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omg yes like cowboy jason working around the ranch in a tank top or without it tbh, all sweaty, muscles flexing. what a sight for sore eyes😫😫 and the hat !!! he'd never take it off i bet

teehee 🤭

farmhand!jason todd x reader. reader owns a farm, jason helps. tw minor cut. lots of ogling 😋

****

"Horses need to be taken inside."

You look up from your seat on the porch swing. You've spent the better part of the hot afternoon in the shade, doing your taxes. Possibly the worst part of running a farm, besides all the excrement.

Jason's got a bridle over his shoulder and a pail of feed in the opposite hand. His neck gleams with sweat. His biceps bulge in his flexed arms. His hat sits low to block the unforgiving sun, so you can't see his eyes. You hope he can't see your wandering gaze.

"Oh, okay. Because of the heat?" This is your first summer on your farm. You're trying to learn everything you can for the future.

He nods. "Then I'll move the rest of the hay."

You make a mental note to watch when Jason starts tossing hay bales. Woof. "Okay. Thanks, Jason. I'm gonna make lunch soon."

He gives you a thumbs up and walks away. You do not (repeat, do not) stare at his broad backside as he walks away. That would be unprofessional and really, really stupid because Jason's the only good farmhand you've found in a sixty-mile radius, and it was sheer luck that brought him here. You can't afford to go searching for someone else because your little crush got out of hand.

It wasn't your dream to own a farm. Your uncle died suddenly in March, and no one else in the family wanted the land. You were convinced by a family friend that a farm was a great way to be self-sufficient. Start anew.

They weren't wrong; you just aren't much of a farmer. It's only because of Jason that you've made any profit at all, or you might've run the farm into the ground.

Jason Todd. You met him by accident in town when he was passing through one day. He told you he was looking for work in an accent that wasn't from anywhere around here. He refused to answer any further questions. That suited you fine in your desperation. You were too frazzled to think about the consequences of hiring a mysterious, handsome stranger. But it's been two months now, and you're regretting everything.

Oh, he's fantastic help. That's not the issue.

The issue is how gently Jason speaks to the cows and the horses, squeezing them affectionately when he thinks you're not watching. It's how he doesn't say much, ever, but he somehow knows when you need help with a chore or when you're daunted by the responsibility of a farm.

Wordlessly, he goes where you go, shouldering the majority of labor. Jason will let you do chores long enough so you learn how they're done, and then he'll take over, shooing you away in minimal words.

He's good at what he does; he's worked on plenty of farms and ranches before. It's entirely professional on his end. It's a little more than that for you.

It almost feels domestic some days: Jason tending to the livestock, you handling the business end of things. Jason offered to make deliveries for you, and you agreed, but he wouldn't accept extra payment for it. At first, you tried to pay him for everything, unsure of the proper etiquette. Jason had very firmly told you that that was a good way to be robbed blind.

Jesus, you're already housing me, feeding me, and paying me. This is my damn job, got it?

And did that deter you from developing a crush? No! If anything, it made it worse, working with a guy who insisted upon being honestly compensated. You overdo it now by making extra pies or chicken bakes for Jason to graze on throughout the day, especially if you're not home. He tells you it's too much, but he won't refuse the extra food.

Sometimes, it feels like he knows exactly what you're doing and why you're doing it. He looks at you with such a piercing gaze, you feel unraveled. He must know your feelings. You hope he doesn't. You hope he does.

You finish the last tax form, happy to be done. Then you stand and stretch before going inside to start lunch. On his days off, Jason cooks for both of you. But being that he takes on the chores and deliveries, you don't mind cooking most days. It's nice to cook for another person, especially one who appreciates your efforts.

Embarrassingly, you've fantasized about Jason coming into the kitchen and sipping kisses from your lips, squeezing your waist, telling you how good the food smells and how good you taste. Your spine goes straight when Jason passes by and gets close to you, so close that you can feel his earthy heat. But he never touches you. And he certainly doesn't tell you how you good you taste.

The curtains on the kitchen window are parted. You have a perfect view of Jason in his white undershirt and jeans and boots. He's stocky and taller than any man you've ever met, all muscle and fat, built like an ox. He told you once it's all he's good for, his strength. You don't know about that, but you can't deny that he's built for farm work.

He lifts the hay bales now, tossing them easily. You absently prepare chicken salad sandwiches while you watch Jason work. You feel like a pervert, gagging for a glimpse of your employee doing his job. You don't possess quite enough shame to stop, though.

Maybe you need to start dating again. Maybe this is just because you're lonely and Jason is the person you interact with the most. You should go to the events they host a few miles away for single people. You're sure you'd at least find someone to occupy your time for a little while.

Then again, you need to focus on the farm. You can't let yourself get distracted by some nobody. Jason cares about your farm's success, so he's okay. But you can't invite anyone else into your life right now.

Cosmic forces deal you your payback then. You're chopping celery for the salad and the knife slips. It's not a serious cut, but it's deep enough for blood to gush from your finger.

The porch door swings open then. Jason hangs up his hat on the hook. His eyes immediately fall onto your bleeding finger.

"It's just a little cut," you begin, but Jason ignores you. He herds you like a sheepdog into a seat at the kitchen table, and you obey, dazed by his bulk and easy command. No wonder the horses listen easily to him and not to you.

Jason washes his hands, then gets the first aid kid from under the sink. He's the one who insisted on you getting it. It's been used quite a bit, you being accident-prone, especially with unfamiliar equipment. The first time you needed it, Jason looked at you with a little smugness, proud that his suggestion came in handy. Your crush blossomed.

"I can do it," you say when Jason sits down next to you with the kit, but he wordlessly ignores you and you watch, almost through an out-of-body experience, as Jason takes your wrist and gently cleans your cut. It stings, and you hiss. He squeezes you in apology, then continues, sealing your cut with a band-aid.

Jason's hair is spiked with sweat. He's got a smear of dirt on his cheek. God, what you'd give to see him in the bath. He only takes five minute showers for as long as you've known him: quick and efficent.

As soon as your cut is tended to, Jason stands, the chair scraping back. He puts away the kit and continues where you left off with the celery, using a fresh knife and a fresh board. Luckily, no blood got on the food.

"I can keep cutting," you say. "Jason, you go wash up. I can do it."

Again, you're ignored, and it's not like you can muscle your way to the counter. So you huff and take the iced tea out of the fridge instead. It's not long before Jason's putting two plates down, yours with potato chips inside of the sandwich, just how you like it.

"You're so stubborn," you say, huffing without any heat.

"Takes one to know one," he says neutrally, filling the glasses with water first. He's always getting on you about staying hydrated. Caffeine is a diuretic, he reminds you.

You grumble. "Kicking me out of my own kitchen..."

But you can't shake the feeling of Jason's calloused hands on yours. His skin was sun-hot. How are you going to manage when he inevitably leaves for more work?

"Thank you for taking care of everything, though," you say, unable to stop your soft words. "And me."

"'S my job," he says, hunched over his sandwich, not looking at you.

"To take care of me?" you ask, face getting warmer.

"You're the boss. You're part of the farm."

"Oh."

God, you're in trouble.

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upon further reflection, i do believe finnick odair would be left shark and would ask annie to be katy perry.

i’m very curious about what you think modern thg characters would dress up as on halloween

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thanks for the tag @thedelicatearcher !!!

rules: give ur top artists of the last 4 weeks & ask which fits your vibe the most

i still don’t have many mutuals so… i very much encourage anyone to do this too!! (also be my mutual too 😁)

edit: i figured out how to make mutuals. i have some now. i feel so accomplished now :)

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woodstock is staring directly at the sun, but never in the mirror

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lucy gray baird would’ve been SUCH A THEATER KID. literally would’ve loved performing and getting roses after shows.

(she def would’ve had eurydice from hadestown be a dream role. i just know it.)

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9 you want to know better tag :)

three ships: eleanor and chidi (from the good place), finnick and annie (from thg), and sam and mercedes (from glee)

first ship: ella and prince charmont from ella enchanted (og comfort movie)

last song: “kaleidoscope” by chappell roan!!

last movie: deadpool 2 (i’m prepping for the new movie 👀)

currently reading: nothing but i have been on the hunt for don’t want you like a best friend by emma alban to read next!!

currently watching: i’m watching supernatural for the first time (i’m on s12), and i LOVE it

currently eating: homemade chicken and gnocchi soup :)

currently craving: a good loaf of bread i can bite a hunk off of

i don’t really have anyone to tag i don’t have that many mutuals… but feel free to fill it out if you wanna be moots!!

tagged by @themarydragon 🥰

9 people you want to know better tag

Three Ships: Zelink (Zelda/Link, Legend of Zelda), Shirbert (Anne/Gilbert from Anne of Green Gables or Anne With An E) and Locklyle (Lucy/Lockwood from Lockwood and Co)

First Ship: i joined tumblr in 2017 for BoTW Zelink and all of my fandom experience spiralled from here. i started playing LoZ games before that though, maybe 2008? and there was a fanfic tab (though it wasn't called like that) on the help website i used

Last Song: ......... "Last Night - Official Madison Song" by Chris Anderson and DJ Robbie (it's on my summer playlist bc of childhood nostalgia, i don't go out of my way to listen to it usually 😂)

Last Movie: Maze Runner: The Death Cure (justice for Newt)

Currently Reading: book wise, I just finished The Two Towers (and am not so patiently awaiting Return of the King to, well, return to the library so i can borrow it)

Currently Watching: Once Upon A Time (nearly done with S1)

Currently Eating: waiting for my dinner to cook (ratatouille and semolina and eggs)

Currently Craving: CHEESE. my kingdom riches gratitude for a scrap of french cheese!!!!

tagging: @js589 @ohmyoverland @hailqiqi @unnamednarrator @practicallyasleep @cateringfears @applesjuice @redplaidjacket @beckybubbles would love your thoughts on this if that's something you're up to :)

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finnick odair would’ve been so happy to get gray hairs. rip finnick odair, you would’ve loved aging.

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It’s that she put poisoned berries in his hand and he put a pearl in her’s

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snoopy def be getting the best sleep ever. i envy him for that.

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rip johanna mason. you would've "my kink is karma" by chappell roan.

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“you’re safe, you’re safe.” CRAZY. WHY ARE THEY DOING THIS TO ME??

me when finnick and annie get reunited in mockingjay pt 1 and he holds her so tenderly and you can just feel how much he cares for her and missed her and now i wanna cry

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me when finnick and annie get reunited in mockingjay pt 1 and he holds her so tenderly and you can just feel how much he cares for her and missed her and now i wanna cry

[imreading105]

just saw chappell roan live. i’m not sure if i’ll ever recover, and i’m okay with that.

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the parallel between “you’ve ruined my life by not being mine” and “i love you, it’s ruining my life” KILLS ME

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james potter is so jack kelly coded, and i’ll leave that there.

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heartbreaking, earth shattering, soul crushing. i have never been so invested in a story. i’m liyrrally crying in the school library as we speak. this entire series was so good and so well-executed.

so in conclusion, i am screaming, crying, throwing up, and i will never recover.

two sides of the same coin | finnick odair [final part]

previous part

“no. you can’t stop a fool in love.” hemlock offered calmly. “unless they believe they are not loved in return.”

all for nothing at all.

tags to be found each part.

cw: none.

final part.

everything aches. your heart feels icy in your chest as you sit on the edge of your bed and your teary eyes absorb the green walls. inhaling shakily and exhaling just the same, your cold hands press to your face as you attempt to push away the urge to cry. you didn’t sleep a wink, all you did was cry and scream and destroy more of your room. it’s cruel, it’s unfair – it’s monstrous. you left one dark pit to find finnick and now as you feel the heavy weight of an expensive ring on your ring finger you know you’ll be falling into another pit. permanently. there’s no point in evading or escaping, no point in attempting to escape your fate. maybe it was set the moment you “kissed” finnick, or maybe it was set the moment you began to feel for him. regardless, it’s set.

downstairs you hear finnick call after you after the front door shuts. exhaling shakily and sitting up, you fan your features and tug off the ring. you drop it onto your bed and you stand while looking around the room in destruction and disarray. “i’ll be right there!” you shout as you make your way out of the bedroom into the contrasting corridor of perfection. blinking rapidly and inhaling deeply, your bandaged hand presses to the green walls as you slowly make your way towards the man who’s no doubt trying out what you cooked on the stove and baked in some attempt to gain control of yourself. your eyes screw shut and your jaw sets.

“he won’t let me go without a fight!” you shouted so loud it shook your ribcage.

the cold air hit your skin harshly as you stopped just outside of the hotel doors. hemlock hummed. he stopped on the snow and he slowly turned around. your wide eyes looked at him, mascara stained your cheeks and your hands grasped the card and small velvet box. blood stained the velvet, it stained the white of the card. you shook your head. “he loves me.” you breathed, fog gathered around your lips. “he will fight for me. i can’t–i can’t stop him if he does.” you said tightly as hemlock slowly walked back towards you. his dark gaze held yours.

“no. you can’t stop a fool in love.” hemlock offered calmly. “unless they believe they are not loved in return.”

your heart sank. “he’ll see right through me if i lie.”

hemlock smiled. “oh come now. have some faith in yourself.”

you fold your hands behind your back as you step into the kitchen. your brows twitch and your resolve begins to shake just seeing finnick standing over the pot slurping up the broth you’d made. it smells of delectable foods and seasonings, of finnick – cinnamon and vanilla. for a moment you think you might break, but you can see it. finnick on the ground, dead. mags just a room away. you’d said your goodbye to her the day after the hotel, it’s day three. you have to be in the capitol by the early morning. you’d told her the truth, all she did was hold you. and as you gaze at finnick who turns around and meets you with a crooked smile, you wish you could give him the same.

his smile falters just a bit as he looks you up and down. “hey…” he speaks softly with a small furrow in his brows. setting down the wooden spoon, he walks over to you with a gentle tilt of his head. “you don’t look so good – what’s wrong? you never ask me over this early.” finnick stops in front of you and when he tries to reach out to hold your face, you pull away with furrowing brows and a soft frown. and it feels as if someone’s pushing a blade through your heart, he flinches slightly and he blinks softly. your gaze holds those sea-green eyes.

“two nights ago i met with a regular.” you begin as your hand tightens so tightly behind your back you feel the stitches snapping and opening up beneath white bandages. finnick stands in front of you with an expression of focus, his brows furrowing and lips thinning. you keep your voice steady, bored – you keep the voice you held the first day you spoke to him. as if he’s a stranger and not the man you know yourself to feel for. “i’ve been meeting with him most of the time when I go into the capitol. we’ve talked a lot.” you lie through your teeth and finnick shakes his head gently, blinking softly.

“why are you telling me this?” he asks with confusion. but then his eyes widen slightly and a deep exhale leaves his nostrils. “did he hurt you?” he asks with concern and worry pulling and twisting his features. your insides begin to dry and die, when he steps forward you step back. and you can see the dread that spills into his mind through those pupils.

“he proposed to me.” you plunge the blade into his chest. he flinches and you nod gently, wetting your lips and looking away from his eyes – your gaze looks to the pillar painted a lighter shade of green. an olive. “he’s very important in the capitol. not only can he give me everything i need but when i marry him i can leave everything behind. i don’t need to be in the district–”

“stop.”

“i don’t need to become a mentor.”

“please.”

“and i can forget i was ever even alive outside of the capitol.” your gaze meets his and the blade twists in his chest. finnick’s eyes are wide, they’re glassy. his brows twitch and his lips part with shaky breaths and exhales. you swallow thickly and you hold your fist, you can feel the dampness of the blood through the bandages. it hurts, it’s hot pain but it doesn’t compare to what you’re pulling through. “i said yes.” and you shove the blade in deeper. finnick’s eyes search yours, your jaw sets and you keep your facade. but finnick shakes his head and steps towards you.

“no. no. you’re lying n-none of this can be real.” his voice is tight, it sounds as if his heart has lodged into his throat. you blink softly and your eyes flutter shut as he steps forward. coarse but gentle hands hold your face and he brings your gaze to his as your eyes open. looking up into his sea-green eyes, your hand tightens around the grip of the blade in his chest. “you wouldn’t ever. you–you’re joking, right?” finnick’s voice shakes as your gaze holds his. his thumbs stroke your cheekbones. “i love you a-and i thought–” and with a rough pull away of your face, you scoff as your hand pulls the blade out.

“what?” you offer sharply. “that i loved you?” your brows raise as you let out another sharp scoff. finnick flinches again and you shake your head gently as your brows furrow. “i cared about you but you knew what this was. you were the one that proposed it in the first place, remember?” there’s a bitterness in your tongue, but you worry. you begin to worry as your eyes sting and your stomach twists with sickness while your heart pushes up into your throat. his eyes search yours. “you were a means to an end, odair. and now he will be. with him i can leave all of this behind.”

finnick exhales shakily as tears roll down his tan cheeks. you feel the blood pushing through the bandages and dripping onto your palm that grasps the injury. “why are you doing this?” he breathes out shakily, his brows twitch and his nostrils flare as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat. and your hand grips the blade’s handle yet again. the point presses where his heart has been wounded severely and you shake your head gently.

“because i want to leave all of this behind. it’s all i’ve ever wanted. i don’t want to be stuck forever, under president snow’s thumb with the games tagged on my ear. i refuse to be a sow for the use of those above me.” you plunge the blade into his heart yet again. and your hands begin to tremble. “and you weren’t enough to change that fact.” and you rip the blade out. turning around, you quickly switch the positioning of your hands to fold in front of you as your vision blurs. “now get out.” your voice is tight, tears brim along your waterline as blood drips between your fingers and hits the wooden floorings.

there’s a long silence. then finnick exhales shakily, almost choked. “watching your games – i can remember the last kill that crowned you the victor.” he begins, his voice tight and wavering. “it was a twelve year old from district 12. she begged for her life but you shoved the blade down her throat.” you flinch as you recall the memory your mind seems to have burned out. more tears roll down your cheeks. “i should have known you were heartless then and there.” and you hold your breath, his tone is ice cold – empty. you blink rapidly as more tears spill. it isn’t until the front door slams shut do you fall towards the pillar. blood splatters to the ground and smears on the pillar you grasp.

and now you’re in the pit again.

time moves slowly – agonizingly slowly without finnick. you find a routine, you stick to it, and you put on a face. a facade. finnick hates you, he would forever hate you and you��d never see each other again but at least he’s alive. at least mags is alive. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla sears into your nostrils like copper once was, it never leaves. not while you sleep on expensive sheets with hemlock’s arms around you and his expensive aftershave suffocating you, not while you’re styled and dressed by the best designers by the day, not while you look over a table of enough food to feed an entire district – nothing rids finnick from your body and your senses. nothing. but you manage to find footing in a loveless marriage with a man that is less than a friend but more than a stranger.

especially after the birth of a beautiful boy.

“welcome home, miss.” one of the nannies greets you.

you offer her a soft smile before you look at the three year old in her arms and he reaches out with a big smile, he makes grabby hands at you and giggles loudly. “hello, my lovely boy. did you miss mommy?” you coo sweetly at the baby. with a scrunchy of your nose against his neck he giggles joyfully. you pull back and brush away some of his hair, sea-green eyes glow as they look at you. your eyes flicker to the nanny and you nod gently. “i’ll be in the living room – please bring some of his toys and books.” she offers a nod and bow before she walks off.

softly cooing at the boy, you hold him on your hip and enter the living room with a smile across your lips. his cheeks rosy, dusted in moles and various freckles. you kick off your heels before you step onto the soft carpeting. one of the maids fluffs the pillows, you shoot her a momentary smile before you look back to the boy in your arms. “should i notify the mister that you’re here, miss?” asks the maid with a gentle tilt of her head. you raise your brows gently.

“he’s here?” you question in surprise. she smiles and nods, with a soft frown, you shake your head and put on a smile. “that won’t be necessary. i just want to spend some time with my sweet, sweet boy.” he giggles as you nuzzle your face against his, his arms wrapping around your neck. when the screen suddenly flickers on, your gaze shifts towards the screen. gently rocking with the boy on your hip, your brows furrow as your eyes are met with president snow announcing the 75th anniversary of the defeat of the rebellion. “please turn this off i don’t…” you trail off softly and take notice of the headline. president snow’s voice fills your skull as he reads from cards.

“on this the third quarter quell games. the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.”

suddenly, you can’t feel your legs. your eyes widen and your jaw falls slack as your heart drops into the acidic pits of your stomach. “miss?” the maid calls cautiously. your entire body feels cold, it feels numb as your gaze burns into president snow.

“victors will present themselves on reaping day. regardless of age, state of health, or situation.”

falling to your knees, hot tears sting your eyes and everything sounds muffled. the maids' voices of concern, the nanny trying to pull your son out of your arms, hemlock’s footsteps. everything is distant, nothing exists as you feel the weight shift off your hip and you crumble to the carpet. grasping the carpet as your forehead presses into the fabric – you let out a guttural scream that echoes through the room and brings a burst of tears from your son that calls after you. hemlock falls beside you and you thrash as he attempts to hold you.

“no! no! no!” you scream and shout helplessly as apologies leave his lips.

nobody wins the games.

nobody.

taglist:

@meri-soni-meri-tamanna @honethatty12 @curryexpress @bbbeanmean @bloomiesty @yaesflorist @coolchick333 @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @yourdailymemedelivery @gloryekaterina @stinkii-boii @redsakura101 @carlsemptyeyesocket @marsbars09 @signisusedblog @quokkamon @catvader101 @kittimbo @noisyalmonddreamer @avoxrising @auroresce @nct3xo @advicefromnixxxx @alexandra-001 @gracieeleanorr @secretsicanthideanymore @rattertatter @barbarathewanderer @bellstwd @nexxus13 @ropickle @persophonekarter @iheartspderman @silverfire13 @nervousmumbling @lilifl0wer @thatonegayloser616 @erissappho @whens-naptime @heytherellala @lem0ns77 @kachelleee @minchitea @metalarmsandmanbuns @randomgurl2326 @emerald-09 @hinata7346 @cluecless @0picels0

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strawberry mentos

lucas sinclair x gn!reader

type: literally tooth-rotting fluff

word count: 0.2k

warnings: poorly written smooches, reader’s fav candy is strawberry mentos

summary: kisses with lucas are already sweet enough. even sweeter when you can taste the sugar on his tongue.

inspo: “strawberry kisses” by leanna firestone

a/n: wrote this bc i couldn’t sleep and we need more lucas fics !!!

i pulled away from him, my eyes scanning his face.

"what- what is it?" lucas asks, eyes a little terrified.

i dive back in for another kiss. it's a press of lips and a swipe of the tongue before i pull away again.

"you taste sweet, sinclair," i state plainly.

the boy chuckles nervously. "umm... thank you?"

i kiss him again and again, trying to find the sweetness i had just tasted.

i could taste the sugar on his tongue. i knew lucas loved candy, but there was something special about the sweetness of this kiss. it was all too familiar.

after a handful more of kisses, i finally figured it out, pulling away from lucas with the largest grin adorning my face.

"holy shit, sinclair," i say. "strawberry mentos."

he stutters, his whole body heating up in embarrassment. "i have no idea what you're talking about."

my smile grows impossibly. "you ate my favorite candy," i say, "so that when i kiss you, it'll taste like them."

i get up off his bed, pulling open the drawer in his bedside candy, the designated candy stash. sitting at the top was a case of strawberry mentos, no doubt costing a few hours in the hot summer sun mowing lawns.

i picked them up, showing them to lucas as evidence. i gave him a pointed 'see?' look.

"i thought you'd like kissing me more if i tasted like your favorite candy..." the boy mumbled.

i wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

"jesus, sinclair. you're so sweet that i think my teeth just might fall out."

we both laughed, feeling unbelievably happy in each other's arms.

maybe all of erica and the party's teasing was worth it for these little moments.

and lucas' stupid strawberry mentos kisses.