#how to make oatmeal cookies

[babacontainsmultitudes]

So it was established in the last episode that Taylor still believes in Santa (tbh I wouldn't be surprised if it's come up prior to this ep too but anyways-) so... Do you think (saint) Nicky been has portalling in every year since the betrayal to sneak in a gift for his son amongst the pile? That Cassandra doesn't even notice because it's just one among the many many presents she herself has bought and wrapped? But every year without fail... Taylor gets one gift that simply says "from: Nick" and well, obviously that has to mean it's from Santa (a conclusion which Nicky expects him to come to, and why he can sign his name at all, though he misses when he could just write "dad"). And one year when he's still quite young, a sleepy little Taylor actually catches Nicky in the act, and Nicky wishes more than anything that he could just *stay*, but instead he only softly tells Taylor to go back to bed, and Taylor thinks that Santa is a lot younger and a bit sadder than he expected, but what's he gonna do- not listen to Santa Claus? So he smiles meekly at the man he does not know to be his father, and hurriedly heads back to his room.

Also yes of course Nicky eats the fucking cookies left out of course he's not gonna pass up on free cookies (which are home-baked to top it off) come on that's a given.

[naomiknight-17]

Woken up by the sounds of Jon baking without being made to do so

He hates baking

This is a spooky day indeed

[messy-nyks]

The Fernweh Saga by @lacunafiction - Agnes edition

Who would have thought? 🤭

Agnes "Nes" Sigrún 🌑RO: James Corvin

Personality: sincerity // cautious // friendly // merciful Traits: heart // compliance // believer Past affinity: writing [horror stories] Primary ability: empathetic impressions Past susceptibility: receptive

☀️Fernweh: She never really thought about leaving Fernweh… It was her place, near her family and friend(s). She felt good there and assumed she’s gonna spend her whole life happily in this little town. Even if Fernweh brings back devastating memories, she’s curious about what’s happening in Fernweh now, in her true home. It’s always been her dream to work in Turn The Page, and during her ‘short’ stay in Fernweh, she started thinking about it again. Why not stay for longer…? She would love to carry on her grandfather’s work and bring his legacy justice. 

☀️Grandpa Jóhann: When she was young, she had an amazing relationship with her grandpa. They were completely honest with each other, and she loved him wholeheartedly. Some people thought that making her grandpa proud was her main hobby. She used to tell him all about her dreams that she had, which were always wild... and also about the nightmares… It took her by surprise when her grandpa, one of the most important people in her life, started being less involved. She was hurt and began to wonder if she had done something to cause the distance between them. His decision to move her out of Fernweh so quickly after this tragic event made a huge impact on her mental state. She needed time to cope and be with her closest ones, especially her grandpa...but after all she didn't blame him. She often heard that she looked exactly like her mother…like her grandpa's daughter... She assumed he could not look at her, without thinking about her... And she could not blame him for wanting to escape that pain. Agnes knew it was the best thing that her grandpa could do for him, and she accepted it, too eagerly. She always too eagerly took the blame for everything.

☀️Beckett Warrick: After what happened in Fernweh after James she had even more trouble interacting with other people and making new friends… However, Beckett was an exception. He was the first person who got to truly know her after the events in Fernweh. When she got the letter about her Grandpa, she considered hiding the truth from him, because she knew deep down that he would be there for her if she needed him… even if he would not particularly enjoy it. It's a good thing she’s such a bad liar… Her main concern is about Beckett’s well-being. She noticed that this 'little' trip made a huge impact on him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and it’s because of her that he–... She needs to make sure that nothing happens to her friend. And she will somehow manage to bring him back to his home.

☀️Reese Verner: They had an unconventional relationship. Reese saw her as a rival, while Agnes thought of him as a friend. She was confused about why Verner, someone of great importance, would even look at her see her as a rival. She knew there were better candidates for his games. She had only one question on her mind - “why?”. Despite Verner's playful teasing, Agnes always remained polite and friendly towards him, even when he attempted to push her boundaries. Girl knew how to keep her true feelings behind a warm smile she still does. If I can be completely honest… Agnes was rather shocked that Reese still remembered her… and was actually looking for her, which sounded so unbelievably. His concern for Milton's well-being made her see him in a slightly different light. Of course, she already knew Reese had a good heart, but his behaviour really touched her. Additionally, Agnes noticed that Reese and James’ relationship became stronger and deeper… It’s for the best. James deserves someone as dependable as Reese. He will always be there for James. 

☀️Sofia Dorran: Their bond was formed over a shared admiration for books and... the color blue. It may sound funny now, but these things became central to their lives and deepened their friendship. Sofia was the first person Agnes entrusted with her writing, and valued her honest feedback, knowing that Sofia would not make her feel bad if something needed improvement. They frequently borrowed books from each other's collections. Agnes yearned for the days when she and Sofia had reading sessions together, sipping on their favorite beverage. The only issue back then was when the book ended poorly or their library didn't have any new positions for them to read. She's willing to know how Sofia's taste toward books shifted (if shifted) and how she changed as a person. She's also extremely grateful because her grandfather received constant care from Sofia and her mother.

🌑James Corvin: …Do I really need to tell you that James was her first crush? And that she never found the courage to tell him so? maybe now will be the time? Agnes and James were always together, wherever one went the other followed. They were inseparable. Agnes even used to bake oatmeal cookies for James with her mother's help. They dreamed of their idyllic life together. As friends, obviously. Seeing him again after all those years was much harder than she anticipated. Agnes felt overwhelmed with stress from the moment she stepped out of her car. Every time she heard his surname, she unknowingly flinched. Her mind was full of questions about his well-being, life, and changes. She couldn't help but wonder if he would be happy to see her. …she did manage to hold his hand for a moment, I can consider it as a success

☀️Alex Corvin: Agnes has always looked up to Alex for their adventurous spirit and their willingness to embrace life to the fullest. She has always wanted to adopt a bit of Alex' wild side. Whenever they are around, boredom and dullness seem to disappear. They both share similar values and support each other's life goals. If I would say which person Agnes was the most willing to meet during her stay in Fernweh that would be Alex. She was confident in their friendliness towards everybody and was sure that their kindness had not wavered. Agnes was touched when she heard that Alex was looking after her grandfather's bookstore… It appears that Beckett has a new admirer, which Agnes wholeheartedly approves of.

☀️Mal: Agnes has a sense that Mal might be suspicious, but she is quite naive and doesn't believe that he could mean trouble. Although she is wary of him and finds him a little untrustworthy, Agnes believes in being kind to everyone, and she is willing to give Mal a chance, not judging him by her own impressions of him.

☀️Goldie: Agnes is grateful that her grandfather had a furry companion like Goldie, who probably managed to brighten his spirits. She fondly recalls how her grandfather would tell her stories when he once had a dog, when he was younger and how his eyes would light up with joy as he shared his story. Agnes is committed to taking excellent care of Goldie and ensuring her safety.

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: August 27

“King of Pain” by The Police

[nonaonann]

Dick likes snickerdoodle cookies, I can feel it in my bones. At the very least, they're in his top three favorite.

[aroguexenolith]

The off-topic personal ramblings aside, I totally get why someone would share a recipe in a long, descriptive format.

For my own recipes that I've made a ton of times, there are little tips and commentaries that come from experience. It's way too much to fit on a recipe card. (I've tried.)

Things like, would this be a good recipe to try making gluten-free? What if you want to make these cookies but don't have a stand mixer? What if your favorite nut isn't pecans, like mine is? What should you keep in mind using a dark vs. light pan, or a metal dish vs. a glass one? (Or if you're using old Pyrex vs. new Pyrex.) Etc. etc.

I wish I had someone to pass it on to. I guess that's why some people have recipe blogs. Or kids.

[realnielsbohr]

making oatmeal raisin cookies hurts but its so worth

[ourfooods]

3-Ingredient Budget-Friendly Cookie Recipe, Healthy Guilt-Free Cookies: ...

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic idea: Wrong Number

Bruce prides himself in keeping all of his networks secured. If he didn't make it himself, he had the funds and connections to get him the best working on his systems.

He had backup plans in case the systems were ever hacked, of course, but he had yet to encounter a cyber attack that wasn't beaten away by his firewalls or his team.

Babs and Tim were far more feral when booting out unwanted guests. The level of protection was also transferred to his other systems that weren't Batman-related, just to make sure the connection between Bruce and Batman was never made.

That's why he never really checks his personal phone's caller ID, not the one he gave out as Brucie Wayne, but the one Bruce used for his real life without any masks- civilian or vigilante. The only ones who had the number- and the access- were his children and Alfred.

Not even the Justice League- those who were aware of his identity- knew of this number.

Bruce is in the middle of typing up a report for the next Wayne Board meeting when his personal phone rings. He figures it's Dick giving him a call to update him on his drive home or maybe Jason, as his son was planning on going to college.

"Go for Papa Bruce," He says, knowing his kids hate his phone greeting and doing it deliberately to spite them.

There is a long pause where he can't help but smirk thinking his child is either rolling their eyes or cringing too hard to properly speak. Eventually, a voice cracks over the speaker.

"Hello. I'm selling cookies to raise money for my own star. Would like to buy a box from me?" says a boy, not one he has taken in. The voice is young maybe not even double digits yet. Bruce is alarmed.

"Who are you?! How did you get this number?" He demands, yanking his phone to his face and seeing, with a chill, a phone number out of state.

His system had been compromised. By a child. By accident.

"My name is Danny!" The boy chirps. "I sell cookies. Like the Girl Scouts, but I'm a boy, and I don't scout."

"That's rather fantastic, lad. What kind of cookies are you selling?" Bruce asks to keep the boy on the line while sending an email blast to the others. It's a string of numbers that are code for compromise so they all know to close any communication channel until it's safe to get back on.

"Chocolate chip. Mint Slim. Oatmeal and peanut butter. I made them myself!"

Right. Bruce hooks up his phone, tracing the call. The signal bounces off the call, swinging up to a salute and falling back down to earth. In seconds he has the boy's location. It pings in a small town right outside of Star City.

He sends Barry a private message. His friend is already on the way to the location. He'll get the boy in a few seconds.

"How much for a box of chocolate chips? Those are my favorite." Bruce tells the boy, voice whimsical as his Brucie persona demands.

In an unsure tone, the boy pauses, then whispers, "I don't know. No one ever let me get this far."

"How about twenty for a box of dozen? I'll buy five boxes for each of my kids that live at him," Bruce tells him, and the boy gasps.

"That could buy me one whole night in a hotel!"

Bruce's insides freeze. What did he mean-

"Hey! No! Let go!" Danny suddenly screams. Bruce's heart launches- he hates it when kids get hurt, especially those that sound like Danny- until Barry's voice comes over the speaker.

"I got him, Mr. Wayne. Thank you for alerting the Justice League Hotline." That's code for This is not a threat to you Batman and Bruce allows himself to relax just a little.

"Narc!" The boy shouts, outraged, before the call drops. Barry is likely taking over the situation, which means Bruce can leave it in his capable hands.

After reassuring his kids that he is fine and that they are all safe, he suits up and meets the Flash in the Watch Tower. There, he learns that Danny is only seven years old and has been living on the streets for a while.

The boy had been surviving by baking some cookies to sell on the side of the street- where did he bake them? The boy would not say- until he got the bright idea to try to sell through phone calls like he had seen on TV.

He punched in random numbers at the community center phone and gave his pitch about a star, thinking people would be more willing to buy from him if he had an excellent reason.

Barry had left him with CPS, but he looked devastated about that. It turned out that Danny was a meta and had likely been kicked out of his home once it was found out based on what he said of his parents.

Bruce felt he should assure Barry that Danny was fine and look into his placement to help settle his more sensitive teammate's nerves.

He was unhappy that Danny was not in a good placement; there were far too many reports from a concerned neighbor to make him think it was a safe place. Given the fact that placement had a lot of meta kids that "fell through the cracks," Bruce worried he had just stumbled across a trafficking ring.

He would sick Barry and Jason on them. Just to ensure they wouldn't see the light of day again.

Still, that did not fix his mistake with Danny, the little cookie seller.

Bruce hacked into the system to move Danny. He thought about where he would move the young child but ultimately had him in Wayne Manor.

Just until he could confirm that he would be safe. He certainly didn't think about the adorable little boy who called him with his heart in his hand and got sent to a terrible place for three weeks because of Bruce.

Danny arrived at Wayne Manor with a happy little bounce and a chipper outlook on life than Bruce was expecting. "If it isn't Mr. Narc!"

God, he going to adopt the boy, isn't he?

(Danny has been thrown into a different universe, aged down to a child. He survived by overshadowing people into letting him spend the night baking cookies.

He was thrown into a somewhat typical home, but the nosy neighbor down the street took far too much notice of his overshadowing, and now he was being moved again.

Maybe he can terrorize Mr. Narc now instead? )

[daydreamingqueen1]

Sweets thief

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Warnings/Content: none. pure fluff, a wee bit of bullying to spence (totally harmless and friendly though), crushes, unhealthy amount of candy ingestion lol, no y/n, gn!reader too

Summary: You've been stealing sweets from your resident genius.

Word count: 1.2k

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It wasn't unusual for the BAU members to carry snacks with them.

The job was hard, stressful and, most importantly, it had unpredictable hours. So finding time to eat a proper meal wasn't always a viable option.

Nevertheless, eating is a basic human need and even if it's not completely healthy, the agents often found themselves battling their hunger with quick snacks.

As a relatively new member of the BAU, buying said vital snacks wasn't yet ingrained in your mind, resulting in you continually forgetting to buy something to munch on during cases.

Stealing was always an option though.

After several months with your coworkers, you are proud to say that you have managed to eat at the expense of all of their pockets, for experts in human behavior, they don't hide their treats so well.

However, after several months, you have come to know their go-to snacks and, subsequently, you have become picky.

Morgan eats some kind of high-protein bars with an awfully bright neon wrapper.

Emily loves those salt and vinegar chips every station has on their vending machines.

JJ, ever the healthy mom of the group, always has a few packages of oatmeal raisin cookies on hand.

Rossi carries eucalyptus and mint gummies like the old man he is.

And Hotch buys the most bland granola bars known to mankind.

With all of that said, the conclusion was obvious.

Spencer has the best snacks.

It is not only that he always has sweets but that he's the only one that manages for variety instead of a fixed thing. A bit ironic considering he is the most prone to sticking to a rigid routine. Well, you aren't complaining though, especially not this month.

You realized quickly that Halloween was a big thing for the resident genius, seeming to make the grown man regress to the mentality of an overly eager seven-year-old. It's lucky for you because that means that he chooses to try a new candy every single day of October.

It also means that you had begun stealing exclusively from him and, being surrounded by profilers, it wasn't long until you were discovered as the culprit.

A shadow had eclipsed your desk suddenly, making you look up to a squinting Dr. Reid. “Did you take my last Peanut Butter Cup?”

You shook your head, “No...”

Derek snorted on the desk nearby, “You've still got chocolate on your face, kid,”

Cleaning your mouth with the back of your hand, you smiled up at Spencer sweetly.

His converse sounded hard against the floor as he stumped away.

Apparently, you weren't that discreet. He ended up catching you many more times after that.

"Hey!" Spencer swatted your hand when you grabbed yet another handful of his M&Ms.

You shrugged, feigning innocence, “Hey to you too Reid, but we've been in the same room for a while.”

He huffed, inching the box slightly out of your reach.

Many more times.

Your hand was literally inside the familiar size bag of Starburst candy when Spencer came back from the bathroom.

“Oh come on!” he groaned, taking the bag out of your grasp, “Buy your own.”

You went back to the local police station office, giggling to yourself like a child with your hands full of candy.

At this point hunger had become a secondary motive to your stealing. The number one reason being how adorable Spencer's reactions were when he caught you.

In all honesty, you harbored a bit of a crush on the man. You didn't have the courage to tell him upfront, making your silly brain manifest your feelings like a preschooler pulling on the pigtails of their crush. Oh, but teasing him was so fun, and it got you free candy so it was even better.

Then, yesterday, there was an incident.

The team was on the jet, another kidnapped girl had been safely returned to her parents, fairly quickly this time too. Spirits were high at wrapping up a case with such a positive outcome, making most of the agents mingle and play games on the usually quiet ride home.

You were perched on one of the individual seats, scrolling away in your phone and absentmindedly eating some candy (you had bought your own for once).

You jolted a bit when a hand dived into your candy bag. When you looked up, you found a smirking Spencer standing right in front of you, looking fairly smug and popping a piece into his mouth. He thought he was finally getting back at you for eating all of his sweets.

His joy lasted for about three seconds before he realized his mistake.

See, to the untrained eye, he had just eaten a couple of innocent looking bear gummies. Except, these were not regular gummies, they were your favorite kind, the most sour kind.

Spencer's face scrunched up with disgust, the sour effect of the gummy doubled at taking him by surprise, the acidic taste completely taking over his taste buds.

You couldn't help it, you bent over your belly with laughter, inadvertently drawing attention to Spencer's predicament.

The whole team snickered as they watched him rush back and forth on the narrow hall of the jet until he got hold of a tissue to spit the offending candy.

“What the hell is that?” he turned around to confront you.

You gave him an apologetic smile, “Sour candy?”

More laughs filled the space and Spencer had sat down on the furthest chair from yours, pouting with his arms crossed over his chest.

Back to today, you feel actually kind of guilty about what happened. You have been munching on all of Spencer's treats for weeks and the one time he does it to you, the whole team ends up making fun of him. A bit of teasing was fine but you don't want the man to actually feel bad.

So when you see him stand up from his desk and walk into the kitchen, you quickly jump out of your chair and grab something from your bag, trailing right behind him through the bullpen.

He's making himself an exaggeratedly sweet cup of coffee when you corner him.

“Spencer,” you call, making him turn around. Your hands are inconspicuously behind your back, “Trick or treat?”

His eyebrows furrow suspiciously, “Neither if you're going to give me one of those monstrosities you like.”

You huff out a laugh, “No, no, I promise it's not that. Come on, trick or treat? ”

After measuring up how much he trusts your statement, he relents, “Treat.”

“Ta-dah!” you sing, revealing a single Hershey’s Kiss in your palm.

Spencer's eyes light up.

“I know it doesn't make up for everything I ate but it's an offer of peace.”

He gives you a small smile, “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

As his hand extends to grab the chocolate, your brain has an impulsive thought.

You lean forward and peck his lips.

It lasts barely a second but it's enough to make your heart beat wildly against your chest.

Spencer stares at you frozen in place, a crimson color spreading all over his face.

“A kiss for a kiss,” you mumble dumbly, like saying that makes it better somehow.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid!’ You think to yourself, your feet are prepared to flee the scene when he unexpectedly grabs your wrist.

“I– I...” he stammers, his cheeks turning impossibly redder, “I wouldn't mind if you stole more of those.”

A shy smile spreads on your face. Perhaps you won't start buying your own snacks soon.

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it's a bit silly but I was feeling halloween-y and craving sour candy

leave me a prompt or idea you'd like me to write!

♡, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

hope ya liked it, byebye

My masterlist

[mochinomnoms]

When you posted about twst not having the same foods it made my brain go... "what if their bf really tried to recreate the food based on description only"

Imagine Azul toiling away in the kitchen trying to re-create Bugals from scratch

Jade testing out different combinations of potions to recreate coca cola

Floyd trying to make the grandma candy that taste like strawberries

Jamil fighting with spices to make hot cheetos

Trey baking Twinkees and oatmeal cream pies

Lilia trying to make Macdonald fries but just creating poison

They all understand how food can help with homesickness and they want to do everything they can to help, even if it is trying to make something they have never had before

The ultimate love language is devoting time, money, and materials to recreated your lover's favorite foods. In our world, this could be going to your partner's parents or grandparents to learn their family recipe for a dish, cookie, drink, etc. Or it could be trying to look up a dish that they had growing up, but can't remember. Or maybe it's a cultural dish from their home country that they loved but haven't been able to have because the ingredients are available nearby. Painstakingly measuring, making, tasting, failing and failing over and over again to get it just right. Love is the ultimate love language.

So I think it's beautiful to imagine Azul trying to recreate your favorite dish based solely how you described how it looked, smelled, and tasted. Making the lounge's kitchen a mess until he can get it just right.

Trey calling his parents to describe the sweet treats and cookies you described. They're digging through their recipes so that he can combine and take what he needs to recreate them.

Jade has full confidence in his potion making skills, yet is dumped when you can only describe your favorite soda as "sugary and fizzy." He racks his brain over and over, taste testing the concoctions himself until he's positive they won't poison you, then bringing you into his little sessions to remake your favorite soda together.

Jamil, familiar with some spices and chilies you describe, but the others sound so otherworldly, messing around with the ingredients he's familiar with to make your favorite foods and snacks. He knows they'll never be the same, but that he they are good enough for you to want to stay.

Floyd is nothing if not determined. If he can't make you that candy you love so much, he's going into the ends of the earth to find you his world' equivalent. Don't question how he managed to get over a hundred different candies, some incredibly rare, others expensive as hell. His father has connections and money, it's nothing to spend on you.

And Lilia…well. He means well. It might be better to let him watch you make some of your favorite dishes, as well as you can when you're missing ingredients. He can watch and slowly start to understand, as you burn and hiss from the splattering oil, why food is a love language for humans too.

Food is a timeless love language. If it doesn't mean time and effort, it means money and sharing an experience that makes you happy. It's shared by nearly every culture, in your world and theirs, for a reason. Love is giving food when you're poor, love is the cuts and burns on your hands and arms, love is in the taste on your tongue, love is the smell you wake up to. Love is the effort, the time, the care. Love is food. And they love you.

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!yoongi (4) ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo @ddanasjk @luvismenu @remgeolli @parapiop7 @lil0u0 @crazyovayou @mggv97 @thvgukk @rpwprpwprpwprw

//

when yoongi calls to confirm the results of the blood test, reality hits all over again. 

you’re pregnant. 

his voice was gentle, with the same calm professionalism he uses with all his patients… but it couldn’t mask his genuine warmth as he told you the news. you want to believe he sounded excited but it was hard to tell. you settle for the telling warmth in his tone instead.

hearing it out loud brought a whole new set of feelings—joy, fear, and then something else: the unavoidable question of how you’d tell your friends.

having a clingy friendgroup is not for the weak. 

but having a clingy adult friend group—the kind who carve out time for you amidst career chaos, endless emails, and hectic schedules—is something else entirely. 

they’re the type who know what you’re thinking before you can even say it. the type who catch your tone shifting over text and who will show up unannounced if they don’t hear from you for a day. they mean well, but keeping things under wraps with them is practically impossible.

which is why telling them worries you. 

you can’t hide it.

you know you can’t.

truth be told, you don’t want to. they’re your friends and you love them to death. this baby is worth every second of celebration.

the thought had barely settled before it started to plague you.

how exactly do you explain this to a group of people who work together? who run a whole practice together? a group who’ll want to plan out everything with you, to fuss over you like you’re a ticking time bomb, and who—above all—will probably have a shitload of questions you don’t have answers to. 

they’re the people you’ve shared birthdays with, career changes, heartbreaks, and random tuesday nights. now you’re going to share this news, but there’s no manual on explaining an accidental pregnancy to your closest friends without it sounding like a rom-com gone wrong.

a part of you already know how they’ll react. 

they’d be thrilled, supportive, maybe a little over-the-top. 

and then confused.

yoongi?

as the father?

… what, when, where, and why?

not that he’s a bad guy or anything but simply because there were no (obvious) moments that led up to this…

regardless, it’s like you can almost hear jimin’s gasp, feel jin’s bear hug, and imagine hyemi tearing up before tackling you in her usual affectionate way.

they’ll want to be there for every step of this (probably more than you can handle) but that’s the beauty of having friends who genuinely make the time… friends who go out of their way to show up—not just when it’s convenient but because they want to. they’re the type who, as adults, choose each other over and over again despite life’s demands. 

you all take pride in being involved in each other’s lives—big moments, small moments, and now…

this moment.

but exactly how much is there to be proud of when you explain how nasty you and yoongi were with each other?

how this mess could’ve been avoided if you didn’t beg for him to creampie you?

yeah…

that’s a tough one.

as you’re still trying to figure out how to break the news, your timer dings.

you pull the last tray of brown butter oatmeal chocolate chip cookies from the oven, the warm smell of melted chocolate filling the kitchen. you set the tray down with a sigh, hoping a night of stress-baking will take the edge off. but before you can even start on another batch, there’s a knock at your door.

before you can think to answer, hyemi is already pushing it open, holding an expensive wine bottle aloft like a trophy, her eyes alight with excitement.

“hyemi—”

“wine night!” she grins, crossing the room without hesitation, snagging a cookie from the cooling tray as she pushes the wine bottle toward you.

you catch the label and gasp. a prized chateau margaux. the kind of bottle she probably saved up for weeks (or borrowed namjoon’s credit card) to buy.

“you did not…” you say, eyes wide.

“oh, but i did,” she giggles, giving you a wink. “thank you, namjoon.”

you shake your head, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “i knew it.”

“well?” she nudges the bottle toward you. “what are you waiting for? let’s open this and—”

you hesitate, trying to find the words. “i… i can’t tonight… or for the next few months.”

her smile falters. she clutches the bottle closer, looking genuinely wounded.

“w-wait, what? but—i fought namjoon for this, you know? and you’ve wanted this bottle for forever!”

“hyemi, i have to tell you something—”

“are you breaking up with me?” she jokes, only half-serious as she takes another bite of her cookie.

you roll your eyes and grab the cookie back from her hand, taking a bite yourself.

“it’s not you, it’s me.”

she laughs, swiping the cookie back with a shrug. “so what is it? and holy shit, these cookies are insane—”

“i can’t drink.”

“why? you’ve gone to work hungover before.”

you struggle to find the words, fingers tightening slightly around the bottle in your hands.

“no, it’s not that. it’s… different.”

hyemi’s brow furrows, her eyes narrowing as she peers at you, picking up on your hesitation. “what? don’t tell me you’re on some sober cleanse or something.”

“no… hyemi, i…”

“i mean if you are, i totally support you. i just think there’s too much good wine in this world and not enough time—”

“i’m pregnant.”

hyemi’s jaw drops, her eyes widening. her mouth opens and closes in shock, but before she can get a word out, there’s a loud crash behind you both.

you whip around to see the rest of the guys standing at the doorway.

jimin is frozen, a shattered wine bottle at his feet, red liquid pooling across the entryway as he stares at you in wide-eyed disbelief.

your eyes lock with yoongi’s, who stands in the middle of the group, his expression soft and steady as he takes you in. he tilts his head, just slightly, a quiet, unspoken reassurance passing between you two. you can feel your heart hammering, cheeks burning as you try to focus on anything other than his gaze.

the silence stretches for a beat too long before taehyung breaks it. 

“mommy?”

this isn’t exactly how you pictured them reacting to the news. 

as you sit on your couch, the atmosphere feels heavy. they’re in disbelief, and the only way they know how to process it is by falling into their medical roles.

nam joon and jin, being the doctors they are, sit close to you and begin a quick physical assessment and blood pressure test.

nam joon carefully rolls up your sleeve, a comforting smile on his face that softens the tension in the room. 

“just relax your arm for me,” he hums, positioning the cuff around your upper arm. his fingers brush against your skin, and you can’t help but notice how professional he is, even amidst the whirlwind of emotions flooding the room.

“you’ve been feeling okay, right? any nausea or dizziness?” he asks, focusing intently on the task at hand.

“tired. sleepy. think i’m nauseous the most, though,” you admit. “i throw up… like every other day.”

he nods, squeezing the bulb to inflate the cuff. “that’s completely normal.” he pauses, glancing up at you. “are you okay? emotionally and mentally?”

you nod, glancing around the room. “i’m fine.” 

your eyes meet yoongi’s.

he’s seated directly across from you, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced. he’s watching you intently, with his usual cool indifference masking an intensity in his gaze. yoongi’s quiet presence anchors you, even though he says nothing.

should he say something?

what does he even say?

you don’t know.

he doesn’t know either.

as the cuff tightens around your arm, you take a deep breath, catching the supportive glances from everyone else nearby. their chatter fades into the background as nam joon’s focus brings you back to the moment.

“okay, let’s see what we have here,” nam joon murmurs, watching the gauge as the cuff slowly deflates. “hmmm. your pressure’s a little high but good overall. are you stressed?”

“a little right now,” you exhale. “guys, this is too much—“

“did you just do a home pregnancy test or go to the doctor?”

you freeze.

“oh shit,” taehyung calls from the doorway. he’s just been helping jimin and hobi clean up spilled wine. “screw the pregnancy test stuff—i wanna know who the babydaddy is.”

from the back, you hear jimin and hobi laugh as they finish picking up glass shards. taehyung raises a teasing brow. 

“okay but seriously… didn’t know you wanted a baby that bad, ___. could’ve just asked jungkook to help you out.”

yoongi straightens, shooting taehyung a sharp look. “alright. we good here? you guys did a quick physical and checked her blood pressure—”

“your babydaddy is clean, right?” jimin chimes in, feigning seriousness. “___, i hope he’s worth the labor and delivery.”

“oh my god. shut up,” you say, rolling your eyes.

it’s then that you glance at hyemi, who sits on the other side of the couch with jungkook. the two of them are stress-eating your cookies, crumbs dotting the space between them.

hyemi, chocolate smeared at the corner of her mouth, raises a brow. “is this why you’ve been so sick?”

“yeah,” you nod. “i got the confirmation yesterday.”

“yesterday?” her eyes widen, and she sets down the cookie, scooting closer to you. “oh my god, ___. this is huge! congratulations!” she grabs your hands, her excitement lighting up her face. “we’re happy about this, right? you want this?”

before you can answer, she wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. you let yourself sink into her warmth, feeling the tension unravel.

“yes, i want this. ahhh! don’t make me cry,” you whisper, fighting back tears as you pull back, smiling through it. “god, it’s the pregnancy hormones.”

“already?” she gives you a small, amused smile and wipes at her eyes, fixing your hair. “i’m just so happy for you, ___. you’re going to be the best mom. seriously.”

“as long as her blood pressure stays stable—”

hyemi swats at him. “nam joon, shut up, yeah?”

yoongi lets out a quiet chuckle, leaning back with his hands in his pockets as he watches everyone swarm around you. though he’s giving his usual cool exterior, there’s something in his eyes—a soft, almost possessive gleam that’s hard to miss.

from the corner, jungkook sneaks in, sliding a little closer to you. 

“so,” he begins with a grin, “guess i’ll have to start calling you a milf now, huh?”

yoongi stiffens, jaw clenching almost imperceptibly, his eyes narrowing at jungkook. the tension isn’t lost on you as jungkook’s shoulder brushes against yours, and yoongi shifts in his seat, his gaze hardening in a way that feels oddly protective.

“so, seriously… who’s the babydaddy?” taehyung drawls from across the room, folding his arms with an amused smirk. “he’s clean, right? or should we head to the clinic and run a few tests? just to keep you and baby safe… big news and all, so we’re just trying to make sense of it.”

“god, you’re all insane.” you huff.

“maybe let ___ breathe,” yoongi mutters instantly. his gaze flicking between you and jungkook with a faintly annoyed look. “yah, she just confirmed she’s pregnant. that’s it.”

“that’s it,” you sigh repeating him. then, feeling a small wave of relief. “and honestly, why are the nurses in this room so immature? who can i report you guys to?”

jimin, taehyung, and jungkook laugh. 

“our bosses,” they reply in unison, completely unbothered.

the warmth of their support fills the room. 

as you soak in the moment, hyemi’s watchful eyes drift to yoongi.

he’s now casually seated beside you, close enough that his knee brushes against yours. every now and then, his hand lightly hovers by your arm or shoulder, his touch lingering just a little longer each time. hyemi tilts her head, something slowly clicking in her mind.

“wait a second,” she says, raising a brow. “yoongi… did you know about ___’s pregnancy before the rest of us?”

the room quiets, all eyes shifting to yoongi. before he can answer, jungkook—oblivious to the weight of the question—leans forward. 

“oh shit… is that what her blood test was for at the clinic? i might’ve accidentally seen the paperwork but didn’t peek—thought she was low on iron or something.”

silence falls over the room, each of them piecing things together. one by one, their eyes dart between you and yoongi, confusion shifting to surprise until jin’s eyes widen with realization.

“…wait,” jin’s voice is soft but full of shock.

yoongi keeps his gaze steady on you. 

his expression softening as he takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. his thumb brushes over your knuckles, a small smile tugging at his lips. it’s subtle but full of meaning, and you feel warmth pool in your chest, despite the tension.

then taehyung breaks the silence, his eyes wide, mouth slightly open as he points at yoongi with dawning realization.

“...daddy?”

[erwinsvow]

YOU LOOK SO SWEET — RC.

“i can’t believe you made out with sarah’s brother,” your friend comments. you choke on your water. 

it had been an hour or so since your friends had dragged you out of the bar, bringing you home with them for the pre-planned sleepover that you had been ready to ditch for rafe. in that time you and your friends had taken off your makeup and changed into pajamas, munching on pizza on the floor of your bedroom while discussing the night’s events like you always did. you wipe your mouth, looking up at them incredulously. 

“what?” 

“you didn’t know that was rafe cameron? shut up.”

“he’s a psycho, that’s what she always says-”

“he was really nice to me,” you defend, not liking the way your friends sound right now. the rest of the night goes like that—you trying to counter and justify everything rafe did for you last night with your friends telling you it’s a good thing they dragged you away. 

they fall asleep shortly after, but you lie awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering what time your friends will leave in the morning. you’re making plans to go to tannyhill. 

normally breakfast the morning after going out is a sacred ritual between you and your friends, which is why they’re extra surprised when you usher them out without any real reason. you hurry back to the kitchen after their car drives away, getting everything ready to make cookies and wondering which kind rafe likes best.

rafe sees it from inside tannyhill—the white bike with the wicker basket pulling up the driveway, the tiny figure dressed in pink parking it next to his truck. you climb off your bike and even from up here he can appreciate how short your dress is, how you almost gave the gardeners a show. he's gotta teach you to be more careful.

you reach into the basket to pull out a matching pink container, walking up to the front door. he’s down the stairs and opening the door before you’ve even had a chance to ring the doorbell. 

you beam at rafe, hoping he remembers you and wasn’t drunk during that entire encounter. you smile brightly, offering the pink box of cookies to him.

“sorry to just drop by like this. i made cookies for you. um, to say thank you.”

“yeah, kid? that’s real cute.”

“oh. thank you.” he looks down at you, leaning against the door frame.

your chest is heaving, material of your tight dress moving up and down while you keep your gaze fixed on him, eyes big and blinking fast. you don’t even realize how you look right now, trusting and innocent and staring up at rafe like you’d do whatever he asked. if you looked like prey yesterday night, you’re the definition of an offering today, walking straight into the predator’s den.

“i didn’t know what kind you liked, so i made a whole bunch.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” you stare back at rafe for another few seconds, then tear your eyes away. you think he wants you to go, and as much as you like him, as much as you feel a little brainless around him, you’re not stupid—you can tell when you’re not wanted. “well, i should go. thanks again for last night.”

“stop thankin’ me. it was nothin’.” rafe steps out of the house, just a foot from you on the porch now. his hand comes to rest on your shoulder and you nearly jump at the touch. “come inside. can’t eat all these myself.”

your pretty smile comes rushing back, following him inside just like you had followed him to the dance floor yesterday, looking around at the walls of tannyhill. you’d been once before, years ago for a party for sarah’s birthday that the entire class had been invited to,  but you hadn’t admired it then. nor did you realize what other treasures laid inside.

“want milk?” rafe questions, opening up the fridge while you rest your hands on the marble island in the kitchen. you nod your head, still looking around and taking in the new environment. rafe comes back to you with the jug of milk and two glasses, pouring you a cup first.

“how was the rest of your night?” you ask tentatively, breaking an oatmeal raisin cookie in half and offering rafe the other piece. he accepts it with a grin. you’re nervous—scared of the answer, wondering if another girl took your place after you left.

“boring. i left after you did.” he bites into the cookie, and then takes a sip of milk. if he thought you were beaming earlier, you’re radiant now—looking up at him like he’s hung the moon for you. your laugh—and even that’s pretty—fills the room.

“that’s not how you’re supposed to do it, rafe,” you giggle, dipping your own cookie into the milk first to demonstrate. “see?”

it’s quick. rafe takes your wrist into his hand, guiding it up to your mouth, making you take a bite. he doesn’t let go while he speaks, either.

“now it’s soggy. see?” you nod, watching where he’s touching you with big eyes. if you’re this reactive to a little skin contact, he’s dying to see what you’ll be like naked in his bed. he reminds himself to be patient.

“i didn’t realize i was doing it wrong,” you comment, picking up another cookie, this time snickerdoodle, to break in half. he’s half surprised at your compliance, half wondering what else he could convince you of with a little manhandling and kissing.

“don’t worry, kid. i’ll teach you right and wrong.”

[bradshawsbaby]

Sprinkles of Love

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: It's Bob's birthday and you want to do something special for him. The problem is that you've only been on two dates, and you can't get out of your head about making that first move.

Word Count: 6.6k

Author’s Note: Happy Birthday to my #1 Guy, Lewis Pullman! I thought we all deserved some sweet Bob fluff to celebrate!

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, featuring the jitters and nervousness that comes with a new relationship.

You glanced at your phone for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, your fingers itching to reach for it where it sat taunting you on the counter near the cash register.

Biting down on your lower lip, you peeked surreptitiously over your shoulder before finally picking it up, your finger hovering hesitantly over the green messages icon.

“Are you finally going to text him or are you just going to keep staring longingly at your phone all day?”

Your cousin’s teasing voice startled you, pulling you out of your silent reverie as you fumbled the phone, nearly dropping it to the floor in your haste to get a grip on it and shove it inside your apron pocket.

Alexandria just laughed in response, her dark eyes sparkling as she slid a tray of freshly baked oatmeal raisin cookies onto one of the display case shelves. Normally, you would have complimented her on how amazing they smelled, but given the knowing smirk she was sending your way, you stuck your tongue out at her instead.

“Stick your tongue out at me all you want,” she told you, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. “But I know you, and I know how badly you want to text him. So why don’t you just do it already and save yourself all the torment?”

“Lexie,” you groaned, your phone suddenly feeling like a rock inside your pocket. Why did your cousin have to know you like the back of her hand?

You were saved from having to elaborate, however, when one of the timers dinged in the kitchen, signaling that the newest batch of muffins you and Lex had put in a little while ago was finished. She shot a pointed look in your direction, making it clear the conversation wasn’t over, before turning on her heel and going to take the muffins out of the oven.

Since it was the usual mid-morning lull and the only customers currently inside the bakery were a college student working on her laptop near the window and two elderly ladies enjoying conversation over scones and tea, you figured you should be both a good cousin and a good employee and go help Lexie in the back.

Despite the fact that you had already been working at the bakery for a few months now—ever since you had moved to San Diego—you still couldn’t help but be blown away whenever it hit you that your cousin had really accomplished the dream she’d been chasing since you were little girls. For as long as you could remember, Alexandria had been wanting to open up her very own bakery, a cozy little spot where people could come to read, hang out, and relax, all while enjoying some homemade treats and delicious coffee. It seemed like just yesterday that the two of you were playing with her Easy-Bake Oven, and now here she was—living the dream as a successful small business owner. You couldn’t have been more proud of her. Or more grateful that she’d given you both a job and a place to live when you’d decided to follow in her footsteps and make the move out to California.

Lex was like the big sister you never had. She gave the best advice and she knew you inside and out. Which was normally a good thing, but judging by the way she was looking at you from under her dark lashes, you knew today was going to be one of those days where she insisted on pushing you out of your comfort zone.

You sighed in exasperation as you helped her set the freshly baked orange cranberry muffins—a favorite among her loyal customers—on the cooling rack. “I wish I hadn’t even mentioned it. It’s not that big of a deal,” you insisted, supremely conscious of the weight of your phone pressing against your thigh as you worked.

“If it’s not that big of a deal, then why do you seem to be making it one?” Lexie replied with that razor-sharp wit of hers, winking when you shot her a dirty look over your shoulder.

“I’m not!” you insisted, although you knew that was a complete and total lie. You were being ridiculous and you knew it, but every time you even thought about sending him a message, your heart started pounding inside your chest and your palms got all gross and clammy.

Lex crossed her arms over her chest, throwing an exasperated look heavenward. “Babe, you’ve already been on two dates with him and he wants to take you out on another. Do you seriously think you’re going to send him running for the hills if you send him a text wishing him a happy birthday?”

When you heard it out loud, it did sound pretty stupid. He was such a great guy, so sweet and attentive and caring, and he had done nothing to indicate that he was losing interest or that he would be freaked out by such a simple message. But still…

“I do want to text him,” you confessed, biting your lip as you carried the empty muffin tray over to the large sink where your cousin washed all her baking supplies.

“So what’s holding you back?” Lexie asked, her voice gentler this time as she leaned her hip against the counter, clearly trying to understand. She’d seen your heart get broken enough times to know that you were much more cautious now when it came to entrusting it to other people.

You sighed softly, fiddling with the strings on your pink-and-white striped apron as you tried to put your feelings into words. “It’s just—we’ve only been on two dates. I mean, they were really amazing dates, but still. Only two. And our birthdays only came up once in passing on our first date. He never mentioned it again, even when he called the other night to ask me if I’d like to go out this weekend. So on the one hand, I do want to text him to wish him a happy birthday, but on the other hand, what if it weirds him out that I remembered? What if he thinks I’m some kind of obsessive stalker and gets the ick and then ghosts me?”

“For wishing him a happy birthday?” your cousin questioned skeptically, her eyebrows rising until they were practically touching the edges of her blunt bangs.

“I’ve been ghosted before for less,” you muttered in embarrassment, knowing that your love life was a disaster compared to your cousin, who had been with her soon-to-be-husband since high school.

Lex softened immediately, stepping beside you and wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders. “I know,” she murmured soothingly, rubbing your arm with a gentle hand. “But those guys were jerks who didn’t deserve you. From everything I know about this guy, he sounds so great. He seems like the kind of guy who would be happy that you remembered his birthday.”

Honestly, you couldn’t argue with her there.

Bob Floyd was unlike any man you’d ever met before. He was everything you’d ever hoped to find but had feared you never would, the kind of perfect that seemed too good to be true, the gentleman that you had thought existed only in fairytales.

It had been over a month now since he’d stepped off a storybook page and walked into your life.

You could still remember that afternoon so clearly. It was a Saturday, and the bakery had been surprisingly dead. Lexie had decided to run to the bank, leaving you in charge of things in her absence. You’d been rearranging some of the pastries in the display case when the bell over the front door chimed, signaling a customer.

Stepping up to the counter, the words of greeting died in your throat when one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen in your life approached, a shy smile stretching across his face.

“Hi,” he greeted you in a soft-spoken voice, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, and yet you’d never seen a guy look better.

“Hi,” you echoed, your eyes widening as you got lost in a gaze as blue as the cornflowers that grew in your grandparents’ backyard.

The two of you just stared at each other for a couple minutes, neither of you saying anything, even as the air between you seemed to spark and hum with electricity.

“Um, I was, uh, hoping that you still had some cupcakes left. I know it’s a little later in the day and my neighbor who recommended this place said that you should always get here early, but, um, I have a little barbeque that I’m going to and I wanted to bring some dessert. I’m hopeless at making anything myself,” he rambled, his eyes crinkling as he laughed somewhat nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

It was only when he cleared his throat awkwardly a moment later that you realized you hadn’t yet responded to him.

“Oh! Cupcakes!” you exclaimed, your voice coming out a little louder and squeakier than you had intended. “Of course!” Running your hands down the front of your apron, you shook your head slightly to try to knock some sense into it. You walked over to the display case, indicating that he should come take a look. “Normally we’d already be sold out of a lot of these, but it’s been quieter today than usual, so we still have plenty left. I guess it’s your lucky day.”

“Seems like it,” he smiled, his blue eyes latching onto your face.

Something about the way he said it made your insides feel as gooey as the batter Lexie used to make her double chocolate fudge cake.

“How many cupcakes do you need?” you asked, working overtime to keep from getting flustered.

“I think two dozen should be fine,” he replied, his eyes roaming over the display case shelves. “Hmm, they all look so good, I wouldn’t know where to start. Do you have any recommendations?”

“The lemon zest cupcakes are really popular. So are the red velvet and the coconut cloud. Oh, and the German chocolate.” You laughed sheepishly. “Honestly, they’re all really good.”

He laughed in response, a small dimple appearing in his cheek that only further endeared him to you. “Which one is your favorite?” he asked, his voice so earnest it made your chest ache.

You didn’t even have to think about it. “The funfetti,” you told him, indicating the vanilla cupcakes baked with rainbow chips and topped with swirls of vanilla frosting and an extra dash of sprinkles.

“I’ll take a dozen funfetti cupcakes then. And you can surprise me with the other dozen,” he grinned, making you smile.

“I hope you and everyone at the barbeque enjoys,” you said after you finished ringing him up, sliding the two boxes of cupcakes towards him.

“I’m sure we will. This place comes highly recommended,” he replied with a smile. “Are you Lexie, the owner?”

“No, no, I’m her cousin,” you explained, introducing yourself by name.

“I’m Robert Floyd,” he said, holding out his hand to you. “But everyone calls me Bob.”

“Very nice to meet you, Bob,” you beamed, sliding your hand into his and shaking firmly. His hand was large and warm and calloused and it felt like yours had been made to fit inside it.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he murmured softly, holding onto your hand for another second or two before slowly releasing it. He was quiet for a moment, then added, “I’m sure I’ll be back again soon.”

“We serve really good coffee,” you said suddenly, desperate to find a reason to get him to come back. “And we open really early. You know, if you want to get some on your way to work.”

Bob’s beautiful blue eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “I’ll be sure to do that. Thank you.” He picked up his boxes of cupcakes and turned towards the door. Before he left, he shot you one last smile that melted your insides. “See you around.”

After that, Bob Floyd had found plenty of reasons to stop by the bakery. The following Monday, he’d stopped by in the morning to grab coffee for him and his friends on his way to work. That was when you’d learned that he was a naval aviator stationed at North Island.

“You were right about those funfetti cupcakes,” he told you, patting his stomach with a grin. “I think I ate about half the box before I thought to share them with anyone else.”

Your eyes crinkled and you felt your skin grow warm as you smiled in response. “Good, I’m so glad.”

You made sure to slip a cupcake in with all his coffee orders, a gesture which he didn’t fail to notice, judging from the extra large tip he left in the jar.

“See you soon,” he smiled, balancing all that coffee in his large hands as he backed out of the bakery.

From then on, he was there practically every day, stopping in for coffee or for some cupcakes after work. He often picked up things for other people—his friends or his neighbor who had recommended the bakery to him. But for himself, he always stuck with the funfetti cupcakes.

“I know I should branch out and try something new,” he told you one day through a mouthful of sprinkles. “But I can’t help it—these are just so good.”

It had taken nearly two weeks for Bob to work up the nerve to finally ask you if you might be interested in getting dinner with him sometime. You’d had to bite your tongue to keep from immediately screaming, “YES!” in his face,

The two of you spent your first date at a gorgeous little seafood restaurant right on the water, and then went for a long walk on the beach afterwards. It was truly the best date you’d ever been on. Bob was a perfect gentleman, attentively listening to everything you had to say and making you feel as though he actually cared about what was important to you. He’d even draped his jacket over your shoulders as you walked by the water, noticing the way you were shivering slightly in the dress you’d worn. You had been hoping he would kiss you at the end of the night, but like the gentleman that he was, he’d simply brushed your cheek with his lips, asking in a hushed voice if you’d like to see him again.

You wanted that very much.

On your second date, Bob took you mini golfing, something you’d told him that you hadn’t done since you were a little girl. You didn’t think you’d ever laughed so much as you did that night, no matter how terrible you turned out to be at miniature golf. Just like on your first date, Bob walked you to your door at the end of the night, his hand resting on the small of your back as you turned to look up at him, your eyes begging him to give you a proper kiss goodnight.

He had to duck his head slightly as he leaned in closer, a lock of his honey-colored hair draping across his forehead as his gaze latched onto yours, your breath mingling as the two of you inched closer and closer.

It was a soft kiss, sweet and chaste. His lips just barely brushed against yours, sending a shock of electric currents up and down your spine. When he pulled back, the both of you were flushed and stammering.

“C-can I call you tomorrow?” he asked, still so shy even after two dates.

“I hope you do,” you whispered with a smile, squeezing his hand before slipping through your front door.

Faithful to his word, Bob had called you the next day. The two of you were supposed to be going out again this weekend.

But that brought you back to your current dilemma—his birthday. You knew you were being stupid about this. Texting him for his birthday wasn’t tantamount to a marriage proposal. It wasn’t like you were trying to throw him a surprise party or invite yourself over for cake. It was a text message for crying out loud. And even though it had only come up once, he had told you when his birthday was. It wasn’t like you had gone to North Island and asked to see his personnel file.

The truth was, you were just terrified of screwing things up. You’d gone on plenty of dates with guys who had seemed really nice, who you had really thought were into you, only to be ghosted or flat-out rejected. Deep down inside, you knew that Bob was different from all those other guys, but still—the thought of sending him running made your stomach twist into knots.

“Babe, you know what I’m going to say,” Lexie murmured, your cousin’s voice pulling you out of all your convoluted thoughts. “If you never take a risk, then nothing’s ever going to change. I know you’re nervous, but just go for it. The worst that happens—seriously, the worst case scenario—is that he ghosts you. But you know what? If he does that, then he wasn’t worth your time anyway. And if he doesn’t? Well, maybe he’ll start to fall even harder for the gorgeous girl who remembered his birthday.” She grinned, wrapping both arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug.

“Ugh, why do you always have to be right?” you grinned ruefully, pulling back from your cousin’s embrace and fiddling nervously with the scrunchie on your wrist.

“It’s a gift,” she replied with a wink, turning to look over her shoulder when the bell over the front door chimed. “I’ve got it,” she told you, squeezing your arm before heading back out to the front.

That left you alone in the back kitchen, your phone burning a hole in your apron pocket and your heart hammering inside your chest.

“Okay, don’t be an idiot,” you murmured to yourself. As far as pep talks went, it was far from the most inspirational, but it did the job as you pulled your phone out. “It’s not too much too soon. It’s just a text,” you breathed out. “It’s just a text.”

Opening your messages, you found Bob’s name—he was right near the top after texting you just yesterday—and opened up your conversation thread, chewing on your bottom lip.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you tapped out a quick message that you hoped was short, sweet, and to the point and hit send.

Happy Birthday, Bob! I hope you have a wonderful day! 🥳🎉

You felt hot all over as you shoved your phone back into your pocket, your pulse stuttering in your veins as you wondered how long it would take him to see it. From what he had told you about his job, he often spent hours in the air each day, so chances were good he didn’t even have his phone on him right now.

You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and determined not to think about it. A task that was much easier said than done. But as you walked back out into the main part of the bakery, you found that a small crowd had formed, so you jumped into assisting your cousin behind the counter.

“Well?” Lexie asked under her breath as you helped her fill a couple boxes with a dozen cinnamon chip muffins.

“I sent it,” you murmured in reply, purposely avoiding her direct gaze. “But I haven’t heard anything back yet.”

As much as you had tried not to, you’d been compulsively checking your phone every five minutes.

Lex shrugged and waved it off. “It’s still early yet,” she said confidently, carrying the boxes over to the patiently waiting customer.

You threw yourself into various tasks around the bakery, anything that would keep your mind off your phone. You restocked the shelves in the display cases, organized the money in the cash register, wiped down the counters in the kitchen, scrubbed the baking pans, frosted cupcakes, replaced the coffee beans, and waited on any customers who walked in.

A couple of times, your phone buzzed in your pocket and your heart jumped into your throat, only to sink down to your stomach when you pulled it out and found that it was just an email notification or a text from your mom.

The longer you went without hearing from Bob, the harder you had to work to convince yourself that he wasn’t ignoring you.

No. He wasn’t ignoring you. Bob wasn’t like that. You were sure of it.

It was a little after noon, just when you’d taken a cup of coffee into the back for a short break, when you felt your phone buzz again, vibrating against your thigh through your apron. Swallowing nervously, you put your coffee down and reached into your pocket, a small gasp escaping you when you saw Bob’s name on the screen.

You could scarcely unlock your phone fast enough, opening up the text thread to read his reply.

Wow, you remembered! That means so much to me. Thank you! ☺️ Sorry it took me a little while to respond—we were doing some test flights, but I’m on my lunch break now and I’ll be on the ground for the rest of the day. How are you?

It took every ounce of self-restraint you had not to scream and jump up and down like a little girl. It felt like a boulder had been lifted off your shoulders. You hadn’t freaked him out! He hadn’t ghosted you! It was just like Lexie said—he was happy that you remembered.

Grinning like a fool, you leaned against the counter and typed out a response, not caring that your coffee was getting cold.

I’m doing great! Glad to hear you got some flying in on your special day ✈️ Doing anything to celebrate?

It was only after you had sent the message that you began to fret that it sounded like you were being nosy about his plans, or worse, trying to insert yourself into them.

But then Bob responded a minute later and put your worries to rest.

Nothing too fancy. My friends ordered lunch and got me a cake. They sang “Happy Birthday,” too, even though I begged them not to lol. I usually keep it pretty lowkey on my birthday.

You smiled as you wrote back, Was it a funfetti cake?

His next response came in no time at all, and it made your stomach flutter to imagine that he was focusing entirely on you and your conversation during his lunch break.

If only! It was really good, but I don’t think anything compares to those funfetti cupcakes 😋

At that moment, Lex walked into the back, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw the huge smile plastered on your face. It felt like it was going to get permanently stuck there.

“Well, well, well,” she grinned, sidling up next to you. “Should I take that glowing smile to mean you finally heard back from your lieutenant?”

You ducked your head shyly, your cheeks growing warm. “He isn’t my lieutenant,” you insisted.

“Mhm, sure,” your cousin grinned, laughing loudly when you nudged her in the side. “So it worked out after all? He didn’t say you were a freaky stalker? I shouldn’t be expecting the police to burst down the door any minute?”

“Okay, okay,” you groaned, realizing how ridiculous you’d been behaving that morning. “You were right. It all worked out. He was very touched that I remembered his birthday,” you murmured, sheepishly scuffing your sneaker against the floor.

“I’ve gotta say it—told you so,” Lex smirked victoriously, wrapping her arms around you and planting a kiss on your cheek.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, feigning annoyance even as you grinned and returned your cousin’s hug. “You know, Bob was actually just texting me that his friends at work got him a cake, but that it just doesn’t compare to your funfetti cupcakes,” you told her with a proud smile.

“What can I say? They are pretty damn delicious,” she winked, her chest puffing up with pride. A sudden thought struck her as she looked at you. “Hey, what time does Bob get off from work?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Usually around six or seven, I think,” you told her, your brow wrinkling in confusion. “Why?”

“Hmm, perfect,” Lexie mused, tapping her chin as she glanced over her shoulder.

“What do you mean?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. Your older cousin was always plotting something.

“I mean that the bakery closes at five-thirty,” she said, as if you weren’t already well aware of that fact. When she realized that you weren’t exactly catching her drift, she went on, “Which means you could invite Bob over for a little after hours birthday treat if you’d like,” she grinned.

“Lex!” you gasped, scandalized.

Your cousin threw her head back laughing. “I didn’t mean that you should jump his bones in the middle of the bakery! I’d actually prefer it if you didn’t do that,” she chuckled teasingly. “I just meant you could surprise him with something sweet, on the house. Something we make here,” she added with a pointed look that made your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment.

“Oh,” you mumbled, nodding your head slowly. “Right. Of course.” You cleared your throat slightly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not! Anyone who makes my cousin this happy is welcome to free cupcakes anytime,” Lex said firmly, cupping your face in her hands and beaming at you.

“You’re the best,” you told her, throwing your arms around her and squeezing her in a tight hug. “I’ll text Bob now and see if he thinks he’ll be up for it.”

“If you’re the one asking, I’m sure he will be,” she winked, nudging you playfully before turning to go back to the front counter.

Once she was out of sight, you turned your attention back to your phone and bit your lip, trying to think of the best way to phrase what you wanted to ask him.

Speaking of funfetti cupcakes, any chance you’d want to swing by the bakery on your way home from work? We close at 5:30 today, but we make special after hours exceptions for our best customers 😉🧁

Was that stupid? That probably sounded stupid. Would he think that you were suggesting a quickie on the bakery floor the way you thought your cousin had been suggesting? Oh God, could you unsend that message before he got it?

I would love to! Is 6:45 too late?

This man didn’t cease to amaze you.

No, that’s perfect!

See you then ☺️

You tried your hardest to smother the smile that was threatening to completely overtake your face, but you couldn’t do it. This man gave you butterflies like you’d never experienced before in all your life, and the thought of getting to see him in just a few hours made you feel like you were going to burst from excitement and anticipation.

You didn’t even have to tell Lexie what Bob had said. The second she saw your face, she just smiled knowingly and told you, “I’ll be out of here by six.”

Time had never seemed to move so slowly as it did that day while you waited for closing time to finally come around. Lex observed your growing impatience with amusement, giving you as many odd jobs as she could to hopefully make the minutes go faster.

When the clock finally chimed five-thirty, you practically sprinted towards the door, locking it and flipping the closed sign around to ward off anyone who might have tried to stop by for a last minute treat.

“Good thing business is so good or I might get mad at you for scaring off customers,” Lexie teased.

True to her word, your cousin helped you clean up and then was heading out the door by six o’clock.

“Have so much fun,” she told you, blowing you a quick succession of air kisses. “And tell Bob happy birthday from me,” she added with a wink before slipping out the door.

With your cousin gone, that left you about forty-five minutes to finish getting ready before Bob arrived. You quickly set a playlist of classic 60s tunes to play softly through the speakers—you and Bob had discovered you had a similar taste in music about halfway through your first date—and then hurried into the bathroom to fix up your hair and apply a little bit of make-up. You usually didn’t bother with much when you were working, but you wanted to look nice for Bob.

Once you were done getting ready, you went into the back to get his little birthday treat set up—Lexie had made a fresh batch of funfetti cupcakes towards the end of the day just for the occasion. You had just finished placing one of the cupcakes on a small plate with a lace doily and inserting a candle into it when you heard a faint knock on the front door.

Your heart rate immediately began climbing as you ran your hands over the T-shirt and jeans you’d worn today, hoping you looked halfway presentable. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, you stepped out into the main part of the bakery and felt your legs instantly turn to Jell-O at the sight of Bob standing at the door, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. You’d only told him once in passing how much you loved them, and he had remembered.

Wow, that really did mean a lot.

“Hi,” you greeted him, standing in the open doorway and beaming up at him.

“Hi,” he echoed, that little dimple making an appearance as he smiled down at you. After a beat, he seemed to suddenly remember that he was holding the flowers in his hand. “Oh, these are for you,” he said, holding them out shyly.

“They’re beautiful, Bob,” you breathed out softly, accepting them with a smile and pressing them to your nose. “My favorite. You remembered.”

“Just like you remembered my birthday,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling with an emotion you couldn’t quite name, but which you knew you felt just as much as he did.

The two of you stood there like that for a few moments, just gazing into each other’s eyes and smiling dreamily. Then you came to your senses.

“Come in, come in,” you told him, stepping out of the doorway so that he could enter and then closing the door behind him. “Gosh, these really are such beautiful flowers. That was so sweet of you. You didn’t have to get me anything. It is your birthday, after all,” you said, guiding him to a table in the center of the room.

“I wanted to,” Bob replied, taking a seat. He was still in his flight suit and he looked so handsome. “I’m happy that they made you smile.”

“It’s hard not to smile when I’m around you,” you told him, the words slipping out of your mouth before you could think twice about them. Your cheeks grew warm when you realized how vulnerable they were, and you buried your face in the bouquet once more.

Bob’s cheeks had grown rosy as well, and you noticed that his leg was bouncing nervously underneath the table. “I feel the same way,” he murmured softly.

You could have thrown your arms around him and kissed him right then and there, but then you recalled the actual reason why you had invited him over.

“I have a surprise for you,” you said suddenly, smiling brightly as you laid the bouquet of flowers down on the counter. “Wait right here and close your eyes,” you told him, waiting until he had done so before hurrying into the back and lighting the candle you’d tucked into his cupcake.

When you stepped back into the main room on quiet feet, you found that Bob was still patiently sitting with his eyes closed. Your heart swelled with deep affection—and was it possible something even deeper? You had never met anyone like him and you were certain you never would again.

It was at that moment that you realized “Be My Baby” by The Ronettes was currently playing through the speakers, as apropos a sign as you could imagine.

You cleared your throat slightly as you approached the table, the candle sparkling in front of your face as you brought it closer to the birthday boy.

“I know you said you weren’t a big fan of being serenaded with ‘Happy Birthday,’ so I’ll spare you my vocals,” you teased, setting the plate down in front of him. “But Happy Birthday, Bob.”

Opening his eyes, Bob glanced from your face down to the cupcake and then back up to you again. He seemed at a loss for words, his eyes growing wide behind his glasses.

“This is—this—thank you,” Bob finally said, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

You smiled, sitting down beside him and gently resting your hand over his. “Blow out your candle before it melts into your cupcake,” you giggled.

He grinned at the sound of your laughter, leaning in closer to blow out the single candle, though he kept his eyes fixed on you the whole time.

“Lexie baked them fresh this afternoon. There’s a whole bunch more in the back that I’m going to be sending you home with,” you told him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his face lit up.

“What did I do to deserve all this? This is the best birthday present ever,” Bob chuckled, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing lightly.

“I’m glad you think so,” you murmured, glancing down at the table shyly. “The truth is, I was a little nervous to text you earlier.”

Bob looked surprised at your admission. “Why?” he asked, astonished.

You bit your lip and hesitated, but then decided to be honest. Like Lexie said, if you never took a risk, then you never got to see anything change. “I know this is going to sound so stupid, but I was worried you would think it was too much if I texted you for your birthday.”

“Too much?” he repeated, his brow crinkling in obvious confusion.

“You know, just because you had only mentioned your birthday once. I thought maybe I would seem too desperate or clingy or something if I reached out. I thought it would freak you out,” you confessed. “I know that sounds pretty dumb when I say it out loud.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Bob assured you, shaking his head slowly. “I know what you mean. To be honest, I think I’ve had that problem myself. Y’know, coming off too eager and scaring girls away,” he admitted, blushing as he ducked his head.

“Oh, Bob,” you murmured in understanding, lacing your fingers through his. With all the other things you two had in common, it shouldn’t have surprised you that a crappy dating history was something else you shared. “You could never scare me off,” you promised him.

Lifting his head, he smiled at you and reached out slowly, his fingertips stirring a few wisps of your hair as he brushed your cheek lightly. “And you could never freak me out. It meant so much to me that you remembered my birthday. It made my whole day, in fact. Even more than the funfetti cupcakes,” he said, his eyes crinkling. He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, then added softly, “I remember everything about you.”

“You do?” you whispered, feeling a sudden surge of emotion well up in your throat.

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Your favorite movies, the fact that you like tomatoes but hate ketchup, the way you throw your head back when you laugh really loudly. Your favorite flowers. I remember it all.”

“Bob,” you breathed out, the tears brimming in your eyes as your gaze dropped from his eyes down to his mouth.

You weren’t really sure who moved first, but soon enough, Bob was holding you in his arms, your lips pressed together in a kiss that was much less chaste than your first one, but just as sweet. Your arms snaked around his neck, one hand burying itself in his soft hair, the other resting on the nape of his neck. He let out a soft groan in response, one of his large hands resting on your hip and the other splaying across your back, holding you close.

It was a kiss that was so much like Bob himself—gentle, kind, tender, sweet, affectionate, attentive. He didn’t demand more than you were willing to give, he didn’t try to take anything from you. He just wanted to make you feel how much he cared about you, wanted to make you feel special and cherished. And he did. You hoped more than anything that you were doing the same for him.

Because the truth was that you were already falling for Bob Floyd, and falling hard.

When the two of you finally pulled back—a mutually hesitant parting borne solely of the need for oxygen—you smiled breathlessly, closing your eyes as Bob rested his forehead against yours.

“Okay, maybe that was the best birthday present ever,” he chuckled quietly, his lips brushing against your temple.

“I think so, too, and it’s not even my birthday,” you grinned, resting your head against his shoulder. “Are you going to have your cupcake?” you asked, glancing down at where it sat on the plate, still untouched.

“Mhm,” Bob nodded, wrapping an arm around you and brushing his fingers up and down your arm. “But there actually is something I’d like to ask you first,” he said, suddenly sounding nervous.

Lifting your head, you looked up at him, trying to figure out why he suddenly looked so flustered.

“Of course. What is it?” you questioned, resting a hand on his arm.

“Well, all of this has been amazing,” he began, pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. You had noticed they had a tendency to slide down when he was particularly nervous. “But there actually is one more thing that I’d really like for my birthday this year.”

You raised your eyebrows curiously. “What is it?”

Bob swallowed deeply and then looked directly into your eyes. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Your lips parted as a little gasp of delighted surprise escaped you. It may have been Bob’s birthday, but it felt like you were the one being showered with gifts today.

“Oh, Bob, yes! Yes!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him and pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Yes?” Bob repeated between kisses, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yes,” you told him seriously, cupping his cheek in your hand. “Nothing would make me happier.”

“Oh, darlin’,” he breathed out, the term of endearment falling easily off his tongue in that adorable midwestern accent of his. He pulled you into his arms once more and kissed you soundly.

You giggled softly as you reached for the funfetti cupcake and removed the candle, holding it up for him to take a bite. “Happy Birthday, Bob.”

[hidden-poet]

Commander Snow; 8

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

The door was fixed with great haste. Before you knew it, you were back in the apartment playing housewife again. Coriolanus’s distrust of you grew to a new level. He no longer trusted you to remain home by yourself. Edmund was still not found, and Coriolanus was certain he would reappear and take you away.

You now worked with him, slept with him, and ate every meal with him. The fence line seemed like an impossible goal with him being so suffocating. You were pretty sure the broken chain was not found. He would have said something, would have taunted you with how close your freedom was. It meant you had something up your sleeve against him.

But you had no way of getting to it. You had tried to disappear during his work hours, when he was most distracted, but the only time you seemed to be out of his sight was when you showered. If there had been a window in the bathroom, you were sure that he would have been in there too.

You tried your best to soften him with affection. When you had the chance, you baked him the oatmeal cookies he loves. He ate whole plates in one sitting.

But as his work increased, your work decreased. Long days spent at his office were hard to fill. He sat behind his desk and never seemed to stop working. Sometimes there was mending you could do, or shoes to shine but most of the day you sat on the couch reading what was on hand.

You had taken to organizing the books in alphabetical order, then grouped them according to color. You worked quietly and slowly. Careful not to make any noise to disturb Coriolanus from his work. You had taken them down again just moments ago to reorganize them by subject when Coriolanus' assistant came in carrying a tea tray and a large parcel. 

She drops the parcel down on the table in front of you, amongst the books. You look over it to see your name neatly scribbled on the recipient's information. 

The receptionist doesn’t look at you as she puts the tea tray in front of Coriolanus. 

He thanks her but her response is drowned out to your ears by the opening of the box. 

“Is it from Tigris?” 

You wait until the receptionist shuts the door behind her to respond. 

You confirmed it was, as you pulled a soft silk nightdress from the box. It was light pink which was uncommon for the districts. Dark pink lace trimming boarded along the bottom and top of the dress. You run your finger across it. It was the most expensive material you had ever felt. 

Another dress was folded in the box and you take it out. 

It was light blue with yellow birds flying across it, made of a soft cotton material that would fall around your ankles. 

“You like them?” he asks.

“They are beautiful,” you admit. 

You look in the box for more to see a small pouch filled with sweets from the Capitol. 

Tigris was too kind. If things had been different, you would have been a good friend to her. But as her cousin's captive, you were now sworn enemies. The box of treats didn’t change that. 

You return the items to the box and see parchment paper protecting soft material at the bottom. 

“There's a shirt for you.” It was a long white dress shirt with gold stitching running in horizontal lines down it. 

He comes from his desk to collect it. Taking it gently from your hands, he brings it up to his nose and inhales the scent. 

“You really miss home,” you comment, watching him breathe in the scent the shirt carried. 

“I do. More than anything.” He returns to his desk with it still in his hands. 

“You’ll be home soon.” 

“We’ll be home soon”. 

You smile thinly at him. “That’s what I said.” 

“You should see the Capitol. Clothing, culture. Actual buildings, not these pieces of tin. You’ll be able to breathe much better in the Capitol.” 

The scratching of his pen picked up where his sentence had been incomplete as he began his work again. The shirt lay across his lap. 

“I have the day off tomorrow,” he said without stopping his work, “I was thinking we could visit the waterfall again. It will probably be the last time before Ravinstill dies.” 

The thought made your stomach drop. If you don’t make it beyond the fence, it would in fact be the last time you ever saw your favorite place. The time was better spent within the compound waiting for an opportunity. He would never let you get too far in the district. 

“I’d prefer not to.” 

“Why?” he questions with a hard tone. He continued to write but the pen pressed firmly into the paper. 

“I am behind on my chores, and I haven’t made anything in a while. The food in the fridge will go bad if I don’t get to it soon.” 

“Let it. The Capitol is full of food.”

You realize now that Coriolanus had already made up his mind to do the activity. You wondered why he chose it. He hated the heat and the bugs. 

You walk over to the tray of hot tea and pour out a cup, making it to his liking and placing it down in front of him. 

“We’ll go if you want to.” 

“Why don’t you want to go?”

“Why do you want to? The walk up there will take us nearly the whole morning in the hot sun.” 

“I thought it might make you happy.” 

He was trying to win your approval before he ripped everything you had ever known from your finger tips. It was something to use against him. Coriolanus responded best when he was in a position to be a hero. He would do anything so long as he felt he was the only one who could do it for you. 

You lean down and wrap your arms around his shoulders, resting your face against his neck. 

“You know what would make me happy? Some vanilla extract so I can send Tigris some shortbread cookies back”.

He responds positively by wrapping his hands around your forearms. He liked you looking out for Tigris. 

“She’s been asking to meet you.” He says, his hand gently wrapping your arm around his shoulders. “I have a call with them next Friday afternoon. Maybe you’d like to come with.” 

You retract your hold now that he was in a better mood. 

There was only one answer you could give him when it came to his family. 

“I’d love to”. 

You had a deep hate for Capitol people but Tigris seems different. In any case, you were sure you could remain civil for an hour-long phone call. 

Pouring yourself a cup of tea, you return to your spot with it and Coriolanus returns to his work. 

———- 

 You stood out in the sun with Coriolanus as he discussed the new recruits' performance with another high-ranking officer. They were splitting them up into areas of work. The strong and fast became foot soldiers, the slow were put on kitchen duty, and the ones who showed a inclination to aggression were watchmen. He spared a couple to the infantry to learn basic medic care and help around the hospital. You couldn't work out what sent those recruits apart. It seemed random but you knew nothing Coriolanus did was without great care and strategy.

All the men seemed equally angry and you wondered if Coriolanus was the same when he was a Peacekeeper. 

The sun felt nice upon your skin after so long. It was late afternoon and it had just begun to set, leaving behind a nice cool breeze. 

You thought about your mother and Edmund. Were they enjoying the sun too? 

The sound of a vehicle approaching ruined the moment of reflection. Coriolanus took your hand in his as soon as the tires upon the gravel could be heard as if you were to be run over if he didn’t. 

It surprisingly stopped in front of where you stood. A transport car with no doors and a large trunk carried two men. A younger man wearing a District 12 peacekeeper uniform and an older man who wore a Commander uniform set apart by its light purplish color. 

“Commander.” The older man greets as he swings out of the car. 

“Vongurt.” Coriolanus uses his spare hand to offer a handshake which is strongly and fervently taken. 

Another Commander had come to see Coriolanus. You doubted he was any better than the last. 

“This is my wife, Y/N.” With his hand, he leads you in front of him to show you off to the Commander.

You were stiff with shock as the man's disapprovingly raked his eyes over you. He too felt jarred at the label of wife. District women weren’t wives. They were barely considered human.

But he smiles nonetheless, something you couldn’t return.

“Pleasure.” With a kiss placed upon your hand, the Commander's attention was turned back to Coriolanus.

 “Your compound is impressive, Commander Snow. It has to be the largest I’ve seen.” 

Coriolanus seemed unimpressed by the comment. He turns back to the Peacekeepers watching them as they leap, and fight. 

“A palace of scrap metal.” 

He waves over a tall man in a high-ranking uniform, who quickly makes his way over from across the field. 

“Your apartment is only slightly better. Sergeant AJ will take you there.” 

“I was hoping that we could talk. I’ve come all this way from District 2.”

“Later, Commander. The conference room at 7. You’ll have my undivided attention there.” 

The man nods back and follows his guide back into the car. 

Coriolanus makes a comment to his officer about a recruit and the man jotted down all of his thoughts. 

You wanted to get away. Break free from his hold and bolt to the fence line. His delusions had reached a new height, with him now openly telling lies to men with power. 

Your body moves to your thoughts. You hadn’t even realized you were twisting your hand away from him until he tightened his hold. 

He turns to you, asking if you are ok. 

“I need to go home” you respond. Home to my mother. Back home to normalcy. 

“Take whoever we missed today and regroup them tomorrow morning” he directs the man next to him. A whistle is blown and the recruits stop their training, instead they congregate in front of you. 

Coriolanus turns as his officer begins to dish out instructions, taking you back to the apartment. 

“The heat can get to you,” he says. 

You had lived in District 12 all your life if anyone was to know about the heat it was you. But you verbally agree and apologize for taking him away from his work. 

He hushes you and it ends the conversation for the walk home. 

He lets you go as you enter your prison, and you take off without him to the bedroom. 

You hear his voice wafting down the hallway telling you to lie down. You shove your boots off and get into bed. Every day your window closes. It won’t be long before either the broken fence is found or you are carted off on the train. 

But he had called you his wife. Not just to anyone but a Capitol Commander. Even if you got away, the idea that he would leave you here for the presidency is just a fantasy. 

How long would you need to live in hiding before he forgot you? Could you bear the costs of it for as long as needed? What work could you do in the mountains to support yourself and your mother? 

Wife. Why did he have to say wife? You weren’t that. You were his captive, a victim of his need to be cared for. 

Coriolanus enters the room with a wet, cold rag and runs it over your forehead. A victim of his need to pretend he was capable of caring for something. 

He sits on the bed beside you running the cloth over your forehead and into your hair. 

“Do you feel alright?” he asks as you take the cloth off him. 

“I am fine. Just a little lightheaded.” You throw the cloth on the bed stand and he takes it as a signal to get up. 

“I’ll get you some water.”

He disappears and you're thankful for the space to think. Could you tell him you just need a walk around the compound by yourself to think? No, he would take it as an insult. 

You had to get out. The fence was so close. 

You don’t notice him as he sits back down beside you. Only the glass to your lips made you see him. 

“I won’t go to the meeting with Vongurt if you are unwell.” 

You sit up straighter at his words, pushing the glass away from you. 

“No!” you say harshly, “No, you should go. I am fine.” 

“You don’t look well.” You were sure you looked terrible after you had the shock of your life. 

“But I feel fine. Just too much sun.” 

He looked annoyed that you were arguing with him so you switched tactics. 

“We need his support to get back to the Capitol. Maybe you could just leave the door open for some fresh air?” 

You had pushed too hard, and he got up

“If I am not here, the door is shut.”

“Of course,” you breathe with a soft smile at him, “I’ll be fine by the time you have to leave.”

Coriolanus hovered around you for the next hour and a half before he had to start getting ready for his meeting. He took a shower to wash the sweat off him from the day and changed into his official outfit. It fit snugly, his broad shoulders carried the uniform well. 

He attached the dressings of his uniform as you watched him from the bed. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t go tonight. What if you feel unwell while I am away?” His fingers were still on the badge he was trying to put on. 

“I am fine,” you assure him, “I feel fine.” 

“We should invite him here. That way if you need me, I am here.” 

You cringed at the thought of serving Commander Vongurt. 

“I won’t need you. Besides the conference room is much nicer.” You get up to help him put on his badge and send him on his way. 

“I haven’t felt unwell since dinner.” Coriolanus stood over you as you cooked, convinced that the heat in the kitchen would make you unwell again. With a knife in your hand, it was a dangerous time for Coriolanus to tell you what to do.

“You’re sure?” he pokes. 

You were tired of saying it so you just nodded your head. 

“Go to the bathroom then.” 

It was an odd request. 

“What?” you question. 

“Go to the bathroom and take a shower. Get changed into your night dress.”

He checks his watch once before motioning you forward. 

There was no other option for you then to follow his request. You thought maybe he just wanted to complete the bed time routine. He wanted to know you were washed and dressed for bed for his own comfort. You never knew what made him tick. 

You complete the tasks quickly and return to find he had placed a glass of water and a packet of dried mixed fruit.

You quiz him on it but he doesn’t answer. He takes your wrist in his hand and tugs you to the bed.

Taking out his handcuffs, he clips your wrist into the cuff, pulling it up to the headboard where he attached the other cuff. 

You tug against it in protest. “What are you doing?”

“Just in case, Edmund comes back.”

“He won’t! Please unlock me.” you beg. 

“I left your book there if you are not ready to sleep yet.” He stands tall and readjusts his uniform. 

“Coriolanus!” You say in a serious tone, “Get this off of me.”

You pull against it brutally and he captures your hand against the headboard. 

“I left you one hand so you can read. I don’t have to.” 

“Please, don’t leave me here like this!” He ignores you, bending down once more to flick on the lamp. 

“You’ve had a big day. Try and rest. I’ll be home soon.” 

“Coriolanus!” you call out watching him leave. He flicks off the main light as he goes. 

“Coriolanus!” you yell. 

You had never felt anger as you lay trapped in bed. He dictated when you worked, when you rested, when you ate. Nothing was yours anymore. Every breath you took was only because he allowed you to take it. 

There was nothing to tell the time on. It felt like years waiting for him to come back and release you. You didn’t read, only plotted. 

Could you feed him something to make him sick? Surely he would request you to come see him in the infirmary. You could break away when returning from your visit. What if he caught you trying to poison him though? 

Friday provided the perfect opportunity. While he was distracted with his family you could sneak away. The communication building was on the other side of the compound but at least you would be outside of the apartment. 

But how would you get away far enough to make a break for it? You thought about what was in the surrounding area of the communications building. Nothing would be a reasonable excuse to pardon yourself. 

Could you excuse yourself to the bathroom? Surely one of the surrounding offices would have one. Would he let you go alone? Sacrifice time with his family to take you. Would he even let you go or just expect you to make do until the phone call was over? 

You came up with twenty different scenarios of escape routes, each one ended with Coriolanus catching you. 

You wished you didn’t shoo Edmund away now. He could have got the door opened in time. It was only your fearfulness that stood in the way of your escape. You could be with him now, with your mother. Up in the mountains, safe and sound. 

God, you hoped they were safe and well-fed. 

You wished for nothing more than to tend to your mother, to ensure that she was alright. 

The care that was supposed to go to her was now unjustly turned towards Coriolanus, who was adamant to wring it from your hands. 

Edmund had always taken whatever care you gave him with great appreciation. 

Never demanded more, and then took it with force. 

He was kind and patient. Two things Coriolanus is not. 

And now you have dragged him into this mess where his life is at great risk. Still, he had never demanded any more from you. 

When his lips first met yours, they were placed almost in questioning. It was up to you to accept and beg for more. 

You wished you had seen his affection for you sooner. But he was your brother's best friend, and the main protector of you and your mother. If Coriolanus never entered the picture you doubt he ever would have acted on it. 

But he had, and you had returned the affection. It was the start of something new and beautiful or the end of years of friendship and familiarity. 

Once Coriolanus went back to the Capitol, your new life would begin. 

You hoped it would be alongside Edmund. You would pay him back for his bravery.

You would be a good girlfriend to him, then wife, and then mother of his children. You would never ask him for anything, and take great care of his family life. You would ensure his happiness, as he ensures your life now. 

You almost forget you were chained to the bed of the Commander as you daydream of brown-haired babies. But the sound of Coriolanus arriving home was a solemn reminder. His boots against the hardwood floor soften as they reach the bedroom door. 

You still had a great challenge before you got to nurse Edmund’s children. 

You had to get away from Coriolanus, and the only way you could do that is if he had no idea that you planned to. 

The door creaks open and you sit up straight to watch him enter. 

“I am sorry. Did I wake you?” He places his coat on the foot of the bed and crawls over to where you lay. 

“No. I was waiting for you.”

He smiles down at you as he unlocks the cuff from your wrist with the keys in his pocket.

“You seem happy,” you comment. You could smell the whiskey on his clothes as he leaned over you.

“I am. I have you. I have Commander Vongurt’s support behind me, and Ravinstill is not expected to last the winter. We’ll be home before you know it.”

Throwing the keys on his bedside table, he leans down to kiss you before resting his head on your collarbone.

“That’s not long,” you comment. 

“Three months at the most.”

You drowned in your anxiety quietly as he rested. 

Three months and your life was over. 

 He takes your silence as a quiet contemplation. 

“Are you thinking of your mother?” he runs a curled finger along your nose.

“Yeah. I’ll miss her”. You hope to never have to know the pain of missing her again. These past few weeks have been unbearable.

“You’ll write. I’ll organize a time she can come to the compound for video calls.”

You were sure he was going to let you write and call. For how long was another thing. You could see it already, your calls being cut short, your letters ��lost’ in the mail.

“Yeah,” you respond again.

Your mind races with ideas of escape. You could fake a sickness and be sent to the medical camp. No, he wouldn’t send you there. He panicked today over a supposed case of heatstroke. 

He lowers his head down closer to you where you can smell the evening on him.

“You want to know what I was thinking?” he asks playfully.

You could start a fire during dinner time. He was sure to open the door to let you out before dealing with the flames.

“Yeah?” you entertain. Fire could go wrong for a number of reasons. Besides you would have to fight your way to the oven. Especially now that Commander Vongurt was here. Coriolanus would be too busy to wait for you to cook something.

“I was thinking I hope we have a boy first. Then two girls, then another boy.”

Your eyes shoot open as his hand reaches out across your stomach. His hand finds its way under your shirt and he lays a warm palm over your belly.

Then again, a big enough fire might kill him. Was it worth a shot?

“You called me your wife today. That’s not true.”

“What else should I have called you? We sleep together, eat together, wake together. We look after each other. The only thing missing is an official title but as soon as we get back to the Capitol, we’ll fix that.”

You turn away from him to your side. Now that the talk of the Capitol was becoming a more serious threat, you felt sick.

“Did I scare you with talk of babies? It wouldn’t be for a few more years yet.”

His rants did scare you. That would be your life if you didn’t figure out a way to the fence. Nursing Commander Snow’s babies in the Capitol. Away from your mother. Away from Edmund.

Still, you had to perform. You couldn’t let any more distrust between him and you grow. 

“You didn’t scare me. I am just tired. I’ve waited up all night for you.”

You feel a soft kiss press against your ear before the weight of the bed was shifted as he moved.

“Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He leans over you once more to flick off the light. You hear him walk out to the bathroom to take a shower.

Could you force him to give you the keys? The chain was still dangling from the headboard. If you could somehow get his wrist caught, you could threaten him with a kitchen knife. You shake the thought from your head. You couldn’t hurt him with a knife. You were sure even one-handedly, he could take it off you if you tried.

You just needed a distraction, just two seconds when his attention wasn’t on you to escape.

Wet, salty tears rolled down your cheeks as you lay in the dark, but you made no sound.

You were still awake when he returned from his shower, dressed in his pajamas. Thinking you are asleep he is slow and quiet as he rejoins you in bed.

He curls up against your back and rests his hand on your stomach as if there is something already inside. He wasn’t going to wait a few more years. He said it purely for your comfort.

He dreamt of being a young President with a baby on the way. And another one close after that, and another, and another. He would undo history. He would have as many baby Coriolanus’s and Tigris’ as it took to heal the past.

Watching you nurture, feed, and play with his children would overtake his memories of fighting for his life when he should have been nursed by his mother.

He felt as if he was in the area but soon to be crowned Victor. President Ravinstill just had to die before he could have it all.

His destiny that had been interrupted when his father died but was now back on track. From birth, Coriolanus Snow was supposed to be the man who had it all. Not some impoverished boy, hanging on to his father’s legacy.

When he died, he would be remembered as his own man. Not as the shadow of his father.

Coriolanus Snow; Beloved President of Panem, star pupil of the Academy, Plinth Prize winner, devoted husband and father, and Victor of the games. Coriolanus would be remembered as the man who had it all.

You lay awake under him. The smell of alcohol mixed with the scent of his soap. It burnt your nose as you inhaled. 

 President Ravinstill could die tonight. There was no guarantee that he would even make it to winter. You had to get out. If you made it to the Capitol, you would never get back home. 

While he was intoxicated was your best chance. He seemed so still now, you could take the keys off the nightstand and go through everyone. You were sure he wouldn’t wake, not until it was too late. You remember when your father drank on special occasions, he would sleep for 14 hours at a time. Coriolanus was sure to sleep for at least half that. 

You wait until you can’t feel him twitch before you rise from bed. Very slowly, very carefully, you peel yourself from him, shoving a pillow in your place. He doesn’t move from your actions so you continue over to his nightstand where his key ring is laid. 

Rows and rows of keys looped together. They jingle as you pick them up. Panic runs like ice up your spin as you turn back to see Coriolanus; unmoved and unknowing. 

You wrap your hand around as many keys as you can to stop further noise and make your way to the door. Checking every few steps to ensure he wouldn’t turn up behind you. 

The floor creeks as you pass the hallways to the living room but no other sound follows as you cross the kitchen to the door. 

You start at the very first key. It slots in but refuses to turn. Moving on to the next, and the next in methodological order, bypassing the ones that were too big or small to be entertained. 

You try numerous times but the right key is buried among the many. 

Feeling as if it had been hours since the first key, you felt confident that it was coming up. 

You stuck a key in with no resistance. The hope that died in you reappeared as the lock turned with the key. 

But all too soon it died again, as you felt a hand snake into your hair. It yanks your head harshly back and you find yourself pressed against Coriolanus. 

“That key will get stuck in the door, and it’d be a great pain to get it out again.” 

His hand in your hair pulls you back. 

“I was just going to the kitchen to get some ingredients for a hangover cure. I was coming back.” His hand twists unforgivably in your hair as you make your plea. 

“Don’t lie to me,” he seethes. 

“I am not!” You protest, trying to break free from his grasp. 

“You think I am some type of fool?” 

 Reaching over you, he takes the keys out of the door and leads you back to the bedroom. 

“Coriolanus. Please just listen to me.” 

“If I had listened to you, I would have left the door opened. You spoiled, deceiving, little bitch.” 

He was still drunk. You could smell it from his breath. 

You thought it would make him complacent but it instead made him more violent. 

“I was getting you my father's hangover cure.” 

You stumble as he pushes you over the doorway. 

“You need to trust me, Coriolanus.” 

He shoves you until you are back to your side of the bed. 

“I don’t.”

He throws the keys hard across the room to free his hands. 

“I trust you.” You don’t fight him as he recuffs your chain, instead you willingly go along with it. 

For good measure, you place a kiss on his cheek which throws him off guard. 

“I don’t trust you.” he reiterated softly. 

“That’s ok,” you state, “One day you will. We’ll have a happy life together. You, me, and our children.” 

He looks perplexed at your words but makes no further comment as he lays down by your side, resting his head on you. 

“I’ve tried my best to take care of you. To make you happy.”

“You have.” you console. You were no longer worried about President Ravinstill lasting the night, but rather yourself. 

“Then why-”

“I wasn’t running. I was trying to take care of you.” 

His face turns into your skin. You bring your free hand up to his head and press it down. 

“Everything is ok. Just go to sleep. You’re drunk. You don’t mean it.” 

You run your fingertips up and down starting from behind his ear, down to the bottom of his neck, and up again. You do it until you feel his shallow breaths upon your skin, only then do you release the tears from your eyes.

When you wake the next morning, your wrist is free and Coriolanus is not in bed. 

You rise to find him in the kitchen, frying bacon. Maybe he was too intoxicated last night to remember his anger towards you.

“Good morning,” you offer. He doesn’t return the greeting. Maybe he did remember last night, and you were in a lot of trouble. 

“How are you feeling?” you try again. 

“What’s your father's hangover cure?”

“Two eggs, hot sauce, milk, salt, pepper, and honey”. Your father did not have a hangover cure and it did not include hot sauce or honey, both of which were considered luxury items in the District. 

He looks for the ingredients, slamming the cupboards he turns towards you. “All here.”

“Oh,” you comment, “That’s good. Did you want me to make you one?”

The bacon pops in the pan and you rush over to distract yourself with it. 

“Sit down. I’ll take over cooking”. The bacon was overcooked to the point where it would be barely edible. 

“So what did you need for the compound kitchen last night?”

“I didn’t know we had the items. It's been that long since I cooked, I just assumed we were out.” 

“You assumed you wouldn’t get caught.” 

You sigh. Coriolanus in a bad mood would only mean bad things for you. 

“I wasn’t running. I was trying to help. Are you always going to doubt me?”

“Yes.” he answers, pulling the pan back off you. 

He dumps the bacon onto a plate and takes it to the kitchen table. You begin to clean up after him as he sits and eats. 

The plate is still full by the time he is telling you to go get ready for the day. 

You put on the blue sun dress he likes which acts as a two-second buffer for his anger when he sees you. 

He had paused in the middle of throwing his bacon into the trash. Such a waste of food. You thought. 

But he was determined to stay in his mood. He slides the empty plate across the counter. 

“I am late for work,” he says. 

It was unusual for him not to hold your hand as you walked to his office. You would have to work hard today to please him. 

His tea was already sat upon his desk when you arrived and you rushed to pour him one.

He doesn’t drink it. It goes cold as he does his work. 

You try extra hard to be quiet.  There was sewing left from yesterday which you begin to complete. 

“We still haven’t found your mother,” he says out of the blue after a morning of not speaking or looking at you. 

His words filled you with confidence. If you could get to the mountains, at least you knew you were safe.

He doesn’t look up as he speaks. 

“Edmund hasn’t returned to his house but there was a rumor that he was swapping meat for medical supplies just yesterday.”

What would he need medical supplies for? You wondered. Was your mother okay? Was he okay?

You needed to see them to make sure.

“He’s probably hiding with your mother in what’s left of the forest. Don’t worry. We’ll find him and bring your mother home.”

It was a disguised threat. He was trying to get a rise out of you. 

“Good,” you comment. Keep searching the forest while they remain safe in the mountains.

“Good.” he repeats back.

A comfortable silence returns as you both go back to work, but it’s interrupted by his secretary bursting through the doors.

“Sir! Sir!” she gasps. Coriolanus shot up from his chair.

“Commander Vongurt is angry!”

You follow him without a word out of the office.

“The courtyard!” the secretary directs.

You fall behind his fast pace and reach for him blindly to keep from falling too far behind.

A crowd had formed by the time you reached the courtyard. You could hear the familiar sound of flogging and painful cries.

The crowd parts as Coriolanus approaches. In the middle of the bystanders was Commander Vongurt and a young boy curled on the dirt floor.

Coriolanus looks upon the same boy who failed to hit the target on the hot day.

Grabbing the baton from the Commander, he throws it to the ground.

“What are you doing?”

“Commander Snow,” Vongurt was out of breath from exerting himself in his beating, “This boy is a disgrace to your legacy. I caught him passing scraps to the prisoners through the bars.”

With the protection of Coriolanus, you felt safe enough to speak out, “He’s just a boy.”

“Take him to the jail. He can sleep there for a week if he likes their company so much.”

“Coriolanus!” you take his arm and tug it. He gives you a harsh look and you know you won’t be able to persuade him.

The boy cries out and begins to beg as he is carted away by two others.

“Coriolanus, please!” You tug his arm once more and he hits you harshly across the cheek.  

You stumble upon the impact. The men shuffle away from you as you try and regain your footing. 

Coriolanus takes your arm in a harsh grip, pulling you back in the right direction but he is turned to speak to Vonngurt.

“District 12 is my district. Next time you feel like taking discipline into your own hands, don’t.”

The older Commander nods his head, but you can see he is displeased to have been spoken to in such a manner.

“Let’s go.” He was now talking to you and shoving you forcefully in front of himself back to the office.

You tear yourself free as the door shuts behind you.

“You don’t dictate my decisions.”

Your nose is clogged from your tears. You couldn’t tell if you were crying out of pain or anger. Your brain was still trying to catch up.

“Calling my name,” he says astonished, “It doesn’t matter if you disagree with my decision. Your job is to support me.”

He catches you as you try to make your way from him and he tosses you to the couch, where he stands over you. 

“You embarrassed me. Vongurt already thinks I can’t control my Peacekeepers, now he thinks I can’t control my women as well.”

You cup your bruised cheek. This wasn’t about Vongurt. He was still hurting about your attempt last night. All day he was looking for a reason to lash out, Vongurt only provided the opportunity. 

You were put back on defense. With only at most a month before you were carted off to the Capitol, mistakes couldn’t be afforded.

“I am sorry.” you choke out.  

He squinted his eyes, bringing his hand up to his head before throwing it back again, “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t!” you spit. There is no sincerity in your voice. 

“Look at me when I am talking to you.” He takes your chin into his hand and pulls it up to his eye level. “Ravinstill is expected to die shortly. This behavior of yours cannot be brought back to the Capitol.”

“It won’t be. I am sorry.” Your fists clench by your side.

He turns your chin to expect your cheek. 

“I did it too. That’s the only reason I spoke out. I would have been thrown in jail too.” you contend.  

He lets go of your chin and stands up to full height, “You think a Peacekeeper would get the same punishment as a District? No. You would have been hanged. Yet another reason to be loyal to me. I’ve saved you.”

“I am loyal to you. Grateful for you.” You get up and follow him as he makes his way to his desk. 

“Coriolanus, please don’t be mad at me. I was only ever trying to help.” 

You sob ugly causing him to spin around. Your cheek hurt, and you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders trying to get away within such a short time frame. You were overwhelmed with the whole scenario and the thought of dealing with Coriolanus as he looked for opportunities to lash out was too much to bear. 

He softens upon your unraveled composure, taking you into his arms. 

“Stop crying. It’s okay”. You feel him rest his head on top of yours. “I am just a little wound up trying to get everything in order. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I am sorry.” 

You smile slightly, he is back on defense. 

—------

Friday came quickly. The call wasn’t until the afternoon so you spent the whole day as a ball of anxiety. 

But at least you had a plan. On evening walks you took more notice of the building surrounding the communications tent, and saw a nurse carrying a load of blankets into a building of washing machines. 

There were few things Coriolanus let you do alone, washing was one of them.

The washing machine in the apartment would need to be dealt with. But the long hours spent in his office meant that the dirty clothes were piling up. He would demand a fresh uniform for work. If you left it close to his phone call with his family, he was sure to let you go. 

You push it out for as long as you can. He had wanted to leave ten minutes ago but you kept pressing him for one more minute. 

You had taken small rocks from the ground during your afternoon walk, telling Coriolanus you would like to take a part of home back to the Capitol with you. He had allowed you to collect a small jar, you picked the biggest rocks you could find. 

Big enough to jam the pipes of the washing machine. 

“Darling, please. We have to leave.” He bangs on the door of the washing room. 

You finish shoving the rocks as far as they would go down the pipe. It made an awful sound as the washing machine ate them up causing the water to rise. 

“Coriolanus,” you call. As soon as you open the door, he grabs your arm, ready to yank you out. 

“Coriolanus. The machine is broken. Look.”

He barely glaces at it, “ I’ll send someone to fix it. Let’s go.” 

“I need to do the washing,” you pick up the basket as he pulls you from the room, “Can I use the compound washing machines?”

“That’s fine. Just move, we are late.” 

You struggle to keep up with him as he rushes along the compound. He hated it if his phone call was cut short by even a second. Now he was two minutes late and he was almost running to make up time for it. 

You reach the building in record time. He lets go of you to pick up speed, leaving you by the door as he hurries.

He rushes to the small screen, not bothering to sit down on the wooden chair as he twisted the knobs. “Tigris, Tigris? Can you hear me?” 

He must have heard a voice on the other side as he broke out into a smile. It was a pretty, genuine smile that you had not seen before. 

“Hey,’’ he laughs.  You watch from where you stand by the door. He seemed almost unrecognizable. A young boy sent away to a summer camp instead of a ruthless and ambitious Commander. “I am sorry. The washing machine broke. How are you?”

His tone is light and happy as he talks to Tigris. You wonder if he had forgotten he even brought you. He didn’t glance at you as he spoke, giving her his full attention. 

You wonder if it is best to make your exit now but his words stop you.

“She’s here.” he waves you over. You drop the basket in coming to him. You wondered what Tigris would look like. What she would sound like. 

Coriolanus holds out the receiver for you. You peer at the screen to see a blonde girl in colorful clothing before you put the receiver to your ear. 

“Hello,” you greet. 

“Oh!” Tigris croons. She pulls the receiver away from her mouth to lessen her shout, “Grandma’am come see!”

She smiles as she turns her attention back to you, “Oh, Coryo has talked so much about you.”

“What is she saying?” Coriolanus places his hands on your hip and pulls down so you are sitting on his knee. 

“She’s said you’ve talked about me,” you answer. 

He smiles gently at you, turning the receiver in your hand out between you. 

An older woman comes too close into the frame and Tigris pulls her back. 

“Is that her?” the old woman asks Tigris who nods. 

“Girl-Girl.” she talks into the speaker. 

“Yes, Ma’am?” 

“You must be grateful he is sending you back to the Capitol. Don’t ruin it like the last one.” 

Coriolanus snatches the receiver away from your ear to soften her words but you heard them any way. 

“Grandma’am is unwell,” he tells you, “Pay her no mind.” 

Tigris takes back the receiver and positions it in a similar fashion to Coriolanus. 

“Did you get the dresses I sent?” 

“I did. Thank you. I was hoping to send you back some shortbread but Coriolanus has been busy with work.” 

“He was saying you cook. Grandma’am and I are so excited to meet you!” 

“Me too,” you lie. “I hear the Capitol is wonderful. I look forward to exploring it with you.” 

Tigris laughs. She was beautiful, you thought. Perhaps too popular to be showing you the capital. You felt foolish for even lying about it. 

“We’ll have a ball. I’ll show you all around.” 

“In time,” Coriolanus interjects. The chains around you would not loosen just because you were in the Capitol. “The Capitol is big. There’ll be time to see it all.” 

You let Coriolanus take over the talking. Only offering agreements or soft smiles as the Snow women talk. 

The family soon falls into a comfortable way of talking. You had said next to nothing for the last 10 minutes, and it had gone unnoticed. It was time to make your way. 

You slowly rise from Coriolanus who latches out on your arm. 

“I’ll just put the washing on. That way it will be done by the time we finish.” 

He tugs you back down causing you to fall into him. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Tigris almost cringe. 

“We’ll do it later,” he demands. 

“We’ll be washing well into the night if we leave it any longer. I’ll just pop it on. I’ll be five minutes.”

His face twisted with his words but you kissed him to stop them from leaving his mouth. It was the first time you had ever kissed him on the lips. You could tell by the way his mouth stilled that he was surprised. 

“Five minutes.” You kiss his bottom lip to quell any fight he has in him. Grabbing the phone in the meantime. 

“Tigris. Grandma. I’ll just be 5 Minutes to put the washing on”.

Tigris smiles at you, letting you know that it is fine. You could just barely hear Grandma’am make a comment about how the people in the Capitol don't do their own washing but it is cut off by you shoving the phone back in Coriolanus's hand. 

He cups your face to bring you down for another kiss. 

“Five minutes,” he repeats. 

You smile at him as you pull away. It was too easy, You had won. 

It felt like victory as you picked up the basket and placed it on your hip. You turn back halfway out the door to see he has gone back to talking to his family. 

You don’t make it to the tent. Five steps away from the door and you had dropped the basket and taken off at a fast pace. 

You walk to try not to draw attention to yourself. It worked for the most part. Hardly anyone gave you a glance. You could see the bins coming into sight. Your freedom is just behind them. 

“Hey!” you hear someone call out. You ignore them at first, not thinking they could mean you. But a harsh hold on your arm spun you towards a Peacekeeper. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

“What? Nothing”. Your freedom lay not ten feet away but was hindered by a zealous guard. 

“Where’s Commander Snow?” He held you too tight. It interfered with your clear thinking. 

“The communications tent.” 

“Is that where you should be?”

“No,” you try and tug your arm away from him but his nails dig in. “Let go of me. Let go!” 

“Let’s go ask Commander Snow what you should be doing.” The man starts to drag you along as you dig your feet into the dirt. 

“Let go!” you shout. He was sure to notice you gone soon if he hadn’t already. Time was running out. 

In frustration, you slap the Peacekeeper across the face. 

“How dare you touch me. I’ll tell Commander Snow about this. You’ve hurt me. 

You feel his grip loosen on you but he doesn’t let go completely. 

“No, I haven’t!” he says somewhat fearfully, 

“Commander Snow has asked me to get something for him, and not only have you stopped me from doing that but you hurt me in the process. How do you think he will react to that?” 

You manage to tear free from him and give yourself some distance. 

“I am going to do as he asked me, and you are going to do your duties like you should be doing. Otherwise, I’ll report you to the Commander." 

The Peacekeeper mulls over his course of action before raising his hands.

“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. Excuse me.” 

You turn your back on him and quicken your steps to your destination. Making sure the coast is clear, you crawl behind the large bins. You couldn’t see any broken fence behind it. 

Did they find it? Have you just made a fatal mistake?

You continue to crawl, placing your hand on the metal for any movement. 

The chain bends showing cut wire as they bend. Relief washing through you. 

It digs harshly into you as you pull yourself through. 

You could have kissed the dirt on the other side. Freedom. Edmund. 

The guard in the tower above you looks out across the field. You keep under his eyesight as you slide across the fence as quietly as you can. 

It runs out, leaving ten feet of open field before the safety of the forest. Ten feet and then you were free. There was no cover, meaning that the guard could easily spot you if he was looking. 

You say a silent prayer that the guard will keep his focus straight before you take the chance of discovery. 

You leap across the field, throwing yourself upon the first tree you touch. The bark smashed your bruised cheek as you waited for the sirens to sound. 

He mustn’t have seen you. You had got away. 

You take a second to laugh as quietly as you can. Run, a voice in your head told you. You regain your breath and do. You run as fast as you can, taking the backroads back to your home. 

Your lungs burn, willing you to stop but you keep going until your house is in view. You only slow down to stop drawing attention to yourself. 

People had started to return home from work. You could see them as you walked along the back of their houses. You're careful not to be seen. 

The back steps of your place come under your feet, and your caution disappears as you fling yourself into your home. 

Edmund was sitting at the kitchen table dressing a rabbit he caught. 

He stood up. Turning his knife towards you thinking you were an intruder. 

You knew he would never hurt you so you throw your arms around his shoulders despite the threat. 

The knife drops and he takes you into his arms. 

“I was so worried.” he breathed. 

“We have to go. We need to leave,” you state but make no attempt to pull away. 

He does pull away, throwing the rabbit into his hunting sack and picking up his knife. You take his bloody hand and he leads you back out the back door and into the forest. 

The walk to the mountains takes well into the night. You both do it silently. What was there to say? There was still a long road to safety. 

You stay as close as you could to him. Always holding his hand or latched onto his arm. 

The mountain trail is tough and you wonder how he made it up with your mother on his back. He knew the way well, having worked in the mines nearly all his life. He warned you of which boulders were loose, and when you tripped over he caught you as if he almost expected it. 

You were worn out by the time you reached the campsite. Rows and rows of small wooden houses for the miners. All were empty this time of year as it got too dark too early and not light enough too late for the hours they worked. 

You saw a freshly put-out fire and knew that your mother was close. 

“Your mothers in that one,” he pointed to the right cabin, “My family’s in the next one.” 

For the first time in the hour's walk, you tore free from him and ran into your mother's cabin. 

It was a relief to see her sleeping figure. You throw yourself on top of her and begin crying.  

She wakes in fright but knows the figure of her daughter well. She throws her arms around you and joins you in crying. 

You were home. You were safe. 

—---------

As soon as the door closed, Coriolanus felt as if he had made a mistake. He trusted you.

You were better now. Doing well. He could trust you. 

But Tigris’s words made no sense to him. You were coming back. 

He tried to focus on his family but he eyes the door expectantly. 

Dread fills him. How long did it take to put on washing? 

“Coriolanus?” he hears Tigris call.

He dashes out of his chair. He had made a very big mistake. 

“Coriolanus?” the receiver resounds. 

Upon opening the door he is met with his washing by his feet. He takes off running to his apartment. You were sick the other day, maybe you had fallen ill again and taken to bed.

He pushed past Peacekeepers as he ran to his steps. Taking them two at a time he reaches the top and pushes open the unlocked door. It was only ever locked to keep someone in, never someone out. He calls out for you but is met with silence. 

He opened every door along the way to the bedroom, hoping you were just hiding. 

He calls your name again and again until falling silent upon the empty bed. You weren’t here. Coriolanus had made a big mistake. 

Clicking the radio built into the collar of his shirt, he demands that the compound is shut down.

“Has anyone been through the gates?” Both leading officers of the two entryways confirm that no one has. The Peacekeepers are diverted into searching the compound for you.

Coriolanus joins too. He didn’t trust the ability of his Peacekeepers. He searched every nook and cranny of every office and building he could find. His temper flared the longer the search went on. 

You had to be in the compound. How could you have got out?

He returns to his apartment. Maybe you had returned upon hearing the sirens. 

A cat catches his attention as it sits meowing and eating bits of food from the ground that the birds had managed to pick out. 

He had never seen a cat in the compound before. Could it have got in the same way you got out? 

He walks over to search it for any clues it might have but it runs off as he comes closer. 

He chases it behind the bin where he watches it slip through the bent wire in the fence. 

You had got away. Now at large in the districts. 

He sighs deeply before taking his rage out on the back of the bins, bashing and kicking at it until he is forced to lean against it to catch his breath. 

A search party would be sent out, interrogations would be issued. Someone had to have seen you along the way. He would find you and he would bring you home to him. 

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[chronicowboy]

Buck is stood staring at his couch with a wrinkled nose when a frantic knocking rips him from his thoughts. Frowning, he skids over to the door on socked feet and yanks it open to reveal a harried Eddie and sheepish Christopher.

"Tell me you aren't busy," Eddie pleads, already pushing into the loft to set down two dangerously full grocery bags on the kitchen island.

The loft suddenly seems a lot brighter, feels a lot warmer.

"I'm not busy," Buck replies as he shoots a questioning look at Christopher who only bites his lip and looks away.

"Oh, thank God." Eddie grabs him by the shoulders with a grateful smile before taking a deep breath. "I am. Busy. Like incredibly busy."

"Okay..." Buck narrows his eyes at him. "So, I'm hanging out with my favourite Diaz then?"

"Hold the thought on that favourite bit," Eddie huffs, dropping his hands. Buck's shoulders turn cold at the loss, he shrugs the absence off. Eddie turns to Christopher with his arms folded over his chest and an arched eyebrow. "Want to tell Buck what you decided to tell me at four pm this afternoon?"

"Fine," Chris sighs, looking up at Buck guiltily. "I need to bake cookies for my whole class."

"Sure, we can do that." Buck frowns, sharing a look with a still frantic Eddie. "When do you need them for?"

Christopher averts his eyes. Realisation dawns on Buck, and he shares a knowingly unimpressed look with Eddie.

"Tomorrow," he mumbles.

"Chris," Buck groans.

"I know, okay?" Chris groans right back. "I forgot. I'm sorry. Will you help me? Please?" He breaks out his patented puppy eyes, and Buck has to try hard not to laugh at the notion he wasn't going to help Chris all along.

Buck steals a look at an apologetic Eddie, shakes his head in a way he hopes conveys I've got your back.

"Of course I will, Chris, you know that." His eyes snap to Christopher when Eddie's face melts into that dangerously fond expression. He's been seeing a lot more of it ever since he woke up from his coma, and it makes him feel a little like a lightning bolt trapped in a human body. He doesn't know what to make of it.

"You are a lifesaver," Eddie tells him seriously, pulling him into a quick hug. "I've gotta get over to Pepa's, but I'll be back around dinner time, okay?"

"Oh, I see," Buck tuts. "You just want to reap the benefits of all our hard work."

"Obviously." Eddie pulls one of his patented frog faces. "I wasn't trying to hide that."

"Lazy good-for-nothing," Buck says, except it comes out sounding much more like you're everything.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Who here was asleep for a wholeass week?" Eddie retorts.

"Ass," Chris snickers.

"Don't," Buck and Eddie scold in unison, sharing a bashful smile. Chris just rolls his eyes.

Buck tries not to preen at how natural all of this is, thinks of Bobby's words in the engine just before lightning struck.

Life's too short to take those relationships for granted.

Buck has seen his world without the Diazes in it, he'll never take them for granted again.

"I don't think a coma is technically considered sleep," Buck argues, just happy that Eddie isn't flinching away from the reminder of the accident like he used to.

"Well, you weren't snoring," Eddie concedes.

"I don't snore!"

"Buck, the only reason I felt okay leaving you sleeping on the couch to make Christopher's lunch was because I could hear you breathing all the way from the kitchen." Buck tries not to think about a worried Eddie hovering over him, fingers itching to reach out and find a pulse, lingering in the doorway to the kitchen because he didn't want to leave Buck alone. "You snore."

"You snore," Chris agrees.

"Betrayal!" Buck gasps. "We're making oatmeal raisin cookies."

"Nooooooo!" Chris cries. "Buck, please!"

"Do I snore?" Buck demands.

"Nope." Chris grins.

"Chocolate chip it is."

"Double chocolate chip?" he tries, eyes wide and sparkling. Buck loves him desperately.

"Nice try, kid." Eddie drops a hand onto Christopher's head. "You get double chocolate chip when you tell us more than one day in advance."

Something warm and content settles in Buck's gut at the ease of Eddie's us.

"Buck?" Chris pouts up at him.

"Nah, not gonna work on me." Buck shakes his head, folds his arms over his chest. Eddie sends him a smile, the small and private one that tucks itself into Eddie's rosy cheeks, the one that Buck's pretty sure he'd return from the dead just to see again.

"Okay, well, you two have got it under control." Eddie ducks down to drop a muah! on Christopher's head, presses a quick one to Buck's cheek. "I'm off! Love you both, see you for dinner!"

Eddie sweeps out of the door in a whirlwind of frantic energy. Buck just watches him go, mouth half-open in a soft 'o' as the skin of his cheek tingles where Eddie's lips had been. He stares at the closed door with wide eyes, stares for so long his mouth goes dry.

Maybe he does have the answers, maybe he's had a couch all along.

A sharp tug on his shirt pulls him from his trance, and he looks down at Christopher.

"Cookies?" he says, entirely too knowing for an eleven-almost-twelve-year-old.

"Cookies," Buck nods.