKINGJAY SPOILERS, Reader won the 74th hunger games and Peeta and Katniss won the 73rd.

A/N: Jjj, I’ve really got to stop writing stories with ending like this. Lemme know if you want part two. FYI!!! Changed a few words that completely changed the context and set up for the next part.

DEDICATIONS: Peeta my beloved

CREDITS: Taylor Swift for the name (Gorgeous - Taylor Swift)

It’s a woman, standing with her back to you— she has similar hair to yours and an almost protective stance to her. A haze of colour surrounds her… oranges, purples and yellows swirled into an indescribable but beautiful mess.

Peeta Mellark may be a fellow victor, and he may be one of your neighbours, but you know nothing about him. Except for this beautiful painting that he gifted you.

She wears a dress that flows in some sort of assumed breeze, and has a hand tentatively braced in her hair; there’s something so familiar about this scene that you can’t place— something familiar about the woman in particular.

You can’t place it.

You run your fingers along the small note that Peeta had left with the painting, hovering over the loopy cursive of his signature; it’s the same on the painting but it’s too beautiful to touch like that.

Last year, you won the seventy-fourth annual hunger games, and became a legend for getting district twelve two wins in a row— right alongside Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, Who won the seventy-third hunger games.

Thank god the months of parading you around were over and you could settle happily into your gigantic house by yourself.

Well, happily might be an over statement— you had no family, and certainly no friends… unless Haymitch counts but you don’t think he does.

So this painting feels extra special— a warmth in an otherwise cold and unfamiliar home.

“Where should I put it?” Muttering to yourself, you mentally scan the layout of your house; you’d want it to be in a place where you could see it often, but also somewhere where any house guest would be able to see it… yeah. House guests.

After shaking your head uselessly, you settle on hanging it in the entryway. For sure people would see it there.

You’d been putting off doing this for a couple of days, just because you hadn’t had a whole lot of energy to do anything but sit in a chair and half-read a novel.

So, after a few minutes of fiddling and messy calculations, the painting is hung in the entryway.

You take one last glance at the swirling coloured background once more, and then turn away, leaving the comfort and fantasy behind.

……

Victors are supposed to have immunity, they’re supposed to be done with the games for the rest of their miserable, trauma ridden lives.

But the seventy-fifth hunger games brings back all of the worst parts of last year— you know that out of the three other victors, you’re the female they want to get picked. You’re the easy decision, the loner that nobody cares about.

You know the Capitol loves Peeta and Katniss far too much, and you, not enough.

This, stacked on top of everything else the Capitol has put you through… it’s too much.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when there’s a knock at your door.

“Hello?” You say as you open it; Peeta Mellark is standing there with his lip turned down just slightly, his eyes center behind you for a moment before his face softens and lightens.

“Hey. You got the painting.” A smile melts onto his face, and you swear he looks… beyond words when he smiles.

After a long moment of silence, you clear your throat. “What brings you here…?” You stammer awkwardly, cringing at your choice of words.

He sort of— laughs? Chuckles? at you. “We’re talking strategy for the Quarter Quell and we figured we should include you.” His face falls again, and he looks like he’s holding something back.

Your back straightens. “The Quarter Quell isn’t for another few months—”

He nods slowly. “But we’re going to have to do the pre-tour… and they’re pulling names in just a couple weeks.”

The band around his ring finger gleams brightly in the sun, which sends some sort of jealous feeling rolling through you.

You shake your head because you don’t know Peeta Mellark, and, even if he is gorgeous, you don’t get crushes on people you don’t know.

Plus he’s in love and engaged to Katniss Everdeen, even if you did know him well enough to develop a crush.

He glances down, and then quickly yanks the ring off. “It’s, uh— just for the camera’s.” Then he gestures to the painting behind you. “That’s you, you know. I know you’ve never worn a dress like that, but I saw a screencap of you in The Games and inspiration just kind of… hit me.” he trails off at the end and fiddles with the ring in his hand.

“It’s… me?” You say slowly. “We barely know each other, why would you paint me?”

He takes a small breath. “You’re really beautiful, Y/n, I’ve always thought so.”

A breath hitches but you genuinely can’t discern if it’s him or you over the roaring of blood in your ears.

“So…” he starts again. “If you want to join us, we’re heading over to Haymitch’s now.”

“Okay.” You say, sounding more winded than you did before; you stare at him for a few more moments before you step out of the front door and shut it.

You walk silently beside him, trying not to take in his messy blonde hair or pretty blue eyes—and also, failing miserably—

Just as you reach Haymitch’s doorstep, you stop and tug on Peeta’s sleeve to get his attention. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Peeta.”

He looks down at you, the air around you charged with some kind of something that you can’t name, and just as he’s about to reach over to you, the door swings open.

“Why are you guys just standing out here?” Katniss says with her nose scrunched, she eyes you up and then eyes Peeta up in a similar fashion.

At least it wasn’t exclusively you.

Both your heads snap toward her, while Peeta smoothly comes up with a reason. “Y/n was feeling nervous, I was just trying to help calm her nerves.”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow from behind Katniss, and gives Peeta a look.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” He says, as Katniss steps aside and lets the two of you in. There’s a tenderness to his voice that you hadn’t realized you missed so much.

“Hi.” The three of you shuffle into what you think was once a living room but it’s chillingly messy in Haymitch’s house.

“Couldn’t we have done this at someone else’s house?” Peeta says, eying the empty bottles on the floor.

“No.” Katniss shakes her head, shooting Haymitch a glare. “Because everytime we have to talk to him, we have to wake him up with a bucket of water.”

You snort. “I’m sorry— a bucket of water?”

Haymitch cuts in. “Why do you think my hair’s wet? I definitely didn’t take a shower.” There's a water stain that makes his shirt sag, and you wonder how you didn’t notice before. Haymitch clears his throat. “Moving on; if it’s Katniss and Peeta then we can still milk the whole star-crossed lover thing— if it’s me or Y/n… that won’t work.”

“Y/n shouldn’t go.” Peeta interjects; you’re taken aback by it.

You fidget with the hem of your shirt. “I really thought I was the best person to go.” You pause, looking up at the three of them. “It’s not like there’s anyone here that will care if I don’t come home.”

Haymitch gives Peeta a scrutinizing look. “Look, Lover-boy, we know you have a crush but that isn’t enough for Katniss to volunteer herself if Y/n gets picked.”

Peeta looks to you and then back to Haymitch. “Katniss and I are the Capitol’s favourite couple right now, if we went we’d probably be much better off in terms of sponsors and parachutes.”

“And you don’t want her to go.” Haymitch gestures in yours and Katniss’s direction.

Peeta sighs but doesn’t deny it. It makes sense that he wouldn’t want his fiancé to go back to the Games.

“Peeta is right,” Katniss starts, “but, Haymitch, if you get picked… Peeta should stay. Either way.”

Peeta shakes his head. “No. I’m not staying.”

You cut in. “There’s no good reason why I should stay.” You’re basically the only clear answer; if you get picked you’ll go, and, if Katniss is picked, you’ll go. “I won’t.”

Now all three of them are staring at you. “If I get picked, Katniss can’t volunteer and if she gets picked, you can’t stop me from volunteering.”

Katniss huffs. “You can’t stop me from volunteering either.”

Really, you could all argue this for hours.

…..

The four of you had never come to a conclusion, and now it’s the day of the Reaping.

Effie stands uncomfortably at the bowl; she doesn’t seem happy about having to pull your names, despite her chipper facade.

“The female tribute for District Twelve is…” she says, digging around in the two slips of paper in the bowl. She finally pulls one out and reluctantly reads it out. “Y/n L/n.” She almost sighs your name.

Katniss’s fingers twitch nervously, like she wants to say something but you shoot her the strongest glare you can muster.

She doesn’t volunteer, and you’re glad for it.

You walk up to the stage, head held high; you know this is the start of the end of your life, so you might as well act more confident than you truly are.

Effie looks at you sadly once you’re settled behind her, and then turns back to the audience. “And… the male tribute for District Twelve is,” she spends another five minutes routing through the two names. “Haymitch Abernathy.” This time her sigh is one of relief.

But the relief does not last long.

“I volunteer!” Peeta says, stepping forward; Haymitch grabs his arm and says something too quiet to hear, and Peeta says something back. His face is full of determination as everyone watches him walk up the stage and stand next to you.

Everyone in your little group wears a look of defeat. Even you.

Only one of you can go home, and you’re going to do your damn best to make sure it’s Peeta Mellark.

…..

“I’m not ready for this.” You say quietly, as you walk down the corridor to your bedrooms on the train. “It’s hardly been a year, Peeta.”

He nods solemnly, not looking at you as you arrive at your door. His is just across the hall.

Peeta gently takes your hand in his and squeezes. “I know. It’s too soon.” He looks angry. “We were never supposed to have to do this again.” He drops your hand before you can reciprocate in any sort of way.

You do feel a little less nauseous though.

“It‘s okay.” You whisper, twitching your fingers and slapping it onto the doorknob. “It’ll be okay.”

Peeta’s eyes rove over you in a scrutinizing manner as though he’s trying to figure some meaning behind your words, but there isn’t one to figure.

Just that it will be okay. Peeta will, if you really just be specific. Peeta will return home, happy and safe.

Ready to live his life with the woman he loves… Katniss.

And you will fade into false glory and distant memory.

…..

“Finnick, Right?” You fidget with your fingers in front of you; Finnick Odair was an attractive man who oozed with confidence and smooth words.

“Want a sugar cube?” He asks slyly, holding one out to you. “They're supposed to be for the horses but— we’re going to die anyway, it won’t matter after that.”

You nod carefully. “Of course, because that would obviously matter if we weren’t already set for death.” You still take the sugar cube from his hand and pop it in your mouth.

You almost gag from it. Pure sugar was… a lot. “Ugh. That’s disgusting.”

Finnick chuckles. “But liberating.”

You shake your head but a smile still spreads across your face. “Liberating indeed, Finnick Odair. My last act of rebellion is eating a sugar cube.”

“Devastating, really. To the Capitol, I mean.” He smiles easily at you, before someone catches his attention and he saunters off.

Claudius Templesmith stood not far from you, crooning about something with one of the older tributes.

The older man— Betee, you think— stood, looking indifferent but also invested in Claudius’s ramblings and unnecessary questions.

You were dreading the questions he’d ask you during your second round of interviews.

The last time was time enough for you.

“What’d he want?” Peeta asks, walking up behind you and pulling your attention away from the other party-goers.

“Oh, you know,” you say flippantly, “sugarcubes, secrets, and sarcasm.”

Peeta’s eyebrows furrow in confusion but the smile remains on his face. “Sounds like an interesting conversation.” He extends his arm to you. “Shall we?”

You sigh. “Not like we have much choice.”

….

“I’d give anything to know what’s going on inside your head.” Peeta says softly, fidgeting with the rope in his hands. You’d both decided that learning how to tie some knots would be beneficial.

You chuff, an awkward laugh. “What do you mean?”

His fingers work steadily, and somewhat clumsily, with the rope; there’s something alluring about how sure he can be with his hands.

It makes you think of the painting in your house— the one that you’ll never see again— how patient he must’ve been to complete such a beautiful piece, how still and sure of himself.

“What are you thinking right now, Y/n?” He looks up at you, with those beautiful blue eyes of his.

You shrug. “I was thinking about…” you trail off, because you absolutely cannot say that you were thinking about his hands. A half-truth will have to do. “Your painting. How I’ll never see it again.”

Hip lips pull into a frown. “You’ll see it again, I’m going to make sure of it.”

Sighing deeply, you stand. “You’re the one who has to go home, Peeta, not me.” He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off. “It has to be you.”

….

You don’t have the time to argue about it for the next couple of days, you hardly even see each other.

Now, Cinna is preparing you for the arena. You know that everything he gave was meant for Katniss, he had obviously expected it to be her, or that he wouldn’t style you.

He hadn’t been your stylist, but yours had opted out of this year’s games, claiming it was too painful to watch you go back in.

You hadn’t liked her much the first time around, wanted to change you too much in ways that you most definitely did not like.

Cinna, though, you liked him. Though this would be the last time you saw him.

You were dressed in whatever mandatory suit that they designed for this game, a skin tight suit that looked like you were about to go scuba diving.

“It’s time.” Cinna says, glancing back to the tube at the back of the room. You turn back to it.

“Thank you, Cinna.” You say, bowing your head for him. “It was nice getting to know you.”

He smiles half-heartedly. “It was a pleasure, Y/n.”

You exchange a final goodbye and step into the tube. The sixth second countdown begins as the tube starts to ascend.

It's all water, just water and water and water in a large circle around them. There was also thin sand bars that connected the tubes and the Cornucopia, but you knew you wouldn’t be braving that.

Peeta stands three tubes down, with a morphling, a Career and Johanna between you two.

Twenty seconds.

You stare at him desperately, hoping he’ll stick to the plan and swim towards you; you catch his eyes and he smiles reassuringly. It’s not a genuine smile but it still calms you all the same.

Ten seconds.

You ball your fists, clenching hard.

Nine.

Eight.

God, it’s going to be difficult to get out of the water.

Seven.

Six.

You’re not the strongest swimmer, maybe you should go to the Cornucopia.

Five.

Four.

And it’s a long way to swim, even for someone who does know how. Only experienced swimmers, like Finnick, would have an easy time of it.

Three.

Two.

Then, it occurs to you, maybe those sandbars go all the way to the shore; if you get to the Cornucopia, Grab, well, anything, and then flee via the sandbars, you just might be okay.

One.

The pads everyone stands on recede into the water and dumps everyone straight in.

It makes you realize that most of your competitors do not know how to swim.

Peeta is just barely floating thanks to the bright purple belt that had been strapped around all your waists.

You know how to swim at least a little bit , so you unbuckle yours and swim over to him; once it inflates fully, you give it to him and try to drag him towards the sandbars.

It dawns on you all over again that Peeta is a tall guy, and he’s not exactly small either.

He’s strong and his weight definitely shows that; he tries to keep himself afloat but ends up making it worse.

Eventually, you make it over there, and he pulls himself up onto the loose sand; it takes a bit of effort because it’s slippery and keeps moving under your weight.

It’s barely stable enough to be a viable option. Just barely.

You leave him there for a minute and swim to the cornucopia. There's fighting going on on its small platform, but you just snag a small waterproof bag that sits a few yards away; a knife comes flying in your direction, and knicks your face.

The salt of the water stings as it mingles with blood.

When you spin back towards Peeta, he’s struggling and Finnick is approaching him.

You race back as fast as you can.

Finnick already has some pretty gnarly weapons strapped to him.

You’re about to draw the knife on him when shakes his head. “Relax, Y/n, I’m saving his ass.” Then he lifts a hand out of the water and flashes some sort of bracelet at you.

It’s the alliance bracelets that Haymitch had mentioned.

Oh.

“I-”you start, but you never really had a sentence to begin with.

You just lag silently behind as Finnick helps Peeta to the shore. The closer you get to the shore, the wider the sandbars get, and the sturdier they are as well.

Until they're eventually higher than the water, and wide enough for both Peeta and yourself to walk side by side.

You collapse onto the sand when you finally reach the shore and stay there for only a second.

That’s all you have before the three of you are up and running into the forest in front of you.

….

When Peeta’s heart stops, you're sure that yours does too— you’re sure that, as you stand there in a state while Finnick tries to resuscitate Peeta, you’re also unresponsive and silent. Dead.

True enough, in a way.

The longer you stare at Peeta’s face, still twisted in pain from the shock, the more you feel like dropping to the ground and sobbing.

You tried to imagine the way he painted with camouflage training stuff, drawing intricate designs onto both his and one of the morhpling’s arms.

It had washed off by the next morning but you had spent the whole night longing to touch it, run your fingers along his arm, trace the shapes and swirls.

Beyond the paintings, you recalled his magnetic smile and the way he always made you feel safe and calm, the steady air that he radiated.

You weren’t ready for him to die, he was the one who was supposed to win this, after all. You had resolved that Peeta Mellark was going to be the winner of the 75th Hunger Games and you were going to do whatever you needed to to make that happen. You were even prepared to turn into somebody you weren’t, just to make sure Peeta went home. Or at least, you thought you could if you had to come to it.

But now, you’re ready to give up. Finnick or Johanna could win— and they should. Literally anyone else but you. Everyone who had a life now that Peeta is gone.

You’re just about to collapse to the ground when Peeta starts to cough erratically, and he manages to sit straight up.

“Peeta!” You cry as you fall to the ground next to him, and wrap your arms around his neck. He seems disoriented for a moment before he hugs you back, right. “I really thought you were gone.”

He gently strokes your back, as you fuss over him, double checking that he’s okay and checking his burn.

…..

You hear a loud sickening crack from somewhere else in the arena that makes everyone but Johanna and Finnick jump. You feel Peeta’s hand wrap around you protectively and pull you closer to him in the single instant that you’re all reacting to the noise.

It takes a few delayed seconds before each one of you realizes that it’s just the lightning in 12, before you realize just how having Peeta’s hands on you makes you feel.

His fingers slip from your waist, brushing softly as they fall away and leaving you feeling just slightly feral.

You pull yourself away, and dig your nails into your thigh to ground yourself. Getting used to this clock thing was going to be agonizing.

You’re waiting patiently as the lot of you— You, Peeta, Finnick, Johanna and Beetee— come up with a plan to take down the force field and take out the Careers at the same time.

You can barely focus on the conversation because you itch to have Peeta’s hands on you again, to feel his fingers against your skin again.

In fact there’s so many things you’d like to say and do with Peeta that you know you will never have the chance to; not to mention that he is in love with someone else and would never be interested in any of those things with you anyways.

You’re pretty sure you’d been staring at Peeta but you only notice because Finnick shoots a look at you— you can’t tell exactly what he’s thinking but it must be something about that.

You try to zone back into the plan.

….

Trying to trap the careers failed miserably, and the person most experienced with a bow was you, but only thanks to Katniss’s training.

Everything was a blur as the force field came down; chaos, fire everywhere— you couldn’t see or hear Peeta.

You worried about him and you laid pathetically on the ground, half out of your mind. You wondered if he was having trouble with his prosthetic leg, or having run from Enobaria or one of the other careers. You wondered if he’d make it out okay, even though it was obvious you wouldn’t.

You wondered and worried for what felt like forever until an airship appeared above you.

Great. You thought, the Capitol has come to torture you and everyone you’ve ever loved until the couldnt anymore and all of you was nothing more than a shell of a person. Until the only option was avox or death.

You can’t move, or fight it as the giant claw, scoops you up.

All that effort and you still managed to condem each and everyone of you to torture.

…..

“Relax, Y/n!” Haymitch snaps, as Finnick restrains you.

Katniss sits on the other side of the table, looking just as devastated as you.

“What do you mean, you didn’t get Peeta? You can’t just leave him there, they’ll hurt him worse than any of us could ever imagine!” You say, still struggling to get away from Finnick.

Katniss actually argues in your favour. “I did say I would only do this thing if you got both her and Peeta.”

Plutarch, the game maker shakes his head redundantly. “Peeta and Johanna were just to far away for us to locate before the Capitols airships came; I’m sorry, we’ll get them back eventually.”

Finnick finally lets you go once you’ve calmed down. He has a solemn look on his face. “I’m sure they’ve got Annie too. We need to save them as soon as possible.”

….

As soon as possible turns into several weeks, several heartbreakingly, agonizingly long weeks.

You can’t help but think about Peeta every moment of every day . You imagine all the terrible things Snow is doing to him, you wish it was you in his place.

Peeta was the one person who never deserved any of this, over anyone else. You and Katniss had been willing to do whatever you needed to to survive, you’d done things maybe you weren’t particularly proud of. But Peeta? He had never let the Games change him.

He had always been the same.

Safe, steady, comfortable, strong.

You don’t even have any hope that they’re showing him any mercy.

They aren’t.

You know now, you know by the way that last interview they aired went— how he was struck just as the cameras shut off, how your heart broke when you looked into his eyes, when you saw just how much they’d hurt him already.

You were just about ready to burst into Coin’s office and tell her that you were getting Peeta now, regardless of the consequences to Thirteen.

Gale and Katniss were fighting a lot lately, tension was heavy between them; and not in a good way. You didn’t know Gale well, but the comments he made about Peeta made your skin crawl and your hands itch to throw a few punches.

Actually they were arguing now, about Peeta, and you were listening.

Gale’s head snaps to you randomly and he barks at you; “and you! Why the hell are you so invested in Bread Boy?”

You startle for a moment, but then narrow your eyes. “What do you mean why am I invested? He’s my— friend.” You say, sounding unsure even to yourself.

Katniss huffs. “I mean, come on, Gale, you know that our relationship has been fake from the start and we—” she gestures between the two of them. “—we’re friends, Gale, we always have been.”

He scoffs, and says something else in a bitter tone but all you can hear is Katniss’s words replaying over and over in your brain.

Our relationship has been fake from the start.

“Shut up for a second!” You snap at Gale, and turn back to Katniss. “Your relationship was fake the whole time? Yours and Peeta’?” You almost feel like an asshole for asking, just in case it is real; but so many things Peeta has done and said make so much more sense recontextualized like this.

Like when he said their rings were ‘just for ten cameras.’ Or when he told you he always thought you were beautiful. Or even the way he tried so hard to convince not to go back into the games.

Both of their faces fall flat, Katniss’s in disbelief. “You didn’t know?” She says.

You shake your head slowly. “No, I-” you stop yourself because you're at a loss for words.

“Y/n, we didn’t try to hide it from you, how did you not know? Even Haymitch said right in front of you that Peeta had a crush on you!”

You deadpan once again. You had blatantly misread everybody’s words in that conversation. “I just assumed that was about you!” You stare at each other for a second longer before you stand up abruptly. “I have to go.”

There was a lot of thinking you had to do and then a lot of planning— and a bit of yelling too.

…..

You were deemed too invested in the mission to actually go on it, and Finnick was too distressed over Annie to be allowed.

So you had been sitting together in silence; the silence was comfortable but the insane amounts of stress running through your veins was enough to make the tension in the air as sharp as a knife. Not between each other but to any other person.

Especially since Gale was allowed to go on the mission, and you felt that was entirely unfair— Gale doesn’t even like Peeta.

It had turned into a whole day of waiting, and only twenty minutes ago, they had returned with Johanna, Peeta and Annie.

The anxiety had grown tenfold when you were both informed you weren’t allowed to see them yet.

Now, you’re standing outside the door where Annie was resting, watching her through the one way window.

Finnick’s eyes are filled with so many you can only pick out one or two; you wonder if your eyes will look similar when you enter Peeta’s room.

You wish him luck and watch as he enters the room; Annie looks like she screams his name and then jumps him. He holds her up, looking like it’s the happiest moment of his life.

Watching them makes you much more excited to see Peeta, although you're not sure it will be quite that exuberant of a reunion.

You walk a couple doors down, glancing in the windows as you do; but you stop when you see Katniss and Johanna in one of the rooms before Peeta’s.

Why in the world is Katniss in the Hospital? What happened?

You push open the door gently, and Katniss doesn’t stir— you take note of the morphling drip in her arm, that must be keeping her knocked out.

You see Johanna is also asleep, her head is shaved and she has the worst tortured expression on, even though she looks to be sleeping soundfully— physically, anyways.

If she’s looking that bad, you can’t help but wonder about Peeta. You’re always wondering about him.

You don’t want to disturb either of their healing so you quickly leave the room, shutting the door as quietly and calmly as you can.

Finally, as you walk out, you spot the guards in front of Peeta’s door; you think it’s a little strange, considering neither Johanna nor Annie had security at the door but you walk towards the door anyways.

The guards hold out a hand as you approach.

“Restricted access, you can’t go in there.” The guard says, almost heartlessly.

Just as he finishes speaking, the door opens and Haymitch steps out and away. You would look through the window but the blinds are down.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart, you can’t see him.” Haymitch takes your arm and leads you back down the hallway. “The Capitol… they tortured him so bad he—” Haymitch stops, and looks away for a second before looking back. “He tried to strangle Katniss, and kept yelling about how Katniss was a liar. He’s not himself right now.”

So much for your heartfelt reunion.

All content belongs to @beingsuneone , do not repost, copy or post on other platforms without my permission.

[starman-waitinginthesky81]

we are so so close to autumn (YAY) which means the emergence of a number of different academia aesthetics. my personal favourite is chaotic academia…

chipped black nail polish left over from summer that is literally only flecks because your school doesn’t allow polish

carhartt jackets

oxfords

no completely new sets of stationary, just a variety of random pens, pencils, notebooks, etc that you’ve collected over the years

journal full of half baked novel ideas, lyrics, poetry, and word vomit

messy, colourful revision cards

messy hair and no makeup but heart smeared eyeliner and lipstick

running to catch the bus

walking the dog at 4 in the morning when no one’s around, listening to the magnus archives or classical music

too many playlists

playlists with both classical music and indie rock

pockets full of trinkets and rocks

messy room but immaculate desk (all your notes are scattered in every room and every surface but your desk)

black coffee with absurd amounts of sweetener

dark circles

unread books that you said you would read over summer

reading in class

group study sessions that you spend copying out other people notes.. because your own are unreadable

cursive, cryptic handwriting

latin duolingo (you can’t keep a streak for the life of you)

getting good grades without studying much

being the smartest in your friend group but still calling them nerds

[mjonthetrack]

Early Morning — Living Room

The house was dim and quiet, the kind of silence that only came when everyone was still asleep or bone-tired. A horror movie they’d half-watched the night before played on mute as Jacob leaned back on the couch, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, Solo halfway dozing next to him.

Imani’s phone, still on the corner table, buzzed softly. A single ping.

Jacob glanced over. He wasn’t the nosy type, but the lock screen lit up and read clear as day:

"Happy Birthday, Lovebug."

From someone labeled simply: Aunt Mel.

He sat up straighter, frowning slightly. “Y’all… y’all know what today is?”

Josh, still nursing a cup of coffee in the kitchen, looked up. “What?”

Jacob picked up the phone and turned it so they could all see. “It’s Imani’s birthday.”

The silence that hit after that was thick as old honey.

Josh blinked. “She ain’t say a word…”

Solo looked at Jimmy. “She ain’t tell you?”

Jimmy shook his head, eyes a little wide. “She was actin’ normal last night… chillin’. Made that fire, damn near passed out in Josh’s lap.”

Roman let out a low whistle. “That’s cold. She really just… wasn’t gon’ say nothin’.”

Josh stared at the phone like it offended him. His jaw worked, tension crawling across his shoulders. “She ain’t wanna make it a thing.”

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Or she didn’t expect any of us to give a damn.”

That hit. Hard.

Josh set his mug down, fast. “Aight—nah. We not lettin’ that slide.”

Solo sat up now too. “What we doin’? What we got in the house?”

Jimmy was already on his feet. “We makin’ somethin’ happen. Ain’t no way she finna wake up and feel unseen.”

Roman grinned wide. “I got a Bluetooth speaker and a playlist that’d make her shimmy.”

Jacob smirked, standing. “Bet. Somebody start on food—whoever can cook. Somebody else decorate. Josh… you go wake her when it’s time.”

Josh didn’t say anything for a moment. Just nodded, slow. He looked toward the hallway where the bedrooms were. His jaw softened.

“I got her.”

———-

Later That Morning – Family Home

The whole damn house had shifted.

Balloons were taped neatly along the archways—none of that dollar store neon mess, but soft-toned pastels and golds, the kind that felt like grown woman joy. A banner hung crookedly but proudly above the back doors: “Happy Birthday, Imani.” The letters sparkled in cursive glitter.

The dining table was covered. Not just with food—but her kind of food. Shrimp and grits. Smoked salmon. Fluffy waffles. Big-ass bowl of fruit, cut up proper. Fresh squeezed orange juice. Jimmy even managed to bake something that looked edible, bless his heart.

Near the window sat a small stack of gifts. Each one wrapped differently—carefully, intentionally.

A set of acrylics in her favorite colorway with a note from Jacob: “Figured you might want your claws back.”

A hardbound, leather journal from Roman: “For the thoughts you don’t always say out loud.”

A pair of rose gold hoop earrings Solo swore he hunted down on foot.

And then Josh's… box wasn’t even wrapped, just tied with a single ribbon. Inside: a pair of fresh Nike slides, a roller perfume oil she ran out of weeks ago, and a laminated photo—one she thought she lost—of her brother as a teenager. On the back in Josh’s messy scrawl: “Told you I see you.”

The boys stood back, proud and awkward and a little sweaty.

“She gon’ cry,” Jimmy whispered.

“She gon’ swing,” Roman corrected with a grin.

Josh rolled his neck once, cracked his knuckles. “Alright,” he said low, pulling his shirt down as he stepped toward the hallway. “Act normal. Don’t blow the shit.”

They all nodded, immediately breaking into nervous laughter like kids.

Josh – Hallway to Bedroom

He walked slow. Not like he was sneaking—but like the weight of it all was real.

He pushed the cracked door open with his knuckle.

The room was dim, but sunlight spilled through the slats. She was still curled on her side, hair like a crown on the pillow, one leg draped out from the blanket. Peaceful. Vulnerable.

Josh stood there for a second, jaw ticking.

He took a slow breath and dropped down onto the edge of the bed, gently placing a hand on her ankle, rubbing slow.

“Ma…” His voice was soft. “Time to get up.”

She groaned, flipped the pillow over her face. “Five more minutes. It’s Sunday. Y’all be aight.”

He chuckled. “Come on. We bout to eat. You know they can’t wait long before they start burnin’ shit.”

She sighed, voice muffled under the pillow. “Y’all act like I’m y’all damn mama.”

Josh leaned down closer, voice brushing just behind her ear. “Don’t gotta be. But I like you up in the mix.”

She finally peeked out, one eye squinting. “Why you sound suspiciously sweet?”

He raised a brow. “Damn, can’t a man be soft with his…?” He caught himself, smiled slow. “...with his people?”

She blinked at him, sleep still in her face. “You alright?”

Josh just stood, offered her a hand. “Come on, Love. We got you a plate.”

Cut to — Living Room

As soon as she stepped around the corner, bare feet sliding slightly on the wood floors, her brain short-circuited. It was everything. Everything.

The smell of cinnamon and smoked meat. The faint hum of Jill Scott playing low from the speaker. The gold banner.

She froze.

Nobody said a word. They just watched her take it in.

Imani’s eyes swept across the table, the decorations, the gifts—landed last on the boys, all pretending they weren’t watching her like hawks. Her lips parted. Her voice caught.

“What… what is all this?”

Roman was the first to break, grinning wide. “Happy birthday, girl.”

Then Solo. “You really thought we ain’t know?”

Jimmy was already holding a plate. “We made your favorite, shawty. Ain’t no stressin’ today.”

And Josh… he didn’t say anything.

He just stood behind her, hands in his pockets, watching as her eyes got glassy and her lip trembled before she sucked it in and gave them all the flattest, fakest eye roll she could manage.

“Y’all got me lookin’ soft,” she muttered.

Roman barked a laugh. “Good. Bout damn time.”

Josh leaned down by her ear again, low and only for her: “Told you I see you.”

—————

Dining Room – Later That Morning

Imani sat cross-legged at the table, a plate in front of her stacked with everything she didn’t even realize she was craving. She bit into a piece of chicken sausage, eyes wide as she pointed her fork at Jimmy.

“You made this?”

Jimmy threw a towel over his shoulder, smug. “Don’t do too much—yes, ma’am.”

She gave a slow nod, chewing. “I didn’t even know y’all could function in a kitchen. Y’all really out here cheffing and whatnot.”

Roman sipped his juice with a smirk. “We got layers, baby girl.”

Solo tossed a grape at him. “Man shut up, you cut strawberries and dipped.”

Imani laughed, full belly, bright, eyes dancing as she leaned back in her chair, arms stretching. For a moment, there was peace on her face. Real peace.

Josh watched her from across the table, eyes warm. He hadn’t even touched his food. Just took her in like the sight was more nourishing than anything else.

Living Room – Gift Time

Imani plopped onto the couch, still licking icing off her finger from the cinnamon rolls. “Alright, let’s see what this is. Y’all ain’t put no prank in here, right? Cuz I promise—”

“We grown now,” Roman said with a wink. “Kinda.”

She smirked and started with the smallest gift. The acrylic set. She paused. Her mouth fell open just slightly.

“Jacob…”

He shrugged. “You been talkin’ about it, I just paid attention.”

Then came Solo’s. The hoops. “Boy…” she whispered, holding them up to her ears. “Y’all gon’ have me out here dangerous.”

Roman’s journal made her go quiet. She traced the leather with her thumb. “You didn’t…”

“I did,” Roman nodded. “You always got stuff on your chest. Now you got somewhere to put it.”

And finally, Josh’s box.

She opened it and smiled at the slides, even gave a teasing “About damn time.” The perfume made her pause—he remembered. But then she pulled out the photo. Her breath hitched. The world slowed.

It was her brother. Young, bright-eyed, with his arm thrown casually around her skinny teenaged shoulders. The edges of the photo were curled and frayed from age.

On the back: Told you I see you.

Imani clutched the photo to her chest as her shoulders trembled. Her lip quivered, fat tears rolling down her cheeks without permission.

Her voice came out small, honest, a tremble riding her words: “I never… I never had a birthday party before.”

The room froze.

She swallowed, still staring at the photo. “Never had anybody do somethin’ like this for me. Not even when I was a kid.”

No one moved. The air hung heavy and soft.

She pulled the photo close, whispered into the quiet, just barely audible: “I’m okay now. You don’t have to worry about me no more.”

And they heard it.

Roman stood suddenly, sniffing like the air was dusty. “Aight, we uh—we gon’ go outside, give you a lil moment.”

“Yeah yeah,” Jimmy said, voice gruff. “Get some air. Sunlight or whatever.”

Solo smacked his shoulder. “You sound stupid.”

The door closed behind them.

Front Porch – A Few Minutes Later

They stood on the porch, leaning against railings, arms crossed or hands in pockets, each of them quiet in their own way.

Roman was the first to speak. “That girl got more strength in her pinky than I got in my whole damn chest.”

Jimmy nodded. “She ain't even flinch when she pulled that trigger. But a birthday party?”

Solo shook his head, brows low. “Shit hit different.”

Josh sat on the steps, hands clasped in front of him, staring out at the yard they had run around in as kids again because she brought that to them. His jaw flexed. He hadn’t said a word.

Roman looked at him. “You good?”

Josh nodded once. Still didn’t speak.

Jacob leaned against the rail. “I ain’t gon’ lie, cuz. That wasn’t just a birthday party. That was somethin’ else.”

Roman added, softer this time, “You saw what it did to her. What it meant.”

Josh exhaled deeply. “Yeah.”

They let the silence sit again.

And then, Roman said it—casual but intentional, knowing he was replanting the same seed,a little smirk in the corner of his voice:

“I mean… if it were me? After all that? I couldn’t be runnin’ around being no little boyfriend. I’d be her old man. The only man.”

Josh didn’t respond.

Not right away.

But his head tilted ever so slightly like he’d just made a decision he wasn’t ready to say out loud yet.

———

Storm

The house was silent, save for the hum of the old AC unit and the occasional chirp of summer birds outside. Imani sat on the floor, legs pulled in tight, the photo of her brother still clutched in her hands. Her eyes were red, cheeks stained with tears she hadn't tried to stop. The kind of tears that had waited years to fall. Her chest rose and fell in deep, uneven breaths, like she was finally letting herself feel the weight she carried without apology.

She wiped her face, breathed out hard, and gave herself a minute more. Just a minute. Then she stood, slow but sure, and fixed her face.

Front Porch – Midday Sunlight

The boys were still posted up. Jimmy had his feet kicked up on the railing, Solo chewing sunflower seeds, Roman pacing with a toothpick in his mouth, and Josh—still seated on the steps, arms braced on his knees, eyes distant.

Then the screen door creaked open behind them.

They all turned.

Imani stepped out, eyes still glassy, but her whole posture was different. Lighter. She walked straight to them and without hesitation—hugged Jacob first.

“You the reason they even knew,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

Then she moved down the line, hugging each of them. Roman blinked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands at first, but he hugged her back tighter than expected. Jimmy gave her that firm, brotherly squeeze. Solo gave her two hugs like he forgot how much she meant.

And Josh—Josh stood without a word, arms already out. She walked into his chest and rested there a moment. No words passed between them, just something understood.

When she pulled back, she looked at them all, hands on her hips as her eyes swept the porch.

“I’ll never forget this. None of it. Y’all didn’t just make a birthday... You gave me somethin’ I thought I missed my chance at.”

The fellas were quiet again, heads a little lower, hearts a little fuller.

Imani cleared her throat—more to steady her voice than anything else—wiping the corner of her eye with the back of her hand before she broke the moment with her usual blunt sweetness:

“So… who cookin’ dinner? I ain't tryna cry on an empty stomach.”

Laughter cracked the air like a warm summer breeze.

Jimmy stood up, hand raised. “I got the grill.”

Roman cracked his neck. “I’ll season. But I ain’t chopping no onions.”

“I’ll prep,” Solo offered, already heading inside.

Josh waited a beat, watching her, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

She glanced back at him. “You helping?”

“Only if I get to stay close,” he said low, just for her.

Imani smirked, her lip twitching. “Fine. But you do the dishes.”

Josh followed her inside without hesitation.

————-

Later That Night – Back Porch, Under the String Lights

Dinner had long passed. The house was calm now, humming with leftovers being wrapped and sleepy shuffles up the stairs. Laughter had faded into low murmurs, some music still faint from someone’s speaker left on inside. The boys had slowly peeled off one by one, full bellies and full hearts putting them out early.

Imani was on the back porch, barefoot, legs curled beneath her on a cushioned chair, a soft throw blanket over her lap. The stars were out, lazy and scattered across the dark sky. She held a warm mug of tea, not drinking it much—just holding it, letting the warmth settle into her fingers. Her hair was still out, flowing in soft waves, crown free, just as she’d let it be all day.

The screen door opened behind her, quietly.

Josh stepped out, wearing just some sweats and a hoodie, barefoot like her. He didn’t say anything at first—just eased down into the chair beside her, close enough that their knees brushed.

Imani glanced his way, then looked back out at the sky.

“You not tired?” she asked, voice soft, almost a whisper.

Josh shook his head slowly. “Nah... I ain’t tryna sleep just yet. Mind won’t let me.”

She hummed like she understood, because she did.

Silence passed again, but this time it was comfortable. The kind that says everything even when nothing is said.

He looked over at her again. “You good?”

Imani’s shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath. “Yeah. Today… was somethin’ else. Ain’t never had a birthday like that. Hell, ain’t never had a day like that.”

Josh nodded, gaze lingering on her face. “You deserve days like that every year. Every month, even.”

She scoffed a little. “Don’t start getting sweet on me, Fatu.”

He smiled. “Too late.”

She sipped her tea, finally. “You been quiet since the cake. What’s on your mind?”

Josh rubbed the back of his neck, glanced down at his hands.

“You just… you did a lot for us. All this time, since Detroit. Since the woods. You didn’t have to. But you did. And not just for me. For all of us.”

Her eyes softened, but she didn’t interrupt.

“And I been thinking… I don’t want this to just be survival for you no more. Or for me. I want this to be peace. Something better. And I know I don’t always say the right thing or move the way I should, but—” he looked at her fully now, “—I see you, Imani.”

A beat passed, and her throat bobbed as she swallowed, surprised by how full her chest suddenly felt.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I don’t just want to be around you. I want to build with you. Really build. Not just hide and protect and survive. You gave me space to be a man… and I want to give you space to be soft. Safe.”

Imani’s lip quivered just slightly before she looked away. “You gon’ make me cry again, boy.”

Josh reached over, hand covering hers where it gripped the mug.

“Then cry. Ain’t no shame in it.”

And she did. Just a few tears this time, falling soft and slow. She didn’t hide them. Didn’t mask it with sarcasm. She just let him hold her hand while they watched the stars.

When her head leaned against his shoulder, he didn’t say anything.

He just held her there.

Still. Quiet. Present.

Home.

——————