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autistichalsin · 9 months ago

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In retrospect, four years later, I feel like the Isabel Fall incident was just the biggest ignored cautionary tale modern fandom spaces have ever had. Yes, it wasn't limited to fandom, it was also a professional author/booktok type argument, but it had a lot of crossover.

Stop me if you've heard this one before: a writer, whether fan or pro, publishes a work. If one were to judge a book by its cover, something we are all taught in Kindergarten shouldn't happen but has a way of occurring regardless, one might find that there was something that seemed deeply problematic about this work. Maybe the title or summary alluded to something Wrong happening, or maybe the tags indicated there was problematic kinks or relationships. And that meant the story was Bad. So, a group of people takes to the Twittersphere to inform everyone who will listen why the work, and therefore the author, are Bad. The author, receiving an avalanche of abuse and harassment, deactivates their account, and checks into a mental health facility for monitoring for suicidal ideation. They never return to their writing space, and the harassers get a slap on the wrist (if that- usually they get praise and high-fives all around) and start waiting for their next victim to transgress.

Sounds awful familiar, doesn't it?

Isabel Fall's case, though, was even more extreme for many reasons. See, she made the terrible mistake of using a transphobic meme as the genesis to actually explore issues of gender identity.

More specifically, she used the phrase "I sexually identify as an attack helicopter" to examine how marginalized identities, when they become more accepted, become nothing more than a tool for the military-industrial complex to rebrand itself as a more personable and inclusive atrocity; a chance to pursue praise for bombing brown children while being progressive, because queer people, too, can help blow up brown children now! It also contained an examination of identity and how queerness is intrinsic to a person, etc.

But... well, if harassers ever bothered to read the things they critique, we wouldn't be here, would we? So instead, they called Isabel a transphobic monster for the title alone, even starting a misinformation campaign to claim she was, in fact, a cis male nazi using a fake identity to psyop the queer community.

A few days later, after days of horrific abuse and harassment, Isabel requested that Clarkesworld magazine pull the story. She checked in to a psych ward with suicidal thoughts. That wasn't all, though; the harassment was so bad that she was forced to out herself as trans to defend against the claims.

Only... we know this type of person, the fandom harassers, don't we? You know where this is going. Outing herself did nothing to stop the harassment. No one was willing to read the book, much less examine how her sexuality and gender might have influenced her when writing it.

So some time later, Isabel deleted her social media. She is still alive, but "Isabel Fall" is not- because the harassment was so bad that Isabel detransitioned/closeted herself, too traumatized to continue living her authentic life.

Supposed trans allies were so outraged at a fictional portrayal of transness, written by a trans woman, that they harassed a real life trans woman into detransitioning.

It's heartbreakingly familiar, isn't it? Many of us in fandom communities have been in Isabel's shoes, even if the outcome wasn't so extreme (or in some cases, when it truly was). Most especially, many of us, as marginalized writers speaking from our own experiences in some way, have found that others did not enjoy our framework for examining these things, and hurt us, members of those identities, in defense of "the community" as a nebulous undefined entity.

There's a quote that was posted in a news writeup about the whole saga that was published a year after the fact. The quote is:

The delineation between paranoid and reparative readings originated in 1995, with influential critic Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. A paranoid reading focuses on what’s wrong or problematic about a work of art. A reparative reading seeks out what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art, even if the work is flawed. Importantly, a reparative reading also tends to consider what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art for someone who isn’t the reader. This kind of nuance gets completely worn away on Twitter, home of paranoid readings. “[You might tweet], ‘Well, they didn’t discuss X, Y, or Z, so that’s bad!’ Or, ‘They didn’t’ — in this case — ‘discuss transness in a way that felt like what I feel about transness, therefore it is bad.’ That flattens everything into this very individual, very hostile way of reading,” Mandelo says. “Part of reparative reading is trying to think about how a story cannot do everything. Nothing can do everything. If you’re reading every text, fiction, or criticism looking for it to tick a bunch of boxes — like if it represents X, Y, and Z appropriately to my definitions of appropriate, and if it’s missing any of those things, it’s not good — you’re not really seeing the close focus that it has on something else.”

A paranoid reading describes perfectly what fandom culture has become in the modern times. It is why "proship", once simply a word for common sense "don't engage with what you don't like, and don't harass people who create it either" philosophies, has become the boogeyman of fandom, a bad and dangerous word. The days of reparative readings, where you would look for things you enjoyed, are all but dead. Fiction is rarely a chance to feel joy; it's an excuse to get angry, to vitriolically attack those different from oneself while surrounded with those who are the same as oneself. It's an excuse to form in-groups and out-groups that must necessarily be in a constant state of conflict, lest it come across like This side is accepting That side's faults. In other words, fandom has become the exact sort of space as the nonfandom spaces it used to seek to define itself against.

It's not about joy. It's not about resonance with plot or characters. It's about hate. It's about finding fault. If they can't find any in the story, they will, rest assured, create it by instigating fan wars- dividing fandom into factions and mercilessly attacking the other.

And that's if they even went so far as to read the work they're critiquing. The ones they don't bother to read, as you saw above, fare even worse. If an AO3 writer tagged an abuser/victim ship, it's bad, it's fetishism, even if the story is about how the victim escapes. If a trans writer uses the title "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter" to find a framework to dissect rainbow-washing the military-industrial complex, it's unforgivable. It's a cesspool of kneejerk reactions, moralizing discomfort, treating good/evil as dichotomous categories that can never be escaped, and using that complex as an excuse to heap harassment on people who "deserve it." Because once you are Bad, there is no action against you that is too Bad for you to deserve.

Isabel Fall's story follows this so step-by-step that it's like a textbook case study on modern fandom behavior.

Isabel Fall wrote a short story with an inflammatory title, with a genesis in transphobic mockery, in the hopes of turning it into a genuine treatise on the intersection of gender and sexuality and the military-industrial complex. But because audiences are unprepared for the idea of inflammatory rhetoric as a tool to force discomfort to then force deeper introspection... they zeroed in on the discomfort. "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter"- the title phrase, not the work- made them uncomfortable. We no longer teach people how to handle discomfort; we live in a world of euphemism and glossing over, a world where people can't even type out the words "kill" and rape", instead substituting "unalive" and "grape." We don't deal with uncomfortable feelings anymore; we censor them, we transform them, we sanitize them. When you are unable to process discomfort, when you are never given self-soothing tools, your only possible conclusion is that anything Uncomfortable must be Bad, and the creator must either be censored too, or attacked into conformity so that you never again experience the horrors of being Uncomfortable.

So the masses took to Twitter, outraged. They were Uncomfortable, and that de facto meant that they had been Wronged. Because the content was related to trans identity issues, that became the accusation; it was transphobic, inherently. It couldn't be a critique of bigger and more fluid systems than gender identity alone; it was a slight against trans people. And no amount of explanations would change their minds now, because they had already been aggrieved and made to feel Uncomfortable.

Isabel Fall was now a Bad Person, and we all know what fandom spaces do to Bad People. Bad People, because they are Bad, will always be deserving of suicide bait and namecalling and threatening. Once a person is Bad, there is no way to ever become Good again. Not by refuting the accusations (because the accusations are now self-evident facts; "there is a callout thread against them" is its own tautological proof that wrongdoing has happened regardless of the veracity of the claims in the callout) and not by apologizing and changing, because if you apologize and admit you did the Bad thing, you are still Bad, and no matter what you do in future, you were once Bad and that needs to be brought up every time you are mentioned. If you are bad, you can NEVER be more than what you were at your worst (in their definition) moment. Your are now ontologically evil, and there is no action taken against you that can be immoral.

So Isabel was doomed, naturally. It didn't matter that she outed herself to explain that she personally had lived the experience of a trans woman and could speak with authority on the atrocity of rainbow-washing the military industrial complex as a proaganda tool to capture progressives. None of it mattered. She had written a work with an Uncomfortable phrase for a title, the readers were Uncomfortable, and someone had to pay for it.

And that's the key; pay for it. Punishment. Revenge. It's never about correcting behavior. Restorative justice is not in this group's vocabulary. You will, incidentally, never find one of these folks have a stance against the death penalty; if you did Bad as a verb, you are Bad as an intrinsic, inescapable adjective, and what can you do to incorrigible people but kill them to save the Normal people? This is the same principle, on a smaller scale, that underscores their fandom activities; if a Bad fan writes Bad fiction, they are a Bad person, and their fandom persona needs to die to save Normal fans the pain of feeling Uncomfortable.

And that's what happened to Isabel Fall. The person who wrote the short story is very much alive, but the pseudonym of Isabel Fall, the identity, the lived experiences coming together in concert with imagination to form a speculative work to critique deeply problematic sociopolitical structures? That is dead. Isabel Fall will never write again, even if by some miracle the person who once used the name does. Even if she ever decides to restart her transition, she will be permanently scarred by this experience, and will never again be able to share her experience with us as a way to grow our own empathy and challenge our understanding of the world. In spirit, but not body, fandom spaces murdered Isabel Fall.

And that's... fandom, anymore. That's just what is done, routinely and without question, to Bad people. Good people are Good, so they don't make mistakes, and they never go too far when dealing with Bad people. And Bad people, well, they should have thought before they did something Bad which made them Bad people.

Isabel Fall's harassment happened in early 2020, before quarantine started, but it was in so many ways a final chance for fandom to hit the breaks. A chance for fandom to think collectively about what it wanted to be, who it wanted to be for and how it wanted to do it. And fandom looked at this and said, "more, please." It continues to harass marginalized people, especially fans of color and queen fans, into suffering mental breakdowns. With gusto.

Any ideas of reparative reading is dead. Fandom runs solely on paranoid readings. And so too is restorative justice gone for fandom transgressions, real or imagined. It is now solely about punitive, vigilante justice. It's a concerted campaign to make sure oddballs conform or die (in spirit, but sometimes even physically given how often mentally ill individuals are pushed into committing suicide).

It's a deeply toxic environment and I'm sad to say that Isabel Fall's story was, in retrospect, a sort of event horizon for the fandom. The gravitational pull of these harassment campaigns is entirely too strong now and there is no escaping it. I'm sorry, I hate to say something so bleak, but thinking the last few days about the state of fandom (not just my current one but also others I watch from the outside), I just don't think we can ever go back to peaceful "for joy" engagement, not when so many people are determined to use it as an outlet for lateral aggression against other people.

#isabel fall #fandom #proship #proshippers please interact #proship please interact #profiction

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kedreeva · 2 months ago

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Hi Ked! Having chickens when I finally get my own place has been something I've wanted for a while (am currently putting it on hold despite in the near future acquiring said own place due to H5N1). However, I have become a little enamored of quail recently in comparison. My goal would be to have eggs and fluffy yard buddies, do you recommend either one over the other?

If you want birds that can free roam your yard, it can't be quail. They are game birds, like pheasants, and will just leave (or get immediately eaten by.... everything, but especially hawks and domestic cats.

If you don't mind having them contained, then 100% quail are a better option right now.

Quail don't take up nearly the same space; an average sized quail tower takes up approximately a 2x3 foot space, and depending on how many levels you have and how densely you populate them can hold anywhere from 15-40 quail. That amount of space cannot even house 1 chicken long term.

Quail are not NEARLY the same initial investment; on average people end up investing around $200-500 in quail equipment/caging/birds depending on how into it you want to get, and $2k+ in appropriate chicken equipment/caging/birds. These costs can vary greatly depending on how handy you are and what connections you have to acquire scrap materials, or how fancy you want to get.

Since quail are not kept on raw ground, they have MUCH fewer health problems on average- they rarely get parasites, they rarely pick up bacterial infections, they rarely pick up anything viral (and if their caging is kept in a more enclosed/covered space there is almost no chance of them picking up HPAI). Since they're contained, there's not very much chance for them to injure themselves (although like any bird, if there's a way they have the will to find it).

Their eggs are more nutritionally dense than chickens. You can compare nutrition per gram anywhere online.

They're (in my experience) more consistent layers than chickens; give them light and feed, and they will lay daily year round, only taking a break to molt in the fall.

Quail's full lifespan is shorter than chickens. This may seem like a downside, but the productive years for a chicken are generally 2-5 years, with a lifespan that should be 7-12 years. Quail have the same 2 years of production, but on average only live 3-5 years, so even if you don't want to butcher the spent hens (which most people do), you aren't caring for nonproductive birds for many years.

Quail are easy to butcher at home with almost no equipment- all you need is a hefty, sharp pair of kitchen shears, a 5g bucket (with or without a liner), and some ice water in a big bowl. No plucking, no scalding, no killing cones, nothing special for cleaning. They can be packed for freezing whole in vacuum sealed sleeves.

If you get or build rollout cages, the eggs gently roll to the front of the cage and "out" into the tray, where they can be picked up clean!

If you get or build wire-bottom cages, you don't technically have to buy bedding. Cost efficient! You can provide resting boards or have solid-bottom portions of the cage, and giving them a sand bath bin will be REALLY exciting for them.

Coturnix quail come in such a huge variety of color and patterns that you can surely find some type you like.

Both species can come with aggression issues- it takes FAR less time to breed it out of quail because they hit breeding age in a matter of weeks, not months.

The downside to quail is that most coturnix quail are not terribly cuddly. you might be able to imprint one (I did once, because my pigeons hatched him and then didn't like that, so I took Robert in), but the majority will just be cute look-don't-touch birds. They are FASCINATING to watch though, so it works out imo.

the downside to both species is. the roosters crow. terrible noises in both cases. I couldn't handle chicken roosters.

Anyway, I think that in all honesty, when MOST people are considering getting into chickens, what they ACTUALLY want is the experience of having quail. Small, cute, easy to handle/raise, genetic manipulation through generations of selective breeding easy to hatch, cute eggies. There's a LOT of people getting into chickens right now because they think it will be a solution to the expensive eggs in the supermarket, but it won't be. They'll end up spending more on the chickens than they ever would have on just getting eggs, and throw a stone in a chicken group on fb and you'll hit 17 people who have had horrific health issues related to parasites, illness, injury, predation, etc.

Meanwhile.... quail groups are largely chill and questions are usually about colors and feed/housing (since most of the problems are bad feeding habits or caging, or genetic issues).

#asks #chickens #quail #I kept chickens for like a decade #and I finally had to admit it just was not for me #Quail for me had a rough start with the quality of the birds I got #but once I corrected that.... I am having so much fun #the birds are SO cute #and they grow up so fast I don't have to deal with babies forever #they are SO much nicer #not that chickens are not great but I think you gotta REALLY be into it to do it well #and a lot of people get into it on a whim because chicks are cute #and then they turn into 3-8lb velociraptors and people are in over their heads #with waayyyyy too much invested to just give up so they spend a LOT of time and money trying to keep their heads above water

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fastandcarlos · 6 months ago

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On The Mend : ̗̀➛ Oscar Piastri

summary: with your lack of presence in the paddock, fans are starting to worry, little do they know that you happen to be a little broken back at home

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liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 849,183 others

oscarpiastri: another successful week of racing, super proud of the whole team to get the car all the way to P2 this weekend 🏆🏎️

35,058 comments

username1: congratulations oscar, such an awesome drive!!

username2: just a shame that yn wasn’t there to see it once again 🙄

landonorris: so proud of you osc 😭😭😭

username3: surely they can’t still be together, she hasn’t shown her face in weeks…

charles_leclerc: mum is very proud that the two of us were on the podium btw

oscarpiastri: @/charles_leclerc it was all thanks to her pep talk ofc

username4: we’ll still support you osc even if yn won’t

mclaren: the whole team is so proud of you, congratulations oscar!

username5: enjoy the celebrations, I’m sure the team will be there for you at least 🥲

danielricciardo: congrats brother, always nice to see you repping for down under

username6: either something must be seriously wrong or yn really just doesn’t care anymore 😭

maxverstappen1: hell of a drive from you, great to see you back where you belong!

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ynusername posted two private stories

replies

georgerussell63: thanks for reminding everyone I got a penalty yn 😂😂

oscarpiastri: make sure you’re resting, you don’t need to worry about the race sweetheart!!

ynusername: I’ve never missed a race of yours 😩

danielricciardo: why tf are you in hospital and why didn’t you tell me immediately so that I could help!!

nicolepiastri: sending you lots of love sweetheart, sorry we can’t be there to help you 💕

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oscarpiastri: I promise to sneak you in loads of snacks as soon as I’m there 💞

lilymhe: I miss you so much, hope you’re recovering well girlie

landonorris: he’s on the first flight outta here straight back to you 🧡

carmenmmundt: sending you all the healing vibes in the world ❤️

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liked by charles_leclerc, logansargeant and 812,948 others

oscarpiastri: wish me luck on the flight, some weird passenger keeps looking over their shoulder at me 👀

36,950 comments

username7: that poor pilot having to drive these two home lmao

danielricciardo: now you get to experience my struggle before you came along 😭

oscarpiastri: @/danielricciardo idk how you ever did it 🤦🏻

username8: at least oscar has lando to celebrate with even though others have abandoned him

alex_albon: why else do you think we offered to take you home on our plane instead?! 😂

username9: i wonder if he's going home to yn being there or not

charles_leclerc: you're incredibly brave volunteering to travel home with him 👏🏻

username10: yn should be there with him, i really hope that they're okay

username11: what would we do without these two in our lives!?

maxverstappen1: we tried to talk you out of it but you didn't listen 🤷🏻

username 12: i love how all the boys are exposing lando as a terrible travel partner hahah

landonorris: stop trying to make it sound like we're not bffs osc 💔

oscarpiastri: @/landonorris that's because we're definitely not best friends

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liked by landonorris, alex_albon and 793,722 others

oscarpiastri: seeing as some people want to make it their business, we thought we’d share why yn hasn’t been around recently. a couple of weeks ago she had a nasty fall at home which resulted in a broken leg. yesterday I finally got to bring her home and begin helping her with recovery…just call me doctor piastri from now on 🧑🏻‍⚕️💞

57,492 comments

username13: i hope all you losers who thought they broke up are proud of yourselves 🙄

landonorris: you guys know where i am if you need anything!!

georgerussel63: we love you yn, make sure you get plenty of rest ❤️❤️❤️

username14: sending you so much love yn, get plenty of rest

ynusername: apologies in advance for the lack of sleep you're about to get because of me 😂

oscarpiastri: @/ynusername as long as you're healing idc 🥹

username15: can't believe some of you were so stupid to ever think they'd actually break up

alex_albon: glad to see you're back at home where you belong yn

danielricciardo: do i even want to ask how she managed to break her leg??

oscarpiastri: @/danielricciardo if I told you I don't think you'd believe me 😂

username16: poor oscar looks exhausted having to drive and take care of yn too

charles_leclerc: pls tell me I get to sign the cast ✍️

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc i'll save a spot just for you

username17: please make sure you take care of yourself yn and ignore what everyone has to say

carmenmmundt: sending you so many healing vibes yn, we miss you at the paddock

username18: during a time when they need privacy and instead they've been hounded by nosey idiots 🤦🏻

maxverstappen1: can't wait to see all the doctor piastri content from you! 😂

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liked by georgerussell63, carlossainz55 and 682,058 others

oscarpiastri: the only way to get her out of the house atm is to bribe her with coffee ☕️

63,957 comments

username19: it's adorable how much oscar cares about her 🥰

lilymhe: tell her im omw with coffee as we speak to get her out again!

username20: it's so good to see yn back up on her feet and moving around again 🤩

alex_albon: i actually forgot what yn looked like stood upright for a moment

username21: why does it feel like oscar is one of those partners who is constantly checking on her making sure she's doing her exercises and following every single bit of advice

maxverstappen1: yn's injury is really making you look like the doting boyfriend rn ❤️

danielricciardo: if yn ever gets bored of being entertained on a walk by you, you know where i am!

username22: i bet yn can't wait for race weekend again to get rid of the nagging doctor 😂

landonorris: wish you looked after me as well as you look after yn

oscarpiastri: @/landonorris just a shame that we're not dating then really huh?!

username23: anyone else noticed how many drivers have been round this week to take yn out and make sure she's staying active too

username24: @/username23 i think she might just be the most popular wag on the grid

ynusername: i hate you but i love you at the same time these days 💞

oscarpiastri: @/ynusername if the doctor says you keep moving, it's my job to make you move 😂

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liked by landonorris, carmenmmundt and 59,491 others

ynusername: I always knew oscar was secretly boyfriend coded but damn having him look after me is making me fancy him all over again 🔥

12,056 comments

username25: i think i might've just fallen in love with him all over again too 😍

alexandrasaintmleux: make the most of all of the attention you're getting girl

ynusername: @/alexandrasaintmleux oh I am, he doesn't let me lift a finger 😘

username26: soft, doctor boyfriend oscar might just be my new favourite thing

charles_leclerc: if i see many more of these posts from you i might just need a sick bucket 🤮

username27: yn you really are the luckiest having this guy in your life

carlossainz55: i always knew he was a softie deep down 🥺

oscarpiastri: you know i'd do anything as long as it meant getting you better again

ynusername: @/oscarpiastri you're an angel in disguise i swear

username28: i'd break my leg too if it meant oscar piastri was there to look after me 😂

username29: it melts my heart to see how caring oscar has been over the past few weeks

danielricciardo: even i found myself getting a bit excited when i saw these photos yn

username30: everyone needs an oscar piastri in their life

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ynusername posted two stories

replies

landonorris: you're ruining oscar's image with every post you share these days 😂

oscarpiastri: there's nowhere else that I'd rather be

ynusername: we'll pretend you didn't complain that it wasn't race weekend first thing this morning shall we???

carmenmmundt: hope it's good news, lemme know how you get on!!

alex_albon: praying for you and hoping that it's the beginning of the end now 💕

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danielricciardo: thinking of you guys, tell the doctor if he doesn't give you good news i'll break his leg 💞

ynusername: something tells me you might find a few challenges in doing that hahah

georgerussell63: you're so strong yn, just remember we love you

charles_leclerc: the whole family is hoping for good news for you and oscar ❤️

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liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 70,238 others

ynusername: the moment i've waited for for so long, back in my second home of the garage and back supporting my love during race weekend

14,592 comments

username31: make sure you keep taking care of yourself yn!! 💕

oscarpiastri: cannot begin to tell you how happy i am to have you back with me again ☺️

ynusername: @/oscarpiastri the best feeling in the world being able to cheer you on again

danielricciardo: ik just how much this means to you, welcome back to us yn

username32: it's so good to see you right back where you belong again

username33: it feels like you've never been away, I'm so happy for you guys 🥹

charles_leclerc: on the mend at last, i hope you know just how many people can't wait to welcome you back this weekend

username34: we love our favourite #81 fan 🧡

iamrebeccad: i am hurrying over to that mclaren garage as fast as i possibly can rn ‼️

username35: so happy to see you back on your feet and back with our favourite duo again

username36: this is the content we've been waiting for, it's so good to see you back

landonorris: as much as i hate having to share oscar again, it's a joy to have you back 🙃

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˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

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rainrot4me · 8 months ago

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Eyeless Jack General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Jack as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw! Mentions of gore

Words: 2.3k

A/N: NSFW is reader with female anatomy.

Basic:

- The definition of nonchalant, doesn’t convey his emotions very well at all so he lets his actions do the talking.

- Even though he may put on a front of being calculated and detailed, everything he does is purely instinctual or off the top of his head. He’s never made great plans or thought further on a problem than he had to, relying solely on time or for everything to work itself out. Ben calls it ‘thuggin it out’. He may seem all cool, calm, and collected- but really, he just doesn’t care.

- Drives a brown 1989 Ford F-250. Found it discarded on some old hunting grounds and spent the next 3 years learning about truck parts just to fix it up. It’s nothing pretty and the A/C doesn’t work half the time, but that doesn't stop the proxies from either stealing it for missions or Jeff cruising it to gas stations.

- Loves his alone time. If ‘Do Not Disturb’ was a living being.

- Incredible sense of smell, a blessing and a curse.

- Even though he doesn’t really feel emotionally tied to anyone or reliant on anyone's attention, he would never pass up a good conversation with Jeff or Toby. Finds their problems interesting (and funny).

- Even though he doesn’t have any eyes, he can still see. How? Who even knows? The demon would describe it as more of a viewing like he can detail everything that’s happening, but he can’t physically see it. Cryptic stuff even he’s too dumb to figure out.

- Despite everything, probably the most upkeep and clean member of the mansion. While eating organs and harvesting them can be messy, he doesn’t like the grime and prefers to clean off as soon as he can. The same goes for his clothes and room/office. Surprisingly tidy.

- Not as smart as he likes to present himself. Sure, he’s a medical student with more experience than anyone in a 50-mile radius, but that doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing all of the time. Whenever the proxies roll in with serious injuries, the demon shoots them full of antibiotics, cauterizes the wound, and prays it doesn’t get worse from there. He knows what he’s doing, but that doesn’t mean he knows it’ll work 100% of the time.

- A silent panicker. Will absolutely tear his brain to shreds worrying or fighting with himself, but keep a stone look on his face the entire time. Gauging his emotions is like conversing with a brick wall.

- Dry humor. Absolutely will answer your long, emotional paragraph with a thumbs-up emoji.

- In some sick way, slightly prefers the life he’s living now. It may be grotesque and depressing, but his knowledge of the medical field and human bodies is infinitely more broad than it would’ve been. He quite enjoys the freedom he has now.

- Never happier than when winter is fizzling out and the first signs of spring show up. The warmth, the colors, the vibrancy coming back. He can’t get enough of it. Absolutely will get lost just studying the snow melting from the new flower beds.

- Locked in the basement of the mansion at all times. Only comes out to eat or on the rare occasion he’s assigned a mission. The only place he truly feels comfortable.

- Will get oddly emotional when light reflects on the lake just right or the fog settles on the ridge just perfectly. You’d never guess, but he’s a big poetic bum.

- Purrs. Like a cat. Ears flick around like one too.

- With music, he’s a big lyric listener. The song could sound absolutely terrible, but as long as he resonates with the words, will enjoy it anyway.

- Unorganized organization freak. Everything has a place, even if you don’t know where that place is.

- Seriously underestimates just how overtowering he is. He’s nowhere near Slender’s height, but the demon easily doubles in the average human’s vertical. When he was human he was taller, but never like this. He’s still getting used to it.

- Lanky but quick. Limbs and features are longer, but the muscle index makes up for it. He’s seriously fit, but everything is evenly distributed. Serious muscle definition in his arms and back, though. What he lacks in strength, he makes up in speed and agility.

- Enjoys Radiohead, Cigarettes After Sex, Paramore, and Three Days Grace. Will also never admit it, but really enjoy the Twilight soundtracks.

Dating Him/SFW:

“My pet…” “Little thing…” “Pretty thing…”

- Gift-giving love language. Loves to make you things unexpectedly and watch the surprise on your face. Steals jewelry or clothing from his victims to gift to you.

- It takes a lot for the demon to even consider you a friend let alone a potential love interest. But you best believe once he’s decided he wants you, that’s it. You take precedent, anything and everything else in his life takes a step back and you become the focal point. Heaven help if you ever change your mind about him.

- “My pretty thing… my lovely little pet… all mine…”

- Physically can not get enough of your smell. Whether it be sweet or sour, whatever emotion you dwell in, this demon will bury his nose into the crook of your neck and waste away there. It’s intoxicating to him, like an emotional tie he’s bound to.

- Like to study you. Your movements, your voice, the way you react to certain stimuli. Everything about you and your personality just intrigues him to no end.

- Possessive in the, ‘If they look at you, I’ll kill them’ way, but also is sure enough in himself and you to know he doesn’t need to go that far. Would rather lock you away for only him to see, but respects you too much.

- Has a deep-rooted fear of hurting you, so any fight or disagreement turns him distant. He’ll come back eventually, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be comfortable enough to get all touchy-feely again just yet.

- A lot like Edward from Twilight, he wants to taste you the most. It’s seriously a bad habit to nip at your skin or get lost in your scent because he knows how easy it would be just to take a chunk out of you. Has to be very aware and cautious of himself.

- Even though it took a long time for him to be comfortable enough to take his mask off around you, he still gets wildly conscious about it whenever you’re around. Loves nothing more than when you’re caressing his face or kissing his skin because he knows it's genuine.

- For a cannibal, he’s an insanely good cook. Will only cook for you, however. He says it's out of love, but really he knows deep down he wants to control what you eat so you have good organ health. You best believe he’ll have you hitting those core diet needs.

- Doesn’t sleep often, but when he does it's for long periods. The problem is, he likes to completely swallow you with his body and wrap around you, keeping you there until he eventually wakes up. Really enjoys the body heat you provide. Lowkey a small spoon.

- Slouches to your height.

- His favorite time is after a long day, curling up in a big chair with a book and you in his lap. You cocoon in his arms as he leans back, a blanket draped over the two of you. He’s naturally cold-blooded so he would stay there forever if he could.

- “You smell so good, pet… So good…”

- Talks in short, mumbled sentences. The mansion residents started using you as a translator because he would only say more than 3 words at a time around you.

- Absolutely never cared about how he looked before you. You taught him decent clothing styles and now he rocks the ‘dark academia/soft boy’ aesthetic like a champ.

- Made you your own special corner in his lab just because he couldn’t deal with having to be away while working.

- An intense kisser. It’s never soft pecks but full-on mouth-consuming makeouts. He’s a hungry guy who can only be satisfied if he feels like he’s swallowed enough of your tongue and lips with his own. Your lips and chin are absolutely soaked with slobber afterward.

- Firm believer in carrying you. No matter where or how far, he likes to bridal-style haul you around or have you latch onto his back.

- “I could eat you up. Just kidding… yeah…”

- Goes ridiculously insane when he can see the chubbiness on your thighs or stomach. You sitting down or lying out, you best believe he is fighting every demon internally not to take a massive bite on your skin.

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Again, skin. No better than a man during the dark times when you flash just a little too much leg or abdomen. He’s on you in seconds and clawing your clothes off to see more.

- You will never leave an encounter without cum dripping out of you. Refuses to get off anywhere else but deep inside of one of your holes. Call it a breeding kink but his animalistic tendencies just won’t let him pull out. Grunting and panting against your nape as he slams inside as far as he can to keep you from squirming away

- “You can take it, I know you can… Need you full of me… All of me…”

- A greedy kisser. Grabbing your jaw and fucking his tongues into the warm wetness of your mouth, teasing to just push them further past the tightness of your throat. Even when you squirm and gag, he just pushes them deeper, testing your resolve.

- You reach your breaking point longggg before he does. A couple of orgasms deep and he hasn’t even put his cock in yet, just milking your body for all it’s worth. It may be because he has a high sex drive, but it’s mainly because he gets off best when you’re pliable and numb to his touch. It’s a domination thing.

- A pussy worshiper. Much like his adoration for any organ, he really appreciates all of his knowledge of the female anatomy and how good he is at eating you out. If he can, or if you can take it, he’ll press all three of his tongues deep inside and spread your plush walls to his content. Likes to swap between focusing on your cunt and your clit, but mainly both at once.

- Bite marks galore. Has to be careful with how much blood he draws, but you’ll never get by without at least one good bite mark on your shoulder. Likes to possessively mark you all over just for others to see. Same feeling with claw marks.

- There’s some cognitive switch in his brain that flips when he gets to a certain point of desperation, like after not seeing you for a long period or after a particularly difficult day. It’s like a starved creature hungry and desperate for anything. He’ll ravage your body and mind, fucking you both to pure exhaustion or until he physically can’t cum anymore.

- On that note, ruts. They’re seasonal, usually coming around the first two weeks of spring and fall. He can’t control when they show up, but once started, they usually last 3 to 4 days, each day getting less intense. Since it’s such an animalistic ordeal, he loses all restraint or moral compass on how to treat you. Bites, blood, wounds, and injury are all possible. They’re not intentional, but he physically cannot control his mental or physical, blinded completely by lust. Thank god his sperm isn’t compatible with human anatomy, because that’s the only place he’ll cum.

- “I’m sorry- sorry, pet- Just one more time- just one more- Fuck- I promise-”

- Both ankles wrapped in one claw. Two claws overlapping around your waist. Yeah…

- Starts slow, so achingly slow you want to rut your hips and get him deeper. He likes the feeling of entering you, of spreading your plush cunt around his cock and finding its home deep inside. He’ll get faster eventually, but for now, he just wants to drink up the sights and smells of your desperation. That first gasp gets him every time.

- Mating press or nothing else. If you want to try something new, he’ll happily oblige, but the only way he’s truly happy is if your legs are pushed back to your shoulders and his hips are slamming down into yours. He’ll take the occasional doggy style, but only if his teeth are latched on to the back of your neck and holding you docile.

- Could watch your face come undone all day. Loves to see your eyes roll when you come, or the sweat and tears dripping off your cheeks. The dark flush of your skin gets him so hungry he has to physically restrain himself.

- “You’re so gorgeous- so fuckin’ pretty- Ah- Look at me. C’mon, don’t get shy now…”

- One time, after a particularly messy organ harvest, he couldn’t wait to get to you. He was so livid, body practically shaking with excitement when he snuck into your room that he didn’t even have time to clean himself off. Blood (not yours) stained your sheets and skin, messy claws dragging across your stomach and chest to coat you in dark red, his tongues quick to shoot out and lap at the stuff. You, covered in blood and his mess, sent him spinning. That was the fastest he’s ever came.

- Growling, panting, snarling, huffing, chittering, teeth gnashing, LOUD ASF

- Has a size thing. Comparing your hand to his makes him so horny and eager to just pick you up and fuck you. Admires how small and easy you are to just throw around like a doll.

- Absolutely has had sick fantasies of fucking your organs like a fleshlight. He’d never tell you, but the thought of cutting a slit in your abdomen to push his cock into the tangle of intestines and muscles makes him drool. He can almost imagine how warm it would be.

- Gets a high when you squirt. Feels accomplished to be covered in your juices and having you completely ruined for anyone but him.

- “You can take it for me, yeah? Go ahead and make a mess… It’s alright…”

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

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falling-endlessly · 1 year ago

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The Finer Things in Death

Alastor x Soulmate!Female!Reader

Summary: An AU where your soulmate's first words to you are tattooed on your body in their handwriting.

Oh dear, where's your smile?

You knew those words by heart. Could recite them backwards, in your sleep even. Those damning words have been inscribed on the inside of your ankle for as long as you could remember, the elegant cursive strokes poking out of your shoe line.

In theory, somewhere, someone else was supposed to be sporting your own neat, boxy handwriting. You'd say you lucked out with yours. Some soul marks were less than pleasant, and others were downright embarrassing (imagine having the words move, asshole written on your stomach for the rest of your life. No thank you).

At least your soulmate was trying to cheer you up, right?

Yeah, but there was just one teeny, tiny problem.

Your soulmate was dead. Long dead actually.

Were they stillborn? Did their toddler self die in a house fire or something? Night after night you laid awake in your bed, pondering what the hell could have possibly happened to have altered the entire course of fate.

All you really knew was that your soul mark was a light gray (indicating a severed bond) instead of the usual inky black, and it had been since the day you were born. Everyone was in shock to see the faint words on your little ankle. After all, how could a soul mark exist if the other person wasn't even alive to speak those words into existence?

Simply put, you were a conundrum, and it had been some time since you had dedicated effort into figuring out why? You'd accepted it. Your soulmate was dead. Life went on.

Besides, you'd spent enough time grieving over someone you'd never met before.

Your lifestyle was not extravagant by any means, but it was comfortable. You had a steady income, lived on your own in an apartment in the city, and survived off of more than ramen bowls. Every day you would come home and read in your little fluffy alcove that you'd built yourself by your window, or pop open a bag of chips (and the occasional bottle of wine, if you were feeling fancy) while you watched the latest crime show releases from your couch.

Yes, so comfortable was your little routine, that you didn't notice the robbery happening in the convenience store you were browsing in, or the stray bullet coming for your head until it was too late. Your skull exploded in a world of pain, eyes rolling back as your body crumpled to the ground.

Dying was an interesting experience, to say the least. Your soul floated from your body, the final notes of music that blasted from your earphones fading into nothingness like the sound of a car driving away.

There was a brief moment where you were struck numb, hovering in the air as you stared down at your glassy eyed corpse, blood pooling alarmingly from the circular shaped hole in your head. You heard screams of the other customers behind you, but they were kind of muffled, like you were underwater.

It didn't last long though, because before you knew what was happening, you felt an almighty tug downwards, like an anchor had just chained itself to your stomach.

And that was how you ended up in hell. Fun. What were you here for? You had no idea. Maybe God got mad that your teenage self stole a few packs of gummy bears in high school. But a life of eternal damnation and suffering seemed a little harsh, didn't it?

Before you could contemplate the semantics of it though, something...strange happened. Your ankle, right where you'd tried countless times to forget your soul mark existed, was burning like a fucking brand.

You hissed sharply in pain, frantically pulling down your sock to assess the damage. Was the eternal punishment starting already or something? Shit, you had terrible pain tolerance.

But what you saw made you gasp. In fact, you could hardly believe your eyes.

Because in the place of your faded grey soul mark, the letters had been reinvigorated, darkened with a swift hand and—glowing they were glowing holy shit.

"Hah," you huffed in disbelief, shaking your head slowly. "So that was it, huh? I was destined to meet my shitty soulmate in hell this whole fucking time?" You punctuated the last words with a few angry kicks to an unassuming patch of weeds. What a cosmic joke at your existence.

But, like you always did in shitty situations, you gathered all of your raging emotions, stuffed them tightly in a box at the back of your mind, and cooled your head. Freaking out in this place would do you no good.

Turned out hell was pretty much like the world you'd left, except for the fact that you could kill someone on the street and nobody would bat an eye. Like all of the depraved aspects of humanity were on full display now in a somehow still functioning society.

You managed to snag a job at an old record store, the owner giving you one look before grunting and gesturing to the register—but not before lifting his jacket to show you the long assault riffle strapped across his chest. Yeesh, you got the message.

It wasn't a bad job by any means, especially considering where you were. Sure a little boring and monotonous, but you'd restock thousands of old albums if it meant staying away from the overlords.

Oh, yeah, another thing. Overlords were like the big shots around hell. Messing with them usually meant a death sentence, or worse, a contract.

And if there was anything at all that you picked up from all those nights of watching television, it was that you do not make deals with the devil. Really, elementary level shit. And you'd never actually seen Lucifer, mind you, but these demons were probably a close second, right?

Yeah, so really, you were just living a shittier variant of your life on earth it seemed. Repetitive, safe and comforting. You were even starting to like the scent of musty cardboard, as weird as that was.

And once again, all thoughts of your soulmate slipped your mind.

Until one day, when everything went to shit.

****

It started like this: with the sad sight of your empty fridge.

You groaned, dragging a tired hand down your face. Seriously? You thought you'd restocked already, damn it.

Your stomach growled achingly, and you sighed, wondering if you'd actually die again if you starved yourself. Begrudgingly, you decided that you didn't really want to chance it, throwing on the first set of clothes that you saw and slipping out of your dingy apartment to make a quick grocery run.

You generally hated leaving your apartment, and didn't do so except to retrieve bare necessities or walk across the block to go to work.

Why? Well, see exhibit A to your left: some poor, random demon screeching and running around on fire. See exhibit B to your right: a turf war between two rival gangs. And finally how could you forget, cannibal colony, slurping up intestines like bloody, chunky spaghetti. Disgusting.

The worst thing about hell wasn't the fact that you were in hell, it was the fact that the worst of the worst people were all cramped together like some fucked up refugee camp, and some people were significantly worse than others. Which sucked, for the poor unfortunate souls just trying to get by. Like you.

You sighed, ducking under a stray stream of bullets (you weren't falling for that shit twice) and side stepping pools of blood and guts. Just a regular Monday morning in hell. God damn it.

It seemed luck wasn't on your side though, because an ugly, dog-headed demon blocked your path, sneering down at you smugly. "Hey bitch, it's your lucky day. The big boss is hiring, and you fit the profile."

You clenched your grocery bags in a white-knuckled grip. Nobody would give a flying fuck if you were dragged off of the street in broad daylight. "Not interested."

"Oh it wasn't a suggestion," he chuckled darkly. You tensed as you were surrounded by at least four other demons. Shit, you knew you should have slept in.

"You like apples?" You nodded sharply at the demon in charge.

His face twisted in annoyance. "Why the fuck do y—"

You reached into your bag, before hurling a granny smith straight at his forehead. He yelped as it made contact, stumbling back as he shook his head in confusion. While everyone was still in shock from your weapon of choice, you shoved your way out of the circle, gunning it straight down the street because your second life did depend on it.

"Get her!" You heard a yell of absolute rage, making you shiver. Fuck, that did not sound promising. That apple must have really pissed him off.

Putting your limited aerobics to use, you ducked, dodged and lunged through the crowd like a pro. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, air burning your lungs as you pumped your legs faster. But of course, your grocery bag ripped open, sending all of your food tumbling and you by extension, tripping and face planting in the dirt rather pathetically.

A meaty hand gripped a handful of your hair, yanking it up harshly. You cried out as he pulled, hands uselessly trying to smack his away, but his hold only tightened. A liquor-filled breath and cheap cologne invaded your senses, making you cough.

"Uppity bitch," he growled, giving your scalp a painful yank for good measure. "You actually thought you could get away? Maybe I should teach you a lesson, huh? Sample the goods."

You froze, every nerve in your body going cold. So far in your stay in hell, you'd managed to avoid the more depraved souls here. You kept your head down, didn't draw attention to yourself, and were mostly left alone. Looked like today, your luck had finally run out.

"Get the hell off of me!" You spat, twisting around vehemently, only for your head to snap to the side as you were harshly backhanded.

"Stop your fucking whining and stay still!" He snapped, narrowing his eyes.

You bared your teeth, snapping at him aggressively.

A round of mocking chuckles went around the group of your kidnappers, the one holding your hair giving you a wicked grin. "Shit, that was cute. Really—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, because his head exploded. Literally exploded, blood and brain matter dripping from your face. His hand went slack, dropping you on your wobbling knees.

Everyone was silent for a second, staring at the bloody mess where the demon was standing two seconds prior.

And that was when you heard it. Static. Loud, crackling and ominous.

Your mouth went dry. Shit. Shitty shit shit. You knew what that meant. How could you not? The asshole broadcasted his killings all over hell like a fucking psychopath. And now, it was your turn to become hell's gory entertainment. Fan-fucking-tastic.

You stood frozen, breath stuck in your throat as dark, menacing tendrils slowly curled along the walls. A large, grinning shadow rounded the corner, before the culprit himself stalked into view, razor sharp teeth on display as he tilted his head. "Oh," his grin widened. "Am I interrupting?"

"N-No man," one of the braver demons stuttered, taking a step back. "You can have her—"

Splat.

You turned slowly to face the bloody wall, eyes wide in disbelief.

"How distasteful," the radio demon shook his head. "As if I'd participate in your brainless thuggery. No, no. Unlike you gentlemen, I have class. Truly," his eyes lit up like glowing radio dials, a dark shadowy mass rising behind him as his antlers branched out like a gnarled, rotten tree. "Did your mother never teach you any manners?"

Faster than you could blink, the demons around you were reduced to blood, cartilage and splintered bone. The overwhelming irony scent made you want to gag, but you didn't dare move a muscle, eyes fixated on the terrifying sight before you.

When the radio demon noticed your staring, his smile sharpened, antlers shrinking as he leisurely approached you. Oh no. Nononono.

You struggled to keep from hyperventilating, your body going into shock as he leaned into your personal space. Two bloody fingers pushed into your cheeks, forcing your mouth into a morbid, artificial smile. "Oh dear," he tutted in amusement. "Where's your smile?"

You jerked back violently, eyes wide as icy cold realization washed over you. Dread squeezed your lungs as you stared at the grinning, bloody figure of your soulmate in horror.

The radio demon. Psychopath and mass murderer.

Your soulmate.

What the FUCK.

"T-This," your voice shook. "This is not happening."

There was a sudden screech of radio static, before his own eyes widened. Shit. "What," he said sharply. "Did you just say?"

"A-Ah," you trembled, leaning back. Every single nerve in your body was alight, screaming at you to get the ever-loving fuck away from him. In what was probably the stupidest and most desperate plan of your life, you pointed over his shoulder fearfully. "Look! Another one!"

As soon as he turned his head, you bolted down the street.

****

You slammed your front door closed behind you, double—triple checking your lock before sliding down to the floor in a panting mess.

Immediately you grew paranoid. What the fuck were you thinking? A lock wouldn't keep the radio demon out. You needed fifty more locks and ten more doors. You needed to barricade yourself inside for the next month. You needed—

"Hello there!" An exuberant voice chirped.

You screamed, throwing the first thing you could grab in his direction. He caught the house slipper, inspecting it in amusement, before tossing it over his shoulder.

"My, did I scare you sweetheart? Apologies," he grinned smugly, relaxing in your recliner with a mug of coffee. Your favorite mug.

You blinked. What the fuck?

"What are you doing in my house?" You squeaked, fingers digging into your welcome mat.

"Oh dear, allow me to introduce myself," he set the mug down on your coffee table, leisurely rising from the couch and offering a hand. "I'm Alastor! A pleasure to be meeting you sweetheart, quite a pleasure."

You didn't take his hand, instead choosing to gape at him like a dead fish.

He retracted his hand, tilting his head with a shit-eating grin. Twirling his cane, he continued like there wasn't just an awkward and terrifying pause. "I hope you don't mind that I followed you! You see, I believe our conversation was cut a bit...short." His eyes glowed as unidentifiable symbols floated in the air around him.

As quickly as they appeared however, they disappeared like they were never there. Jesus Christ, this man was giving you emotional whiplash. "Anywho!" He perked up again, ever the charming grin on his face. "Enough about me! I've yet to catch your name, darling."

Fuck. You really didn't want to give him your name.

But before you could open your mouth, he leaned closer to you, grin widening ominously. "I hope you're not thinking of lying, my dear. I must say, I'm not very fond of that quality."

"Y-Y/n!" You said quickly, raising your hands to shield your face.

There was a slight pause, before a gentle touch swiped at your cheek, retracting after a moment. You peeked your eye open, only to become vaguely ill at the sight.

"You had a little something on your face," he chuckled in amusement, holding out a clump of brain matter. With a swift flick, it was magicked away.

"What do you want?" You whimpered, overwhelmed with the entire situation.

"Oh dear, is it really that strange for me to want to get to know my soulmate?" He tilted his head, leaning towards you uncomfortably close.

"Y-Yes, actually," you stuttered, trying to look anywhere but his prominent red eyes. "I thought you'd do something more along the lines of...killing and eating me." You shrunk back as his grin widened. "Please don't eat me."

"How morbid, I would never!" He waved it away, like the idea was preposterous. "My word! What awful rumors you've been hearing about me!"

"You frequent cannibal colony and I just saw you tear apart six demons like they were freshly baked bread," you stared at him incredulously. "What hasn't been spot on?"

He paused, before giving you a humoring chuckle. "Well it seems your impression of me needs correcting!" Before you knew what was happening, nimble fingers encircled your wrist, pulling it forward gently. He pressed warm lips to the back of your hand, before giving you a charming grin. "Enchanté, ma chère."

You blinked, breath stuck in your throat. "What—What does that mean?"

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about it!" He gently set your hand down, before pinching your cheek condescendingly. "Well my dear, I'm afraid I have other responsibilities I must attend to!"

He stood up with a flourish, leaning on his microphone cane as he smirked at you. "Not to worry!" He snapped his fingers, and a slim, feminine shadow emerged from the ground. "Missy here will watch over you in my stead."

"What? No, I—"

"I'll be back before you know it!" He offered a chilling smile, before melting into a puddle of shadows.

You gaped at the spot where he once stood, trying to process what the actual fuck just happened. Your gaze slid over to the feminine looking shadow, still standing in the corner of your living room. She grinned at your attention, teeth sharpened.

You closed your eyes, head thumping back against your door in exhaustion.

"I'm so fucked."

****

Enchanté, ma chère : Charmed, my dear

#hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin #radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor x oc #alastor x ofc #alastor x original female character #hell #hazbin alastor #alastor being a menace #alastor being alastor

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sushirrrry · 14 days ago

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TRACE a harry styles x original character one-shot word count: 7,785 cw: this is the fluffiest thing I've ever written, but harry is very hot summary: a shy writer commissions a tattoo from an artist who is way too hot to handle; she can’t stop staring at his hands while he works. and, he notices quite quickly. tag list: @gotdrxnkonu @mads3502 @mellamolayla reply to this story if you would like to be added to the tag list in the future! enjoy, and let my know what you think <3 home - send me a message - masterlist

When something got into Lily’s head, it stayed there. It stayed there for a long while, and even though Lily had no intention of really ever getting a tattoo, something about the idea felt like a step forward. Lily had trouble with decision making; while that was a terrible quality for permanently inking skin, it had grossly taken over her brain that she just wanted to do something different.

All of her friends – the two that were the closest, really – had tattoos, a few actually. She didn’t want to just be like them, but she wanted to fit in, in a way. She wanted to be able to share experiences with people, even if it were in small ways that were her own decisions. While indecisive, she knew that she could at least say that she made the decision to walk through the front doors of a tattoo shop and ask for something that she wanted.

Or, at least, get their opinion on it first.

The bell above the door chimed, a soft, musical sound that echoed through the quiet shop. The décor caught her eye first – lots of art deco, prints on the walls, a leather couch that could have easily stepped out of 1970. Lily stepped inside, heart thudding hard enough she could hear it in her ears – she had been noticed by the girl at the front desk now, so she couldn’t just leave.

The air was thick with the scent of ink, leather, and something smoky-sweet that made the place feel untouchably cool. It was the kind of cool that lived in the margins of a life she didn’t know how to be part of, but she was trying her best.

Her fingers tightened around the crumpled piece of paper she carried; it had a few quotes that she’d picked weeks ago but hadn’t had the nerve to act on until now. They were all quotes from her favorite works, but she didn’t know where one would fit best, or where it would fit best.

The shop was dimly lit, but cozy. Exposed brick walls were plastered with art: flashes of color, delicate lines, portraits that seemed almost alive. A soft buzzing sound came from a back room, like a needle whispering against skin. It was sharp and delicate, and she appreciated the artistic value that these works of art held. Lily shuffled forward, swallowing hard as she approached the front desk.

Behind the front desk sat a woman with dark hair that sat on her shoulders, bangs higher on her forehead, and tattoos trailing up both arms like ivy. Her neck was inked with blues and oranges, delicate flower pieces that she could tell had beautiful delicacy. She looked up from her half-finished crossword puzzle, and her mouth pulled into a slow, warm smile — the kind that said, I see you, and it’s okay.

“Hi there,” She greeted, setting down her book. “Are you here for an appointment with someone?”

Lily swallowed, clearing her throat as she gave her best, confident smile back. “Oh – um, no I don’t have an appointment actually,” Her hands held the piece of her paper before she approached the desk, “Do I need an appointment?”

The woman shook her head with a smile, “You don’t need one, we do walk-ins. Do you have a design in mind?”

Lily raised her brows, “Um, yes. I do,” She placed the quotes on the desk for the woman to look at; she had chewed her gum a bit as she nodded.

“A quote is super easy – we can definitely get you in today. We only have one artist here today, so we’ll have to have him draw something up for you. Is this your first tattoo?" The woman asked, tapping her pen against the desk in rhythm with the low thump of music playing somewhere deeper in the shop.

Lily nodded, cheeks burning. She hated how obvious her nerves always were.

The woman leaned in a little, her voice lowering like they were sharing a secret. "No worries, love. You're in good hands here. Everyone has to do something for the first time every once in a while. I’m Kaila, by the way.” She stuck out her hand to help ease Lily’s nerves a bit.

“I’m Lily.” Lily answered, shaking Kaila’s hand before feeling a bit of relief from her prior anxiety. She still felt the rumbling of her heart against her chest, but it had started to ease.

“Well, Lily, I think,” Kaila checked behind herself, neck stretching to see behind the curtain where the sound of the tattoo gun was coming from. “I think we have our artist finishing up here in a minute. Let me check.”

Before Lily could even think to protest, the woman disappeared behind a beaded curtain that rattled softly in her wake. A few voices were heard – a deep, low voice came from that direction before Lily saw Kaila reappear from behind the curtain.

“He’s finishing up in a minute, so you’re welcome to have a seat. Here,” She handed Lily a large book, “Try and see if any fonts jump out at you while you wait.”

With a nod, Lily took the book in her hands before going to sit on the sofa. She had tried to steady her breathing, focusing on the drawings pinned to the wall — intricate vines curling around skeletal hands, bold quotes stitched into roses. She perused through the pages of the book, calligraphy of many sizes and curves. She bit her lip, feeling a bit overwhelmed with that decision. She was halfway through convincing herself to just leave when she heard a low, amused voice.

“Come back in a week or so, we’ll let that heal for a bit. Kaila will get you on my book,” Two men approached from behind the curtain; one had significantly shorter hair that had streaks of blue through bleach. It was so much more alternative than Lily could pull off, surely. His arms were coated in colorful ink and a bandage that coated the inside of his left arm.

The other man had shaggy brown hair, tortoiseshell glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose that held a small silver hoop. He was tall, had a short button-down shirt that held a checkered pattern, a tighter white t-shirt sat underneath it. The jeans sat on his hips with a baggie fashion, the Converse on his feet were filthy and worn to the point of unfathomability.

He was downright beautiful in a way that Lily should have run.

“It’s going to look so sick when it’s finished,” The brown-haired man told Kaila with a smirk. He joined Kaila behind the desk while she took the other man’s payment and got another appointment. Lily had been staring at the interactions, trying not to be obvious as she kept flipping through the book.

In a moment of staring, her eyes reached up to see that Kaila bumped the man with her shoulder, nodding her head towards Lily with a smirk. The man’s attention drew to her; Lily didn’t know what to do but smile back.

"You must be Lily."

She stood from her spot on the sofa, and the breath she'd been trying to catch abandoned her completely.

The man standing there looked like every fictional bad boy she'd ever secretly fallen in love with between the pages of her books. He was a vision of sorts. His messy, dark hair fell into his green eyes, which crinkled slightly at the corners like he laughed more than he should. The tattoos crawled up his forearms in swirling black ink, disappearing beneath the sleeves of the button down that covered muscles that flexed when he pushed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. And the way he looked at her — like he already knew she was nervous, and found it almost unbearably charming — made something in Lily's chest twist hard.

"I’m Harry," he said, his voice rough and lazy, the kind of voice made for midnight conversations and whispered secrets. He reached a hand out for a shake greeting, to which Lily reciprocated. The only thing she could do was smile back, barely able to form a word.

Lily swallowed, feeling her own pulse against her throat. She nodded, too flustered to trust her voice yet. Harry made his way back to the desk where Kaila stood, Lily followed.

“So, Lily,” Harry said, dragging his knuckles lightly across the counter as he leaned in; Lily took note of the way that his arms were coated with ink, each one telling a different story of a different time, she was sure. “Tell me about this tattoo, then.”

His mouth tugged into a slow, crooked grin, like he already knew she’d stammer her way through it.

Lily unfolded the paper with shaking fingers, offering it like a peace treaty as she slid it across the counter. Harry’s head turned slightly to be able to read some of the words on it.

“I… um, they’re quotes,” she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes, even though, in her mind, she was already completely in way over her head. “One’s from Jane Eyre - it’s, ‘Conventionality is not morality’, and then I have this Oscar Wilde quote, 'All art is quite useless’ which I just think is quite on-the-nose,” Her voice wobbled as she kept talking, making eye contact with him every so often to make sure that he was engaged.

“Oh, and then this one, from Anna Karenina, 'Yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking’. I think it’s just beautiful. I’m just not sure where I want it yet - or which one I want, I guess. I only want one.”

Harry took the paper from her, his fingers brushing hers — warm, calloused. He had marks on his knuckles, some scrapes, she could tell. Lily’s stomach flipped at the interaction, but she took in a deep breath to try and even out her breath.

He scanned the quotes, his brow furrowing slightly in thought, then lifted his gaze back to hers, softer now, like he understood more than he let on.

“We can take our time figuring it out,” he said, voice low. “That’s the best part.”

He rounded the counter, moving with a lazy kind of grace that made her toes curl in her boots. He stood close, leaning against the front desk as he studied the paper closely. He was close enough that she could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the tiny silver ring in his left ear.

“The decision on where to put it is mostly about if you want it somewhere only you can see, maybe,” Harry murmured, his voice dipping lower, sending a shiver down her spine as she thought of him seeing it. Of him painting it on her. “Or somewhere you can show it off, if you want the world to know you’re braver than you look.”

From behind the desk, Kaila watched the interaction and the way he spoke to her, a satisfied smirk tugging at her mouth as she picked up her crossword again.

Meanwhile, Lily felt her entire face heat, but her feet stayed planted. She couldn’t look away from Harry if she tried. “I-I’m down for whatever, really. I just – um.” She cleared her throat, fingers playing with her bottom lip as she tried to think about his suggestions. Harry tilted his head, studying her like she was something delicate and fascinating, like he didn’t want to rush and risk breaking the moment.

"Here’s what we’ll do," he said, voice almost a purr. "I'll draw up a sketch so you can see it on you. No ink yet, just a little marker. It'll help you picture it."

Lily opened her mouth to say something — to agree, to flee, she wasn’t sure — but the words caught somewhere behind the pounding of her heart. Harry smiled like he already had his answer. He took the piece of paper that she had crumbled and written on.

"Come on back," he said, jerking his head toward the beaded curtain, where a tall leather chair sat against the wall, His hand brushed lightly against the small of her back as he led her over — a barely-there touch that made her skin tingle under her sweater.

She perched on the edge of the seat, feeling like a statue — awkward and frozen, almost like she was at the doctor’s office— as Harry grabbed a very fine-tipped marker from a nearby tray. He popped the cap off with his teeth, tossing it aside with a lazy flick of his wrist.

“Do you have a kind of an idea of what you want it to look like?” He sat on a chair next to her, a notebook in his hand as he sat the piece of paper on the notebook for reference. Before she could answer he had already started a freehand sketch of the design.

“Um, I think just more of a pretty font,” She nodded, crossing her ankles. “Maybe more of a like,” She shrugged, “Softer?”

Harry nodded, which let a piece of his hair fall over his glasses. “Just letting you know that I actually like the Anna Karenina quote the best. Don’t make that decision based on me, though. It’s your body.”

“Any reason?” Lily found herself asking, feeling that it was a bit bold of her to even create an open conversation.

Harry shrugged, with a smirk that revealed a dimple in his right cheek. “Guess no reason. It would make a boyfriend happy to see his girl wearing a quote like that, I think. It would be a good nod to a good love.”

Lily felt her cheeks flush a heat that made her shake her head. “I-I don’t – uh, there’s no boyfriend.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep the smile from revealing on his face before he looked up from his notebook. “Good to know,” He shrugged then, “I think it’s the most poetic. Any reason you want a quote before a drawn art?”

Lily licked her lips, “I’m a writer, and I think having written works on me is like – I don’t know. It makes sense to me.”

With a nod, Harry understood it. “I get that, same with me and drawn art, I guess. Makes sense to me.”

Lily watched his continue to draw on the notebook for another moment before he seemed satisfied with how he had finished it. He sniffled, scrunching his nose before he lifted his head.

"Mind if I...?" he asked, gesturing vaguely to her arm. “Do you have anything on under the sweater? Or you can roll it up if it’s more comfortable.”

Lily took in a breath as she shook her head, as if it was stupid to wear the most clothes to a place where she needed to show skin. "Oh, yeah, of course.” Instead, she threw the sweater over her head, leaving her in a plain white t-shirt. A flush of her skin came back in a rush when she realized that she hadn’t put on a bra, leaving her a bit more intimate than she had intended.

She hadn’t thought this far – how stupid could she have been.

Instead of overthinking it now, she offered her forearm like it was some kind of ancient, sacred ritual.

“Just going to touch you,” He smirked, “Know that goes without saying, but I just want you to know that you can tell me to stop or let go whenever – sometimes people think they can’t do that, but just letting you know… you can.”

Harry’s fingers wrapped gently around her wrist, his touch firm but somehow careful, like he could feel the way her pulse raced under her skin, she was sure of it. Slowly, he pressed the tip of the marker to the inside of her forearm, right where the skin was soft and sensitive; Lily breathed out at the unfamiliar touch. His other hand steadied her, thumb brushing in slow, absent circles against her skin.

"Here’s one idea," he murmured, voice low and private. "Something you can glance at whenever you need it. Something just for you, but for everyone too."

Lily's breath caught as he sketched a delicate curve of letters along her skin, his hand feather-light, almost reverent.

Then, without warning, he lifted his hand to let his thumb touch her collarbone with a slight rub motion. The rest of his fingers grazed over her shoulder.

"Could go here too," he said, his knuckles grazing the edge of her shoulder. "Something that peeks out when you wear a wide neckline, if that you’re thing. A bit teasing."

The word teasing hung heavy between them, almost like he noticed the fact that her nipples were practically on display for the world. He didn’t make it known that he was catching glimpses, but maybe he was quite more of a gentleman than that.

Harry's eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, the air between them snapped tight like a wire. His hand was still at her shoulder, his thumb now resting on her skin like he hadn’t had any reason to let go.

Lily's skin burned under his touch. She swore he could hear her heart pounding.

"And then there's always..." His voice dropped even lower, tougher, more dangerous. He let his fingers trace — just barely — along the outside of her ribs, not quite touching, more of a whisper of suggestion. "...somewhere a little more private, if that’s your thing.”

Her breath hitched audibly; she flinched just a bit even though he hadn’t touched her. The smirk on his face was bitten back as he shook his head.

Harry grinned, wicked and beautiful, then. "No pressure," He said, sitting back as he ran his fingers to push his hair back but slowly, like he wanted her to feel every second of the space he left behind. "Just giving you options."

She swallowed hard, trying to understand the understated feeling of tension that laid between them. It was almost like he had the charisma of a movie star, but she knew that she shouldn’t feel special. Men like Harry didn’t look at girls like Lily.

"Maybe...” She managed, her voice barely above a whisper as she felt the way that her own hand ran her thumb over the site of her ribcage. “Maybe here, I guess. Will it hurt?”

Harry took a sip of the water cup that sat on his station; it kept him from showing the overzealous smile that would appear on his lips at the way that she suggested the private site. He started to smile; it widened like the sun coming up over some dangerous horizon.

"Good call," he said, picking up his pen, "And hey," he added, voice a soft scrape near her ear as he leaned in, "First tattoos are supposed to hurt a little. And I’m pretty good at making sure you’ll like it enough to come back for more. It’s an addicting kind of pain.”

Harry had moved towards the notebook, before he went to go prep the transfer. “Did you like the font of that?” Harry asked, referencing the quick sketch in the middle of her arm that he had given her for reference. “Size too?”

Lily took in a breath, staring at it before she bit her lip, “I think I want it a bit more… rougher, I guess. Nothing too professionally written, I guess. More like regular, messy cursive handwriting. And the size is good. Can we do it in a stanza? Overlapping each comma. You know?”

Staring at the work on her arm, Harry nodded at her notes. Letting his own hand mimic the way that she wanted it – the notes had given him a bit of a warmth in his chest to know that she was asking for exactly what she wanted. On the paper, he turned to show her his interpretation of her thoughts before he pushed his glasses on his nose.

“Something like that?” He asked, Lily’s eyes looked over the design. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before she nodded and looked back at him.

Yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.

“That’s perfect.” Lily told him in all honesty; her vision, while very biased on the fact that she was unable to really decide on her own what she liked, was definitely brought to happiness with the way that he sold his design and where she should have it.

“Awesome,” Harry said, pleased with the way that she agreed without any further remarks. This step always took much longer, as people wanted their design to be something in their head – Harry had to figure out how to bring their designs to life, but he was creative in that sense. He could usually try to understand them by their character, getting to know them a little bit before designing it.

He just knew that Lily would like this, without knowing her at all.

“So, I’m going to go trace this for you really quick so I can get a stencil. Grab a soda of something out of the fridge, make yourself comfortable. This shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes or so,” He told her, “It will take more to prep and clean you up than anything else. Also, assuming you want black ink?”

Lily let her hands fold in her lap before she nodded at his instruction, “Yes, black is good.”

With that, Harry stood from his own seat before taking his work over to trace it for stenciling. While they were apart, Lily took the moment to let out the largest breath that had been holding back in her lungs. She shut her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself.

Now, she lay back against the leather chair, her sweater discarded on her lap as she tried to play with a loose string. Her eyes shut in a few flutters before she laid her head back and stared at the ceiling. She turned her head for a moment to stare at the way that Harry’s back arched over the small desk that held the stencil he was carefully tracing.

She didn’t know what to do with her hands – she grabbed her purse, taking her phone out of her purse before she brought up her text messages with her best friend, Tess. She rolled her lips into her mouth before she snapped a quick photo of the set up where the ink and tattoo gun were held.

Lily: Going under the knife… or gun?

Lily: Also… the artist could not be cuter if he tried

“Okay, this is where you need to stand up so we can make sure it’s straight.” Harry’s voice took her out of her phone, startling her a moment before she nodded. She moved herself out of the leather chair, placing her feet on the floor, using her hands to make sure that her silk skirt was straight.

“Also, the cowboy boots are sick, by the way.” Harry complimented her with a bite of his own lip. Lily noticed their height difference when she looked from her boots up to him; the shine of his nose ring caught her eye before she blushed at the compliment.

“Thank you- I, uh, thrifted them in Shoreditch a few weeks ago,” The genuine brown leather hit against her calves as she showed them off a bit, “Thought they were fun. My first time wearing them.”

“You pull them off well.” Harry nodded. There was a slight tension as Lily cleared her throat; shaking her head, they found the moment of silence to be too much. Harry broke it.

Reaching over his station, Harry worked silently at the little rolling table nearby, snapping on a pair of black gloves with a crisp snap. The sound made her flinch — not from fear — but something deeper. Anticipation, maybe.

"Alright, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice so low and easy it crawled over her skin like smoke. "I’m gonna clean the area first, and then I’m gonna to lay the stencil where I think you’ll like it. If you don’t like it, we can do it again.”

Lily nodded, even though her throat had gone bone dry.

Taking a seat in his chair, Harry rolled closer, a small squeeze bottle and cloth in hand. She stood taller than him now, but she would have to admit the view from above may have been just as good – if not better.

“So, just lift your shirt up – which are we thinking, right or left?” He watched as Lily took the edge of her shirt in her hands before she looked between them, incredibly indecisive, but also without a care, so she just stated, “Left, I think will be better.”

Harry wheeled himself to her left ribcage, using his glove to push her hand up a bit to show more of her skin.

“You doing okay?” He asked; when he received the nod of her, he used his thumb to brush the latex over her skin before using the wipe to clean the area. Lily flinched at the chill of the cool wipe before Harry looked up at her – she had been staring straight ahead.

The antiseptic was cool against her overheated skin, making her jerk slightly when he swiped it along the curve of her ribcage. He steadied her with a gentle, gloved hand at her side.

"Sorry," Harry said, grinning, "It's always a shock at first."

Lily could barely breathe, acutely aware of everywhere he touched — even though he was professional, methodical, only exposing the small area he needed to work on.

Still, the intimacy of it — the way he had to tilt and maneuver her slightly toward him, the way his hands bracketed the sensitive space just beneath her breast — it felt like too much and not enough, all at once.

"There we go," he said, voice all concentration now. "Now stay real still for me, okay?"

She nodded again, uselessly, because the second the stencil met her skin, she swore she could feel him — the heat of his body, the careful drag of his focus on the straightness of the stencil. She could have sworn his face was close enough that a few strands of his messy brown hair brushed against her bare side.

"You're doing good," Harry murmured after a minute, his breath ghosting over her ribs. "Very good."

Lily squeezed her eyes shut. She was utterly doomed.

When he finished the stencil, he sat back just slightly to admire his work, pulling off one glove with a snap to smooth the tracing paper carefully against her skin. The backs of his fingers skimmed her ribs — feather-light, deliberate — and when he looked up, the green-gold of his eyes darkened.

"You sure you wanna stop at just one?" he asked, voice roughened with something almost tender. "Because, honestly, you wear ink way too well."

She swallowed hard, daring to glance down at the delicate tracing tucked along her ribcage, just under the swell of her breast. She drew in a breath, “Let’s see how much this one hurts first.” She let out a breath of a laugh.

Harry — still sitting beside her, still half-smiling like he knew every thought flying through her head — looked like pure, heart-wrecking trouble. Harry’s grin turned wicked. He peeled off the second glove and stood, flexing his fingers, muscles shifting under the ink that wrapped his own arms like stories written just for him.

"You never know," he said, voice a promise. “You might like a little pain.”

Turning to his station, Harry grabbed a bunch of unopen supplies that were sterile, and he turned to prep the needle and machine, leaving Lily alone on the chair — heart racing, skin burning, body already craving the sting of his touch.

The buzz of the tattoo machine filled the space again, a steady sound that somehow made Lily’s heart race even harder. Harry sniffled, looking over at her before he cleared his throat.

“I think we’re going to have you lay on your back,” Harry went to maneuver the chair to lay flat; Lily moved with it, laying down on her back before Harry shook his head. “Hold your arm over your head.”

Harry leaned in close, resting his newly gloved hand flat against her side to steady her. The spot was so sensitive — right under the curve of her breast — that when the needle first kissed her skin, she gasped and instinctively arched slightly away.

"Hey, hey," Harry murmured, his free hand held at the underside of her breast, right at her ribs– which gave him a bit of unease at first. "Easy, sweetheart. You're alright. Deep breath for me, yeah?"

Lily swallowed hard, her face burning, but she nodded. She focused on breathing through her nose, trying to ignore the feel of his palm anchoring her, the heat of his body so close it was dizzying. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, knowing that each moment felt more and more difficult.

"You’re doing great," he said, voice low and soothing. "First tattoo’s always the hardest. Especially a spot like this. Let me know if you need to stop.”

She let out a shaky laugh, the sound barely there. "Y-Yeah, I guess I don’t do things halfway."

Harry’s smile widened — not mocking, but warm. Proud, even. He adjusted the machine in his hand and carefully started again, the fine line of the quote beginning to take shape along her ribs.

Harry’s mouth curved into a slow, appreciative grin. "Figures. You’ve got that stubborn look about you."

The machine whirred as he carefully pressed the needle into her skin again, beginning the delicate line of the quote. "What's the quote from?" Harry asked after a minute, his voice soft and warm, keeping her distracted as he worked.

"Anna Karenina," Lily said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "It’s about... someone seeing you. Even when you think you're invisible."

Harry’s hand paused for the briefest second before he resumed, wiping gently at her side with a cloth.

"Sounds like it means something to you," he said, glancing up at her with a flicker of something real in his gaze.

She shrugged, the movement small against his steady hand. "I just... sometimes it feels like... if you're quiet, people don't really notice you. But when they do..."Her voice trailed off.

Harry's smile softened, a little less cocky and a little more sincere. "They’d be bloody stupid not to notice you," he said, almost too low for her to hear.

Before she could say anything, he leaned back in to finish the script, his concentration fierce, brow furrowed. His hand was careful, stabilizing her, and even through the sting of the tattoo, all Lily could focus on was the way his touch felt: steady, grounding, almost reverent.

"You’re holding up better than most," he said after a few minutes, wiping away a smear of ink. "Some people swear and curse the whole time."

She gave a breathless laugh. "Maybe I'm just too shy to complain." She knew very well that it hurt – it hurt more than anything she had done, but she laughed at the idea that maybe she just needed to stay quiet.

Harry chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "I don’t mind a little shy," he said, his thumb rubbing slow circles into her waist without thinking. "Means you don't bullshit."

She swallowed, heat rushing to her cheeks. As he finished the final strokes, he leaned in even closer, his breath ghosting against her skin.

"And it’s the quiet ones," he murmured like it was a secret, "who usually end up being the most unforgettable."

Lily's breath hitched, her entire body tense — not from the tattoo, but from him.

"I know you marched in here scared outta your mind," he said, carefully wiping away excess ink with a cloth. "And you still picked one of the hardest spots to get tattooed. You sat through it like a champ."

Lily didn’t know what to say to that, but the smile pulling at her mouth was uncontrollable.

Harry kept working, his touches careful, respectful — but God, she could feel him everywhere. His hand steady against her waist. The occasional brush of his knuckles against her ribs when he adjusted the angle. The warm breath from his mouth when he leaned closer to focus. It was overwhelming in the best, most terrifying way.

"You from around here?" he asked, glancing up again as he shifted slightly, bending lower to reach the final curve of the quote.

"Yeah," she said, her voice a little stronger now. "Grew up about fifteen minutes away. You?"

"Born here," Harry said, grinning as he dabbed gently at her side. "Escaped for a bit. Came back when I realized not everywhere has diners open 'til 3 a.m."

Lily laughed softly at his remark. It surprised them both— the way it slipped out of her so easily, warm and bright. Harry looked at her like he wanted to bottle the sound; she hadn’t showed as much emotion than from that little, stupid remark.

"You're loosening up," he said teasingly, switching out a cartridge on the machine to do the finer details. "Almost like you’re not terrified of me anymore."

"I was never terrified of you," she said quickly, eyes wide.

Harry just smirked. He leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially as he waited for the color to rise on her cheeks the color of fire. Somehow, he already knew the buttons he needed to press.

"Then why were you blushing so hard you looked ready to faint when I walked over?"

Lily opened her mouth — and then shut it, mortified. She knew that her cheeks could not have been redder than they were in this moment.

Harry's laughter — warm, deep, good — filled the studio space that they were sitting in.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he said, his knuckles brushing her side again in a way that felt far too deliberate to be accidental. "You’re not the first to get a little shy. You just wear it way cuter than most."

Her heart fluttered so violently she was sure he could feel it vibrating under her skin.

"You're... very confident," she muttered, staring at the ceiling like it might save her.

Harry tilted his head slightly, the machine buzzing softly again as he started on the delicate flourishes of the script, intricate details were needed as he stared deeper onto the inked skin.

"Suppose I have to be," he said, easy with a shrug to his shoulders. "People are trusting me to carve something into them forever. Can’t really be shaky about that." He pulled back for a second, wiping gently again, then leaned closer to blow softly on the ink to dry it.

The puff of air against her raw, sensitized skin made her shudder. Harry grinned like he noticed, like he was tucking it away somewhere private.

"Almost done," he said softly. "You’ve been a dream to work on, Lily."

The way he said her name with a slow, deliberate tone made her stomach flip. When he finally clicked the machine off and peeled his gloves away, the quiet that fell was almost deafening. It hadn’t been too long then, but Lily had missed the feeling already.

He sat back on his chair, running his hand through his messy hair, looking her over like he was committing the sight to memory.

"Alright," he said, voice a little rough, "moment of truth. Want a mirror?"

She nodded, and he passed it over carefully, brushing her fingers with his own in the exchange.

Lily angled it, looking down to be able to see where the writing sat on her skin. It was raw, her skin, red around the darkened ink that was now visible and permanent.

The quote curved perfectly under her breast, right on the ribcage, elegant and understated — exactly like she had imagined it in her head a hundred times. She knew that this would help her, this would connect her with her peers knowing she had gone through this experience.

"It's..." She swallowed hard. "It's really beautiful. Thank you."

Harry's smile softened, all the cocky teasing bleeding out of him until he looked almost bashful at her complimented admission.

"Hey," he said, reaching out instinctively to squeeze her hand that had been holding the mirror in place, fingers brushing along softly as he let go. "Thank you for trusting me. Let me bandage it up for you, and we can send you on your way.”

Lily nodded at that, biting her lip as she kept looking at the mirror while he grabbed the bandages. Harry wiped the ink again, giving it a sheen as he gave her instructions for aftercare. He handed her a small paper bag that included a lotion, a soap wash, and instructions for first time care of a tattoo.

"You mind if I grab a quick photo?" Harry asked, twirling the tattoo machine cable loosely between his fingers as he started to clean up his space; he was trying to act nonchalant about getting the photos, knowing she could possibly say no – but hoping she would just say yes. "For my portfolio. Only if you’re cool with it. I know it’s a spicy spot."

Lily blinked at him, heart still pounding. His smile was easy, but there was a gleam behind it, something playful, like he already knew she wouldn’t say no.

"Okay," she breathed, before she could overthink it. “Yeah, sure.”

Harry grinned a gleaming smile that allowed his dimples on display. He grabbed his film camera from under his station – of course it was a film camera, Lily thought.

"Stand up over here for me," he said, nodding toward a spot near the exposed brick wall where the late afternoon light pooled golden through the windows. “Better lighting.”

Lily slid off the chair, legs slightly unsteady, the fresh sting of the tattoo a thrilling reminder that this was real. Harry watched her cross the room, head tilted like he was studying a living piece of art. His gaze dragged over her with an intensity that made her toes curl inside her boots.

"Just... pull the shirt up a bit,” he said, his voice going rough at the edges. "Show it off."

Her fingers fumbled at the hem of her shirt, tugging it just enough to reveal the tattoo.

"There," he murmured, camera drawn up to his eye, voice a velvet scrape "Perfect. Hold still for me, pretty girl." he said, almost under his breath as he concentrated on getting the perfect shot.

The first snap of the camera echoed too loudly in the quiet shop. Lily's heart thudded against her ribs as Harry moved around her, finding angles, framing her tattoo, but it didn’t escape her that his eyes kept straying back to her face. Her mouth. Her flushed cheeks.

"One more," Harry said, voice low and rough now. “Chin up. Look at me."

Lily obeyed, realizing that her face would now be in the shot before she even thought about it, tilting her face toward him — and the look that passed between them nearly set the air itself on fire. For one breathless, infinite second, it didn’t matter that the camera was between them. It didn’t matter that she was shy, or new to this, or that her heart was beating out of control.

All that mattered was the way Harry was looking at her. It was almost like she was already his favorite work of art.

The camera clicked. Harry dropped it to his side without a second glance.

He stepped closer again, too close — the kind of close where all she could see was the glint in his hazel eyes and the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You killed it, Lily," he said softly, with the hint of humor coating his tone. “First tattoo... and you already look dangerous."

Her cheeks flamed, but this time, she didn’t look away.

"Guess I’ll have to find an excuse to see you again." He murmured, trying to keep it between them, even though Kaila was just at the desk behind the beaded curtain. “If you want to, I mean.”

Before Lily could even straighten up, a warm hand closed gently over hers.

She looked up — right into Harry’s eyes. Up close, they were even more devastating — a messy green-gold, framed by thick lashes, flecked with something reckless and soft all at once.

“Y-You want to see me again?” Lily asked, almost like the words coming from him weren’t real. They couldn’t have been; there was nothing intriguing enough about her that would allow a man like this to be interested in her. But the way that his eyes shone behind the glasses as he looked at her held a truth that she couldn’t deny.

"I’ve got about an hour before my next appointment," he continued, like he hadn't just tilted her whole world off its axis. "And I was thinking maybe instead of a payment, you could just... walk to get a coffee with me instead."

Breathless, Lily opened her mouth to speak, letting a breathless laugh escape her. “Oh, uh,” She shook her head, but watched Harry’s smile start to fade as if she was denying him, “Oh- I mean, yes. I would… I would like to do that. But you’re sure you don’t – I mean, I can pay you for your work.”

Harry smiled wider, clearly delighted by the reaction he was pulling from her.

"No, really," he added, even though they both knew there was nothing casual about the way he was looking at her right now. Harry reached over to the chair, handing her the sweater. "I wasn’t expecting this today, so I’ve kind of already been paid. In a way.”

Kaila snorted quietly behind her crossword, drawing Harry’s attention. This time his cheeks reddened at the reaction.

Lily hesitated for half a heartbeat, then found herself smiling, small but real. Maybe a little reckless as she pressed her tongue into her cheek.

"Okay," she said. "Coffee sounds... good. I like coffee."

Harry’s grin turned into something full of promise as he nodded, finding his cheeks hurting from the smile emitting from him.

"Yeah?" he said, stepping back just enough to snag his jacket from the hook by the door. "Good. I know a place.”

Lily pulled the sweater over her head, pulling it back over her frame as she looked up at him. “Do you mind if I freshen up really quick?”

Harry perked up, “Oh, sure. The restrooms over there.” He pointed towards the back, “I’ll meet you at the front.”

Lily moved her way towards the restroom, taking her small purse as Harry grabbed his jacket and sunglasses before going towards the counter where Kaila was sitting with her crosswords in front of her. Harry blew out a breath and raked a hand through his messy hair. The slow smirk on her face was overtaking her smile, Harry caught it immediately.

"You good, Casanova?" Kaila asked without looking up, flipping her pencil between her fingers. “I’m surprised you were able to keep your hand steady enough to get good ink out of it with how jacked up she made you.”

Harry leaned his elbows onto the counter, head dropping between his arms with a low, muffled groan. "I’m gonna marry her.”

Kaila snorted so hard she almost dropped her pencil. "You talked her into coffee, not a courthouse wedding."

He peeked up at her through his messy hair, a cocky but boyish grin tugging at his mouth. "Coffee first. Courthouse second. I’m a gentleman, of course. I do nothing without second thoughts."

Kaila rolled her eyes, laughing under her breath. "Well, just don’t scare her off with your strong puppy energy. She’s sweet. You don’t get a lot of that. You don’t usually throw yourself at girls, it’s a lot of the opposite, so I can tell she’s going to challenge you."

Harry straightened up a little, something serious flickering across his face for half a second. "I know," he said quietly, “That’s hot.”

Kaila softened, just a little, watching him. Then she shook her head and went back to her crossword, voice light again. "Go easy, Fabio. Try not to spill coffee on yourself this time."

Harry flipped her off good-naturedly just as the bathroom door opened, and he immediately turned around, smoothing his jacket down like he'd been standing there casually the whole time. Kaila bit her lip to stifle another laugh.

When Lily came back into view, cheeks still a little pink and hair a little mussed from the day but pulled back into a clip now, Harry couldn’t stop the wide, helpless grin that broke across his face.

“I’ll be back, Kai.” Harry walked in front of Lily, he held the door open for her, a little old-fashioned but somehow so natural it made Lily’s heart ache as she moved out in front of him.

The bell above the shop door jingled as they stepped out into the late afternoon sun. The sidewalk was still warm, the city humming around them. For a few seconds, they just walked, side by side, the silence between them not awkward, but tentative — fragile, like the first brushstroke of something beautiful about to begin.

Harry glanced sideways at her, his voice a little lighter now, teasing again. "So, Lily," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked. "Tell me something about you. Something I wouldn’t guess."

Lily looked down at the ground, shy, but the corner of her mouth twitched up. After a beat, she said softly, "I once won a spelling bee because I memorized an entire Russian novel in case they picked a word from it."

Harry laughed, a rich, warm sound that made her grab onto her sweater sleeves a bit tightly. "Let me guess," he said, grinning as he walked sideways to face her. "Was it Anna Karenina?"

She laughed too then — a real, bright thing that made her feel lighter than she had in months.

"Maybe," she said, pretending to be coy. "Maybe not."

He bumped his shoulder gently against hers, careful but playful. "Oof, you’re going to keep me guessing,” He bit his lip, “I like it.”

They rounded the corner together, the coffee shop coming into view — a cozy little place with fairy lights strung up in the windows.

And for the first time in a long time, Lily felt like maybe she wasn't invisible after all.

Maybe she was finally being seen.

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kabr0ztrousers · 4 months ago

Note

how about fem reader being kidnapped by aliens and being touched and experimented on by there weird science tools. And then aliens needing readers milk to feed there babies cause it's better than theres.

Happy to oblige, and thanks for your patience! Without further ado, here's:

Kabr0z Writes Episode 25: Suddenly, Sci-fi

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Alien abduction; kidnapping; dubcon; noncon; weird science; sextoy use; drugging/intox; hucow; overstim;

###################################

You didn't often get chance to come out here. You used to live much closer to the moors, but had to move into the city for work. You don't own a car, no point when there's trams and buses everywhere, so it's only when something brings you back to your hometown you get to revisit your old stomping grounds and reminisce on the past. You wished it had been on better terms, but the funeral was weeks ago now, and the old house you grew up in now sat empty, ready for the buyers to move in. You doubt you'll ever find the excuse to come here again now.

You shiver. From the brisk January winds, from the weight of memory.

There's a sound, you're not sure where from. More of a feeling than a noise, like a purring engine, heard from underwater.

Light. All around you, a perfect circle of blinding azure light. Your skin tingles and you notice dirt and pieces of grass floating up past you. Your hair looks as though you're in a swimming pool, floating beneath the surface, spreading out in a soft brown halo around your head. Your stomach flips and you're no longer in the moors. You're in a room, lit by that intense azure light. You screwed your eyes shut against the glare, you could still see the blue but it's less painful this way. There's a chittering sound around you, like marbles being shaken in a jar. The light cut out. You opened your eyes.

The room is still very blue, but lit much softer now. The bare walls and floor a dull silver. The chittering was still happening. You remembered something, that conspiracy nut at work always said if you think you're on an alien spaceship, you should stomp out some numbers. What were the numbers? You racked your brain. Two, three, five, seven, eleven? Whatever, it sounds like a plan.

You start stamping. You're not sure what doing maths at them will achieve, but they do seem to take notice. You finish stamping eleven times, and something taps back. Thirteen taps. You hesitate. 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, what next? Again you tried to think back to conversations you earnestly tried to not have at the time. Seventeen. Still not sure why, you stamped seventeen times, carefully counting your steps. The chittering started again. Louder, more insistent. The. The door opened. Whatever it was that stepped out into the room was in some sort of bodysuit, it looked pretty heavy-duty, and whatever it was he was holding you didn't want to get on the bad side of it.

You allowed yourself to be shepherded to another room, the alien keeping you at a distance from itself.

It was a curious sight, it had six limbs you could see: two legs and four arms. It only came up to about your shoulder, at a guess, but had a pronounced slouch so you weren't sure if it would normally be that short or if you just had the jailor with terrible posture. It showed you to a bench and motioned towards it. You sat, assuming that's what "pointing at the knee-high table" means in their culture.

That, on reflection, was a mistake.

More of the azure light bathed you. You couldn't move a muscle, paralysed where you sat. The alien opened a cupboard hidden in the wall and pulled forth a long stick with a hoop on the end. Weightless and unable to resist, it was an easy job for it to lie you down and take a bladed implement to your clothing, stripping you naked with effortless cuts. Once it had satisfied itself that every stitch of fabric was removed and you were quite immobile, it removed its suit.

A huge beetle-like creature stood before you. Mandibles chittering that rattling language into a device stuck to its thorax.

It pulled more tools out from the wall. Smaller ones, less for herding at arms length. It stood over you and started prodding you, dictating notes at your reaction. At least, that's what you guessed it was doing, it might just make that noise.

The tests got steadily more invasive. Once it had satisfied itself poking you, it started pushing devices inside you, one went into your mouth, one in your ear, it opened your legs and pushed thin probes into your asshole and your pussy. Was it taking your temperature?

It withdrew the probes, and pushed a tube into your mouth. You could see something inky-black start to flow down from the ceiling into some clear piping running down near you. You couldn't look around to see what was happening precisely, but you could guess. Something bitter flowed over your tongue from the tube. You gulped it down on reflex. It stung going down, like drinking indigestion. You could feel your heart start to race and your cheeks redden. Your whole body felt like it was blushing. Your clit started to tingle and throb. Your pussy ached and clenched. Your breathing caught and your eyes rolled as you felt hornier than you ever have before.

The alien thrust pushed something up to your pussy, and you came immediately. You heard it scurry back as your abs clenched in time with your cunt and you felt a stream of fluid escape you. You've never squirted before, who would've guessed all it newded was a cocktail of alien drugs.

The orgasm died down, but the neediness remained. You didn't care about the whole abduction thing. If you could speak you'd be begging it to fuck you. You didn't need to beg. It pressed something against you again. Again your whole body bucked and clenched, but it wasn't deterred now it knew what to expect. Something round was pushed into you. It only went an inch or so in, but you could feel the shape of it. Curved upwards, the end nestled exactly on your g-spot. A chittered command. It started to buzz. You felt your back arch as an animalistic groaning wail escaped you. You were shaking again, being held in an orgasm for minutes before it dies down. You could still feel it buzzing, driving you to another. Tears welled in your eyes as your aching cunt clenched and leaked in protest.

The alien kept taking notes, repeating the same pattern of chittered speech when you climaxed again and again. The repeated orgasms were taking their toll. Your mouth was dry but for the drip of bitter drug, your legs were twitching and aching, your abs were on fire.

Then it pushed a needle into your arm.

You couldn't see it coming this time, but you felt something hot in your veins. Your skin felt as if it was on fire, then freezing. Your breasts started to ache. With every fresh orgasm you felt hot, then cold, then your tits would ache more, over and over.

Ten? Fifteen? You don't know how many times you came until it happened. You felt a stream of milk spray from your nipples. Spurting out of you, pulsing in time with the painful clenching waves.

The chittering was manic, as though the creature was possessed. Devices were secured to your tits, probes suckling the milk from you in gentle sips, the new sensations only serving to speed up the frequency with which you kept cumming.

You don't know how long ago that was, time is meaningless here.

You were moved to another facility, then more women joined you, then men started to appear too, hooked up to similar machines.

An alien had come to your bedside once doing its rounds of the inmates. It explained in broken English, they had bought Earth in a land deal, and most humans are now livestock for them. They don't believe in eating sentient beings, but humans produce edible byproducts, which can be extracted.

So here you are. A dairy cow for aliens.

Forever

#############################

A/N: There's one more sci-fi story in the requests box, which will be tangentially attached to this but not really. I might reuse the alien race, they're fun.

If you want to see anything, get anything, or ask anything please don't hesitate! I'm hungry for ideas and inspiration, I won't judge, and I won't name you if you don't want

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waterlilyvioletfog · 2 months ago

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Rating Scum Villain Characters By How Much I Cheer When I See Them Depicted With Grey Hair

It goes without saying that this list is highly subjective. But it makes me happy! I have not actually seen all these characters with grey hair, i don’t think. Listed ages reflect end of book except where stated otherwise.

Mobei-jun: 2/10. Age: fuck if I know. We’ll say he’s like 39. I understand the whole ice prince aesthetic makes silver/white haired Mobei-jun attractive to some people but I personally think it’s really funny if he just looks absurdly young forever. Assigned youngest child.

Shang Qinghua: 6/10. Age: like 40 or 80 if you count his first life. Shang Qinghua’s perpetual state of total stress is one of his most defining characteristics so grey hair for this character makes sense. Also jives well with his whole sleazy uncle kind of vibe. When paired with above, it can make MBJ look like SQH’s inappropriately younger boyfriend, which is deeply funny to me. Unfortunately, the twinkification of this character in fandom limits my opportunities to experience this kind of joy.

Luo Binghe: 0/10. Age: like 25. It just feels wrong.

Shen Jiu: 8/10. Age: depends, we’ll say 40. If Shen Jiu had grey hair he would dye that shit so fucking fast. Yue Qingyuan would try to re-assure him that oh, shidi, grey hair is nothing to be ashamed about!! And Shen Jiu would be like you stupid fuck it’s clearly caused by my terrible shitty cultivation GET OFF MY FUCKING MOUNTAIN!!!!!!!! But fun fact! It is actually caused by his constant hyper-vigilance, PTSD, and meteoric stress levels. 🙏💚

Ning Yingying: 1/10. Age: also like 25. Gets 1 point for the hilarity of a character named baby ending up prematurely grey.

Ming Fan: 5/10. Age: 27-ish. This kid is so fucking stressed. Obviously this more applies post-jump, not to volume 1!Ming Fan. There is excellent potential here though for every time something happens to Shen Qingqiu, Ming Fan shows up looking greyer and more haggard.

Liu Mingyan: 0/10. Age: like 25. Idk it just doesn’t inspire me.

Sha Hualing: 1/10. Age: also like 25. I was gonna say 0/10 and then i thought about Luo Binghe-wrangling giving her grey hair and her furiously dyeing it black again and I thought it was funny. Sue me.

Gongyi Xiao: 2/10 Age: ??? Dead anyways. See, if the depiction of GYX gives him grey hair, that means he lived long enough to have grey hair 🥺

Yang Yixuan: -10/10 Age: Baby. Reason: Baby.

Tianlang-jun: 10/10. Age: I don’t fucking know, man. Lots of great reasons to give TLJ some greys. # 1, it helps distinguish him visually from Binghe. # 2, appropriate since he is an evil DILF. # 3: my guy got crushed under a mountain for like twenty years I think that entitles him to some grey hair. # 4: I think he’d be completely ridiculous about it. I am imagining him frantically denying he looks his age and demanding Zhuzhi-lang tell him he still looks pretty.

Zhuzhi-lang: 3/10. Age: ?????? On the one hand, ZZL is probably old enough and stressed enough to have grey hair. On the other other hand, his hair is typically depicted as mostly green, partially snakes, so, like, ymmv.

Su Xiyan: 6/10. Age: dead, would probably be in her 40s/50s if she were alive. Look, I cannot deny the appeal of giving some grey hair to the dead dilf mother of all time. Tianlang-jun would also, unfortunately, be staggeringly horny about it.

Mu Qingfang: 7/10. Age: 40s-ish. *Nods approvingly*

Liu Qingge: 4/10. Age: 30-45. Liu Qingge is the assigned baby of the peak lords, so giving him grey hair always feels weird to me. He would look pretty with like a cool silver streak tho. I do also see some appeal to him acquiring grey hair during the five year time skip due to the *hand waves*.

Qi Qingqi: 7/10. Age: 40s-ish. MILF.

Yue Qingyuan: 16/10. Age: 40s-ish. Makes absolutely perfect sense. This is one of the most stressed men alive. He’s very literally the assigned da-ge by the narrative. His cultivation is a total mess because of Xuan Su! Frankly, I’m surprised his hair isn’t totally white by the end of this book! because it would make sense!! within its literary and cultural context from what I know!! Also, it would work with his wardrobe.

Shen Qingqiu: 10/10. Age: 27-ish, technically, except also in his 40s, except also immortal so who really knows. Similar to YQY and TLJ, this makes sense. Shen Qingqiu’s abysmal physical health and terrible mental health are persistent throughout the text, and things like Without A Cure and the widow arc are perfect excuses for SQQ to have grey hair. It makes him look older, which is fun in SQQ’s context for a variety of reasons, including the fact that LBH would find it hot. Elegant, Beautiful, Graceful, Scholarly Qing Jing Peak Lord Shen having grey hair is a beautiful thing indeed 💚

#scum villain #svsss #scum villain self saving system #mxtx #bingqiu #i know there are other characters but idk. im having fun here.

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kazwritesthings · 4 months ago

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your smile

peeta mellark x fem! reader

summary: peeta mellark has been your best friend for as long as you can remember. yet not once has he ever mentioned the dark haired girl he is now claiming to be in love with. did you read his signals wrong? did he not trust you enough to tell you about his crush? more importantly, why do some of the stories he’s telling about her sound… oddly familiar?

word count: 8.1k (yikes)

(note: hello!! i haven’t written in yearssss so please be nice about any spelling or grammar errors you find lol)

_________________

you've had three near death experiences in your lifetime.

the first was when peeta's older brother, jayce, had taken you out to the lake not too far from the edge of district 12. he had been bragging about how beautiful the ice looked early in the morning to try and make little peeta jealous since he wasn't allowed to go see it. being the stubborn thing you were, you bribed him to take you and peeta with him one morning. you were only tiny, barely 6 years old, so even though he caught you before you fell completely through a cracked section of the ice, it was enough to soak you up to your waist. you developed a terrible fever that you only survived because your mother sold most of her belongings to pay for the best doctor she could.

the second near death experience you had was when you were a little older. when you were 11, you had wanted to explore the woods past the fence on the outskirts of 12. you'd tried to convince peeta to come with you, but he did want to get in trouble. you didn't make it very far anyway since you fell backwards when you tried to climb the first tree you came across . your head landed inches away from a large rock which definitely would have caved your skull in had you landed on it. luckily you escaped with a bruised butt and even more bruised ego.

as for the third near death experience... you're living through it now

"the male tribute for the 74th hunger games is... peeta mellark!"

physically, you’re fine. your name wasn’t called; you get to go home once this is all over. but your soul. your other half isn’t so lucky.

hot tears stream down your face as you watch peeta make his way through the crowd of boys. you look around at his brothers, praying above anything that one of them would volunteer for him, take his place like the female tribute had done for her sister moments ago. but when you see them, their faces are solum, staring at the floor as peeta walks past their rows.

peeta looks as shellshocked as you feel as he walks up the stairs and stands next to the woman with the crazy outfit and weird hat. his eyes dart around the crowd of girls until they land on you. you’ve never seen him look so scared before, and it causes you to cry harder.

“go on! shake hands!” the crazy capitol lady says, moving out the way so peeta and the other girl, katniss, can do as she says. peeta is barely able to rip his eyes off you when he does, still staring out into the crowd when he takes katniss’ calloused hand into his own.

you don’t really register what happens next, your brain foggy with the hellish news that’s just been forced upon you. before you know it, your stood outside a room in the town hall, waiting for peeta’s family to say goodbye. the heat of anger you had directed at his brothers has cooled to an almost debilitating fear. all you can taste is blood from biting the inside of your cheek to try and calm yourself - it doesn’t work.

after five minuets, the peacekeeper next to the door opens it and calls that their time with peeta is up. he then turns to you and nods his head towards the door. you push past his mother in your rush to get to him, making her curse at you under her breath. she never liked you, calling you a bad influence on peeta, but you never really cared.

you stand across the room from him, waiting until the door shuts behind you and you can finally be alone. peetas eyes are red as if he has been crying, yet his face is dry. it’s clear he’s been holding back his tears, letting them build up like a dam moments from bursting. the damn breaks the second he sees you.

“y/n,” peeta mutters, his entire body collapsing in on itself. he would have fallen to the floor if you hadn’t ran to him in time. your arms wrap around his waist to hold him up while his loop around your neck, pulling you to him faster and closer than he ever has before. his tears are hot against your neck, soaking into your one nice shirt. you don’t care.

“oh god… this isn’t fair” you cry into his neck, trying your best to hold yourself together. one of you needs to be strong, and it definitely shouldn’t be peeta right now.

and yet it is. he pulls away and takes you by the shoulders. his big brown eyes, always so warm and full of life, have grown sad and watery. you hate it.

“you’ll be okay. i made my brothers swear that they’ll look after you and your mom when i’m gone, discounted bread and everything. mother wasn’t happy about it but i made it my dying request” his chuckle has your blood boiling because of how calm he sounds. how accepting he sounds.

you slap him gently on the shoulder, glaring up at him with a look that usually has him taking back his teasing jokes. “shut the fuck up, peeta. you’re not dying in there. you’re strong, the strongest person i know,” you hiss, slapping him again when he rolls his eyes.

“y/n it’s no use-” he starts, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“yes it is! you’re strong, so you could wrestle any of the other tributes if it comes to it. you’re charming, so you can win sponsors before you go in and make allies with other strong tributes. and i’ll work my ass off out here so i can send you things when you need,” you ramble, squeezing his hands on your shoulder as you try to think.

“y/n i’m not making it out,” peeta tries to cut you off, which is what finally pushes you off the edge.

“STOP SAYING THAT!” you yell, cutting off his depressing words. he stares at you, surprised. you very rarely raise your voice, let alone at him. “you can’t give up before you’ve gone in! you can’t…” your voice cracks before it trails off. you begin to cry again, leaning your forehead against his shoulder as you hold onto him again. “i can’t lose you.”

the room is silent for a moment, the only sound being the muffled voices coming from next door where you can only assume katniss is saying goodbye to her family. it is broken again by peeta’s gentle voice.

“did i ever tell you how beautiful you are?” he mutters against your ear, sending shockwaves down your spine. your head shoots back to look him in the eyes, your mind suddenly blank.

“w…what?” you stutter breathlessly, not sure you heard him right.

peeta gives you a smile you’ve only ever seen him aim at you. it’s fond and warm, with an unspoken, uncertain glint in his eyes. he opens his mouth, to repeat himself or explain himself you don’t get to find out. the peacekeeper that was outside barges in and storms across the room faster than you can think.

his hand roughly grips your arm and drags you away from peeta. panic floods you as you yell and reach out for peeta. “no! no! i need more time! please!” you scream, your fingers barely linked in peeta’s before you’re violently pulled apart.

“hey! let her go,” peeta tries to run after you, yelling at the peacekeeper who is dragging you across the room, but is stopped by another peacekeeper grabbing his shoulder and throwing him backwards.

everything is happening too fast. there was so much more you had to say to him, do with him. this was never the way you wanted to tell him, yet this may be the last chance you will ever have.

“peeta! peeta i love you!” you call as the peacekeeper gives you one final push and throws you out of the room. you stumble into the chest of one of his brothers, and quickly spin around to get one final look at him.

for a moment, the colour is back in his face. his eyes are bright in the way they used to be, crinkled in the corner as he smiles at you again.

“y/n i-” a door slams in your face, cutting peeta off and leaving you a husk of your former self.

——————

the following days are agony. peeta’s brothers kept their word, checking in on you once a day with a loaf of your favourite bread. you mainily spent your days helping your mother at her stall in the hob or picking up little jobs wherever you can to put towards helping peeta.

the only time you felt any semblance or relief was when peeta was on the television. your heart soared when you saw him in the chariot during the opening ceremony. he looked so different: his usually messy hair slicked back, dark makeup around his eyes and a black suit that’s literally on fire making you wince out of nervousness for him. he looks incredible. and so does katniss next to him.

you can’t help but frown when you see him reach for her hand and hold them in the air. it’s stupid to be possessive over him at a time like this, yet you can’t help it. its a gross, sticky sensation that claws at your chest and stops you from fully filling your lungs with air. and it only gets worse with time.

you don’t see peeta for a while since the tributes have started their training, so you continue working in the hob. people give you saddened looks when you walk past them in the streets, since anyone who had visited the bakery at least once would have known how close the two of you are. it is probably why you’ve been able to find so many tasks and errands to do over the past few days. people pity you.

you and your mother watch the training scores together, cheering out of joy when you see peeta receive an 8. it’s high enough that sponsors will notice him yet low enough for the careers to not see him as a threat. it takes the weight off your shoulders for a moment.

the days continue to drag by until it’s the day before the games begin, meaning it’s interview day. the only thing that’s been keeping you going is the fact that you get to hear his voice, see him properly speak today. there aren’t enough words in the english language to describe how difficult it is to go from being with the person you love all day, every day, to not being able to see him at all.

your skin tingles with nerves as you take a seat at your kitchen table and turn on the interviews. most go by slowly, the tributes all doing their best to make themselves stand out and more likeable. your heart bleeds for the young girl from district 11, rue.

katniss does amazing in her interview. while she is very clearly nervous, she’s able to make people laugh at her accidental jokes, cry at her love for her sister and awe at her beautiful dress that bursts into flames. you had only briefly spoken to her before, a word or two when you would buy game from her. still, you are proud of her for doing well.

peeta does even better. he’s just as charming as you knew he would be, maybe even more. he cracks jokes left and right making you grin.

when laughter calms down, the host ceaser flickerman, gives him a serious look that he jokingly mimics.

“now peeta, tell me. is there a special girl waiting for you at home?” ceaser asks. my heart pounds in my chest as i wait for his answer.

peeta opens his mouth to speak when he pauses. a look of sadness appears on his face for a moment and disappears even faster. the only reason why you’re able to catch it is because you’ve spent years analysing every face he’s ever made.

“well… there’s this one girl that i’ve had a crush on forever,” peeta says shyly.

your breath hitches. could he be talking about you? he looked happy when you said you loved him. you bite your lip anxiously, curling your legs into your chest.

ceaser grins, showing off his overly white teeth. “ahh… i’ll tell you what, peeta. you go out there and you win this thing. when you get home she’ll have to go out with you”

once again, peeta’s face changes for a fraction of a second. for just a moment, he smiles. he smiles your smile. the one he reserves for you and you only. it makes you heart lurch and a smile appear on your face.

your smile disappears off his face as fast as it came, and your nerves return.

“thanks, but i don’t think winnings gonna help me at all” he mutters, looking away from ceaser and the audience.

ceaser frowns, his tanned skin folding until it looks like crumpled orange peel. “why not?”

peeta takes a deep breath before speaking.

“because she came here with me.”

you feel like the floor has disappeared underneath you, and you’re free falling into darkness. your chest burns with every breath you take. there’s a ringing in your hears that you’ve never heard before, and all you can think about is… how?

is there any way that you could have missed that? not once had peeta ever spoken about katniss, in the romantic sense or otherwise. sure, he’d come with you to buy game from her occasionally, but that’s the only time you’d ever seen them interact. could it be possible that he just didn’t tell you?

you don’t even realise that you’re crying until your mom reaches over and wipes your tears. you choke back a sob as your grip the table tightly, blurry vision fixed on the screen. you need to know more.

the look ceaser gives him makes my skin crawl. a look of pity that’s clear to anyone who has eyes. “ahh. well that’s bad luck.”

peeta nods, and looks back at ceaser. “yea it is. i’ve liked her for as long as i can remember,” he smiles fondly, a far off look in his eyes. it makes you want to scream.

“would you mind telling me when you first started liking her?” ceaser asks, leaning closer to peeta as he begins to push the conversation further than you want to hear.

another micro expression that only you could see flashes on his face. panic.

he quickly covers it and nods, sitting up in the chair uncomfortably. “uh yea. we were both in school together. one time in class our teacher asked if anyone knew the valley song, and she raised her hand so fast,” he laughs, covering his face slightly to hide a blush that was slowly growing on his cheeks.

ceaser laughs in a way that you can’t tell his happy or sad. “and i’m guessing that this girl,” he looks knowingly at the audience, “was a good singer, no?”

“the best,” peeta nods, the blush reaching up to his ears and down his neck now. “i’ve gotta admit something kinda weird. i watched her go home every day after that. i was desperate to get closer to her.”

that’s throws your for a loop and sends your mind spinning even more. you and peeta walked home together every day since you first began school. there is no way you could have missed him watching her, right? your head throbs with unanswered questions and more emotions than you can comprehend. you shut off interview when you realise that peeta is finished, walking past your mom to your bedroom.

you cry yourself to sleep that night. not just because of what you witnessed today, but because it may just be the last night that the love of your life is also alive.

——————

you could count on one hand the amount of times that you have watched the hunger games from start to finish. you’d never had much of a stomach for violence in the first place, but you had to stomach it to make sure that peeta was still alive.

it was easy to push down your messed up feelings about peeta and katniss when all you were focusing on whether he was alive or not. you watched as peeta joined the careers, only to betray them and get attacked by cato. you were nearly inconsolable when he was injured and forced to hide out by the river. you were so scared for him that you didn’t sleep until they finally showed him being reunited with katniss.

you had never been so relieved when they announced that two victors from the same district could win. katniss obviously was attached to peeta, so she’d do anything to keep him alive so that they could win together.

you were grateful beyond words to her for looking after him. she cleaned his wound to the best of her ability and hid him in a cave. however, this is when it started to become harder to ignore the ache in your chest when you see them together.

the longer they spent together the more your heart hurt. you tried to distract yourself by working, yet you couldn’t get the image of them in the cave out of your mind. the only good thing that came about because of your work is that you finally had made enough to send peeta some medicine.

after collecting all the money you had, you ran to the town centre. you quickly filled out the application on what you wanted to send him and gave them everything you had. originally you had been saving the money to one day buy a cow that you could sell milk with. peeta was more important than that.

when you arrive at the section of the form that allows you to write a message to your chosen tribute, you feel slightly stumped. this may be the last thing you get the chance to say to him. you wrack your brain for something to say, but all that comes to your head is the lyrics to your favourite song. it makes you smile. they sum up how you feel about him perfectly, so you scribble down the words as quickly as you can.

once you finished the form and handed him the money the peacekeeper said that the medicine should be sent shortly, so you rush back home as fast as you can.

you arrive back just in time to see a parachute land just outside of the cave. katniss walks over and opens it, frowning when she sees the message that you had written for peeta inside. anger bubbles up inside you when she frowns. what the hell is her problem?

you watch as she walks inside and holds out the pot.

“someone sent you medicine,” she tells him, kneeling by his side.

“oh really? who?” peeta shuffles to sit up slightly, wincing as the pain flares in his leg.

you sit with baited breath, waiting for her to tell him the truth.

“haymitch,” is all she says as she begins to gently apply it to his leg.

the anger from before simmers up into a white hot rage. how fucking dare she. who the fuck does she think she is? katniss must recognise your name, she has to know how close you two are. why wouldn’t she tell him?

you smack the table in front of you, tears flooding your vision as someone else takes credit for your effort. however you pause when you look back at the screen, your bottom lip wobbling. the relief that spreads across peeta’s face forces you to take a deep breath. he got the help that he needed, and you were able to give that to him. that’s all that matters.

a few tears escape from your eyes as you watch the two of them. there’s an aching in your chest that you can’t seem to escape from, one that’s separate from the jealousy you’re feeling. a nagging sensation, like you’re missing something.

“why are you doing this?” peeta asks, staring up at her with his big eyes that make you swoon every time you see them, and he knows that. you hate that he’s using them on her.

“you helped me once,” katniss responds.

a silence lingers over them for a moment before peeta practically bursts to life. “i think about that day all the time how i tossed you that bread.”

“peeta,” katniss sighs.

“i should have gone to you. i should have just gone out in the rain and…” he trails off, using those big eyes of his to wear down her defences. and it works. she leans down and kisses him softly, cupping his face in her hands.

you hate how you look away from the screen. the amazing mic quality picks up on the sound of their lips locking together so there’s no escaping what they’re doing in front of the entire country.

everything makes sense now. you remember peeta telling you about the time that he burnt bread to feed katniss. he never mentioned it again, so you assumed at the time that it didn’t mean anything. how wrong you were.

when she pulls away from him, peeta begins to mumble. “i remember one time i followed you into the woods. i was terrified of getting in trouble, but i was so desperate to keep an eye on you. i watched as you climbed a tree not too far from the edge, then watched as you fell like fifteen feet to the ground when one of the branches snapped. i was so scared for you… but you stood up and carried on like nothing had happened. that’s the first time i saw how strong you are,” he smiles softly up at her.

you frown again, a small voice nagging in the back of your mind. he followed her to the woods. the only time you went, you had begged him to come with you and he had refused. yet he went with her? it made bile rise to your throat. when you finally look back at the screen, what you see breaks you.

your smile. being aimed at her.

you turn the screen off and it stays off for the rest of the night.

——————

“attention. attention, tributes. there has been a slight rule change. the previous revision, allowing for two victors from the same district, has been revoked. only one victor may be crowned. good luck. and may the odds be ever in your favour.”

only moments ago you had been crying tears of joy. peeta and katniss had made it. they were coming home. he was coming home.

not anymore it seems.

a terrifying sound echoes throughout your kitchen, and it takes a moment for you to realise that the sound is coming from you. desperate, wet sobs wrack your body as you dig your nails into your wooden table in front to ground yourself. you watch, horrified, as katniss takes out the nightlock berries from earlier. are you really about to see the love of your life kill himself on live television, just so that he doesn't have to live without the love of his?

your body is numb, eyes glassy, tears and snot running down your face as you watch them stand inches from each other, raising the poison to their lips. you don't realise it but your mother is gently running her hands along your back to try and calm you, it clearly having no effect.

you look at those eyes. that smile that he has on his face as he raises the berries. it's your smile again. it makes you wonder, just for a moment, if you could be his last thought.

"stop! stop! ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winners of the of the 74th annual hunger games," a voice booms loud and clear over the speaker.

air floods your lungs once more, and you can breath again. he's coming home. your peeta is coming home.

you choke out a laugh, reaching over to hug your mom tighter than you ever have before. the two of you laugh and scream in delight, and everything is right in the world again.

when you finally let go, you turn back to look at the screen. peeta and katniss are locked in an embrace similar to the one the two of you had shared just before he had left. and once again, your smile is on his face, aimed at her.

he is coming home. but he might not be yours anymore.

——————

its another week of interviews and celebrations before peeta and katniss are finally on their way home. on the way to the capitol, peeta couldn't really pay attention to much other than the look on your face when you told him that you loved him. he wasted so many years being terrified that you didn't feel the same way, only to find out days before he died that he had a chance after all.

now that he's on his way home, he doesn't plan on wasting anymore time.

he has to admit, his idea was a stroke of genius. when he first brought up the idea of pretending to be in love to receive sponsors, katniss had laughed in his face. she refused to be seen as weak, and didn't want to spend what could be her last days alive pretending to be someone she wasn't. haymitch, on the other hand, loved it.

as much as he hates to admit it, pretending to be in love with katniss came to him easier than he was expecting it to be. it was a thousand times easier since he was already in love. with you.

every time he had to talk to her, about her; when he had to hold her or kiss her, he was always picturing you. even the stories he told, the ones about the woods and the valley song. they were some of his favourite memories with you.

he had warned katniss before they went in how he felt about you, and she was more than happy to be a place for him to project his feelings for you as long as it kept them both alive. and it did.

he had just hoped that you had been able to see through the stories he was telling and understand that none of it was real, that it was all an illusion to keep them alive. and he'd never forget the sense of relief he felt what katniss showed him the message you had sent him along with the medicine.

"roses are red, love, violets are blue. birds in the heavens know i love you." - y/n

it was the lyrics to your favourite song. the valley song. you knew he was waiting for you.

——————

you waited with baited breath as the train pulls into the station. the crowd of people surrounding waiting with you are honestly pissing you off. they didn't care about peeta before they left for the games, so why are you having to fight your way through strangers to get to him now?

it's only when the doors to the train open and he finally steps onto the platform that you feel alive again. he looks the same as he did the day he left you, and it takes your breath away. the crowd erupts in applause as he takes katniss' hand and holds it in the air, the same way that he did in the opening ceremony. your breath hitches when you remember that he isn't yours anymore. it has slipped your mind in the excitement of getting to see him. a deep heat spreads from your chest down to your stomach, and you feel like you might throw up.

that's when your eyes meet his. and time stands still. for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, he smiles at you. he gives you your katniss' smile, and for a moment everything is okay again.

peeta and katniss are ushered off the platform before you get a chance to do more than stare at him. as they rush off you begin to push your way out of the crowd. you push past katniss' family, prim and her mother and her best friend gale. they give you a small smile as you pass, one that you return tenfold. nothing can bring you down in this moment. despite the fact that peeta isn't yours anymore, he's alive. it will take some time to adjust, but you can learn to live with that. as long as he's okay.

——————

scratch that. this fucking sucks.

not once have you ever been nervous to see peeta. despite the fact that you're hopelessly in love with him, talking to him always came easy. but now that you're stood here in front of him, who you can only assume his girlfriend stood feet away, and it's like you fell out of that tree all over again. you're winded despite the fact that nothing hit you. you can't catch your breath despite how hard you inhale.

you don't even know how you got here. one moment you were at home, the next peeta's brother was dragging you here, throwing you in and shutting the door behind him with a smile on your face that you completely didn't trust.

you try to focus on him and this moment, but all you can see is the room you're in. peeta's new house in victors village is more grand than anywhere you've been before. the each of the rooms are at least the size of your entire house with enough space to fit everything from your mothers stall at the hob tenfold. you wonder what peeta is going to use the space for since he doesn't have many possessions.

you're able to snap out of it seconds before he reaches you. everything feels like its stuck in fast-forward as his arms loop around your waist and pull you straight into his chest. despite his jokes in the interviews before the games, he smells the same. somehow he still smells like flour and that scent that you can't place that's just so him.

"hey," he whispers in your ear, and it feels like you are hearing his voice for the first time ever. it breaks something inside of you that has your knees buckling and your eyes watering.

"i told you you could win," you whisper back, seconds away from breaking down. he barks a laugh that has you choking back a sob. your hands shake as you grip onto his shirt, desperate to pull him closer to you. he's here. he's really here.

"you're really going to have the first thing you say to me be 'i told you so?'" peeta laughs, pulling back so he can look you in the eyes. he holds your cheek in his hand as he scans your face. you feel exposed in a way you never have before, and it makes you blush.

someone else in the room laughs at his joke too, and you're instantly aware of how bad this looks. you pull out of his grasp as fast as he pulled you into it, your eyes flickering to where the laughter came from. of course, it was his girlfriend.

you've never felt so embarrassed in your life. here you are getting all touchy feely with him when his girlfriend, the reason he is still alive, is standing right next to you. you cough awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck as you let out a nervous laugh.

"yea, well you know me. i'd never pass up a chance to say it, especially since you're always wrong" you laugh, looking anywhere but him. if you had been you would have seen the confusion, and the hurt, written on his face as clear as day.

you turn to katniss and fight back anger rising when you remember how she had hid the message you had sent him with the medicine. she had let their mentor take credit for your entire life savings. but she had also looked after him and saved his life more times than you can count. it's a debt you'll never be able to repay.

as quickly as peeta ran to you, you ran to her. you hugged her tightly, surprising everyone in the room.

"thank you for keeping him alive," you say, surprising her even more.

katniss hesitantly wraps her arms around you in response. she's clearly confused, though you're not too sure why. "y-you're welcome. he saved me too," she responds and you fight back a wince.

once you let her go, you look back and forth between the two. you suppose there is a way that you can repay the debt you owe her. you can let him go.

you sniffle and wipe your eyes with the back of your sleeve. "i suppose i should let you two get comfortable in your new house! it's really nice," you look around the room, avoiding not only peeta's gaze, but katniss' as well.

quickly, you walk back over and give him another hug. "i've got to get back to work, but i'll see you later, okay?" the smile you give him doesn't reach your eyes, and he can see that.

"hey, wait-" peeta goes to call after you, but it's too late. you're already out the door and off into the cool evening air of district 12.

——————

why are you doing this?

you'd spent every waking moment while he was in the capitol wishing that peeta was by your side. yet here you are, running between your mother's stall and your home just to avoid seeing him. every time you start to question yourself, you get a flash of them in the cave. he deserves to be happy, and if katniss makes him happy, then you'll step back.

it's pathetic honestly. running between houses, hiding behind walls every time you go out just so you won't accidentally run into him. the only time you've ever been grateful for how small your house is was the other day when you jumped out the window to avoid him when he dropped by to see you. you hid by the the side of the house until you saw him walk away and deemed it safe to climb back inside.

your mother isn't happy with you. she says your punishing him for something that wasn't his fault. but you're not punishing him. you're trying to help him.

you press yourself against the cool painted wall of one of the buildings near the hob. the good thing about peeta being famous now is that wherever he goes, chatter follows him, which is usually enough to warn you that he's nearby.

it's not enough today though. just as you're about to make a run for it to the next building, a firm hand grips your upper forearm. without looking you know who it is, and you flinch. there is no way you can possibly talk your way out of this.

you slowly turn to face peeta. the look on his face stops your heart and kills any excuses you had on your tongue. he looks just as pale as the day that his name was called on that stage. his brows are furrowed, and a heartbreaking frown pulls down his face. he looks older like this, so much like his mother that it puts you on edge more than you already had been.

"hey peet. what's wrong?" you ask once you finally get your breath back.

without a word, peeta turns and pulls you off of the wall and down the street the way that you had just came from. anxiety builds in your stomach. part of the reason why you'd avoided him for as long as you have was to put off the conversation on why you're avoiding him in the first place. the urge to rip your arm out of his grasp and flee to the woods and spend the rest of your days living in a tree consumes you. but he deserves more than that.

by the time you arrive at peeta's new house in victors village, the humiliation that comes with your recent actions had finally sunk in. you walk into his house with your head hanging low; if you had a tail it defiantly would be between your legs.

the two of you stop in his kitchen. its uncomfortably quiet since victors village is so separate from the rest of the district. you're not used to this level of silence, especially when your with peeta.

"peet?" you hesitantly call his name. he's not facing you. instead, he's bent over a table, his palms pressed flat against the wood with his back facing you.

"i don't understand," his voice comes out quiet, hoarse. has he been crying?

you take a hesitant step towards him, your hand hanging in the air as you debate reaching out to touch his back. "you don't understand what?"

your words seem to have woken something in him. he spins around so fast scares you. he doesn't look like his mother anymore, but the doesn't mean he looks any less angry.

"i don't understand you. i don't get it. you tell me you love me, then you ignore me for a week?" he hisses. you'd heard peeta get angry before, but it had never been aimed at you. you flinch when he yells, but then you register what he said.

"i thought i was helping you adjust to your new life," you frown, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you look at him. you knew he would be angry at you for avoiding him, but you didn't think he'd bring up what you said before he went to the games.

peeta scoffs and leans back against the table. "how the hell would that help me? and what do you mean my new life?"

"your new life with katniss," you say like its the most obvious thing in the world.

that is clearly not what he was expecting. it's almost like his body does a full reset. his face relaxes into neutral and his body relaxes so he's sat on the table.

"what does katniss have to this?" he asks, confused.

you tilt your head at his question. "well... i assume that you and katniss are going to be together now, and i thought that you would't want to be around someone who has a crush... who is in love with you while you have a girlfriend. so i gave you some space," you explain.

just like his first ever interview, micro expressions flash across his face, except this time they pass too fast for you to clearly work out what they are. he falls back to neutral, but this time his eyes are softer.

"i thought you understood... the parachute letter..." he trails off.

it's your turn to be surprised now. "you knew about that? i thought katniss told you haymitch sent the medicine."

peeta lets out a laugh, and you swear your knees could give in there and then. the atmosphere in the room is different now and you can't place it. its not as soft as it was when he first told you that you were beautiful, nor is it as tense as it was when you were reunited.

"that was just for the camera's, she showed me the card later. haymitch said that it wouldn't be a good idea to let the capitol know that i had someone waiting at home for me when i'm supposed to be in love with my fellow tribute," peeta takes a step towards you, a fond smile spreading across his face.

his words make you pause as you look at him confused. you blink slowly as you try to absorb what he just said.

"wait... what do you mean 'supposed to be?'" you breath out.

peeta pulls a face that this time you recognise, mainly because you've been on the receiving end more times than you would like to admit. it's a fond look, one that you would give a cat runs into a wall while playing with a laser or a child when it falls over doing something you told it not to do. it's his nice way of telling you that you're being an idiot.

he slowly reaches up and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "did you really think that after hearing the girl i've hopelessly pined over for my entire life say that she loves me i would turn around and date someone else? let alone someone who i'd interactd with maybe three times maximum."

his touch sends a spark that shoots through the rest of your body, setting you ablaze. you're still confused beyond belief, but your heart feels like it might burst. did you really hear that right?

"y... you what? your whole life?" you sound no better than a toddler learning to speak, and it makes peeta laugh once again.

you shake your head in attempt to clear your mind and get your thoughts in order. "i don't understand. you told those stories about when you first saw katniss and when you started liking her? the bread, peeta! i remember you telling me about the bread!" you ramble, stepping back slightly to get a better look at him. you're so all over the place that you barely hear his reponse.

"well, yes. the bread thing actually happened. so did everything else, to be completely truthful. but they didn't happen with katniss. i was talking about you," he grins, taking another step closer and reaching out to take your hand in his. "i mean seriously. how did you not realise i was talking about you? do you not remember singing the valley song when we were little? and when i said i watched 'her'," he uses air quotes around the word, "walk home every day after that. i did! i watched you walk home because i would walk you to your house! every single time i had to kiss her, touch her, god even just look at her... i was thinking of you," he sounds exasperated by the time he finishes.

you feel like smacking yourself in the face. that's why the story felt so familiar and why you had that nagging feeling in the back of your mind. you remember it so clearly now you feel like you could scream. your first day of the first grade. you had been incredibly nervous up until the moment that the teacher asked if anyone knew the valley song. it was your fathers favourite song to sing to you before he passed away, so your hand immediately shot up. singing your father's favourite song instantly calmed you down, and it had been your favourite ever since. you used to sing it to peeta when he would come to you crying after an especially harsh beating from his mother.

your entire body slumps as the embarrassment you were feeling returns tenfold. "oh."

peeta grins at you and it's so bright you can hardly stand to look at it. "oh," he repeats. he gives you a few more moments to collect your thoughts before he continues. "i though you had realised that i was talking about you when you sent me the lyrics to the valley song with the medicine."

the urge to slap yourself silly comes back so hard that your hand twitches at your side. "oh," you say again, closing your eyes and grimace.

"why did you send the lyrics then? it's clear now that you didn't catch on to what i was trying to say, so why?"

your silence has peeta taking another step towards you. he slowly reaches up to cup your cheek and gently nudge your face up to look at him. his brows are raised curiously, but his eyes are as patent as always. and that smile. that fucking smile. he gave it to katniss so many times in the arena because he was thinking about you. it was never hers, in the same was he wasn't. the thought alone has your knees moments away from buckling. almost as if he can tell, his free arm snakes around your waist and pulls you against him. his grip is featherlight, yet you've never felt so secure.

you lean into his touch as you speak, relaxing in his hold for the first time since before his name was reaped.

"i didn't know what to say at first. it felt like the only right thing to say. it's what i would sing to you when you were in pain, and i can't even begin to imagine the amount of pain you were in when you were in the arena. also, the lyrics summarise how i feel about you pretty well," you trail off at the end, suddenly feeling shy once more. your eyes wander away from him, only for peeta to draw them straight back by guiding your face once more.

he looks moments away from crying, bottom lip trembling as he leans his forehead down against yours. the two of you stand there for a moment, bodies pressed against each other so hard that each can feel the others heartbeat pounding against their chest. your hands hesitantly trail up until one is holding the hand against your face and the other rests on his arm.

“you know, i never actually heard your response to me telling you that i love you,” you mutter, your eyes darting back and forth between his eyes and his lips. the tension in the room is so thick you are about to choke on it.

a tear slip from from his eye as he lets out a wet laugh. “if you think there is any way that you could say things like that and i wouldn’t fall head over heels in love with you then you’re crazy. i love you y/n,” the words flow out of him so smoothly that it’s almost like he’s told you this a million times before. it feels so right that it pushes you to do something you have always wanted to; always been to scared to do.

it’s horrifyingly cliche, but the moment you push forward and press your lips to his, fireworks explode throughout your body, setting you alight like peeta had been in the opening ceremony. he pushes back against you just as intensely, the desperation he's feeling as clear through the kiss.

time slips away as you kiss your best friend, the two of you only parting when you run out of air. you pull away slowly, heart leaping when peeta's lips chase yours to give you another short kiss before backing away.

you both stand still, foreheads pressed against one another as you process what just happened. a breathy laugh escapes peeta as he gently rub a thumb against your cheek.

"we could have done that a week ago if you hadn't been so insistent with avoiding me," he laughs. you groan and shake your head.

"i was upset! i thought you had gone after another girl days after i told you that i loved you!" you whine.

"i had to do it! it save my life, didn't it?"

"i guess so, but-" you go to joke back, but peeta shuts you up with a kiss that wipes your mind of anything you were about to say.

when he pulls back he laughs at the stunned look on your face. "i'm going to look forward to shutting you up like that," he teases, snapping you out of the trance he had put you in enough for you to slap his arm.

"shut up!"

he laughs again, pulling you into a tight hug. the two of you rock back and forth. a peace that you have never felt before fills you, and for a moment you wonder if you're dreaming.

"what are you and katniss going to do about the capitol? they believe you're in love," you speak before you think, and you're terrified that you've broken the bubble that the two of had been living in. peeta tenses for a moment before leaning his head against yours.

"i don't know. but whatever happens, i'm not leaving you. never again," he whispers, his breath tingling across your forehead. you can feel his lips against your skin, and without even looking you can tell he's smiling your smile.

you relax back into him, smiling harder than you ever have before. your peeta made it home. and he'd never going to leave you again.

——————

thank you so much for reading!! i can't work out if i like the ending or not, but still i'm pretty happy with this considering i haven't written in years!!

#peeta x reader #katniss and peeta #peeta mellark x reader #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #peeta mellark x fem!reader #thg #thg fanfiction #peeta mellark angst #peeta mellark fluff #thg x reader #peeta mellark x you

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i-dared-myself · 4 months ago

Text

Wrong Assumptions

In which Stray Kids jump to dumb conclusions about their ninth member

You carry the pile of your old clothes across the living room before dumping them into a bag. Your phone is pressed up to your ear, resting on your shoulder.

“I don’t know where to find any maternity clothes!” you mutter to your sister, who’s on the other side of the call. When she begins to whine, you cut her off. “Hey! Don’t complain to me!”

You walk past Chan on your way back to your room, bag hanging from your arm. Your sister goes on about how her partner refused to take her shopping because they had to work.

“I’m not going with you. You have terrible taste,” you tease. You smile as you listen to her beg. “Fine, I’ll go. But don’t tell mom about any of this.”

“Right.” Your sister sighs. “You should just go shopping with her one day. It’s a bonding experience for her.”

“But then she’ll be all controlling.” You shake your head, taking your phone in your hand now. “I have my own opinions.”

Felix smiles at you as you pass his room. He usually keeps his door open, unless he’s not in the mood for socializing. You return the grin as your sister rambles on and on about the food cravings and such.

“At least no more periods for a while,” you tell her, trying to cheer her up. Jisung slides past, using his socks on the hardwood floors to go further.

“At least,” your sister mildly says. “Are you coming for my baby shower?”

“Baby shower?” You frown. You hate to disappoint her, but… “Sorry. I have recording that day. Mom has my gift, though.”

You hear something in the background before she says her goodbyes. You throw your phone down on your bed and rub at your face tiredly.

A long day of recording the next day meant you needed to get up early for makeup and styling, which meant you needed to go to bed earlier, and-

“Hi.” Jeongin pokes his head into your room. “Wanna steal Changbin’s clothes and swap them with identical ones that are bigger?”

“Sorry. Can’t.” You grab your keys and hold up the bag of old clothes. “I have to go shopping and deal with this.”

“What’s that?” Jeongin motions to the bag curiously.

“Old clothes that aren’t gonna fit soon.” You scowl at it in frustration. The stupid music video that was coming in a couple months had a scene that required you to do some exercises. Which meant you were gonna get as buff as Changbin and the clothes wouldn’t fit you anymore.

Obviously.

“Oh, okay.” Jeongin seems slightly confused as he leaves you alone.

You stuff your phone and your keys into your purse. You make sure to bring a mask and a hat with you, not wanting to be recognized in public. Not that there would be a lot of people at the store your sister had picked out.

“I’m going out!” you yell as you walk to the front door. “I’ll be back to cook dinner, you idiots!”

“You’re the bigger idiot!” Seungmin shouts from wherever he is. You snort as you leave the apartment, unaware of the chaos that is about to unfold in your absence.

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

“Hey…” Jeongin sheepishly says, standing in the doorway to Chan’s room. “You busy?”

“Never too busy for you guys.” Chan puts his headphones down next to his laptop. “What’s up?”

“She was throwing out some clothes because she said it wouldn’t fit soon.” Jeongin enters the room and sits on the bed next to Chan. Chan hums, a signal for him to continue. “Is the company making her go on a diet or something?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Chan frowns and taps his thigh. “I was pretty sure I convinced the company to leave us alone with those.”

Jisung grins awkwardly as he steps into Chan’s room. “What’s going on?”

“What is it?” Chan looks up at him expectantly. Jisung is sporting that expression which means he’s worried about something.

“I heard her say something about a baby shower. Do we have to do that for a video? Because I really don’t want to.” Jisung rolls his eyes and shifts his weight between legs.

“Nope.” Chan leans back against the wall pressed against his bed. “No baby showers. Did you catch exactly what she said about it?”

“No, just the words baby shower and gift.” Jisung settles next to Jeongin. “Oh! And something about no more periods.”

“Wait, you can do that?” Jeongin puts his head in Jisung’s lap. Jisung automatically begins to run his fingers through his hair. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“No, unless it’s menopause or you get-“ Chan cuts himself off. His face drains of colour. “Oh no.”

“What?” Jisung demands. “Tell me!”

Jeongin pouts. “And me!”

“Or unless you get pregnant,” Chan slowly says. His face is a dull grey colour. “I heard her say something about maternity clothes.”

“Do you think she’s-“ Jisung begins to laugh nervously. “No way, right?”

Jeongin sits up suddenly. He gives the other two a wide-eyed look of panic. “That could be why she was throwing her clothes away!”

“Get the others in here. Now,” Chan orders as he starts to Google pregnancy side effects.

Jisung and Jeongin bolt away, quickly gathering the other five members. They’re mostly confused as they wander in, having only gotten the quick version of the story.

“This says a side effect is frequent urination!” Chan hisses out as he reads off his laptop. “She had us pause the movie last night so she could go pee!”

“She’s totally pregnant.” Jisung falls to his knees and claws at his hair. “No!”

“Who’s pregnant?” Hyunjin says before he recoils and gags. “Wait! Is it her? Please tell me it isn’t.”

“It is,” Jeongin grimly says. “She’s been knocked up by some bastard!”

“I fucking knew it!” Minho announces. “I knew she was pregnant!”

“Why?” Felix facepalms. “Why did you know?”

“She went to bed early last night! Pregnant people are tired a lot!” Minho grimaces.

“We’re Stray Kids!” Changbin exclaims. “We can’t have an actual kid!”

Seungmin clears his throat. “Who’s the father?”

“We have no idea.” Chan shakes his head. “Quick! Everyone think about who she’s dated recently!”

“No one!” Seungmin snaps. “She’s an idol! How would she have had the time and privacy for a relationship!”

“It was a random hookup!” Felix yanks Jisung back up to his feet. “But still… she hasn’t left the dorms at night ever…”

“Unless…” Minho looks around, eyes narrowing in suspicion, “it was one of us.”

Chan throws his hands up to intervene. “It wasn’t! None of us would be unprofessional like that!”

Felix nods. “Yes. We’re all professional professionals here.”

Changbin raises his hand. “I say we find the father, and beat him up for this.”

Chan pinches the bridge is his nose. “Well we don’t know who the father is!”

“Hey!” Jisung places his hands on her hips. “Who says it’s a father? It could be a mother! Be inclusive!”

“He’s right.” Seungmin smirks at the vein throbbing on Chan’s temple. “Jeez, I knew you were old, I just didn’t know you were that old.”

Hyunjin clears his throat. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not raising that kid. It’s not my problem.”

“Be supportive!” Jeongin lectures. His lips tug down in disappointment. “We’ll all adopt it and treat it as our own.”

“So… All of our sperm fathered this kid?” Felix scratches at the back of his neck. “What kind of freak is this kid gonna come out as?”

“No,” Jeongin scolds, “you don’t understand! It’s not biologically our kid! We’ll just pretend it is!”

“So it’ll have nine dads,” Seungmin points out.

Minho curls his upper lip. “I’m not marrying any of you. I don’t want in on whatever orgy freak show this is.”

Chan’s face is promptly buried in his hands. His shoulder shake as he silently cries. “Minho… No…”

Hyunjin puffs out his chest. “You’d be lucky to have me.”

“Not it for diapers!” Jisung’s hand shoots up. The others all mimic him until Chan is remaining.

Chan ignores him. “We all need to show her that she’s supported. We love her and-“

“Are we going to have to dissolve the band?” Changbin realizes. “This is so scandalous I feel like I’m in one of those dramas she always watches.”

“Exactly!” Felix snaps his fingers. “We have to think like those shows! What would they do in them?”

Jisung hums in thought. “Oh! They would all live in the country side as their happily ever after! They’d be successful and normal and-“

“This isn’t normal,” Hyunjin reminds him. “And I’m not doing any farming.”

“Bitcoin,” Seungmin seriously says.

“What?” Jeongin glances over at him. His eyebrows pull together.

“We harvest bitcoin, make millions, and raise the kid with that.” Seungmin nods victoriously. “Problem solved.”

“Or we just get normal jobs,” Chan counters. “Like in an office. Or we go solo.”

Minho frowns. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell us she was pregnant.”

“I know!” Jisung groans. “Like, if I got pregnant you guys would be the first ones I told.”

“You can’t get pregnant.” Changbin deadpans.

“Yeah, so don’t go around trying to understand her!” Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “You don’t understand what she’s going through!”

“I support pegging,” Jisung randomly says.

Felix blinks. “What?”

“Huh?” Jisung stares at him.

Felix and Jisung hold eye contact for a minute before Chan redirects the group’s attention.

“No one tell her we know!” he urgently tells them. “If she hasn’t said anything yet, there could be a reason.”

The door opens before slamming shut. You’re home.

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

You put your phone down on the counter. “Guys! I’m home! And I picked up food since I’m too lazy to cook tonight!”

They all wander into the kitchen, apprehensive. Some of them seem pale, while others are on the verge of tears.

“What happened?” you worriedly ask.

Chan sighs, looking to the others. “Nothing.”

“Really?” You cross your arms. “You’re not gonna tell me?”

Jeongin breaks first.

“We love you and care about you!” he cries out. “Just tell us who the father is so we can go deal with him!”

You blink in surprise, putting the takeout bags on the table. “What?”

“Who is the father to your child?” Changbin demands.

“Uh… Park Seonghwa?” You begin to unpack the bags. “What’s happening?”

“That motherfucker!” Minho spits before running out the door.

“What are you-“ You watch as Jisung chases after him. “Guys, someone catch me up on what I missed.”

“We know you’re pregnant.” Chan shakes his head in exasperation at the door. “How did Park Seonghwa end up… Y’know?”

“Oh my gosh!” You cover your mouth with your hands. “I was just being hopeful! He didn’t- We didn’t actually! I’ve never even met him! I’m not pregnant!”

Felix purses his lips. “Oops.”

“Why did you think I was pregnant?” You face them all with a fierce scowl.

“You threw out some of your clothes!” Changbin defensively says. “You said it wouldn’t fit soon!”

“Because I’m gonna start working out and getting buff!” You throw your arms up into the air. “Remember?”

Chan says your name slowly before standing up. “It’s for your weak wrist! You’re doing physical therapy exercises!”

You run your tongue over your teeth. “Oh.”

“Whose baby shower is it, then?” Jeongin asks.

“My sister’s,” you answer, continuing to bring out the food. “She’s pregnant.”

“Uh…” Changbin coughs. “Minho and Jisung went to go hunt thay guy down.”

“They probably don’t even know who he is,” you breezily say. “He’s fine.”

“I never thought she was pregnant,” Seungmin reveals. “She told me about her sister like a week ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that?” Felix rounds on him furiously.

Seungmin shrugs casually. “I thought it was funny.”

You turn your back to them with a heavy sigh. You really need to go to bed early tonight. Days like these are exhausting.

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids #skz #Skz are idiots #park seonghwa better watch out because minho is coming for him #like legit run before he finds you #misunderstandings #female reader

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aurorawhisperz · 5 months ago

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I Just Wanna See You Shine (r.c.)

contains: smut (18+), swearing.

rafe cameron x overachiever!reader

summary: everyone counted on you to be the valedictorian, the go-to for tough subjects and the one who never got in trouble. one day, rafe cameron had came up to you for some tutoring but it turns out he was just paying for the pleasure of your company.

i just wanna see you shine ‘cause i know you are a stargirl.

if everybody was betting on valedictorian, everybody would be betting on you. you were the one person who had it all figured out; high grades, perfect attendance, a reputation for never stepping out of line.

no drama. no distractions. no boyfriend. you were the only person who actually cared about deadlines, assignments and getting into a good college even as a rich kid.

at kildare academy, no one really cared about what you did or didn’t do. everyone was rich, privileged, and used to getting what they wanted.

graduation wasn’t a huge deal; chances for success were handed to you with a silver spoon. the kooks had money, connections, and opportunities waiting for them at every turn. even if they flunked a test, they’d still get into the best colleges, all thanks to their families’ influence and wealth.

people didn’t expect much from your personal life, if anything, they just assumed you didn’t have one, too busy studying to bother with parties or boys. and even if you did, rafe cameron would be the last name anyone would think of.

he was everything you weren’t; wild, reckless, the kind of guy who didn’t care about grades or the future. he drove fast cars, lived life with no sense of direction. and you? you were the complete opposite.

right now, you’d find yourself breaking a rule you swore you’d never cross, all because of that stupid boy.

you knew he was up to no good the minute he slipped those silver glasses off of your face.

this was the tenth-ish guttural moan rafe had let out. his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he feels your walls squeezing around him. rafe was completely lost to the need, the primal desire for you. the one thing missing from his great list of achievements. his body strained with the effort to resist the urge to take you, to make you his.

rafe was completely at your mercy, completely undone, his body twitching with need as you moved your hips against him. his eyes were locked onto yours, his stare desperate and pleading, his voice a ragged whisper as he moaned your name over and over again, each repetition edged with a hint of desperation, as if he couldn’t stand to be without you for even a moment.

“why are you so fucking good at this?” he breathed out, a little surprised, but also impressed. his mouth hanging open with every movement.

“one terrible experience,” you replied matter-of-factly. “i didn’t bother with anyone else. i don’t waste time. i’m a fast learner, though. especially when it comes to… watching. visual things tend to stick.”

you never would’ve imagined that rafe cameron, the kook prince, the guy who practically owned kildare island, would be wrapped around your little finger. but somehow, he was.

his mouth watered as you leaned over him, your boobs hovering so close to his mouth. his hands clenching around the bedsheets, his body rigid as he waits for you to say something.

rafe swallowed hard, his breath coming in quick gasps, his entire body tense and straining with the effort to hold back. the effort to stop himself from rolling you both over and to stop himself from fucking you so dirty, but in this moment, rafe was completely under your control, and he knows it. he can't help but want you.

“you can touch me.” you held onto his shoulder for some sense of control as you continued rolling your hips. rafe let out a low, guttural moan as you gave him permission, his eyes closing briefly as he waited for you to descend closer. then he leaned upwards, taking your breast in his mouth, his tongue swirling around your nipple as he suckles you, his hands moving to your hips, holding you in place.

rafe’s hips bucked up into you as he slid himself deeper, his voice a low, ragged moan. “you feel so good..” he gasps. “feel so damn good…i can’t get enough of you…fuck…”

“yeah?” your thumb moved to rub over his bottom lip. “can’t get enough of me?”

rafe’s hands grabbed at your hips, his touch nearly painful.

“we’re gonna do this again, and again, and again, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice low and rough as he thrusted up into you. “all” slap. “night.” slap. “long.” slap.

you pulled on your clothes, moving quietly as rafe laid there, worn out and more exhausted than you’d ever seen him. but that smile tugging at the creases of his lips—his smirk that you knew so well was still there. his voice broke the silence, his tone lazy, but with that familiar edge of smugness. “looks like i got something, or someone, to add to my collection,” he said, the words carrying a challenge, as though he was satisfied by the moment but still trying to hold some control.

as you reached for your shoes, he propped himself up on one elbow, his voice thick with that cocky tone as he started running his mouth again. “well, well, look at you. the overachiever, the one everybody thought was untouchable, sucked right into my world.” rafe let out a low chuckle and his eyes locked onto yours. "guess it fits the narrative. you were the only thing missing from the story.”

you stood up, slipping on your shoes but you couldn't help the grin that tugged at your lips even if his words punched your ego so badly.

moving closer, you leaned down slightly, lowering your voice to a seductive whisper. "if you tell anyone," you said, your words deliberate, "i’ll have to tell them about how you were so willing to submit and how you were shaking and almost crying under my control.”

without giving him a chance to say anything back, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips, a short one but it left a spark behind. you walked confidently to the door, not glancing back until you reached the threshold.

“see you around, kook prince,” you tossed your bag over your shoulder. rafe shifted, a devilish smirk lighting up his face, and replied with that trademark cockiness, “see you around, princess.”

#rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe fluff #smut #rafe smut #outer banks smut #rafe imagine #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron drabble #fluff #rafe x you #rafe x you smut #rafe cameron x you #rafe fic

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certifiedcodbabygirl · 1 year ago

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Baby's first fever

Simon Riley x Reader w/ daughter (Lizzy)

(Photo credit to @ave661, go check her renders out, they're really good)

Parenthood is a terrifying experience, especially as first time parent. Even with preparation, all the books, and a loving husband. Lizzy had been sniffly the night before, but not too terribly. Nothing of concern though.

So imagine your surprise when you go to check on your 6 month old in the morning and you feel her head is hot.

"Ohh no no no baby" You say, panicked as you gently pick her up. Her little whimpers practically break your heart as you take her to your shared with Simon. You push the door open and see that Simon is already getting dressed, pulling his shirt off.

"Si she's sick, like really sick" You say, trying to not cry, anxiety rising. Fevers as an adult or even as a teenager are easier to fight off but as a baby? It truly is cause for concern.

He holds his arms out to hold Lizzy and puts the back of his hand to her forehead, frowning at the warmness. He gently swipes his thumb on her cheek and kisses her forehead.

"You not feelin good, sweetheart?" He asks her, "come on, let's get ya some medicine, hm?"

He leans over and kisses you on the forehead, "C'mon mama"

He walks to the bathroom, with you short behind, and opens the medicine. He hands Lizzy off to you, and opens the medicine cabinet.

"Glad we got this, huh?" He smiles slightly, opening the bottle of kid's ibuprofen. He Snaps one of the little tablets in half shows the little piece to Lizzy, smiling at her.

"Open up, love" he says softly, "Gonna make ya feel better"

He gently parts her lips and puts the small tablet on her tongue. She immediately starts to suck on the tablet, nose slightly scrunching from the weird tastes. He runs his fingers through her soft curls, kissing her head. He notices you trying to keep calm, your lip twitching slightly and obviously keeping back tears.

"She'll be okay, just a lil sick, ya?", He tucks your hair behind your ear and kisses you, "C'mon, lets give her a bath"

He sits you down on the toilet while he runs an slightly cooler bath so that she doesn't go into shock. While he runs the bath, you look down at Lizzy. Her face is a little red and her nose is runny. Your eyes well up in tears. Logically you know she'll be okay, but she's so little.

You never thought a baby with Simon would/ could happen, yet here she was. Brown curls, big brown eyes just like her dad's, a shining reflection of the man you love. Nothing prepared you for the overwhelming love you felt when you first held her. The click of motherhood that you instantly had when her skin touched yours causing you to cry. Your sweet girl.

You snap out your thoughts as you hear Simon call for you.

"Hm?" you say half mindedly, looking up at him.

"Bath's ready"

You hum in acknowledgement, standing up and setting her down on the counter, undressing her. You check the water temperature, and gently set her in the baby bath basket you got for her. She splashes a little, feeling cold in the room temperature water due to her fever. She whimper and fusses and you sniffle again.

"I know baby, I know", you coo at her, "You'll be okay, my love. Just gotta get you clean, yeah?"

The bath goes smoothly (with a few tears let's be honest). You pass her off to Simon as you go off to get her crib sheets and blankets changed out and pick out her outfit. Simon walks in with her in her little towel and a fresh diaper. You help change her into her clothes and go to the kitchen to make her a half bottle of warm formula.

You grab the bottle and head towards the nursery but notice he's laying on the couch with Lizzy on his chest. Standing in the doorway, you can see how tired they both are, Lizzy sick and Simon, well, REASONS 👀. You go back to the kitchen and put the bottle into the fridge for later. You gently tiptoe into the living room so you don't wake them up, and cuddle up to Simon's arms.

You check Lizzy's breathing and forehead temperature before allowing yourself to relax into him. His arm pulls you into him as he kisses your forehead.

"She's gonna be okay, baby. L'ts get some rest"

#call of duty modern warfare #ghost cod #cod x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader daughter #Simon Riley x reader pregnant #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley #mw2 ghost #dad simon riley #COD x reader

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spaceyaemonds · 19 days ago

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Jack would be so tender with his daughter. I bet the reason she’s such a daddy‘s girl is because he just is always there. A silent protective figure, such a beacon of safety and I think Jack, even in his bad moods, he needs to be with his daughter. Even to his surprise because he’d think he was terrible company (would want to spare her) bc he’s moody and cynical. Even though she’s a baby they have a crazy understanding where they’re just at peace with one another, they kinda crave this silent closeness. It’s very cute/jealously inducing to mom.

I also think PittFest would be something hard for him to swallow because even though his family is safe, (they never went) it’s an event he can see his (eventual) wife and daughter going to and the knowledge that the world is kind of getting more crazier frankly terrifies him.

i love these future snippets of the cute domestic family. I’d love to see any more HCs if you got them. Like he comes home from a day shift and takes a bath with her while mom gets bedtime ready. He’s just in awe of her little baby toes and little rolls of fat as she splashes around getting out all that energy. He gives a big kiss on the head as she squawks in annoyance because he interrupted her playtime.

Or Jack and Robby trying to build a playhouse and absolutely flailing because there’s so many instructions and pieces. they end up taking the entire afternoon and rage cleaning several times, but after a couple of beers, they managed to complete it. of course, bug is annoyed the whole time she can’t play with her toy but playing princess tea party with her daddy and uncle Robby soothes her a bit.

Or Mama is getting a postpartum check up and Abbott going down to the ER to bother Robby with the baby, said baby getting whisked away by Dana, Perlah and Princess as they coo over her doughyness and gummy smile. Abbott is kinda like…they just stole my baby as he chats to Robby.

also like a little blurb of Collins and what she thinks of Mama and Bug. She was very present in the beginning of her life as she was still with Robby and she still has that closeness, but she did take a step back during the break up. Maybe it was her experience with bug that helped hee realize she wanted motherhood and during the Season 1 shift she sees Bug being a precocious toddler and it’s a bit of a tough pill to swallow. There’s like a complex feeling of love and jealousy, but then shame because of the jealousy, but overall love and sadness. She doesn’t regret her decision of abortion obviously because it was a right thing for her to do for herself at the time (and the optics of her relationship with Robby as her senior and honestly who knows if Robby could’ve handled it). But there’s always that ‘what would’ve happened’ especially as she’s facing infertility and since it seems that mama had a similar thing happen to her and made the opposite decision. Maybe as she’s driving home, she calls Mama and mama gives her her perspective about what she was feeling in deciding to keep Bug/how Abbot at that time was honestly a very reliable person and that helped her making her decision and how she thinks Collins is going to be such a great mother.

it’s not an over exaggeration to say I’m obsessed with this universe, and we’re constantly getting fed. You’re such a great writer and you really bring these characters to life. Thank you so much.

hi friend!! ahhh okay i’m answering this below the cut!!!

Jack loves his girl. Literally the second he sees her, his whole life is changed. He doesn’t leave her side unless he absolutely has to, which is more often than he would like for it to be. It’s a big reason why when he gets time with her, he just sits and holds her, at least while she’s still small enough to just want to be held. Before they all lived together, some mornings after a really rough shift, he just shows up at readers place, asking in a really solemn voice if he could just see her for a few minutes. Those mornings, he tends to spend the whole day with her while reader works unless she’s still being breastfed, then mom gets her for feedings. I definitely agree that he thinks he’s bad company! Especially as she starts getting older! But even then, they can just sit in silence, him watching her color or play, and her just wanting to be close to her daddy. Mom absolutely adores it, but can’t help but wish her baby wanted to do that with her too (even though bug literally goes to her mom all the time and they do almost everything together LOL).

When he goes home after PittFest, all he wants is to sit on the couch with his girls. When he heard the news, they had been getting ready to go to the aquarium, and he knew they were disappointed. He had to beg them to just stay in the house until he called. All he could think about was what would have happened if they had gone to the aquarium and it happened there? It shakes him to his core, and he spends that night extremely quiet with his baby on his chest and reader gripped to his left side.

I love them too!! This is just so much fun for me, I genuinely could not have imagined the amount of love that this is receiving, and I just am so glad to do and share all of this with you guys!! I have LOTS of headcannons!!

I think he craves doing the bedtime routine (feeding her, bathing her, putting her jammies on) after working a day shift because 1) it gives mom a little break but 2) that’s all the time he gets with her when he works days usually. He feels like he misses SO much that he just craves it. He also loves the baby smell mixed with the nighttime lotion, he’ll never admit it, but it helps him sleep at night too. He definitely also does interrupt whatever she is doing when he walks in, and though she sounds annoyed, her little laugh makes the annoyance worth it to him!

I’m gonna do separate drabbles for Robby and Jack building a playhouse, Jack taking the baby to the ER while mom gets a checkup, and the dynamics with Collins!!! Keep an eye out for those, I have lots of thoughts on them!!!

friend😭🥹🩷 this is so so sweet and i love how much you love it! your (and others who leave comments and asks) kind words keep me motivated to write! i know i said earlier, but i genuinely could have never imagined all of this positivity and kindness coming from my lil idea! thank YOU so much for your kind words!! i am so so SO excited to keep sharing it with you!! please feel free to send ANY and all thoughts/headcannons, just anything like this!!

#🐝 answers asks #🐝’s anons #the pitt x reader #jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot x reader #(tagging for navigation purposes #i apologize if it annoys anyone if i clog up the tags #i literally love this little universe so much #and i love talking about it with you guys #and just ugh #sharing this with you guys has brought me so much joy you have no idea🩷

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crescenthistory · 5 months ago

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okay idea…c1 with regulus and a reader who is either very clumsy or very sick and he can’t help but dote over her and take care of her <33

terribly sorry if you are not a moonwater girlie, but this request has been hijacked into a poly!moonwater fic 🙏 i love them, your honour

Prompt: C.1 "I want nothing more than to kiss away all your pain"

Words: 1.9k

Warnings/tags: fem!reader, references to injuries, light sickness/illness, regulus being a Worried Boyfriend, remus being a Doting Mediator, light hurt/comfort, nauseating amounts of fluff, sirius being the butt of the joke, literally just cuddles massages and kisses

You apparently see your daily life as one long continuous extreme sport, and thus, so are the lives of Regulus and Remus, whose hearts are always working overtime to handle the stress of your near-death experiences.

When Regulus ran up to Remus, slightly red in the face and already huffing and puffing, Remus knew for a fact that you were the cause of his concern. Others might have read his body language as angry, but Remus knew this to be his boyfriend’s mother hen instincts kicking in – which means his were about to, too.

“What’s she do?” Remus sighed as he stood up from his seat outside the Great Hall, already throwing his bookbag over his shoulder, prepared to walk off.

“She’s in the infirmary,” Regulus hissed, grabbing Remus by the arm to pull him away, barely slowing down his gait.

“Oi! You can’t just run off!”

Remus, admittedly, had forgotten that his best friend – his boyfriend’s brother, mind you – was sitting with him and was in the middle of chatting his ear off when he spotted Regulus. “Sorry, Pads, I’ll catch you later,” he tried calling over his shoulder as Regulus wholeheartedly ignored him.

“What?! Hey, no–” Sirius all but sputtered, self-righteously undignified by the whole ordeal, as if this was not a common occurrence by now. James began patting his back not much unlike one would do a child, placating him with whispers, no doubt about all the mess they could get into without Remus’ supervision.

“Why is she in the infirmary?” Remus asked when he was able to return his full attention to the boy whose breathing was still a bit too quick for comfort. He had half a mind to begin taking care of him instead and calm him down, but for now he settled for pulling him further into his side as they walked.

“I don’t know,” Regulus bit out through clenched teeth. “Pandora just told me in passing that she had seen her in there. I have no idea what she has gotten herself into this time. You’re lucky I walked past you on the way there, otherwise you would have been the last to know.”

Remus mulled over it for a moment, visualising your schedule that he memorised months ago. “She had Care for Magical Creatures last period, right?”

Regulus’ head whipped to the side to stare at him incredulously, clearly not having pieced that together yet. Though it was hard to tell, it seemed like his face had paled. His grip on Remus’ arm migrated to interlocking their elbows so he could more effectively drag Remus along as he sped up at the thought of what could have happened.

One of the things Remus most enjoyed about your relationship was getting to know the small quirks of yours and Regulus', your signs and your tells. For Regulus to forget all about Remus’ aching joints and rushing him along without ample support meant that he was beyond stressed on your behalf. Had Regulus not been here, Remus would have been much the same, thoughts able to spiral into the darkest of places when left to his own devices – alas, he was, so Remus collected himself appropriately and tried to be the grounded one.

“She’ll be alright,” he murmured as they turned the last corner before the infirmary.

“She bloody better be,” Regulus huffed, voice laced with concern and poorly-hidden devotion. “Because I will be having a word with her about not prioritising her health and safety.”

Remus squared his shoulders, prepared to play the dual role of mediator and concerned boyfriend, perhaps with a touch of nurse as well, if necessary.

“Good afternoon, Poppy,” he greeted warmly when he saw Madam Pomfrey by the entrance, giving Regulus’ arm a subtle tug to make him slow down. If there was one thing the matron did not tolerate, it was disturbances in her little wing.

“Oh, Remus, are there any concerns today?” she asked, tilting her head in confusion as this visit did not line up with their usual cycle of visits. Quickly, her eyes drifted over to Regulus, whose face was still noticeably flushed and realisation dawned on her face. “Ah, I see. She’s to the left, three beds down. Though I would advise keeping a distance.”

Regulus’ eyes widened almost comically at the last comment, letting go of Remus in favour of stalking down the hall as quickly as Madam Pomfrey would allow. Remus had to admit his own heart twisted in worried confusion as he gave a small smile and thanks before hurrying after his boyfriend.

He saw Regulus slip between some white privacy curtains mere seconds before he was able to follow himself. “Amour!” he heard Regulus say, abandoning any attempt to conceal his worry.

Remus held his breath as he drew the curtain back just enough to enter your little makeshift alcove, expecting the worst. Surely, he would find you with your leg elevated in a large cast, bloodied bandages all over your face or arms, hair half burnt off.

Instead he heard a small sniffle and your flushed face came into view where it poked out from beneath heaps of wool blankets.

“Oh, hi lovelies,” you murmured in the sweetest tone but with the most painful rasp Remus had heard in a while. It was immediately followed by a fit of coughs.

“Oh, dovey,” Remus cooed pathetically, rushing to sit down on the side of your bed. Regulus was still standing by the curtain, mouth slightly agape as he took in the scene.

This clearly was not what either of them had expected.

“What happened to you lovely girl, hm?” Remus whispered to you, perhaps with a small hope that you would reply in an equally low tone and spare your clearly hoarse voice.

You were truly bundled up under mountains of blankets, messy hair, glossy eyes and runny nose the only visible part of your body. The bedside table was littered with used handkerchiefs, paper towels and small plastic cups used to take potions. Some bottles of potion Remus identified as cold treatments were placed on the edge with a little note with jotted down time stamps. You looked absolutely, thoroughly poorly.

“I’m sick,” you said hoarsely. You made a noise that sounded like choked laughter, likely at how terrible you sounded, but it just made it worse.

“We can see that, amour.” Regulus’ voice had become ten times softer, and he sat down on the other side of the bed from Remus, reaching out to cup your surely overheated face with his perpetually-cold hand. Remus could feel the phantom touch as his fingers ghosted over the apple of your cheek.

“Don’t be rude,” you whispered cheekily, but you leaned into his touch with a sigh. “I look perfectly happy and healthy.”

Regulus snorted that laugh he only ever let slip around you two. “You do look beautiful as always. Though perhaps a bit like you’re on your deathbed, which you know you’re not allowed to be.”

You groaned, stretching your body beneath the tangle of blankets. “Ugh, I know,” you huffed, sounding pained. “I feel like it, too. Woke up feeling a bit, I don’t know, stuffy, but I tried to head off to class,” – Regulus made a disapproving sound, but let you continue – “and then I just really came down with it in Astronomy. Didn’t even make it to Magical Creatures.”

At least that's a relief.

“You should have stayed in bed if you woke up feeling poorly, love,” Remus murmured, fishing for your hand beneath the blankets. You happily gave it to him and his heart keened at how you seemed to crave his touch.

“But I didn’t know I felt poorly poorly. Just… poorly. You know?”

Remus sighed almost dreamily. “I don’t.”

At the same time, Regulus softly said, “You’re not making much sense, pretty girl.”

You groaned your way through a voice crack, turning your head into the pillow on the side Regulus wasn’t lightly caressing. “I feel like the fever is eating at my brain.”

Both boys hummed in sympathy. Remus fought the urge to manhandle Regulus into bed beside you so he could hold you both and shield you from the world.

“It’s alright, amour. Sirius has survived 17 years without a brain, so you can surely manage at reduced capacity for a day or two.” He wore a cheeky smile from the beginning of the sentence, evidently proud of the opportunity to jab at his older brother.

Remus would have to deny it if Sirius asked, but he barked a laugh.

“That’s not very nice, Reggie,” you almost whimpered, though you too were smiling too. “I don’t have the energy to tell you off for being mean to your brother.”

“Well, at least we got one good thing out of your suffering,” Regulus offered, and his smile grew genuine when you laughed at that and lightly shoved his shoulder – clearly his end goal.

You furrowed your brows and brought your unoccupied hand up to rub by your temple. “I really do feel horrid, though. I might have to stay here overnight.”

“You poor sweet thing,” Remus cooed in sympathy. He lightly guided your hand back to lay on your chest as he brought his hands up to massage carefully at both of your temples, moving his thumb in slow circles. Regulus let his hand move from your cheek to drift through your hair so Remus could have space, calming the chaos of frizz caused by your time in bed. Your sigh sounded heavenly as you sunk further back into the pillows and let your eyes drift shut. “We’ll take care of you, yeah? Nurse you back to health?”

You hummed your approval, small tug at the corner of your lips that warmed his heart.

Regulus used the spell Sirius had constructed to expand the infirmary beds during Remus’ monthly stays, adding enough space for him to lay down beside you. When Sirius made it, it had originally been with the intention of the Marauders huddling together, but it was quickly capitalised on by you and Regulus. He got more comfortable beside you, head on the pillow next to yours where he continued playing with your hair in that way he knew soothed you. Remus remained sitting so he could give your face and scalp ample attention, relieving you of your tension headache with practiced ease.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, voice muddled by your hoarseness and oncoming sleepiness. Remus just smiled in response, trusting you would know it even when you couldn’t see it.

“Of course, amour,” Regulus whispered in turn, sounding more emotional than usual when confronted with your vulnerable state. This was nowhere close to the scolding-deserving mishap he had expected to find in the infirmary. “I want nothing more than to kiss away all your pain.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” you huffed then. “I don’t want you getting sick.”

Regulus let out a breathy laugh and kissed your forehead defiantly, bottom lip brushing against Remus’ thumb and shooting pleasurable tingles up along his skin. “Too bad, lovely. We’re both staying here.” He looked up through his long eyelashes to meet Remus’ eyes, face scrunching up in affection with his lips still ghosting over your skin.

“Most certainly,” Remus whispered over the honeyed love that coated his throat and tongue. “We will nurse you right back to health, dovey. You just sleep now.”

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