#and that makes perfect sense to me! so my tolerance just So quickly flies out the window when absolutely every action gets reframed to how

[dreamerlynx]

.

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of turmoil

Yandere!Childe x fatui!reader

[Previous chapter]

Just as you predicted that short and stifled conversation was a portent of future changes. Childe stopped trying to talk to you outside the business, he even avoided your eyes in those rare moments when you looked at him first. Normally obnoxious and persistent Harbinger seemed to deflate in your presence, as his swaggering and blustering attitude disappeared within mere moments.

You would be overjoyed for this turn of events, if you didn’t have any experience of dealing with and tolerating Tartaglia. Childe, as you already established, is a chaos personified, an erratic whirlwind that twists and ruins everything in its way wrapped in human skin and caged by human bones. It wouldn’t be a surprise if some nasty complications arose out of this faux armistice and sneaked upon your unsuspecting self.

Ajax wont do anything drastic, you reassure yourself - the Rite of Descension gets closer and closer with each passing day, he just can't afford to fail this, meaning that he will have to keep you on-field. It would be logical to do so, let you work, but logical sometimes means predictable and nothing about Ajax is predictable.

Fortunately he continued to keep this strange distance as days passed. Was your little episode and words you said to him enough to stop him in his pursuit? Maybe it truly hurt him, maybe it made him see how miserable he was making you, maybe his obsession with you ceased to exist, it’s flames fizzling and going out just as fast as they ignited. You doubt all of it, yet continue to hope for the better, despite the evidence of the opposite shoved in your face.

Ajax will never let go of you, not in the way you want. He killed and tortured people right before your eyes, sometimes had you assist him in doing so. Most of the time this was done in Tsaritsa’s name, for the future of Snezhnaya and her people, just another working assignment regardless of the blood curdling screams and alien agony.

However, in some rare cases the torment of others isn’t something that is totally impersonal to you, sometimes you’re the main cause. Childe is possessive, terribly so. He watches over you like a dragon guarding his gold, scaring away other possible admirers. And if his title and reputation wasn’t enough to keep away whatever poor sod who decided to tempt the dragon, well, other way more grim methods were used.

You never personally witnessed these kinds of torture, but you heard rumours and sometimes saw the bodies after, images that keep reappearing in your nightmares. Maybe this lull is nothing but a quiet before the storm, a short breather after he commits some unforgettable atrocity again.

He personally summons you the day before the Descension. You brace yourself for incoming nonsense, except nothing comes. “Agent [Last]”, he says, his voice tense and restrained.”I need you to attend the Rite of Descension with me. You will be disguised as a civilian", and then he dismisses you, no hint of mind games he likes to play in sight.

You want to hope that he changed, you succeed and fail at the same time - this new Ajax is pleasant, he’s cold and disinterested, just like any boss should be, yet you just can’t relax and focus wholly on doing the job - it’s a privilege only those who haven’t met Tartaglia can afford.

He’s a sea, treacherous and ever changing, calm and serene in one moment, yet violent and crushing in the other.

You spend the day torn between the anxious thoughts of Tartaglia and what he might do and the preparation for upcoming ceremony - it's a once in a lifetime event, it's Tsaritsa’s will and hope, it's Ajax’s eyes focused on you. You can’t afford to fail, you have no right to do so.

Wearing a simple Snezhnayan overcoat with nothing hiding your face is surely strange after years of donning a fatui uniform. Tourists and Liyuens alike pass by, not paying you any attention. Both vision and delusion glow under the thick fabric, asking you to use them.

You walk faster.

The top of the Yujing Terrace is lit with sunlight and full of human sounds, as merchants and other workers haste to finish their tasks and join the people at the top. You look around, quickly noticing the familiar ginger - he stays half-turned to you, his eyes focused on the figure of Tianquan. You quickly avert your gaze, as if not recognizing him, and shift it towards other people - you spot two vision holders among the crowd too - an electro and geo one, and a strange person cladded in the exotic clothes with some sort of flying fairy(?) floating around.

You walk to the altar placing Liyuen flowers nearby the multiple offerings of food, wine and gold, their simple white petals contrasting against the gaudy luxury of the rest.

"Qingxin flowers?", someone suddenly says, a speck of genuine surprise evident in the phrase. Their voice is too close for your comfort - you quickly turn on the heels, alarmed by a person somehow sneaking up on you only to be met with a pair of the golden eyes.

It’s a nicely dressed Liyuen gentleman, with the air of wisdom and elegance surrounding him, an inner dignity shining from beneath, and most importantly the one you saw wearing a vision at the back of the coat. You try to look as calm as possible, despite the senses telling you otherwise - after years of service any vision holder unadorned by the Fatui colors is perceived as a threat.

“Yes, it is”, you quip back, not wanting to look suspicious: “Is this improper? Qingxin as an offering?”, you mimic a light concern - something that would be appropriate for the foreign merchant who might have offended the god of commerce.

“No, not at all”, Liyuen laughs: “just in all of my years, I have never seen anyone offer these flowers”.

“Huh”, you smile, looking at the man before you. Is he a simple liyuen you thought of him at first? He has Geo vision - the symbol of Archaic Lord’s recognition - and the way he said “all of my years” carry more weight than usual, a mark of something hidden beneath the mundane phrase.

“Something tells me, you must have attended every rite of Descension”, you continue, the starter vague and innocent enough - a perfect way to fish out more information. For some reason, his golden eyes widen a bit, it’s subtle and quick enough to go unnoticed by most people, but you’re not the most people - all Fatui agents are trained to catch even the smallest changes and educated in multiple fields, physiognomy included.

What could have caused such a reaction and why did he react the way he did? The Rite of Descension is a prominent event in the life of every Liyuen, even if it’s annual, as thousands of thousands of people traverse great distances to see their god fly down from the heavens and grace his subjects with the wisdom of countless years. You remember seeing Liyuens living in Snezhnaya consistently take a leave every year for a week, when the prominent date showed on the horizon, missing working days and no doubt a lot of nerves, only to see the archon of their homeland.

So why did that man looks so surprised?

“You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?”, he responds, voice calm and pleasant, despite the masterfully hidden surprise: “And yes, I have always tried my best to be at every Rite to this day. Rex Lapis shares his experience with his people, so it’s an incredibly important day. And what about you? What brings a foreigner here?”, he makes a gesture at your obviously snezhnayan clothes.

“Well, I am a travelling merchant as you can see”, you raise your hands, showing him more of the coat: “Having blessing from the God of Commerce won't hurt, right?". He, again, reacts in the way you haven't anticipated, a handsome face adopting a contemplating expression for a short second.

"Rex Lapis rewards diligent people, work hard and he shall bless you too", he says with an air of wisdom around him, like an old enlightened monk passing his knowledge to the disciples surrounding him: "And you shouldn't keep your vision beneath the layers of cloth. I feel its chill just standing here, who knows what it will do to your body?".

Then he simply turns away and goes to the exit of Yujing terrace, and it’s your turn to suppress the rising agitation - how did he know, where’s he heading now?

“Wait”, you say: “why are you leaving?”

“I dedicated my whole life to my job, which consists of a collection of small and incredibly repetitive tasks, they took up most of my attention and I slowly, but surely became a creature of habit, deaf and blind outside its limited field of experience and comfort zone. Time never stops, so I decided to leave the work I’ve been entrusted with, and I want to start it by breaking my strongest habit - religiously attending every Rite of Descension”.

“Ah”, you reply, equally impressed by his speech, and feeling that you are talking about two completely different and unrelated topics: “well, good luck on that”.

More and more people flood the terrace as one of the main threats to your plans finally arrives - stern and ambitious, Ningguang looks as elegant and intimidating as ever, geo vision and the tassel attached to it, shaking with every graceful step. She throws a short glance at Tartaglia - he stands surrounded by the rest of the agents - yet her face doesn’t change even a bit, whatever hostility she may hold for your faction masterfully suppressed.

You quickly look around - tourists and citizens arrive at the last minutes and milleliths come with them. Soon, all of the exits are heavily guarded by at least four soldiers, all carrying spears and clad in armour - surely a necessary precaution, given the presence of Fatui and their Harbinger.

There are no milleliths among the crowd though, not in the on-duty uniform at least. You study the group again, this time looking for anyone with weapons, as someone lightly pushes you away - it’s that foreigner again. “I am sorry, we need to go closer”, the pixie-like creature apologizes, as it flies after the stranger, and you conclude that there are no armed people, except you, Tartaglia, milleliths, Ningguang and that strange person.

“The hour is upon us”, Tianquan starts, after looking at the bright sun above, two women around her slightly bowing down, as she invokes the power of geo. The gold glow surrounds and illuminates her whole figure, before condensing into hard rocks of the same shade. They shine and fly around her for a bit, leaving the yellow trails behind before starting to spin around the shrine in the middle of the rock table.

Soon the golden inscriptions on the shrine start to glow too, before it sends a bright orange beam into the blue sky. The crowd "Oh!"s and "Ah!"s as the clouds deform around the pillar of light.

Tension, so thick it can be tasted, descends in the waves upon the Terrace as some - carefree and ignorant - hold their breaths in excitement and anticipation, whilst the rest focus in caution - Fatui and Qingxin alike. You shift, taking out both vision and delusion out of your coat, as your eyes frantically shift between Tianquan, Tartaglia and the spiraling clouds above, your whole being ready to aid Childe in his mission.

And then something unexpected happens: a majestic dragon does descend to his people. By falling straight to the ground. Serpentine body slumps around the crushed offerings, elongated tongue escaping the confines of the maw.

A long second of absolute silence passes before Ningguang collects herself, checks the body and orders milleliths to close off all the exits, as the crowd erupts into turmoil and chaos realizing what exactly has happened. You disguise amongst the panicking masses, hiding two glowing orbs in the deep pockets of your coat,before looking at Tartaglia again - he in turn intently stares at the blonde foreigner, who quite clumsily tries to sneak past the soldiers.

Milleliths catch onto that running after the stranger and you use this opportunity, turning invisible in the same second. People around you are too panicked to question your sudden disappearance or the unnaturally cold breeze swaying past them, as you make your way - Childe has already departed, chasing after the group of soldiers, and Ningguang is seen leaving too, giving the last orders, before turning to the Yuehai pavillion.

You contemplate for a second, unsure what to do - Tartaglia has ordered you to aid him in case of Qixing intervention, there was nothing about the death of your target and the glimpse into Tianquan’s actions might be a key to solving the mystery of said departure. The thing that you plan to do is opportunistic, reckless even - who would have known that Ajax will rub off onto you? You chase after Ningguang, careful to keep yourself invisible.

Who is Rex Lapis’ murderer?

She goes up to the aged man standing at the stairs of the pavilion, they exchange a couple of words before Ningguang steps up on the little floating island and it starts to levitate! You run after her, still unsure what to do - the platform is too small, Tianquan will no doubt feel the chill coming from you, but the opportunity to learn what Qixing are planning is too good to miss.

In the end, you come to compromise, jumping after the rising platform, as your hands clutch into its rough protrusions and you grit your teeth, enduring the pain and cold from the vision overuse. The little island rises higher and higher, as people and buildings underneath turn into small dots. Your fingers start to slide off a couple of times, yet you grab onto the island with a renewed strength everytime that happens, asking Tsaritsa to let fortune favour you.

The platform finally stops moving, and you pull up, once you hear her heels clicking away.

Jade chamber, as it turns out, exceeds all rumours, luxurious and opulent, shining above the prosperous city, it glows under the sunlight with a golden radiance. You would have stopped to admire it if it wasn’t for your goal. You sneak after Ningguang, following her to the office as she takes out papers and folders from the shelves. She focuses on them, as you carefully step near her, glancing at what she’s reading - it’s reports of fatui activity throughout the months, leading to this day, thankfully vague and very far from reality.

Does it mean that she also has no idea of what or who caused Rex Lapis’ death and tries to find his killer? Or does it mean that she looks for a way to deduct Fatui's next actions?

You don’t have time to contemplate, as the frost worsens and you feel cryo energy exhausting from the overuse - one more minute and you’ll become visible. You quickly walk away - you don’t have enough time to reach that platform, so you do the most logical thing - fling yourself out of the window, opening the wings of the glider halfway the jump.

You push the most of your invisibility, letting go of the cryo powers once you're only a couple of meters above the ground. In the end you find yourself tired and frozen to the very bones, slowly coming back to the Northland bank.

***

You approach the building as the Sun begins to set - its pink-orange rays dying everything in the warm glow. The bank looks glorious like that, sinking in the reddish tones, it looks like an illustration out of children’s books - a place of something miraculous, a place of something hopeful.

“Hi”, you throw to the tired Vlad and he nods, after suppressing an escaping yawn: “Is boss here?”

“Yeah”, he croaks, drowsiness evident in his speech: “came back like an hour or two ago. Can’t really remember”.

“Huh.. Well, thanks”, and with these words you enter the bank, pushing the doors and preparing yourself for the confrontation to come.

After chatting with Ekaterina and confirming that yes, he is in his office, you head for the staircase, all of the information you learned today buzzing inside your head.

Childe sits, hunched over the papers, as you enter, not paying you even the sliver of attention. For some reason he’s in a different clothes.

“Eleventh Harbinger”, you start the standard greeting, all formal and stiff: “this subordinate has finished the task”.

This finally prompts him to raise his head, cold blue eyes look at you, no hint of the usual obsessiveness in sight: "you may speak, agent" he succinctly says, putting the writing feather aside. You quickly report to him all you have seen today, without your own thoughts involved - they’re just baseless theories, after all.

“So you say, Tianquan was reading the reports about Fatui activity. Haven’t you destroyed those reports earlier?”

“Those papers contained nothing about the current situation, they were actually far from reality, I doubt that any of those reports survived the fire”.

“Seems, I’ll have to take your word for it”, a sigh, he leans closer in his seat, propping left cheek on the palm: “Why did Tianquan look at them? What was she trying to do? Pin her crime on us?”, he glances at you again, gesturing that you can speak your mind and you do.

“Highly unlikely, sir. From the short time I spent watching her and her reputation, I have an impression that Qixing Tianquan is a person who prefers to plan her every action. If she or any other Qixing higher up, were the one who murdered our target, then every needed preparation would be done months, if not even years in advance. She would somehow cast us as the killers right at the ceremony, in front of thousands of Liyuens, making us a scapegoat for public outrage and creating alibi for herself”.

“So, that’s how you think”, he hums, blue eyes deep in thought: “Your entire conclusion is based on the mere impression. With Tianquan’s ambition I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the one behind this...”, a vague hand gesture: “catastrophic situation”.

“When I sneaked inside the Jade chamber, she looked very frantic, it didn’t show on her face, but her movements were harsh and quick, lacking any of her elegance. She looked like she tried to keep herself together”.

“Anyone would try to do that, especially after killing a god”, he looks somewhere to the left, no doubt imagining battling the dead archon: “Well, my conclusion isn’t based on anything solid either. We don’t know who killed Rex Lapis, but we still need to somehow obtain his gnosis”, the last part isn’t addressed directly to you, it seems that Ajax just decided to voice out his worries.

“You can go”, he says, standing up from the table. You are touching the door handle, when you hear him asking:”what’s with your hand?”. The tone is nothing like that time, yet shivers still go up your spine when you remember what happened that day.

"Frostbite, from my vision", he comes closer to you, hand outstretched to yours: “Can I?”, he asks and waits for your faint nod, before gently pulling it closer to his face.

“It’s a second degree”, he mumbles, inspecting the white-blue discolorations and small angry blisters - the skin throbs and aches at his touch, yet most of it remains numb, muffled, like sounds underwater: “You should get it treated”.

“I should”, you agree, eager to leave this room and situation: “I will ask medics for some..”

“I already discharged them”, his hand suddenly shifts, now resting atop of the door handle, his frame suddenly looming over you: “I have a medkit here, with the ointments and balms. Maybe you should stay here and let me patch you up?”

Why did you even think that Childe could change?

***

Ajax has you sitting on his chair, with sleeves rolled up to the very elbows, as he frets around you - checking the temperature, pulling the warm water closer to you and taking out needed medicine out of the kit. It’s mostly silent, except the tune he quietly hums - Childe looks peaceful and content like this, maybe he likes caring for you.

“Does it hurt?”, he takes a discolored finger, probing around the blister, as the warm hydro energy engulfs your damaged hand. The burst of sensation explodes at this action - pain, tingling, throbbing, even relief.

“Bearable”.

“Understood”, Childe gets back to his task, continuing to rewarm your hands, still humming that tune as he does so. He takes out the healing ointment, when the healthy color and warmth returns to your limbs and spreads it on the skin, bitter herbal scent filling the room in an instant.

“[First]”, he says, as he rubs the place between the index and middle fingers: “I think we need to talk. About that day and your reaction”.

“And what about it?”, you respond, too quickly and snappy for the calm-facade - the memories of that day, of what you thought he will do to you, of how he witnessed you falling apart - all of these are too much, a maelstrom of conflicted feelings rising every time your thoughts stray to this topic. He finishes applying the balm and now switches to the bandanges, wrapping treated hands in them.

“Don’t you think you treat me too harshly, [First]? I understand I may have been… unpleasant in the Past, but I thought we moved past that. What have I done to warrant such ire?”, he says it with his usual smile, but there's a tense, heavy tinge in his words. It’s subtle enough to miss, but you knew Ajax since you both were fourteen, so the strain doesn’t go unnoticed.

Everything, you want to coldly respond, but you stop yourself again - Ajax is still a Harbinger, even if he trailed your steps at the training camp like an overeager and highly murderous puppy not even a decade ago, no matter your own feelings or sentiments or even experiences he still holds that power over you, whether he realizes it or not.

“There were.. things”, broken bones, coppery scent of blood, someone else screams: “training with you wasn’t pleasant for sure”. Childe laughs at the last part, yet the tension clouding in the air doesn’t dissipate, turning more tangible instead.

“I see”, a long pause: “I want to prove you're wrong, I want to prove you that I will never do something against your will”.

You already did. You stay silent at that, anger and fury and frustration boiling underneath, burning and scorching your insides like a magma moments before the eruption. His hands finally wrap the last layer of bandage, tying the ends into a neat little bow, yet he doesn’t let your palm out of your hold, as his lips hover over it, breath burning the skin even through the fabric. And then he releases it, not doing anything.

“Good luck with that”, you finally suppress the inner storm, and stand up from the chair, quickly heading to the door. The place where he almost kissed your tingles and throbs with a renewed strength. Your cheeks burn for some reason.

[erwinsvow]

𝐚𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

note: part two to the college headcanons! part one can be found here! i had a lot of fun writing these and i hope everyone enjoys them :) teacher/student dynamic warning for zeke and hange's, and i guess bullying for annie's :/

𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐝

the very definition of kind-hearted frat boy who doesn’t fit the stereotype he’s been assigned at all

starts off with accounting before realizing he hates math, moves into business management and marketing

the linkedin profile is absolutely popping, 500+ connections and details about every club and organization he’s ever been a part of

the friend that helps everyone find internships and fixes their resumes while offering helpful advice and not being condescending… anyways so that’s how you meet porco

he works at the career center 100% and does various coaching/prep help, and you, pieck’s friend, are in desperate need of an internship

so you’re complaining to your friend as usual, when she tells you to stop by the building and ask for a “pock”

so you do just that, walking in and asking for “pock” and porco is a little stunned by this pretty stranger calling him by a nickname reserved for his close friends, and even then he just barely tolerates it

but he doesn’t want to correct you, especially since you’re being so sweet and he can tell you need some help

so a meeting at the career center slowly turns into facetime calls to review applications and last-minute edits, stopping by your dorm to help you fill out paperwork and walking together to mail it out

i have a feeling porco doesn’t wanna be too forward, and he thinks he’s being very aloof and casual, when he really just seems oblivious

and you cannot tell for the life of you if he likes you or he’s just being friendly since you’re close with pieck

finally after you land the internship and won't have your normal excuse to spend time with him, you get the guts you've been searching for

you tell him about the position later in the day, stopping by the center for hopefully the last time

"by the way, my number's on my resume if you're ever gonna ask me out."

leaves pocky-boy flustered and red and scrambling to ask you out, and you have been happily dating since

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

oh boy

conny is a very typical college kid in the sense that he will sleep through every 8 am class he has, blow off class to go wait in line for the nacho bar, and has adopted the mantra ‘c’s get degrees’

but he is an extremely lovable education major with a focus in history

rarely seen without his shadow sasha, but now that she started dating niccolo, she thinks that conny could use a relationship too, and that it might do him some good to be with a funny, down-to-earth person

thus begins the most grueling two weeks for every girl on campus, as sasha hunts down girls that she thinks would be a good match for her best friend

this includes airdropping a photo of conny to the lecture hall with the caption “would you date this man? serious inquiries only”

creates a fake tinder complete with a google form to narrow down the options

however, none of this is necessary because sasha bumps into you in the smoothie line and causes your triple berry blend to go flying

she helps you clean up and idle conversation leads to you talking about dates and so forth

“well, i’d love to set you up with my best friend? how do you feel about a blind date?”

yes, conny met you, the love of his life, on a blind date set up by sasha with a stranger

it’s one of those funny stories that people don’t believe when you tell them, because how ridiculous is that, but you both think it’s perfect since you get along so well and it made all the waiting worth it

bonus: double dates with sasha and niccolo! fondue night at their apartment, going to the arcade and having to lug up sasha and her food baby while niccolo parks the car, just overall a grand time :)

𝐳𝐞𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫

zeke yeager, ph.d. started his new job at university with one rule in mind: absolutely no illicit affairs

he also coaches the club baseball team, because why not get involved on your campus

he really believes that he’s gonna stick with it too, despite the overwhelming number of students who come to his office hours with questions that his less handsome teaching assistants could answer

but no, he doesn’t want to earn a reputation as that professor, and so he heads into the new semester with absolutely no lingering thoughts of an exciting little dalliance to get him through the monotonous days

he knows his huge lecture classes would always come with a few pretty students, but it’s the smaller, upper-level psych class he’s teaching when he meets you for the first time

zeke has you all figured out, or so he thinks. sitting in the front row, raising your hand for questions he wasn’t expecting anyone to actually have an answer to, neatly handwritten notes in a color-coded notebook. he wouldn’t peg you for the type to jump and take the risk by starting a relationship with a professor.

but he soon realizes that he didn’t have you as figured out as he thought he did.

you avoid the gaggle of freshmen during office hours by scheduling meetings instead, sometimes right before class, coming to him with two cups of coffee and a wide smile that actually had him fooled into thinking you were here for academic reasons

this facade quickly fades though, because after a semester of interactions with you and getting more and more comfortable with each other, to the point where coffee orders are memorized and it’s zeke rather than professor yeager, you’ve had just about enough

he knows he’s fucked when you come visit him at practice for the baseball team, bringing him a drink and engaging in conversation while the players watch their coach flirt with you

he’s especially fucked when he realizes he’s looking forward to practice just because there’s a chance you’ll stop by on your way to your next class

you submit your final paper early, nearly a week before it’s due and of course the first in the class to do so, and waltz into his office the next day with another steaming cup of his favorite drink

“you submitted your paper pretty early, you know.”

“i know. i also know that it means i’m not your student anymore, so if you were going to make a move, now’s the time.”

no, he definitely had underestimated how much he knew about you.

𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐬𝐚 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧

mikasa is a forensic sciences major and is still debating on the minor- she’s torn between criminal justice or history like armin.

she loves her major classes, but she just wants something else interesting to look forward to as well, so armin suggests sitting in on a couple classes early in the semester and getting a taste for it.

so you don’t really think twice when she claims the empty seat next to you on the first day of classes, smiling politely and paying attention to the professor. you do notice, however, that she’s not writing anything down or looking at the syllabus, leading you to strike a conversation on why that is.

she explains herself and then before you even know it, the lecture ends and you spent the last forty minutes talking to mikasa about anything and everything.

she’s sitting in on another class tomorrow, and absent mindedly invites you to come along, to which you agree all too quickly, because why wouldn’t you

numbers are exchanged, times are fixed, and mikasa leaves wondering why she’s so excited at the idea of sitting with you in class again.

you two hate the history class she had chosen, with the professor droning on and on and you being focused entirely on the conversation you’re having with mikasa

until the professor kicks the two of you out for not shutting up, that is

you’re both laughing hysterically once you reach the hallway

“i’m gonna have to discourage you from doing that history minor if that’s what all the classes are like.”

“well, i have to do criminal justice so we can have that class together, anyways.”

𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭

true to form, annie goes into one of the most difficult majors: cheg. definitely flies through intro courses with straight As and minimal effort, but that’s also mostly because all she and bertholdt do is study

reiner tries his hardest to get her to go to a party every once in a while, but usually to no avail because she always has an exam to study for

you’re a tutor, and honestly, you’d say you were pretty good at your job. you can answer questions and explain reasonings fairly well to confused students. but when annie comes to your office hours with some complicated problems and she’s asking for explanations that you just don’t have, you literally feel your face burn with heat for the entirety of the time she’s there

long story short, your first encounter is embarrassing, to say the least. you’re stumbling over words as you try to look through your old notes and piece together an answer for annie, who you cannot even look in the eyes.

anyways, she leaves eventually and you want a hole to open in the ground and swallow you up, but at least she won’t be back next week, right?

wrong.

miss leonhart doesn’t know how to express her feelings any better than you, so her way of flirting is spending time with you in the tutor center as you fail to answer her questions time and time again

you want to scream at her to stop coming because she and you both know you’re not helping either of you with this

but also you really don’t want her to stop coming because you don’t have any other ways to see her outside of class

both of you reach your wit’s end on the same day, her coming to you with the absolute easiest problems she could find in the textbook, and you with every intention of asking her out to dinner

she opens her book, and you reach and close it quickly

“unless this is the only way you know how to flirt, something has to change now.”

𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐳𝐨𝐞

dr. zoë teaches, just, way too many classes

we’re talking multiple chemistry labs and upper-level research courses as well

you’re just a ph.d. student doing rotations as per usual, and you’ve heard the comments from students senior to you about dr. zoë, who makes every student in rotation say hange instead of the formal way you’re used to

you’ve heard everything from crazy to genius and everything in between

what you weren’t expecting was… so good looking, and young? and comforting? and talking about all the things that you didn’t have the guts to bring up with other people, like how you always feel a little left out in the field and that you think no one cares about your research interests that much—a lot of stuff that you find yourself pouring out to hange on your very first day in the lab

you’re wondering why it’s so easy to talk to them, and why none of the other rotations ever felt this comfortable

and then you realize you’re spilling your guts to someone who probably doesn’t even care, and has way more to deal with on their plate than a ph.d. student with imposter syndrome

so you’re apologizing right after you’ve finished, when you’re met with the warmest look and a reassuring hand on your shoulder

it’s so easy to fall after that, with weekly meetings and regular check-ins, and you know it’s wrong to have this strange crush on your superior, but hange really feels like the one person you can count on here

you hide the crush in favor of getting the mentorship you desperately think you need, but it’s not long until you’re onto the next rotation and the next lab’s work is even closer to the stuff you love

you hate the way you feel, that you’re not gonna have any reason to keep in touch and you never even got to explain how you feel about them—and that you didn’t even get to experience hange’s energy because she was always listening and helping you out

it’s not until you get a text the night before your first day in the new lab from hange, filled with reassuring words and asking for a coffee date later in the week to talk about how it goes, that you realize just how well hange understood you

𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

last but not least, miss pieck is double majoring in french and public health

absolutely obsessed with her majors and loves the subjects, but works herself to death to keep up with it all

you don’t even realize that the pretty, studious girl you’re seeing in the library all the time is the same girl you spot with some of your friends from class

pieck is as oblivious as they come. you invite her on study dates after you two are introduced by reiner, invite her to get coffee after a particularly late night of studying, pretty much start spending most of your days together

you can’t help but be disappointed that pieck doesn’t see you in that way, because you’ve slowly been falling head over heels, but you accept that maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, and you still love the friendship you two have

it takes a while for things to click for pieck, but they do right as the semester eases up

once exams are over, you two decide to go to these famous parties porco and reiner never stop talking about

it’s not the usual scene you’re comfortable with, but what’s wrong with letting loose a little, especially after midterms? no harm in having fun, right?

wrong again! you definitely get plastered way too quickly, and eventually pieck takes you to a room to settle down

drunk confessions of love aren’t usually the way to go, but you can’t help but reveal everything you’ve been feeling for the last few months when pieck is taking care of you in your current state

you definitely wake up hungover and ignorant to last night’s shenanigans, but you’re in your dorm, with a bottle of water and ibuprofen on the nightstand, phone plugged in and shoes off

pieck comes back with breakfast, coffee and your favorite pastries, and checks up on you

“so.. about last night..”

“i’m so sorry, did i throw up on you?”

“no, but you did say you were in love with me. was that just a drunk thing, or is it a sober thing too? because i think i’m in love with you too.”

[neocityfics]

2096: Zodiac

Chapter: Chapter 1 < ❝  Chapter 2 ❞  > Chapter 3

➥ Chapter List

Genre: Cyberpunk inspired, mafia, not-so dystopian, angst, slow-burn

Pairing: Doctor! Taeyong x Reader (featuring Jaehyun)

Warnings: Moderate cursing, mention of guns, mention of blood, alcohol

Note: I’m making Taeyong blonde in this story, I know on the story cover (?) he has hot pink hair, but I just needed a scientist-looking photo to match the doctor theme. So just ignore it lol ✌🏼

▶ Ambience

My face blanks at his question while his eyes bore into mine. To be frank, I’d been to a handful of parties in college, but they always played terrible music and the stench of booze mixed with sweat filled the musty frat house. It’s a dizzying smell and always leaves me nauseous, though sometimes it’s tolerable, rarely enjoyable, if I’m not so sober. However, I’d never gone out clubbing. Honestly speaking, the concept is a bit enticing. Letting loose your stresses and enjoying even a few hours of being yourself without judgment sounds like something I’ve been needing since I started working two jobs. Not to mention most clubs have professional DJ’s, not some random second year frat brother whose only personality trait is playing his today’s hip-hop playlist on a singular loudspeaker. In response to Taeyong’s question, I shake my head with confusion written all over my face. Without another moment, I ask him why he inquired. I expected him to demand that I throw myself into a gunfight or some other dangerous scenario in the darkest spots of town-- definitely not where the bass shakes the whole building as people jump up and down for hours on end. His approach is interesting. I say nothing, however, as words couldn’t seem to come out of my mouth at the moment. Taeyong speaks up again.

“Whatever your answer is, I have a mission for you,” he begins.”There’s a guy at the club several blocks south from here who I need parts from. It’s for the rest of Lucas’s arm,” he explains, sparing a glance at his job on Lucas. “His name is Johnny, the owner and main DJ of the place called Club Zone. Ask any of the bartenders for a Zodiac special. They’ll direct you to Johnny, and you’ll get information on when those parts will be delivered to the clinic, who he’s sending to do the job, and when the next big rave is. Just for fun.” Pushing himself off his chair, he eyes Lucas again who’s been watching him carefully. Taeyong pats the front of his pants, dust flies off and disappears into the air. “I’m not done with Lucas, not until I replace all of his limbs.”

Cruel. Those words immediately send me into disgust and fury, but I couldn’t lose my cool in front of Taeyong, not when he has a fucking gun and could pull it back out any second. My stomach feels queasy and knees weak from imagining how lifeless-looking Lucas would be if and when he completely turns into a cyborg. Hopefully, I can find a way to dig him out of this mess. For now, I try to keep my composure, a bit of surprise that my voice didn’t come out cracking and soft, “I’ll accept your mission, but on the condition that you tell me what exactly you’re planning to do with Lucas.” In response to my request, he nods, taking painfully slow steps towards me. I hold my ground, but couldn’t stop a little jump as he grabs my chin and tilts my head to the side. I lock eyes with Lucas as he appears ready to knock the lights out of Taeyong but stands there, only waiting to see what’s next. Taeyong’s warm breath grazes my ear as a hearty laugh breaks from his lips. The blood in my body seems to be rushing faster and faster as every heartbeat becomes louder in my head.

“Sure, sure. I’ll fulfill that condition right now.” He forces my face to turn the other side, the pressure of his thumb against my jawline sure to bruise some skin. “Though maybe you and robot boy over there could use a bit of a cool down. I know this is a lot to take in. Care for tea?”

▶ Ambience

There’s definitely a bruise on my jaw where he felt the need to press so hard on, my fingers poking at the spot. Taeyong boils tea and pours it into three cups from the kitchenette. He distributes them to Lucas and me, keeping one for himself. Taking a seat on the sofa across from us who share a couch, he seems to note our suspicion from our faces. This man dared to hurt me in front of my best friend, and he expects us to keep calm and drink the tea? Who knows what it’s laced with. He shakes his head, blows across the surface of the tea, and sips away. A minute passes without the other two of us moving a muscle, patiently waiting to see if something is up with the beverage. But nothing happens, and Lucas goes in. Of course, it seems Taeyong really needs Lucas for whatever reason, so it wouldn’t make sense to poison or kill him. Giving up and feeling safer seeing Lucas take it in, I hesitantly drink from my cup. The soreness becomes more apparent as I move my jaw to adjust my lips on the cup of tea. Not bad. Taeyong takes to an explanation, causing me to shift my attention from the tea back to him.

“You’re aware of the corrupt so-called government, right? We just call them the top. All those dirty leaders, bunch of nasty fuckers with no empathy.” The urge to call out the hypocrisy heightened with how he treated Lucas and me, but my mouth remains focused on the tea, ears on his words. His tone becomes stern as he continues, “There are twelve megacities, right? Every single one of them controlled by a few higher ups. Though broken up, they’re powerful as a unit and will not hesitate to team up. They’ll kick us when we’re already down.” I find it strange how he keeps using ‘us’ as if he’s one of the unfortunate people like Lucas and I who have little to nothing. I doubt he has any taste for the hopelessness that I’ve felt these past two years. Not with all the nice luxuries I see in his apartment. But again, it’s best to keep listening and not aggravate him. “But in all of those megacities, they’re not aware that there’s a collective of us distributed as gangs to keep control and gather information to overthrow the top.” Taeyong finishes off his tea, maybe a bit too fast as he coughs a bit into his elbow, and sets the cup onto the coffee table separating us. I try to cut in with a question, but he elaborates further. “I’m the one leading Neostone’s collective. You’re wondering why your good friend here is part of my work, yes? Short answer is this.” Those same dark eyes drilling a hole through me. He leans forward from his seat, clasping hands and resting his elbows on his knees. “Lucas is a prototype, basically an experiment, as part of the plan to take down the top. He’s the perfect build, very healthy. It makes things easier to work with. Lucas took my offer of a good amount of money and promotion at the clinic once this is complete.”

My jaw clenches. At this point, the screams are threatening to spill. Lucas agreed to follow through this procedure... for money and promotion? I can’t blame him. These times have been very tough on us with little money, surviving on scraps. Getting enough to pay rent every month is like walking through hell and back just to find out you’ll be close to starving for the next week. He’s even been given the opportunity to carry out practice-- as a doctor? A nurse? Lucas wasn’t able to finish his studies, so this would be a dream come true for him. But everything about this is inhumane. Taeyong doesn’t seem to have evil intentions based on his coup d'état agenda which I can somewhat get behind, but in the process, Lucas gets hurt. I raise my voice after a minute of taking things in, “So, about my mission. When do you want this done?” It’s a Saturday night which means places like bars and clubs will be fill up quickly and get rowdy. It’s currently 10:00pm.

“Club Zone really starts to become crowded at 11:00pm. At the latest, be back by 3:00am since Johnny shuts things down at 2:00am.” Taeyong circles a finger around the rim of the teacup. “Be aware of others at that place. I’ve heard horror stories from Johnny, though he tries his best to keep things calm. If I don’t hear back from you...” Lucas gulps when Taeyong stands. Though Lucas is way taller than him, Taeyong’s presence towering over us is no joke. “Lucas loses his job and can’t ever work in the clinic. That’ll be on you, sweetheart.” One corner of his lips lifts as he breathes out a soft, yet daunting laugh. He’s enjoying this, and I detest him for it. I need to talk to Lucas.

“May Lucas and I be excused for a minute? I just need to calm down, and I can’t do that with you right there.” My expression sours, and Taeyong waves us off as he leaves towards one of the rooms. Lucas and I are left alone on the couch. Silence, then a sniffle. At the sorrowful sound, I swivel my head to Lucas whose head hangs low. “Lucas. You should’ve told me all of this. Why did you take the offer when you’re only going to become... not human? We’re doing fine with money, I can take another shift and--”

He slams a fist on the table in front of us, another overwhelming silence ensues. The slight crack in his voice hurts. “Do you think there’s been a day I don’t worry about the costs of everything? Do you think I enjoy being at that damn clinic just to end up cleaning towels and disinfecting instead of applying everything I learned in college? Do you think I tolerate seeing you overwork yourself with two jobs so you can pay for yourself and a bit for me? Fuck you.” The tears in our eyes pour over the rim, hot like the tea we just had. The pain in his words struck me. I never realized he felt this way. I guess I saw him as someone who’s only happy and goofy all the time without seeing what’s truly bothering him inside. He may look and sound strong, but what he’s saying right now breaks the image that my mind latched onto. Lucas removes his hand from the table, a bit of a purplish hue forming from the contact with the hard surface. “I’m doing this not only for myself, but for you, too. You are the only one that’s given me purpose in this fucking dump of a life, and now Taeyong is allowing me a chance at what I love best and to get us out of being dirt poor. Can’t you see that? I know you care for me, but please don’t police my decisions.” He sighs and extends his arm over my upper back, pulling me into a side hug. “I can’t express how sorry I am for dragging you into this. But now that you’re here and on board, I swear to protect you. From everyone. From Taeyong.”

I don’t know what to say other than muttering sorry a hundred times as the crocodile tears soak small parts of my clothes. I wipe away the drops from eyes as soon as I hear a door click. Taeyong comes back into view, seeing the pathetic disarray that was a sobbing session. “Done? It’s 10:30pm now, better get going before you can’t push through the horde. Club Zone is popular.” This bitch, how much more insensitive can he get? Once the remaining wetness of my face becomes dry, I stand up, grabbing my things without saying anything. Taeyong’s getting on my last nerves, and I may snap if I try anything to get back at him, verbally or physically. The only thing that I can do right now is to find out the information, give it to him, and leave for home with Lucas. Do my job and go home. The two watch me leave the apartment, disappearing into the hallway with a slam of the door.

▶ Ambience, NCT Playlist for the club

So this is Club Zone. The mixture of bright purple and pink neon lights accompanied by dizzying bass make my head hurt a bit. I arrived at 10:55pm with the long line already forming. Though I feel out of place, I fall in and peer towards the front. The bouncer doesn’t seem to have any sort of list. Looks like they just let anyone in. After about fifteen minutes, I get in. Taeyong’s right-- this place is getting quite packed, people already seemingly drunk, probably from pre-game. The bass gets louder, banging against my ears, as I make my way to the bar where less people were hanging out. Everyone else is already swaying and spinning to the deafening beats. It’s hard to see anyone with how dim the club’s lights were. I seat myself at the counter on a high chair, raising a hand and giving a smile to the nearest bartender who thankfully attends to me right away. Upon asking for my request, I answer, “Zodiac special, please.” The bartender stands still for a second, examining me, then nodding and fixing a drink right away. Taeyong didn’t specify in his directions whether the bartender would immediately tell me where this Johnny person is, so I sit and wait for anything to happen. I receive the drink which is rather pretty with a light blue liquid and glowing green swirls. The bartender then slides what seems like a receipt next to my drink. They tell me not to worry and that the drink’s safe to have. Damn, no alcohol. Not sure if I’m pleased with the fact it’s non-alcoholic, but it isn’t important right now. Upon further inspection, I find a scribbled note on the back, “Tonight’s a packed night, please wait until midnight at the bar. I’ll come find you and take you to the back once I switch with another DJ.” I assume this is Johnny’s instructions which I sigh to. Shoving the piece of paper into my pocket, I check the time on my phone. It’s 11:20pm now.

Another tall figure takes a seat besides me despite the other empty seats farther away. I do my best not to make any sort of eye contact as I really don’t want trouble on my first mission. My eyes are set on doing the bare minimum and leaving as soon as it’s done. I almost choke on a sip of the drink as the person startles me with a deep voice, “What drink is that? Looks cool.” I regain a steady breath and turn to face whoever this is and... oh shit. In the little light provided by the overhead beams on the ceiling, I make out a rather handsome visage topped with fluffy, wavy dark hair. Maybe this mission will be alright. “Hello?” He tilts his head to fit onto his palm, elbow resting the table. Fuck, was I staring?

“Oh, sorry! It’s, well,” I stop for a second, realizing this drink is probably exclusive to gang members, so if he asked for one also... that may cause complications. “I just told the bartender to surprise me, to be honest.” I hope that lie is convincing enough, and it appears so as he laughs. He waves and asks for a glass of Manhattan from a bartender who seems to tense up at his presence. I continue just to enjoy the cold drink, which is the perfect amount of sweet and sour. This’ll make up for being in this stuffy space.

“Jaehyun, by the way.” I lift a brow, only slightly facing Jaehyun while my glass is attached to my lips. “I haven’t seen you before, is this your first time? Club Zone’s pretty cool compared to all the other clubs in downtown.” I nod, taking a big gulp of the drink and setting it down. Why not pass time doing something other than sitting around while I wait for Johnny?

I go along with the conversation, “You can call me [Y/N]. This is my first time here, I needed a break from work and such. Jaehyun’s a cool name.” He lets out a lively laugh and takes a few sips of his drink, and much to my dismay, the pace of my heartbeat quickens. I’m not here to flirt, but maybe just a little won’t hurt, right? And I won’t let it get too far. Besides, this Zodiac special is safe. However, this Jaehyun person pushes his own beverage towards me.

“Try it, if you’d like. Have you had one of these? This club’s got the best bartenders and drinks.” Hesitantly, I take the class and bring it closer to my nose to smell it. Well, I am at a club. With the drink in hand, I tilt my head back a bit, letting the cool sting travel down my throat. It burns a lot, a sensation that feels like new. I hand the remaining amount back to him, thanking him. “Good? You took in a lot.” Damn that eye smile and grin. It’s been a while since I’ve felt mesmerized by someone, but maybe it’s just the Manhattan hitting.

Noticing I’m facing him fully, I shift in my seat and go back to my own drink. “Yeah, I’m fine.” In reality, whatever the bartender put into glass is strong. I can feel the fuzzy feeling travel down my throat and spread throughout my body, a bit of a buzz in my head. “What about you, what brings you here?” I ask the man who looks to be inching closer to me, his shoulder almost touching mine. If he tries anything, he won’t be having a great time after I sock him somewhere sensitive. “You’re all dressed up in a suit, too, are you into business?” Jaehyun shrugs, fiddling with a now empty glass, his eyes focused on mine a little too comfortably for me.

He pulls a card with his contact information on it and hands it to me which I take gingerly, flipping it over and back a few times. “Jeong Jaehyun. Real estate. Been dealing with a lot of shit people these days. Feel free to call me whenever, for business or,” he pauses, “things not related to real estate.” He asks the bartender for another drink, a Daiquiri this time, just as another man saunters over. He pokes lightly at my shoulder.

“Hey, let’s chat in the back, shall we?” The man eyes Jaehyun, but doesn’t pay any more attention, swiftly changing his focus back onto me. “You can bring your drink with.” I nod, assuming this man is Johnny and that I’d be okay with him. 

Standing up, I feel a bit dizzy, uncertain if from sitting down for so long or the drink that Jaehyun let me have some of. Johnny notices, steadying me by offering his arm which I hold onto. Before we commence our journey to wherever he’s taking me, Jaehyun nudges my side, winks at me, and says, “Have fun, you have my card.” He shoots a wide smile, his eyes trailing down my body as I walk away. Club Zone might have its perks.

▶ Ambience

Johnny and I reach the back which I assume are for private parties and, well, other private activities. The bass hits the walls hard as we enter an empty room. It’s now just Johnny and I, and though there’s less people, I can’t help but feel uneasy. We both take a seat opposite of each other, my sadly non-alcoholic drink starting to dwindle away. Beginning to sober up, I open up the discussion. “You’re Johnny, right?” Just making sure I have the right guy on my first mission, especially with Lucas on the line. I feel relief when he nods and shows me his ID card. Looks legitimate. Johnny Suh, 25 years old, from Chicago. So he was born in the western hemisphere that was destroyed back in 2094. Since I grew up there, it’s nice to meet someone else who would remember it. I wonder how he ended up here in Neostone. “Good, so Taeyong sent me to ask you about parts? I don’t know, I’m new to all of this. I don’t even know what to ask exactly.” Johnny softly chuckles at my predicament.

“Yong’s never had a messenger, he used to do everything himself. Makes me happy he’s got you to carry some work, hopefully you can adjust soon. You’re doing great so far.” His reassurance feels nice, knowing the kind of situation I’m stuck in. Johnny continues, “He can expect Lucas’s parts in a few days, probably in the middle of the week. I’m having Doyoung and Taeil deliver them directly to the clinic for the doctor dude.” I nod. Doyoung and Taeil. I have to remember these details for Taeyong. The way Johnny knows Lucas’s name makes me feel strange. How many people are in each of these gangs and how many know Lucas? They probably know him just as the prototype or cyborg which doesn’t sit right. Johnny’s then out of the blue poses a question that puzzles me. “Are you part of the Dragon Zodiac? Or from another group?” Undoubtedly, my confused face is my answer to him. “Ah, you’re some stranger then, huh. Well, Taeyong’s the leader of the Neostone Zodiac, the Dragons. They’re known for elemental manipulation.” Now hold on.

Without warning, I channel a more intense tone and volume, “For fuck’s sake, I keep learning new things each hour since I’ve met Taeyong. They can do what now?” Johnny bursts into laughter and tears, wiping them away though they seem to keep coming. He’s trying to explain, but it takes him a couple of minutes to finally recollect his composure. 

“Did you go into this not knowing anything? Lord, that man cracks me up. Anyways, sorry,” he starts, still dabbing his sleeve at his reddened cheeks where laughing tears stained. “Each megacity is represented by a Zodiac. I’m sure you’ve heard about the story of the twelve animals and some race, yeah? For example, I’m not from Neostone, but I work for the Horse Zodiac based in a city in South Korea, we’re known for enhanced stamina. You know, I made it to state back in high school for track. Almost to the national stage, but I got injured. Those were good times...” This man is so talkative, and I could not take in any more information, but he keeps going on some tangent about his track and field days. So in addition to my best friend completely turning into a cyborg that I have to help out with, I’m also up against others with super powers? The more this progresses, the more I believe I’m living in a superhero comic or film. There’s no way this is all real, maybe he’s just pulling my leg. Johnny continues to detail the whole Zodiac concept. “The Dragon Zodiac is one of the special collectives. Taeyong is kind of like... a metal bender, if you think about it. But he can’t go toppling whole buildings or whatever, their power is pretty limited.”

That must be why his work with Lucas’s arm is so sleek and seamless. He’s able to supernaturally work with metal apparently, but I’m not believing Johnny’s words until I see these supposed abilities for myself. Johnny stares at me, waiting for me to say something, so I do. “Thank you, I’ll tell Taeyong this.” This is all I say. Propelling myself off the chair, Johnny provides me a bottle of water and offers to escort me out through the busy club. Nodding in approval, we take off and out of the back and into the noisiness of the Club Zone. Taking sips of water every now and then helps to recuperate from the fuzziness that Manhattan drink dealt. Speaking of Manhattan, the darkened eyes of the man from earlier lock onto mine, watching me leave with Johnny at my side with a smug smile on his face. Jaehyun stands still with his back against the wall, away from all the activity of dancing and drinking taking place where the other DJ does his job.

Johnny leans down towards me and warns me, “That’s Jaehyun. He’s the Ox Zodiac leader. Might be pretty, but don’t get caught up with him.” The comment leaves me curious, and a bit annoyed. You’re telling me that gorgeous man can’t be messed with? I’ll bring this up with Taeyong and see what kind of dirt is on Jaehyun. I quietly thank Johnny for guiding me as he lets go of my arm at the entrance of the building. He bids me safe travels and turns, seemingly eager to get back to DJ’ing. The guy seems nice, way more entertaining and easy to approach than the damn doctor. Club Zone just might be a new spot for me to frequent. Before I push through the doors to exit, I steal a glance from Jaehyun who’s still looking at me. I’m definitely coming back.

▶ Ambience

2:30am. I arrive at Taeyong’s apartment, knocking instead of breaking in. The door opens revealing the doctor who appears to have showered, the strong scent of mint pouring into the hallway and the blonde strands sticking in generous clumps to his foreheads. Kind of... cute. “I wasn’t expecting you to come back. At least, not this early.” I take it back. What a way to greet someone. He ushers me in, closing the door behind me. Looking around, I note that Lucas isn’t here, and I look at Taeyong for answers. He reads me well, reporting that he sent Lucas home around midnight to get some sleep. “Lucas didn’t seem too well, probably from lack of sleep. Very worried, like a puppy that can’t stand being away from its owner. Should let him be more often.” I hate that he’s right, but I brush off the comment and take a seat, this time on the comfier and nicer sofa. Taeyong sits across. “So, information. Spill.” Jumping on information already, not even asking if I made it back alright and everything went smoothly-- who does he think he is?

Establishing my perplexity with his attitude, I passive aggressively begin with, “I met Johnny who’s very nice compared to you and explained way more than you did, without a gun or anything.” He rubs the back of his neck which tells me he may regret all that he pulled earlier on me. Or that he doesn’t care and wants to get straight to the information. “Anyways, Do... Doyoung? Along with Taeil will be delivering the shipment sometime, possibly in the middle of, this week. Straight to clinic.” Taeyong nods with the details given to me by Johnny. Maybe I’ll stay quiet about my encounter with Jaehyun since Johnny said not to meddle with him. After I finish my piece, he ponders, his brows knitting together. Is it not enough for him? I’ve given him what he wants. I just need to get home and make sure Lucas is okay.

“Very good except... did you ask about the next rave.”

I fucking loathe him each time he opens that mouth.

“No. Because it’s not important, next. Let me go home.” My arms fold across my chest, an eye roll to top it off. Taeyong chortles at my annoyance.

He gets up, still laughing, and picks up a set of car keys from off the wall near the door. “Easy, easy. Come on, I’ll drive you back home.”

▶ Ambience

Part of me still is fuming over Taeyong’s demeanor, but I’m also thankful for him driving me back to the complex. The rain starts to hit hard against the windows. I’d rather not get soaked after an already wild and mostly upsetting night. The ride is silent for a few minutes until he breaks it. “Hey, I know we’re off to a bad start, but you’re working for me now.” Held me a gunpoint. “As your boss, I’ll be protecting you as I need someone to help divvy up my project, even just for information gathering, so you don’t need to worry about me hurting you anymore.” Bruised my jaw earlier. “All you need to do is follow my orders and you’ll be fine.” Put responsibility for Lucas’s possible promotion to be taken away on me. Aren’t doctors supposed to have compassion and be kind? Whatever his words were, they went in one ear and out the ear because I don’t want to hear him talk anymore. He pulls into a spot and parks against the sidewalk close to the complex entrance, but I needed to hear an apology from him. If we’re working together, I need him to know my boundaries and to treat me with respect. The windshield wipers are the only thing we could hear for a moment until Taeyong reaches into the back. What in the world could he be pulling out? A gun again? My heart races for a few seconds, but calms down after seeing a familiar red box with a cross on it. A medicine kit. He sets it onto his lap, opening it up to reveal the usual items that come with it. Taeyong picks up the instant ice pack, shakes it a few times waiting for it to feel cold in his hands, and hands it to me. I stare at him in disbelief. “Nice bruise.” He points to his jaw in the spot where my bruise is, and I feel at my own face to mirror him. He laughs, a painful ring in my ears to hear him mocking me. “Take care and see you at the clinic on Monday.”

Exiting the car, I hold the ice pack to my bruise, the sting of the coldness causing me to wince. You’re so pathetic, I say to myself. That wasn’t the kind of apology I wanted, if it was even one, but the tiredness is starting to take over me. Before to entering the complex, I peek over my shoulder to see Taeyong still parked, watching me head inside. Sticking my tongue out in displeasure with all he’s done, I put up a quick middle finger and rush inside. He’s probably roaring his ass off in laughter inside his car, but it’s no longer something I’ll pay mind to. My priority is Lucas.

▶ Ambience

Without hesitation, I enter Lucas’s small apartment through the door that’s ajar, and I find him twiddling his thumbs at the table with nervousness riddling his expression. Has he been waiting for me? I reposition the ice pack still on my bruise. “Hi, Lucas, sorry if you were staying up for me.” I reassure him, seeing his shoulders drop and some color rise back in his face. He raises a brow, and I know he’s about to ask about the unpleasant-looking violet blooming along my jaw. “I’m okay, he didn’t do anything else. I told him all the information and he drove me home.” He sighs in relief, stands, and opens up his arms, the good old bear hug whenever something goes down. Embracing him, the familiar sense of comfort washes over me, my lids wavering as the need to be in bed becomes stronger.

“It’s a been a long night, hasn’t it? We both should sleep in a little. Let’s go to Electric Egg later this morning for brunch. 11:30? Sicheng’s working then, too.” I sleepily nod, pushing him away a little to leave for my room. He asks another question, one that fills me with dread, “How do you feel about Taeyong?” I keep my lips shut. “He’s not a bad guy, I promise. Just give him time.” I wonder how long he’s been keeping this from me. If it’s only recent, I can feel somewhat better. If not, then this whole time, he’s been secretive about this and working with Taeyong, that evil man. Though feeling betrayed, I think I can trust him with Lucas. Since all I’m doing is gathering information, this compromise shouldn’t be difficult to carry out. Talk to people, report the details, and repeat. As long as it doesn’t involve harming others, everything will be fine.

A weak smile occupies my face, my head beginning to feel heavy in addition to the rest of me. “As long as you’re okay, I’ll be alright with him. We just have to play along with Taeyong and see what happens next. But I won’t let him hurt you, or me.” Lucas, satisfied with my answer, pushes me out the door with a loud laugh and bids me a good night. I quickly do the same before closing his door and drift over to my own room. After a quick wash and stretch, I sit at the edge of the bed and scan the crumpled paper with all of Taeyong’s information from Pearl Park. My thumbs try to smooth out the wrinkles as much as possible to make it clearer. He’s annoyingly admirable. A very intelligent doctor who’s got a charm to him, plus supposedly a superpower, and can get whatever he wants-- one of those things being my best friend-- is unfair. I look over to the now squishy, melted ice pack on my night stand. He’s not a bad guy. I want to believe Lucas. He’s been in more contact with Taeyong than I have. If he says so, then I should let it be, like Taeyong said. I turn over the document which I did not notice before, probably because I was rushing to get out of the storage room. It’s a list of what I think are names, neatly written in small cursive. Going down it, these names don’t seem familiar which I assume because the document is from an older year. Midway through the list, I abruptly freeze at a name that makes my blood stop, my body ice cold:

Jeong Jaehyun.

[eyebeastposts]

House of the Filthy Fly Girl

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Commission Info

WARNING THIS STORY CONTAINS: A Filthy Fly Girl Burping and Farting

  An office worker returns home to find it taken over by a filthy fly girl who intends to make it her personal landfill. This is a commissioned story for Mysowrites (https://www.deviantart.com/mysowrites) , featuring their OC Maggie.

  After a long day at the office, Todd wanted nothing more than to relax in the comfort of his own home. His fantasies of a peaceful evening vegging out in front of the TV were shattered the moment he discovered his door was unlocked. The need to protect his belongings making him neglect calling the police had him bracing himself to duke it out with whatever intruder was lurking for him inside.

  Pushing the door open, Todd was met with a gust of foul wind billowing out from his once neat and tidy abode. The smell seemed to have come forth from the depths of an overturned septic tank, every logical part of his brain telling him to turn around and never come back. Clamping his fingers tight around his nose, he managed to power through the heavy smog to enter his house. In a momentary lapse in judgement he closed the door behind him, blocking off the escape for both himself and the horrible odor that had filled his home.

  Moving about the halls, he couldn’t recall having such a wide collection of overturned trash bags and rotting food strewn about each room. Tape had been sealed against the edges of the windows and vents, preventing the awful miasma from escaping. The tacky wallpaper that he had learned to tolerate had begun to peel off the walls from the sheer power of the built up smog. Shuffling his way through the powerful stench and plethora of useless junk, he heard something buzzing around in his living room. Cautiously peeking his head around the corner, he wondered if his watery eyes were hallucinating from the fumes.

  Hovering off the ground with the help of a pair of rapidly beating, translucent bug wings was a young woman with bright green skin. A raggedy, stain-riddled, blue, buttoned down shirt and a pair of grungy, white underwear clung to her filth ridden form. Strands of neck length, dark green hair dripped a mysterious goo onto her shoulders that trickled down to the floor. Upon seeing the fly woman’s bright red, compound eyes, Ted let out a gasp that allowed an unhealthy amount of the house’s rotten odor to fill his lungs. Breaking into a coughing attempt in a futile attempt to rid his body of the toxic air, he almost didn’t hear the mischievous laughter emanating from the monstrous invader.

  “Hello there,” the fly girl said, hovering a few feet in front of Ted to show off her seemingly friendly smile. “My name is Maggie. I’m assuming you’re the owner of this house. Well, former owner at least. I’ve taken quite a liking to this place and I intend to make it my new home. Don’t suppose you’d be against having a roommate?”

  Ted opened his mouth to protest, but was soon shut up by the lingering odor of roadkill clinging to Maggie’s breath. Backing up in an attempt to find breathable air, he tripped over a worn-out boot. He fell backwards into one of the many piles of trash, finding himself surrounded by filth as equally disgusting as his home invader.

  “I knew you’d like it,” Maggie said, an excited smile on her face. “I spent all day bringing my collection over from my last house. It used to be so cramped and unpleasant, but here I can really spread out and admire my precious, personal landfill as much as I want. Speaking of which, I think I’ve earned myself a chance to relax and freshen up a bit.”

  Stopping the flapping of her wings, Maggie sent herself falling into a nearby trash pile. Squirming about in her vile hoard, she gave her body a new layer of slime and filth. As she continued to roll about, Ted became aware that she was permeating with her own horrible fragrance in the form of a thick musk of body odor clinging to her skin. While it was hard to make out amongst the rest of the trash, he could sense the distinct scent of a woman who hadn’t bathed in her entire life. He had to face this fact head on as she rolled up mere inches form his face with a banana peel clinging to her hair. Shooting him a toothy grin, she inadvertently gave him another taste of the rancid breath seeping out from between her teeth.

  “Isn’t this nice?” she asked, either ignorant or uncaring of his growing nausea. “Surrounded in a collection of wonderful garbage really makes this place feel like home. It was all so stuffy when I first got here. So much unused space, too much fresh air from the outside, and not to mention that flower smell coming from those candles.” Maggie shuddered as she recalled Ted’s preferred way of living. “This place really needed a filthy gal’s eye for interior decorating. Thanks to me, the house is almost perfect. It just needs one last finishing touch.”

  Pulling herself out of the pile, Maggie flew over to a corner of the room. Shooing away flies buzzing around the mound, she stuck her hand in and began to fish around. Holding up her hand, she showed offer her prize of a half-eaten apple tainted by dark green mold and bites taken out of it from maggots. Licking her lips as she inhaled its rotten scent, she opened her mouth and devoured it in just a few bites. Turning away from the disgusting sight, Ted glanced back at Maggie just in time to watch her gather up an armful of more rotten food.

  Spreading out her disgusting feast across the floor, Maggie went at her meal with animalistic savagery. Sinking her teeth into a dozen more over-ripened pieces of fruit made a sickening juice slather her chin as it dripped more stains onto her shirt. An ancient looking corndog was stripped clean in a single bite, allowing her to toss the leftover stick into her collection for later use. A half-eaten sandwich paired well with an old box of onion rings slathered in a heavy amount of month old mayonnaise. Finishing a dessert of stale muffins covered in a mysterious, black sludge, she set her sights on a carton of spoiled milk. Putting the carton to her lips, she tilted her head back to chug down the chunky, green milk to help wash down her feast of filth.

  Wiping stray droplets of milk from her lips, Maggie tossed the empty carton to the floor. The sound of cardboard bouncing against the trash made Ted fight against his better judgement to glance back at the fly girl. He watched as one hand picked off leftover crumbs from her shirt to be used as a post-meal snack while the other massaged her stomach. The feast had left her with a beach ball-sized, stomach bulge that made her hover a little lower than before. Her bright green skin peeked out between tears in her shirt to show off the taut surface of the bloated orb. Ted felt a sense of unease as he watched a series of tremors go through her body.

  “I can’t remember the last time I UUURRP ate like that,” Maggie belched, rubbing her distended belly. “Should make good fuel to properly redecorate this place.”

  Before Ted could have a chance to ask what she meant, he heard an unsettling groan emanate from her. Grabbing hold of her food baby, Maggie pressed into it to force out a bassy belch that spread her rancid breath throughout the room. Wiping a stray drop of drool from her mouth, Maggie lifted up her head to inhale the lingering gas cloud. Pleased with the result, she opened up her mouth to let out another thunderous belch. The burp was followed by several others, doing the job of filling the house with the reverberating noise and seeping her breath into the walls.

  Just as Ted’s ears stopped ringing and his nose powered through her burps, he was horrified to hear another sound coming from lower in the fly girl’s digestive tract. Bouncing around the room like a fairy of filth, Maggie looked as if she was attempting to hold in a building pressure. As the rumbling in her body reached its apex, she showed off a wide grin as she clutched her stomach and flew up to the ceiling. Hovering above a terrified Ted, she let finally let it all loose.

  A blast of air came squeaking out of her rear at first, gradually turning into a deep bellow that fluttered the hem of her shirt. The fart quickly engulfed the room, the odor overpowering the already foul atmosphere to be overtaken by noxious cloud of the various rotten meals that had been stewing in her stomach. Ted’s nostrils felt like they were on fire as her flatulence reached him, his eyes a watery mess and his lungs dying to get a semblance of fresh air.

  To his utter horror, he watched as Maggie scrunched up her face and pushed out more boisterous farts to further taint the house with her stink. Laughing at the worsening aura of odor surrounding her, Maggie’s chuckles were interspersed with more burps to add to her gassy outbursts. The sound of her constant belches and farts mixed with her childish laughter. Opening her mouth wide after a particularly nasty belch, she was more than happy to re-taste her revolting meal as the gas bubble glided across her tongue. Overtaken by her own enjoyment, her hands slid over her bloated gut to push out more gas and revel in the layer of filth caked onto her. Taking a deep inhale after a particularly long and rancid fart, Maggie finally felt at home.

  “Isn’t this BWOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRP wonderful?” Maggie asked. “Everything is just the way I like it. Wonderful décor, amazing food, and an irresistible odor make this place absolutely perfect.” Pushing into her stomach, she reveled in the feeling of a loud PHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTT sputtering out from her butt cheeks. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Ted couldn’t answer, too busy being unconscious on the floor. His body had mercifully gone limp in an attempt to avoid further torment from Maggie’s stench. Assuming he was just tired from overexcitement, Maggie flew down to his motionless form and cuddled up next to him.

  Pushing her belly against him, she gave one more blast of flatulence to give them a warm blanket of foul air to get comfortable in. “We’re going to be great UUURRP roommates,” she said, wallowing in her trash pile as she got ready for her first night sleeping in her new home.

[everlarkbirthdaydrabbles]

Biggest Fan - Chapter 2

Way back in February, @peetabreadgirl had a birthday and her gift was Biggest Fan -- Canadian!Peeta and Texan!Katniss meet in the Marvel fandom and then have a real-life meet-up in Québec City. You can find the first chapter of this story on this blog. We've decided to stretch her birthday fun for five months and offer you this latest chapter. Enjoy!! Banner by @xerxia31

When the morning sun finally begins to glow behind his eyelids, Peeta is contentedly floating on a cloud of sheer comfort. The bed feels exactly right beneath him, his pillow cradles his head perfectly and Katniss is snuggled firmly against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

Never has a bed been so inviting.

He’s not sure when she migrated from her side of the bed to his, but he can’t say he’s sorry to start the day with her in his arms, her soft, steady exhales painting a warm trail on his pectoral muscles under his t-shirt. His senses are full of her; the sweet fragrance of her hair, the weight of her arm across his belly, her feet tangled in his. He leans down just enough to place a kiss on the crown of her head and is rewarded with a sigh from Katniss.

She stretches like a cat against him as her body comes to life. “Time is it?” she mutters.

“I’m not sure, about eight? Practically mid-day for a baker.”

The sound of his voice seems to bring her back to herself more quickly. Her grey eyes widen and a pretty flush paints her smooth cheeks as she notices the way they’re practically wrapped around each other, and the fact that they’re both nestled on his side of the bed.

“Sorry,” she squeaks, and in her haste to push away from him, she discovers just how awake Peeta is. He emits an involuntary hiss.

“Oh God,” she drops to her back and slaps a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry again.”

Peeta can’t help it. He laughs. “It’s not like you hurt me, Katniss.” He rolls to his side, hoping it will provide some slack in his pyjama pants. She parts her fingers and peeks out at him. “Morning wood’s a pretty ordinary thing for a healthy guy, especially if he’s been curled up with a pretty girl all night.”

She snorts and her hand drops from her face in exasperation. “I may beta smut instead of writing it, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t teach you a few things, Cap.”

That line sends his mind careening in all sorts of different directions. His cock throbs for relief.

Her puzzled voice forces his train of thought off its rather sordid track. “Wait a minute. You think I’m pretty?”

He’s forced to shake his head in amazement. “Kat, I thought your Google Docs avatar was pretty. In real life, you’re so much more than that. Beautiful, yes, but there’s just something about you. It’s….” He stares at the ceiling searching for the right word. “Magnetic.” When he chances a look over at Katniss, her face is pale, her front teeth pillowed in her bottom lip.

“I’ve got to take a shower,” she whispers. Then she bolts for the bathroom, snapping the lock behind her.

Peeta lies in bed, bewildered by the turn of events. Wondering if he’d gone too far calling her beautiful. After their nice evening together, and especially after waking up with her in his arms, he’d thought they were on the same page. Now he’s left trying to figure out what’s real and what’s not.

He can hear the water running behind the bathroom door. A mental image of Katniss standing under the spray, her long black hair wet and cascading over smooth olive flesh flashes through his head, and he groans softly. Knowing she’s naked just a few feet away isn’t doing anything to help rein in his dirty thoughts. It’s taking every speck of his restraint not to take himself in hand. It wouldn’t take long. He’s so hard from being this close to her, she’d only have to breathe on it and he’d come.

Fuck, did he really just think about her lips near his cock? With a decisive kick, Peeta knocks the bedcovers aside and shoves his pants down his hips. He exhales in relief when he wraps his hand around the hot flesh, twitching in anticipation. It's not the first time he's stroked himself to thoughts of Katniss Everdeen.

But it’s the first time since he’d held her in his arms, learned her scent and the exact shade of her pink pouty lips. His hand circles his cock, his thumb sweeping over the weeping head to gather the moisture and ease the movement of his fist, slipping slowly downward from tip to root. He imagines those perfect lips enveloping him, slick and wet, taking him deep into her mouth. A quiver of excitement passes through his body and his breath quickens as he envisions Katniss’s grey eyes, dark and cloudy with desire, staring up at him from his lap. A moan rumbles from low in his throat and his strokes quicken, his hips flexing in time with the movement of his hand.

In his mind’s eye, Katniss’s perfect breasts bounce with every pass. She’s riding him now, his cock buried deep within her, the walls of her pussy tightening around him like a silken prison he has no wish to escape. The pleasure builds higher and higher, bringing him closer to what he craves. Every muscle in Peeta’s body tightens and strains as the pleasure mounts within him. He can see her, head thrown back in abandon, needing this, needing him the way he burns for her touch. He bites down on his lip when the familiar tingle begin in the base of his spine, sending bliss sparking throughout his body.  And in the moment when his mind flies free and his body follows, he releases onto his belly, her name a whisper on his lips.

It’s only when he’s wiped himself clean with his t-shirt and thrown it to the floor, that he can focus on Katniss’s reaction and what, if anything, he ought to do about it.

He pulls up his bottoms and climbs out of bed, tossing his dirty shirt into his duffle bag. Effie had said something yesterday about breakfast being delivered to their room in a petit panier. Sure enough, he discovers a picnic basket just outside the door. An array of fresh baked pastries, fruit, cheese, yogurt, and juice are tucked inside.

He’s just closing the door behind him when Katniss emerges from the bathroom, still in her tank and sleep shorts, her hair wrapped in a towel. He must have taken her by surprise because she gapes at him.

“Breakfast,” he smiles, holding up the basket and crossing to a small table beneath the window. “It looks amazing. I can’t wait to try these croissants and see how they compare to mine.”

Peeta fishes out a little card that states Gracieuseté de l’Hôtel du Vieux Québec. “A beautiful day is desired to you," he reads aloud. “It’s signed by the manager. Huh. I’ll forgive her English if she tolerates my high school French I suppose. It was nice of her to personalize it, don't you think, Katniss?”

“Katniss?” He turns to find Katniss still standing near the bathroom door, staring at him intently. “Would you like some breakfast?”

Her tongue darts out over her lips and she gives her head a shake. “Uh, yeah, sure. Just let me get dressed real quick. I, uh, forgot my bag earlier. I just need to, um, grab a few things.”

He nods and turns back to the basket. But reflected in the window, he can see Katniss still staring. A slow grin spreads across his face as comprehension dawns. Katniss Everdeen is checking him out.

He can't resist showing off a little. Though there's nothing wrong with the basket’s position, he hefts it into his arms, knowing it'll make the muscles in his back - toned and sculpted from years of lifting hundred-pound flour sacks - ripple and flex.

“OK Kat, you go ahead and get dressed. I’ll take good care of this breakfast basket.”

In the window, he watches her eyes snap off his back to shoot arrows at the back of his head. “Oh,” she sneers, “I don’t think so, Cap.”

He snatches a croissant from the basket and, turning to face her, tears into it with his teeth. His mouth is full of its flaky, buttery goodness when he smirks at her. He swallows. “That’s delicious.”

“Fine,” she harrumphs. “I’ll eat.”

They settle down at the tiny table, the morning light streaming through the window, enjoying the contents of their basket. The fruit is juicy and perfect. They sample ripe melon and strawberries, bits of pineapple and delicious raspberries. Katniss sinks her teeth into what appears to be an apple danish and sighs contentedly.

Peeta fishes an apple out of the basket, breathes on it slightly and is about to shine it on his shirt when he remembers that it’s sticky and buried in the bottom of his bag. Feeling Katniss’s eyes upon him, he shrugs playfully and mimics shining the apple against his chest instead. Katniss’s eyes follow the action, her rosy lips slightly parted. “See something you want?” he asks.

Her eyes round and return to his face. “What?”

“Just wondered if you wanted my apple,” he replies innocently, the rosy flesh of the apple now masking his grin. Katniss flushes and declines. With a shrug, Peeta brings the apple the remaining distance to his lips, the apple providing a satisfying snap as his teeth dig into its tart flesh.

It’s possible, he concludes as he chews, that the attraction he is feeling for his writing buddy is mutual. It’s just too bad that he’s fallen for a girl who’s every bit as shy as she is stubborn. If he approaches her directly, she’ll be on the first plane bound for Texas.

He’ll just have to convince her it’s all her idea.                                                    

                                                     → thg ←

By mid-morning they’re both dressed and ready to face the crowds of Carnaval. Hôtel du vieux Québec faces out on the busiest street in the downtown core. The crowds have already begun to gather as people wander in and out of the quaint shops along the narrow streets in the historic city.

Peeta watches in amusement as Katniss takes in her surroundings, eyes wide, head snapping this way and that. The narrow stone buildings, the ancient churches, the snow-encrusted trees -- he sees all of them with fresh eyes as he observes Katniss’s awe. Several times, as they walk towards Carnaval, she’s distracted enough to nearly bump into someone in the thickening crowd.

It’s one of those quintessential Canadian winter days, brilliant sunshine streams across the frozen landscape, setting the snow ablaze in diamond-bright sparkles. But the sun’s intensity belies the breathtaking cold. And while Peeta is accustomed to the weather, Katniss, bundled up in her borrowed down coat and the boots and the snow pants Peeta brought in from the car that morning, has already started shivering.

Peeta tugs her close and gives her upper arms a brisk rub. “Cold already?” At her frantic nod, he tugs the firm trimmed hood of her coat over her bare head. “What have you got on for gloves?”

“These.” Katniss holds up her hands and Peeta clucks his tongue at the thin leather that covers them.

“We’ll have to do better than that,” he decides, and points to a little shop a bit further down Rue Saint-Jean. “They’ll probably have something in there,” he tells her. “Here, tuck your right hand into your pocket and I’ll hold your left in mine. It’ll help you stay warmer.”

The two of them weave their way through the jolly crowd meandering along the sidewalk, their breath freezing in puffy clouds before them as they make their way to the store. The warmth of the little shop is a welcome relief from the crisp winter cold and Katniss immediately lets go of Peeta’s hand to blow heat onto her own. “So cold!” she gasps as she stomps her feet and covers her ears with her hands.

Peeta can’t help but laugh at her reaction. “You’re no winter soldier, KatsEye.”

She scowls at him. “Shut up, Cap. It was 82 degrees in Texas on Thursday. I had lunch on a patio in my flip flops.”

“And now you’re a Katsicle.” Her silver eyes roll skyward and he reaches out to squeeze her hand. “Come on,” he urges, changing the subject. “What better Canadian souvenir than a pair of mittens?”

The kitschy little souvenir shop is plugged with shelves of stuffed moose and beavers in Mountie uniforms. Peeta spots bottles of genuine Quebec maple syrup lined up on a shelf near the cash and a whole display of magnets shaped like maple leaves and fleur de lis. Near the back of the store, they finally find a thick pair of navy mittens with “Québec” embroidered upon them in white stitches. They snatch them up and are soon back out into the cold, making their way towards the Plaines d’Abraham where Carnaval is held each year.

Katniss’s newly mittened hand is clasped in Peeta’s once again when he spots l’Escalier Casse-Cou. The steep concrete staircase descends between historic buildings and patios to the lower part of town.

“Why don’t we go this way,” he suggests as they stand at the top, admiring the view over the snow-topped roofs of the centuries-old buildings below. It reminds him of a medieval village. “This is the oldest part of the city, founded in the 1600s by an explorer called Samuel de Champlain. There are some fantastic galleries down there.”

“Are you sure? We could break our necks walking down these steps.”

“Well, they call it the Breakneck Staircase, but I’ve never heard of anyone actually breaking their neck. I’ve never been down it in winter before, though.”

“Maybe we should get a selfie before we fall to our deaths,” says Katniss, pulling her phone out of her coat pocket, but her mittens are so thick she can’t swipe the screen to unlock it. She curses in frustration and pulls off the right one before sliding her finger across the screen. “The ice was just starting to thaw from my fingertips,” she mutters.

“It’s a Canadian hazard. Come here and stop complaining,” laughs Peeta, and holds out his arm. Katniss snuggles underneath it, her arm around his waist, but she can’t angle her camera high enough to get both their heads in the shot. “It’s a good thing you’re cute,” Peeta teases as he seizes the phone from her. They’re still laughing when he takes the picture. It’s a good one. They’re wrapped in each other; rosy cheeked and smiling brightly with the Quartier Champlain in the shot far below them. “Send me that, will you?” Peeta asks, and she nods, making a few quick swipes on the screen before slipping it back in her pocket.

“Together?” Her navy mitten reaches for his gloved hand.

“Together.”

The trip down the stairs is surprisingly uneventful. The wrought iron handrail is every bit as sturdy as it is decorative and before long, they’ve stepped farther back in time, wandering the narrow cobblestone streets and peeking into the mottled glass windows of the historic buildings. The wooden signs that swing by the doors of the various storefronts boast of artists and artisans of every kind. Peeta points out the textile artists and the painters. Music and delicious smells waft through the doors of the various pubs and restaurants as their heavy wooden doors swing open and closed.

He’s telling her a story about the founding of the city more than four hundred years ago when she stops suddenly, nearly yanking his arm from its socket. “Wait,” she says, leaning towards a window display, her mittened hand hovering over the glass.

It's the kind of combination gallery and souvenir shop that's ubiquitous in Quebec, so he's not sure what's caught her eye. She tugs him closer, silver eyes alight. "My sister," she says, and Peeta nods. If there's anything Katniss talks about more than Bucky Barnes, it's her little sister, Prim. "She's studying marine biology. She'd love that." Peeta squints through the glass and finally understands. In the middle of the handmade mukluks and miniature inukshuks is a soapstone seal, its glossy green surface glinting in the spotlights. “Can we go in?”

Like he could ever say no.

His hand delicately resting on her lower back, Peeta guides Katniss under a garland of greenery, festooned with tin cups and snowshoes, and into the warmth of the shop. It’s small, even smaller than it appears from outside, and jam-packed with Aboriginal art. Katniss heads straight for the window display, but Peeta is distracted by the framed prints that fill every inch of wall space. Until, that is, he realizes the shopkeeper - an older man with greasy hair and bloodshot eyes - is speaking at Katniss in rapid-fire French while she stares, wide-eyed and silently pleading for him to intervene.

“Monsieur,” Peeta says, pulling the man’s attention from his horror-struck companion. “Est-ce que vous pourriez nous aider?”

“Aie, mon homme, viens ici une seconde.” Peeta struggles to keep up with both the speed of the shopkeeper’s speech and his strong accent that suggests he’s from the Outaouais region of Quebec. “J'veux te montrer un p'ti truc qui va sûrement te rendre chanceux avec ta blonde ce soir,” the shopkeeper continues, grinning, and Peeta can feel the heat flooding his cheeks. He’s exceedingly grateful that Katniss doesn’t speak French. He can’t imagine she’d be thrilled to know that a greasy huckster thinks buying this piece of Inuit art is likely to improve his chances of scoring with his beautiful friend. “Check ça mon gars, une super beau phoque.” He gestures to the seal sculpture in Katniss’s hand, and she jumps back, eyes widening further. “J'te dit, c'est un vieux eskimo qui a sculpté ce phoque - il a soixante-quinze ans!” Peeta snickers at that, carved by a seventy-five year old Eskimo. Yeah, that’ll increase the price for sure. He glances back at Katniss, and his amusement recedes. She’s full-on scowling. The shopkeeper clearly doesn’t notice, because he wraps an arm around Katniss’s shoulder and continues. “Tu trouve pas que ta blonde aimeras ça? T'sais déjà comment elle adore ce phoque!”

Peeta slips between Katniss and the older man before she has an opportunity to eviscerate him. Bright red splotches stand out on her cheeks and her jaw is tense, he can practically hear her teeth grinding. Peeta didn’t think she understood French, but he knows she speaks Spanish, so maybe she’s catching more of the shopkeeper’s lewd suggestions than he’d hoped.

“J'te laisse pour cinquante pièces. C'est bon? Tu va me remercier, c'est sûr,” the clerk says, waving toward the small sculpture and winking at Katniss. And while fifty dollars is highway robbery, Peeta is anxious enough to get out of the store that he’ll pay pretty much anything.

“Oui, nous allons le prendre, s'il vous plaît,” he says, sliding the sculpture from Katniss’s clenched fist and pulling out his wallet while Katniss huffs beside him.

By the time they emerge from the shop and back out onto rue Petit Champlain, Katniss is absolutely seething. “Hey,” Peeta says, reaching for her as she attempts to stomp away in the wrong direction. She shrugs him off, spinning to glare at him. Her anger is a lot scarier when it’s aimed in his direction.

“What the hell was that?” she spits, and Peeta struggles to guess which part of the entire strange transaction she’s referring to. “How could you let that guy talk about us like that?”

Peeta stammers. “Katniss, I’m sorry. I was just trying to get us out of there. I didn’t know how much of the conversation you understood.”

"Understood?” Katniss throws her hands in the air, her eyes afire. “What was there to understand? That guy dropped more f-bombs than IronMutt in a smut scene!”

“F-bombs?” Between the colloquial French, and the tension in the shop, Peeta is certain he missed a few words, but he doesn’t remember any f-bombs - French or English - in the shopkeeper’s pitch. He’s just about to argue with Katniss that the salesman - while incredibly lewd - hadn’t actually cursed, when the realization hits him. Phoque sounds a whole lot like fuck to the untrained ear. It was a source of endless joking back in middle school, but Peeta hasn’t thought about it in years.

He snickers like the middle school boy he once was, and Katniss growls. “It’s not funny, Cap,” she says, her voice only slightly below a yell. She’s so pissed that she looks ready to explode, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek hard to tame the giggles. “I thought you Canadians were supposed to be polite?”

She tries to storm away again, and it sobers him. ”Kat- Katniss, no, wait,” he begs, grabbing her arm to halt her escape. He can see her body stiffen, but she doesn’t pull away, turning to face him with fire in her silver eyes. Peeta is struck by the thought that she looks good in flames. Very good. He pulls back, rubbing a mittened hand over the back of his neck, attempting to derail the lustful train of thought his mind is trying to take. “I’m sorry,” he says, a bit breathlessly, and her expression softens a little. “Phoque,” he says, drawing out the vowel sound slightly, “is the French word for seal.”

“It… wait, what?” Katniss scrunches her nose up in confusion, and Peeta bites his cheek again because he wants to tell her that she’s adorable, and he doubts she’d consider it a compliment. Not right now anyway. “Really?”

“Really. The conversation would have sounded a lot different if you’d picked a polar bear instead.” Well, it would have to her, anyway, Peeta thinks. The greasy clerk would probably have been just as convinced of the seductive powers of an ours blanc if it meant freeing another fifty from their wallets.

“Oh,” Katniss says softly, watching him with that cute wrinkle between her brows, as if she’s not completely sure whether to believe him. Peeta wants so badly to kiss that little line. He shakes his head slightly to clear away the image. She has no idea, the effect she has on him. But if he’s learned anything in his eighteen or so hours with Katniss Everdeen, it’s that he has to be patient.

“Yeah, oh,” Peeta smiles, unable to resist teasing her just a bit. He winks to soften the sting. “Let’s continue,” he says, tugging her elbow gently. “There’s so much more to see and daylight’s wasting.”

She huffs, but relents, and they fall into step again, walking the snowy cobbles in silence.

“Ah, there it is,” says Peeta, and points to the end of the street, where the word “Funiculaire” is posted in huge letters on an old house.

“There what is,” asks Katniss, her voice still showing traces of temper.

“The Funiculaire. Our way back up,” Peeta explains. They halt in front of the doors of the house and Katniss cranes her head to watch the little white car slowly climbing the track up the cliff.

“Oh lordy,” she mutters. “Just what, exactly, is a Fun-ic-yoo-layer?”

“Huh.” Peeta purses his lips and screws up his face as he thinks it over. “Well, if an elevator had sex with a ski lift, the Funiculaire would be their love child.”

Katniss looks at him incredulously and then bursts out laughing and squeezes his hand. “You’ve written some crazy analogies over the last year, Peeta, but that one takes the cake.”

Peeta grins sheepishly and shrugs. “Hey, cake is never bad.” He thinks he hears her snort, but is too busy thinking about how natural it seemed for her to take his hand to be sure.

“Come on, let’s go before I change my mind,” she orders, tugging him down the street. “You’re paying for the ride in this death trap, beeteedubs.”

A few minutes and six Canadian dollars later, they are slowly riding up the cliff. Katniss snaps a few shots of the city from the air as they slide towards the summit. When they get to the top and exit the green gazebo-like terminal, they find themselves at the foot of Quebec City’s largest, and possibly most famous, landmark; the Château Frontenac, its turrets pointing to the sky and each one of the pristine windows in the brick towers glinting in the icy glare of the winter sun.

“That is literally the biggest castle I’ve ever seen,” Katniss murmurs. “Not that I’ve ever seen one before.”

“It’s actually a hotel,” Peeta explains. “The oldest in Canada. I would guess that royalty has probably stayed there, but it’s never been an actual castle. I think it has something like 700 rooms.”

“Have you ever stayed there?” She wanders the path in front of the Funiculaire exit and snaps a few pictures with her phone.

Peeta wonders if he should have tried to get them a room there. “No. My parents have, a few times, I think. It’s very swanky.”

“It’s a beautiful building, that’s for sure, but I bet they don’t serve breakfast in a basket.”

Peeta watches her pocket her phone and wonders whether she could be any more perfect for him. Her grey eyes are dancing when she links her arm with his and they start to stroll along the boulevard beside the hotel. “How much farther to the Car-na-val?” She lingers over each vowel sound, attempting the French pronunciation. It’s so adorable he can hardly stand it.

Instead, he points to the noisy park just a stone’s throw away. “We’re almost there. Can you see the ice castle? That’s where Bonhomme lives.”

“Who’s Bonhomme?”

“The King of Winter,” Peeta explains. “Come on. We’ll get our effigies and we’ll go find him.”

“Effigies? What kind of carnival is this?”

Peeta laughs. “Relax. It’s like an ornament. Of Bonhomme. It’ll get us in and out of the carnaval.”  

When they get to the gates, Peeta requests, “deux passeports de Carnaval, s’il vous plaît.”

“Quatre-vingt-dix pièces, monsieur.”

Peeta reaches for his wallet to pay for their ultimate passes, but Katniss stills his hand. “No way,” she insists. “You paid for the hotel room. You paid for dinner last night. You bought the phoque.” Her upper lip curls when that word slips past her lips. “You’re not paying for this too.”

He sighs, knowing there’s no point in arguing with Katniss when a line is forming behind them. “Fine. I asked her for two Carnaval passports. It’s $90.”

Katniss pulls her wallet from her pocket. “Lemme get my Monopoly money out. So, I need a pink one and two green ones, or one brown one, right?”

He can’t help it. He snorts, but gets out of her way while she pays the ticket seller. The look on her face when a plastic bag filled with goodies is shoved back through the window is so priceless, he laughs aloud. They make their way through the gate and Peeta pulls her aside, whipping the fleece-lined souvenir toque from the bag, and tugging it down over her ears before flicking her nose with one of the bright red pom-poms that swing from a braided tassel.  

“I look ridiculous,” she huffs.

“We’ve got a second set for me, so we’ll look like tourists together. Now shut up and put on your scarf.” He pulls the brightly woven scarf from the bag and ties it snugly around her neck. He pins her effigy to her coat and stands back to admire his work.

“Canadian is a good look on you,” he decides. “Plus, now you won’t be cold.”

He pulls off his own toque and replaces it with the official carnaval hat, then ties his scarf around his neck and pins on the little plastic snowman. There are six tickets in the bottom of the bag that he passes to Katniss, asking her to tuck them in her wallet. He stuffs his old hat and scarf in the bag, tosses in the infamous phoque sculpture and takes her hand back in his own before tugging her towards the giant ice castle.

“C’mon. I want a picture of us at the castle,” he insists, “all dressed up in our matching gear.”

Peeta drags her past vendors and activities. She points to snow rafting, an ice slide and a petting zoo and begs to stop, but he keeps going until they are standing in the shadows of l’Assemblée Nationale du Québec where an enormous castle made of ice glistens in the afternoon sun. “

You people sure like your castles,” she drawls.

“This is Bonhomme’s house,” he explains. “It’s our best chance to see him, but first I want that picture. Peeta pulls his phone from his pocket and positions himself behind Katniss with his arm around her waist. He waits for her to pull away and can’t help but feel a surge of pleasure at the way she relaxes against him instead. He whips off his mitten and aims the camera for the perfect selfie. “Now smile,” he orders.

When he lowers the camera, he can’t help but smirk at how couple-y they look in their matching gear, wide grins and cozy pose. The tips of their noses glow and their eyes sparkle in the sun.

Katniss pulls out her phone and waves it at him. “Send me that,” she orders, and he obliges. She flicks her finger across the screen and a satisfied smile spreads across her lips. “It’s a good one.” She flicks and taps the screen a few more times to save the image and then tucks the phone back in her pocket. “So, are we going to meet this snowman or not?”

Hand-in-hand, they join the queue for Bonhomme’s home, shuffling as it snakes slowly forward and stamping their feet to keep their toes from freezing. When Katniss starts to shiver, Peeta wraps his arms around her.

“Bonhomme, Bonhomme sais-tu jouer ? Bonhomme, Bonhomme sais-tu jouer ?” Peeta’s song is more than little off-key but she laughs as he bounces her back and forth in his arms, so he keeps going. “Sais-tu jouer de ce violon-là ? Sais-tu jouer de ce violon-là ?”

“Peeta, what on Earth are you singing?”

“The Bonhomme, Bonhomme song,” he chortles. “The Ontario education system tortures us all with it. Bonhomme, Bonhomme, tu n’es pas maître dans ta maison quand nous y sommes!”

By the time they make it to Bonhomme’s front door, Peeta has challenged Bonhomme to play the violin, the flute and the drums and Katniss is begging for relief. But she’s not shivering, so he counts that as a win.

Just inside the door, an eight-foot tall snowman awaits them.

“Holy frick, what is that?” Katniss breathes, her head tilted upwards to take in the giant’s red toque and maniacally grinning face. Her head leans against Peeta’s chest, the pom pom of her Carnaval hat tickling his jaw and he almost sighs with how good it feels.

“That,” Peeta says, unable to resist the urge to pull her a little closer, “is who we’re here to see. Meet Bonhomme Carnaval, the king of winter.”

“Hello! Bonjour!” calls Bonhomme to the crowd. The voice booms through the ice castle, but Peeta finds the whole effect to be a bit strange since the snowman’s mouth can’t move in his plastic face. “Bienvenue! Welcome to my home. Do you want to see my kick?” The giant kicks his leg high into the air.

As the snowman carries on with his antics, someone taps Peeta on the shoulder. He turns to find one of the festival workers grinning broadly at him. “Veux-tu que je prenne un photo de toi et ta blonde avec Bonhomme?”

“Absolument,” Peeta replies. “Merci.” He tugs Katniss’s hand. “They’re going to take our picture with Bonhomme.”

“Peeta, he’s creepy,” she hisses as they approach the front of the line.

He agrees, but can’t resist teasing her. “Who were you expecting, Frosty the Snowman?” When she sputters in outrage, he gives her hand a tight squeeze while handing his phone off to the attendant. When he’s sure no one is listening, he leans over to whispers in her ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the weird cultural icon.”

Just then, Bonhomme steps between them and throws his arms around their shoulders. “So, you want a photo with Bonhomme? Bon! Un joli sourire pour le caméra. Un, deux, trois!”

The flash on Peeta’s phone goes off and they are hustled away to make room for the next group. The attendant meets them with a grin and passes the phone back to Peeta. “Je crois que ta blonde n’est pas une fan de Bonhomme,” he says gleefully.

No, Peeta thinks, gazing down at their latest picture. Katniss, her face twisted into a suspicious grimace, certainly isn’t a Bonhomme fan. “Elle est Américaine,” he confides, causing the Carnaval staffer to burst into laughter. The other man nods knowingly as though Katniss’s nationality explains everything. “Joyeux Carnaval!” he calls out, slapping Peeta on the shoulder before they make their way out of the castle.

Once outside, Peeta realizes the day is slipping away. “How about a hot chocolate?”

Katniss looks at him in relief. “No more weird snowmen?”

“Not today,” he chuckles. “We’ll sip hot chocolate, check out the snow sculptures and then go back to the hotel. Sound good?”

Before long, they have traded two of the tickets in Katniss’s wallet for steaming cups of hot chocolate. Katniss hums happily as she takes her first sip and the warmth Peeta feels around his chest has as much to do with the smile on her face as the chocolate in his belly. Arm in arm, they stroll around the Plaines d’Abraham, admiring the sculptures that are strategically positioned between the other attractions.

“The snow sculpture contest attracts artists from all over the world,” Peeta explains as they gaze at a mythical horse rising out of the snow, it’s mane unfurled around it. “It’s one of the biggest snow sculpture competitions in the world.” Their next stop is a giant lizard, his long tongue stretching across the snow, seemingly ready to lick unsuspecting passersby. A man of snow lies on the ground, fighting off a pack of wolves. Each design is more fanciful than the one before and Peeta and Katniss find themselves weaving elaborate stories about them.

“What do you think about this one?” Peeta asks, as they admire a sculpture of a woman, gowned in an elaborate dress, her hands outstretched in a frozen plea. Her wings tower high above them. “An angel?”

Katniss shakes her head vigorously. “No way. She’s a warrior. Check out the arrows on her back.”

Sure enough, Peeta spots the strap of her quiver carved into her dress and the fletchings peeking out over her shoulder. “I guess she’s an avenging angel, kind of like you.”

Katniss peers at him incredulously. “Are you kidding me?”

“C’mon Katniss. You know you love the underdog the best. You’re not afraid to fight for what you believe in. You even shoot. And I think she looks a little bit like you.” His companion scoffs. “No, really. Look. Long hair, pointed chin, big eyes that are impossible to resist. She’s stunning. Like you.”

Katniss gazes at him silently over the rim of her cup for a few seconds, then downs the rest of her hot chocolate. “You about finished?”

Peeta nods slowly, swallowing the now-cold dregs of his cocoa and watching her carefully. He’s observed - and catalogued - a wide variety of different Katniss expressions over the past twenty-four hours, but he’s not sure he’s seen this one before. “Sure,” he says. “Shall we head back to the hotel?” He knows she’s cold. He is too, and a little tired.

“How about we get some food?” There’s something about her soft smile that makes Peeta think she’s not talking about maple taffy, or frites from one of the food vendors around Carnaval. “There’s, uhm. There’s a little restaurant at the hotel. I peeked at it this morning,” Katniss says shyly, and Peeta can’t help grinning. They don’t have reservations, but he’s prepared to grovel, or maybe bribe the maitre d’, if it means seeing Katniss’s shy smile again.

They toss their paper cups in a bin, then Katniss’s mittened hand curls around Peeta's again.

The sun sets early in Quebec City in the winter, so when they pass Bonhomme’s house once more, the towering ice castle glows an almost otherworldly blue in the fading light. “It’s beautiful,” Katniss breathes, and as Peeta looks at her lovely face bathed in the ice-diffused spotlights he can’t help but agree.

A comfortable silence stretches between them as they stroll in the twilight, until they’re only about a block away from the hotel. “Hey,” Katniss says, her nose wrinkling in that way that Peeta can’t resist. “How are we here already? Where’s the foo-nic-yoo-lair?”

Peeta laughs, a silver-mist cloud of delight. “We took the scenic route this morning. I figured you’d want to get back to warmth a little faster tonight.” Katniss shrugs, but her hand squeezes his more tightly, he thinks maybe in gratitude.

Once they reach the hotel, Katniss heads directly to their room while Peeta pops into the restaurant to see about a table. It turns out he doesn’t have to beg or even take out his wallet; once he gives his name to the host the man smiles and tells him to come back in an hour. Peeta can’t help marvelling at his luck that Bistro Tournebroche can fit them in, even though it’s Carnaval time and the city is crazy busy.

He bounds up the stairs two at a time, anxious to tell Katniss the good news.

Katniss is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the gas flames in the small fireplace. She’s taken off her winter gear, reddened fingers and stocking-clad feet stretched out towards the warmth. And for a few moments, all Peeta can think is how perfect a picture she makes, how much he would love to see her similarly perched in front of the fireplace in his Toronto condo. But he shakes away the mental image. Too soon, he chides himself.

When Peeta clears his throat, Katniss turns from her contemplation of the blue flames, and lifts an eyebrow. “They can fit us in at six-thirty,” he says. “Just enough time for a hot shower, if you want?” Peeta wouldn’t mind one himself; despite the breathtaking cold, all of the day’s walking has left him sweaty and with an epic case of hat-hair.

“Perfect,” Katniss says, standing gingerly. “Maybe that’ll thaw out my toes.”

They manoeuvre around each other in the small room like two people perfectly in sync, taking turns in the washroom, sharing the lone mirror. When Peeta emerges from the bathroom refreshed and fastening the cuffs of the deep blue button down shirt his father talked him into packing, Katniss is waiting. He freezes, jaw dropping. “What, too casual?” she asks.

“God no,” he breathes. She’s wearing the same slim jeans she wore yesterday, the ones Peeta already knows cling to her curves in the most incredible way, but she’s paired them with a slinky silvery top that hugs her perfect breasts. “Wow,” is all he can manage.

Katniss snorts, and the sound shakes away the fog, forces him to lift his eyes to the cascade of black hair, unbound and framing her face. To her lush lip, trapped between white teeth as gazes at him with trepidation, waiting.

“You are absolutely beautiful,” Peeta says sincerely. Her silver eyes briefly light up in pleasure, but she shrugs off the compliment.

“Right, okay, let’s go before I starve to death.” She tries to push past him, but Peeta reaches for her hand, tucking it firmly into the crook of his elbow.

The restaurant, like the hotel interior, is modern and cozy. They’re seated by one of the large windows, the perfect place to watch the flock of tourists who still stream by, lit by the street lamps. “Bonsoir madame, monsieur,” a young man in a waiter’s uniform greets them. “Puis-je vous apporter quelque chose à boire?” he asks, gesturing to the expansive wine list on the table.

“What do you think,” Peeta asks, skimming the list. “Would you like wine, or there’s a nice selection of local microbrews?”

The waiter, it turns out, speaks English, like many in the tourism industry in Quebec do. When he returns with their drinks - red wine for Katniss, beer for Peeta - he seems quite happy to translate the menu for Katniss and answer her questions. Peeta sips a very pleasant bier de blé while listening to him explain to Katniss the various organic offerings on the menu, the farms they’ve partnered with, the garden and beehives on the hotel’s rooftop. As Peeta watches her animatedly discuss ethical farming, he marvels at how perfect she is for him, how easily her interests align with his own.

And he knows-- she’s it for him. He’s completely head-over-heels in love with her.

It's the best date Peeta's ever been on, and he's not even sure it's a date. He's utterly captivated by the way the candlelight plays in Katniss’s ebony hair, crowning her in fire. He's lost in her silver eyes, imprisoned by her musical laughter. She's the most attractive person he's ever seen, the most appealing, the most dynamic. But beyond that, she's still his KatsEye, his best friend in the world. She still makes him laugh and think; still amazes him, only now the thoughts that enthrall him aren't lines of text in a chat, but actual words murmured in her husky voice, accompanied by a wrinkled nose or a bemused smirk.

They linger over coffee and crème brûlée, never once running out of things to say. Only when Katniss stifles a yawn does Peeta become aware of just how long they've been huddled together in the dim restaurant. “I guess we should call it a night?” Peeta’s reluctance is clear in his voice. But Katniss only nods.

Hand in hand, they ascend the stairs to their room. When they pause at the door, Peeta is struck by how much it feels like walking a girl to her door after a date. Except this isn’t just any girl, this is Katniss Everdeen. And he won’t be leaving her at the door.

He closes the door behind them, then turns to find Katniss stopped just inside, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in her steely eyes. “I had a really great time today,” she says, just barely loud enough for him to hear. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Peeta smiles. He knows this day will live forever in his memory as one of the best of his life. Then Katniss reaches up, fingering the collar of his dress shirt, and he swallows hard. He wants to kiss her so bad, the impulse nearly consumes him, but he reins it in; even as her thumb brushes against his jaw, catches the day’s stubble, making him erupt in goosebumps. His hands find her tiny waist seemingly of their own volition, but even then he holds back. Peeta knows how skittish she is, knows that if he pushes things she’ll run, and he just won’t risk that.

But then Katniss smiles, beautiful and blinding, and before Peeta even realizes it, he’s leaning down. And she’s standing on tiptoe, her fingers winding in the curls at the nape of his neck. Time seems to stop at they stare, unblinking, lips only a breath apart. Fuck it, he thinks. She flew all the way here, she’s already been bold. Now he has to be too. And with that thought, his eyes drift closed and he places a gentle kiss on those lips that are just as soft as he imagined.

He pulls back a little, but she chases him, then they’re kissing like they really mean it, a delicious exploration. Home, Peeta thinks as Katniss nips his bottom lip, then soothes the sting with a swipe of her tongue. He’s home, and he never wants to leave.

Each slide of her lips against his fuels his hunger, each soft sigh a lightning bolt straight to his gut. As many times as he’s fantasized about kissing Katniss, the reality is so much better. Her shuddering breaths against his cheek. The heat of her skin where her top has pulled up just an inch, smooth under his twitching fingers.

They’re both breathing heavily when Katniss pulls back, eyes still closed and licking her lips as if she wants to savour every last taste of him. Peeta drops his forehead to hers, their noses just brushing. “Wow,” she whispers, and he puffs out a soft laugh.

“Wow,” he echoes

                                                         → thg ←

While yesterday there was a sweet awkwardness in climbing into bed with Katniss, today there’s a crackling tension. Yesterday, the tank and tiny shorts she sleeps in were adorable, today they’re excruciating.

Peeta managed, barely, to get himself under control while Katniss was changing in their shared bathroom. But as she clicks off the light and slides under the comforter, her bare legs grazing his flannels, it’s all he can do to keep his dick in check. She’s gorgeous, she’s six inches away, and he now knows what her perfect peach pout tastes like. It’s the most delectable torture. But her post-kiss escape to the bathroom convinced him that they needed to slow down. For now.

He lies on his back, watching bits of light from a crack in the curtains play across the ceiling and listening to Katniss squirm as she tries to get comfortable. The distance between them feels intolerable, he wants to touch her, just to remind himself that she’s here, that she’s real. So he reaches out, tugging her closer. She stiffens, just a bit at first, but then she sighs and rests her head on his chest, right above his heart. And Peeta’s world realigns itself.

“Peeta?” It’s been quiet for so long he thought she was asleep. His fingers still where they’ve been doodling designs on the soft skin of her bare shoulder.

“Mmm?”

"What does tablon mean?”

“Tablon?” He searches for what she could be asking, coming up blank.

“I heard it a lot today. The crazy seal guy said it. The guy with the scary snowman. Even the waiter tonight. And maybe I’m wrong, but I think they were calling me tablon?”

Peeta’s breath catches. She means ta blonde, and yes, those men were definitely referring to her when they said it. “Ah,” he says, uncertain how she’s going to react. “Ta blonde, it, uh. It means ‘your girlfriend’.” He holds his breath, waiting for her to yell, or slap him.

“Oh,” she murmurs. “Ta blonde.” Her lilting accent makes the endearment sound like music. Then she nestles more snugly into his chest and he swears he can feel her smiling.