#at home box dyes are

[sp0o0kylights]

why the deep sigh before saying you’re a natural redhead lol

Several reasons!

For context this is in response to my answer in the "rb in the tags what would be the physical feature used to identify you in fanfiction of you if you were a fictional character" post a few days ago and the TL;DR is the redheads get stereotyped in specific ways I hate.

Large ass rant below (hey you asked lol)

For a lot of people, redheaded women are a fetish. ( When I was younger, I had people date me who later stated they just wanted to cross off dating a redhead, they didn't actually want a relationship, and my personal favorite, that they would never date someone who "wasn't skinny" but made an exception bc I'm a redhead. I've been offered a LOT of sex and a LOT of threesomes, because I'm a bucket list item and they will say so, to my face, in person. Like many things in life, there's a line between a preference or appreciation or even a "type" --and a fetish. The later being an issue because you're no longer seen as a person but an object, and people will make that creepily, disgustingly clear.

2. It's a stereotyped personality. Redhead's are crazy/hot tempered/insane (see: that one dude from Fruits Basket and I cant even pick a female character theres so fucking many) crazy in bed (one example among hundreds is We're the Millers "Eh she's a redhead there's a 50/50 chance she'd be into it") Soulless (I actually used that one to get through High School by insisting I was collecting souls to pay for my fire-lake front mansion, shouts out to South Park lmao), and many more. The redheaded step-child, the vixen, the other women, etc.

I have had my hair color come up in job interviews, with teachers, with coaches or trainers and even in situations as a kid where I was essentially asked "Hello kid I just met, you're a redhead, are you going to behave for me?" Related, my parents got a LOT of praise because I was quiet. Throughout my life the most common "praise" I have received is that I am "not a typical redhead" bc I am "calm."

You still see a lot of this bleed into fanfiction, but you used to REALLY see it bleed into fanfiction lol.

Addendum to both points above--the fetish, hot, good in bed thing typically only applies to conventionally attractive women.

Redheaded men are "ugly", and if you don't fit into the current but ever changing Socially Acceptable Hot Chick Look, then you're in for it. This includes weight, skin color/tone, freckles, type of hair, fuckin' eye color sometimes, the list goes on.

I vaguely recall someone who was doing a media study about how the male "problem child" in media is typically portrayed as a redhead. off the top of my head, the kid from Malcom in the Middle and the kid from the magic school bus.)

And that's just the cis shit.

3. People in general get weird about my hair. A lot of strangers enjoy touching it without asking, or otherwise felt ownership over it if I had parts of it dyed, etc. I legitimately had people get super upset the time I dyed it black. Hell I had STRANGERS get upset. People I never met in my life who were making small talk in the check out line, absolutely FURIOUS with me about dying it black, because they asked me what my natural hair color was and I answered honestly.

4. If you're over the age of, ehhhh, 25? 27? You probably remember the age of fanfic where we described EVERYONE by their hair color lmao. Redhead was right up there with bluenette. It was painful and that post reminded me of it.

#Id honestly dye my hair black again #except my hair grows out insanely fast #and requires specific types of dye or some shit #at home box dyes are #sadly #a waste and believe me I have tried #anyway #I have to go to a professional and while I believe in paying my people that shit is EXPENSIVE to do every single month #and my ass pretty much picked doing other things in terms of hobbies and apperance #Ghosts long ass rant about redheads #feel free to chime in if you are one #I could talk for hours about the gross shit people of all genders have said to me #but esp men #up to and including the guy who asked me what made me different from any other redhead #like homie we're not pokemon

[s3v3r3dh3ad]

#punch out #punch out wii #don flamenco #shitpost #this mf really went and put on eyeliner just to get punched in the face like cmon bruh 😭 #I just know this bitch went home after losing in contender mode and ripped that damn toupee off his head and threw it into a tub of black #box dye he bought at Walmart 💀😭

[padfootastic]

in a turn of events that doesn’t surprise anyone im sure, @impishtubist has caused yet another scene to be stuck in my head until i wrote it down. so, have some sexy, greying sirius; a deeply thirsty, appreciative james who won’t let him dye it; and a very-fed-up-of-his-parents-antics harry for prongsfoot wednesday!

x

Harry entered the house with ‘I’m home!’ on his lips that died an instant death as soon as he registered what he was seeing.

“Er,” he hesitated. Does he really want to—? One more look at the scene in front of him and he decided to bite the bullet. Better to clear the air now than keep stewing on it later.

“Um. Is this a—kink? A fetish? Should I leave and never come back?”

In any other scenario, the way both his parents froze and looked at him with wide eyes would’ve been comical.

If only Dad wasn’t straddling his Papa on the ground, one of his hands holding both of Papa’s above him with disturbing ease.

“Er—“

“It’s not what it looks like, Haz!” Dad yelped, cutting across Papa who’s face and neck were turning a steady pink. “I swear.”

“Then why are you still—like that?” Harry asked, deciding to play it safe and look at the boring grey couch in the living room instead. Nothing scandalous going on there.

He could hear the scrambling of feet, a few thumps, and a mini-yelp, absently wondering about the amount of noise the simple act of getting up could produce.

“Right.” Dad cleared his throat. “So, Harry, would you please tell your Papa that he is, under no circumstances, allowed to dye his hair?”

Harry blinks, turning to his other, exasperated, father in silent question.

“Harry, will you please tell your Dad that this is my hair and I can do with it as I please?”

“Not when you promised yourself to me!” Dad yelps and Harry is hit with an intense wave of regret at instigating this.

“Promised—?”

“Yes! Our wedding, you said, and I quote, ‘I give myself to you, James Potter, mind, body and soul’, don’t tell me you forgot.”

“Of course I didn’t forget,” Papa throws his hands up in the air. “But c’mon James—this is not what I meant when I said body!”

“What, you think I only wanted you for that ars—“

“Dad!” Harry, yelps, mortified. He can feel his cheeks heating in a violent blush. He can feel a similar flush creeping up Papa’s neck. Sadly, his words don’t have the deterring effect he’d intended.

“I mean, it is spectacular, don’t get me wrong, but you’re more than just a beautiful body, Si!”

“James, please, have some mercy for our child, if not me,” Papa says. Thankfully, this seems to register as Dad’s eye widened, part horror and part apology. Harry waves it away tiredly; though he’s no less embarrassed every time it happens, growing up in the Potter household with two extremely affectionate parents has exposed him to much worse. He’s accepted it as his lot in life.

“Er—yeah, anyway,” he coughs, ruffling his hair, “Bottom line—Sirius isn’t allowed to dye his hair.”

“I literally never agreed to that.”

“Too bad because you will,” Dad says, slowly moving towards Papa with a look on his face that Harry is loath to describe as predatory. If only it wasn’t so true.

“Oh?” Papa’s left eyebrow rises extraordinarily high, as it tends to do quite often. He crosses his arms over his chest in challenge. The motion makes his Dad smile.

“Mhm.” The two of them are chest-to-chest by this point, staring into each other’s eyes. Harry could probably conduct a whole rave party right here, right then, and they wouldn’t even notice. That is when he decides it’s high time he should step in—not literally, Merlin, no—before they end up doing something that makes him try to run away (again).

“So I was right—it is a kink,” Harry says dryly, once again regretting starting this entire conversation in the first place. He should’ve just turned back around and gone to the Weasleys instead.

“Harry, no—“

x

Three years later, Harry—who’s almost blissfully forgotten about the entire incident—walks into his parents’ house to an almost identical scene, just with his Papa on top this time. This time, he makes the sensible choice he still regrets not making all those years ago, and walks right back out the door.

Let those two sort it out on their own. Merlin knows his intervention hadn’t helped a bit the last time around.

#sirius black #james potter #prongsfoot wednesday #bambibelle #prongsfoot #harry potter #not one person far has the ability to make me write on command like miss imp #it’s absolutely ridiculous (i love every second of it) #which reminds me #my sentient black tapestry fic is still in the drafts 😭😭😭 #(yes there is a reference to harry running away from home bc he saw his parents kiss each other—and more—one too many times) #i just think the idea is exceedingly funny hehehe #little harry packing a backpack and running away to the weasleys #or hell. teen harry walking in & out of the house and not being found for the next day and a half bc he saw them snogging #also just want it to be known that i was giggling so much while writing amorous j/s and traumatised harry #bc it’s all jokes anyway. harry lowkey adores how in love his dads are. wants the same for himself #boys got HIGH standards #as he should #bc his parents aren’t gonna allow anyone but the best for their son #also SPOILER ALERT: sirius obviously loses. james employs some *creative persuasion* a box of dye never entered their house after that #pen’s writing #tumblr works

[unopenablebox]

Holy God This Is All So Boring

i am taking microscope images of the cells i'm studying. the cells were grown on a glass plate before i fixed them (killed & chemically preserved), so by default a microscope image of them is taken from a camera below them, looking up through the glass. they're stained with fluorescent dyes for four different proteins, so every single picture has to be repeated four times with a different laser light illuminating the cells (imagine taking a photo with a red filter, a blue filter, and a green filter, and then composing them all together to get the full picture. it's actually almost exactly the opposite of that, but that's close enough).

i care mostly about how the cells are shaped in three dimensions, and i'm using a laser which is specially shaped so it can collect only a very thin slice of the cells in the Z-direction, without interference from the parts of the cells just above or just below what i'm taking pictures of. as a result, i need to take lots of pictures at different depths in the cells, so i can get slices that i can stack on top of each other and get back a 3D shape. also, because i am using a tiny concentrated beam of light to achieve the above effects, it has to scan across the image to collect each picture, like a scanner; it can't just be collected in a single snapshot like a photo.

the distance between one slice and the next is less than a quarter of a micrometer. i'm using a 63x magnified magnifying lens to magnify the image, and the light detector that picks up the light is specially made to allow the images to be processed even further, so i can resolve structures that are less than 200 nanometers, which is the Abbé limit and is the technical resolution limit of light microscopy (don't worry about this). i care about things that are the size of, like, three proteins stuck together, and therefore maybe 10nm wide, so this is important to me.

all of this is, you know, scientifically great, very useful to me, i'm getting some very interesting results that i am genuinely looking forward to thinking about more, except the upshot of all of this is that just getting a single picture of two cells from the bottom to top of the cells involves 80-100 slices and takes like 27 minutes per image to collect, and i need at least six pictures tonight, and certain bastards in certain other labs habitually pre-book the microscope so i can't use it except at 5-9pm on a friday. no one else is here in the lab and my mother is busy with elder care and my girlfriend is busy with like, groceries, so i can't call either of them even if i weren't too irritable to be good company, and oh my god, i am so bored, i am so so bored, i am bored enough even to type out this whole explanation even though none of you could possibly care because it took most of my current round of waiting for 27 minutes to do

#in theory i should collect seven additional images on top of the six named #but 'fortunately' i stained this plate a while ago and the dye for the other images has kind of faded #so instead of doing it now. i will stain another plate. and do it the next time i can wrestle four hours away from aforementioned bastards #now certain of you who are in the know about microscopes might be wondering something #''glass'' they might say #''don't all modern microscopes come with the ability to pre-select positions and then just wander off and let the microscope run on its own #all night? why stay there and do this instead of setting it up and going home?'' #and yes that's correct. but there are two issues #one is that i am obviously using an oil objective and this particular one can only do 2-3 positions before it needs the oil refreshed #so i would rather notice that need prior to taking the image than the next morning #and secondly. i can't figure out where the positions function is in ZenBlue. and the scope core staff only work for a random three hours of #every day. none of which i can get a booking in anyhow. so i have no one to tell me how to find it. #box opener #doctor worm #my life is so much harder than anyone else's ever.

[gallawitchxx]

tagged by the honeys @whatthebodygraspsnot @heymrspatel @whatwouldmickeydo @iansfreckles & @metalheadmickey (what a hot crew) to do this scrumptious picrew 🍒🖤✨

don’t know her, but i love her.

i’m tag shy tonight, but doooo it & tag me ok!? 😘

#i have a box of hair dye at home #the color is called cherry crush 🍒 #do i use it? yes or definitely? #thanks for the tags pals! this was fun 🤩 #tagged #picrew

[short666bread]

#more late nite bullshit feat my intense desire for the entirety of simone rocha ss23 #and a ruffle collar #and a mound of pearls #and a silly little dye job #I really hc that fashion tm is just how wizards (gender neutral) dress #like when dracos dad went to wizards (gender neutral) jail (take 2) draco raided his whole closet and that shirt was in there #one of the ruffles started to detach and so Draco asked Harry to please sew it back bc he knows how to do stuff like that #v handy #gets way too into like #home repair w Grimmauld place and grows up to be that friend that gifts every one a fully stocked tool box as a housewarming gift #and then ends up using them himself bc he’s also the friend who will rent scaffolding to help you reside your house or w/e #I think I’ll draw toolbox Harry next 3 am #I digress #anyways he gave back the shirt and love you was stitched on the front #<3 and now it’s dracos favorite #draco malfoy #harry potter #drarry #hp fanart #i am working my way slowly thru all the procreate brushes :> #also the outfit isn’t 1 to 1 from the collection I chopped and screwed it aka made it significantly worse #this rly feels like what my old hs art journals looked like #lots of almost straight on portraits w haloish additions and half assed backgrounds #I feel like I should b writing the date and time on the back of a th page #instead I’m writing a whole journal entry in the tags #stop me

[nintendont2502]

totally real fact: you have either dyed or wanted to dye your hair at some point (really casting a wide net here tbh)

both! ive dyed my hair so many times - off the top of my head (lmao) ive done red (looked more purple because i didnt bleach my hair properly), actual purple, blue and green (which washed out straight away so i was just blonde for a while) + i really want to dye my hair again,,, just waiting until i get a new job to see if im allowed to do it there

#i always do the shitty at home box dye and it always turns out terribly #i love it #get my friends over get them to fuck my hair up its fantastic #another reason im not dying my hair rn is its way too cold for my usual method (doing it outside and just rinsing off in the hose) #me.txt #ask #answer

[quirkle2]

I know you said you weren't overly bothered by your hair colour fading, but if you are, Keracolor makes Very good colour-stay products.

I used one of their clenditioners for my blue hair, and it stayed dark blue the whole time I used it. (Also turned my regrowth a WEIRD shade of muddy brown/blue as well, but oh well, goes to show how good the product is ig?)

OHHH TYSM i am Not in the know about hair care products at All so i'll definitely have to remember that

#qktalks #anon #was so funny when i used the conditioner that came w my red dye box that i did at home #bc my hair was So soft afterward and i was like ''literally why is this conditioner from a $10 box so good'' #and then i remembered that i don't use conditioner in any other circumstance and was like #''oh it's bc this is the first time ur using this shit in like 8 years . dumbass. of course ur gonna think it's a miracle''

[piknim]

Im probably not going to keep rodents anymore after my mice pass but i still want to make a line of practical and enriching items for them

No more plastic hides and less thick wood ones. Cheap cardboard houses made to shred are in

#ohh with a secret room filled with paper confetti #rodents #mouseblr #ratblr #hamsterblr #let them design their own houses! #i went the semi natural aesthetic route and my mice were so bored of it #they love now that ive just been giving them cardboard boxes #i want to make nesting materials too #mine love construction paper sm. they wont nest with anything else #but idk about the dyes #also chew toys made to shred with stuff hidden in them #oh paper mache houses #maybe just a site on how to make this kind of stuff at home and kits to make them would be better #precut pieces of cardboard with instructions #that would make it cheaper #also no judgment towards plastic i used plastic hides exclusively for my rats bc they were disgusting little things who pissed on everythin #g #they refused to potty train #it was just a bed to them

[baphofemme]

since my hair has grown out quite a bit i'll try dying it whenever i'm able to

#i'll have to get a few boxes since it grew out though #i might give myself an at-home ombre because i'm too broke to go to a salon #hopefully i'll be able to dye it the most arresting shade of hot pink #what's cookin' in hell's kitchen?

[allpowerfulaxolotl]

It was supposed to be purple keratin dye, but it’s looking more like caroten

Her bath is tomato soup and her neck is terracotta

#my posts #photo #hair #hair dye #carotenoids #at home dye #box dye

[femalemystic]

love the smell of freshly dyed hair

#box dye at home only ofc

[breathingsong]

you would be a lot happier if i were blonde!

#best song #just dyed my hair blonde whoooo #and in an effort to save money booked the cheapest hair dresser who ended up being the year above me in school which was awkward #also took FOUR AND A HALF HOURS i walked home in the dark. was not prepared for that #next time i will box dye it myself again and suffer the consequences #Spotify

[screeching-bunny]

Need more of our yan slasher,he's so pookie,i wanna bite his cheeks (in a affectionate way) and cuddle with him until the end of times,he's such a cutie 😭💗

Yandere! Slasher Pt.2

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Possessive Behavior, Reader is Referred as ‘You’

Pt. 1

After reading the message sent by Yandere! Slasher, everyone subconsciously looked at you. Never in your life did you want to go home more badly than you did right now. Why did you even decide to go to a party in the first place? You don’t even like people in general! You were definitely never going out to socialize with others after this. If only there were more booze around here you really didn’t want to handle this situation semi sober.

You: “... What are you all looking at me for, they gave out a very vague description of someone. This could literally be anyone in this room with similar features to me.”

The next minute the phone screen immediately lights up with a message.

Yandere! Slasher: “I’m talking about you.”

You: “...”

After a few more seconds of silence, you finally managed to suppress the fear and uneasiness in your heart. You took the phone from the person beside you and carefully looked back at the messages that were sent by Yandere! Slasher. Finally looking down at the text box you begin to slowly type a message.

You: “Sorry, I don’t like guys with dark hair.”

Yandere! Slasher: “I can always dye it.”

You: “I don’t like your face.”

Yandere! Slasher: “There’s always plastic surgery”

You: “How do I know that you're rich? What if you’re lying and actually not broke.”

Yandere! Slasher: “I’ll buy you whatever you want right now. I can even send you my credit card information if you decide to be with me.

Damn you were broke but not broke enough to allow yourself to be with some killer. If it weren’t for your morals you would have probably folded by now.

Yandere! Slasher: “Well it’s not like you have a choice anyways. I plan on making you my spouse either way. You can either come with me willingly or I could take you by force…. Well looks like you’re taking too long. I'll decide for you.”

With that text message sent, you immediately began to feel queasy. You were struggling to keep your eyes wide open and your body was beginning to become very sluggish. Slowly but surely your senses were starting to stop and the last thing that you were able to hear were the sound of your peers screaming for help. With one last attempt to get out of your situation, you try to slowly crawl away. Only for your attempts to be interrupted when someone gently picks you up. “You’re not going anywhere cutie.” and with that you were now fully unconscious.

—

The next morning you woke up with the world’s worst hangover in the world. Never in your life did you feel this fucked up and and groggy all at once. You begin to raise up your body but soon realize that your body was tightly restricted by some rope and you were wrapped in the arms of some guy. The immediate thought in your head was that this was, last night was either the kinkiest night of your life or some random weirdo had ended up kidnapping you. Due to your movements the man next to you begins to wake up and looks over to you with a smile on his face.

“Cutie! I’m so glad you’re awake. We have so many things that we need to discuss right now! I’ve been thinking about the names of our future kids. Do you have any preferences? I don’t really mind what we name them but I want a lot of kids! Wait! I’m being so inconsiderate right now. I never even asked you if you wanted kids. If you don’t like them we can adopt as many pets as we physically can and we–”

As he was rambling it finally hit you. He was the fucking weirdo from the night before. You wanted to fucking die. Never in a million years did you think that you’d have to deal with a serial killer and an extrovert at that. Maybe if you pretended to be deaf he would stop talking to you. You begin to look at him and begin to make gestures with your head and facial expressions to signify that you were deaf. Yandere! Slasher looks at you for a few minutes before laughing.

“Sweetie, that's not going to work. I’ve been stalking you for the last couple of years. I know that you’re not deaf. Besides I’ve looked at your medical, you're perfectly healthy right now. Which reminds me, my precious little darling must be starving right now. It’s my job as your future husband to take care of you. Now wait right here for me.”

With that he leaves you entrapped alone in the room. Although your eyes were still a little blurry you were still able to make out the contents of the room. Scanning the room, your eyes fell upon a glint of metal under a desk —a discarded tool left by neglect or chance. Adrenaline surged as you inched closer, your heart racing in synchrony with your movements. With trembling fingers, you grasped the tool, the cold touch sending a shiver down your spine.

Summoning every ounce of determination, you started sawing at the ropes, each movement a blend of agony and hope. The metallic smell of blood filled your nose as the sharp edges of the tool cut into your skin. With each passing second, the knots loosened, freedom within tantalizing reach. With one last rough movement you were able to be free of your binds. As you made your way towards the window. A creak soon shatters the silence and the door swings open. Revealing your kidnapper's looming silhouette.

“Look at you all covered in blood because I left the room. Did you really think I would leave the room without any monitors watching you? I was hoping that you wouldn't try to escape but I guess I’ll have to be training you from now on cutie. Guess I’ll have to punish you right now. Do me a favor and lay down won’t you?”

#yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere slasher

[ceilidho]

prompt: it's been a month since you managed to run away from them. your luck had to run out eventually. tags: noncon, darkfic, ghoap x reader, previous kidnapping implied, stalking and hunting down reader. i am begging you to read the tags before reading this, thanks. 4.4k

-

You pay for the motel room in cash. Always cash. Never a paper trail if you can help it. Nothing that could ever tip anyone off if you didn’t want them to be tipped off.

You haven’t been on the run for long. Maybe a month, tops—but after the first week, the days and nights have begun to blend together like watercolours. You don’t do much during the day apart from sit in your room and wait for the night to come. Sometimes you venture out if you’re low on food or if the itch under your skin grows severe enough that you know you need to buy a fresh set of clothes and dump the ones you came into town with. 

Freshly dyed and cut hair. Jackets two sizes too big to make you seem larger than you are from the back. You’ll never be able to change the face god gave you, but you make an effort to obscure it when you can—surgical masks on public transit, heavy sunglasses even indoors, a deep mauve lipstick (purchased, again, in cash at the local pharmacy) to make you seem, from a distance, like someone else. Anyone else.

Sometimes remembering that it’s been a whole month since you escaped, since you got out, leaves you winded. You have to hold onto the wall in your pay-by-the-night, ratty, hole-in-the-wall motel room to keep from toppling over. A month without spotting one of them in pursuit of you feels next to impossible. Almost impossible. You still don’t let yourself think that you’ve fully given them the slip, that you’ve gotten the better of them. There is no getting the better of them. There is no outmanoeuvring the two men that—you’ve learned through painful trial and error—do not let up when there is still the trace of a scent.

And everything leaves a scent. Even you.

You sleep in the bathtub instead of the bed for fear of bedlice; these days, your neck has an ever-present kink that needs to be worked out. It’s bound to get worse though. It’s not like you can stop in this town now and call it home, not when you can feel them hot on your heels. 

You change in gas station bathrooms when you run. You’re learning a kind of awareness of cameras and eyes that you never would’ve developed before. You do not smile at cashiers. Your face becomes blank, unrecognisable. The goal is always that you fade into obscurity the second you step out of the shop, so that no one could ever identify you to the two terrifying men haunting your shadow. Even if they wanted to. 

Paranoid isn’t the half of it. When you hear a car pull up outside your motel room door, your body drops a whole degree and sweats like a night terror has found you in the waking world. You only relax when you hear a door four rooms down slam shut. Then you shake so hard that you swear you can hear your bones rattle.

This isn’t a life. It’s life like the promise of a tomorrow is the only thing getting you through today. 

You get on buses with no idea where you’ll be getting off. Pattern disrupter. In the months that you lived with them, you learned something. If your movements are scattered, they become unpredictable—harder to track down. You force them to stay behind while you skitter off, forcing them to review video footage, question people, even sift through garbage and recycling bins for any sign that you’d been there. 

It doesn’t make you any less nervous. You know they’re like hunting dogs. You’d love to believe that you’ve tried their patience enough for them to abandon the chase, but thinking like that gets you caught. Complacency will get you caught faster than anything.

The money folded and sealed in an envelope in your bag is dwindling though. Even for as frugal as you’ve been, food costs money—clothes cost money. Boxes of hair dye and bus tickets cost money. And you can’t stay anywhere long enough to hold down a job to recuperate what you’ve lost.

It feels hopeless. You trudge back to your motel room after grabbing a bite to eat at the pub down the road and feel like maybe this is purgatory. Maybe you died a long time ago, long before you got away from them, and this long path you’ve been burning across the country is just the long descent into the underworld. You let out a sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a second by the door before unlocking it to go inside for the night.

You trip over something. It catches you so off guard that you almost break your nose on the carpeted floor, arms almost not swinging out in time to catch you. 

“Whoops. Sorry, kitty—took a lil’ tumble there, huh?” a familiar burr says from somewhere behind you by the door. “Gotta watch where you step.” He chuckles a bit under his breath, pulling back the leg he’d stuck out to trip you. 

Your body goes ice cold on the floor. The door clicks shut behind you; the deadbolt sliding into place is deafening in the silence. The thick knot in your belly expands until you think you might throw up. The only nonsensical thing you can think is that you hope the motel manager won’t be upset that you’ve ruined the carpet. 

You hear the muffled sound of knees hitting the floor and then a hand tangles in your hair, wrenching your head back. “Oh Jesus, look at the state of her, Lt.”

“Looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

The second voice is rough, like logs rolling over water, clattering into each other. It comes from the other end of the room, way into the darkness. They didn’t bother to turn the lights on, perhaps in an effort to make sure your guard was down. Fear grips the inside of your chest. Behind you, Johnny holds your head up high enough that you’re forced to stare at the patch of darkness from which Ghost materialises when he flicks on the bedside lamp. 

On the surface, he sounds almost amused, but as long as it’s been, you’re still attuned to the undercurrent of anger in his voice. His patience has been tried over weeks of chasing after you. He almost looks like he’s put on mass since you last saw him over a month ago, but that could just be the perspective of looking up at him from the floor. His face is still covered in the same half skull mask as always, exposing the shaved blond hair on his head. His eyes are narrowed though, terrifyingly mad.

“Poor baby,” Johnny murmurs, nuzzling into the back of your head. He props himself over you, not leaning his whole weight down onto your prone body, but trying to get as close as possible to you while still forcing you to stare up at Ghost. “Did we give ye a wee fright? Is that why ye ran off? I missed ye so, so bad, baby.”

“She ran off because she’s been spoiled,” Ghost snaps. He sits on the edge of the bed and it creaks under his weight when he shifts a little closer to the edge, leaning closer to where you’re lying on the floor. 

“I ken, I ken, Lt,” Johnny sighs, plastering sloppy, wet kisses into the side of your neck, fitting his mouth briefly into the crook of it, into the meat of your shoulder. “Cannae help myself, she’s just so—ah, kitty, am really sorry but you’ve really pissed Simon off.”

“No—no, please—” you gasp, breath splintered into short hitches. “H-how’d you—how’d you e-even find—”

Johnny shakes you by the hair, a bit rougher than usual. Anger finally leaking out like a drip from a loose spigot. You yip at the pain. “Of course we were gonna find you—Lt, ye hearing this? She thought she could outsmart us.”

“Pet’s don’t know any better,” Ghost says dismissively. It makes you feel queasy to hear him say that like you’re not even in the room. “Needs a lesson in not making us run halfway across the country after her. Get her on the bed, pup.”

“No, no, get OFF—” you try to yell, then gag when Johnny shoves two fingers into your mouth, pushing them almost to the back of your throat. 

When the urge to choke abates, you close your teeth over his fingers, flirting with the idea of just biting all the way down and taking them off. Only the fact that you’ve never done something like that before keeps you from instinctually biting through. Johnny laughs breathlessly when he feels your teeth flirt over his fingers though.

“Bite down,” Johnny dares you, voice quivering with smugness and rage. “Bite down ‘n see what happens to ye. Have nae gotten my cock wet in a fuckin’ month because you’ve been gone and Simon—”

“Quit talking to the pet like she understands,” Ghost snaps, finally standing up, towering over the two of you. You can’t help staring at his mud covered boots still rooted in front of your face. “On the bed. Now.”

You howl when Johnny takes his fingers out of your mouth and wrenches you to your feet, struggling when he coos and frogmarches you to the bed. No matter how hard you struggle though, you can’t break the way he has your arms twisted behind your back. It’s a short walk too, only a few steps, and then Johnny shoves you roughly onto the bed, clambering over you again. His hand forces your face into the mattress, not paying any mind to the way you grunt because your nose bends uncomfortably against it. 

“Always fuckin’ whining,” Johnny growls into your ear, fully pissed off now. His anger is electric, rippling down the length of you. “On and on and on—’n I’ve been so fuckin’ good to ye. Have nae even been a little mean. Being a fuckin’ brat to me and leavin’ me and makin’ us hunt ye down like dogs.” 

You can hear that he’s working himself up to a fever pitch, growing angrier and angrier. It terrifies you to think that you’re trapped under him, nowhere to go. Somehow, it’s a mercy when the bed dips again under Ghost’s weight and he pulls Johnny back by the shoulder, giving his cheek a little tap when Johnny growls and tries to bend back down. 

“You have all the time in the world with her, pup,” Ghost says, giving Johnny a rougher shove. “Get undressed. Can’t fuck her in your civvies.” 

“Yeah…yeah, yer right,” Johnny mumbles to himself, getting off you. 

Your head automatically twists over your shoulder, eyes following him. It’s easy to see in the spare seconds you get before you try to make a break for it again that he looks haggard, beard grown out a bit more than usual. Ghost usually makes him keep it short and tight, but apparently weeks on the road have tempered that military expectation a bit. 

His eyes are wild, electric blue, hardly blinking for how hard he stares at you. You tell yourself that you haven’t, on some small level, missed his pretty face. His arms bulge around the tight shirt that he easily strips off, pulling it off one handed from the back of his neck.

You hear him kick off his boots somewhere in the distance, but when you try to scramble off the bed, Ghost tips you over onto your bed and presses you down with a firm hand on your shoulder. He’s a bit less dressed now—hoodie pulled off and boots and jeans piled on the floor somewhere. Mask off. Familiar scars cut across his face—old burn marks and white spidery lines of fresh skin. Rougher than Johnny, not a pretty man; maybe without the layers of scarring he’d be a proper masculine kind of handsome, but with them, he only seems dangerous. Someone to avoid. 

He doesn’t say anything when he stares down at you. He says enough like that. He looks over his shoulder, away from you. “Johnny?”

“Lt?” Johnny’s at attention now, stripped naked and eager. When you glance down, his cock is already flushed and hard, excitement making him almost vibrate.

“Help me get her naked and then you’ll get her mouth, alright?”

You’re already struggling before the words come out of his mouth, frantically trying to push Ghost off you and opening your mouth to scream—the piercing shrill of it bleats out of you for half a second—before a big hand wraps around your neck and Ghost turns back to you. It shuts you up in a heartbeat. Not once in the months you were with them has Ghost looked half as terrifying; you’ve had a belt taken to your ass until the blood pooling under the skin almost burned, you’ve been manhandled and roughly positioned and been bent into shapes that your body could only just accommodate, but you’ve never, until now, actually worried for your safety somehow. 

“You scream—” he starts, moving his hand up just a little to grab you by the jaw and twist your head to make you stare at the bedside table, where a glock lays flat under the glow of the lamp, “—and I shoot anyone that comes through that fuckin’ door. We clear?”

You nod once. Sweat pouring out of every other gland, but the saliva running dry in your mouth. You lick your lips and swallow, hummingbird heart going wild in your chest. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Johnny mumbles, coming up behind Ghost to wrap his arms around him as best he can, planting a row of kisses into his shaved head. “Missed it so bad, I need ta—need ta—”

“Her clothes, Johnny. Take ‘em off.”

You only put up a little fight when Ghost works on unzipping and pulling down your jeans. It feels hopeless to try. Johnny almost tears your shirt in two to get it off, only being a bit gentler when you yelp. He can’t help groping at your chest when the shirt is pulled off you and tossed somewhere else in the room, big hands fitting over your breasts and plucking your nipples, twisting them like you’re just a toy for Johnny to play with. He slithers down onto his belly for a second to pop a nipple into his mouth, switching between kissing and sucking at the beaded nub like he can’t tell what he missed more.

Your panties get ripped clean in two. The sob comes out of your chest unbidden, tears finally spilling out. Ghost’s patience seems finally at its end. His eyes are black even in the light, all pupil. Your legs try to close instinctively, but he slots himself between them so you can only clamp your legs around his waist, stuck staring at the way his hand reaches for his boxers only long enough to pull the elastic under his balls. His cock is so heavy with blood that it droops, the tip dewy. 

Your nipples gleam with spit when Johnny finally takes his mouth off them, sitting back on his haunches and spreading his legs. It’s all happening so fast—there isn’t a right place to look. Either the monstrous cock between your legs that already has you feeling twangs of phantom pain knowing that Ghost isn’t going to even bother stretching you on his fingers before fucking you, or the pretty cock that Johnny is already rubbing against your lips, painting with his precome. You flinch when you feel Ghost spit on your sex; he doesn’t try to rub it in.

“Simon” he pants, fingers tangling in your hair again to keep your head still when you try to turn away. “Simon, please, can I—I need ta come so bad. Please, please.”

You almost say something and then Ghost pushes his cock in to the hilt in one brutal plunge. Your mouth opens on a ragged gasp and Johnny keens, fingers clenching so hard in your hair that he almost tears it out by the roots. The tip of his cock stays flush against your lips, even split open on your gasp.

“Please, sir, please,” he begs, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. Aching and desperate. Holding himself back only because he needs permission to put his cock anywhere in you, just like he did all those weeks ago back in their house out in the countryside. The one you thought you thought you’d escaped. 

Ghost chuckles, groaning at the feel of your tight cunt squeezing his cock. “Go ahead, boy. Give your cock a squeeze.”

That’s all it takes. Johnny pushes past your lips roughly, no finesse or gentleness at all. Maybe the capacity for it is gone after going without you for so long. You choke when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, tears making your vision blur. Johnny preens and gushes over you, unable to stop babbling about how hot and tight your throat is, how much he missed it. 

“Oh shit, sir, she’s—” Johnny gasps, sinking into your mouth again and again, sweaty hand still clutching your hair. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

You feel close to the point of breaking, tight after a month on the lam, too tight for someone Ghost’s size to shove their cock into you without prep. You tell yourself that at least he bothered to spit on you, but lube would help a lot more. Too bad for you. His hands fit over your waist and hold tight, making sure you know that there’s nowhere for you to go. The first few thrusts are rough but slow enough to keep you from tearing—a small mercy, but probably not for your sake.

“I get—I get her pussy after, right, sir?” Johnny asks desperately.

“Dunno, Johnny,” Ghost muses, licking his lip. His thrusts get more brutish, faster; your teeth would be clacking together if Johnny’s cock wasn’t stuck halfway down your throat. “Gonna be a bit sloppy. Might not be tight enough for you after this.”

“S’okay, sir,” he whines, glancing back down at you. Fingers petting your cheek and tracing over your throat, trying to feel himself from the outside. “Jus’ need…oh fuck, please, it’s so good—oh Christ, missed it. I’ll take anythin’, sir, please.”

“Christ, alright, puppy. You can have a turn after. Been a good boy, huh?” 

You can only stare when Ghost lifts a hand from your waist to reel Johnny in by his mohawk, tugging him in for a wet kiss, still thrusting into your pussy all the while. Just a toy between them for their cocks while Ghost licks into Johnny’s mouth and mutters sweet nothings to him. Johnny moans into the kiss, sucking Ghost’s tongue when it’s offered to him and looking dazed, come-drunk. All fucked out and flushed, hips unconsciously pumping forward, just absently rutting. 

“Got our girl back, right?” Ghost murmurs, letting go of Johnny’s hair to smooth down his head and neck, making him preen. “Such a smart puppy.”

“Yeah, I’m good, sir.” He sounds out of his mind, slurring his words. Praise gets him like nothing else; it’s not easily given by Ghost, not handed out for nothing. “Did good…’m a good boy…”

The corners of your lips feel like they might crack. It’s hard to be careful with your teeth when you’re so overwhelmed, but luckily Johnny doesn’t mind it a bit rough. He hiccups when your teeth scrape over his cock a bit. He lips at Ghost’s mouth, dragging his tongue over the scar that bisects the corner of Ghost’s lips. When Ghost finally pulls away from Johnny’s mouth, a thin string of saliva pulls and then bends with the distance, finally snapping off and leaking onto your chest. 

Your flinch and squeak draws Ghost’s attention back down to you. 

You try to think of yourself looking down on the three of you instead of in it, but it’s hard. For as much as it seems like you’re just a toy between them, Ghost makes an effort to get you off, slipping a hand down to jiggle his thumb over your clit, rubbing it just the way you like. It’s sick how well he knows your body by now, how it takes almost nothing to push you to the edge of coming, core tight with the heat of it. 

“Gonna come?” Ghost taunts, scooping a hand under your ass to tilt your hips up, hitting a spot inside you that has you seeing stars, cunt flexing over his cock. You garble around Johnny’s cock as if to say something, but all it does is make Johnny groan and slump over you, holding himself upright with a hand on the mattress. His abs flex every time he fucks into your mouth. “Pussy this close to coming—you must’ve starved it. Good thing you didn’t let someone fuck you while we were looking. Woulda torn them apart.”

You can see the real threat in his eyes at that. There’s no way you would’ve, but the real danger of it crackles in the room. You feel like you’ll slip and touch the third rail if you so much as twitch under his glare. His jealousy at the thought makes him look like an angry god, chest heaving with every breath as he fucks you. 

“My baby wouldnae—” Johnny gasps, sinking his cock all the way into your throat and groaning at the squeeze, “—no, Si, she’s—ah, fuck me, ‘m gonna—fuck, fuck—Si, she wouldnae do that to us. No fuckin’ way.”

“She’d have a lot of making up to do then, huh?”

“She’s a good girl, sir, ‘promise. Oh, jus’ look at her,” Johnny gushes, sweat dripping down onto your face from how he’s curled over you. “So, so pretty. Maybe I dinnae take her…take her on enough walks.”

“Yeah…” You feel your skin crawl when Ghost stares down at you, not convinced. “Of course, pup.”

You know there’s no way he believes that. When they drag you home, you don’t think you’ll see the sunlight for weeks, never mind have Johnny take you on ‘walks’. Ghost’s smothering presence will take on a whole new meaning; he’ll snuff out the sun before he lets you walk in it alone ever again. 

Someone in the room adjacent to yours slams their fist into the wall a couple of times, jolting you out of your thoughts. The headboard must really be knocking against the wall. Ghost and Johnny ignore it though, Johnny so close to coming that he can hardly even form a sentence, solely focused on spearing between your lips. You can feel Ghost reaching his end too, fucking you with a single-minded intensity. Breath snorting out of his nose like a bull. The hair on his chest is matted with sweat, curls whorling around his nipples. 

You almost choke when Johnny comes down your throat without warning, hilting his cock until his balls brush your chin and his hand in your hair tightens painfully. He groans, drawn out and long, pained. It splashes against the back of your throat, almost familiar. You’ve done this before. You can do this without falling down a cliff and never climbing back up. 

He pulls his cock out before he’s finished, striping your face with come, twitching when he has to hold his cock from how sensitive it is. You instinctively close your eyes, grateful when you feel his come tag your eyelid. 

You hope it’s almost over, but Ghost hasn’t come yet and you know it’s going to get worse before it gets better. When Johnny pulls away to collapse onto his back on the bed, trying to catch his breath and dragging his hand over his stomach, Ghost hunches over you. He drags his tongue over your cheek, wet and nasty, and your brain almost switches off when you realise that he’s licking Johnny’s come off your cheek. 

“There we go,” he snarls, feeling you flex around him, the little tell-tale spasm of your approaching orgasm. “Atta girl—gonna come on my cock? A little wet sorry for running away?”

You try to say something, but your throat is raw, voice too hoarse for words. Even your lips feel puffy, swollen. Talking hurts. It doesn’t matter though, Ghost doesn’t wait for your response. He pumps into you like a machine, pulling his cock all the way out before pushing back in again. Your stomach cramps with the worry that he might miss and try pushing into the other hole.

You wish there was a way around it, but you can’t avoid it slamming into you, a white hot wave cresting over you. You come so hard it hurts, milking Ghost’s cock and pushing him over the edge too; he pants harsh, animalistic sounds into your throat, cutting himself off by sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder instead, making you howl. There’s no condom to keep his come from pumping into you; just a big, heavy man smelling of gunpowder and salt hovering over you, elbow propped on the mattress beside your head and making you go a bit crazy at the scent of him everywhere around you. 

He peels himself off of you after what feels like an hour, soft cock pulling out of you and making you clench down on nothing. You didn’t remember how much being empty can hurt. You try to roll away from him and onto your side, maybe squeeze yourself into a fetal position, but Ghost collapses down beside you and plants a hand on the centre of your chest, holding you in place. Never any respite. 

You croak a tired little, “Ow.” All it does is make Ghost snort softly.

Your body feels like one livid bruise in the aftermath, limbs loose at your sides. You couldn’t move even if you tried, even if you thought you could make a break for it. It would hardly be worth it. You let your eyes slide shut when Ghost runs a hand up and down your chest, a little comforting gesture. 

“Simon,” Johnny whines from beside you. Your brows scrunch, annoyed at his voice breaking the silence. “Please.”

You hear Ghost sigh. “Now?”

“Cannae wait—please.”

You wait to hear Johnny and Ghost get up. Maybe there’s something they have to do—maybe they drove to the motel and there’s still something in the car. 

A hand grabs you by the hip.

“Turn over, pet,” Ghost instructs, flipping you onto your stomach without waiting for you to acquiesce. “Promised Johnny a turn with your pussy before we leave.”

Your eyes go wide.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #cod simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost/reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost/soap/reader #x reader #soap cod #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap mactavish #ghost x soap #soap x reader #soap/reader

[waitimcomingtoo]

Lead Me To The Garden

pairing: Peeta Mellark x best friend!reader

Synopsis: Peeta kisses you before going into the Games but then has an onscreen romance with another girl

“Who do you think it’ll be this year?”

Peeta didn’t look up from the dough he was kneading as he thought about your question. Reaping day always brought a lot of anxiety for the two of you and Peeta typically distracted himself by baking. In a similar fashion, you liked to distract yourself by hanging around the bakery and watching Peeta.

“I don’t know. Maybe one of my brothers.” He said finally.

“Don’t even joke. I better never hear “Mellark” out of that crazy sparkly lady’s mouth.”

“I told you, she’s not crazy. That’s just how people dress in the Capital.” Peeta chuckled and held his hand out. You put some flour into his hand and he slapped in onto his dough.

“I don’t care how much money you have. Nobody should dress like that. How does she even sit in those dresses?” You wondered and took a bite of one of the muffins he had made. You hopped up on the counter top and let your legs swing as you watched him put his bread into the oven.

“What would you wear? If you had Capital money?” He asked as he wiped his hands on his apron.

“A yellow sweater.” You said with a sheepish smile.

“What? That’s it?” Peeta chuckled and leaned on the counter that you were sitting on, boxing you between his arms.

“Don’t laugh.” You gasped playfully. “You can dye cloth but not wool. At least not in this district. And you definitely can’t get any color as yellow as the dandelions that grow behind my house. So I would buy a nice, warm, yellow sweater. The kind with the fancy pattern that looks like a braid. It would be the first thing I own that’s pretty. And that’s new. I would be the first person to wear it.”

“If I had any money, I’d buy you one.” Peeta said with a soft smile.

“Really? You wouldn’t spend your money on yeast or milk?” You teased him.

“Baking isn’t my whole life, you know. I like other things too.” He said and leaned in a little. You inhaled his scent and could smell the baked goods he’d been baking all day on his skin. It was mixed with the scent that was just distinctly Peeta, a scent you had grown to associate with home.

“Like what?” You asked as you leaned in as well. Peeta’s eyes dropped to your lips for a second before he reminded himself that best friends weren’t supposed to think about each other that way.

“Stealing food from you.” He said to cover up his fondness and took the muffin from you hand. He held eye contact with you as he took a bite of the muffin which made you laugh and smack his arm.

“You’re really good at it.” You humored him.

“Thank you. I try to be.” He said and hopped up on the counter beside you. He handed the muffin back to you and you mouthed “thank you” before taking another bite.

“So what would you really buy?” You asked once you swallowed.

“I’d buy a house.” He said without having to think about it.

“Really? But you have a house.”

“I know. But I want my own house. With a nice oven and a book shelf for your books for when you come over. And it would be nice and quiet inside. And I’d have a garden so I never had to go to the market if I found a new recipe I wanted to try.” Peeta said as he traced the outline of a carnation on your leg. You slipped your arm through his and ran your fingers up and down it in the way he once told you his mom did when he was a little boy.

“That sounds really nice.” You said quietly. He looked into your eyes and smiled softly.

“You could live there too.” He told you.

“Why? So I could take care of the garden for you?” You teased.

“So we could be together everyday.” He said, making your laughter stop. You didn’t realize he was being serious and felt guilty for making a joke. You rested your head on his shoulder and continued to run your fingernails up and down his arm.

“That would be nice.” You agreed. “We could get a little house by the meadow. We could decorate it the way we wanted, like with your drawings and paintings. And there would never be shouting because we’d always talk to each other with love.”

“I think we’d be really happy there.” Peeta said as he lifted his head off of yours to look at you. You kept your head on his shoulder and stared straight ahead.

“But what if they call my name later?” You said quietly.

“They won’t. There’s dozens of girls in the district. They won’t call you.”

“What if they call you?”

“Theres even more boys in the district. And if they did call me, one of my brothers would probably volunteer.” Peeta shrugged but you could tell he didn’t believe himself.

You sat in silence for a little longer until his bread was ready. He took it out and brought it outside while you grabbed a blanket. You ate out on the grass in comfortably silence as you stared out at the mountains. A horn soon sounded in the air, signaling that it was time to go. You walked to town together and saw girls and boys getting into their respective lines.

“See you after?” You asked him with a nervous smile. Peeta nodded and pulled you into a tight hug. He kissed the side of your head before joining the rest of the boys. You got your finger pricked and joined the girls in a massive group that faced that stage. A younger girl from distract was called first and her sister immediately volunteered to go in for her. Your heart was finally started to calm down when you heard the worst two words you could possibly imagine being said into the microphone.

“Peeta Mellark.” Effie said with a poised smile. You’d never know she was giving s death sentence by the tone in her voice.

You froze as the crowd was swept with shocked murmurs and people looking at you. Your head was stiff as your eyes slowly followed Peeta emerging from the crowd and walking on stage. He was just as catatonic as you were on that stage and kept his eyes low. He shook hands with the girl who had been picked and was led backstage which was when you started screaming. You pushed through the crowd and ran towards the stage but were caught by two Peacekeepers. You thought you were about to be executed but they actually brought into the back to where Peeta had gone. You passed his brothers and parents in the hallway before getting shoved into a room. Peeta was inside with red eyes and a pale face.

“Peeta.” You choked out and threw your arms around him. Peeta hugged you as tight as he could without hurting you and buried his face in your shoulder. You stroked his hair and whispered comforting words in his ear until he calmed down.

“I’m so sorry.” You said into his ear.

“It’s okay.” He sniffled and pulled out of the hug. You stared into his teary eyes for a second before grabbing his hands.

“We can run. We can sneak out of here and head to the woods and just run.” You whispered.

“We can’t. They’ll catch me and kill you first trying.” He shook his head sadly.

“But we have to do something. They can’t do this to you. They can’t take you away.” You urged. Peeta put a hand on your face and wiped your tear with his thumb.

“There’s nothing we can do.” He whispered. You nodded your head and knew there was no use spending the little time you had left trying to come up with a plan that would never work.

“I guess you’re right. So I’ll see you when you come back, okay?” You said and cupped his face.

“Oh, honey.” He smiled sadly. “I’m not coming home.”

“Shh.” You covered his mouth. “Yes you are. You’re gonna come home to me and we’re gonna build the house with the garden like we said we would.”

“There’s never going to be a garden. I’m gonna die in there.” Peeta choked up so you pulled him back into a hug.

“No you’re not. You’re not gonna die. I won’t let you.” You promised him as you stroked his hair to calm him down.

“Our district can barely afford to feed themselves. We have no money for sponsorships. And I have no skills outside of the bakery. I can’t hunt or protect myself. I’ve never even killed an animal. I’m gonna die in there.” Peeta cried into your shoulder.

“Shhh. Don’t say that. You can still win. Maybe a miracle will happen.” You said but even you didn’t believe it. A Peacekeeper then pounded on the door to signal that your time was almost up. You froze in Peeta’s arms before gripping him tighter. Peeta pulled away suddenly and cupped your face in his hands.

“I need to tell you something.” He said hastily.

“What is it?” You worried when you saw the panic in his eyes.

“I’m in love with you. I always have been. Since we were kids.”

“Peeta, what?“ You whispered and wrapped your hands around his wrists.

“I have always loved you. I’m sorry it took me until now to tell you. I wish I told you when I first felt it. But I needed you to know before I left.” He said as he stared into your eyes. You were speechless as you stared back but before you could say anything, a Peacekeeper burst in the door. He grabbed your arm to pull you out of the room but you just yanked your arm away. You threw your arms around Peeta and kissed him for as long as you could before you were pulled away by the Peacekeeper.

“Now you have to come home.” You said to him as you struggled against the Peacekeeper trying to pull you out of the room. Peeta grabbed your hand and held it as long as he could until the Peacekeeper picked you up.

“I love you!” Peeta shouted after you with his hand still outstretched.

“I’ll wait for you!” You shouted back as you were carried out of the room.

You watched the broadcast everyday with your eyes peeled for any glimpse of Peeta. You were shocked to see him on fire in the tribute parade and even more surprised at the sight of him in a suit for his interview with Cesar Flickerman. You’d only ever seen Peeta in colorless, wrinkled, cotton clothes from your district which was a sharp contrast to the shiny black suit adorned with sparkly red flames on the sleeve. You smiled shyly as if he were right in front of you and tried to touch the projection of the broadcast but your fingers just went through. Peeta was surprisingly charming in his interview and it made your heart yearn for your best friend. You missed spending the day with him and him making you laugh in person so this was a nice substitution.

“Is there anyone special at home?” Cesar asked Peeta. Peeta smiled shyly and looked into the camera, making you feel like he was looking directly at you.

“Actually, yes. There is a special girl from home that I’ve loved for what feels like my entire life.” Peeta said with a bashful smile. You grinned and clasped your hands under your chin as you watched him talk about you.

“Well that’s great. If you win the games, she’ll have to go out with you.” Cesar said and patted his shoulder.

“Unfortunately winning the games isn’t going to help me.” Peeta said with a sad smile.

“Oh no? Why not?” Cesar asked him.

“Because she came here with me.” Peeta answered.

Your stomach dropped. Your jaw dropped. Your felt like you were going to be sick. He wasn’t talking about you. He was talking about the girl he got reaped with. You turned away from the broadcast and held yourself in your arms as you ran to your room. You slammed your door before throwing yourself on your bed. You cried yourself to sleep and when you woke up, you realized you had missed the start of the games. You lingered around areas that were broadcasting the games to keep an eye on Peeta. Your anxiety was at an all time high day in and day out as you prayed he’d live to see another day. It was a few days in that he got cut with a sword by one of the boys from district one. You cried yourself to sleep again that night since Peeta wasn’t shown on camera for a while after that. Finally, you heard from a girl in town that Peeta had been found by the lake by the girl from your district. You ran home as fast as you could and turned on the broadcast right in time to see him kissing Katniss. You let out a shocked squeak and quickly turned the games off. You did your best to avoid any information about the games after that but the romance between Katniss and Peeta was all anyone in your district could talk about. It was rare that people from your district lasted this long in the games, let alone two of them, so you couldn’t blame people for talking about it. To add to that, the romance was something that had never been seen in the games before and made for very entertaining television for every single person in your district besides you. You were rooting for Peeta, of course, but you could not bear to watch him cuddling with another girl as he fought for his life.

Finally, the last day came. You watched Peeta and Katniss win after nearly killing themselves in front of the world so that they didn’t have to kill each other. You felt your anxiety deplete for the first time in weeks when Peeta put down the berries. You didn’t even care that he was hugging another girl after nearly killing himself so that he didn’t have to lose her because it meant that he was coming home. He was finally coming home.

On the day the winners were set to return home, you waited in the crowd beside Gale Hawthorn, a boy from your district, and Katniss’s little sister. You and Gale were eyeing each other curiously and had no idea that you were in the same boat. Peeta and Katniss were brought out on stage and you felt tears come to your eyes the second you saw Peeta. You clapped for him like everyone else in the crowd but froze when you noticed that he was holding her hand. Peeta was scanning the crowd for you and when he finally spotted you, he dropped Katniss’s hand and waved to you. You weakly waved back but couldn’t shake the mixed emotions brewing inside you. You were beyond relieved and grateful that he was home safe. But that didn’t mean it didn’t deeply hurt you to watch him with another girl after he told you that he loved you. You and Peeta stared at each other from your places on the stage and the crowd and both began to cry without relaxing it. You wiped your face and put on a smile for him despite the pain you were feeling inside.

After Peeta and Katniss gave their speeches, the crowd dispersed and you followed Peeta’s brothers back to his house. You bounced your leg as you sat at their kitchen table and waited for Peeta to come home. Finally, the door opened and he walked inside. He was dressed in fancy Capital clothing but had the same old smile that you knew so well. You watched him hug his mother first, then father. His brothers hugged him all at once and patted his back or rubbed his hair, touching him in any way they could.

Then, he looked at you.

Peeta looked startled to see you at first but his eyes immediately softened. You stood up from your seat and your legs felt like jelly as you slowly walked towards him. His eyes were brimmed with tears and he could not believe you had come to see him after what he made you watch him do in the games. You were hurt and confused by his actions but you put on a brave face for him now that he was home.

“You’re here?” He asked in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

“Of course I’m here. You’re here.”

“I thought you’d be mad.” He said in a weak voice. He was looking at you as if he was expecting a lecture or a blow out fight, but that’s not what you came for.

“I still had to see you.” You said simply.

Peeta gulped when you didn’t deny that you were mad but nodded his head.

“So where’s Katniss?” You asked him with fake politeness.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “With her family, probably.”

“Oh.” You nodded and an awkward silence fell between you. His family exchanged looks and Peeta was fully aware of it.

“Do you think we could talk? Just the two of us?” He asked hopefully. You nodded your head and he lead you to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. A black box on his dresser caught your eye as you sat down on his bed. He noticed it too and went over to it to open it up. When he turned around, he had a soft yellow knit sweater in his hands that made your jaw drop.

“I, uh, I brought you this from the Capital.” Peeta said as a shy blush covered his face.

“You found a yellow sweater?” You gasped and touched the sweater with gentle hands as if you were afraid your damage it. You’d never seen clothes that color in person before and it was even better than you imagined.

“I tried to but I never found one like the one you described. So I asked them to make it for me. They made four of them, actually. They can just do that there. They know nothing about want.” Peeta laughed shortly but neither of you found it funny.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” You smiled gratefully and took the sweater. The fact that he had remembered the sweater you told him about despite everything he had just gone through. You felt guilty for being mad at him now that he had given you the sweater and realized you hadn’t even hugged him yet. You folded the sweater and left it on his bed before standing up. Peeta tensed up and wasn’t sure what you were about to do. You stepped towards him and wrapped your arms around him, to which he immediately responded to and hugged you back. He instantly broke down and cried in your arms just like he did the day of the Reaping. You stroked his hair and cooed in his ear until he calmed down enough to talk.

“I didn’t think you were ever gonna talk to me again.” He sniffled. You pressed your cheek against his blonde hair and took in his scent for the first time in weeks. Underneath the expensive cologne the Capital had dawned him in, you could still smell Peeta.

“Of course I’ll still talk to you. I’m sorry I was so cold to you. I’m just confused.” You admitted as you pulled out of the hug.

“I know.” Peeta nodded. “And you have every reason to be. I told you I loved you and then I professed my love to another girl with the whole world watching. If the roles were reversed, I’d be devastated. But you have to understand, that wasn’t what it looked like. It was all an act.”

“An act?”

“Yeah. We pretended to be a couple so people would send us food and medicine. I had no way to tell you that it wasn’t real and I’m so sorry about that. You don’t know how badly I wished I could tell you.” Peeta professed as he cupped your face in his hands.

“You were just pretending?” You smiled in surprise.

“Of course I was. What did you think? That it was real?” He laughed softly.

“Well, yeah. That’s what it looked like. I thought guys fell for each other during training and your love got you through the games.”

“Our acting got us through.” He corrected. “Haymitch told us to do it the day we met him. You really thought I fell for another girl that quickly?”

You didn’t share in his smile and shook your head instead. Peeta’s eyes softened and he rubbed his thumb on your cheek.

“I’m sorry, honey. I can’t imagine how confusing that must have been to watch after how we said goodbye.” Peeta said with a sympathetic pout. Your anger towards him melted away as you wrapped your hand around his wrists.

“So you don’t love her?”

“No. I never did. I’ve only ever loved you.” He answered with a soft smile. A smile tugged on your lips as well so you rested your forehead against his. Peeta let go of your face and wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you flushed against him.

“You know, the thought of coming home to you was the only thing that kept me going. I thought about the way you kissed me every night.” Peeta said as he stared into your eye.

“You did?” You smiled shyly at the memory.

“I did.” He nodded. “It was the only thing keeping me warm.”

You stared back into his eyes before tilting your head to the side and connecting his lips in a kiss. He kissed you back slowly and tightened his grip with one hand while moving the other up and down your back. All your anger and confusion melted away into the kiss now that he was yours again. When you pulled away, you stayed in comfortable silence in each others arms.

“Will you come live with me in Victors Village? We can plant our garden like we said.” Peeta asked you.

And so you did. You moved in with him and hung his paintings on the wall to decorate the place. You planted the garden in the backyard and put you in change of the vegetables while Peeta tended the flowers.

But you didn’t feel at home when you walked through the door each day. It was only when Peeta got home everyday with a fresh loaf of bread that the house became home.

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