#this is kinda rushed but it's getting late

[kiszjuli]

MY GIRL .ᐟ

✸ shy!mark x fem!reader | genre. fluff. | w.c 2.2k | ♡

↳ synopsis. in which mark has apparently claimed you in his heart, and to no one other than his friends. hiding his feelings thinking that he didn’t have a chance, he gets extremely jealous when someone tries to ask you out for valentine’s day. you’re his girl.

↳playlist. designer - nct 127, just the way you are - bruno mars, can’t take my eyes off of you - frankie valli, when im with you - nct dream, night poem - nct dream, can’t help falling in love - elvis presley.

the student lounge was buzzing with laughter and chatter, the sounds of friends catching up and making plans for the upcoming 3-day weekend. mark sat at a corner table with his group of friends, jeno, donghyuck, and jisung. but his gaze and attention kept drifting to you. you were seated at a nearby table with your own group of friends. you were always effortlessly surrounded by people, your laugh ringing in his ears like his favorite song. mark had always admired how easily you lit up every room you entered, how everyone seemed drawn to your warmth and energy. and how-

“earth to mark,” jeno’s voice broke him from his thoughts, and Mark blinked, seeing his friends hand waving in front of his face. he looked up at his friend with a forced smile.

“huh? oh, yeah, sorry,” he mumbled, fixing the hat on his head, trying to look more engaged but failing.

jisung raised an eyebrow, noticing the direction mark was looking. “you good, man?” he asked, his voice casual but with an underlying hint of curiosity.

nodding quickly, mark then shifted in his seat. “yeah, i’m fine. just… trying to focus, you know?” He waved his hand brushing them off, though his eyes couldn’t help but flick back to you for a moment.

donghyuck catches where his eyes dart, and a knowing look forms on his face. “you sure? you’ve been staring at her all afternoon,” donghyuck added with a grin.

mark immediately blushed, feeling heat rush to his face. “what? no! i wasn’t staring,” he protested a little too quickly, tugging his hat lower to hide his face. “i just—uh, i’m just lost in thought.” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

jeno smirked. “uh-huh, sure. if you say so. but you’ve been acting kinda weird lately. you sure there’s nothing going on?”

mark swallowed hard, his heart racing at the thought of you. He had always admired you from a distance, but you were popular, way out of his league. his friends knew about his little crush on you, but he didn’t think they understood the full extent of it. he wasn’t even sure you saw him as more than a mere friend.

“i-idon’t know,” mark muttered, his voice quieter than usual. “it’s just… she’s always so surrounded by people, you know? she’s pretty much got everyone’s attention all the time.”

jeno leaned back, a teasing glint in his eyes. “she’s definitely got yours” his comment earning a laugh from the other two.

mark’s face flushed deeper, and he slumped in his seat. “no guys, seriously,” he mumbled, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. “she’s just… i don’t know. she’s popular, and i’m just… me.”

“yeah, well, ‘just you’ is exactly why you’ve got a shot,” donghyuck said, his voice light but encouraging. “you think she doesn’t notice? she does. she’s not blind, mark.”

“exactly,” jisung added, leaning back in his chair. “you’ve been acting like a nervous mess every time she’s around. maybe it’s time you do something about it, yeah?”

mark shot a small glance toward your table, his heart skipping a beat as you caught his eye for a second. he quickly adverted his gaze, pretending to be interested in something in front of him.

jeno chuckled and patted him on the back. “mark, you’ve got this. you just have to take a chance. she’s not some unreachable goddess. if you really like her, go for it. stop hiding behind your ‘I’m fine’ act.”

mark gave him a small, unsure smile. “maybe. i’ll think about it,”

but deep down, mark was terrified. he could never imagine you looking at him the way he looked at you. you were popular, funny, and effortlessly charming. he was… well, just mark.

as you laughed from across the room, mark’s heart gave an involuntary flutter. maybe his friends were right—maybe it was time to stand up and stop pretending he didn’t want more. more than to just watch you from afar. but for now, he stayed where he was, silently watching, unsure if he’d ever have the courage to tell you how he truly felt.

—

classes were now over, and small groups of people were in the large theater, helping set up for valentine's day. your school was hosting a valentine's day fundraiser, where the campus would raise money for local charities. this year's theme 'music for the heart'- likewise, the main attraction was the music appreciation raffle.

you were there of course, running the “song dedication booth” where students could pay a small fee to have a song dedicated to someone during the open mic. you decorated the booth yourself: choosing some white fairy lights to outline the sign, with red heart balloons all around, and of course some cut out music notes that you had done earlier.

“okay, so you want ‘can’t take my eyes off you’ for your girlfriend? great choice,” you said with a smile, writing the request onto the list. “she’ll love it.”

mark watched you from the edge of the stage, where he was tuning his guitar for his performance later. he could hear your cheerful voice as you talked with students, helping them pick the perfect songs. the way you talked about music, your passion shining through every suggestion and question, made his chest tighten.

“she’s really into this,” jisung remarked from behind the drum kit, glancing between mark and you. “you’re playing tonight, right? finally gonna make your move?”

mark glanced over at his friends—jeno adjusting his bass strap and dongkyuck pretending to help. he quickly averted his gaze, nervously strumming his guitar. “i don’t know,” he muttered. “she’s got so much going on. she’s busy.” he made excuses.

donghyuck rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “she’s running a music related booth, mark. if there’s ever a chance to make conversation, it’s right now.”

hesitant, he glanced back at you as you laughed with another student. “but what if she doesn’t feel the same way?” he said quietly.

“dude, she smiles at you differently than anyone else,” jeno chimed in. “i don’t think you realize how obvious you are. she’s into you too, but you can’t wait forever.”

the idea of putting himself out there, of confessing how he felt in front of everyone, made his palms sweat. he just couldn’t.

“why not dedicate your song to her?” jisung spoke up, his voice softer

mark’s heart pounded knowing that his song was already dedicated to you, having thought about it for weeks beforehand. he was going to perform ‘just the way you are’ by bruno mars.

mark glanced up, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw you looking his way, the fairy lights illuminated your features in the best way as you gave him a small, bright smile. he awkwardly waved back, his stomach flipping as you returned your attention to the students walking your way.

“smooth,” donghyuck muttered, biting back a laugh.

“shut up,” mark mumbled, his face heating up.

—

the lights in the theater dimmed, and the crowd hushed as mark stepped onto the stage, his guitar slung over his shoulder. you stood near the back of the room, watching as he adjusted the mic, his hands trembling slightly. you felt a smile creeping to your face.

“this one’s for someone special,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

your best friend, winter nudged your shoulder and you glared at her with a laugh. she always teased you about your slight crush on the boy.

as the familiar chords of “just the way you are” filled the room, your heart skipped a beat. mark’s voice was soft yet filled with emotion, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you.

when he sang, “her eyes, her eyes make the stars look like they’re not shining,” you felt your cheeks flush. feeling like you were looking too much into it, you shook your head slightly and glanced down at your shoes.

by the final verse, everyone was entranced by his voice. when the song ended, the applause broke the spell, but mark’s gaze lingered on yours, his lips curving into a shy smile.

—

the rest of the fundraiser went extremely well. the crowd winding down and now you found yourself starting to pack up your things at you booth.

“hey,” a voice interrupted, making you glance up.

It was a guy from one of your classes, holding a small bouquet of roses in his hands. he looked nervous but determined as he stepped closer to your booth.

“oh, hi!” you greeted warmly, taking a pause from packing up.

mark saw it from across the student center—the way the guy nervously walked up to you, clutching a small bouquet of flowers, his face tinged pink, your kind but still friendly smile. frozen in place, his chest tightened. he couldn’t hear the conversation, but he didn’t need to. the way the guy was smiling at you and the way you politely smiled back made it clear what was happening. but you were his girl. even if that guy didn’t know it yet.

of course someone else would ask you out. he knew it was going to happen at some point, always surrounded by people who admired you. and mark? he’d spent months hiding his feelings, thinking you’d never look at him that way.

but now as he sees the guy walk away from you-missing the slight frown on his face-he can’t stop his own two feet from moving towards you. his mind was racing. did you say yes? were you off limits now? labeled as someone else’s girl?

as he approached, you were gathering the last few things from your booth. you noticed him and looked up.

“oh, mark?” you asked tilting your head, still with bright eyes.

“hey,” he said, trying to sound casual but failing as his voice cracked slightly. “i, uh… i saw you talking to that guy just now.”

you raised an eyebrow, catching the uncertainty in his tone. “huh? oh yeah, he was just—”

“did you—did you say yes?” the words spilling out before he could stop them, and he winced as soon as he realized how frantic his voice sounded.

you blinked in surprise. “what?”

“to, uh… whatever he asked you…” mark said, rubbing the back of his neck, his face flushing. he was getting more and more choked up by the second. “i mean, obviously it’s fine if you did..it’s probably none of my business and- he seemed nice. i just…” he trailed off, his words stringing along as he avoided your gaze.

you stared at him for a moment before realizing what he was getting at. a soft laugh escaped your lips, and mark’s eyes darted to you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “what’s funny?”

“no, i didn’t say yes,” you said simply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “i told him i wasn’t interested.” you said looking up, your grin still lingering on your face.

mark felt relief wash over him as a small smile tugged at his lips. however, disbelief still clouded his mind. “you..didn't?”

shaking your head you spoke. “nope,” your smile was warm yet teasing as you say his rosy cheeks darken a little. “i think i’d rather wait for someone i actually want to say yes to,”

mark just blinked, not knowing how to react. what did that mean? could you be talking about him? or was it someone else? why would you-

“mark,” you called out, breaking him from his thoughts. “if..you have something to say, now would be the time,” you said softly, stepping a little closer.

“well, i-i have been wanting to say something for a while now,” he started, taking a breath. “i like you a lot, like- a lot..but i just didn’t think i had a chance..”

your smile widened feeling a small heat rise to your cheeks too. “you always had a chance mark,”

relief mixed with disbelief washed over him. you felt the same way the whole time? he let out a nervous laugh, his shoulders finally relaxing. “so, does this mean i can ask you out now?”

“i think you just did,” you teased, your fingers fiddling together, as your heart beat a little faster.

mark grinned, his confidence growing. he reached out for your hand, still shaking but sure. “well, then… will you be my valentine?” he wanted to ask ‘will you be my girl?’ but this would do for now-slow steps, he told himself.

“i’d love to,” you replied, your eyes sparkling as you smiled at him.

“y/n! can you come here for a sec?” winter called for you from the studio room. she apologized later once she found out was was happening, but you brushed it off saying it was okay.

you looked to mark and stepped closer. you softly pressed your lips to his cheekbone and pulled away slowly. “come find me later?”

he nods with a hum, too star struck by you to form a sentence, or even a word. you smiled and walked off, now knowing that you finally had the guy you wanted. and mark walked back to his guitar to his teasing friends with a dopey, cheesy smile knowing that you were his girl.

and in that moment, mark felt that every doubt, every little hesitation, had been worth it.

—

⁀➷⊹ ࣪ ˖~ THE LA LA LOVE SERIES .ᐟ

taggies(open) ↳ @kittydollzz @huffnpufffckk @completelyjae @lovesuhng @nae-vm @ayibdorrt @chocoriki @yowmaman @yukisroom97

[lanadelrafe]

Ok so why is no one talking about mob boss! Rafe LIKE HELLO. I think we’re gonna need more🫶🏼

as much as they fight, mob wife!reader can’t sleep until she knows rafe is safe.

— tw: mentions of a gun, attempted sexual assault, murder, blood.

— author’s note: i’m so glad people actually like this au! i know it’s not all sunshine and rainbows but i’m under the impression that being a mob wife isn’t that great. but they actually kinda like each other in this one.

there was a break in once when rafe was out doing god knows what. mw!reader was home alone with no protective detail. had there not been multiple men who rushed around, breaking things, she would’ve put those training sessions to work and defended herself. instead, she called rafe and locked herself in their shared closet. rafe hurried home, gun loaded and ready to be used. she could hear the shots even from her hiding spot. once it got quiet, she began panicking because she had no clue whether it meant rafe was alive or not. she heard the sound of the door knob being turned and she held her breath. when the door didn’t open, whoever was behind it began to jiggle the knob it abruptly.

she knew right then and there that it wasn’t rafe.

the only thing she had to defend herself were her heels. the memory of the incident at the club flashed in her mind. she grabbed a single heel and held it up, ready for the attack. when the masked stranger finally broke down the door, she lunged at him. he struggled for a moment, bleeding from his scalp, before he managed to pin her arms to her sides and flip her onto her stomach. she laid flat against the floor, thrashing and trying to break her wrists free from his hold.

the moment she felt his grubby hands push up the oversized t-shirt she was wearing was when she really started to freak out. she started screaming and threw her head back against his nose. she heard a crunch and a pained groan. he released her and she took the opportunity to crawl out from underneath him. she didn’t make it far when he grabbed her by her ankles and dragged her body towards him. he flipped her onto her back and she scratched at his face, beginning to cry. “get off of me!” she shrieked. she pushed off his mask and gasped when she saw the bone sticking out of his crooked, bloody nose.

he grinned down at her. “don’t worry sweetheart. it’ll be something you’re used to.” he was pressed against her core while her legs were on either side of his waist. he reached down to yank her panties off, laughing deeply.

before anything else happened, they both heard a whistle. she stopped her cries, craning her neck to see where the noise came from. rafe stood at the door, leaning against the frame while cradling his bloody arm against his chest. he pointed his gun in their direction and pulled the trigger. the bullet hit straight between the stranger’s eyes, blood splattering onto mw!reader’s face. she let out a choked sob and shoved his lifeless body off of her.

she stood up and ran into rafe’s arms. he groaned at the impact, having been shot in his shoulder. but nonetheless, he pushed through the pain to wrap his uninjured arm around the back of her neck.

“i was so scared rafe,” she whispered later to him while they laid in bed. the bullet in his shoulder was long gone and he was bandaged up, curtesy of the private doctor he had hired for situations like this. “thought he was going to-”

he cut her off, “i’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” he traced his fingers up and down her back while she clung to his body.

“yeah,” she replied softly. and for the first time in a long time, she believed him.

after that night, rafe installed a high level security system, had armed guards posted outside the mansion’s gate and every entrance to their home. despite the new safety measures, mw!reader would still stay up into the late hours, paranoid. she didn’t close her eyes until she was tucked into rafe’s side, arms wrapped her protectively.

[akiiame-blog]

i would love to hear your opinion on Prince Haru

Ohh, see, he's kinda interesting.

As a big Mario x Peach shipper, I actually don't dislike him for the same reasons a lot of my fellow shippers do. I find his character more boring than anything, nothing I'm outright angry about.

But his appearance really did come out of nowhere. It makes me believe that he was added in at the last minute.

Especially when you look at the promotional artwork for this film. I'd get if they'd want his appearance to be a surprise, but why would they depict it as if this is a Mario and Peach love story? Her necklace that leads to Haru's appearance isn't even here.

Even throughout the film itself, we've never gotten a single hint that there was supposed to be a prince until the very end. There wasn't a hint that the dog was him either. The film was leaning towards a Mario and Peach love story all throughout, only to say "SIKE there's now this legend that states that Haru is Peach's true love 🥰" at the very end.

The thing is, I would've been alright with Haru's role in the story if there was any actual build up to it. But it's likely that someone at Nintendo told them they couldn't make Mario and Peach canonical during the late stages of this movie's production, so they kinda had to rush some things.

So yeah, I dislike him mainly because of that badly executed twist ending, not because he became Peach's husband at the end.

[studiogrimm810]

Full Moon

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x gn!you

summary: after a cramming for finals, a late night walk back to your dorm leads you to discover what sam really left behind before coming to stanford

warnings: werewolf attack, description of creature and it being killed, kinda bloody but not too graphic

word count: 1,971

A/N: quick one shot with minimal editing becuase i LOVE this idea :,)

———————

Finals week. God, you could just scream. You had just logged in another 10 hours at the campus library and despite the lack of knowledge you still felt you had, you had to go back to your dorm and at least try and get some rest.

All week you’ve been taking any time you could find to study- in between classes, on your walks to and from destinations on campus, and even sneaking in some note cards during the particularly boring classes. And after all of that hard work, you still felt it wouldn’t have been enough if Sam hadn’t been helping you out. You always considered yourself a smart student- prepared and logical- but Sam was a kind of smart that made you question him sometimes. It just came to him so naturally and if he wasn’t so damn sweet and helpful, you’d almost hate him. He’s one cocky attitude away from being a rival that you don’t have the time for like you did in high school.

Walking back to your dorm, the sky is dark, freckled with stars and dotted with a vibrant full moon. It had rained earlier today so you side-step a worm or two on the sidewalk and avoid the puddles. The air smells nice, clean, and refreshing. You savor this moment because you know once the rush of finals is over, you're stuck in your dorm for the holidays. You weren’t close with your family and that often left you alone during school breaks. That was something you and Sam had in common, you two never discussed it in detail much but you both understood the isolation of the lack of family in your lives.

This is your third year at Stanford and you couldn’t believe how long you had gone without knowing Sam Winchester because now you couldn’t imagine life without him. You missed him tonight for a study sesh but he said he had other matters to attend to and you were too wrapped up in a study-fried frenzy that you didn’t think to ask if everything was okay. It was too late to call him now, but you made a mental note to check with him between classes tomorrow.

Halfway to your dorm now, your exhaustion is really getting to you. The walk is peaceful, but almost too peaceful, and it only makes you more sleepy.

Until it’s not.

A loud crash echoes from up an alley between two lecture halls and you jump. Life on campus was almost boringly bland and uneventful, so you're more startled by the loud noise than afraid. You duck your head down the path and call out.

“Hello? You okay?” You ask, worried that maybe a night shift staff member was hurt. When only complete silence returns your beckon, you decide that it must be fine given the alley looks empty. Also because your prior sense of blissful ignorance is now frozen into a jagged unease of anxiety that gives you goosebumps.

You take a few steps back and bump into someone, letting out a small yelp at the contact. You spin to face Sam.

“Sam? What’re you doing out this late?” You ask, clutching your chest and laughing off your spook to try and seem calm and collected. His eyes scan over your frame and his face is serious- more serious than you’ve ever seen it. His hands reach out to hold your shoulders and he looks behind you, into the alley.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asks, bringing his attention back to you. Your brows crunch in confusion.

“I-I’m fine. It’s stupid,” you chuckle nervously, catching your breath. “Just thought I heard something.” You swallow with a confident nod.

“Get back to your dorm- lock the doors,” he says, leading you away but you shake your head, working against his steady, but firm, shove.

“No- what? What’s wrong?” You ask, taking a step back so he isn’t holding you anymore. You miss it already.

“Please, just trust me and go back,” he practically begs. There’s something you’ve never seen in his eyes before- fear. He’s afraid.

“Sam, are you okay?” You search his face for any hint at his immense distress.

A low growl from the alleyway makes you look behind Sam, trying to see what’s going on. Sam goes stiff, turning back to the alley and tucking you behind him.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered over his shoulder, his hand on your arm to hold you in place.

Scraping footsteps echo from the alley and out emerges this creature. You gasp, gripping the back of Sam’s jacket and you feel just how tense he is. The creature looked human, a large row of dog-like teeth lined its lips and its eyes were a sickening mix of neon yellow and green. God, and its mouth was smeared with crimson red that made you gag.

Sam reaches behind him, pulling a shiny, silver blade from a sheath on his belt loop. Your eyes widen at the size of it and he readies it in his dominant hand. The creature growls and pounces but Sam is quick and meets it in the middle, fighting the creature with a skill you’d see in some action movie a dad would boast over.

You stumble back a few steps, watching in horror. The creature is winning, throwing Sam across the walkway and he skids in the damp grass, landing with a grunt. You call out for him, keeping your eyes on Sam and wanting to go and help him but your feet are planted in place. You still can’t comprehend what this creature is or how it’s even real.

But it is, and it snaps its head to you, snarling as it slowly progresses to you. Its chin slick in bloody slobber, growling as it gets close enough to close the distance with a leap. The creature grabs you, slamming you into the brick wall of the alley.

The impact makes you go dizzy and you try to catch your breath.

You struggle, doing your best to hold it back but the creature is unnaturally strong. You cry out, putting all of your weight into trying to keep the creature back but its snapping jaw gets closer and closer. Suddenly, the creature is ripped off of you and a burst of pain erupts in your elbow as you land into the cement.

Sam is wielding the blade again, this time having the upper hand, yet covered in mud that dampens his clothes. You wish you looked away before Sam sinks the blade deep into the creature's chest with a scowling grunt. He yanks the blade back out and stands to his feet, huffing and staring down at the creature for a moment before turning to you. Your eyes are locked on the creature, barely even registering Sam’s presence, that is until he starts towards you and you instinctively flinch back.

He stops in his tracks and holds up his hands in a steady manner. There’s blood splattered on his face and his lip is bleeding. He’s hurt. There’s something else though, his face is twisted- pained. He looks like someone just kicked his damn puppy and is now mocking him for it.

You didn’t mean to flinch, it’s just that with what you saw and how you were attacked, you were scared. But not of Sam.

Never of Sam.

“You're bleeding,” he says, looking down at your arm and sure enough there’s a scratch that has ripped your favorite jacket. The blood is steadily flowing though, more than you’ve ever seen seep out of your own body. You close your eyes and turn away, trying to settle the dizziness.

“What w-was that?” You keep your eyes screwed shut.

“Werewolf.”

You scoff.

“Jesus,” you groan, sitting up fully and leaning against the wall, your arm really hurts now. You finally reopen your eyes and Sam is taking cautious steps towards you.

“Can I take a look at that?” He asks, pointing to the wound, his hands still braced. You nod because of course he can.

“Please,” your voice cracks. You’re bad with blood and he knows it too. He’s quick to crouch down next to you, grabbing your arm to inspect the gash. You swallow down a whimper, trying to steady yourself against the cold brick behind you.

“You’ll be okay, shouldn’t even need stitches,” his words exhaled with his previously bated breath. “Look at me,” his hand cups your cheek to pull you towards him, holding gently to allow you to dictate when you want to move your head.

As you face him, your eyes crack back open and you catch a glimpse of the creature's lifeless form on the pavement.

“No, no,” he uses his hand to guide you fully to him, “don’t look.” His eyes are softer than usual, like melted pools of hazel. He’s worried about you, that’s obvious, but he looks so torn too.

“How did you know?” You ask and his thumb brushes away a stream of tears you didn’t realize were flowing. His gaze dips down like he’s ashamed but he seems to settle on something as he returns his eyes to yours.

“Family business,” he echoes the simple explanation of when you asked why he ran from home. Your shock and fear morph into confusion and a little annoyance.

“Wait- this is what your dad and brother do? The same ‘family business’ your dad ‘trained’ you for? What the fuck is wrong with him? How the fuck is that- thing even real,” your eyes catch a glimpse of the corpse again and your fear starts to return. “Why is that real,” you whisper, your heart racing. It starts to drizzle.

“We should go,” he urges gently, looking around to make sure no one new is nearby. Your eyes close again and you shake your head.

“God,” you groan, the pain in your arm really taking over your train of thought.

“C’mon, I’ll get you fixed up,” he says, standing and raising you with him. His arm snakes around your waist and you can almost guess that the reasoning isn’t just to help you walk but to keep you close to him out of whatever protective instinct took over during the fight. “You’re okay, you’ll be okay,” he says and you can also deduce it’s for his benefit.

Your legs are shaky as Sam leads you away from the scene, keeping you secure and going slow enough for you to not get too disoriented.

“So,” you start, “you’re telling me that you ditched me to hunt a werewolf? If you’re sick of explaining appellate advocacy you coulda’ just said so,” you chuckle awkwardly. He scoffs and meets your laugh, the sound rattling through his chest and you can feel the rumble into your side.

“Shut up,” you can almost hear his eyes roll. His hold on you lightens up and you can feel some of the tension melt away. But the dead look in the eyes of that thing burns back into your eyes and you feel sick.

“Thank you- for being there,” you say seriously.

“Thank you for hearing me out,” Sam’s thumb absentmindedly caresses your hip.

“Still debating that,” you shove lightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he smirks, flashing a canine that you get a glimpse of as you look up at him. “I’ll explain as much or as little as you want to hear.”

Yeah, you’ll have to mull that over a bit too. But right now, as Sam leads you by your hips and the throb of your arm makes you bite your lip so hard that now you're bleeding in two separate places, all you can even fathom is each next step your feet take.

Rationality will be your friend tomorrow. Tonight, you plead plausible deniability.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @checkedoutghost

[sunflowerhae]

Serotonin

Angel - massive attack

The secretary, Britney Spears office siren, jeno in a suit (do you blame a girl cmon now) Don’t you guys know I’m utterly insane? Lmfao anyway sorry I was feeling some type of way for yearning office jeno tn I guess lol, should I make a whole smut for this or just keep being silly?? Anyway I love the secretary and I love this office siren/ceo BDSM relationship trope what can I sayyy like please imagine pouty jeno who just wants to please reader 😭 also definitely listen to angel by massive attack while reading thanks (just click link!)

Warnings: highly suggestive, office romance, switch!jeno x switch!reader kinda?, INSANE foreplay, mention of public masturbation, intense sexual yearning

•

It was a game you played, the two of you. Between the boring office talk, long meetings - even longer hours - and cups of burnt coffee with stale muffins; there was that ache. That ache you only felt when his burning gaze turned towards you. When your eyes shifted away from your computer every hour or so - the repetitive glare from your screen burning through your corneas and begging for a release - slowing trailing up the length of the grey, monotoned carpet and to the edge of his desk; chills burning through your spine as his brown eyes are caught locked on your frame, already staring; already waiting.

The game was simple.

How many times could he make you uncomfortable in an eight hour work day? How many times could you hold yourself back from the shiver he forces through your body, like when he softly touches your waist in the break room, or “accidentally” spills steaming hot coffee down your top while during a routine status check? How many minutes are spent unfocused; day dreaming of the night time when you know he’ll be yours to play with? You find yourself sitting at your desk, mind off in lala land as you unknowingly rub your thighs together - biting the tip of your No. 2 pencil so intensely, one might assume a dog chewed at it. You imagine his callused hands running up your legs as he kneels in front of you in awe, worshiping you as a deity. You glare down at him in disgust, your grip on his tie strong. You don’t let him take off his suit; you like to see him dressed in his work clothes. You like to imagine forcing him to slowly take your clothes off with his teeth, feeling his hot breath down your body as he struggles to keep mental control over himself. He wants you to feel bad for him; to pity him. Really, it just makes you laugh.

“Poor puppy wants attention, doesn’t he?” To solidify your point, you pet through his messed up, yet perfectly shaped hair and watch as he ruts hits head into your palm in glee. He doesn’t say anything, choosing to instead nod as he finally finishes taking your panties off and sits nicely, waiting for further instructions. His reaction makes you scoff, shocked at his audacity.

“Cat got your tongue, puppy?” You force two long, red pedicured nails down his throat, and he immediately starts sucking at them, “well, good. You don’t need anymore attention from me, don’t you agree?” And as if using your fingers as your controller, you push his head up and down in a nodding motion, “I thought so,” and pop your fingers out of his mouth without another word. “Now, I had a long day at work, and since you’re not willing to talk, let’s put that mouth to good use, yes?” You don’t even have to ask before he’s eagerly getting up and rushing to the bed, laying down on the position he knows you like. If he thought anything about your endearing laugh, or even had the mental capacity to acknowledge it at this moment; he didn’t say anything. Before you can walk to the bed, however, you’re thrusted out of your imagination by the sound of paper slamming onto your desk.

“I need these done by tonight, y/n. I’ll stay late with you if I have to but we’re getting them done.” Jeno no longer occupied his usual space across the office from you, instead he was hovering over you, staring at you once again with that all-consuming greed in his gaze, “and don’t fuck them up like the last set. It’ll just keep us here longer.”

“Yes sir.” A small smirk played on your face as you picked the stack up and moved it closer to you. Without another word, Jeno nodded stiffly and turned around, walking back to his desk. Shortly after that, you once again felt that familiar sensation of being watched, and turned to look at him through your lashes - breath getting heavier when you see him slowly palming himself under the desk; the depraved act only noticeable to you, just like he liked.

You know how much it got Jeno off; knowing that while walking around this office you both had very specific roles to play - Him, The Boss, and you, The Lackey. The power he held in his hands controlled him; forced him to spiral every minute he looked at you, knowing that he had the ability to decide how your day was going to go, every day. It’s the reason why work was a living hell for you. It’s the reason why Jeno would pull you to the side almost every day and degrade your outfits (if the skirts were too long, or heels; too short) or work style. You despised Jeno at work; he loved it. Because he knows the more he gets you to hate him at work, the more he’ll be punished after work. Every verbal assault, every push of his body against yours like when he forces you to bend down in front of him, every glare of disgust he sends your way; it was all for fun.

And that was your game. You don’t know who started this sick and perverted routine you and your boss have somehow fallen into. Who pushed first? Who fell first? Who could push each other more? Who cared. In the end, it was all the same; it was all Serotonin.

This bitch is my icon

Main Masterlist

[frxstbyt]

Okay, so I actually wrote something for this— 🤓

Uh, TW/CW for animal death, vomiting and swearing.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” Dally asks as Two-Bit turns on the car’s ignition.

“We’s just goin’ for a drive, Dal,” Two-Bit answers, turning the radio on. “You’re always with Ponykid. I miss hanging out with my buddy,” he adds, smile faltering at he looks over at Dally.

Dally frowns slightly. “Oh,” he says. “Yeah, sorry about that.” His gaze lowers for a moment before flicking back up to Two-Bit. “I’ve just been kinda worried about him, y’know? After Johnny...” He stops, throat closing up. He turns his head away, not wanting Two-Bit to see the tears in the corners of his eyes.

Two-Bit’s chest tightens. He knew what Dally was going to say: “After Johnny died.” It’s been six months since his death and Dally was still struggling to accept that as fact. Hell, Two-Bit himself was too. The whole gang was still grieving. Ponyboy had it the worst; Two-Bit knows how close he’d been with Johnny, and it was hard watching the kid grieve. But, life goes on, and hopefully, some day, Ponyboy’d move on, too.

Two-Bit claps a hand on Dally’s broad shoulder, and the blond turns to face him. His eyes are glossy and rimmed-red slightly, but Two-Bit doesn’t dare to call it out. He’d rather keep his nose intact thankyouverymuch.

“Tell ya what,” he says, “let’s go over to Dairy Queen and pick up some lunch. I skipped breakfast and I’m about starved.”

Dally smirks. “Your mama forget to go grocery shoppin’ yesterday?” he teases.

“No,” Two-Bit says, “I woke up late, s’all.” He puts the car in reverse and starts backing up. The car bounces a bit, startling both young men. Two-Bit stops the car, a bewildered look on his face as Dally peers out the window. “Dang, I didn’t know Darry installed a speedbump!” Two-Bit laughs, slapping the steering wheel with both hands.

“THAT WASN’T A SPEEDBUMP, YOU CHICKEN FRIED FUCK,” Dally bellows, whipping his head around. His eyes are huge and his face is whiter than his hair. “THAT WAS MY CAT!”

Two-Bit stares, horrified.

Uh oh...

                                                           ─────

The veterinarian holds Dally’s hair back as he dry heaves into the trash can (again), rubbing his back soothingly with their other hand. They look up when they hear Two-Bit murmer, “Jesus Christ...”

Two-Bit sits in one of the room’s plastic chairs, hunched over with his head in his hands. He still can’t believe what he’s done. He’s killed Dally’s cat. Well, kind of. The cat was still alive when they rushed him to the vet’s office, hoping that there was a chance to save him—a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless. But the damage had been done, the feline’s injuries too severe to salvage, and the doctors had no choice but to put him out of his misery.

Two-Bit glances up as Dally finishes dry heaving, the vet wiping the vomit from his lips with a tissue before the blond crashes down onto the floor, face-first, sobbing loudly. The vet gives him a soft, sad, empathetic look before tossing the tissue into the trash can, standing up and walking over to Two-Bit.

“Let’s get him somewhere more comfortable,” the man says quietly, gesturing to Dally. “I don’t want him scaring anyone and their pets.”

Two-Bit nods, pushing himself to his feet and making his way over to the weeping blond. He kneels down and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Dally,” he whispers, “let’s get outta here. There ain’t no reason to be here any longer than we need to be.”

Dally lifts his head up slightly, blinking at Two-Bit through the thick tears that cloud his vision. He looks down and gives the slightest hint of a nod, sniffling.

Two-Bit blinks away his own tears. “C’mon,” he says as he and the veterinarian struggle to lift Dally to his feet, “I’ll bring ya home.”

                                                           ─────

“YOU WHAT?”

Steve stares at Two-Bit, horrifed, as Two-Bit nods. “Yeah. I...” He pauses for a moment, then sighs heavily. “I ran ‘im over in the driveway and the vet had to put him down,” he explains, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sodapop gapes at him. “Oh my god...” he breathes, pressing a hand over his heart. “I can’t imagine how Dal must be feeling.” His brown eyes soften and well up. He sniffs, blinking back tears.

“God, that’s horrible,” Darry mumbles, still holding the newspaper he’d been reading before Two-Bit walked in. “But I’m sure Dally’ll forgive you some day. It was an accident, after all.”

Two-Bit scoffed. “If Dally ever did forgive me for killin’ his cat, I’d die of shock.”

“Wait,” Ponyboy says, lowering his book, green eyes wide as he turns to Two-Bit, “it was his cat? Like, he actually adopted it?”

Two-Bit nods.

Ponyboy stares at him for a while, then snorts. “He ain’t ever gonna forgive you,” he says, turning back to his book. “You’re fucked.”

“Big time,” Two-Bit agrees. He sighs again and presses the heels of his hands over his eyes. “What am I gonna do? Dally hates me now.”

“He hates you even more,” Ponyboy points out without looking up from his book.

“Pony,” Darry says sternly, narrowing his eyes at him. His gaze moves over to Two-Bit, softening. “He’ll forgive you some day, Two. I know he will.”

Two-Bit groans, flopping back into the couch cushions, an arm thrown over his eyes. “Can we change the subject?”

“Sure thing, bud,” Steve pipes up, shuffling the cards in his hands. “You wanna play a round’a poker?”

Two-Bit peeks at him under his arm. “Yeah, why not?” He sits up and slides off the couch to sit on the floor in front of the table across from Steve. Steve shuffles the cards one last time before distributing them.

“Count me in, too!” Sodapop chimes, plopping down in between them. Steve rolls his eyes and flicks a card at his nose, grinning when Soda blurts out, “Hey!”

Two-Bit rolls his eyes and looks down at the cards in his hand as Soda and Steve start wrestling around on the floor. (Sodapop must’ve been sneaking the ace into his sock again and Steve caught him in the act.) His mind strays over to Dally, but he shakes it off after a moment. He can talk to Dal tomorrow.

The ending SUCKS, but I ain’t changin’ it. Ù-Ú

Hope you liked it, lol.

TWO-BIT: *pulls out of the driveway*

*car bounces*

TWO-BIT: SPEEDBUMP!

DALLAS: THAT WAS MY CAT.

[bibookdemon]

(MDNI WITH THIS POST!!!)

Thinking of cumplane

Please feel free to message me about cumplane AAAA

Need more cumplane mooties

Also if you're afraid to message first, feel free to comment and I'll message you first uwu

A thought for a fic below the cut:

Thinking of a fic where SQH and SY haven't met yet

Wherein SQH is a horny little beast and one of the things he absolutely loves is being degraded. So after he posts a chapter, he turns off his computer, grabs his phone, and disappears to the couch (that folds down into a bed) and waits for a bit, maybe scrolls through his socials or watches some meme videos

And before too long, he hears the telltale ding of a comment, and he knows it's SY because he's turned off notifications for any of the other comments, and besides, SY almost ALWAYS comments first.

And so he opens the comment and he slowly slips his hand in his pants and rubs over himself

And he's so *so wet* even when he's only a couple sentences in because he knows just how much SY 'hates' PIDW (why does he continue reading it???) and despises the author because it's so 'disgustingly written' and that's really fuckin hot

His most-detailed comment writer, his biggest hater (fan) telling him all about his shortcomings. (He honestly rewrote the entirety of PIDW + gave it an actual ending + updates it occasionally when SY comments to add in smth he said - simply to gift to SY. He just hasn't worked up the courage to message him and tell him all about it. Cause he has a big fat crush. He really kinda sorta super wants to ask SY out.)

Anywho, he imagines he's straddling one of SY's thighs - he doesn't know what he looks like but he imagines some nerdy but strangely alluring and somewhat strict-looking guy - and rutting against it as SY types out a comment on his latest chapter

He imagines SY stopping his typing every so often to direct his words and attention to SQH, just telling him how pathetic he is, how his writing is sub-par, how he must be such a nasty-minded person to write such extensive smut scenarios, how SY doesn't even help him get off, just makes him move back and forth until he finally finds his release.

And probably scolds him for making such a mess, but SQH can't help it, he really can't when someone is speaking to him the way SY is speaking to him-

And it's during his post-orgasmic haze that he exits the comment and decides to message SY (I reckon there's a DM feature and while SY has his DMs set to limited, they're open to authors and friends messaging him)

And he gives SY a time and address for a local cheap coffee shop. Not really fancy, but the only place he can afford at the moment. And he just says smth like: 'Meet up with me here, we can work out our differences.' His brain is too muddled to dwell on the fact that he has no idea where SY is from and that his message is honestly so vague and weird that SY is probably horrified.

He falls asleep pretty quickly, and when he wakes up, he sees the message he sent, regrets it, but then rushes to get ready cause HE GAVE A TIME FOR THE NEXT FUCKING DAY?! He rushes to get the alt version novel printed and grabs his best clothes, then he's out.

He probably takes the train, and he's glancing at his phone anxiously every so often, and he's late, but then he's there, shoving the door open to the shop-

He spots SY in the corner, just sipping on a coffee, typing furiously on his laptop, looking like he hasn't slept in a long while his eyebags are so big. Also his glasses are taped in the middle. (I personally think that SY is such a shut-in that he takes forever to go out and get new glasses despite being perfectly financially stable...)

And he sits down in front of him, and he plops his stack of papers on the table. He doesn't say anything, he's honestly really nervous now and kinda guilty about the fact that he's been getting off to this guy's comments but...wow. SY is actually fucking gorgeous. Well, to him. He has a few acne scars, but his face is otherwise clear, and there's the tiniest bit of chub left in his cheeks, yet his cheekbones are still pronounced. His eyebrows are perfect, his hair is short and silky and frames his hair perfectly. And holy shit he really wishes he could get a look at the body beneath the clothes. Because if the rest of him is like his face...he's totally SQH's type.

But he doesn't say anything. And then SQH goes to open his mouth and say smth and SY stops typing and looks up at him and slowly closes his laptop. He looks strict with the look he has on his face currently: Intense, sharp, tired, but focused.

And then he sighs and it all kinda melts away and he actually looks really awkward/anxious as he looks at the table, and SQH can see him fiddling with his hands. And he just mutters: "Look bro, those comments weren't actually meant to be that mean, and I came because I wanted to say sorry, and I'm sure there are reasons for it...idk bro you seem chill? It's your story, and you're human, and it has nothing to do with my thoughts and opinions and-"

And SQH just slaps the stack of papers and slides them over toward SY. "Dude. I know PIDW is crap. I have to pay the bills." And he's not trying to be mean or anything about it, he couldn't care less what SY thinks (but also he's internally screaming BITCH IF YOU DONT KEEP ROASTING MY STORY IM GONNA FUCKING DIE-) he's just pretty straightforward. (I think when he's nervous he goes quiet, and he'll ramble when he's comfy around someone.)

And SY is just like "???" And he flips through some of the papers and his eyes go wide and there's just this SPARKLE in them (SQH thinks it's the cutest thing he's ever seen and he wants to kiss those beautiful eyes) and he's like "Bro, is this what I think it is?!" And SQH nods and SY just wiggles in his seat with this stupidly huge grin and starts reading through it, and every few seconds he points out smth he likes, or smth he didn't see coming, or etc etc. And they literally sit at that table and make conversation about this alt PIDW and SQH is happy and SY is happy. And then SQH realizes it's been a hot minute and he probably should get home and etc etc

But SY looks absolutely upset about this because he NEEDS to rant about this alt version because he's so fucking in love with it and even messaging SQH his every thought isn't enough

So SQH invites him over (totally a great idea. Did he ever clean up the wet stain on his couch from...?) And SY is immediately like NO I CANT IMPOSE + he doesn't want the vibe to change and mess up SQH's writing, so he invites him to the hotel he's staying at and SQH is so relieved and immediately says YES

And they pack their stuff up and go outside and he starts walking in the direction of the train station when he hears a beep beep, and there's this luxurious-ass car that SY is getting into. And he tries (and fails) to hide his surprise because is SY rich?!

Upon arriving at the hotel, yeah, yeah he's rich. They're at the fanciest place in town, and they go almost to the very top. It's a large suite. And then SY apologizes for not getting a larger room, it was just really short notice, and SQH is just 'dobdoavd9svs9acs9svs9vxozv' malfunctioning.

Anyway, after he gets over it, they start talking about alt PIDW. Hours and hours and hours pass like that. It's a long novel, so suddenly it's 2 or 3 in the morning, and they're not even halfway through (SY is a really fast reader holy shit) and SQH realizes it's time for him to go home. So he goes to get up (when did they end up in the bed together, side by side?) And SY grabs his wrist because he doesn't want him to go yet he NEEDS to binge alt PIDW and suddenly SQH is tumbling down, right onto him.

Their noses are just barely brushing, their eyes are locked onto each other, and maybe it's just SQH but are they both red and breathing a bit harder?

And then SY just asks: "Do you like boys?"

And SQH can only nod once, slowly, and then they're kissing, lips smashing together, and SQH is decent at kissing, and SY is...not but oh well, and they're tugging at each other, and they're breathless, and when they break away from the kiss they're both panting and tousled.

SQH: Please tell me that wasn't just me (even when SY very obviously was a happy participant, he's still worried cause holy fuck is he really...?!?!?!?)

SY: Y-yeah. If you wanna? Or is it weird that like- I never imagined you'd be this...hot, Airplane-Bro. (And he's blushing and can't look SQH in the eyes) I kinda always imagined you to be like...idek.

SQH: Well...I'm not whatever you imagined? I guess? ... I don't think it's weird? I mean, you weren't exactly wrong when you typed your comments (he shudders at the thought) about the fact I'm just a...horny little bastard.

SY: Sorry. Heh. About that. But um. I guess it's a good thing you *are*? Right?

SQH: Right. So you're cool with this?

SY: Yeah, yeah. Definitely. Please. Oh! Uh, I just realized, um, names. I'm Shen Yuan.

SQH: I'm Shang Qinghua.

And then they're pausing awkwardly, briefly, before they're kissing again, and then the clothes are pulled off, then they're figuring out what feels great to the other, and they're just setting up a decent rhythm.

They eventually finish alt PIDW together. And SQH, once again brave in his post-orgasmic haze, asks to date SY. And then he also admits he wants SY to keep commenting with as much ferocity as usual. He explains why and SY just goes bright red, but he's so down.

SY does have to return home soon, but he makes arrangements for SQH to move in not long after (a couple months at MOST, which were spent traveling back and forth by SY) - "Look bro, I absolutely need any updates to the alt, any insights, any brainstorming, to be said aloud IMMEDIATELY" - "You just want the great sex and cuddles" (SQH has become very teasing very quickly, and very confident in his sexuality, tho SY is still rather shy about it) - and SY goes bright red as usual XD

If you've read this far, PLEASE MESSAGE ME OH MY GOD. I NEED TO RANT ABOUT CUMPLANE MORE. And also if I do write fics for them I'll send you snippets. :3

And yeah. *thumbs up*

Have I fed you well, gremlins???

One last note: T4T cumplane my beloved

(SQH is on T and has had a breast reduction, SY is on T and has had top surgery but no bottom surgery, which he's still deciding if he wants or not.)

(ALSO - they do get to degrading eventually but SY is very nervous about it at first aha)

[farfromhome87]

Message Received- Part 4/5

Previous parts here. Inspired by @mollywog I wish you would write a You've Got Mail inspired fic

***Peeta***

Peeta holds his breath as he waits for her reply. The three dots have sprung to life and then paused three times already, as if she is considering her words carefully. Peeta’s palms start to sweat. He’s not exactly sure why the stakes feel so high. So what if a stranger he’s been texting for a few weeks doesn’t want to see him? How many times has he been ghosted on dating apps? It’s hardly the first time he’s experienced rejection. But still, something feels different with her. Her works stick with him like those burrs that latch onto your clothing when you tramp through a thick patch of woods. You try to pull them off, but keep finding them weeks, months, years later, clinging to the heel of your wool sock, tucked in the fold of your jacket’s cuff. They poke at you until you pay attention.

The phone pings and Peeta rushes to unlock it.

Bullseye Hmm if I agree to meet… how do I know you’re not a serial killer?

Peeta puffs air out of his cheeks in relief. He grins

Peeta Mellark Isn’t that what you’re looking for? You begged me to kill you the other day…😉 Bullseye True… Peeta Mellark Plus, i think i’m the one more likely to be in danger Bullseye Oh really? Why’s that?

Peeta’s glad that he’s still outside alone in his car–he doesn’t need his nosy, wiseass roommate, Finnick, seeing the uncontrollably large smile cracking across his face. He pauses just a moment before tapping out a reply.

Peeta Mellark Well first of all, I know you’re in the market for targets. Which means you have access to a fairly antiquated but no less deadly weapon.  Guess my only hope is that practicing with those off-center targets has thrown off your aim And second of all, you were the one who texted me first. This could be a targeted hit! Bullseye WOW, you’ve really thought this through. Guess someone would if they had done something to merit a hit… What was it? Something classic? Bank heist?

Peeta snorts, his fingers flying across the screen.

Peeta Mellark Um excuse me. BORING Bullseye Ah, you slept with the mob boss’ only daughter then? Peeta Mellark A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell Bullseye Is that what you are? A gentleman?

Peeta bites the side of his thumb, considering. He supposes he fits the bill in the sense that he is considerate, respects boundaries, and is well-mannered, maybe to a fault… But the term “gentleman” also feels weirdly co-opted by misogynistic assholes who think women should fall at their feet if they hold open a door or pick up the tab at dinner. 

Peeta Mellark Actually, yes. But not in a condescending way Um I hope Bullseye Quick, which Jane Austen beau best represents you?

Peeta lets out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Then he scans his mental catalog of the author’s works. He’s read most of them, but Pride and Prejudice was the most recent. And the 2005 film adaptation is one of Annie’s favorites, so it's been background noise in the apartment lately. Her and Finnick typically rewind and replay sections several times when they get…distracted. 

Peeta Mellark Ugh putting me on the spot. It’s probably Mr. Bingley

Peeta winces a little as he types it–it’s not the sexiest answer– but if you can’t be honest with the perfect stranger in your phone, then when can you be? The fact is, historically, he’s been a Bingley. Optimistic. Affable. Quick to fall in love….

Bullseye Mmm golden retriever energy. I see… Peeta Mellark Am I putting you off the meeting? Bullseye Nah I can get behind it as long as you don't jump all over me and lick my face 😜 Peeta Mellark I make no promises. Depends on if you have treats in your pockets Actually, lately I've been a little sassy. It's kinda giving Elizabeth Bennet Bullseye Well that works out. I have major Darcy vibes 

Peeta smiles idiotically at the phone, his heart feeling lighter than it has in days. They agree on a time and place to meet before Bullseye says goodbye so that she can get on her twice weekly Facetime call with her sister, Prim. It’s odd, Peeta thinks, that he knows so many intimate details about her–her deepest fears, her hopes, her dreams, even the name of her beloved sister, but at the same time he doesn’t know her at all. It feels surreal that in less than one week this all will change. 

___ ___ ___

***Katniss***

“So you’re really going to meet this guy?” comes Prim’s skeptical voice over the phone. Virtual Prim scrunches up her nose. “You, Katniss Everdeen, queen of introversion, princess of canceled plans, lady of constant solitude?”

Katniss scoffs. “Hey, I meet plenty of people. I’ll have you know I was propositioned by every single member of a bachelor party last night at Abernathy’s.”

“Ew. You know that drunk meatheads sexually harassing you at your workplace is not what I mean.” She plops her head on her hand, the giant poof of her blonde bun bobbing on her head. “It’s just–this feels so out of character. How do you know he’s not some creep?”

“Prim, he told me he’s Mr. Bingley. He didn’t even hesitate. How many creeps do you know that have Mr. Bingley at the tips of their tongue?” Katniss says matter-of-factly, as if this settles things. She pulls a few items out of the fridge so that she can wipe down the bottom shelf. Katniss can’t sit still while she’s talking on the phone–it’s either anxious pacing that gets her a noise complaint from the crotchety old man downstairs, or cleaning.

Prim still looks unconvinced. “This isn’t because of Gale, is it?” she asks quietly.

At this, Katniss lets out a snort. She swipes her cleaning rag over the white plastic surface and then replaces the contents of the shelf, wondering vaguely how she has ended up with three half-eaten jars of pickles. “Definitely not. Prim, I know Gale and I dragged things out, but that relationship was over months before it was official. We’ve been over this. There’s no one I’d rather bag a buck with, but life isn’t a hunting trip. Just because you grow up skinning rabbits with someone doesn’t mean you’re compatible romantic partners.”

The corner of Prim’s lip lifts. She looks relieved. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“Anyway, this isn’t serious.” Katniss continues. “And I don’t see how it's any creepier than a Tinder date. And… I dunno, he’s nice. And I could use a friend right now.”

Prim’s face softens. “I wish I could be there. Especially with everything going on with the woods.”

“I know little duck,” says Katniss, pausing her frenetic cleaning to look her sister in the eye. Prim looks so grown up in her Panem U hoodie over a pair of scrubs, her modest apartment in the background, the brown men’s loafers of her live-in boyfriend visible by the door. She’s doing her residency at one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country and is well on her way to becoming–in Katniss’ opinion–the best pediatrician Panem has ever seen. “You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. I’m so proud of you. You know that, right?”

Prim gives her a long-suffering look reminiscent of her teenage years. “No, Katniss. Not once have you told me this. Not once. ONCE!”

Katniss barks out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah…”

“Look, will you just take Johanna with you or something? She can wait outside in case things go south.”

***

Johanna is entirely too gleeful the next day when Katniss broaches the subject during their lunch break. Her angular face splits into a grin so saucy they could probably serve it at the Olive Garden. The fact that Johanna is this excited sends alarm bells off in the back of her mind and Katniss immediately tries to backpedal.

“Maybe this is a bad idea–”

“This is a GREAT idea,” cries Johanna, actually rubbing her hands together in anticipation of Katniss’ inevitable mortification. Johanna puts a bracing hand on her shoulder and peers down at her through a curtain of purple tinged hair. “Plus it’ll take your mind off the hot nerd from the Conservation Department, since you seem so determined to hate him. Or on second thought, maybe it will be so terrible that it’ll drive you straight into his arms. Either way, I’m seated.”

Katniss groans, feeling her cheeks flush without her permission. “I do NOT want to think about Peeta Mellark right now.”

It’s true, she doesn’t want to think about him, especially not in the same sentence as 007. For some reason it feels weird, like the two of them can’t coexist in the same reality, like they are on separate planes in some metaverse. When Katniss tries to examine this feeling, she comes up empty. Honestly, feeling her feelings has never been her forte. At least not since her dad died and Katniss' mom sank into a deep depression that held her captive somewhere between life and her husband's grave. So that's why it's odd, these prickles of emotion, the heat that rises in her cheeks and pools in her core when she thinks of Peeta Mellark, her nemesis. And likewise, the twinge of guilt, as if she's betraying the man in her phone. The one who seems to see her soul. She just needs to meet him already, it feels like it's the only way to quell this confusing storm raging inside her.

***

Katniss lingers outside the agreed upon spot, a cozy wine bar in the regional capitol, suitably far enough from her home town that if 007 turns out to be a catfishing weirdo, she can more easily block his number and fade into obscurity. She smooths down her forest green sweater that Prim says accents her curves, and twists the end of her braid with restless fingers. She almost left her hair down flowing around her shoulders, but it seemed like trying too hard, especially since she had already done something out of the ordinary by swiping mascara on her short eyelashes. She had always wished they were long and luscious like her father's in the old photo hung over the mantle at home. And then an intrusive thought pokes her like a pesky stinging nettle–Peeta Mellark has long lashes, too. She accidentally noticed them the other day at the Hob after she chucked a cheese bun at him. Peeta had blinked those lashes in surprise and she wondered how they didn't get tangled up. Katniss rubs her temples in frustration and puffs out a breath of air. Stop thinking about him! She reminds herself.

Johanna clears her throat from her hiding spot in the alley where she has a good view of the interior through a window if she stands on a milk crate. She jerks her head toward the door and makes a “what are you waiting for” gesture with her hand. 

Katniss takes a deep breath and pushes open the heavy oak door. The sound of clinking glasses and conversation fill her ears. The place is nice, but not ostentatious. She's not surprised 007 has good taste. It's also quiet thanks to the plush cushions on the furniture and the intimate set up of the tables, nestled into alcoves, between lush potted plants. Her heart buoys thinking he clearly remembered that she gets overstimulated in a crowd. Katniss selects a small booth in full view of the window into the alley. A sweet-smelling candle is flickering on the tabletop and there is a painting of a meadow full of wildflowers on the wall. She can't stop staring at it, marveling at the way she can almost feel the wind rustling through the swaying grass and the sun on her face. Longing bubbles and fizzes in her chest, longing for her father, longing for the girl she used to be by his side in their meadow. 

Katniss shakes herself from the vivid memories, pulls out her worn copy of The Hobbit and a single dandelion plucked from the lawn outside Abernathy's, and places them prominently on the table. She smiles a secret smile feeling the candy bar in her jeans pocket, a subtle nod to their golden retriever banter. He'll surely find it hilarious. And maybe, thinks Katniss with a shiver, maybe she won't mind if he does bound into her personal space. She's surprised that the thought thrills rather than terrifies her. 

Then Katniss waits. She waits. And waits. And waits.

Every time she hears the faint tinkle of the bell above the door she perks up, adjusting the book and flower, hoping it's him. And each time it's not, her heart grows heavier.

— — —

***Peeta***

“Finnick, so help me god, if you ruin this for me I am going to tell everyone that you sleep in a silk bonnet!” Peeta grits out, casting a disparaging look at his best friend’s carefully styled bronze locks.

Finnick scoffs. “Go right ahead, I'm not ashamed of my beauty routine.” He examines his nails coyly, then gives Peeta a noogie. 

“Gah!” yelps Peeta, desperately smoothing down his hair. He actually put in effort today, used some goopy product that Rue recommended for curls. He glances nervously at the door, worried the scene Finnick is creating will draw attention. “I told you I don't need a chaperone.”

“Pfft,” tuts Finnick. “Not a chaperone, I'm your second. Y’know, like in case the “woman” you're sexting with is actually some burly catfisher and you have to duel him or something.”

“I'm not sexting with her!” Peeta protests, dropping his voice an octave on the sexting part. There's a little old lady waiting for the bus on the corner and she is giving them the hairy eyeball. “And unfortunately I left my dueling sword at home, so if you'll excuse me–”

Finnick grips Peeta’s shoulders before he can proceed, his expression sobering. “Ok, ok,” Finnick concedes. “But c'mon, man, you have to admit that you let yourself get hurt sometimes. You always dive in head first with that big ‘ol heart of yours.”

Peeta rakes a hand through his curls out of habit, wincing as his attempt at looking dapper is foiled. “Yeah, I know…but this one's different,” he says, rocking up on his toes, a nervous, hopeful current buzzing in his veins. “I can feel it.”

Finnick still looks skeptical, but he doesn't push it further. He's a dick sometimes, but at the end of the day, he's a great friend. “Ok, Peet. But at least let me take a look first.”

Finnick ambles over to the open door through which a welcoming amber light spills onto the darkening sidewalk, and peers inside.

“She’ll have a book with her,” mutters Peeta, wiping his sweaty palms on his dark wash jeans. “And a flower. A dandelion.”

Finnick stares for so long, and with such a curious expression on his face, that Peeta wonders if it actually is someone duel-worthy.  Finally, Finnick gives a low whistle. “Well, she's pretty, that's for sure.”

Peeta waves the comment off impatiently. He already knows this. Her beauty transcends the bounds of his shitty, outdated iPhone. It’s wrapped up in her words, the funny little expressions she uses, the way she can be poetic one moment and then snarky the next. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt chemistry like this with anyone, except maybe, well…Peeta’s stomach somersaults as a flicker of silver and a sweep of a dark braid flash in his mind and then shimmer away like butter in a hot griddle. Peeta coughs as if he can physically dispel this ridiculous notion from his body.

“Harmless then,” he says, attempting to push Finnick aside. Enough is enough.

Finnick resists, still looking mystified. “Well, I wouldn’t say harmless,” he chuckles.

“Ok, this is getting ridiculous. I'm a grown ass man.” Peeta dodges Finnick with the practice of a former star wrestler and launches himself at the door. Then just as quickly, he is reeling back, his eyes wide as cinnamon rolls. “Is that–?”

“Katniss Everdeen,” they say together.

Both Peeta and Finnick are silent for a long time. The old woman on the corner gets onto the bus and it belches a cloud of putrid fumes as it drives off. Finally Peeta scrubs a hand over his jaw and breathes, “Well, shit…”

Emotions are raging inside Peeta at the speed of weather changes in the mountains. First shock, then gut wrenching disappointment, then disgust, then relief? And then, at last, he lands on anger. White hot anger. And somehow that feels like the only emotion he knows how to handle in the moment. When he is fired up like this there is no chance of anyone stopping him, so he easily sidesteps an alarmed Finnick and marches into the wine bar without so much as a glance behind.

She’s at his favorite booth, the one with the wildflower painting. Because of course she would choose that one. How infuriating to realize that your rival has a chilling psychic power over you, that she can see inside you, instinctually know your likes, your dislikes…Is this how she has been pushing all his buttons?! 

Peeta skids to a halt in front of the table and slides into the booth across from Katniss, mastering his rage and training his face into a smirk. He drops his eyes to the bulging pocket of her jeans. “Is that a Snickers in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” he says smugly.

Katniss gasps. The shock in those sharp silver eyes tells him this was not a targeted catfishing exercise. She has no idea that the man in her phone is him. But she quickly composes herself, folding her arms across her chest in a way that pushes up her small, pert breasts and instantly draws his traitor eyes. Peeta blushes, feeling like she has already scored a point against him.

“Ugh gross,” she bites out. “It's an inside joke. For my friend.”

Peeta feigns nonchalance, digging his hand into the bowl of complimentary popcorn in the center of the table and shoving a handful into his mouth.  “Kind of rude for your friend not to show up.”

Katniss narrows her eyes. “Kind of rude for you to speak with your mouth full,” she retorts, not missing a beat.

Peeta doesn't react, which only serves to annoy Katniss more. “What's he look like?” he asks her, glancing around the bar. “Maybe he just doesn't see you tucked away in here.”

Katniss flushes a delicious shade of strawberry and Peeta chalks one point up for himself. “I don't,” she starts, “I don't know.” She holds her head aloft proudly, but doubt flashes in her eyes. She looks so vulnerable for a moment that he almost feels bad about twisting the knife.

“You don't know?” repeats Peeta incredulously. “What do you mean? Is this some kind of blind date?”

“No!” she says too quickly and the attractive bloom of pink stays painted on the apples of her cheeks. Her cheekbones are so high and sharp that they look like they could cut glass. “It's just…a-a pen pal.”

Peeta plants his forearms on the table and leans toward her, trying to throw her off balance by the proximity. This ends up backfiring, however, because he catches the scent of her hair and it transfixes him with memories of spring. There's no other way to describe the earthy freshness, the subtle notes of cherry blossoms. “A penpal?!” he scoffs, sitting back against the plush backrest and attempting to get a grip on himself.

“Don't you have a PhD or something? she hisses through tight lips. “Do you really only have the capability to repeat back what I'm saying like a giant, bespectacled parrot?” 

Peeta can't help it. He barks out a laugh, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Touche,” he allows. “But you gotta admit, I think not many of us have had a penpal since the third grade.”

Katniss just harrumphs, crossing her legs and looking defiantly at the door, refusing to meet his eyes. She looks nice in her fitted green sweater and wide-legged black slacks, and there's something so oddly charming about how those worn leather hunting boots she always wears are peeking out from the hems. It's just so her. 

“Maybe he got caught in traffic,” Peeta suggests mildly, turning around to follow her gaze toward the completely empty street.

Katniss makes an irritated growling noise in the back of her throat. There's no traffic out here in West Panem. Ever.

“Or he got kidnapped by a gang of mountain trolls,” he grins, nodding cheekily at the copy of The Hobbit on the table. Her eyes flash and she pulls the book toward her possessively as if Peeta is sullying it with his razzing.

“I know what you're trying to do, ok?!” snaps Katniss. “Trying to make me feel like some kind of undesirable loser for getting stood up.”

Peeta’s grin drops. Shit. It's fun teasing her–it’s so easy, and well, she looks cute when she’s mad–but he never meant to make her feel small. That familiar voice pipes up in the back of his mind and ice fills his veins. Peeta, you worthless thing. Katniss is scowling at him, but it’s not her usual one. She looks almost defeated. And Peeta reminds himself that the restrictions on activities in the nature preserve are set to go into effect next week. He also reminds himself how he would feel if he were the one sitting here with a raw, open heart thinking Bullseye had rejected him.

“Katniss, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”

But before Peeta can beg her forgiveness, a smooth baritone that sounds uncannily like his own cuts through the air. “Peeta bread!” the voice cries delightedly. “I didn’t know you had a date?!”

Peeta blanches. Oh dear God. Rye. He’s not supposed to work tonight. It’s his business partner Thom’s night. Peeta checked the schedule! He checked that list twice, Santa Clause style.

Katniss’ head swings around so fast that her thick braid nearly knocks over her glass of water. She peers up at Rye distrustfully, her eyes flickering to Peeta's, then back again, clearing clocking the family resemblance. “This is not a date,” she says icily.

He winces at her tone. Would it really be that bad to be on a date with him? 

Rye just looks confused. He raises his eyebrows at Peeta. “Oh sorry, he just has a type–”

“Jesus, Rye,” grimaces Peeta. He wants to melt onto the floor and seep into the wine cellar. “Katniss is everyone's type,” he mumbles, stealing a glance at her. The crease between her eyes deepens and he hopes she doesn't think he's still messing with her.

Fortunately, Rye recovers himself and turns on the Mellark charm that Peeta normally has in spades, but seems to abandon him everytime he finds himself in Katniss' presence. Rye spreads his arms wide, now the picture of a debonair wine bar owner. “Well, any friend–er–” he shoots another bewildered glance at Peeta when Katniss' scowl intensifies, “acquaintance of Peeta's is an, um…acquaintance of mine. I'm going to have the kitchen send out a complimentary cheese plate and a bottle of our best red. Do you like Pinot Noir?”

Katniss' ears perk up at the mention of cheese and her stomach gives an audible grumble that Peeta pretends not to notice. She pauses before admitting, “It's my favorite.” She gives Rye a tight, concessionary smile as if to say, you seem nice enough, it’s not your fault your brother makes me want to run headlong through the plate glass window at the front of this bar.

Rye grins. “Well then you're going to love this.” Then he launches into a detailed description of the wine’s silky tannins and complex flavors, including the hint of baking spice that you get when you age it in French oak barrels, a nod to the family baking business.

Katniss looks bemused. The same expression that Peeta gets when Rye waxes philosophical about wine and that Rye gets when Peeta yammers on about biodiversity in broadleaf forest ecosystems. He notices there are specks of gold in Katniss’ right eye that catch the flicker of the candle light, just the right eye. Why can’t he stop staring?

“You know a lot about wine,” says Katniss generously, seemingly trying to make amends for her curtness earlier. 

Rye puffs out his chest. “Well, kind of comes with the territory. I co-own this place.”

“Oh, wow,” she replies, sounding actually impressed. Peeta feels a tug of pride deep in his chest that she approves of the place he selected for their first meeting. But then that heady tug suddenly feels like a trapdoor opening when he remembers that Bullseye is gone. It’s only Katniss Everdeen left. The most dizzyingly desirable yet utterly out of reach woman he’s ever known. “It’s a really nice place,” she says, gesturing to the decor with her olive hand–small, but sinewy, like she could definitely send an arrow sailing through his heart with ease…and perhaps already has. “I love the artwork.”

“Thank you!” says Rye warmly. “Most of the paintings are Peeta–”

Peeta’s eyes widen and he shakes his head at Rye, swiping his hand discreetly across his neck in the universal sign of “abort!”. Rye cuts himself off with an unconvincing hacking cough. Katniss’ shrewd eyes snap to Peeta’s  face and he avoids them. Will she remember that first conversation? The one where he said he was a painter? Even if she did, she probably thought he meant painter as in, house painter, commercial painter, right? Peeta swallows thickly, feeling her retina’s burning into his skin.

“Rye,” Peeta says, through gritted teeth. “How about that cheese plate, huh?”

Rye takes a hint and scurries off to the kitchens, leaving Peeta and Katniss alone, an unbearable silence stretching between them. The booth suddenly feels impossibly small. He shifts his bad leg into a more comfortable position and inadvertently grazes her knee with his. A flush creeps up his neck.

“So….Peeta Pie…” says Katniss, finally breaking the awkward silence. He’s surprised to see that her scowl has been replaced by a little smirk.

Peeta groans and pulls his hand down his mouth. “Bakery humor, you know? I come from a long line of bakers.” 

“Guess that explains the stuff you’re bringing to Hazelle at the Hob.”

“Yep!” he confirms.

Katniss presses her lips together, then says, “I don’t know why, but I just never pictured you as a baker.”

Peeta smirks and places his arms on the table in front of them, flexing shamelessly so that the outline of his biceps will strain at the fabric of his blue button-down, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. “Ah, I guess you think I’m too cut to be a baker’s boy, is that it?”

Katniss snorts and rolls her eyes. Peeta immediately regrets it.

What a dickish gym bro thing to say?! He has never, not once in his life, flirted so terribly. He had more rizz as a 16-year-old than this! Sure… he works out his upper body a lot more than he used to, he supposes his physique must look ok. But he has to, he needs to use his arms a lot more than he used to. When the prosthetic is off it’s surprising the strength you need to maneuver around. And maybe, says a voice that sounds oddly like his psychologist, Dr. Aurelius, you worry about your physical attractiveness more than you used. You wonder whether anyone finds you desirable, and that’s why what you just said is a cry for help, a need for reassurance?

The look of revulsion Katniss is giving Peeta mirrors his internal monologue. He has to fix this! He casts around for a topic that will neutralize the situation, something they can’t possibly disagree on. His eyes land on the book.

“What’s your opinion on the decision to excise the scouring of the Shire in Peter Jackson’s interpretation of the Return of the King?” he asks suddenly. 

Katniss blinks at him. “Huh?”

“C’mon, are you going to tell me you’re ok with the film completely leaving out the impact of war on Hobbiton? That it only shows war as some epic battle of elves and dwarves and men and not one of the common people?” Peeta raises his eyebrows at her expectantly. She still has her eyes narrowed, but she’s leaning in now. He knows she won’t be able to resist.

Finally Katniss blurts out, “And it totally sidesteps the commentary on industrialization!” The words come tumbling out of her mouth so fast that even Katniss looks surprised by them. She claps a hand over her mouth.

Peeta and Katniss stare at each other for a long beat, and then suddenly, they both erupt into laughter. It’s that kind of delirious laughter that you only get after unbearable tension. The kind of laughter that makes your eyes stream and coaxes the most unattractive and uncontrollable wheezing, snorting and gasping noises from the depths of your belly. The kind of laughter that wraps you up in a cozy, giddy blanket until you forget every painful thing.

A few moments later, Rye returns with a cheese plate (which Peeta notes is definitely custom made at twice the usual size) and two generous pours of the specialty Pinot. He gives Peeta a subtle wink before disappearing as quickly as possible. Katniss and Peeta dig into the platter, suddenly ravenous.

Now that the ice is broken, the conversation flows like water out of a washed out dam. They have the same taste in books (though Peeta knew that already) and music (though Katniss says he leans too heavily into sad-boy indie pop of the early aughts). And to Peeta’s delight, she tells him more about her sister, Prim, clearly the most precious person in the world to her. It feels like a gift to be trusted with those memories. Then Peeta makes Katniss laugh, recounting the time he and Rye played a prank on their big brother, Bannock, leaving “evidence” of a mouse all around the bakery, sending him on a Tom and Jerry-style wild goose chase to exterminate the ever-elusive pest.

It’s nearly 10 pm when their conversation falls into the first lull in hours. They have had second and third glasses of wine, a fact that left Katniss in stitches over his impossibly rosy cheeks, while she seemed cool, calm, and almost entirely unaffected. She tells Peeta she’s got stamina thanks to the drinking habits of her friend-of-the family, Haymitch–a  person too irresponsible to be a surrogate father (her dad was killed in a workplace accident when she was eleven), but too close to be without a family title. Her and Prim have always called him “uncle.” The wine bar has emptied out and the ambient noise around them has subsided to a dull hum.

Peeta casts another glance toward the open door. A cool evening breeze rustles through the leaves of the Monstera near the host station. “Guess your friend’s not coming, huh?”

Katniss pinches the bridge of her nose and looks down at the crumbs of chocolate fudge cake on her plate. She doesn’t look angry anymore, just so tired. “Just–don’t Peeta. I don’t need your gloating.”

Peeta holds up his hands in defense. “I’m not,” he tells her firmly. “I swear, I’m not. Listen…” Peeta pauses, searching her face, feeling her eyes lift to his like gray stones falling into the blue depths of a lake. “Anyone who would stand you up is making a serious mistake.”

Katniss blinks. She looks like she’s trying to figure out whether he’s being a prick or not.

“Big mistake. Huge,” assures Peeta, evoking Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

The reference earns him a half smile. She shrugs. “I should go.” Katniss begins rifling in her purse for her wallet, and before he can stop himself, Peeta puts a hand out to still the motion. He marvels at the way his fingers encircle her entire wrist, at the feeling of her heartbeat quickening in the delicate veins at the base of her palm. She gasps.

“It’s on me,” he says softly. 

Katniss doesn’t jerk away like he thought she might, but she shakes her head. “No way.”

“C’mon,” says Peeta. “It’s the least I can do after barging in and ruining your evening.”

“You didn’t–” Katniss cuts herself off and sighs deeply. “Peeta, I can’t. I have a thing about owing people.”

The corner of Peeta’s lips lift up in a hopeful grin. “Okaaaay,” he drawls. “Then buy me coffee at the Hob sometime?”

Katniss scrunches up her nose as she considers this. Her pulse thrums against the pads of his fingers. “Fine,” she relents, snapping the clasp on her purse closed. 

Peeta tries not to feel devastated as she stands up from the table and slips out of the booth. He releases her wrist and she immediately covers the spot where his fingers were with her other hand, caressing the soft skin in the way he wants to do. There’s an unreadable expression on her face. Confusion? Resignation? Or…could it be, longing? Pull yourself together, man, Peeta chastises himself. You’re projecting.

He stands up, too, and breathes, “So, see you around, then?”

“Well, seeing as I’ve got a debt to pay now…guess so,” Katniss snaps, but there’s something softer in her tone, something less cutting in her scowl. “Tell your brother I said thank you for the lovely meal.”

Katniss spins on her heel and glides toward the door with that soft footfall like one of Tolkien’s elves walking atop the snow. Before she crosses the threshold, she throws her head back over her shoulder, braid cracking like a whip, and calls, “Your coffee order is shit, by the way. Peeta bread.”

And then she steps out into the street and fades into the night.

[pikmininaplane]

@underrated-d20-event day 4! Coffin Run time!! Also one of the most underrated side quests, and rewatching a clip from it to write this made me want to watch it again – hope we’ll get Jasmine back as a DM someday <3 (Also this sorta fits the theme Playlist but also sorta not? Y’know how it is.)

(Spoilers for Coffin Run episode 4!)

Wolf song (475 words)

"My love?" Marina called out, her voice hoarse.

She pushed open the door to her house, trying to keep her strength in check so she wouldn't break it, before stepping inside, thumping the ground with each step.

The place was as she left it. Still. Tidy.

Wrong.

Aleksandr would never have left their place like this. With him at home, there would have been bits and bots lying all around the place, gizmos and gadgets and unfinished experiments that could blow up at any time, but that he still put so much care into. So much soul.

But well, he wasn't there anymore, was he?

She ventured further in, her unusual, massive body pushing the furniture away from her path. She was too big to fit now. And yet this was still not enough to fill the hole left by her husband.

Finally, she made her way to the one item she had been looking for: the makeshift gramophone her husband had built from scraps just for her. On the turntable lay a vinyl record, one Marina remembered well for she had bought it one day, on a whim, just for the pleasure of it.

She remembered how she had brought it home for Aleksandr to hear, how he had smiled and laughed and how they had danced together until the record had stopped spinning.

Slowly, using a single claw from her large paw, she pushed the stylus onto the record and let it play.

The sound of music immediately filled the silence previously broken only by Marina's ragged breath. Her ears perked up as she quietly hummed along to the melody, her tone low.

Finally, after standing in the dark for who knows how long, the record stopped spinning.

Marina only realized then that she had begun sobbing.

He had left. He was gone. He no longer answered her mail, he who had always been so faithful and devoted to her… She couldn’t believe that he had left her alone of his own volition. There had to be something else at play.

Something… or someone.

Her hands tensed up on the edge of the table, clawing deep into the wood.

Yes. Yes, she knew exactly who was behind this. Who was to blame.

She did not care how imposing of an enemy her target was; she had made herself stronger, fiercer, just so she could hold her own against him. So she could rescue her husband from his clutches.

And she had her pack with her now.

Her head shot up as her snout parted open to let out a long, powerful howl; soon, she was joined by others. By her sisters, in arms and in teeth.

"Wait for me, my love," Marina finally growled, baring her teeth in beastly fury.

She would rip Dracula apart with her bare hands if she had to.

[sonknuxadow]

LOVE LOSES !!!!!!!!!!!!

[pancharts]

[telesodalite]

[Train ride :D!]

[Background-less version below]

[waywardsalt]

anyways. my very first attempt at malenia

[file-unknown24]

I literally have been doing this for like an hour at least TwT

I hope you like your treat though! That's what makes it worth it! ^w^

@crookedjackdaw @r3d-m3dic @futurechancer @narra-tsp0w0 @ask-the-gold-bear @bobacatz @eater-of-the-alt @fcknboringraccoon @witheredstyx @how-is-this-taken @confusion-personified @nineparlor69 @bunrubyy @bread-cat-luna @intrinsically-inclined @mooneater0-0 @athenamineblox @paige0park @bigolmothy @rndmpunk @allergic-to-four-leaf-clovers @veggiefritters @edirazirollyx @wasteland-proto-baby @chaos-creature-on-the-roof @salmondude2000 @ihazmunchies91 @dumb4ss-1d10t @lemyondre @adventurecrimez @goobster888 @minicorruptprogram @emmyisstrange @abucketofstars @britishbiscuits @acoreu-alt @bucketfullofstrawberries @catsupport @peripalz @choirgamerfangirl @bucketfan427 @shoefullofpudding @thedepressionoftrees @badidangwho @villiun @owlfromthemeadow @grilled-butter @crystalwinterfeld @tw1nkee28

If you are a moot and you're not on this list, it's because I made this list a bit ago so I could copy and paste it, if you're a moot and you didn't get tagged, tell me and I'll do my best to fix it :3

[ravinoforre]

Leaf day! 🍃❤️

[multifandom-rambler]

cabby’s files were like a kinda interesting flaw

..and then they made it a disability thing 🤨