#its almost midnight if i go to sleep RIGHT NOW i’ll get 8 hours

[figuerockfaeth]

WHY CANT I BE SLEEPY AT BEBDTIME

[eristic-kaleidoscope]

Pandemonium - Chapter 1 Body Drop

The birthday party the night before had run on just as promised until midnight for those of you who had attended, its results mixed in tenseness from its mid-party thievery and what seemed to be the natural progression of this group of people mingling in one place. Perhaps it was disappointing that in the end you hadn't gotten a solid date confirmed with the reveal that it was Calluna’s birthday and not one of your own, but in exchange you’d learned more about your host in question, and some of you had even earned your free 2 hour reprieve from the motive that was slowly gnawing at your minds or bodies.

It was assumed that you’d have the night to rest at the very least after all of that had occurred, and come the morning it seemed that the majority of you were granted that much. Though… judging from the bing of the PA system, and the clear ring of Calluna’s voice, it seemed that one of you most definitely had not.

“A body has been discovered in the Spa. For those of you not already present, please make your way there immediately to begin the investigation. After everyone has gathered, the Expiry Report will be given to you via your tablets to assist in basic information, and your restrictions from the motive will be lifted. For those of you missing physical items, they will be recoverable via AION in the Work Shop.”

As Calluna finished speaking, An’s voice took over where the other had left off.

“Alrighty Alrighty! Once everyone’s in the Spa we’re starting a 2-hour timer for everyone to finish looking around and to get their butts in gear for the trial, be there or be square! If you take too long I’ll tase ya, so don’t dawdle, got it?”

The atmosphere was heavy as the subjects gathered, some leaving behind whatever they were doing, others needing to get ready after waking up instead. 8:28 AM. It was a number you’d remember, as you watched the time of the announcement. Silent shuffling of feet to carpet led to the group to the spa, where you were greeted with a hectic and somber sight.

At first glance, it almost appeared as though they might be sleeping - and really, who could blame them? For the past few days, it’d been evident sleep had been a luxury they hadn’t been able to afford. The expression on their face was one pinched with mild pain and discomforted confusion, almost as though they were plagued with bad dreams. And maybe, if you tried hard enough, for the first few seconds, you could convince yourself of a gentler fate, a sweeter conclusion. 

But the coppery stench of blood that permeated the room betrayed the truth. Stains of pink soaked through fabric and bandages. And there could be no denying that the one living the nightmare was you. 

Kaguya appeared to be nothing more than a lump on the floor; fallen to her knees, nails trying to grip the tiles below her to no effort. Her head hung low, body heaving as she struggled to breathe in from choking back sobs. If she'd looked like a wilted shell of herself before, she's on an entirely new level right now. Next to her, Lyrica was crouched, pressing a hand to Kaguya's back, even if it seemed to faintly be trembling as well. They spoke in small hushed words, almost as if they're unsure how to process what's going on themself. But the horror in their eyes was real, because someone out there really had decided it was within their right to take someone's life.

Horror, disgust, fear, the reaction was clear on Arakiel’s face as he brought a hand up to his mouth in shock. His usual cold and collected air was gone and replaced by shaking hands and shivers as he stumbled against the back wall. Soon after he speaks, "I need a shower," before guiding himself out along the wall. 

END was even shakier than she has the last few days, staring at the body. "Yeah, I should..... Go get my leg," she mumbled, even as she took another few unsteady steps forward with her crutches. She leaned down, careful not to fall, and grabbed the strap of the bag from the floor. The bag was set on the table next to Paisley and opened, anything to avoid actually touching her and having to acknowledge it.

As people began to split into groups, be it for comforting each other or for preparing to do what must be done, you found yourselves faced with a task to complete.

“Your 2 hours starts now! Eheheheh~”

Your tablets pinged with the download of a new app, the file you were promised delivered to you. It was time to start whether you liked it or not.

[crybabytoy59]

The ultimate backwards way forward….

1. The day had finally come all the hours, days, weeks, months and years even.....That had lead to this one intrepid moment. Tonight He (Mark) stood before Her “Chrissy”....Shaking whilst doing as instructed, he was to put his Big clothes into the black bags in front her. She would decide what if any we’re to be kept. All things related to his Big life went in…

 Next She sat him down in only a cartoon disposable & a onesie ! He sat & listened as she reinforced her Will as the midnight deadline approached !... 

 She spoke very gently, a deep love of genuinely wishing to take him to his “little place”,  Yes his Big had pushed back and fought at times but this was IT her words would be final !  No turning back whatsoever no wriggling out. A new life lay ahead as Chrissy delicately spoke….

2. “Now sweet-pea  all your big things are away and in fifteenth minutes you will be My Bunny, my BabyBoy & I your Mommy I will treat you as a baby always & this you will come to accept through Mommy’s intense retraining of you to become that infant baby again we will take you back mentally & physically to a small child, Mommy’s cute toddler In nappies 24/7 ….

This will not be easy at first but please trust Mommy, she is going to help you mentally to be the baby that hangs on to every one of Mommy’s kind nurturing words….. So Bunny are you ready hmmm, Are you ready my darling baby boy? 

3. Mark took a huge breath but still the words came out at a tremor…..“Yyes am rready Mommy, I realise my fears will at times test you for that I am truly sorry… but I do wish for this deep inside, so any fears I have, I gladly hand them to your care & compassion, to regress and nurture me into who & what we Both wish for…So yes Mommy your “Baby boy” wants this with all his heart.... Mommy hugged him tightly, anticipating the clock in the nursery awaiting for it to strike Midnight !! ...

4. The nursery was a work of art they had both built together a room where Baby Mark was dwarfed by the furniture within the nursery ! .......As the big hand met the little hand of midnight…Mommy began to speak almost in a whisper…“Baby? give Mommy her “Gift” of your submission.”

5. She smiled warmly watching the mirror as her baby began wetting the cartoon disposable, she could see it changing colour through the soft white plastic pants, she stroked his hair soothingly as the nappy began to swell outwards…“Clever Baby All done Sweet-pea?” (he nodded into her soft shoulder welling up slightly in the knowledge that this was his “Gift”, his submission to her, the first act of remaining in nappies 24/7 at Mommy’s will)

The very smell of her soft flesh had always made him feel a Deep want of regression ! But tonight she smelt Devine. Chrissy had taken a shower before this chat, washing her hair with Johnston’s Baby shampoo,  she then oiled  her whole body with baby oil! Knowing the effect it would have on Mark, pushing him over the sensory edge....After all the Hot pulsing between her legs drove her want of complete control over him! …“Clever Boy let’s get you changed & down for the night in your onesie and blue booties, then I'll read you a nice little story”….

6. As he waddled slowly forward, suddenly Mommy barked “And what do you think you are doing Mr? ” ...He was puzzled by this remark & Mommy’s new stern tone? Mommy simply smiled saying “Are you a big toddler yet Crinkle Butt? No, you are not ! All fours baby... Now! As what did Mommy say to you about obedience? (He got down on all fours, as she wished, knowing soon he would have the blue crawling booties on with the nasty studs that made walking near impossible anyway! ) 

That and the ankle cuffs with the tiny locks would make removing them a futile task!)… As he crawled Mommy patted baby’s botty “Much better see you can be a clever Bunny for Mommy! ” Baby jolted forwards as Mommy spanked him full force ! “Pardon Baby? ”...  Yethss mommy ! ...

 “Much better think we just earned our first “redstar” baby Yes?” …. “Wess mommy sworry…” “Clever Baby you can put it on the naughty behaviour chart after Mommy changes that soggy bott bott of your’s ehy? Up on the changing table then Mr, let’s get that wet  nappy off & your special night time dipee on!”

7. As baby got up on the table he could feel the soggy thin cartoon nappy sagging! ... Complete humiliation overcoming him at his new lot in life, a true baby boy status started to hit home. God how he loved this girl so much, knowing he would now no longer be able to touch her in a Big way he felt that new part of the Humiliation was ever looming and yet to come pressing closer. Mommy was very clever, astute and thorough, she would have a lot in store for her new charge.…Mommy tugged the plastic pants down “Someone has a soggy bumbum! look at this wet nappy Mr! (He couldn’t miss it in full view from the mirrored ceiling over the changing station ! This had been Chrissy’s idea as she loved the Humiliation element that it brought! )…“Aaawww don’t fret your going to be doing this all the time now Crinkle Butt!...As Mommy is going to make sure you become such a dribbling dependant little boy”….she chuckled lightly...There seemed to be a glint in her eyes too. 

8. The clean up was very intense & had baby stirring underneath her! She reapplied the thick white cream paying just enough attention to all the right spots then she delicately but quickly slid the night time pluggie in. This was Very large & could be adjusted to vibrate with a very intense level if was required… baby gasped as Mommy pushed it all the way home! As Baby moved she chuckled lightly and playfully spanked the huge night time nappy to a dull thud once she was done! “Mommy's little drum.” she cooed. “ All that padding is going to make sure you will stay safe till morning Sweet-pea… “Now come to Mommy”. He instinctively crawled towards her open lap, she guided him to rest his head in her arms and his back against her leg. 

Mommy stretched across to her right side, reaching for the giant glass night time bottle, full with the formula she had earlier prepared.

10. “Take hold with your mittens Sweet-pea, Mommy wants to see how you do, if its to heavy then I will hold it too” She now began to playfully stroke and tease his nipples as he held the bottle unsteadily! The gurgling was instant behind the milky teat as baby had developed very sensitive little nipples, just as she had designed! Straining in his bulky nappy wiggling gently on the spot between her, the whimpering and soft moans started up as the bottle continued to empty. When baby finished the last drops of formula she began to rub and stroke his back, gently massaging him encouraging those little burpies out... Baby squealed as he nearly had an accident at the same! “Ok Sweet-Pea off to Beddie Byes.” She gently held and led his shaking hand.  “But first please put the star up on Your chart!” Baby took a red star off the pad & put it onto the first square of naughty chart… (The red stars were for a Sunday evening’s end of week  “punishment time” If he had gold stars that would bring a reward) But red !...............Mommy patted the mattress on the double bed sized Cot. “Ok Bunny Boy hop up into your cot now.” He would sleep with Mommy Bear at ni nights time (but unbeknown to Baby, he'd be napping in the day time as well, part of her new routine she had in store for him)! She patted again “Position Baby !”…or do you want a second Red star “!...She chuckled as He scrambled into the cot positioning himself for Mommy!

11. Mommy lifted up the little blue booties to his new horizon line. She took the first swiftly and deftly to his toesies slipping it on his right foot, click the ankle cuffs latched shut. Next was the left, it too had the same bemusing locking system, designed so the Baby (him) could not free himself from the deceivingly cute little slippers. He'd never seen how the locks worked. Click... She smiled at him gently, knowing that the spiked shoes would limit his ability to now stand unaided and maximise her ability to retrain him to a more appropriate babyish crawl. Yes they would make life much easier outdoors too...  “Clever Boy,  almost done, then we can have that chat and Mommy will read you your bed time story after… ok baby?” ( “Wess Mommy” ) Clever boy Mommy does so love those manners Sweet-Pea well done!”

12. Now a little afraid realising he was properly in Mommy’s world. Things would continue to happen now that he would have no control over.  Next Mommy lifted his brand new dummy, he had not seen this one before! It must have been a recent purchase, this one was an extra large sized red yellow and blue primary coloured affair. She knew it had been designed specifically to help him dribble (just a little) and make his big boy words very difficult !! 

Putting it into his mouth she moved to his ear and whispered softly “Mommy wants you to nurse on this dum dum sweetie, I won't fasten it into place just yet unless you show me that you can't be trusted, OK?” It was a rhetorically phrased question that didn't need an answer, but there was that same look in her eyes.

13. “Now Sweet-pea first we'll have our wee chat then Mommy will read you a nice story before ni-nights. Your going to need lots of sleep Bunny Boy as Mommy has lots of adventures in store for you tomorrow ! … Now listen very closely as I will say this only once….Mommy is going to have you fast for five days ....This is to strengthen baby’s immune system and also induce a bit of a body reset, then on day six we will start your new baby food regime… This will be all fruit and vegetables as Mommy is going to have a very health baby… So then Baby,  you can get adjusted to those adorable nappies nice & easily...Your only going to be drinking fluids for the next five days first though, so Mommy is focusing on those soggy bum bums to begin with, then we will work up to your mushies…Your such a cutie for sucking on your new binkie like a good boy. Well done!

14. “She chuckled lightly lifting the story book to begin…

The alternate “100 Acre Wood”......

 God she was so dam hot there and then, in her best condescending cooing Mommy voice. She began “Once upon a time there lived a boy who was very very lonely inside,  he desperately wanted to have a friend. Out walking one day in the woods he found a small bunny, it hopped right over to him and began hugging the boy tightly.....The rabbit started to gently speak to the boy! “Hello Crinkle Butt ....The boy protested to the Rabbit “Am a not a Crinkle Butt!”....But the Bunny simply chuckled “I know who you really are Silly! The boy looked around but nobody was there? As he turned around the rabbit stood beside him again swatting his bottom Thwack !!... “I suppose this isn't your nappy then Crinkle Butt?”  The boy stayed quiet as he felt embarrassed. But the Bunny Smiled gently and hugged him even tighter. Bunny the Rabbit then took Crinkle Butt’s hand ....“Best we get back inside or Mommy will be angry with us & we will get the hairbrush! The boy took the rabbits hand, as he too hated the hairbrush spankings.....“Ok Bunny we best hurry then as it’s getting dark & Mommy will want us fed & then to Nigh nights”.....They both skipped through the puddles getting Mud all over their legs! ...On the porch Mommy was already waiting standing with her arms folded....Babies look at the colour of you !.... She held out her finger pointing to inside, that’s when both Babies noticed Mommy already had the hairbush!”....oh bother.

15. “Now Sweet-pea I think that’s enough for tonight, Mommy can see you are looking tired I'll read you some more tomorrow if your a good boy. She gently stroked his face “Off to sleepies now.....She began to start the lullaby mobile that hung overhead and the cute little noises and lights softly sprung into action and gently soothed her precious little one into the land of dreams...Mommy lifted the plug remote and set it to the night time precycle with the hypnotic recordings ! These would play all night as the monitor recorded his sleep & dream patterns, it would match the patterns playing the recording & pluggie vibes to their best effects.....Night after night she would subliminally reprogram his brain to be a contented infant Baby Boy... To her will... to her wants... to her Deepest held desire over controlling him, but also letting him be the baby he was destined to become! This would be Absolute !! Her new hypnotherapist friend would help with new insertions of “trigger words” that would become instant in there use over him, no matter where, no matter when or who they were with !.....Fuck every inch of her was tingling with her desire to further his regression......

She looked down at him all safe in that cot with an oversized dummy bouncing in and out. Fuck he was already hungrily sucking on that dummy! Her Chest ached with anticipation....This was just the start, she held all the cards, she had everything ready for the morning & for the day’s events......Time to sleep though, putting her arm over his chest a small whimper came......She smiled to herself...Tomorrow he would go through so many trials and emotions. Day by day his emotional state would become much easier to control due to her fasting retraining, first hunger & loss of energy...then as the energy started to peak later on in the week she would simple take a sense from him so as to have more control mentally over his nappies!....awash with thoughts flashing through her mind she settled down to sleep knowing the “Hypno-Mommy” tapes would be working there magic on him....These she would use as she put him down for his afternoon nap too!

[helliontherapscallion]

Sweet and Sour (Adrenaline Junkie Part 14)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of blood, talks of hypothetically dying, bones/teeth 

Word Count: 2,392

(A/N): the next part is currently in the works and probably will be out by tomorrow/late at night tonight 

The days ticked closer and closer until you had only mere hours left until your scheduled departure for the cave. With each passing day, you became more anxious and paranoid, your prosthetic wing constantly malfunctioning until you programmed it to respond solely to your conscious movement and not the random twitching of your muscles. It took you a bit to get used to, but you quickly got the hang of it. It felt closer to having an actual wing on your back again, but not exactly. Nothing beat the feeling of the wind resisting against both wings at the same time. 

You doubted if Philza knew anything, but you did know that he suspected something. He knew you like the back of his hand and vice versa. You both knew each other all too well, he raised you and you spent most of your time with him growing up after all. 

Currently, you are obsessively reading over your will and the book you wrote for Arthur full of redstoning advice and what you’ve learned over the years. After rereading your letters to your family and your will, you decided that this is exactly how you wanted everything to turn out if you ended up not surviving this. Which, the chances of you actually surviving this was slim to none. 

However, you remained hopeful as there were several unknown variables in the equation. How big this thing was, its age, and most importantly what the cave currently looked like. It’s been multiple years and there might’ve been more erosion over the years altering the surface of the stone. From what you remembered, the ceilings were at least a hundred feet tall, so you had plenty of room to hover above it when needed. You had no clue if the ledge was still there, but if it was the being most definitely could snatch you up. You were going to have to be careful. Besides, you had a son you had to live for. You were going to get out of there alive. For Arthur. For Philza. For Wilbur. For Tommy. For Technoblade.

You reread your plans. Plan A consisted of you sneaking in (making sure this time to keep your wings close to your body), planting TNT, and setting it off with a lever as far away from the deepest part of the cave as you could. Plan B, if Plan A failed and the Warden noticed your presence, was to use the portable TNT launcher while flying as high as you could. If that failed, then you were kind of screwed. Plan C consisted of dropping everything and running for your life. You’d admit, they weren’t the most well thought out plans, but it was all you could think of.

You made sure your wing was secured on your back correctly with a full movement test before you slung your bag onto your back stocked full of redstone and TNT and put your portable TNT launcher into the holster on your hip. 

You took a deep breath and gathered your papers before you took one last look at your old workshop. You made sure to scrub it clean of redstone residue and re-sorted the blueprints so that everything was easier to find in the filing cabinets. You were sure that your… unique method of not sorting anything and just knowing where everything was would be very annoying to attempt to sort through. Even Arthur couldn’t figure out your sorting system and he was the smartest kid you knew. 

Oh Arthur… He was probably sleeping right now. Or at least you hoped he would be; it was midnight. With light footing, you walked up the stairs to the second floor and straight to Wilbur’s old room. Your little boy was sleeping peacefully burrowed underneath the covers. You could hear his soft snores exiting his mouth. 

You smiled lightly and walked over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling back the covers to see his face. His mouth was parted slightly with a small amount of drool coming out of the corner of his mouth. You reached out to stroke his curly copper hair and smiled wider at the sight of his nose scrunching slightly before he relaxed with a small smile on his face. You leaned down to place a lingering kiss on his forehead before you covered him back up again and started to quietly walk out of the room. 

“Ren?” That was what he started calling you after he gave you the magnets. It was short for ‘parent’. You froze and felt your body warm up at his sleepy tone. You turned around and watched as he rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand and yawned. “Hey Artie, go back to sleep buddy.” You walked over to him and gently pushed him back into the pillows. He nodded and grabbed your sleeve. 

“Can you get me a glass of water please?” He sounded so out of it. “Of course, buddy.” You grabbed your bag and slung it back over your shoulder. You quietly went downstairs and filled up a glass with water. You sat it on the counter and pulled out your papers and the hefty book you had written from your bag. You spread them all out on the dining room table where Philza was sure to see it in the morning. You hopefully should be back before the time he usually woke up so you could just grab them and trash them when you get back.

Before you got back to Arthur’s room, you shed your bag and TNT launcher by the front door. You didn’t know if he saw them before, but he definitely didn’t need to see them now. Inside, Arthur was propped up on his chin desperately fighting against sleep. You walked over to him and gave him his water, scolding him lightly when he didn’t fully sit up so he wouldn’t choke. When he was satisfied, he put the water on the nightstand and laid back down. He looked up at you with sleep dazed eyes, ��where are you going?”

You froze and sat on his bed, “I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.” He scrunched up his nose and stared at you in annoyance, “no you aren’t, you’re going somewhere.”

You stared at him before you sighed, “I’m just going… to get more redstone. I just need a bit more to finish what I’m working on. I won’t be gone for long, I promise.”

“Can- can you stay here? At least until I fall back asleep?”

“Of course, my little fledgling.”

He looked up at you timidly, “will you always be with me?”

You rubbed your hand up and down his arm soothingly, “I’ll never leave you. Even if I’m away, you’ll always have a piece of me with you,” you grabbed your feather he kept on his nightstand and handed it to him. It was one of your primary feathers you lost in one of your last molts in the house before you left for L’manberg that you found between your bed and your wall. It was an impressive size being about a foot long, but your wings have long since grown bigger alongside your body’s growth. You were about to throw it away one day after doing a deep clean of your old room, but the boy was amazed by the patterns and the size of the feather. So you, being the caring parent you were, gave it to him. Since then, you’ve found him on several instances holding the feather to his chest in his sleep. 

He took the feather and ran his fingers along the vane and stem. You could see him tearing up slightly, so you leaned down and pulled him into a tight hug. “I’ll always be with you, my little fledgling.” You pulled back after placing a kiss on his forehead and ran your fingers through his curly mop of hair soothingly. You softly sang the song Philza would hum to you as a kid and watched as he drifted off to sleep. 

“Love you Ren,” he slurred out before he was completely out. You softly smiled at his sleeping form, “I love you too, Artie. I love you too.” You sat there for a bit absorbing his every facial feature and felt pride and warmth erupt within you. Arthur Fox was your son, your pride and joy. He certainly had a bright future ahead of him. Sighing, you remembered the task ahead of you. You needed to leave soon. 

Reluctantly, you left the room and started to make your way downstairs. “Did he have a nightmare?” A sleepy quiet voice asked from behind you. You jumped and whipped around with your hand flying to the empty holster on your hip before you relaxed seeing Philza there. He looked like he just crawled out of bed, his blond hair stuck up in multiple places and his blue eyes hazy. 

You put a hand over your heart, “Ender Dad don’t do that, you scared the shit outta me. But yeah, he had a nightmare but he’s fine now.” He tiredly hummed, walking over to you and pulling you into an unexpected hug. “You’re a good parent for him. I’m so proud of you for adapting to the responsibility that adopting a kid takes.” You hugged him back tightly and wrapped your wings around him, careful of keeping the metal one barely pressed against him. You both stood there in the middle of the hallway enjoying each other’s presence before you heard him yawn and felt him pull back. You retracted your wings and stepped back. 

“Why’re you still dressed?” 

Shit, “oh, I was just finishing up something in my workshop.”

He deadpanned at you, “you know how I feel about you staying up this late, even if you’re an adult-”

“‘Even if I’m an adult it’s not healthy to constantly stay up this late’ I know, Dad. I’m almost done, I’ll be in bed in like half an hour tops.” He stared at you for a bit before he nodded and started to walk back to his room, “alright, I trust you. I’m going back to bed and I want you to do the same in a bit. Goodnight, (y/n). Love ya.”

“Love you too, Dad.” You waited until you heard the bed creak before you went back downstairs. You grabbed your stuff before you quietly opened the door and checked to see if there were any mobs around. Luckily for you, the nearest mob was only a single 

enderman. With that, you spread your wings and took off into the clear night sky. The weather was perfect for flying. It would’ve been a pleasant night flight if it weren’t for the current circumstances gnawing and nagging at you in the forefront of your mind.

You lowered yourself to the ground upon getting closer to the cave’s entrance and glided into it landing a ways into the cave to avoid any mobs. The ores around you were plentiful, the occasional glimmering of redstone cutting through the darkness. Old burnt out torches hung from the walls was the only indicator that there were previously other people in the cave prior to now. You could only imagine how Arthur looked at the ores with amazement and curiosity. 

As you ventured deeper, you could feel anxiety gripping at your chest and remembered how innocently and naively you craved exploration two and a half years ago. You shuddered as you wondered if the beast still had your feathers and bones scattered about. The torch in your hands sent flickering light onto the dark cave walls casting all sorts of shadows. You pushed onwards through the inky depths of the cave. Deeper yet deeper you walked placing torches wherever you went. 

Eventually, you arrived at the wide opening of the cave. From where you stood, the opening of the cave was massive making you feel miniscule. Even if you were to fully expand your wings to the side, your seven and a half foot wingspan still wouldn’t come close to touching the sides of the opening. The torch in your hand hardly cut through the abyss of the cave, so you made quick work of placing them around the area so you had a clear view of your surroundings. 

The cave was as you remembered it, but if you looked close enough, there were plenty of stalactites and stalagmites that weren’t there before. You could see faint dark brown stains on the walls and floors in scattered places, the stains of the miners that did not come back. The stench of rot, mildew, and decay emanated from deep parts of the cave, becoming almost unbearable in certain points where you couldn’t find anything out of place. Occasionally, you found cracked and broken shards of bone around some of the bloodstains. You even found a tooth and clumps of auburn hair. You shuddered as you remembered how Arthur told you that Hugh had dark ginger hair.

You have only found one of your feathers so far. It was trapped between a fissure in the wall. Crusted old blood decorated and clumped together some parts of the vane. You moved on to examine different parts of the cave. Sculk blocks littered the floor randomly, the tentacles calmly moving about. Soft squelching noises sounded from them; if you held your torch close to one of them, a soft shine could be seen. It was probably slimey. 

If you stopped to listen past the crackling of the fire, you couldn’t hear anything. Besides a slight squelching noise that you suspected was from the sculk blocks and the sound of water droplets dripping, there was nothing. Good, you still could place the TNT. Plan A: commence. 

You made quick work of placing sticks of dynamite between the nooks and crannies of rocks firmly and scattered the TNT along the vast expanse of the cave. Connecting the redstone was tricky though with the amount of TNT placed, but you eventually got everything connected to one and made work of making a trail to the outside. Just as you got started on trailing the redstone towards the mouth of the cave a few hundred feet away, the torches started to flicker. 

It’s here.

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[the-witty-pen-name]

Deadbeat Pt. 8

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

18+ ONLY

Warnings: age gap (reader is 21), fluff, angst, cursing, abandonment, toxic parent, violence, toxic siblings, infatuation, cheating/divorce, insecurity, mild housewife kink, mentions of prostitution, mentions of alcohol, corrupt official, fake relationship, jealousy, jail

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: You work at the bar at the edge of town, the Sheriff is going through a divorce and needs to rent a room.

A/N:

IMPORTANT UPDATE

I made a Google form to be added to my taglists, so if you want to be added, the link is in my bio. I’ll only be adding people to the list if they requested to be added by filling out the form! This way all of the requests are just in one place so I don’t miss requests! Thank you!!!

Also, if you are liking this series, consider checking out my new Lee Bodecker series, The Nanny. Part One

Thank you all so much for reading and sharing my work. Everyone whose reached out and told me how much they love the story really makes my day, oh my gosh!! I love you all so much, I’m so thankful.

This is unedited, and I missed anything I should include as a warning let me know! I hope you all enjoy!

Also, even when this fic is over (it’s not yet don’t worry!), I want to continue writing for Lee and this reader, so send me ideas of what you would want to see! Smut, fluff, I just wanna hear ideas you think would match this story! Like moments of them living together, dreams, or even ideas for one shots of Arvin x Reader when they were dating if you want more from that aspect of the story... anything else you want to see with this story that will be like one shots that are part of this same universe. 

Tags and Requests are OPEN

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six // Part Seven

That’s the funny thing about time. More often than not it’s the one to dictate you and not the other way around. Rationalizations regarding time hardly ever work out in your favor.

Oh, I just need more time for this, and then everything will work out.

Just need to make it through this week and then next week will be better.

If I had had more time, I could’ve gotten everything done.

How often did those actually ever work out? Time, especially in this town, was never an ally. It worked against you, spreading and infecting as fast as a forest fire. Time let rumors spread and time allows for circumstances beyond your control to unfold. It’s the catalyst that expertly pulls people apart and sometimes if you’re lucky, back together.

Perhaps, two years ago, you would have thought you would have been one of the lucky ones. One of the select few that time actually heals, but you had since given up on that notion. Lee was gone, ripped from you as quickly as he had swooped in. Your job was ripped from you as well, leaving you incapable of supporting yourself. And now you had Tommy back as well you needed to worry about. That was the one positive in the whole mess Lee left you to clean up alone.

The events like a domino effect just tore things done one by one. Now the room is cleaned out and his things are tucked away in boxes in your garage just like his car. It was the only physical evidence that had proved it all had actually been real.

You didn’t even want to try to visit him at first. You were hurt, and felt used. He had kept so much from you, especially your job. His lies had been so effortless. It bothered you immensely. He let you believe you had been able to land it by yourself. Maybe you could have. But now you’ll never know. What employer is going to hire you now?

Tommy got a job fairly quickly and you found a job outside of town, away from the people who knew your name or Lee’s. The article published that revealed Lee had gotten you the job was evidence enough for the town that all the rumors and gossip that they spread with no forethought were actually true. You had slept with him for the job, of course. Some people pinned the blame on him and some on you.

It took you six months of him being gone before you would even go in his room. Anything of yours that had secured a permanent spot there you just went without. But you needed the money, and Tommy had the good idea to get another tenant. He helped you box everything up and move it all down to the corner of the garage, making it all out of sight out of mind.

You had managed to sneak several of his shirts into the bottom drawer of your dresser. You were impressed with how much of a front of indifference you were able to put up. You had made it like an assembly line, and you ignored the tug at your heart at how it reminded you of when he first moved in. Keeping busy kept your thoughts at bay. However, nothing prepared you to what you found in the drawer of his nightstand.

You had just wanted to get the work done fast, removing the whole drawer and dumped the contents into a cardboard box. It was mostly junk, but then a black velvety box had caught your eye. It stood out from everything else. You hadn’t been nosy, and up until this point, you hadn’t given much thought to any of the items you had been packing away. It was a necessity to keep you sane.  But like Pandora’s box, you really just couldn’t control the urge to open it. You reasoned it was probably cufflinks or something for special occasions he just never wore. But the temptation was just too much and you sat down on the floor and fished it out of the half-filled box. You opened it and you immediately burst into tears. Not once had you cried since he had been gone. You hadn’t given yourself the opportunity to, not when there were so many things that needed to be done.

It looked brand new, a gold band with a perfectly round diamond sat perched in the box that he had hidden away in the junk drawer he assumed you’d never have a reason to go through. You distinctly remember Janie’s ring had been white gold, and you remember Lee had told you she kept her ring. He said he didn’t want it back anyways; he had said over coffee one morning. Nope, this was yours and the receipt you found in the cardboard box confirmed it when you saw the date printed on the top. He had gotten it a month before your whole world went to shit.

For the next two weeks, you had kept it stashed away, hidden under the t-shirts you selfishly kept out as well. The weeks really started to blend together, just going through the motions and not really feeling like you were living. You were on autopilot. And before you had realized it, it was coming up on a year. Time had moved somehow simultaneously slow that year and also fast enough for you to lose track. You hadn’t moved on. You were just ignoring it, not wanting to acknowledge the hurt that was still behind your eyes, still as apparent since the day he was carted away.

One night, you don’t know what switch in your mind flipped, but you started crying in the shower and then couldn’t stop until you had cried yourself to sleep. You had just exhausted yourself and the cycle continued night after night as soon as you stepped in the door after work. You were lying on your bed, still in your clothes that you had worn to work even though it was way past midnight. You turned your head and just stared at the bottom drawer of the dresser, your eyes straining from the tears and also from the darkness. Maybe, just maybe, it would make you feel better. You got up, walked over to the dresser and sat crisscross in front of it. It was probably the first conscience decision you had made in weeks. Somehow it made you feel more alive.

Stripping down to just your underwear, and leaving the work clothes haphazardly in piles on the floor, you grabbed one of the t-shirts and pulled it over your head. Just the smell of him cleared your head. The way it was able to just aid your headache was almost instantaneous. It smelled like him. It grounded you, and had the opposite effect you thought it would have. You skeptically believed you were torturing yourself, and grabbing one of his shirts would make you feel worse. For the first time in a while, you felt comforted and finding a candy wrapper in the front pocket just made you smile.

You then pulled out the ring and looked at it, taking it out of the box for the first time. You slipped it onto your left ring finger. It was a little loose, but Lee didn’t do awful guessing your ring size. You didn’t care, you thought it fit perfectly. It was understated and stunning and you had never seen a nicer ring. It was simple, very unlike what your relationship had been. Actually, that wasn’t true, you realized. It was very easy falling in love with Lee, and when it was the two of you, it was perfect. It was the world and circumstances outside of your control that made it complicated. You also realize you had forgiven a while ago, but you had been too stubborn to admit it.

Fuck it. Fuck everything that you let overpower you for so long. What? The old ladies at Church call you a slut? Let them. The amount of weight that words hold over everyone here is so toxic. No one in this town was a saint. The whole town is held hostage by their own twisted dark secrets and the way people get by is just exposing the secrets of others. No one was moral. You hadn’t done anything wrong. What was your crime? You did nothing. Lee was as guilty as sin, but what made them better? What gives anyone the right to decide for themselves his motives, and ignore the good in him to villainize him?

It was early Saturday morning. Getting up from your spot, somehow feeling lighter on your feet, you see its after two in the morning. You settle back into your bed, and the revelation allows you to have the most restful sleep you can ever remember having. You woke up feeling refreshed, and feeling alive. Your head was clear. You still didn’t look good. Your undereye bags were dark and heavy. It would take more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep to remedy those. The pain behind your eyes was still there, but the motive had changed. It was a longing, and a missing of him that weighed heavy on your head.

You wake up shortly after seven and your body doesn’t allow you to sleep in despite your attempts. You get ready for the day, changing into a pair of your fitted jeans that were cuffed, a pair of your Keds and one of your white t-shirts. You grabbed your purse, and made your way downstairs. Tommy had already left for work early and he doesn’t like to wake you. It was probably better, because had he been there, he would probably talk you out of what you were going to do.

The bus was pretty crowded, always was on Saturday morning. You hadn’t realized how close he was to you this whole time until you realized you had been on the bus for less than twenty minutes. This whole time, he had felt so far away, almost like he was erased, even though he was just in the next town. You arrived just as visiting hours had begun. You weren’t even sure you’d be allowed to see him, or if he’d want to see you. You hadn’t come before, and you wouldn’t blame him if he refused to see you. Hell, you didn’t even know what you’d say. You didn’t think about it once. You just wanted to see him.

The guard at the front desk took all your information and got you situated and then you just had to wait. It was probably less than fifteen minutes you had to sit there but it felt like forever. It was that familiar feeling of time messing with you again. Finally, the same guard returned and led you down a really bleak hallway, until you reached a room with a long table, with seats and dividers, and phone receivers. The seats situated across from each other separated by think glass. You gulped, you’d only ever seen rooms like this in the movies, and you shuddered facing where Lee had been stuck for so long. You weren’t the only one there, and other prisoners in beige scrubs were seated behind the glass talking over the receivers with their loved ones.

You took the seat the guard motioned to, and you thanked him. You were trying your best to not shake or show how nervous you were to see him again. You were scared he would hate you for not coming sooner, or he’d say he didn’t want to see you again. You couldn’t blame him. It has been a year. Yet, your heart leaps and betrays you when he walks in and any brave front you had is gone. He looks more tired than you, and his hair is slightly shorter than when you last saw him. But overall, it’s still Lee and goddamn, what you wouldn’t give to break the glass. The silence is deafening when he doesn’t even look up at you when he grabs the receiver. Does he not even want to look at you? He sat down without even looking up from his feet. He looks so defeated.

“Lee?” you ask softly into the receiver; you aren’t even sure if it picked up the sound. Apparently, it had because his eyes shot up at the sound of your voice. His eyes were wide and looked vulnerable as he scanned your face, like he was trying to keep from blinking.

“Oh sweetheart,” he gasps, “I’m so sorry. Everything- all of it. It was all my fault.” He also looks close to tears.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” you say, unable to pull your eyes from his.

“I didn’t expect you to even want to see me, darling,” he admits.

“You left an awful mess I had to clean up first,” you joke, making him chuckle halfheartedly.

“You deserve so much better,” he said sadly, “Settle down with someone your age, with a nice job or something- get out away from this place.”

“Christ, Lee, if I wanted that do you think I’d be here?” you joke. He smiles.

Four months ago, Arvin offered to drive you home from Church. Even with your brother being back, you still ended up going by yourself most Sundays. You weren’t even sure why you still showed up. It was an hour of being stuck in a room with a ton of people where you didn’t even have one ally. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. You had Lenora, who’s sympathetic smiles from across the aisle let you know her silent solidarity, and you had Arvin, who wasn’t one to care what others thought much anyways.

Leaving Church now since the news was finally printed, no one tried to talk to you afterwards except for Arvin and his family. His grandmother was still as sweet as always, but you could see how much she pitied you. Arvin was always friendly still, and he had been so helpful with everything.

“I don’t even care if it was true you know,” he said suddenly, pulling your attention from the open window on the passenger side.

“If what was true?” you ask looking back to him.

“You know, how everyone is talking,” he says in a hushed tone, not wanting to actually say it.

“That I slept with the Sheriff to get the job?” You finish his sentence for him.

“Yeah, I- It doesn’t change anything,” he says, “You’re still you and I don’t care. We’re all human.”

“It’s not true,” you confirm, crossing your arms, and then looking back out at the passing landscape.

“Look (Y/N),” Arvin continued, “I’m sorry about what happened. I feel awful. I want to do anything I can to help you.”

“You’re always such a good friend to me,” you smile, “You shouldn’t be putting yourself out too much for my sake.”

“I want to,” he insists with a smile, “We got a history, you and me.”

“Yeah,” you say with a content sigh.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” he admits nervously. He pulls in front of your house, and as usual he runs over quickly to get the door for you. “And just that we aren’t kids anymore,” he continues, and you nod. You dig for your keys as he talks.

“I got a job, pays pretty good,” he continues on, “You got a good job, and this old house. I know you better than anyone. I know it isn’t that romantic, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I’d love to marry you, if you’d have me.”

“A-Arvin, are you serious?” you ask, your heading whipping up at the sudden proposal you hadn’t anticipated.

“Tell me it wouldn’t make sense,” he laughs softly with a shrug, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Arvin, I don’t want to just marry someone for the practicality of it,” you sigh.

“It’s you and me,” he continues, holding your shoulders gently and his eyes are latched onto yours. “I know I made a horrible mistake, but I have been trying so hard to make it up to you. You’re the only girl I ever loved- I never stopped. I loved you when we were eighteen, I love you know that we’re twenty-two and I swear if you let me, I can love you for the rest of my life.”

“Arvin…”

“It’s always been us, hasn’t it?” he asks rhetorically, “There’s never been anyone else…”

“I’m in love with Lee,” you say hurriedly, cutting him off before he continued.

“You what?”

“I’m in love with Lee,” you say again, slower and much more purposeful. You watch his whole expression fall, and it breaks your heart to hurt him.

“You’re in love with Sheriff Bodecker?” He asks, “That fucking deadbeat?”

“He’s not,” you insist, “You don’t know him…”

“You don’t either, (Y/N),” he cuts you off. “He’s no good and crooked. He manipulated you, took advantage…”

“No, he didn’t,” you affirm.

“(Y/N), he’s a liar, and he’s good at it,” he continues, “You don’t think he just up and told you anything he thought you’d want to hear to just get what he wanted…”

“You’re wrong!”

“He’s an alcoholic, no good drunk who took advantage of you with your mama gone…”

“Shut up!”

“He was using you!”

“You’re wrong, Arvin! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Okay, fine,” he sighs, “Let’s say you’re right. So, you’re gonna wait for him? Wait out the five years until you’re twenty-six? And then after you wait for him to get out, how do you know he wants you? Then what are you going to do? I know right now you hate me, but God, (Y/N), I’m a good guy who only wants to put your happiness first… I’ve always put you first. I love you and I’m not going to make you play a ton of games or keep things a secret. I’ll run around this whole town right now screaming how much I love you at the top of my lungs so the whole town knows.”

“I don’t love you.”

Lee still can’t believe you’re finally here in front of him. He thought about this moment for so long. He had even tried to prepare himself to brace the possibility that you might never want anything to do with him ever again. His dreams would plague him with thoughts of you. Sometimes they were happy, and he’d be woken up with the horrible realization that they hadn’t been true, and others were worse. He’d dream about getting out, and seeing you with someone else. Married, and happy, and he wasn’t the one you settled down with. Sometimes, he wouldn’t actually see you with someone else, it was always just implied, or he’d see you with Arvin.

Most nights he’d jolt awake and be covered in sweat, and he would still be cursed by the images that flashed before him in his dreams. He just thinks about all the things he wished he could change and how much he’s hurt you. He just thinks about all the things he would say if he ever got to see you, or what he would do to try to win you back. Then, other nights, he’d be much more self-deprecating and he’d internally fight with himself about how you don’t want him anymore, and you’d realize he was never what you wanted.

Now, he can’t believe you’re here across the glass. He could see the pain and exhaustion behind your eyes and he hates that he is the cause of it. He can’t stop looking at you, and part of him thinks he’s actually back in his room, having another dream about you that he will wake up from and find himself alone again. His eyes scan your face and just wants to take in every part of you, it had been so long. Then his eyes land on a shimmer of something on your hand and he might just die in his seat.

“You found it?” he whispers, looking at the ring on your finger. You look puzzled and then you follow his gaze down to your hand. You had forgotten you hadn’t taken it off.

“Um, yeah,” you admit shyly, looking down at it, “I assumed it was mine.”

“It is,” he smiles, pressing his fingertips gently to the glass briefly. “If you really want it.”

“It’d be a shame for it to just sit in the box,” you shrug. Neither one of you say anything for a moment, neither one of you not knowing what to say to fill the silence.

“I’m going to wait for you,” you declare, aimlessly playing with the ring on your finger.

“Are you sure?” he asks. He can’t let himself get too hopeful. Not yet.

“I’ve never been surer of anything, Lee,” you affirm.

“I will make it up to you.”

“Yes, you will,” you joke, making him laugh.

“I love you,” he sighs relieved, like the weight of everything that has held him down this past year just vanished. You wanted him, and he wouldn’t lose you.

“I love you too.”

PART NINE

Taglist:

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[moronic-validity]

The Vincent Sinclair’s Boot x Reader Fic

okay so a few notes! 

1) Reader is a trans guy (like your’s truly) 

2) This is smut for the sake of smut, plain and simple.

3) I finished this at 2:30am and I have to be at work at 8. 

This Contains: dubcon/coerced consent, drugs, bdsm, dom vincent, a boot kink, typos, almost murder, masturbation, and car problems! Everything under the cut is 18+!!!

As the temperature gauge crept higher and higher, [y/n] had to kick himself. He had been told to check his oil periodically through the road trip, but more than that, he had always been told to keep an extra thing of 5-20 in his car. Both pieces of advice went in one ear and out the other.

Which left him here, in the middle of nowhere Louisiana, 30 miles shy of Baton Rouge.

The immediate reaction was to get out of his car and scream. Sure, it was near midnight, but there wasn’t anyone nearby, so what was the worst thing that could happen.  The flash of headlights on him and his car answered his question.

Great. Fantastic. Cool.

“Hey, sorry about the yelling,” he called out in the general direction of the headlights. “Any chance you have some 5-20, I’ll be right out of here if you do!”

No response. [y/n] sighed and sat on the hood of his car and watched the car. It was the middle of the night and it was still hotter than hell and humid to match. Without giving it much thought, he pulled his t shirt over his head and sat it on the hood next to him. What did it matter, he had a binder on anyway. Not like anything was showing.

The mystery driver flashed his brights at [y/n], then threw it in reverse and went back to where he came from.

Well that’s fantastic. I’m in the middle of nowhere and someone knows I’m stranded here. Perfect.

Without giving any more thought to it, he got back into his car and went to sleep, his t shirt thrown over his eyes.

The sun didn’t wake him up, the tapping on his window did.

[y/n] scrambled into an acceptable position and pulled his still damp t shirt on. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he was able to see the man standing near his window. The man wasn’t intimidating or anything, but the situation was odd and [y/n] was immediately warry.

“Sorry ‘bout that, didn mean to startle ya or nothin,” The man with the green hat said with a small laugh, “it just looked like ya might need some help, most people don like sleepin in their car this time a year.”

[y/n] squinted at the guy. It wasn’t due to the accent or the look of him, the sun just happened to be right in his eyes. The perfect start to another fantastic day.

“Uh yeah, I’ve definitely had better days. Any chance you know where to get a quart or two of oil?” He asked, ending it with a still tired yawn.

“I could give ya a lift into town, ‘m sure Bo will help you out at the station,” The green hatted man offered helpfully.

“Actually, that’d be wonderful, thank you…” [y/n] realized that he just accepted a ride from a man who’s name he didn’t even know. His mother would be so proud.

“Lester, Lester Sinclair,” Lester said with an extended hand.

“[y/n], [y/n] [l/n]” He took the other’s hand and gave a firm shake. [y/n] was acutely aware of the tacky reddish-brown smudge that was now on his hand.

The ride into town was quite, aside from the rumble of Lester’s truck and the sound of tires throwing rock.

“So where’re you headed?” Lester asked, glancing over at [y/n].

“Ah, no direction, wanted to go up, down, coast to coast. Want to see a little bit of everything, I guess,” [y/n] picked at the skin around his index finger, “I’ve only broken down once, so I figure I’m doing okay.”

“Welcome to Ambrose, I know it probably isn where ya wanted t’ go, but there are worse places.” Lester said cheerfully.

The ride went back to being quiet.

“Oh shit,” Lester whined, more to himself than anything else, as he threw the car in park and jumped out, “ya wouldn’ mind givin me a hand flipping the hubs, would ya?”

What the hell does that even mean? {y/n] thought to himself as he hopped out of the car to help Lester with the task anyway. Help was a bit of a strong word for what [y/n] did, it was more get in the way and offer moral support. Lester appreciated the gesture and the company. Most people jumped out of the car and fled into town by this point.

The two got back into the truck and drove right on into Ambrose and parked in front of the service station.

“Now, you wait here, Bo ‘ll be ‘round soon,” Lester dropped [y/n] off with a wave then drove off to wherever he worked. It occurred to [y/n] that he never thought to ask.

It also occurred to [y/n] that he’d have to walk back to his car or hope that someone in town would be willing to give him a ride. Just one more thing. He sighed and sat with his back against the wall of the station.

At least there’s shade. It’s already starting to feel like the devil’s armpit, but at least there is shade.

Time passed, could’ve been hours, could’ve been minutes.

No, it was definitely hours.

Around the point [y/n] was sure that this Bo guy would have to pry him off the cement with a spatula, Bo happened to come down the road and up to the door of the station, near where he was sitting. Bo stood within arm’s distance as [y/n] pushed himself up off the sidewalk.

“I take it you’re Bo? [Y/n] [l/n], Lester said you might have some oil?” [y/n] offered the man he assumed to be Bo his hand. Bo flashed [y/n] a smile that seemed to try to hard to be charming.

“Well, I’d introduce myself but you already know who I am,” Bo chuckled. He was in a suit and tie, didn’t seem like he was dressed for his line of work. “ Let’s see if we can’t get you back on the road, hm?” He hummed to himself as he unlocked the door to let the two men into the store.

There was no AC, and that was the first problem [y/n] had with the station. The second problem was that there appeared to be no oil. Anywhere.

What type of station doesn’t carry oil. Oil. OIL. Walmart carries oil, DG carries oil. Why does this man not have oil.

“Uh….Hey Bo, any chance you have some oil in the garage that you’re willing to part with?” [y/n] asked, while squatting and looking at another shelf devoid of oil.

“I’m sure I could check,” Bo said, his voice drifting further away. [y/n] kept looking.

“So I’ve got some bad news, I don’t have any oil down here;” ,” Bo said as he re-entered the store, wiping his hands down on a grease rag, “Good news though, I got my restock shipment in yesterday and just haven’t gotten around to bringing it down from the house. I’m more than willing to let you wait here while I go up to to get what you need, but you look like you need something to drink.”

[y/n] thought it over. This would mark the second time in less than 24 hours that he went somewhere with a random stranger, but at least this time he knew the guy’s name.

Well, the south is known for its hospitality, so I might as well go and get something to drink.

“I’d really appreciate something to drink and thank you so much for the help,” [y/n] said, suddenly aware that his mouth felt like it was full of glue.

The pair were about halfway to the house, when [y/n] finally felt the need to ask about the suit.

“Okay so, I know it’s absolutely none of my business, but why are you wearing a suit? Isn’t it a bit hot for that?” Bo stopped moving at [y/n]’s question and seemed to consider a few possible answers before he nodded to himself and kept walking.

“Well, it’s not the heat that gets you, it’s the humidity,” he chuckled to himself, “and uh,” he paused to clear his throat, “My mom passed on, was at her service.”

“Bo, I am so sorry. If you don’t mind, I’ll be sure to pay my respects before I leave town,” [y/n] couldn’t help but feel intense sympathy for Bo.

He left his mom’s funeral to help me get some oil so I can get back on the road. Holy shit.

They walked in silence for the rest of the day, [y/n] was unsure how to comfort this stranger, so he just followed the other man’s lead. Silence.

Bo unlocked the door when they got up on the step and lead [y/n] into the house.

“Washroom is down the hall if you need it, the door should be open,” Bo motioned towards the washroom, “Make yourself at home.”  

With that, Bo was in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of sweet tea. [y/n] decided to take Bo up on his offer of a washroom. Once the door was shut, he fought with his binder for a minute, before finally getting it off his chest, letting it hang loosely around his neck. At this point, it just felt good to take a few deep breaths. After a few minutes passed, [y/n] pulled his binder back into place, swore he’d keep it off until he hit the next rest stop, then went back out into the house and met Bo in the kitchen.

Bo handed [y/n] the glass of sweet tea, condensation already beading on the sides. Nice and cold and incredibly sweet, it even tasted southern. And a bit salty. [y/n] had never had homemade sweet tea before, so he assumed that maybe that just happened sometimes with the tea when it cooled.

The room started to sway.

“Hey, [y/n] maybe you should sit down, looks like the heat is getting to you,” Bo said, worry in his voice, but a smile on his lips, “maybe you ought to lay down for a bit.”

Not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all.

That was weird, he tried to say it out loud, but his mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Bo helped [y/n] to sit on the couch and as his vision started to darken, [y/n] swore he saw another person enter the room.

When [y/n] came to, he realized a few things in short order. It was much darker, he was not on the couch, and he was restrained to the metal table he way laying on. Ever the optimist, he was thankful for the fact that he still had his clothes on and also for the fact it was much cooler wherever he was.

A tall man with long dark hair entered his line of sight. [y/n] had a few ideas of things to yell at him, but instead, took a different approach.

“So, either I’ve been asleep for a really long time, or you’re not Bo,” [y/n] said, turning his head to get a better look at the man. The man’s shoulders shook, like he was laughing without the noise.

Okay so he can’t talk. Noted.

The man turned around to face the table and made sure his hands were in clear view as he signed, “Vincent.”

The motions were smooth and [y/n] caught it near immediately.

“Vincent is a nice name,” he mused, giving Vincent a charming smile of his own, “I’m [y/n]. Now, I do have a few questions, mainly, why am I tied up?”

Vincent turned his back on [y/n] and went back to preparing the paralytic, deciding to make it a bit stronger so the man on the table wouldn’t have to be awake for the worst of it. When he turned around and [y/n] saw the needle, the reality of the situation began to sink in and things snapped into focus.

“Hey Vincent, I don’t know what’s in that needle, but I promise you don’t have to do whatever it is you’re about to do,” [y/n] tried to keep his voice level as he squirmed and fought against the restraints, “I know we don’t know each other, but I swear you don’t need to do this.”

Vincent watched him writhe on the table and considered his options.

“Please, can we talk this out, please,” [y/n] continued to beg, tears forming in the corners of his eyes and bruises already forming at both his wrists and his ankles from the jerking around. Desperation in one hell of a drug, because in no other situation could [y/n] see himself saying, “I’ll do anything to convince you.”

Vincent set the syringe back down and walked up to the head of the table and gripped [y/n]’s jaw and turned his head to make sure he saw when he signed “Are you sure?” he drew it out to emphasize the importance of the question.

Was [y/n] sure? No. No he wasn’t, but he wasn’t in a place that allowed many options. Behind door one? Death! Behind door two? A questionable fate that could very well still end in death!

Yeah, I’ll go with door number two, please.

[y/n] nodded, Vincent’s hand still not leaving his jaw.

Vincent considered the situation for a moment. He considered the number of girls that Bo had brought to him after he had had his way with them at the station. Girls had never really been Vincent’s speed.  There were plenty of attractive guys who had come through, but mostly they were either already dead or just spit curses at him. [y/n] was different. No threats, no insults, he was shockingly calm, all things considered. Vincent stroked up and down the side of [y/n]’s face, bringing his hand into the smaller man’s hair and pulling, eliciting a soft whimper.

“I want you to show me,” Vincent signed before undoing the restraints at [y/n]’s ankles. As for his hands? His hands were going to stay bound, but a change of position was still needed. Vincent kept eye contact with [y/n] as he undid his wrists.

[y/n] sat up on the table, moving slowly as to not startle Vincent. The last thing he wanted was to scare the guy who probably had a half dozen ways to kill him in arms reach. His wrists ached and were bleeding in some places. He rubbed at his sore joints before Vincent snapped his fingers, pointed directly at him, then down at the floor near his boot clad feet.

[y/n] had the opportunity to make a run for it, but instead knelt at Vincent’s feet. Vincent put his hand out and without thinking, [y/n] rested the side of his face against it. Vincent’s face burned beneath his mask, that was not what he needed the man to do. He pulled his hand away and gently slapped at the kneeling man’s face, not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough for him to know that that was not the desired action. The kneeling man was a quick learner and when Vincent put his hand out again, he reluctantly placed his wrists in the larger man’s hands.

[y/n] was not thrilled at this situation, but he was also a simple man, and for all the terror in the situation, Vincent was a large man with shockingly soft hands that were big enough to envelop both of his wrists, who had complete control over the situation. Should he be getting wet due to the situation? Absolutely not, but in the one psychology class he took in high school, it was mentioned that fear and arousal were close together in the brain.

Vincent saw the bruising and blood on the smaller man’s wrists and was careful when he rebound them. Sure, he was planning on killing the guy, but his plans had changed. He threaded a rope and carefully suspended his wrists so that his wrists would remain above his head.

[y/n]’s first thought was that Vincent wanted head. Most guys he had met enjoyed getting head, so it did make sense. He carefully pressed his cheek against the man’s crotch and nuzzled against it, then looked up and into Vincent’s eyes for any sign. Instead, Vincent just lifted his knee and pushed [y/n] off of him like he was a disobedient dog.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as to what he wanted, if not a blow job. He was further confused when Vincent lifted his boot clad foot and pressed it into the smaller man’s pelvic bone, hard.

Oh.

The pressure of it was enough to lift him up just a little bit more and it had him wetter than he thought he could be in a situation like this. He pressed down onto the shoe and began to grind against it, shamelessly chasing the friction it created.

Vincent groaned. His cock twitched as he watched the man’s lewd display. He didn’t want [y/n] to touch him, not yet. There was still the chance that could go horribly wrong, what Vincent wanted was to see exactly how desperate the man was. Vincent began to palm himself, stroking through the fabric of his pants while he watched.

The answer was very. [y/n] was very desperate. [y/n] was desperate not to die and now, now he was also desperate to cum. He pressed himself harder against the toe of Vincent’s boot and rutted against it, groaning loudly when it pressed up against that bundle of nerves. He began to fall into a rhythm that hit every sensitive spot he could reach.

Vincent’s hand was now in his pants as he stroked himself to the same rhythm [y/n] was fucking himself to. God,  Vincent thought to himself, this man was making an absolute whore of himself. It might not be a bad idea to keep him around. Could make work slightly less taxing. Then the bound man made a sound that snapped Vincent out of his thoughts and almost made him cream his pants.

He was getting so close, he had thrown himself so into chasing his high that he almost forgot that the circumstances that brought him to this were less than desirable. He pressed began to rotate his hips so that bundle of nerves caught significantly more pressure and more friction. He let out a loud, needy whine.

“Please Vincent, please tell me I can cum, I’ve been such a good boy, please God, Vincent,” the words came tumbling out of his mouth, he was babbling and begging for a different release now. Vincent bucked into his own hand, listening to the whines and pleas.

Tears were starting to form in [y/n]’s eyes again, he was trying so hard to be good for Vincent, trying so hard to be his good boy. Sure, less than an hour ago, he wanted nothing more than to be as far from him as possible, but God, he was so close to cumming and he just needed Vincent to tell him he had been good. Hadn’t he been good enough to deserve release?

Vincent pressed his crotch against [y/n]’s face and continued to jack himself off. He didn’t want the man’s mouth, but he wanted the proximity. He was so close to his own release. So so close, all he needed was-

“Oh GOD, sir please, I’ve been so good for you, please sir. Tell me I’ve been a good boy for you, tell me I’m your good boy, please sir; oh my God, please, please,” [y/n] continued to babble, now crying for release against Vincent’s aching cock.

Yeah, that just about did it for him. Vincent’s orgasm took him hard and left a sizable stain that leaked into the front of his pants and against the begging man’s face. Vincent closed his eyes, lost in his own release. When things snapped back into focus, he realized the other man was still whining pitifully, still having not came.

Vincent had to admit, he was impressed at the man’s willpower, it was oddly attractive to him that the man refused to grant himself pleasure without permission. This could actually work out wonderfully, Vincent thought to himself.

He took the rope in his free hand and yanked on it hard enough to knock the [y/n] off balance. He looked up at Vincent as he tried to regain balance. Vincent let go of the rope and let him drop onto his knees, but his eyes were still locked on his masked face.

Vincent thought about it for a moment before signing “I want you to cum.”

That was all [y/n] needed to hear before going back to rutting against the shoe, quickly going over the edge and coating the toe of the boot in his fluids. He braced himself against Vincent’s leg, mumbling thank yous as he came back down. Vincent allowed this to go on for a short while, before cutting the rope and pressing [y/n]’s face down to the still wet boot.

Vincent used one hand to yank [y/n]’s hair to make the blissed out man look up at him, with the other hand, he calmly signed “Clean it up.”

[sapphirelass]

Two Peas in a Pod - Harry PotterxSister!Reader

Please note:

1: I don’t own any of the gifs used, nor any already established characters, so credit to the authors and original creators - You have done a phenomenal job :)

2: English is not my native language, as I was born and raised in Sweden. I have, however, studied English for almost a decade, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem, I just thought I’d let you know ;)

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

For this one-shot I have taken inspiration from both the book and the film, as well as left out parts of the original dialogue that, for the purpose of this story, felt irrelevant.

Word count: ≈ 2400

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

You probably already knew this, but still XD

(Y/N) - Your name

(Y/N/N) - Your nickname

(Y/H/C) - Your hair colour

(Y/H/L) - Your hair length

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Two Peas in a Pod

Harry Potter and his twin sister (Y/N) were like two peas in a pod. Always had been. Supposedly, that was what happened when young magicians had to grow up with muggles, especially if those muggles were named “Dursley”. Harry was always more impulsive, whereas (Y/N) took on the role of the rational one, yet they had both been placed in Gryffindor house by the sorting hat four years prior.

It was now the first of September 1995, and last year had been a rough one. Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard who had killed Harry and (Y/N)’s parents, had just come back and despite their efforts, this holiday had been more miserable than any of the previous ones. Dudley and his friends, dementor attacks, and a general lack of communication with the wizarding world left the twins in a particularly bad mood. They arrived at Kings Cross, and after pulling Harry away from Draco Malfoy, (Y/N), her brother, Ron and Hermione boarded the Hogwarts express, and found a place to sit.

During the start-of-the-year feast, the small group of friends quickly realized that something was wrong. Their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor - Dolores Umbridge - was a ministry employe, which was weird on its own, but the way she spoke, acted, and kept interrupting Dumbledore with shrill, irritating *hum hum*’s made them all feel queasy.

After a quiet discussion in the common room (and quite a bit of loud arguing between Harry and Seamus Finnigan), they went to bed, yawning, and not exactly looking forward to that year’s first period of DADA.

***

They entered the classroom, and to their surprise, Umbridge actually wasn’t there yet. Harry and (Y/N) shared a confused look, but went to sit down, Harry with Ron, and (Y/N) with Hermione. Eventually though, the professor did arrive, her unnaturally high-pitched voice bringing them all back to reality.

“Good morning, class!” she said cheerfully

There was a quiet murmur among the students, and Umbridge shook her head.

“Good Morning!” she said again, this time more sternly. “I expect you to answer me when spoken to.”

A slightly louder “Good morning professor” could be heard, and though Umbridge didn’t seem too pleased, she decided to move on with the lesson.

“Ordinary Wizarding Levels - OWLs” she started. “Your previous teachers in this subject have all been quite questionable choices, however this year things will be the way they were meant to. Open your books on page 4.”

A few minutes had passed before Hermione raised her hand and said “Professor, there is nothing in here about using defensive spells.”

“Using spells?” Umbridge asked, laughing nastily

“We’re not to use magic?” Ron asked

“You will be learning defensive magic in a safe, risk-free environment”

“But”, said Harry, rather angrily, “what good would that do? If we were attacked that wouldn’t be risk-free!”

“Ha!”, laughed Umbridge, “And who exactly do you think would want to attack a helpless child such as yourself? Besides, the education you will receive will be more than enough for you to pass your OWLs, and that is after all just what school is about.” She finished with a smirk, looking rather satisfied with her speech.

(Y/N), who had sat quietly this whole time shifted slightly in her chair, and exclaimed: “It’s not though!

“Sorry?” Umbridge asked, dumbfounded

“School isn’t solely about receiving good grades! It’s about preparing the students for life, and supplying them with the tools and knowledge necessary in order to succeed and improve. If we’re not going to do that, then why, may I ask, is this a mandatory course? It’s already starting to seem rather pointless to me.”

Harry was perplexed. How his sister always managed to, 1: use her words in such a remarkable way, and 2: remain calm through the most infuriating of situations was a mystery to him, however he turned his gaze back towards Umbridge, waiting for her reply.

“Nonsense” She said. “This course is compulsory, and rightfully so!”

“How though?” Inquired (Y/N), pushing it further than she probably should have. “Can you name any situation, apart from the exam, where your teachings will be of any help to us? Or didn’t the ministry consider that?”

That was the top of the iceberg.

“DETENTION!!” shouted Umbridge. “My office, 8:30 would you be so kind, Ms Potter.”

(Y/N) flinched. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, however detention was not something she had to endure very often. That was more Harry’s thing. She sank quietly back onto her chair, and Umbridge continued with her boring, unnecessary lesson, reciting facts and procedures they had all learnt about 4 years earlier. (Y/N) could feel her brother staring, practically burning a hole in her neck, but somehow, probably thanks to Ron, he kept quiet for the rest of the class.

An hour later, class ended and none of the Gryffindor students wasted any time getting out of Umbridge’s classroom. (Y/N) threw her stuff into her brown, leather bag and dashed out of the room without making eye contact with her brother or friends.

“(Y/N/N)!” Harry shouted. “Wait up!”

He caught up with his sister on the stairs leading down to McGonagall���s classroom.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Looking up at him with an annoyed stare she said “Yes Harry! Just brilliant!” with a sarcastic tone in her voice. She kept on walking, but Harry grabbed her shoulder. A few years ago, they had been roughly the same size, but Harry had grown A LOT, and was by now almost seven inches taller. All the quidditch training had apparently paid off too, and (Y/N) knew instantly that she would never be able to escape his firm, yet gentle grip. He glanced down on her with a worried look on his face.

“I’m serious!” he said. “Stop”

She turned around and faced him. “What?” She spat at him, suddenly noticing her icy voice.

“Sorry…” (Y/N) mumbled, “she just pissed me off. I’m fine.” Her facial expression softened and she met Harry’s eyes for the first time since class ended. He let go of her shoulders, and was just about to say something when a tall ginger came running at full speed and gave (Y/N) a supportive pat on the back.

“That was bloody brilliant!” Ron exclaimed. “(Y/N), did you see the look on her face? Bloody hell, she was angrier than Malfoy after Harry beat him in his first quidditch match!”

“Yes” stated (Y/N) simply, as Hermione made her way down the stairs, “I saw…”

“Oh cheer up!” stated Ron, “an hour or two of detention isn’t the end of the world. If you ask me, it was totally worth it!”

Hermione gave him a disapproving stare as (Y/N) sadly stated, “It might not have been the cleverest thing to do” Both Harry and Hermione blinked at her with a sort of “you-don’t-say?” kind of look as she kept on speaking. “But you must admit that it’s the truth? Defence against the dark arts has never been as important as it is right now. We are all going to die before the end of the year unless we learn and improve?!”

“You’re right.” Hermione muttered, and surprisingly, she smiled slightly. “But we’ll have to talk about that later, otherwise we’ll be late for transfiguration. Come on!”

***

The rest of the day went by rather quickly, and the quartet soon found themselves in front of the fireplace in the common room. It was about 8:20 when (Y/N) stood up, grabbed a jacket, and left for Umbridge’s office.

“Good luck!” Harry said, frowning deeply, “I’ll wait for you here.”

(Y/N) turned around quickly, “Haz, you don’t have to. I’ll be fine. You need your sleep and I have no idea how long this is going to take.”

Harry gave her a sort or irritated look, to which she sighed and left without a word.

“What do you think she’ll have her do?” Hermione questioned.

“I don’t know” Harry hissed, “but I’m sure she’ll tell me when she gets back...”

The remaining three looked at each other. Ron threw Harry a chocolate frog, and then - they waited…

***

*knock knock*

There was a slight clinking noise, like metal on china, followed by a repulsing “come in”. (Y/N) took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

“Ah!” chirped Umbridge, “Potter, sit down, will you?”

(Y/N) apprehensively made her way across the room to the chair her so-called “professor” had pointed at. She sat down and looked around nervously.

“You will be writing some sentences for me today, no” Umbridge said, as (Y/N) reached down to her bag to pick up something to write with. “no, not with your own quill. You’ll be using a rather special one of mine.” She smiled evilly, and pushed a black, pointy feather across the table.

(Y/N) grabbed it carefully and asked in a silent, trembling voice, “what should I write?”

“Oh, right! How about… ‘I must obey my superiors’?”

***

It was about three hours later, when (Y/N) slowly made her way back to the common room, red, hot blood dripping from her left hand leaving a small trail through the corridor. The pain had intensified, and was by this point almost unbearable. She took a quick detour to the girls’ bathroom, hoping to be able to clean herself up a bit before having to face her friends and brother. She had told him to go to sleep, after all, it was almost midnight by now, but she knew him all too well. The odds of him being in bed were absolutely zero.

She watched the thick, red liquid disappear down the sink and let a few tears fall, before grabbing some paper making sure no tears or blood could be seen. She had to make it through the common room up to the dormitories quickly though, since she was sure Harry would be able to tell she’d been crying, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Sure, she could just tell him, but something inside her argued against that. He had been rather angry and distressed all summer, and she knew he wasn’t feeling much better now. Harry had enough to deal with without handling her problems too.

Entering the common room, roughly four seconds had passed before her brother was by her side.

“Hey,” he said gently, “everything okay?”

She nodded and mumbled a quiet. “Yes. ‘m tired though, night Harry”

She walked the stairs up to her dorm, leaving Harry behind. He simply stood there dumbfounded. What had just happened? “Oh… okay, night (Y/N/N)”

She didn’t answer…

***

The following morning, he found her at the breakfast table, slowly digesting a tiny portion of porridge. She was wearing one of his old quidditch jumpers underneath her cloak. He knew, because it was far too big for her, and the sleeves reached down to her fingertips.

“Hey,” he said, ruffling her (Y/H/L), (Y/H/C) hair, “Feeling better?”

“Sure, “ she murmured, slowly pulling the sleeves even further down. He gave her a supportive hug.

“But come on now, “ he urged her. “You can’t be sad forever. What did she have you do?”

“Nothing…”

“(Y/N/N)!”

“Just write some sentences. It was fine, rather dull to be honest with you.” She threw the spoon into the bowl, and pushed it away. “How are you feeling? Any bad dreams?”

“Always…” he muttered, shaking his head at the milk that had splashed out on the table, “could have been worse though.”

Harry made himself some toast, as Ron and Hermione joined them in the great hall.

***

A week or so later Harry had had enough. It was in defence against the dark arts, on a rather cold Tuesday afternoon that he finally snapped, and shouted at professor Umbridge, who seemed almost too happy for a reason to give him detention.

The gang sat, yet again, around the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, when Harry suddenly left and climbed through the portrait hole. He came back a few hours later, a downright furious look on his face, and walked straight up to his sister without even noticing the ghost he had stumbled through. He looked down at her smaller frame, his quidditch jumper yet again pulled over her head.

“Let me see, ” he said through gritted teeth, causing (Y/N) to look up at him, trying her best to act confused.

“Wha…”

“(Y/N) - let. me. see.” he repeated firmly, his emerald eyes penetrating the mental wall behind which she had been trying so hard to hide her troubles.

She closed her eyes and pulled her sleeve up to her elbow. The blood had naturally dried, however five heart wrenching words were etched into her still red, irritated skin.

I must obey my superiors

No one said a thing. (Y/N) was staring at the floor, not daring to meet her brother’s eyes, all while Harry felt madder than he ever had before.

Madder than when Dudley had been pushing him around the school yard.

Madder than when Malfoy had taunted him because of the dementors.

Madder than when he had found out that his aunt and uncle had lied about their parents true fate for almost 10 years.

This was his sister, and it was far from okay.

Without thinking, Harry was just about to shout at her for keeping something like that from him, when he noticed that she was crying. Soft, quiet sobs that she were clearly trying to hide. It felt as if all his anger simply washed away, and he crouched down and took her hand in his.

Harry’s hand was still covered in blood. He hadn’t had time to clean it, but had instead taken the shortest way to the common room, after realizing what had happened. Raising his right hand, he pulled her closer and felt her lean her head on his chest. They sat like that, arms wrapped around each other, for hours and slowly started drifting off to sleep.

Were they okay? Not at all. Would they be? Absolutely! Because they had each other, and when it really came down to it, that was all they needed, as the Potter twins were just like two peas in a pod.

~ L

Masterlist

[sapnxps]

(WTL) Chapter One: Greg the Neighbor- Georgenotfound x Reader

If I knew that when I moved to London, I'd have two weird neighbors, I'd laugh in your face. Now I'm friends with an old cat lady. Now I'm enemies with my cute neighbor that's definitely not single, who also screams too much.

Even though he's a dick, why can't I stop thinking about him?

My parents told me I’d regret moving to London from the state before I left because I’d miss them and the US too much.

They were half right.

I’m sitting on a box messily labeled ‘kitchen’ in the hallway of my new apartment complex. I huff, wiping the sticky sweat from my forehead. The moving bill is almost 4 thousand dollars. If I knew moving would be this expensive, I wouldn’t have moved out from my parent’s house until I was 40. Sure, I moved a lot of my belongings across the Atlantic ocean, but 4 thousand dollars? Who do I look like, Jeff Bezos?

Today has been hectic, to say the least. Three of my boxes somehow drifted away to Spain. Don’t ask me how that happened, I don’t even know. I’ve been unpacking by myself all day. A box of my kitchenware got shattered upon arrival. I should’ve listened to my Mom on that one, she told me to just buy plates and glasses here instead of shipping them here. Big mistake I’m never making again. Finally, the biggest chunk of my problems: My apartment is full of boxes and I don’t feel like unpacking. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress for two days, maybe not, but I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. If one more thing goes wrong, I think I might lose it.

Begrudgingly, I lift myself up from the box I was sitting on. It’s a bit dented now, but the way it felt on my ass, it’s just pots and pans. I open the door, pulling this box into my apartment. I weakly push it into the kitchen. It collides with one of the boxes filled with shattered plates. The sound of the broken glass sliding across the box sounded like nails on a chalkboard. I need to make a note to properly dispose of that. Turning my head to look around my new home, I feel my brain's short circuit. All these boxes unpacked, I’ve barely made a dent. This is going to take for-fucking-ever. Moving is modern-day torture. Oh, that’s funny. Remember to tweet that later.

The next three hours of my life are taken up by filling up my kitchen cabinets and drawers with cutlery and various kitchen utensils. The counter was now less bare, housing my toaster and breadbox. My Tupperware containers sat in a special place in the far-right cabinet by the sink. It looked like this home was lived in, as long as you didn’t glance anywhere else besides the kitchen.

I soon after tackled the bathroom, which was the less intimidating room compared to the living room and bedroom. I got the shower curtain hung up, which made it look nice. The rug found its way to the floor, protecting my feet from the cold, cream tile. The shelves were now stocked with a few fluffy peach towels and soaps. Underneath the sink had cleaning supplies as well as spare toilet paper. Living alone meant having nobody to give you another roll if you finish the other one. Kinda sucks. I had a boyfriend during high school, and two years into college. I dreamed of living with him, we planned it all out. I’d finish college, we’d move to a city and rent out the tiniest apartment we could find. We’d live it out until eventually we made ends meet and the rest would be. Dreams cut short though, he cheated. It’s part of why I left in the first place. Needed a change of scenery, new people.

That’s where I am now. New people. Stuck on that part. Haven’t gotten a chance to meet any, which is oh so tragic. I can’t decide if I want to introduce myself to the neighbors or let them come to me? I’m stuck pondering on the thought until I hear a knock at the door. I wonder if my lost boxes have mysteriously arrived.

Opening the door, I’m greeted with an older woman, holding out a small cake into my space.

“Hi dear, I’m your neighbor to the right. Heard all the commotion, saw all the boxes. I had to see for myself the fresh meat in the complex,” She paused before lightly tapping my arm with her free hand. “Just teasing! It’s great to have another lady on this level. The young man to your left, handsome fella, never comes out much though. Hopefully, we can have a girl posse or something,” Her posh accent made her much different than me. Is it wrong to already feel isolated?

I grin at her, moving out of the way to invite her in. “Nice to meet you, feel free to come in. I apologize for all the boxes scattered around, moving has been proven to not be quite my talent,”

The woman smiles brightly at me, shock plastered on her face. “You’re American!”

“That I am,” I chuckle. She hands me the cake, which I gladly accept. My diet has consisted of soggy hash browns from the complex lobby. She makes her way to what is settled in the living room, politely setting herself on my suede blue couch across from the large wall in the room. I place the cake on my counter by the stove, making a mental note to grab a slice once the woman leaves.

The shock never leaves her aged face, “Oh goodness! How amazing. I have a foreigner as my neighbor. You’ll find London quite lovely. I know how it feels to be isolated and removed from what you’re used to, but I promise you’ll fit right in,” She says as I settle myself on the loveseat a bit away from the couch.

“Where are you from?” I ask. She obviously isn’t American.

She smiles, “Just a bit east of Surrey. South of London. Beautiful area, grew up on a small cottage,” The woman was glowing as she spoke of her hometown. She was obviously proud of where she grew up. Compared to my southern Arizona town, this place seemed like heaven. A cottage? Sign me up.

“Sounds lovely,” I speak truthfully.

“Welp,” The woman slaps her laps, a way of signaling it’s time to end the conversation. Despite only speaking for a small amount of time, she seems like someone I can come to if I ever have questions about London or the terminology that I hear around the city. I’ll need to remember that she’s the neighbor to the right. As she began to see herself out, I remembered the other neighbor she mentioned. The young man to the left. I believe she used the term ‘handsome fella’ to describe him. Once she was out in the hall, I felt the need to find out more information.

“Oh!” I shout, hanging myself out into the hallway. She pauses her steps, turning back to me. “By the way, who’s my other neighbor? The guy you were telling me about. Does he have a name?” I ask.

“Greg,” She nods, resuming her short walk back to her apartment.

Greg. Ugly name.

I completely forgot about the conversation by dinner time. As I was munching down on my cake, delicious by the way, I heard loud yelling from my right side. I wouldn’t even call it yelling, more like high-pitched screaming. Who was my neighbor over there again? Greg? Greg. He was causing a ruckus and a mere heart attack at that. He was screaming so loud I nearly jumped out of my skin the first time I heard it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s facing a very, very gruesome murder right now. Well, I guess I don’t know any better. I’m just wishing for the very best.

Another hour passes. The yelling never stops. It’s only 8, but my body is as awake as ever. I still have yet to get used to the new time zone. At times it was difficult, but I’m using it to my advantage now. I have some extra time to unpack and get my actual bed ready. My bed frame was put together professionally during lunch, so that was one thing checked off my list. The mattress I ordered was delivered yesterday. Now it was just the matter of putting the sheets on and preparing my duvet.

Fitted sheets fucking suck to put on a bed. I was currently struggling to put it on my nice mattress. It was edging close to 10 pm. The sky was dark, and I was stuck in some odd mixture of a starfish and the downward dog position. If this moment was a picture, it could be used for blackmail. The closer I got to finally getting the top right corner on my bed, the more stretched out I became. I was like one of those sticky hands you’d get in those toy dispensers at the grocery store. I was just about to get it, when another loud shriek could be heard. In shock, I slammed my head on the bed frame and lost grip of all four corners of the sheet.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mumbled underneath my breath.

Whatever. He probably has a greater reason to be screaming like this, right? Justified shouting, whatever you want to call it. My bedroom is closer to his apartment than the kitchen was. Is it nosey to try to figure out what he’s saying? I don’t want to be that type of neighbor. I’ll continue minding my business because I don’t want to find out some weird shit about Greg that I don’t want to know.

The screaming never stopped.

In fact, if anything, it got louder. And louder. And louder. Is it okay to call the cops here?

It’s midnight now. The next fucking day. And Greg is still screaming at the top of his lungs as if everyone else isn’t asleep. If I saw some normal citizen just trying to get some rest, I’d be fed up. Well, I’m still fed up. I’m also running on a messed-up sleep schedule, so it’s not like I was trying to sleep anyways. My bed is made now, and comfy as hell. I built a shelf to house some of my small decorations, with the entertainment of my noisy neighbor’s yells to accompany me. For some odd reason, it made me feel less lonely.

At about 2, I began to reject the company. I felt irritation grow in my chest as I heard the same high-pitched shrieks that I heard at 8. The annoyance that bubbled in me overtook my politeness. Before I knew it, I was up and in the hallway banging on his door. I didn’t have the time to care about my Daffy Duck pajamas sticking to my legs due to the heatwave hitting England right now. Before I even realize it, my fist is slamming on his door. I never knew I had the power to knock that hard, but my anger and blossoming resentment overpowered me. I continued banging until the door pulled away from its frame. Now I’m face to face with Greg.

Boy was he handsome.

I was met with a man, about 5 foot 9. His dark brown hair was disheveled. Strands of hair laid across his forehead messily. If he wasn’t screaming, I would’ve thought he was sleeping. He was wearing a fluorescent green hoodie with an odd smile plastered on the front. It was a bit large for his skinny frame, that’s unimportant though. His grey sweatpants were twisted on his legs. What the fuck was he doing? His face was delicately shaped. This jawline looks sharp yet fragile like it was constructed of the most fragile rose crystal I’d ever seen. His brown eyes reminded me of caramel, thick and way too easy to get lost in.

“Hi, uh Greg-” I start. I’m just realizing now how close I am to him. The scent of his spearmint gum floods my nostrils. It’s a bit powerful, crinkling my nose at the smell. It wasn’t gross, just very shocking.

“George,” He spat. That’s fucking embarrassing. I’m meeting him for the first time and I got his name wrong. I’m not taken aback for long though, because his attitude oozing from his simple correction was enough to disgust me. I’ve done nothing wrong to him, except maybe get his name wrong. Was my moving too much of a nuisance to him? Poor little British thing, he can deal with it.

I cringe, “Oh, um, sorry.”

He leans into the door frame, sweatshirt adjusting to the movement. Forget a tiny bit large, he was swimming in this thing. “Yeah, no problem. Can I help you or are you selling girl scout cookies at,” George checks his watch. “2 in the morning. If you are, I’m not interested, sorry ‘bout that,” His outfit makes me feel a lot less aware of mine. Despite his face being rather attractive, the outfit makes him look like he just rolled out of bed.

“Oh, yeah. I was wondering if you could lower the volume a bit, please. Or just stop screaming entirely, if possible. I don’t know if you have some weird shouting fetish, but I certainly don’t,” I chuckle. George, however, doesn’t chuckle. Actually, he looks rather unamused. If a human was an art museum, it would be George. Curling into a ball and falling into an endless void doesn’t sound too awful right now. I think I’ll add that to my itinerary. I’ll do it in my bed so I’m at least comfortable while I’m drowning in my own self-pity.

He grimaces, “Yeah. Sure.”

He’s blunt. Got it.

The second I turn my back to the door, it slams. Wow. What a cunt. Shaking the interaction off, I begin to feel the wear and tear of the day beginning to hit me. Moving all those boxes made my muscles ache. The solution to all my problems today seems to be going to bed. Not that I’m not okay with that, just funny. The day before I left for London, you’d think I was shocked by lightning. The electricity that was running through my veins was no match for any ADHD medicine the FDA had ever approved. Now, my body is beginning to fall victim to the earlier time zone. Not that it was a big deal, it was going to happen eventually. These next few days would just entail a difficult sleeping schedule. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.

I quickly find my way back to my own bedroom. The yelling was quieter, but I could still hear George through the thin walls. He was murmuring to someone softly. This apartment complex was all 1 bedroom apartments. He didn’t live alone. How lovely! I made a fool of myself to him, and he was most definitely telling his partner right now. Talk about dignity, am I right?

I scrolled through my phone for an hour, before the screaming returned to its original volume. Would it be overdramatic to say I felt my face go red with anger? I don’t think so. I think I handled the situation as politely as I could. Hell, I even cracked a joke so he could know I wasn’t that upset over the situation! If I knew he was going to resume his disruptive noises, I wouldn’t have been so nice or absolutely hilarious. Nobody that douchey gets my amazing humor. He didn’t even laugh! I hear another shout followed by a slam to a desk. What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

Welp. Welcome to London!

[spencers-renaissance]

baby, you’re my new years’ eve

Summary: You and Emily are hosting a New Years’ Eve party for all of your friends, but she’s acting a little weird. You finally find out why when the clock strikes midnight.

Tags: fluff, nye fic, proposal, getting engaged, domesticity, romance, flirting, day in the life 

Pairing: Emily x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

It’s almost 10am by the time you get back from your morning errands, laden with bags and a dusting of snow decorating your coat. You shrug out of your coat and scarf, peel off your gloves, and kick off your boots as you venture further into the house you share with your girlfriend, a warm safe haven from the frozen wind outside. All the Christmas lights the two of you had put up together a few weeks ago are turned on, and the warm and happy feeling settling in your chest only intensifies when you shoulder the kitchen door open to see Emily awake and drinking a cup of coffee at the table.

“You’re up,” you smile, knowing that Emily likes a lie-in on her days off, and she damn well deserves it, too.

“You’re back,” she echoes, a matching bright smile lighting up her face. She’s still in her pyjamas, a dressing gown thrown around her shoulders, and her hair has been let down from its bun, a slight curl to it after having slept with it up. She looks absolutely beautiful, naturally.

“I am.” You walk further into the room and put your bags down on the kitchen counter, beginning to unpack them. “I picked up some stuff for the party tonight, but I also got you breakfast.” You grab a plate from the cupboard and load it up with the pastries you’d bought from the local bakery, sold to you by the baker who knows both you and Emily by name.

“Oh,” she gasps in delight. “Have I told you lately I love you?” She reaches eagerly for the plate to place it on the table before reaching around for a kiss.

“You have,” you confirm, amused, “you tell me every day, Em.”

“Because it’s true,” she nods with wide eyes through a mouthful of almond croissant.

Laughing, you grab yourself a plate and a few pastries before joining Emily at the table. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Mm, it was a bit broken,” she admits, not quite meeting your eye for some reason. “But I made up for it with a little lie-in this morning.” Emily never sleeps badly at home. She’s always said that sleeping in her own bed with you wrapped around her is the best sleeping tablet she’s ever tried, but you don’t dwell on it too much.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” you say sympathetically. “You could always have a nap early this afternoon. Need to be in the best shape for partying the night away.”

“Yeah, I might do,” she says, looking back up at you. “If I start to feel tired I’ll try and sleep. Anyway, how did you sleep, Y/N?”

“Like a baby,” you smile. “Woke up early so I thought I’d beat the New Years’ Eve rush to buy up the rest of the snacks. Plus, pastries for breakfast… can’t beat that.”

“You definitely can’t,” Emily says, a smudge of icing on her lip. “Thank you for doing that, sweetheart.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, leaning over to wipe the icing off with your thumb, kissing her for good measure. “Icing,” you explain with a grin as you pull away.

“Ah,” she says knowingly, winking at you before leaning back in for another kiss. “Right, come on. Finish your breakfast and we’ll get on with the day.”

The rest of the morning is spent in the kitchen. You’d decided that as much of the food on offer at the New Years’ party the two of you had planned should be homemade as possible, which meant a fridge full of baked goods you’d already prepared but a short list of items that still needed to be made. It was a bit of an undertaking, but it kept you busy. Despite having known the rest of the BAU for years and having been fully incorporated into their family, you still get nervous before each gathering. Being surrounded by powerful, smart, successful FBI agents was always going to be intimidating, no matter how much you considered them your friends.

“Emily, please don’t stick your finger into the butter and then plunge it into the sugar,” you sigh, a little exasperated as your girlfriend shoves her greasy finger into her mouth for the third time.

“What?” she asks, pretending to be insulted. “It tastes good.”

“Yeah, it’s also not very hygienic,” you point out, rolling out the cookie dough.

“Oh, please, what’s a bit of my saliva when you kiss me everyday anyway?” she asks.

“Well, I might think that,” you reason, “but I’m not sure our guests will. Unless you’ve been running around kissing them, too?” You point your rolling pin at her accusatorily as you wait for her response.

“No!” she cries, kissing you in promise of her devotion. “I only have eyes for you, baby. By the way is it too early to have a glass of wine?”

You roll your eyes at that, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a fond laugh. “It’s 11am Emily,” you giggle. “What’s got into you this morning?”

“Nothing,” she says defensively. “I’m just… excited for the party later.”

“Hmm, okay,” you say dubiously, raising an amused eyebrow in her direction. “In that case, you get started on the samosas. Fry up the filling I prepared and roll out the pastry for me? Then all we need to do is put the chips in later on and set it all up.”

“Anything for you, baby,” she smiles, kissing your cheek before getting on with her assignment.

You work together with your ‘happy’ playlist playing over the kitchen speakers for the next hour and a bit to get all the food ready, and by the time the samosas are being fried, you’re both in desperate need of a sit down. “Right, let’s order something to eat and watch an episode or three of Parks and Rec before we need to get ready and set up, how does that sound?” Emily asks as you both begin the mammoth task of cleaning up the bombsite of a kitchen.

“I don’t know, Em, we have so much food in the fridge,” you say, worrying your lip at the decision.

“Yeah, but it’s all for the party tonight, you don’t want to eat it now,” she says, reaching for your hand and squeezing it comfortingly. “Come on, we’ll tidy up afterwards. I’ll order in some UberEats and we’ll relax for a little while. We deserve it after all this.”

“Okay,” you relent, offering her a grateful smile and letting yourself be guided to the sofa by Emily’s hand.

“You’ve done an amazing job at making all this food, sweetheart,” she says warmly, running a hand through your hair. “You should rest for a bit now so you can properly enjoy tonight, yeah?” She tucks a blanket around you and hands you the remote before she pulls out her phone to order you both some lunch.

Sandwiches eaten and two extra coffees polished off, you get started on setting up the house for the party. The leftover decorations from Christmas make the house bright and pretty enough, so it’s fairly easy to make the house look welcoming, but you still have to sort out the food and drink, move the furniture, and put away the valuables. Not to mention getting yourselves ready.

“Everyone’s arriving at 8, right babe?” Emily calls from the kitchen as you move the coffee table to the side in the living right.

“That’s right,” you call back. “But Spencer and Penelope will probably be here early.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Emily says, walking into the living room and leaning against the doorframe as you finish pushing the table aside to make the room more accessible.

“Does this look okay?” you ask, putting your hands on your hips as you survey your living room.

“It looks great, baby,” Emily reassures you, pushing off the door and pulling you into a side hug as you both look at the decorated room. “The Christmas tree is still up which makes the whole room look lovely, and the New Year banner is nice, too. It’s absolutely perfect for what we need it to do.”

“Okay,” you agree, turning to the side to press your face into her neck, kissing her briefly before pulling away again. “Let’s tidy away the expensive stuff and then go and get ready, yeah?”

“Y/N, there are like 15 people coming and nobody’s gonna get off their tits; we don’t really need to put this stuff away,” she promises, but it’s to no avail.

“Well, I’d rather be safe. Even tipsy people can do some damage,” you point out, putting Emily’s mother’s vase in the cabinet along with a few decorations from the mantle.

“Fair enough,” she agrees, heading into the kitchen to continue tidying up after your earlier cooking adventures. You join her a moment later and the two of you work quickly to do the washing up, tidy the counter, and put the dishwasher on. You’re soon looking at a spick and span kitchen, nearly party-ready, and you smile at your girlfriend in satisfaction. “Looks amazing, doesn’t it?” she smiles back at you.

“It does indeed,” you nod. “It’s only 4. You wanna sit down for a bit before getting ready?”

“Absolutely I do,” she says. “Wanna nap with me?”

“Please,” you sigh, grabbing her hand to lead her down to your bedroom. The two of you ditch the trousers and bury under the covers, setting a timer for an hour before promptly falling asleep.

“Want me to wash your hair?” Emily asks as you both stand under the hot jet of water. Your favourite part of moving in with Emily was definitely the shower; you’d moved from a flat with a from a tiny bath and shower combo unit to a beautiful house on the outskirts of DC with a large walk-in shower and the best water pressure you’d ever experienced; it was quite the upgrade.

“Only if I get to do yours afterwards,” you grin, leaning in for a rather wet and soapy kiss.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” she says, spinning you round and pouring a generous dollop of shampoo into her palm, lathering up your hair as she massages her fingers into your scalp in a delicious massage. You can’t help but lean into the touch, just as you always do with Emily, making her chuckle fondly. “Feel good?”

You just let out a happy moan in response, sighing as the water washes the shampoo away and Emily quickly applies some conditioner. “Your turn,” you say, doing the same for your girlfriend as she sighs appreciatively.

You both shave your legs and underarms quickly before finishing up in the shower and towelling off next to one another in the spacious bathroom. “Right, it’s 5.30,” you say, checking your phone while Emily wraps her hair up, “so we’ve got like… two hours, probably, until Pen and Spencer show up.”

“Plenty of time,” Emily says breezily, waving her hand in your direction as you open the bathroom window to air out the humidity.

“Still, better to be early rather than late,” you say pointedly, grabbing Emily’s hand and dragging her away from her perch by the radiator and into the bedroom.

She hums as she drops her towel and peruses her wardrobe. When she turns back around with the dress she plans on wearing, you don’t bother to hide your blatant appreciation. After all these years you’re still somehow blown away with how sexy Emily manages to be. “Naughty girl,” she gasps in mock admonishment. “We don’t have time for that. Your words not mine.”

“Life’s tough,” you sigh heavily, walking over and squeezing her ass lightly, taking great pleasure in making her jump as you pull out the dress you’d decided on earlier in the week. “What do you think?” you ask her.

“It will look absolutely gorgeous, Y/N,” she promises, kissing your cheek. She passes you your bathrobe and pulls her own on as you both head to your adjoining dressing tables to sort out your hair. “Straight or curly?”

“Hmm, straight, I think,” you reply, “you know I love your natural hair. I’m gonna go curly though, so we’ll compliment each other perfectly.”

You put on some music and get ready together in tandem, and it goes about as simply as it can when Emily’s involved. You only have three make-up brushes chucked at you and her desk isn’t a total disgrace by the time you’re finished, so you take it as a win. It’s just gone 7 by the time you’re both dressed up to the nines and ready for the party.

“You look… breathtaking,” Emily says dreamily as she drinks you in, kissing you gently so as not to smudge either of your lipsticks.

“Thanks, Em,” you say shyly. “You look absolutely beautiful, too.” She’s wearing a gorgeous full-length black dress with a deep v neck line and a slit in the right leg. She’s a vision next to your colourful outfit and bright makeup, always complementing one another in just the right ways.

“Right, well, if we both look amazing, it’s time to set out the food, isn’t it?” she asks, winking at you as she leads the way out to the kitchen, shutting and locking the door behind you to prevent any stray party guests from wandering in.

The next hour passes quickly and soon guests are spilling through the door, brightening the whole house with their chatter and laughter, getting started on the wine and party food. Emily is marginally quieter than usual, but you brush it up to her just being tired, especially when she’s roped into a conversation with Hotch and Rossi and immediately perks up.

The whole of the BAU team is here, along with your best friends and the few Couple Friends you and Emily had made over the last few years that made you both feel far too grown up and sophisticated. Your friends quickly mingle in with the rest of the guests, though, which was your biggest worry, so with that relief you let yourself relax and enjoy the party.

Spencer and Penelope snag you into a conversation, plying you with champagne and the samosas you’d made with Emily earlier until you properly let go and enjoy yourself. “Wait, Emily made these?” Spencer asks, slightly incredulous at the idea of his most chaotic friend being even somewhat capable in the kitchen.

“She was supervised, don’t worry,” you laugh, biting into one delicious samosa after another.

“I wish I could cook,” Spencer says as he accepts another one from Penelope’s proffered plate.

“Aw, I’ll teach you baby genius,” Penelope grins. “But I once watched you try and put a croissant in the toaster, so you may be a lost cause.”

“Hey, that was when I’d first joined the BAU,” Spencer protests. “It was the first time I had a salary and could afford such luxuries, you can’t blame me for not knowing what to do with it.” His defenses fall on deaf ears, though, as you and Penelope laugh loudly at his expense. “Derek will defend me,” he eventually mutters before running off to find his boyfriend.

You and Penelope chat easily for a while, introducing her to a few of your friends as you orbit around the downstairs of your house. Eventually, you cross paths with Emily again, who still looks a little tense and quiet. “Hey,” you say, catching her arm and subtly drawing her to the side. “Is everything okay, baby?”

“Yeah, of course,” she says, plastering on a smile you know is fake. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just enjoy the party, okay? We’ll talk later.”

You can’t really enjoy the party when the back of your mind is continually worrying about your girlfriend, but you’re able to circle around the house a few more times, chatting with all of your guests as everyone tucks into the alcohol and food. Before you know it it’s nearing midnight and Emily’s in the corner of the kitchen having a serious-looking conversation with Hotch.

Tentatively approaching, you tap Emily on the shoulder. “Everyone’s gonna watch the ball drop in the living room,” you say. “You coming?” You try and smile as encouragingly as possible, taking her soft hand in yours.

“Yeah,” she says, looking a little flustered and you can see a little sheen of sweat on her forehead, “yeah, of course, baby. Let’s go.” She hands her glass of champagne to Hotch in a sort of weird gesture that has you furrowing her eyebrows, but nevertheless she grips your hand firmly and you swan into the living room which is already housing most of the guests, everyone chatting and laughing loudly. The sight of so many people you love and adore has you smiling warmly, and you press your arm up against Emily’s, resting your head on her shoulder as the 2 minute countdown begins.

“I love you so much, you know,” you whisper, just for her to hear in the loud, excited room. “I can’t wait to spend a whole other year together. I feel so lucky to have you.”

She moves her neck slightly causing you to lift your head and you’re met with a happy, excited smile, all traces of the nervous Emily that had been swanning around the party all night disappeared. “I feel even luckier to have you, sweetheart,” she murmurs. “You have no idea.”

You both lean in for a kiss which is quickly interrupted by Derek. “Bit early, ladies,” he calls across the room, “it’s not midnight yet.” He’s got Spencer curled up under his arm on the sofa, resting comfortably next to JJ and Penelope who have also cuddled up together. Hotch and Rossi are standing by the Christmas tree rolling their eyes fondly at their agents.

Emily responds with a purposeful middle finger and a well-practiced sneer, but Derek can’t reply because soon the room fills with a swell of noise as everyone starts to count down.

Everyone cheers as the new year is rung in, but as you turn to kiss Emily, you’re instead faced with her on one knee, offering an absolutely beautiful engagement ring. You gasp loudly, gaining everyone’s attention and everyone stops their celebration as a happy, expectant hush falls on the room, the TV’s celebration the only sound.

“Y/N, I can’t express how much I love you,” Emily starts, voice confident but you can hear the undercurrent of emotion written all over it. “All I want to do for the rest of my life is be with you. Ring in each new year with you, celebrate every Christmas with you, come home from every hard case to you, eat pastry for breakfast with you. You’re all I need to be happy, and you’d make me impossibly happier if you’d do me the honour of being my wife. So, Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Yes, oh my God,” you reply tearfully as soon as she’s finished, tears spilling down your face as she carefully pushes the ring onto your finger and stands up to hug you. Everyone around you is clapping and cheering and celebrating your love but your whole world is shrunk down to the two of you, Emily’s hands on your lower back, her ring on your finger, the press of her body up against yours.

Eventually though, you pull away and kiss her, turning to face your guests with the happiest smile on your face. Hotch is smiling proudly and all the events of the evening slip into place, so you turn to kiss Emily on the cheek fondly. Penelope is crying, naturally, as are most of your friends and everyone crowds round in excitement, congratulating the two of you.

When you finally get a bit of space later in the night, you ask Emily where she’d kept the ring all evening.

“In my bra,” she answers, grinning widely.

“God, how did I not guess that,” you smile fondly, rolling your eyes. You kiss her anyway, though, because she’s hot and you’re very much in love.

“I’m so fucking happy you said yes,” she whispers, keeping her head pressed closely to yours.

“Did you seriously think I would ever say anything else?” you ask, surprised that Emily could possibly think you’d say no.

“Well, I obviously had a feeling,” she admits. “But you can’t help but feel fearful of the tiny probability you’re wrong.”

“Well I didn’t,” you say happily, leaning forward slightly to kiss her softly on the nose.

“No, you didn’t,” Emily replies, gripping her hand. “I seriously love you so much, Y/N.”

“And I seriously love you so much, Emily,” you grin. “I can’t wait to call you my wife, but I’m dead happy with fiancée. That will definitely suffice for now.”

The guests slowly trickle out as the hours tick on, eager to leave the newly engaged couple to themselves. Penelope and Spencer make you promise to have a catch-up brunch in the next few weeks to which you eagerly agree, and Hotch and Rossi both congratulate you like they’re both you and Emily’s dads. Derek gives you both massive hugs and JJ follows up with much gentler hugs and congratulations.

“Tidy up in the morning?” you propose, making Emily’s eyebrows shoot up; you usually insist on tidying up there and then, but she quickly understands as you start to unzip your dress and walk backwards towards the bedroom.

“Tidy up in the morning, indeed,” she agrees, running after you.

“My fiancée,” you sigh happily as you enter your cosy bedroom, pausing to kiss Emily softly.

“Your fiancée,” Emily agrees with a wide grin gracing her lips, leading you to the bed as you both start off this next exciting chapter of your lives together in the most appropriate way you can imagine.

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez

[jeonsjiddies]

and then came you | pjm (m)

summary - Jimin was having a harder time getting over his unrequited love than he’d like to admit. He was desperate to escape the longing in his chest; he was searching for something to make him feel alive again. Jimin was about to give up hope that he’d ever find anything meaningful to cling to again, and then came you. 

rating- explicit 18+

word count-  7551

pairing- jimin x reader

genre- fluff, smut, angst

Warnings - a little angsty/ a little heartbreak at the beginning, some sexual harassment ( from an ex), mentions of cheating, thigh riding, ice play, creampie, multiple orgasms, slight dom!jimin, Oral (female receiving)

a/n - while this story can stand alone, it is based off the 8 letters AU, which can be found here. :) as usual, all the thanks in the world to @sweetnspicy93​ for all your help and thank you for urging me to give 8 letters Jimin his own happy ending. 

Jimin knew it was a bad idea, but he’d done it anyway. He would’ve done anything for the girl with the soft eyes and the bright smile, the girl who was now Namjoon’s. Jimin thought his crush was small enough that he’d be able to assist in making Namjoon jealous and walk away unscathed. At least she would be happy. That would be enough for Jimin. Or so he thought. 

Jimin’s mind wandered back to the way she looked on top of him, grinding her hips into his. His cock stirred at the memory. Of course, it had all been a show, strategically designed to make her roommate and crush jealous. That didn’t stop Jimin’s heart from slipping a beat when her core ground down onto his member. It didn’t stop Jimin from melting when she’d giggled and covered her face to hide it. Jimin knew it wasn’t real, he’d laughed off his boner, but he let himself enjoy the feeling of her skin under his tongue, the soft noises he drew from her which he knew weren’t completely fake. 

He felt empty, lost. Maybe he was being dramatic, but Jimin felt like he needed purpose. He’d feigned happiness when he saw her tucked into Namjoon’s loving embrace, congratulating the new couple as pieces of his heart chipped away and fell into the black hole of his chest. It seemed like his desire to do anything had faded away as quickly as his grasp on her. Now, he moped about his apartment, listening to the dull roar of the rain outside. It had been weeks since Namjoon had finally cracked and claimed her as his own, and Jimin was tired of feeling so… tired, dejected, lonely. 

Jimin decided he needed a change of scenery. The messy apartment with the dingy walls he had been cooped up in for weeks wasn’t doing anything to help him, he needed a fresh start. He didn’t give himself time to think about it, only packed a bag and scurried out the door, through the pouring rain to his car. He didn’t have a real plan, just decided to hit the open road and let his gut guide him until he found a place to explore. He drove through the rain, letting his excitement seep through his bones as he made random turns and took unplanned exits to get to his unknown adventure. 

Jimin drove for a few hours, deciding no matter where he went he wasn’t going to escape the dastardly rain. He took the next exit he saw, something in his chest guiding  him towards the small town it led to. Near the exit he saw a sign illuminated promising a hotel room for only $35 a night. Jimin, having nothing to lose, pulled into the parking lot. Entering the building and shaking the rain from his dripping hair, he looked around to find the front lobby devoid of any life. 

“Hello?” He called out. 

You didn’t hear him enter the building and couldn't see anything past the stack of boxes you were balancing. He didn’t see you coming around the corner. You tripped over a flipped up rug and went tumbling forward, boxes flying out of your hands and landing haphazardly on the tile floor, contents spilling out and rolling in different directions. You would’ve splattered on the floor much like the contents of the boxes had it not been for the beautiful stranger who currently cradled you in his strong arms. Your palms were pressed flat against his chest, and you could feel the toned muscle under your fingertips. Your gaze traveled up his neck and face until your eyes locked with the deep brown pools of his.  Though they were a dark color, they shone with the intensity of the sun, bright and vivid, so beautiful it almost hurt to look at. Your mouth hung open in shock for a moment at how gorgeous this man was before you came to your senses, stumbling back and out of his grip. 

“I am so so sorry! Are you alright?” You questioned, skimming over his body for any obvious signs of injury. You sighed in relief when you found none.

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” He wondered, eyes searching yours. 

“Yes, thanks to you. Thank you. For catching me.” You giggled nervously. 

“It’s not every day a beautiful girl throws herself into my arms. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” He winked playfully.

You blushed and looked down to hide it and squeaked in surprise, scrambling to collect the contents of the boxes. Jimin leaned down to help you, collecting items and tucking them safely in the box before lifting it and following you to the counter where the both of you set them down. 

“Thank you, again.” you smiled, taking your place behind the desk. “Were you looking for a room?”

“Yes, please.” he grinned back at you, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

Your eyes lingered on the action a little longer than was socially acceptable before you shook yourself back to reality and searched the old, worn down computer system for available rooms.

“Okay, I’ve got a double queen and a single king available. Which would you prefer? They’re both non-smoking rooms.” you smiled politely.

“The single king, it’s only me.” Jimin sighed, his sunshine filled eyes dimming a bit.

“Okay!” you tried not to show your concern, but selected the room and input your employee discount.

“How many nights?” you asked, glancing back up at him.

“Ummm…” he trailed off, looking away as he thought carefully. “Let’s go with seven. For now.” 

“Okay, a one week stay…” your fingers tapped at the keys, and you rung up his total. 

“Okay that will be $187.25. Cash or card?” you smiled sweetly. 

“That doesn’t sound right… it’s for 7 nights right? $35 a night?” he confirmed. 

“I, um, put my employee discount in for you…” you admitted shyly, avoiding his gaze. “It made it $25 a night, plus tax. We’re allowed to give the employee price to friends and family and I was thankful for your help.”

Jimin watched you for a moment, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he appraised you.

“Thank you. That’s… really sweet. Probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” his voice lowered at the end, as if that part was a secret.

“Well, you helped me. I helped you.” you shrugged, trying to play it off and hoping he wouldn’t notice the blaze in your cheeks.

Your hands brushed when he handed over his card and you audibly gasped at the shockwave that shot through you when his skin met yours. His mouth parted in shock as well and you both locked eyes for a moment. One heartbeat passed. Two. The only sound in the lobby was both of you sucking in shaky breaths. 

You gulped, pulling your hand away and swiping his card through the reader. You handed it and a receipt back to him, careful not to touch him again and smiled the most professional smile you could muster. You reached behind you and pulled the corresponding keycard out of its slot and handed it over as well.

“Room 318. If you need anything, you can call me. The front desk number is 0. I’ll be here until 7am, but if you find that Mina is a little too… blunt?..for your taste, I’m actually right down the hall in 338.” you explained.

You weren’t sure why you told him that, you never offered that information to any other customers. Something about him just pulled you in. You wanted to protect him. You wanted to know what was going on in his mind, what could possibly be dimming those glittering eyes. You were enamoured by him, intrigued, fascinated really. 

“Thank you for the heads up…” he trailed off, eyes scanning your shirt for a name badge.

“Y/N. And you?” you offered.

“Jimin.” he beamed at you, causing your heart to skip a beat for probably the 92nd time since you’d laid eyes on him.

“It’s very nice to meet you Jimin. I hope you enjoy your stay.” you told him sincerely.

“I think I will.” he winked, making his way down the hallway towards his room.

*** Jimin couldn’t sleep. He was used to tossing and turning and lying awake until the sun came up, he was no stranger to the way his mind whirled when the silence crept in. He kept himself busy during the day, but when the sun went down, the restlessness set in. Jimin hated the silence. He hated being alone. He glanced at the clock, it was midnight. He sighed and shoved himself out of bed, slipping on his shoes and making his way down to the coffee bar he’d spotted earlier. 

He filled two cups, fixing one the way he liked it and leaving the other black, but grabbing a couple of cream and sugar packets to bring with him. He peered around the corner to see if you were busy before he entered the lobby. You were sat on a stool behind the desk, head leaning on your hand as you struggled to stay awake. Jimin smiled, turning the corner and setting the coffee in front of you.

“Looks like you might need this more than I do.” he grinned, taking a sip of his own. “I wasn’t sure how you liked it so I just brought the extras to you.”

“Oh my gosh. My hero.” you cooed, ripping open the sugar and creamers and dumping them in before taking a sip.

Your head lolled back blissfully and you moaned quietly. Jimin’s eyes widened at the unexpected lewd sound rolling off your pink lips and had to discreetly adjust himself before you noticed the way his sweats got a little tighter. 

“You saved my life. How can I ever repay you?” you giggled. 

“Keep me company? I can’t sleep.” he whined.  

“I’m not going anywhere until 7. You’re welcome to hang out with me here.” you offered.

Jimin hopped up on the desk, swinging his legs back and forth as he peered down at you. You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“Where are you from?” you asked him.

“Just a few hours south of here.” he answered. “I couldn’t get far in the rain.”

“Oh, you aren’t to your destination yet? Why did you book seven days then?” you wondered aloud.

“I didn’t really have a destination in mind. I just wanted to leave for a while. I had nothing holding me there anymore, and I thought a change of scenery would be nice. So I just kinda went where I felt like going and ended up here.” he shrugged.

“Your grand adventure led you to our little town?” you laughed.

“It’s got it’s charms.” he smirked.

You bit your lip and looked down, willing the blush on your cheeks to chill out. Jimin chuckled, the vibrations of his body shaking your desk.

“So what do you plan on doing now that you’re here?” you asked.

“I don’t really have a plan. I just felt kind of suffocated and needed to get out of my dingy apartment and that stupid town.” he left off the part about how SHE was everywhere he went when he did venture outside his apartment, and how every time he saw her hand laced with Namjoons bile rose in his throat.

“Well, on behalf of our tiny town, welcome. I hope you find what you’re searching for.” you smiled.

Jimin stayed perched on your desk for hours, until the sun started streaming through the blinds in the lobby, filling the room with a soft glow. In your opinion, though, the light wafting through the space couldn’t dare compare to the light that came from Jimin. When his head was thrown back and his body shook and his smile reached from ear to ear while giggles and chuckles fell from his pillowy lips, Jimin shone brighter than the sun could ever hope to. 

You both got more comfortable as the night went on, delving into deeper topics, more personal ones. You told each other stories, shared your hopes for the future, It honestly felt like you’d known him your whole life. The conversation flowed easily, there weren’t any awkward pauses or times when neither of you could fill the silence, unsure of what to say. It was easy with Jimin. Being around him made you feel lighter, less broken. Like the light inside of him was seeping out and filling you with hope too. 

You could tell there was something on his mind, something plaguing him. Who else stays up talking to a hotel clerk until the wee hours of the morning? He was running from something when he left without a plan, but he didn’t offer much information on it. Despite the darkness that sometimes threatened to break through his cheery exterior, Jimin was just… bright. It was who he was, a part of him. He was warm, friendly, and welcoming. 

Neither of you had realized the time until the front door of the lobby swung open and Mina shuffled through, her ever-present scowl plastered on her weathered face. She glared at Jimin the moment she saw him. His eyes widened in fear and he slipped his bottom off of the desk, backing away from it. You sent him a look that said ‘I told you so.’

“Shifts over. Go.” she grunted, pointing her disappointed gaze at you.

You nodded quietly, gathering your purse and walking over to Jimin, who was almost cowering in the corner. You nodded for him to follow you out of the lobby and only spoke once you were out of earshot.

“See what I mean?” you giggled.

“She’s terrifying.” he whisper-hissed.

“She’s old and everything hurts. I’d probably be mean if I had to work here at her age too.” you shrugged, “but yeah if you need anything come find me. She definitely didn’t like the way you were sitting on the desk.”

Jimin nodded, covering his mouth as he stifled a yawn. You laughed.

“Did I wear you out talking your ear off?” you teased.

“No, that was the most fun I’ve had in a while to be honest.” he chuckled. 

“Happy to help.” you smiled shyly, pausing in front of his room with him. 

He hovered by the door but made no move to go in. You didn’t make a move to leave either. You both laughed at how ridiculous you were being. You placed your hand on his arm.

“Goodnight Jimin, sleep well.” 

Suddenly, Jimin pulled you towards him, his arms wrapping tightly around your frame, head resting in the crook of your neck. You melted into his embrace, allowing your arms to circle around his body as well. 

“Thank you for keeping me company.” he quietly spoke, warm breath hitting your ear and making you shiver.

“Any time, Jimin.” you answered back just as quietly. 

He pulled back and sent you a smile before he slipped inside his room. You slowly made your way back to yours, every inch of your skin tingling, relishing the way it felt to be held by him, even for just a moment. In the  arms of his stranger was the first time you’d ever felt like you were home. 

You and Jimin had developed a nightly routine. Each night, he’d show up around midnight and perch himself on your desk, gifting you a cup of coffee (which he tailored to your tastes now.) The two of you would talk and laugh and just enjoy each other’s presence throughout the night. Maybe you should’ve gotten bored spending so much time together but you never ran out of things to talk about. 

It felt like he’d always been there and he always would be. Even Mina seemed to get used to seeing Jimin when she arrived. She wasn’t friendly but she’d stopped sending him evil looks, which was quite the compliment from her. You found yourself looking forward to work rather than dreading it.  Your favorite part of each day was the time you got to spend with Jimin. On the 4th night of this routine, Jimin wrapped you up in your nightly hug. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t wait all night for this part, longing to be wrapped up in his embrace, however fleeting the moment may be. 

That night, Jimin surprised you. When he pulled away from your hug you felt his pillowy soft lips rest upon your cheek in a chaste kiss. The moment was over before you had time to process what was happening and Jimin smiled innocently at you.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.” 

You stood frozen in place, letting your hand come up to touch your cheek where his lips had just been. His lips were so soft, so plush, and you longed to feel them against your own. Your cheek burned in the best way where the lingering heat from his lips stayed. You couldn’t stop the goofy smile from spreading across your face. 

That was until you rounded the corner to get to your room and walked face first into the chest of the man you despised more than anything else. Your ex boyfriend, Stuart, loomed over your like a predator stalking it’s prey, using his large body mass to trap you against the wall. He reeked of alcohol and you rolled your eyes at the familiar scent. 

“What are you doing here? Get off of me.” You hissed. 

“Awww don’t sound so disappointed, Y/N. Don’t you miss me?” He cooed, one finger sliding it’s way up the side of your face. 

“No.” You spit. “Get the fuck off of me.”

“Come on baby… don’t you want to have a little fun?” He smirked and your stomach threatened to release your midnight snack all over his button up shirt. 

“Let me get one thing through your thick ass skull, I will NEVER touch you again. Do you understand?” You hissed through gritted teeth 

“Don’t be like this. Just unlock the door. We can go in your room and play around like we used to. You used to like it when I showed up like this.”

“That was before I found out you were fucking half the town behind my back.” You threw back at him. “If you think I’ll ever get with you again you’re insane.” 

“Quit playing hard to get and open the fucking door.” He growled. 

“I believe she said no.” 

Your gaze snapped to the voice that had just spoken, your eyes landing on Jimin, who was carrying his ice bucket. His eyes were swimming with concern for you but he stood tall and held his ground, refusing to be intimidated by the giant drunk moron who had you pinned to the wall.

“This isn’t any of your business. Fuck off.” Stuart hissed. 

“Actually it kind of is. You’re sexually harassing my friend.” Jimin spoke evenly, keeping a calm persona. 

“You know this clown?” Stuart asked you. 

“Yeah. He’s my friend.” You shrugged.

“You little slut, you’re letting him hit it aren’t you? Bitching at me for having a little fun but you’ll bust it open for anyone huh?” Stuart goaded you.

“Well Stuart, I don’t really think that’s any of your business.” You growled.

“If you’ll put out for him you better put out for me.” He hissed. 

Jimin’s fist connected with Stuart’s jaw before you could reply or react. Stuart stumbled back in surprise and Jimin took the opportunity to grab your hand and sprint down the hallway with you in tow. A roar of rage sounded from behind the two of you which only fueled your legs to move faster. Nearing a T in the hallway, you made a split second decision to shove Jimin into the supply closet and shut the door.

Stuart wasn’t smart enough, especially while drunk, to think of that as an option and you strained your ears to listen as his footsteps clomped past the storage closet, pausing before retreating down the hallway. You let out a sigh of relief, looking up to meet Jimin’s gaze. It was then that you realized how close you were. Your noses almost touching, you could feel his ragged breaths against your skin. You told yourself it was from the running.

“Are you okay?” He whispered. 

“Yes, thanks to you. You keep rescuing me.” You grinned. 

“Well, call me Prince Charming then.” He laughed quietly. “Do you think he’s gone?” 

“I’m not sure. We should probably wait it out.” You sighed.

“Why don’t you call the police?” Jimin wondered.

“His dads the sheriff. He won’t do anything.” You huffed.

Jimin shifted, trying to maneuver around you to set down the ice bucket he was holding. He opted to place it on the floor, bending down to set it beside the two of you. He misjudged the space between your bodies as he stood up, stumbling forward a little, his face ended up in your cleavage, his lips brushing against your cloth covered nipple. He froze in shock, unable to peel himself from your breast. His breath circled your nub, damp and warm. You let out a breathy moan at the feeling and your eyes immediately widened in panic. 

Jimin straightened his posture, eyes locked on yours and lips parted in amazement. Neither of you spoke or dared to move. You could feel his chest rising and falling rapidly, brushing against your own each time in the cramped space. Jimin could feel his cock stirring to attention in his sweats and decided it was time to check if the coast was clear. He cleared his throat and opened the closet door, slipping his head out and checking both directions.

“I don’t see him anymore.” Jimin told you quietly.

You nodded and followed him towards your room. You paused in front of his, shaking with anxiety when he looked at you in confusion. 

“Jimin… I’m scared. Can I… can I stay with you? I’m worried he’s going to come back and I-“ you rambled bit Jimin put you out of your misery. 

“Of course, come on.” He unlocked the door and ushered you inside. 

You followed him inside, thanking him quietly and following him like a lost puppy to the middle of the room.

“Make yourself comfortable. Do you want me to turn on a movie?” He asked. “Are you hungry or thirsty?”

“I’m okay, but I won’t turn down the movie.” You smiled gratefully. 

Jimin flipped on the tv and sat at the opposite side of the bed, careful to give you room and made sure he was under the covers so you couldn’t see his semi. You got under the blankets too, but still shivered in the cold of his room. 

“Are you still cold? I don’t think I have a clean sweater…” he thought out loud, wracking his brain for ideas. 

“It’s fine! I’ll warm up soon.” You assured him. 

Things shifted back to normal for the most part, but there was a lingering tension in the air neither of you were willing to talk about. You fell into easy conversation about the movie, giggling and poking fun at the plot holes together. You continued to shiver despite your best efforts not to show how cold you were. Jimin sighed. 

“Come here.” He instructed. 

“Hmm?” You questioned. 

“Come over here and let me warm you up, you’re making me feel bad.” Jimin motioned for you to join him on his side of the bed. 

“Really I’m fine-“ you began but the look on Jimin’s face had you obeying his command in an instant, crawling your way over to him and snuggling up beside him as he wrapped an arm around you and pulled the blanket up to cover you both, trapping the heat of both of your bodies. 

The hotel mattress was lumpy and uneven, but you’d never been more comfortable in your life. Jimin’s arm wrapped around your shoulder so it wasn’t sandwiched between the two of you and you molded yourself against his side even closer. Your bodies fit perfectly together and it made your heart beat faster than normal. You only hoped Jimin couldn’t hear it. When the movie ended, Jimin switched off the tv and laid down. You followed suit, pressing your body up against his and resting your head on his shoulder, your hand on his chest.

“Tell me something I don’t already know about you.” you requested, voice soft in an attempt not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

“What haven’t I told you yet?” Jimin chuckles to himself. 

“What’s the real reason you’re here?” you pondered, bracing yourself for him to close himself off.

Jimin sighed, and you were about to apologize and change the subject when he nodded, glancing over at you.

“Actually, I was kind of running away. I had this friend, and I liked her but she liked her roommate. He likes her too but wasn’t doing anything about it, so we fake dated to make him jealous. I know it’s immature but he needed a push. I wanted her to be happy but didn’t realize how I’d feel seeing them together all the time. It’s actually kind of nice, I haven’t thought about her in days.” Jimin explained.

“I’m sorry Jimin. You’re a wonderful guy and you deserve someone who appreciates you.” You told him, eyes searching his face. 

“Thank you.” He scrunched his nose up in that cute way that made your heart clench. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

You wracked your brain for information you hadn’t already provided to Jimin during your nightly talks. You noticed then that Jimin was shifting beside you, growing antsy with the vulnerability of the conversation, you assumed. In an attempt to lighten the mood, you threw out the first thing you could think of.

“Hmmm… I can touch my nose with my tongue.” you lied with the best straight face you could muster.

“No way. Show me.” Jimin laughed, turning to watch you.

You stuck your tongue out and tried your hardest to push it far enough to touch the tip of your nose, but failed miserably. You refused to give up and kept trying, making silly faces while attempting to reach. Jimin couldn’t control the laughter bubbling from deep in his belly at your ridiculous antics. 

His smile reached both ears, and Jimin watched you make a fool of yourself, realizing that he hadn’t felt so light and carefree in the longest time, even before the incident with Namjoon and his new girlfriend. Something about being near you just made Jimin turn into a version of himself that he actually liked. Being around you made him feel like it might actually be okay. 

The two of you shared hushed whispers for a while, Jimin absentmindedly drawing shapes on the soft flesh of your hand that rest on his chest. The whispers died down and you were left with the quiet humming of the air conditioning kicking on and off periodically and the sound of Jimin’s even breathing. You lifted your head to see if he was asleep and watched his chest move with each inhale. You allowed yourself to study his features up close. You couldn’t help yourself, reaching out and letting your fingers brush against the skin of his jaw, a featherlight touch in the hopes of not waking him. 

Jimin stirred slightly and you held your breath, ceasing all body movements. You watched his eyes flutter before stilling. He snuggled farther into the blanket and sighed happily. You waited a few moments before returning to your exploration. Your fingers danced lightly towards his lips, letting yourself marvel at how full and soft they were. Your thumb brushed against the tender flesh, and Jimin’s tongue darted out to wet them. You removed your fingers from his warm, now wet mouth. 

His eyelashes fanned across his cheeks delicately, and you gently ran a finger along them, watching them flutter under your touch. You sighed, completely in awe of how beautiful the man next to you truly was. He was painfully attractive, that was a given. But he was also smart, funny, kind, open. You found yourself idly wondering how anyone could pass him up, but you were honestly not upset that she had. It was a stupid daydream, you knew that. There was no way he was into you. But you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining what it might be like to show Jimin the kind of love he’d been missing, the kind he was so clearly desperate to find. 

If anyone deserved to feel raw, unconditional love, you had no doubt that Jimin did. He was so sweet and friendly and had so much love to give in return. You wanted to watch those eyes light up, see how brightly he could shine when properly adored. You wanted to be that for him. He shuffled in his sleep, mumbling something under his breath and his arms reached out, seeking your warmth. He brought you flush against him, enveloping you in his warm embrace. You smiled to yourself and carded your fingers through his silky hair. 

You let yourself melt into his hold, feeling welcome and needed and wanted. You began fading in and out of consciousness, the comfort and safety of having Jimin so close putting your mind at ease. You fell asleep to the sound of his strong, steady heartbeat, which sounded a lot like your new favorite song.

You woke up before Jimin, the sunlight finding its way through the thin curtain that covered the large window of his hotel room. You blinked a few times and tried to sit up, but Jimin’s arms instinctively wrapped around you tighter, holding you in place against his firm body. You grinned, snuggling back into his embrace and pressing yourself up against him. That’s when you felt something hard pressing against your backside. You experimentally wiggled your hips against Jimin’s, wondering if it was what you thought it was. His sleepy moan and the friction against your bottom proved your suspicions correct. 

Your eyes widened and you bit your lip as arousal pooled in between your legs. Jimin’s rock hard cock pressed against your backside made your head spin. You attempted to remove yourself from his grasp but that only made him hug you closer, effectively pressing his erection against you more. You whimpered quietly, torn between not disturbing Jimin and relieving the ache between your thighs. You pushed your bottom farther into him, hoping to gain a little friction. Suddenly, his hand gripped down on your hip, stilling your movements. 

“What are you doing?” He questioned, his morning voice raspy and deep. 

“I...uh….” you gulped, heat flooding to your cheeks at having been caught grinding against him.

You tried to flee, but Jimin’s firm grip on your hip didn’t lessen, his fingers dug into your skin deliciously. 

“It looks like you were grinding your pretty little ass on my cock.” He purred, his hand sliding from your hip to grasp the fleshy globe of your bottom, giving it a rough squeeze. 

“Ah, fuck.” You squeaked out at his possessive actions, you leaned into his touch and brought a chuckle from him. 

“Hmmmm… you like that?” He chuckled, “you like when I touch you?”

“Yes.” You gasped as his hands traveled farther up to cup your breast, giving it a light squeeze. 

“So needy. Why don’t you do something about it?” He prodded. 

Your brain was fuzzy, you weren’t even registering his words. You didn’t think about what you were doing, you just let your body take control as you turned around then swung a leg over his lap and straddled him. Jimin’s words died in his throat and his mouth hung open in shock. You didn’t let yourself think or slow down, knowing you’d chicken out if you did. You pressed your lips to his in a needy kiss, which he reciprocated after he processed that it was happening. 

His hands found purchase in your hair, tugging gently as his tongue explored your mouth. You moaned into his mouth when his free hand pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers. You began to grind your hips down onto his, delighting in the way his cock felt dragging up and down your clothed folds. Jimin groaned, letting his head fall back and hit the headboard with a quiet thud before he lifted it and grabbed your hips, holding them still.

“Wait, wait.” he panted.

“What’s wrong?” your hips stilled, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

“It’s uh, been a while, and if you do that I’m going to cum in my pants.” he admitted sheepishly. 

You bit your lip to hide your giggle when an idea flashed in your mind. You moved your hips so you were straddling his thigh rather than his crotch. You began to rock your hips again and Jimin’s eyes darkened as he stared at the spot where your sex met his thigh. 

“Holy shit, you look so sexy right now…” he hummed thoughtfully, his hands coming to rest on your hips again only to grind you down harder on his toned muscle.

The arousal pooling between your legs was soaking through your clothing, and you were certain Jimin would feel it soaking his flimsy sweats soon. You whimpered at the friction on your clit and when Jimin tensed his thigh it sent a wave of pleasure through you.

His fingers found the edge of your shirt and he glanced at your face to make sure it was okay. When you nodded, he lifted it off of your frame and tossed it aside. He licked his lips as he surveyed your skimpy bra. His lips attached themselves to the tops of your breast while his hands slipped behind you to unclasp the fabric preventing him from seeing all of your upper half. The bra fell off your shoulders and Jimin whisked it away, taking a moment to admire your breasts.

“I think I might have died if I didn’t get a chance to have a proper taste of these.” he hummed, eyes flicking up to yours as a smirk graced his lips.

“Fuck, Jimin.” You whimpered pathetically as electricity shot to your core. 

Almost immediately, his lips were on your nipples.His soft, plump lips sucked at your sensitive nub, his teeth gently scraping along the flesh. Your movements on his thigh stuttered, your mind going blank at the shivers coursing through you. His tongue darted out and swirled around your nipple, before he moved his delicious assault to the other breast. This time, he bit down, pulling the nub between his teeth. You yelped, arching your body closer to him as the sinfully pleasurable pain raced through your veins.

Jimin smirked against your skin, biting and soothing it with the flat of his tongue afterwards. He blew cold air against the red marks on your breasts, and you shivered. Your hips picked up speed the closer you got to letting go and Jimin sensed you were near your high. His fingers dipped past the waistband of your pants and panties, and he began rubbing your clit harshly, until you were just about to fly off the edge, then he ripped his hand away and held you still.

“What the fuck?!” you whined.

“You don’t cum until I say you do.” he growled, “you were a very bad girl, rubbing up against me and teasing me, using me for your own pleasure. So fucking sexy.” 

You whined, trying to rock your hips against him once more, but Jimin was stronger than you. He grabbed your waist and flipped you over so he was hovering above you. The tips of his fingers teasing at your waistband. Your breath caught in your throat, the palpable tension growing thicker with each passing moment. He quickly discarded his own shirt, giving you the most glorious view of his toned chest and stomach. 

You made no attempt to disguise the way you ogled him. You licked your lips seductively as your eyes raked over his body, drinking him in. You reached up to let your hands rake down his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his abs and brushing over his nipples on the way down. His body jerked and you smiled to yourself. Your perusal of his body came to rest at the elastic in his sweats.

“Someone’s eager.” Jimin quipped.

“Someone might not be so eager if she’d been allowed to cum.” you huffed, tugging the sweats and boxers down in one smooth  motion. 

Jimin laughed, standing up and kicking the clothing off of his body before crawling back onto the bed.

“Mouthy little slut. Don’t you know only good girls get to cum?” he shot back, pressing you flat against the mattress and kissing down your neck.

You squirmed under his touch while he worked his way down your body, stopping just above your aching sex. He placed a soft kiss to your clothed folds, making your body react and arch closer, seeking relief. He chuckled to himself and shed you of any remaining clothing. The contrast of the cool air meeting your aching heat caused a shiver to rip through your body. Something lit up in Jimin’s eyes and he removed himself from the bed and walked over to the mini fridge, opening the freezer compartment.  You watched curiously as he returned with the small ice bucket he’d filled before finding you last night.

“Feeling thirsty?” you joked. 

Jimin raised an eyebrow, shooting you a half-smile before taking an icecube and running it over your already hard nipple. You cried out, the stark contrast of his warm hands with the freezing cold of the icecube was divine. You watched as it slowly melted, water droplets rolling off your body and falling onto the bed.

“Jimin…” you whimpered.

“Mmm?” he smirked, repeating the action on the other breast.

Your back arched, seeking more from the man above you. He was playing you like an instrument, and he knew all the right notes. You were putty in his hands, and he knew it. It stroked his ego more than you would’ve cared for but at this point you would’ve done anything to get some attention on your sodden pussy.

Jimin popped an icecube in his mouth and moved up to kiss you. It rolled around between your tongues until it melted between your combined heat. Jimin kissed the tip of your nose before moving his face down between your legs. He pressed his tongue flat against your clit, and the coldness from the icecube that he’d just had in his mouth stunned you. He left your clit to tease along your folds, letting his tongue dart experimentally inside your heat. 

You groaned,writhing underneath his ministrations. He flicked the tip of his tongue against your clit quickly, building the heat in your belly as he moved. He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them and hitting that delicious spot with every pump. He paused for a moment, and suddenly there was something very cold and very wet pressing against your walls. 

You gasped, the ice pressing against you as Jimin moved it in and out with his tongue. The melting liquid joined your slick and spilled out of your hole while Jimin flicked his tongue, and the remaining ice against that spot that drove you wild. Once the ice was gone, and you were panting enough for Jimin’s liking, he doubled down on his efforts, tongue pressing against your walls and fingers working beside it while his other hand worked your clit in small, deliberate circles.

Jimin pulled away abruptly, and you nearly began crying as another orgasm slipped away.You groaned in frustration, reaching down to play with your own clit but Jimin caught your wrists and clicked his tongue.

“Nuh uh, darling. What did I say? You don’t cum unless I tell you to.” he purred, licking a bold stripe along the veins in your wrist, which was strangely erotic.  “I want you to beg for it.” 

“What?” you hissed.

“Beg me to cum. Beg for my cock.” he smirked.

You sighed audibly, and Jimin just watched you, the smirk still pasted on his stupidly handsome face.

“Please…” you mumbled.

“I’m sorry, what was that darling?” Jimin chuckled. “I can’t hear you.”

“Please fuck me, Jimin. I need to cum. Please!” you whined, all of your pride flying out the window as your pussy clenched around nothing.

“That’s my good girl.” he cooed.

“Please hurry.” you whined.

“Shit. I don’t… I don’t have a condom.” Jimin realized out loud, shoulders slumping.

“I have an IUD and I’m clean.” you panted, fingers wrapping around his neck and bringing him to meet your lips. “Are you?”

“I’m clean,” he assured.

“Then fuck me.” you whispered, nibbling on his ear.

Jimin wasted no time obliging your request. He lined himself up with your entrance and slid in smoothly, aided by your dripping arousal, courtesy of your two denied orgasms and the skills of his tongue. Jimin bottomed out, both of you emitting a low groan. Jimin wasn’t super long, but his girth more than made up for it, as well as his ability to move his hips in the most delectable ways. He filled you up perfectly, hitting spots inside you that you were unaware even existed. 

“Jimin.” you moaned, clawing at his back as he thrust in and out of you at a painfully slow pace.

“Say it again.” he whispered, hips picking up speed.

“Jimin.” you repeated.

“Louder.” he growled, snapping his hips in and out of you with vigor.

“Fuck! Jimin!” you cried. 

Jimin pounded in and out of you, causing your body to bounce with each movement of his hips. He loved the way your breasts bounced and the way you bit down harshly on your lip, overwhelmed with pleasure. His head fell into your neck as he pistoned his hips against yours, one hand sneaking between your joined bodies to expertly rub at your clit. You could no longer form a coherent sentence,gibberish falling from your lips as the familiar fire built deep inside you. 

“Jimin.” you warned, your cunt clenching around him.

“Are you gonna cum for me? Cum all over my cock? Do it, baby. Cum for me.” he coaxed.

His teeth sinking into your neck was the last push you needed before you were careening off the edge. Your body trembled at the most intense orgasm you’d ever experienced in your life. White dots clouded your vision and you screamed so loud your throat felt raw. Jimin came soon after you, working you both through your shared euphoria. His thrusts slowed and he stilled inside you, breathing as heavy as your own.

“Holy shit.” he groaned, and you could feel his muscles shaking just as much as your own.

He pulled out of you, watching in awe as his cum seeped out of your beaten hole. He slid a finger along your folds, gathering his seed and bringing it up to your lips. You obediently opened your mouth, wrapping your tongue around his fingers and sucking them clean, the taste of your own slick combined with his cum coating your tongue. Jimin shivered at the sight.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” he sighed breathlessly.

He stood up, walking into the bathroom to dampen a towel with warm water and bring it back to the bed, gently cleaning you up. You bit your lip, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his gaze. He made his way back into the bed, snuggling up next to you and pulling you into his arms. He watched your expressions and you watched him. You both giggled nervously.

“Do you maybe… want to go out sometime?” he asked, teeth raking over his bottom lip nervously.

“I’d like that.” you giggled, hiding your face in his chest.

You both lay there in comfortable silence, holding each other while your breathing returned to normal. You nodded off, spent from the activities of the morning, and it was Jimin’s turn to watch your peaceful face as you slept. His eyes trailed over your features, adoration and a tinge of something more filling him. True, Jimin had arrived in this small town running away from something. He was searching for something to make him feel anything but the jealousy and pain that had settled deep in his chest. Jimin felt like he was running toward something now, a possibility of the two of you. He knew he wasn’t “fixed”, but he felt good with you, whole with you. 

Jimin knew both of you had a lot of learning to do, and a long way to go and a long way to grow, but he couldn’t stop the excitement bubbling in his chest because for the first time in what seemed like forever, Jimin was happy. Truly, unabashedly happy. He’d started this journey of his running. He thought he’d never recover from the darkness that had taken him over. He thought he’d never find joy again. Jimin had gone desperately searching for something to give him hope.

And then came you.

[erismerald]

𝓐𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 (Ryo Asuka x plus size reader) 𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓮 2

Part one

And finally here is the second chapter of my new ryo fanfic, I hope you like it and enjoy it, soon I will bring the third chapter. I LOVE YOU IMMENSELY <3<3<3<3

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 : none maybe fluff 

✥——————-✥——————-✥                ✥——————-✥——————-✥

Some weeks passed and you, Akira and Ryo spent hours investigating demons, it was scary to think that anyone could be a demon and you didn’t know, however it was funny to be you taking care of Akira or Ryo whenever they got hurt, you felt like you were still 8 years old.

You left school and it was already dark, it was raining a lot ‘I love the rain but it could stop raining a little until I got home’ you thought while you opened your backpack looking for the umbrella.

You opened it and walked putting the earphones and opening in the spotify, the street was calm, it was relaxing to see the rain fall and to see the reflection of the light in the water pools, but it was still scary.

Lost in your thoughts you didn’t notice that a car had stopped right next to you, distracted you looked and scared when you saw the door opening next to you, you looked inside the car and recognized the white coat and the cigarette smell.

“Ryo? What are you doing here?” you asked confused because you saw him there, you looked at the back of the car, but he wasn’t there.

“Akira asked me to pick you up, he won’t be home tonight and we have work to do” Ryo said with one expression would be

“O-oh I get it” you got in the car putting the bag in the back seat, and you noticed a black sports bag “What’s in there?” you asked

“Clothes for you, let’s spend the night out, let’s go to the coast area, I have information of strange activity there” he said not taking his eyes off the road

“But I didn’t warn Miki-” you said picking up the phone but you were interrupted

“She knows you’re with me, she said you went to spend the weekend with a friend and forgot to tell her,” Ryo said taking the vape pen.

“You really should stop smoking that thing, it’s not good for you” you said leaning your head on your arm looking out for the lights and for rain hitting the window

“Want to try it out?” Ryo said stretching the pen in your direction you could see his smile even though you didn’t look directly at him “Okay, but that’s only because I never expressed anything like that,” you said, picking up the pen by putting it in your mouth, inhaling and feeling the smoke going down your throat, choking on feeling the smoke coming out your nose.

Ryo laughed when he saw your reaction, he took the pen out of your hand and made the same movement you had made, he was used to it so it wasn’t strange to him nor did he make you choke.

“Don’t mock me! arghh” you protested about his reaction

“Don’t worry, I will teach you not to choke,” he said, breathing out the smoke through his lips.

At that moment your heart stopped, the street light, the wind entering the car through the window, the sound of rain, the smoke coming out of his mouth, his serious look concentrated on the road…this sensation made your heart accelerate, you felt your face burn…he was hypnotizing.

“What was it?” he asked softly

“N-nothing” you said by looking away and continuing to look at the lights, feeling your body relax and fall asleep

𝓡𝔂𝓸 𝓟𝓸𝓿

It was very calm, I looked to the side and saw her sleepy face, I pulled the car to the side of the road and put my coat over her…In so few weeks I got to know her again, it was strange to have her around at the beginning, but now…. Now I feel that I need her by our side, I touched her face with my fingers, she looked tired, I don’t blame her after so long spending nights awake studying and investigating more about demons it’s natural that her body needs to relax.

I got out of the car and leaned on the hood, took a cigarette out of my pocket and took the opportunity to smoke before continuing the trip, I don’t want the smoke to wake her up.

In a few minutes I got in the car and continued traveling, I could already smell the sea nearby, we should be almost there, I looked at her at a glance and felt my heart accelerate her hands were grabbing my coat pulling it closer to her.

I ignored this feeling and fixed my eyes on the road… it was the first time I felt like this because I saw her do that, am I gaining weaknesses?

“Fuck Y/n what are you doing to me” I sighed

𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓟𝓸𝓿

It was all dark, the only thing you can remember was a silhouette, with several wings, blond hair and two crystalline blue eyes? you saw the silhouette walking towards you, when it was close enough it raised its hand to your face, its touch was soft and sweet like an angel? you closed your eyes and felt tears fall on your face.

“Y/n…” his voice, you recognized that voice…

You woke up in shock, you looked at the window and saw the immense ocean illuminated by the moon, you looked around you and saw Ryo sitting on the hood of the car, you could see the smoke coming out of his mouth, in just one gesture he threw his cigarette to the ground and put it out with his foot.

He turned around and saw your face awake:

“I was going to wake you up, come on, we’re here” he said, opening the trunk of the car and removing a suitcase similar to yours, and a larger bag, to be honest it seemed a little suspicious, but good we’re talking about Ryo, surely he brings weapons in there.

You got out of the car and you walked and you removed your suitcase following him to the hotel entrance. It was a small hotel, it was more a hostel than a hotel, it was right by the beach, and it had a fantastic view, it seemed cozy, but why would a demon choose a place like this to attack?

They entered the reception of the small hostel and were soon received by a lady with black hair, her clothes were traditional, she looked at us and smiled:

“Good evening, how can I help you tonight?” she asked, her voice was soft as a bird’s song

“Good evening” Ryo smiled and said “We wanted a room” You looked around the place, you had a small sale of souvenirs and postcards, you looked again at ryo who was still talking to the lady, you approached to listen better “Yes a double room please” DOUBLE?! you felt your face burning “Ahm…we don’t have rooms with separate beds I apologize” she said looking at the computer screen, 'Please ma'am can you check again’ you yelled internally

“Don’t worry, we’ll take the room anyway” Ryo said smiling and stretching his hand to get the room key, the lady smiled and opened the drawer taking the room key and handing it over

“Have a nice stay,” she said before we retired to our room “We stayed in room 306 is on the top floor” He said walking, and opening the elevator, you remain silent feeling your face warm and your breath accelerated, Ryo looks at you at a glance and smirks “I promised Akira I wouldn’t let you out of my sight for a second, he’ll be here by the end of the afternoon” The elevator stopped and opened on the floor of your room.

the rest of the way to the room was quiet, why were you feeling nervous after all? For him you were just a childhood friend, there was no reason to be nervous, still lost in your thoughts you two had reached the room.

Ryo opened the door and the room was really cozy, it was rustic style, there was a bed in the center of the room on the wall,  a balcony that you could see the ocean, there was a small bathroom, it wasn’t a luxurious room but it was a perfect room to sleep in.

You put your bags down and walked to the window that led to the small balcony, it was still raining but the view was fantastic.

“You stay here, if you feel like it, I’ll take a look at the area, try to go to bed early please” Ryo said taking something from inside the bag, and without being able to answer he had already left the room.

You took a deep breath and looked once more through the window before you walked towards the suitcase and picked up some clothes and towels to go to bath.You turned on the light and opened the hot water and let the bathtub fill up while you undressed… you looked at your body in the mirror…  "It’s natural that no one wants to look at me differently, no one finds someone like me attractive" you said, looking at your body… you were always very insecure, you were always ashamed of how inferior you felt to other girls, for not having a big breasts or an angelic body, you looked down to your thighs… you could still see some scars from some cuts you had made months ago, something that no one knew and would never know….

Your body trembled as you felt the hot water covering you, it felt good to have a moment to rest, in the midst of all that demon-hunting, you threw your head backwards feeling your muscles relaxing because of the hot water.

“Why did I have to have these feelings for him…” You sighed

Minutes passed by, you got out of the water and wrapped your body in the towel leaving your wet hair to dry naturally, you opened the door carefully, Ryo hadn’t arrived yet, you took advantage of that moment to let your body fall into the bed, you faced the ceiling, you still felt your heart jumping because you knew you were going to sleep in the same bed as Ryo, of course for him it made no difference but for you it was something you never thought you would do with him.

You put on a hoddie and some shorts and opened the balcony, you leaned your body against the parapet and watched the reflection of the moon in the ocean was enchanting, you thought about your dream earlier, who would that person be?

𝓡𝔂𝓸 𝓟𝓸𝓿

It was almost midnight, I managed to find some traces of demons in that area, tomorrow morning I’ll investigate a little more, I entered the hotel and everything was very calm.

I opened the bedroom door, it was all dark, I looked at the bed waiting to find Y/n sleeping, but her body wasn’t there, I looked around the room… until I saw her silhouette on the balcony, her wet hair, her body just covered by the hoddie she was wearing, without intention my gaze traveled through her body the way she was leaving my body tense, she seemed hypnotized by the moon, I walked without making much noise and put myself beside her

“The sea is more beautiful this time of year” She was frightened by my comment

“R-ryo, I didn’t realize you had arrived” she said with a slightly embarrassed smile, her hand was resting on her chest, my eyes went through her body, but something called my attention… scars… She noticed what my eyes had seen and turned forward pulling the hoddie down. “So how did the investigation go?” she asked before I could talk about the scars that marked her body

“It went well… I found out that there really are traces of demons here, tomorrow morning we’ll take the chance to investigate a little more” I said by taking a cigarette out of my pocket and putting it in my mouth

“Oh of course…” she said turning her gaze forward, I looked at her discreetly, a sudden urge to touch her invaded my body… I can’t do it, I can’t do it at all, it will just distract me from my main goal. but for some reason I can’t control my body, I try to control myself but I can’t anymore…

𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓟𝓸𝓿

You felt the sea breeze, the waves crashing against the rocks, it was a sound that left you calm, you closed your eyes to feel a little more of this peace, when you opened your eyes again, you turned to Ryo but his gaze was already turned to you without you knowing.

“R-ryo?” His body approached yours, his hand touched your face lightly, putting a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers ran across your face until you reached your jawline, his eyes intertwined with yours, you felt your heart beating fast, it was like a dream, his fingers wandered around your neck, down to your shoulder.

“Turn around” he whispered in your ear, you were hypnotized by him and without thinking twice your body reacted of its own accord, you turned your body leaving your back to him.

His hands continued to go down your body to your waist hugging you from behind, his head landed on your shoulder, raised his hand dragging your hair to the side. Without realizing it, you closed your eyes until you felt his lips on your neck, making you shiver at his touch. His kisses kept going up until your ear came up.

“I don’t know what you’re doing to me, but I wasn’t supposed to have these reactions towards you” he stopped “let me hold you tonight, I… I just want to feel you close to me” you couldn’t say anything just nodded and turned to him.

He took you in his lap and took you to bed, where he laid you down carefully as if you were made of glass, he lay down beside you pulling you close to him, you put your head on his chest, feeling his heart, his arms wrapped you, in a short time you felt your gaze getting heavy and finally you fell asleep.

You felt the sun hitting your face, you opened your eyes with difficulty due to the clarity in the room, you looked away and didn’t see anyone, in a flash your memory remembered the events of last night, you blushed violently looking up.

“Why did he do that?”

[alpacaparkaseok]

Mine

13. Agust D

Genre: Min Yoongi x oc

Warnings: none

Word Count: 4.2k

I have a surprise for you guys in this chapter!!! 😊😊 Aaaaand we’re all set up and ready to go for the finale! 

2 Months Later

Anacortes, Washington, USA

The distant sound of a bell pulls me back to reality, and I turn to face the wind. Waves are pushing their way onto the shore, the choppy water fighting for my attention.

I watch as the ferry grows ever closer before putting my earbuds into my ears to answer my incoming phone call.

“Funny, I was just thinking about you,” I smile as I close my eyes.

“Really? What a coincidence. What are you up to right now?”

“Just about to board the ferry. You?”

“I’m going to head to bed soon.”

“Wow, so early. You’ve become so disciplined!”

Yoongi’s breathy laugh fills my ears and I can almost picture him rolling his eyes if I close my eyes tightly enough. “I’m assuming you’re not available to facetime?”

Frowning, I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “No, too many people around. You’ll just have to deal with the beautiful sound of my voice.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

It’s been two months since I last saw Yoongi outside of Bong-cha’s apartment. The chill that comes with currently residing in the northwestern United States is almost the same as I felt that morning when we said goodbye.

‘Young Rising’ came out just over a month ago, and it’s received a lot of success. Thankfully it was just enough to help me land a role that is already receiving speculation for possibly being a critically acclaimed role.

It wasn’t the one I originally wanted, that role went to Bryce Dallas Howard. I suppose I’ll have to try for a 1700’s romance some other time. This time around I get to play the daughter of one of the first lighthouse keepers in the United States and all the crazy events that unfold. It’s fun, and getting to take the ferry out to the San Juan islands here in the state of Washington is an added bonus.

My favorite part of the role? Every morning I get to sit here and watch the ocean and talk to Yoongi.

“Rude, but I’m not surprised. Isn’t it barely midnight there? You really are heading off to bed early.”

“Yeah, it’s midnight. What can I say? It was a long day and I’m exhausted.”

Now that I listen closer, I notice the hint of tiredness in his tone. “Why? What happened today?”

Yoongi sighs as I get up to board the ferry. Another great thing about being here in Washington? It’s cold and rainy enough that nobody bats an eye at me. I’m decked out in my raincoat and my beanie is pulled down low. During this time of year there aren’t many tourists either, so most mornings it’s just the ferryman and I. Today there are a couple of small groups milling about, though.

All the better. It gives me an excuse to not facetime Yoongi and have him laugh at my bundled up state. Which, for the record, he finds hilarious.

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Promise.”

There’s a second hesitation before he speaks up again. “I miss you.”

It’s a blow straight to the heart, and I cling to the railing so as to not fall overboard. We try not to dwell on our current state too much, things are complicated enough. Still, it’s nice to know that I’m not the only one struggling with this.

“Why would I laugh at that?”

“I don’t know, you like making fun of me and how weirdly sentimental I can get-”

“Soft. That’s the word you’re looking for.”

“...right. How could I forget.”

“I miss you too, Yoongs. A lot.”

It’s silent on the other end of the phone for a little while, so I just lean up against the railing and watch as the ferry begins to edge out to sea. Once again I close my eyes against the crashing waves and try to convince myself that I’m sitting in the genius lab or making a mess of things in the kitchen.

How could a span of less than a week affect me so much? It’s a question that I’ve come back to many times over the past couple of weeks. Occasionally I get a moment of understanding. Sometimes that understanding comes late at night as I cuddle up in bed, propping my phone up to chat with Yoongi as he sits at his desk in the genius lab and tells me about what he’s working on.

Just watching him mumble incoherent things under his breath and seeing his eyes flit back to his phone to check that I’m still there makes me realize that there’s so much going on here. So much going on whilst being so far apart.

At least the media frenzy has died down a bit. Sure, there’s still a lot of theories tumbling around, but the mobs of heartbroken fans seems to have lessened significantly.

“Are you sure that’s everything, though? What else have you got going on?”

“What, me missing you is not enough?”

I chuckle into the phone. “Nope.”

“Fine, you caught me. We’re finishing up the final touches on the mixtape and I always just get really stressed before a release, you know? Like you did the night before ‘Young Rising’ premiered?”

Shuddering at the memory I groan. “Ugh, don’t remind me. But what is it exactly about this mixtape that has you so nervous? I mean, this isn’t the first time you’ve released one. Maybe whatever helped you de-stress last time will help you this time around, too.”

There’s a long pause but I wait patiently for him to speak. The island is just coming into view now, I’ve probably got about fifteen more minutes before I’m officially on the clock and have to hang up.

I hate that part.

“I’m not so sure...it’s different this time around.”

I frown. “What’s so different? You’re even more loved?”

A wry laugh on his part. “No, not that. It’s just...this mixtape, these songs...they’re even more personal this time around. Sure, I’ve talked about some pretty personal things on my previous mixtapes, but this time around the entire mixtape is personal.”

That’s news to me. Ever since Yoongi changed the concept of the album he’s kept everything under lock and key. He told me he kept most of the tracks, ‘My First Mistake’ obviously being one of them. Other than that, though, I have no idea what to expect.

“Yoongs...I think that will make this mixtape your best one yet. Really. People will be able to relate to it, and they’ll love you even more for it. Just, get some sleep tonight. You’ve worked your hardest - don’t try to brush it all off, you’ve nearly worked yourself to the ground over this mixtape! - and that’s all you can do. I’m absolutely positive it’ll be great.”

“Thanks, Car. So what scenes are you doing today?”

We get lost in the conversation for the remainder of the ferry ride before suddenly the ferry is coming to a stop. I hurry off the boat, the tell-tale change of tone tipping Yoongi off to what I need to do.

“Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, sounds great. Get some sleep!”

Yoongi chuckles. “Will do. Have a great day.”

I sign off the phone and roll my shoulders. One of the producers, Melissa, is waiting for me in a little golf cart.

“Hey Cara, ready for the day?”

Grinning at her, I jump into the passenger seat. “Definitely.”

🌙

It’s the middle of the night when I’m awoken from my slumber, and I groan as I contemplate just turning my phone off. It was a late night, I��ve probably only been asleep for a couple of hours at this point.

When I see who’s calling, though, I pick up.

“Bong-cha?” I ask blearily. “What’s up?”

“Have you listened to it yet?!”

I hiss as Bong-cha screams into my ear. “What are you talking about? Did you and Jimin finally kiss or something?”

“No, you idiot. Yoongi’s mixtape!”

My eyes widen and suddenly I’m completely awake. “His mixtape? I-it’s out? When?”

“It just dropped like an hour ago! Didn’t he tell you? I mean, I get that he wanted to surprise everybody, but I thought he’d at least tell you.”

I’m already on my music app, searching for Agust D. When I finally hit search, I scream involuntarily.

“That little punk! He didn’t even tell me!”

“Wait, Cara!”

“What?”

“Just, listen to it.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, weirdo.”

“No, but really listen to it. I mean, it’s about you.”

My chest stops rising as my air gets cut off. “What do you mean it’s about me? We already knew about ‘My First Mistake’-”

“No, not just that track. I mean it’s all about you. Just look at the name of it! Isn’t it a little weird that he didn’t stick to his m.o. and title it ‘D-3’?”

I was in such a rush to click on his profile that I didn’t even bother to look at the title. When I do, I come gasping up for air.

Mine.

Written there in big, bold letters is the word mine.

“That doesn’t mean any-”

“Nuh-uh, you listen to the mixtape and then we’ll hash out the details. Got it?”

“Fine. Call you in the morning?”

“Isn’t it already morning for you?”

“Yeah, 4!”

“Right. Yeah, call me later.”

Clicking off the call, I take a deep breath to steel myself before clicking on the album. 8 tracks stare back up at me, most of them I recognize from that first night in the genius lab. The leading track is ‘My First Mistake’, which makes me smile. When my eyes trail down to the final song, I can’t help but click on it.

My Last Mistake. Turning the volume up, I sit back against my headboard and listen. And then, note by note, I fall under his spell.

Yoongi’s heartbroken voice talks about details of his life, how he goes by many names. The world knows him by Suga. His true fans know his other name, August D. Min Yoongi controls the strings of those two personas. A heavy beat pounds out the words alongside him.

Then the music slows, becomes calmer. Clearer.

In the most tormented voice he can manage, Yoongi talks about a girl that called him Yoongs. He talks about a girl driving under the stars that called him Yoongs and how in that moment, he decided that none of the other names mattered anymore, just so long as he could hear her say it one more time.

As the song falls from its crescendo, Yoongi brings up his last mistake.

“What’s your last mistake, Yoongs?” I whisper, hoping for an answer.

He answers it a moment later, the same melody from ‘My First Mistake’ being played out, only this time it’s on the guitar rather than the piano.

He’s reminded of his last mistake every time a plane flies overhead and he can’t run fast enough to catch it.

🌙

The entire mixtape is hauntingly beautiful.

As I finish listening to “Naksan”, a song set Naksan park, and what I assume to be the gazebo that overlooked Seoul, I lean my head back and sigh.

There is so much we don’t say. There is so much that Yoongi has never said, but now I’m beginning to realize why he was so nervous about this mixtape.

Here, crammed into these eight songs that talk about everything from t-shirts to being oceans apart, Yoongi says everything he never could before. It’s obvious, painfully so. He didn’t try to cover anything up.

I am so dead.

Yet, I can’t find it in myself to care. The only thing I wish I could do right now is show up at his apartment and sit down on his couch. Maybe eat some food, and watch as he fumbles for an explanation to this mixtape that is no longer a mixtape but more a cry out into the void.

And of course, don’t even get me started on the title track. The song that the album is named after, “Mine”.

In it Yoongi recalls his dreams of having a big car and house, and how he gets to call all those things his now. He has it all, essentially. And yet, the one thing he wants more than anything is far from him.

‘I have it all, I hear them say it. I have it all, they chant over again. When will they realize that it means nothing to me, if I can’t call you mine?’

Dragging myself to check Twitter, I see what the number one trending topic is right now.

#Mine

And in second place?

#CaraisMine

Somehow, I can never quite make it to first place. How disappointing.

Groaning as I realize that the sun is about to come up, I linger over Yoongi’s contact information.

One call. That’s all it would take. A single phone call, and maybe everything would change. But what would I even say?

Hi, it’s the girl that’s ridiculously in love with you. Do you feel the same way? Great! Let’s end our careers and live in Fiji!

As enticing as that sounds as I watch the rain pouring down, I know that it’s unrealistic. I’m here, caught up in some strange, long-distance relationship that’s technically not a relationship.

And Yoongi’s there, hopefully receiving all the praise he deserves for coming out with yet another great mixtape.

So I just let the dim light from my phone fade out before slipping back down under the covers. I know what Yoong is thinking now.

Ball’s in my court. But how on earth do I return it?

🌙

Seoul, South Korea

“And she still hasn’t said anything about it?”

Yoongi knows that Taehyung is trying really hard to understand his current predicament, but if he asks him if he’s heard from Cara one more time, he’s going to lose his mind.

“No.”

“Have you reached out to her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Sighing, Yoongi rubs his hands over his face. “First, because it’s only 8 o’clock in the morning over there. Second, I basically just told the world about my feelings for her, I think I can give her a little space to breathe before jumping on her.”

Taehyung plops down beside Yoongi, his eyes wide. “You’re really stressed, aren’t you?”

Somehow the question makes Yoongi laugh. “You think?” He feels restless; he has for the past two months. He thought releasing the mixtape would diminish that feeling, but instead it’s been heightened to the point that he can’t hardly sit still anymore.

Which is saying a lot, because Yoongi loves sitting still.

“Hyung?”

“Hm.”

“I think you should borrow my car and go for a drive or something. Just get out for a while. You’ve been cooped up in this studio for weeks; it’s messing with your head.”

Sometimes Yoongi forgets how much everyone cares about him. It’s in times like these that he remembers. Without saying much else he takes Taehyung’s keys that he extends to him and heads out.

When he gets into the car, he doesn’t know where he’s going. His mind is filled with worry and doubts and worst of all, regret. Was he too blind in his feelings that he overlooked Cara’s? After all, maybe she’s listening to the mixtape right this very moment and wondering why he would write something like this.

Maybe she hasn’t called him yet because she’s trying to come up with a way to let him down easy.

Yoongi drives and drives, turning up the music so as to drown out the thoughts in his head. He drives on and on, clueless to the fact that it’s the middle of the night and he should really be heading back to the apartment now.

When he parks before a lit path that leads up, Yoongi realizes that his body knew this entire time where he was going.

Without questioning it further, he hops out of the car and shrugs on his coat and mask. It’s late enough that hopefully most people will have had the sense to go home.

As Yoongi climbs up the path he only passes a couple of people; a couple that are too tangled up in each other’s embrace to even notice him. The path continues ever upward until he’s panting, but he’s grateful for the burn in his lungs. For a brief moment, his mind isn’t consumed by the what ifs of his current situation.

As Yoongi clears the final steps, his gaze immediately turns to the gazebo just down a ways. It’s the same as before, the night a similar one to that night when he watched Cara from afar before mustering up the courage to go talk to her.

Tonight there is one major difference. As Yoongi edges closer, there’s a tightness in his chest. There’s some part of him that half-expects Cara to appear, leaning up against one of the pillars and looking out at the city.

As Yoongi steps into the gazebo, that wish vanishes into thin air.

It’s empty.

Cara is not here. Yoongi is, though. Which has proved to be the most miserable thing in the world over the past two months. Cara is gone, but somehow Yoongi is still here and seeing her everywhere he goes.

The songwriting and production process is enough to make anyone go a little insane. Usually, once the project is finished, Yoongi feels like he can finally breathe again. He’s able to enjoy the fruits of his labors.

Not tonight.

At first he laughed at himself, back when he’d first started learning about Cara from Bong-cha and curiosity overcame him. He thought it was silly of him to want to learn everything about her and what it was that made her tick. There was just something about her that made Yoongi dive right in.

Of course, the boys had noticed. Even Bong-cha, who hadn’t known him for very long, had noticed the difference Cara had made. That was before they even met. Before any of this had even started.

Yoongi knows his place. His place as one of the most famous stars in the world, his place in the group’s dynamic, his place among his family. His place among ARMY. Yet, when he met Cara, it was like the ground disappeared under his feet and he’s been falling ever since.

He used to come to Naksan park often and just think. He’s not one for hiking around outdoors, but something about the view and the beautiful architecture of the gazebo and old city walls that line the path have helped him think.

He used to stand where Cara stood, and think about everything. However there was one topic that he tried to avoid at all costs: love. It wasn’t because he didn’t believe in love or didn't want it; if he’s learned anything from his time with ARMY he’s learned about love. But there was always this giant, impenetrable wall that stood between him and love.

Yoongi knows his place, and because of that clear role he has also always known that him falling in love with someone other than his fans was off the table.

That night when he came to meet Cara, he was coming to tell her just that. He was coming to tell her that he was a horrible human being that was dangerously close to breaking that unspoken rule, and he needed to mark a clear line in the sand. Friends, he had thought We can still be friends.

Yet, as he’d watched Cara head to the same spot; the same pillar he had frequented so many times, his words had gotten caught in his throat. She’d looked out over the city and Yoongi would have given anything to know what she was thinking.

Instead, he’d just asked for what so many people had been unable to give him throughout his career.

Just someone to sit in silence with.

No demands, no questions, just be together.

And as Yoongi sat swimming in his feelings, Cara’s head resting on his shoulder, he learned something about himself.

Yoongi had avoided the topic of love for so long not because he didn’t think it was appropriate for his lifestyle, but because he’d known deep down that the chances of him finding someone he was willing give everything up for were nearly nonexistent.

Cara’s hand was wrapped up in his, sharing his pocket. Quiet breathing, feeling warm despite the oppressing chill. No demanding answers, just sitting together.

He had realized that while he was looking for someone to convince him to leave everything behind, he was sitting beside someone that already understood. Someone that would never tell him to abandon it all just to be together.

He was sitting beside someone that might just be open to the possibility of being together, and would be open to the chaos that would ensue. There was no need to change everything to be together, but there would be the need to fight for that privilege of calling Cara his.

As Yoongi now steps into the gazebo and rests on the bench opposite from where they had sat, he remembers when it all started.

The night after he’d watched ‘Under Nine’, he’d felt restless and wandered up here. It was the first time in over a year that he’d come here. He knew why he didn’t bother to anymore; he didn’t feel inspired anymore when he looked out over the city.

Yoongi had seen the world, and he’d fallen out of love with it.

It was a horrible, lying, cheating thing. He’d seen too much suffering, fought so hard against it just to see evil rise up again and again.

Yet when he came up here that night after watching Cara on screen and seeing that humanity can be beautiful even in all its flaws, something amazing had happened.  

He looked out over the city, and a little spark had jumped up in his heart. That night, Yoongi looked out over the world, and began to fall in love again.

Yoongi has never been very confrontational. Some may think he is simply due to his status as a rapper, but that’s never been the case. However, he is known for his undeniable work ethic. For his unending effort to obtain what he thinks he deserves.

When Yoongi placed a letter into the mail a few days ago, he was reminded of why he was going to do everything in his power to make this work.

When he looked at Cara, he thought that she deserved a chance at love, too.

Giving one last look out at the city, Yoongi gets up and stretches. There are a lot of uncertainties swirling about right now, but there is one thing he is completely certain of.

He is going to do everything in his power to give him and Cara a chance.

🌙

Anacortes, Washington, USA

I have mail.

It’s the first time in a long time that I’ve gotten mail, but I can’t fight the feeling of dread as I wonder if the awkward pleas from fans are about to start up again. There’s a single envelope addressed to me sitting on the ground in front of my hotel door, which I scoop up before heading back inside.

No work today; we’ll be taking a two week break to wait out the rainy season before picking things back up again. I’m grateful for the small reprieve, I would much rather stay cuddled up in my blankets today while I try to wrap my mind around everything.

I haven’t reached out to Yoongi yet. Granted, it’s only 10 am, but I still feel a little guilty. I just want to make sure I have my thoughts in order before I freak out, you know? After all, there’s still a chance the mixtape being about me is just a coincidence...right?

Stacey, my PR rep, just got off the phone with me. Nobody really knows where I am right now, which is good. There are perks to being holed up in a small town in the northwestern United States.

She gave me an earful on how many calls she’s received over the course of the last few hours from various magazines and gossip collectors. When she asked me if there was a statement she would like for me to relay, I blanked. Stacey just laughed and said she’d come up with some vague for the time being.

My attention returns to the item in my hand. Cautiously opening up the letter, my brows furrow as I take out a small slip of paper and a piece of thick cardstock.

Cara,

Hopefully this gets to you when it’s supposed to. I thought of just sending you an email but that seemed to detract from what I was going for. You understand, don’t you? When you told me about your break from work, I managed to pull some strings. Follow the directions on the back of this letter, I’ll be waiting for you. And no, I can’t do this over the phone. It’s an ‘in-person’ kind of thing.

Yours,

Yoongs

Flipping the letter over I frown when the directions are in French. Then, scrambling for the cardstock, my mouth drops open as I see just what Yoongi is talking about.

One boarding ticket for tomorrow morning, leaving at 10am.

Destination?

Paris.

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taglist: @eusticenatalie @agustneeds​ @prdshobi​ @oceandeep​ @taylorroe3​ @dreamcatcherjiah​

[coepiteamare]

you feel like a holiday

pairing: namjoon x female!reader genre: mostly fluff, a tinge of angst, a lot of mishaps, mall workers  warnings: language, mentions of mild burns, not using oven mitts, lapslock, a lot of mentions of falling because we’re clumsy word count: 5.8k

summary: floral fantasy is instagram famous, not only for their delectable desserts and drinks, but also the absurdly good looking staff members who’d make celebrities crumble with a mere flicker of a smile. you can’t help but fall for the one temp worker who’s as clumsy as he is good looking. 

notes: merry belated holidays ellen @joontella​! it’s peppermint, finally delivering your present to you because i am an excellent procrastinator. this was inspired by my friend commenting on how the majority of holiday movie leads seem to be mall elves, so i present to you...a mall elf! in all seriousness, i hope you like it! i also wanted to add your answers to the character (about your favourite and least favourite part of the holidays) so i put those in here. 💕

the moment the clock strikes midnight on december 1st, the mall changes: it shifts from plain decorations and advertisements into a winter wonderland, with fake snow and garlands and tinsel wrapping every square inch of the mall. twinkling snowflakes hang from the ceiling, a cascade of light fragments spinning over the white, mall floor, and the railing are covered in boughs of holly and streams of glitter. it’s absolutely magical. or so every customer thinks. 

in reality, all the mall workers are contractually obligated to work after the mall closing hours, to file in through the glass doors and haul decoration after decoration out of the mall storage room, put in elbow grease to transform the mall into something vaguely resembling the north pole and distinctly looking like a christmas catalogue display, only with more glitter and more snowflakes and too much tinsel. 

you absolutely despise it. 

to be fair, working a graveyard shift to help “build the holiday magic and festive cheer” was written in the job description when you signed on for the job, in fine tiny print you skipped over as you signed your name on the bottom of the paper, forgotten and ignored in the thrill of having a job that pays more than minimum wage. of course there was a catch; there was always a catch. 

you kick a plastic reindeer, watch it clatter on to a pile of fake snow from your annoyance. jungkook, the head mall—santa’s elf, you correct yourself—snaps his head in your direction, before running over and propping up the reindeer. “oh no! are you okay, vixen?” he pats the reindeer gently, brushing off glittery cotton fluff from its body before frowning at you. “please be careful with the props! all of these are essential to the holiday magic we provide to the children and mall patrons! what would they think if they came into the mall and we only had 8 reindeers instead of all 9?” 

you blink twice, trying to bat away the sleep that’s weighing down your eyelashes and mingling with the glitter from all the ornaments. “that we have 8 reindeers.”

there’s another frown on his face, eyebrows pinching together as he opens his mouth when there’s a loud crash on your right. 

there’s a tall, broad man on the floor, tangled in tinsel and lights, next to a ladder, as another tall, broad man and a short, soft looking blonde come rushing out of the floral fantasy cafe doors. the blonde starts cackling immediately—peals of laughter slipping out of his lips as he props himself against the ladder, doubling over at the unfortunate christmas decoration accident—while the tall broad one (the one not tangled up on the floor), sighs and crouches down to try and untangle the other one. 

“i swear, i don’t even know how this happened,” you overhear tinsel boy explaining, “i was up on the ladder trying to unwrap the lights and i guess i pulled too hard? i fell over.” 

blondie cackles even louder as both of the boys give him a look: tinsel boy looks confused, a little apologetic like he’s done this before, while the other tall, broad one sends him an exasperated look. “yoongi, come help me, so we can all leave early.”

ah, to leave early. you’d like that. 

jungkook lets out a tsk and hands you a box of snowflakes to hang from the roof of santa’s workshop, deeming you high risk to the reindeers, and moves on to the next poor, tired santa’s elf who is—heaven forbid—letting the garland hang an extra inch longer than protocol. 

you shift your gaze back to your right and meet eyes with tinsel boy who’s looking right at you. a flicker of heat rushes up to your cheek, as he looks away, back to the tall broad one who’s trying to untangle him. 

“namjoon,” the broad one sighs in relief when his hands finally find the right loop, “maybe you should try the stickers.” 

“absolutely not,” blondie glares, points to the glass window of the cafe, and even from where you are, 2 stores down and 2 across, you can see the abysmal state of the stickers, air bubbles and stuck together where it’s not haphazardly slapped on to glass. “we are two stickers down and tae is going to have my head when he finds out.” his tone softens, eyes as gentle as his smile, when he sees that namjoon has deflated a little, spirit a little squashed like the tinsel around him. “maybe you can decorate the counter namjoon. i think you’d be good at that.”

namjoon brightens up, dimpled smile illuminated by the string lights dancing across his face, and hands yoongi the lights. he gives a mock salute. “yes, sir.”

you bite down your laughter as he skips into the store, nearly tripping over his shoes. at least you’re not alone in your lack of holiday decorating luck, you think as you reach your hand into the box of snowflakes and cough, a storm of dust and glitter puffing up into the air. 

god, you hate your job already. 

in all fairness, after a 5 hour shift and glitter congested lungs, the mall looks lovely, a christmas card come to life with enough lights to rival a hallmark christmas movie or those drive through holiday light tunnels. if you were a customer, you’d stand gaping at the front entrance too, breath caught in your throat at the festivities. but instead, you’re rubbing bleary eyes from the lack of sleep, back at the steps of the mall less than 6 hours after the nightmare of the graveyard shift. lethargy clings to the edges of your thoughts, smudging cohesion into a whirlpool of fatigue, so you collect what little of yourself you can and trudge your way to floral fantasy. 

floral fantasy is instagram famous, not only for their delectable desserts and drinks, but also the absurdly good looking staff members who’d make celebrities crumble with a mere flicker of a smile. there’s a whisper where you live, small talks through the grapevines, about how the requirement to work there is to look like someone who’d make models cry. rumour has it every single worker has been recruited by a talent agency, only to all be turned down for reasons unknown. you believed it when you first stepped foot into the cafe, mouth agape and words lost at the sight of the pretty workers at the register, but the speculations hit you twice as hard right now, when you’re clutching on to the last bit of your sanity. 

tinsel boy is in front of you. you knew he was pretty yesterday, wrapped in twinkle and catching the light, but he’s even prettier up close, skin shimmering in soft pastels, and you wonder for a moment if he’s actually this pretty or if it’s just an optical illusion, a trick of your mind bending the light to create a pretty ringlet around his head. you almost run your mouth, almost let your mouth run without its filter. almost. 

instead, there’s a crash, an angry hiss of steam, and the distinct sound of someone yelping in pain that cuts through the fog of your wonder. blondie rushes out from the back (yoongi, you think his name was), door swinging behind him. “goddamnit namjoon, i leave you alone for thirty seconds! thirty seconds!” 

namjoon shrugs sheepishly. there’s a grimace on his face as he nurses a palm, red and angry. yoongi rushes over with a wet towel and wraps it around namjoon’s palm, another hiss seeping from namjoon’s lips. “i got-fuck-distracted by something,” he looks at you, cheeks tinged pink, and tries to put on a smile, though it resembles more of a grimace. “welcome to floral fantasy.”

yoongi follows his gaze to you too, blinks twice before a smile spreads on his mouth too. “we’re usually a lot more composed than this.”  

“i’ll take your word for it.” you laugh, remembering last night. “the place looks nice. it looks like you’ve done a wonderful job.”

the cafe, normally in theme to its name as an everblooming wonder, is decked with evergreen wreaths and red ribbons, a brilliant fantasy of lights. the wall filled with paper flowers is replaced with white and silver paper snowflakes, just as photo ready as the people inside. 

“thank you,” yoongi smirks, looking over at namjoon before pushing him towards the register. “we tried.”

“i’m sure you must be tired from last night,” you smile at namjoon. 

“you must be too. i know the mall elves had to stay even longer than we did.” he smiles, dimples blooming. “what can i get you?” 

you look at the menu over his head, the words blurring together the longer you look at them, mind too sleep deprived to focus. “i haven’t been here often, so i’m not sure what’s good. what would you recommend?”

he opens his mouth, hesitating for a moment, before letting out a low chuckle, hand rubbing the back of his neck. your eyes follow the movement. “i’m actually new here. my friends own the cafe and i’m just here to help for the holiday rush.” he side eyes yoongi who’s running the coffee machine with precision and ease, grace in each movement as he fixes namjoon’s mistakes. “i feel like more of a nuisance than of help though.” 

“i understand that feeling,” you motion towards your attire, a bright splash of green, red, and white that’s as cheerful as you are tired. “i most definitely am not as perky as my job requires.” 

he laughs at your statement, a genuine bubbling laughter that tickles one out of you. there’s a sparkle in his eyes—a trick of the light, you tell yourself—as types something on to the screen. “i have just the thing for you.”

you start to fish around your bag, trying to find your card in the mess of old receipts and chewing gum, when he speaks again. “it’s on the house. my treat.” 

you furrow your brows, lips quirked. “are you allowed to do that?”

“i get free coffee everyday,” he shrugs, “and i do enough damage without caffeine in my system. consider it a gift from a fellow new mall worker, a comrades in agony.” 

you can’t help the worry that spreads across your face. “will you be making it as well?”

“god no.” “absolutely not.” namjoon and yoongi speak at once, twin looks of pain on their faces. 

namjoon holds up his palm as the printer makes a whirring noise. “i think it’s safer for all of us that yoongi makes your drink.” 

the coffee is good, coats your tongue in mint and just the right amount of bitterness. the caffeine sinks into your bloodstream, wipes the film of sleep from your eyes, and gets you through seven hours at the mall. by the end of it, your cheeks hurt from smiling too hard, voice a little hoarse from the high pitch elf voice, but there’s a warmth from the coffee that lingers, settles into your bones and stays despite the frosty air that blasts a little too hard through the itchy material of your elf dress. 

you find yourself back at the doors of floral fantasy the next day, still in your bell hat and jingling shoes, less tired but sleepy nonetheless. it’s a little before the mall opens, but the doors are unlocked when you push, a little bell chime ringing through the empty store. the smell of baked goods fills the air, a cozy warmth juxtaposing the white winter wonderland theme, and you take in a deep breath, let it fill your lungs. 

“wow.” you whip around to see namjoon holding a tray of scones and muffins. “you look like you fit right into the store.”

you snort as you twirl, the pom poms twirling as your dress swirls with your turn. “i’m a christmas card come to life, the splitting image of cheer and festivities. though i can’t really say i’m quite into the look.”

he opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a ringing that permeates and breaks the moment. “oh shit,” he drops the tray down on the counter, “seokjin told me to watch the macarons. i’ll be right back” he races off, the back door swinging to the tune of his panic. 

you giggle and look at the menu properly this time, at the pretty penmanship curling across the black chalkboards. there’s candy canes and hollies drawn on the borders and tiny wreaths pinned to every corner, ribbon on the bottom, and you try to match the baked goods to the menu names when there’s a muted yelp and crash coming from behind the doors. 

“i swear to god, kim namjoon! the oven mitts are not decoration!” you hear, and you grimace, mind already picturing the damage his clumsiness has caused.  

namjoon and seokjin, you assume, come out of the backroom a few moments later, another wet towel on namjoon, on both hands instead of one this time. 

“oh,” seokjin says. “hello.” 

“hi,” you wave awkwardly. “i’m guessing this is bad timing?”

“no, it’s not,” he pulls out a medical kit and starts applying burn cream on namjoon’s hands, sending daggers every time namjoon inhales sharply in pain. “yoongi should be here in a couple of minutes if you want coffee.”

“did you like the coffee yesterday?” namjoon asks, hope sparkling in his eyes. 

“i did!” you beam back. “it was good, so i came back to see if you had any recs.” you look at the tray behind the two. “and to try a baked goods. a fellow elf told me they’re quite spectacular.”

seokjin brightens at that, perks up and puffs his chest as he finishes the final touches on the bandages on namjoon’s hands. “you heard correctly! just wait a moment!” he rushes off to the back, and it’s just the two of you again.

“you seem to be catching me at my worst, but i swear, i’m more put together than this,” namjoon chuckles, lifting his palms “how was your first shift?” 

you laugh, caressing your elbows to your body. “it was okay. a lot of happy kids, which was nice, but there were also a lot of crying ones. by the end, i was just ready to go home. i did, however, like the coffee from yesterday and figured i would come back to see if you had another recommendation, from a fellow second day-er to another. it was the one thing that got me through the shift.” 

he beams again, and it ignites a warmth in you, much like the coffee from yesterday, that spreads gently across your body, on your cheeks, on your mouth. his smile is pretty, like a warm breeze on a spring day, like cherry blossoms fluttering gently in the wind. the coffee is good, but you think the reason for the lines outside the cafe, the loyal customers, is partly due to the way the smiles here feel like love letters. 

“i have something in mind for you today,” he smiles at you as yoongi walks in, nodding at you in greeting. “just wait a moment.”

you walk out of the cafe, a coffee in one hand, box of baked goods in another, and a heart that feels a little like a snow globe, glitter and snow gently falling down after being shaken by a cute pair of dimples.

it becomes a routine of sorts: almost every shift begins with a visit to floral fantasy, even on the days namjoon isn’t working, and you build up a small friendship with everyone who works there, though it’s mostly seokjin and yoongi and namjoon you see. there always seems to be some mishap with namjoon when you walk into the store—it’s mostly limited to small things like jammed display doors, smooshed pastries as he reaches for another, and misshapen ice cream swirls—although seokjin and yoongi tell you he’s not as clumsy as he presents himself when you’re around.

“he’s actually quite brilliant,” seokjin tells you as he packs in an extra macaron in your gift box, smiling as you light up in glee. you really shouldn’t be spending your paycheck on pastries, but seokjin’s culinary training at le cordon bleu makes them a little too good, a little too addictive, and has you asking for one (or two) on the days when your shifts are a little too long to bear without coffee and sweets. “he’s double majoring in literature and philosophy, minoring in greek and latin to gain deeper understanding of the classical philosophers, and takes french in his free time. he wears himself a little too thin, if you ask me, but he likes what he does. he’s a sweetheart, even when he’s clinging to the last thread of his sanity, muttering on and on about paradoxes and something about beds.” 

“he just needs to get a better understanding of his strength,” yoongi tells you when you come in after your shift one day, over the hiss of the steamer as he makes you a cafe au lait. you don’t have the heart to tell him that you prefer your coffee sweet after remembering how his eyes lit up as he told you about his barista training, raved about coffee done correctly rather than frappes and awful starbucks beans. the resentment on his tongue made you promise yourself to never step foot in a starbucks, lest you find yourself the subject of his bitterness. “sometimes he gets a little too excited and forgets about things, like how fragile objects can be or safety concerns” he and seokjin exchange a knowing glance before he smiles down at the coffee, blank canvas coming to life as he pours in the steamed milk. in the matter of seconds, there’s a cute bear hanging on to the edge of the cup, and you gape in awe at his skills. “he means well though.” 

namjoon presents himself a little differently than his friends do when he catches you on your lunch break, keeping you company as you eat your sandwich in the cafeteria. “i don’t really know how these things keep happening, but they do. i’m a magnet for trouble like bella swan.”

you cackle out loud and, in the process, almost spit out your coffee, courtesy of namjoon. “i’m sure it’s not that bad.” 

“well, i don’t have a creepy, emotionally unhinged vampire that lusts after me, so yes, my situation is a bit better.”

he looks like a kicked puppy, eyes all sad and tugging at heartstrings. you find yourself reaching a hand out, patting his arm. “there, there. i’m sure santa has you on the nice list despite it all. for not interacting with a god-forsaken, toxic vampire.” 

“good. i was awfully worried i was on the naughty list.” he tries to keep a straight face, hold his laughter in, but it seeps and bubbles out and his eyes crinkle into crescents. “do you not like the holidays?” you tilt your head at his question, a silent ask to elaborate. “you seem to not be in the holiday spirit when i ask you about it. unless, i’m reading incorrectly and it’s just your job you despise, which i totally understand. i love kids, but they can be hard to deal with.” 

you chew on your sandwich for a little longer than you have to, feel it go down your esophagus while the sorrow sticks in your throat. “i like christmas. it’s just a bit lonely on my own?” you put your sandwich down gingerly on to your tupperware. “i think the best part of christmas—the holidays in general, really—is spending time with family and loved ones, but i don’t get to see them very often. not since i moved for college and everyone is busy with their own lives. i love christmas dinner and celebrating together, watching the clock strike midnight on new year’s. i still send gifts to them, but it’s not the same as watching them open it, watching eyes light up and twinkle in delight as they see the stockings and rip the wrapping paper.” you stick a grin on your face, as cheerful as the one you put on for your job, but your laughter sounds weak, even to your ears, and you shift your gaze on to the sandwich in your tupperware, trying to hide your tears. there’s a comforting hand on top of yours, gently squeezing like he’s trying to pass his strength on to you. “i mean, it’s fine. post-holiday depression can’t really hit if you don’t feel the holiday cheer to begin with.”

he doesn’t say anything as you blink furiously, trying to clear out the fuzziness in your vision: he rubs his thumb against the back of your hand, a gentle reminder that he’s there and listening to what you’ve holed up and deemed too stupid to tell other people. 

“maybe this holiday season will be different,” he offers. 

there’s a flicker of hope that burns in your chest. “yeah, maybe it will be.” 

it’s a couple of days later when you step back into the cafe, having been too tired to come by after your shifts, and you’re nursing the desire to knock down every single reindeer and the stupid gingerbread house just to spite the kids. (and maybe see the look on jeon jungkook’s face, savour it slowly. god, his love for christmas cheer and order drives you mad, though you’re sure you do the same for him, every time you slip out of character when there’s a particularly nasty child in line.) you must look as exhausted as you feel because when namjoon turns around at the sound of the bell twinkling, thirty minutes before the cafe closes, he drops the tray and you watch as the pink coffee cups and pretty plates fall to the floor, shatter into pieces. 

“fuck,” namjoon looks at the floor in dismay, crouching down to collect the pieces. 

“be care-“ you start, but his voice cuts through before you can finish. 

“ow, fuck.” he staring at the rose blooming on his thumb, cut quickly filling with red. 

you grab a napkin from the counter and hand it to him, gently pulling him up and aside, out of harms way. “i don’t know if your hands will be okay by the time your stint here ends.”

he snorts at that, heading behind the counter and reaching for the medical kit again. “i’m quite resilient.”

“is it weird that i believe you and don’t at the same time?” you smile at his pout, wincing when it causes your cheeks to twinge in pain. “are you manning the store alone today?”

“i can be responsible! is that so hard to believe?” he laughs and motions to the store. “this is seokjin and yoongi’s baby. seokjin has always wanted to do something with food and yoongi’s always loved coffee, so this is their brainchild. i’m guessing they trust me enough to not burn the place down, or at least try not to.” 

he fumbles as puts a bandage on the cut and you can’t help but smile as you remember the stickers he tried to put on the cafe door. you take the broom from him when he makes his way over. “here, let me help.” he tries to protest but you move the broom out of his reach. “consider it my way of saying thank you for the great coffee recommendations.”  

namjoon’s dimples are back, shining in full force, and you start sweeping, telling yourself you’re focusing on the pieces of china and not averting the warmth of his smile because it does not feel like a sugar rush, like the warmth of the holidays you haven’t felt in a while. you feel something creep up in your throat—loneliness, sorrow, exhaustion—so you force it down and stare at the tiny pieces on the floor, watch the little fragments twinkle as you push them around with your broom. 

“are you okay?” there’s a hand on your arm and pair of warm brown eyes looking at you, concern brimming in the light. you let yourself get lost in them for a moment, let it wash over you before you respond.

“yeah,” you smile, “just tired.” 

he gently takes the broom and dustpan from your hands, and gives you his hand instead, leading you to the behind the counter and to the backroom. “i have just the thing for you.”

“am i allowed to be back here?” you quirk your head in amusement, letting him lead. “better yet, what are we doing?”

it’s strange—to the say the least—to be in a place you’re so accustomed to but have it looks so different than what you’re used to: steel and silver replacing marble and white, ovens and storage racks in place of glass displays case and chalkboards. but there’s still the same magic: the same kind of warmth and care you’re greeted with at the entrance lives in the backroom, with the ovens and fires, with the stand mixers and ingredients, with namjoon flitting around the stove. there’s a tick-tick-tick as the stove flares to life, a clang as it meets pan. 

“yoongi taught me how to make hot chocolate, back in high school, because he was so fed up with how much i loved it, how much i would ask for it.” you can feel the smile on his face, even as his back is to you as you lean against the counter. “it’s one of the few things i know how to make from scratch, albeit a little labour intensive. once you try it, there’s no going back to instant packets.” 

namjoon motions you over, handing you the whisk, and the two of you settle in to a comfortable silence as he scrapes in vanilla, sifts in some spices, adds in heavy cream and milk. it smells heavenly, lingers on the edges of his white shirt. the two of you are so close, you’re scared he can hear the vivace of your heartbeat over the whisking, so you whisk a little faster, let the cream splash on the edges until he gently takes the whisk from you. “wow, maybe you should work here. we could have you as back up if our stand mixers ever break down.” 

he pours the mixture into two orange mugs, topping it with something white and fluffy before handing one to you. “hot chocolate a la namjoon.” 

you close your eyes and let the mixture settle on your tongue, sweet and warm. it settles in your bones, distilling and coating the exhaustion and loneliness until all that’s left is the warmth of spending the moment with a loved one. the effort and time comes through. “colour me impressed.”

the smile on his face is as warm as the drink in your hands. 

the two of you bask in the silence, in the warmth, in the comfort of each other’s presence, as you sip the rest of your hot chocolates. 

there’s an unspoken rule: the closer it gets to your last day of work, the slower time moves, like it’s waiting to prolong your misery. the kids aren’t awful—they get nicer as it inches closer to christmas, too well aware their gifts depend on their behavior—but no matter how many kids you entertain, how many photos you snap, how many smiles you pinch out, nothing makes your shift go by today. you’re so close to throwing down your elf hat and walking out the door, freedom so close yet so far. 

it’s christmas eve and the mall is busier than usual, packed with folxs trying to get their last minute christmas shopping done. you can’t say the same for the santa’s workshop line: there’s a lull like no other, and while you would be grateful, jeon jungkook has been watching over everyone like a hawk, squawking at every elf to “keep up the magic!” just until 10 minutes ago when he left for lunch. you just want to go back to your apartment and settle under your covers and let yourself enjoy the measly number on your paycheck. 

“you look like you’re having the time of your life.” 

a voice comes up from behind you and you startle, relief only settling in when you see who it is. 

namjoon is holding a tray of cupcakes that looks like christmas trees, dusted in powdered sugar and topped with a fondant star, and you “ooh” over them as he laughs. “seokjin was experimenting with flavours and i figured i would bring some over to the north pole.”

you frown in mock anger as you pluck a cupcake off his tray. “it’s santa’s workshop, not the north pole. i don’t even want to think about how much more fake snow we would have to bring to call this the north pole.” you take a bite into the cupcake, moaning as the sugar hits your tongue. “these are so good.”

namjoon blinks at you, looks down at your lips and laughs with pink tinged cheeks. “you have frosting on your lips.”

“oh,” you lick your lips, “is it gone?”

 he brushes his thumb against the corner of your mouth, fingertip lingering a second too long as he drags it down. “all better.” 

there’s a long, awkward silence between the two of you, seconds dragging by as you fumble to string a cohesive sentence together. 

“do you-“

“it’s my-“

“you can go first,” namjoon offers. 

“it’s my last shift today, so i won’t be able to visit as often anymore.” you try to keep the tremble out of your voice, try to dampen the disappointment as you kick at the floor. “so i wanted to say thank you. for everything.”

“oh.” he doesn’t say anything else and anxiety pools in between every beat of the song that’s blasting through the mall speakers. you try to find something to fill in the conversation, anything but what you want to ask him, when you hear your coworker’s voice. 

“jeon’s making his way down!” 

“i have to go. thank you for the cupcake!” you wave the treat in your hand and start to get back into position.

“wait! y/n!” 

as soon as you turn around, there’s a giant weight on top of you, and both you and namjoon come tumbling down, back knocking against the floor. namjoon’s foot, caught on the wire, pulls out the string lights from the socket and brings a snowman to the floor. the poor snowman, in turn, knocks over the reindeers one by one, like a set of dominos, each one falling to the floor with a graceful “thump.”

you let out a groan, crushed by namjoon’s large frame. there’s something wet smudged against your cheek, and the tray that once was in his hands is now uncomfortably sandwiched between your stomachs, digging into your ribcage. 

“fuck, i’m so sorry,” namjoon scrambles to get off of you. “this keeps happening around you. are you okay?”

when you prop up your weight on your hands, you see that your elf costume is smeared with dark green frosting, the white trim matted together with pieces of the chocolate cupcake. you can’t help but laugh: it seems awfully fitting that namjoon’s fall, which marked your first shift, would laso be the highlight of your last one. 

“i’m alright. you?”

he nods, motioning towards your elf costume. “i don’t think your costume is though.”

“i kind of like it better this way,” you laugh as you start to pick up the reindeers, “it feels much more festive.” 

“i feel bad.”

he sends you an apologetic look, puppy eyes and pouty lips, and something in you says fuck it. “you were right about the hot chocolate. i tried to drink instant mix and it didn’t taste the same. you could make it up to me with another cup?”

something flashes in his eyes as he smiles. “i’ll do you one better. what are you doing tomorrow?”

you furrow your brows, trying to figure out what he’s asking. “nothing?”

“i’m off too, if you wanted to go on a date? most of the city is going to be closed, so we could watch a movie, have dinner at my place? and i could make you hot chocolate?” he bites his lip at your silence, at the way your eyes go wide. “or not. i’m sorry; i just thou-” 

you press your lips against his and put your hands on his shoulder when he kisses you back. it’s a short kiss, sweet and gentle like he is, and it’s over all too soon (you are in public after all), but it leaves a trail of butterflies in your stomach and a dazed look in his eye. 

“a date sounds good.” you tell him as he stands up, tray in hand. 

“tomorrow then.”

you nod, the smile on your face as sweet as the frosting on your outfit, as he runs back towards floral fantasy. 

“looks like someone has holiday plans after all,” your coworker nudges you.

the smile on your face refuses to dissipate, even as your cheeks feel the tender ache. “i guess so.” 

“you know, the first time i saw you, you were wrapped in tinsel because you fell off the ladder trying to decorate the outside of floral fantasy.” you tell him on his couch, over hot chocolate. 

he chokes and sputters. “i was distracted.”

the statement sounds vaguely familiar, mind hazy from time. “by what?”

he looks at his mug of hot chocolate intently, like the surface is reflecting his answer to him. “You.”

It’s your turn to choke on your drink. “I’m sorry?”

his ears and cheeks are dusted with pink, a sunset on his face. “You were so pretty that i forgot i was on a ladder, and i fell.” 

it takes all of your willpower to iron out the smile that threatens to slip through, but one look at his face--at his pretty, pouting face--and you burst out laughing, laughing even harder when he joins in.

“I’m clumsy when i get nervous,” he continues, when both your laughters simmer into giggles, “and everytime you came into the cafe, i was so nervous that i made silly mistakes like burning my hands and forgetting oven mitts. The one time you came in and i dropped the tray? The light was hitting you at the right angle and—god—it made you look like an angel.” 

you hide your grin behind your mug, take a sip before you let him know. “the coffee was good, but i mostly came in to see you.” 

his eyes light up at that, brighter than the christmas tree haphazardly wrapped behind him, and you kiss him, mouths moulding together. he tastes like goodness and hot chocolate and the warmth of the holiday season, like the thrill of opening a present that’s been under the tree for so long. 

maybe he was right. maybe this holiday season will be different. 

[galaxyofmyown]

could u do a fic where reader is scared that hotch is cheating on them and hotch learns that its bc their past partners had cheated?

anon, i think i may scream. not because of your request (it is lovely and original and i like it). but i think my brain is bye-bye GONE. this took me like four days to write for literally no reason. so i’m writing this note to apologize in advance for errors or literally just bad writing. brain-machine say no. but PLEASE! feel free to send another request and i promise i will craft it as the gods crafted man (well, i’ll try). AHHHHHH. i hope you enjoy anyways!! :))))))

NOTE: I FINALLY MADE IT GENDER-NEUTRAL THOUGH AHAHAHA

aaron hotchner x reader - i know not

“Hey, baby,” Hotch says over the phone. It’s almost midnight and you’re alone in your bed once again.

“Hey, Aaron. How’s the case going?” You ask. You’re curled up under your clean sheets, freshly showered and in your favorite sleep clothes. But for some reason, you don’t feel comfortable at all.

“It’s… coming along. I should be home in a day or two.” He says. He sounds genuinely tired, and you trust this man with all of you, or at least you try to. Sometimes, though, you can’t help but get paranoid, the darker memories creeping in, clouding your vision.

“Okay. I love you.” You say softly.

“I love you more. And I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I understand.”

“You are extraordinary, (Y/N).”

“Ditto, Agent. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Love you.” He says again, easing your worry.

“Love you too. Stay safe.”

You plug in your phone and set it on your bedside table. Your room is lit only by one small lamp, and you stare at your ceiling. Your mind wanders even though you did not give it permission to do that. Usually, Hotch asks you to watch Jack part-time when he’s on a case, but in the last couple instances he assured you that Jessica could take care of him. It was probably nothing, but you couldn’t help but jump to a worst-case scenario. Were you getting cheated on again? Or was he about to break up with you?

No. Bad (Y/N). Stop.

But he was always so annoyingly vague about his cases. What if, and we’re just spitballing here, what if he isn’t even on a case when he says he is? What if he finishes the case, and rather than going home to you, he goes to some other person’s house? 

You sit up in bed, suddenly wide awake. You know you’re being ridiculous, but you can’t help it. Aaron is a great guy. He loves you. He wouldn’t even cheat if he didn’t love you. He wouldn’t do that to anyone. You’re reaching for your phone before you can convince yourself not too.

“Hello?”

Just hearing Hotch’s voice makes you feel better.

“Hi. Sorry. I didn’t mean to call you.” You say.

“Are you sure? Is something wrong?” He asks, and his concern makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“No, everything’s fine. Sorry again. Goodnight.” You hang up before he can probe more.

You sigh and walk to the kitchen to get a snack. You don’t think you’ll be getting much sleep tonight.

---

You wake up at 7:30 the next morning for work, your eyelids drooping and feet dragging. You make coffee in your biggest travel mug before heading out. Your day at the publishing house is slow and you think it’s a miracle it ends at all. You check your phone as you’re leaving the building and you see a text from Hotch.

Agent: Hey (Y/N). I’ll be home tonight around 8. Want to come over? Jack will be home and I know he misses you as much as I do.

You smile like an idiot and quickly respond that you’ll be there on the dot. You’re walking to your parking space when a familiar silver sedan passes you.

“I know not.” You say, your suspicions confirmed by the familiar license plate. You rush to your car before you start crying in the middle of the parking lot.

Why else would he lie to you and pretend he wasn’t back yet? Was he going to his place to meet someone right now? You start your car and pull out of the lot before you lose your nerve. You don’t know what you’ll say, but you have to confront him. You had your suspicions in your last relationship, but you ignored them. The only good that did was give you four more months of ignorant bliss before you realized you were being cheated on yet again.

You’re shaking by the time you pull up to his apartment building. You climb the stairs with the nervous anticipation you used to get as a kid when you had to get a shot. You have a moment's pause before you reach the door, your knock strong despite the weakness in your knees.

Hotch is still in his suit when he opens the door, but his tie is loose and his jacket is wrinkled.

“(Y/N). Wh-what are you doing here?” He asks, looking more confused than anything else.

“What are you doing here? You said you wouldn’t be back for hours. What am I supposed to think when you drive by me in your car when you’re meant to be four states over?”

Hotch still hasn’t opened the door enough for you to see inside, which all but confirms your worst fears.

“(Y/N), I can explain what-”

“Hotch,” You can’t call him Aaron right now, “Just tell me. Is there someone else?” You say, voice breaking. Aaron’s face can’t hide his emotions. His eyebrows furrow and he tilts his head up at you in that condescending way you hate.

“(Y/N). No. Why would you think that?” He says, but his voice isn’t reassuring. If anything, it’s angry.

“Can you blame me for feeling a little insecure, Hotch? You’ve been home three days out of the last two weeks. You don’t want me watching Jack in your apartment all of a sudden. You lie about whether or not you’re home? Is this the first time you came home without telling me, or is this something you’ve been doing. Do you laugh when I believe you?” You’re lashing out and you know it, but you can’t help the way your voice rises as you let out all of your pent-up feelings.

Hotch is silent, staring intently at your face. You know his profiling look, and this isn’t it. This is his boyfriend look. He’s concerned, but guarded, analyzing his best move. The amazing thing about Hotch, the thing you love about Hotch, is that he’s always determining the best move that will make you happy.

After a moment of tense quiet, he sighs in resignation and opens the door all the way.

His apartment is a mess. Clothes everywhere, dishes stacked in and around his sink, overflowing trash bags strewn about.

“Oh,” you say, tilting your head and willing yourself not to pass judgment, “hmm.”

Hotch looks sheepish.

“I, I’ve been having a tough couple of weeks. That’s why I lied about when I was getting back. I wanted some time to clean.” He says.

“You could’ve just told me.” You point out, and he nods.

“I know, I know, and I should have. I don’t know what I’m so afraid of. It’s just the thought of you thinking of me as weak…” He trails off, and your anger dissipates. 

“Aaron, baby,” You say, taking his face in your hands, “I love you. I know who you are. You’re the strongest man I know. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t come to me for help. I would do anything for you.” You whisper your last statement, and yet it still carries the most force. Hotch leans into your touch.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I love you,” He pauses, at a loss for words, “I love you.”

You huff out a laugh.

“You already said that.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

You hug him, and he melts into your arms. 

“I could’ve watched Jack at my place, you know. It doesn’t bother me at all.” You say, leading him over to the couch (and clearing off some clothes as you do so.). He rests his head in your lap.

“I didn’t want to ask that of you. You work a full-time job, and I know you didn’t sign up for being his babysitter-”

“Hey. No. When I started seeing you Jack became just as important part of my life as you are. I would drop everything for both of you.”

You notice Hotch’s eyes are getting red, and you stroke your hand through his hair.

“I adore you, (Y/N). You are absolutely amazing. And sometimes the thought of you leaving is so scary that I shut down.” He says.

“I get it. I just want you to know I’m all in.”

“I know you are. I am too.”

Both of you just sit there for a moment, basking in one another’s company.

“Speaking of scared,” you begin to say, and Hotch sits up to look at you, “I’m sorry I accused you of… you know, cheating.” You’re ashamed. 

“I’m not mad. I’m sorry I was rude to you. I don’t blame you for not trusting me with how I’ve been acting lately.” He says, and you sigh in relief.

“Thank you. I’ve just had bad experiences, so it’s hard sometimes to not get worried.”

“Bad experiences? What do you mean?” Hotch asks, protective mode activated. 

“My last three boyfriends all cheated on me.” You say quietly. Hotch stands up and paces back and forth past the coffee table a few times.

“Aaron?” You ask carefully. He stops when he hears your voice and the tenseness of his shoulders seems to melt away.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, returning to the couch, “how could anyone do that to you?” He asks, taking your hands in his. You don’t know how to respond, so he kisses your forehead.

“Listen to me,” he murmurs, “I would never, ever, in a million years do anything to hurt you like that. Never. You are my world.” He says. You nod, fighting back tears.

“I love you so much.” You say because it’s never enough.

“I love you more.” He responds. You shake your head. Impossible.

“Get up, then.” You say, hopping off the couch.

“Why?” He asks but gets up anyway.

“We’re cleaning. Both of us. And then we’re picking Jack up. Both of us. And then we’re making dinner. Both of us. Got it?”

Hotch smiles and picks up a trash bag.

“Got it.”

[hockeysweetheart]

 Okay So This will Be The kisses ( and Talking about it) With Peeta   iOkay I’ll add the Grand total of Kisses here.....  

17 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in the Hunger Games  

9 Kisses Between Katniss and Peeta in Catching Fire 

3 In Mockingjay  ( and Some)  

And I am gonna be super petty Here How many times Did she kiss Gale 5 ONLY 5 TIMES.  ( I had to give him credit with the Kissing her on the cheek) 

 Here is a sort form of the Kisses. 

The Hunger Games 

1. on the cheek when Katniss said two can play at this game 

( These next ones are in the Cave or the Games) 

2. The second Kiss was to shut him up from saying I’m gonna die ( Yes the famous one Haymitch is like come on give me something to work with here) 

3. The third one was in the cave waking Peeta up 

4. The fourth one Katniss said it took a lot Including Kissing to get Peeta to Finish the Broth  ( So guessing more then one Kiss in here but I’ll count only one) 

5.  Peeta Kissed Katniss’s hand. And Katniss is like No more kisses until you eat.

6. So Katniss just Drugged Peeta and Says I wonder how Gale is taking these kisses 2 Seconds later she Kisses Peeta goodbye . In case she doesn’t return. 

7.  Katniss just wants the Games to End and they  Share a kiss.

8 The Kiss  This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another.

9. This Kiss Happened After the one that made her wanting more. 

10. This Kiss counts because yes their lips did touch. But its right after Peeta tells the story of him being in love with her forever since Kindergarten then that Kiss is ruined by the food arriving.

11. Katniss is thinking about Gale and kinda moves around in the freaking Sleeping Bag and wakes up Peeta which resolves in a long kiss. 

12.  They Kiss again before leaving the cave to go hunt for Food. 

13. Katniss is kinda being mean to Peeta kinda throwing the Romance out the window but then Realizes this Kisses Peeta and is like okay we can do  what you want 

14.  So this one Katniss kisses Peeta on the forhead because she is happy that she doesn’t have to face Cato Alone 

15.  This one is when they Both said listen  if we both Can’t win we both will die so Peeta gave Katniss a slow kiss. 

16. This Kiss Happened After the games when they reunite again at the  rewatch of the games 

17. During the Final interveiw they share a kiss.

Catching Fire

1. Their First Kiss is for the Cameras.  and Peeta is like I almost thought that kiss was real 

2. They kiss again After Peeta says he will give half of his winnings to District 11 fallen tributes 

3. They kiss a lot on the victory tour.  

4. After Katniss comes Back to her House after being in the woods when they are really forbidden.  She comes back to peacekeepers in her house and with no proof she was in the woods shes safe but she is injured.  And they Share a kiss in front of Everyone when she is making up this lie. 

5.Before the Games Peeta gives Katniss a kiss  ( After they spent the night together and says see you soon)

6. After Peeta is rescued by Finnick He gives Katniss a kiss we got allies 

7.  The Beach scene kiss ( We all know that one) 

8. Peeta Kisses Katniss after he said your gonna be a great mother 

9. The I’ll see you at midnight kiss. The last sane kiss of Peeta before hes taken in by the freaking Capitol

Mockingjay ( Since Peeta And Katniss are A part for half the book and Peeta is trying to kill Katniss they don’t  have as many kisses). 

1. This one I had to add becuase well yeah, When shes rubbing her lips on the pearl it’s like a cool kiss from the giver himself 

2. This kiss was when Peeta was going mad and then Katniss just kissed him thinking that might work which it did because she didn’t want to loose him again 

3. The growing back together kiss ( and some)  

A Grand total of 29 Kisses in the books Series by these two 

Now Bonus ones 

1. Catching Fire  After Peeta’s heart was restarted Katniss Kissed him this was not in the books.   

so grand total is 30 kisses  on all platforms the books and the movies. 

  So since Below is so Long I was feeling real petty and Decited to add Gales Kisses in here too 

1. The surprise Kiss  From Gale That snow knew about 

2. The Kiss after Gale got whipped and hes Basically sleeping

3. They kiss  in Mockingjay when Gale is like you kissed me here I’d have to be dead to forget that 

4. This Kiss Peeta is saved yet Hijacked and Basically Katniss has written off  and They Kiss and then Gale Ruins it

5. After  Leaving the awkward dinner Gale Kisses  Katniss on the Cheek 

Bonus ones 

Catching Fire Movie when they Kiss goodbye when Katniss is going back into the arena, 

So their grand total is 6... 

In the Hunger Games  ( Book) 

Chapter 5   But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.

Chapter 19, 

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back  - " he begins. "Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing," I say. "I know. But just in case I don't  - " he tries to continue. "No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it," I say, placing my fingers on his lips to quiet him. "But I  - " he insists. Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he's right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It's the first time I've ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?" "All right," he whispers.

A little Later on Chapter 19 

Haymitch couldn't be sending me a clearer message. One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hear his snarl. "You're supposed to be in love, sweetheart. The boy's dying. Give me something I can work with!" And he's right. If I want to keep Peeta alive, I've got to give the audience something more to care about. Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one. Romance. Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died. "Peeta!" I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He's dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he'd be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He's great at this stuff.

Chapter 20. 

Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing, begging, threatening, and yes, kissing, but finally, sip by sip, he empties the pot. I let him drift off to sleep then and attend to my own needs, wolfing down a supper of groosling and roots while I watch the daily report in the sky. No new casualties. Still, Peeta and I have given the audience a fairly interesting day. Hopefully, the Gamemakers will allow us a peaceful night.

Oh, right, the whole romance thing. I reach out to touch his cheek and he catches my hand and presses it against his lips. I remember my father doing this very thing to my mother and I wonder where Peeta picked it up. Surely not from his father and the witch.  ( Okay) Just in case why This part is isn here He Kissed her hand,  “No more kisses for you until you’ve eaten,” I say.

Chapter 21 ( Because I am being petty I added an extra bit) 

And Gale. I know him. He won’t be shouting and cheering. But he’ll be watching, every moment, every twist and turn, and willing me to come home. I wonder if he’s hoping that Peeta makes it as well. Gale’s not my boyfriend, but would he be, if I opened that door? He talked about us running away together. Was that just a practical calculation of our chances of survival away from the district? Or something more? I wonder what he makes of all this kissing. Through a crack in the rocks, I watch the moon cross the sky. At what I judge to be about three hours before dawn, I begin final preparations. I’m careful to leave Peeta with water and the medical kit right beside him. Nothing else will be of much use if I don’t return, and even these would only prolong his life a short time. After some debate, I strip him of his jacket and zip it on over my own. He doesn’t need it. Not now in the sleeping bag with his fever, and during the day, if I’m not there to remove it, he’ll be roasting in it. My hands are already stiff from cold, so I take Rue’s spare pair of socks, cut holes for my fingers and thumbs, and pull them on. It helps anyway. I fill her small pack with some food, a water bottle, and bandages, tuck the knife in my belt, get my bow and arrows. I’m about to leave when I remember the importance of sustaining the star-crossed lover routine and I lean over and give Peeta a long, lingering kiss. I imagine the teary sighs emanating from the Capitol and pretend to brush away a tear of my own. Then I squeeze through the opening in the rocks out into the night.

Chapter 22

  I give him another answer, because it is equally true but can be taken as a brief moment of weakness instead of a terminal one. "I want to go home, Peeta," I say plaintively, like a small child. "You will. I promise," he says, and bends over to give me a kiss. 

Chapter 22 ( The Kiss) 

I fumble. I’m not as smooth with words as Peeta. And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. And it’s not about the sponsors. And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread. “If what, Katniss?” he says softly. I wish I could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this moment from the prying eyes of Panem. Even if it means losing food. Whatever I’m feeling, it’s no one’s business but mine. “Then I’ll just have to fill in the blanks myself,” he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. But I don’t get it. Well, I do get a second kiss, but it’s just a light one on the tip of my nose because Peeta’s been distracted. “I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.

Chapter 22   ( Okay I had too add in this whole freaking part in) 

"Peeta," I say lightly. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?" "Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair. it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up," Peeta says. "Your father? Why?" I ask. "He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" Peeta says. "What? You're making that up!" I exclaim. "No, true story," Peeta says. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings. even the birds stop to listen.'" "That's true. They do. I mean, they did," I say. I'm stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it's a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father. "So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," Peeta says. "Oh, please," I say, laughing. "No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew  -  just like your mother  -  I was a goner," Peeta says. "Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you." "Without success," I add. "Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck," says Peeta. For a moment, I'm almost foolishly happy and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we're supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love not actually being in love. But Peeta's story has a ring of truth to it. That part about my father and the birds. And I did sing the first day of school, although I don't remember the song. And that red plaid dress. there was one, a hand-me-down to Prim that got washed to rags after my father's death. It would explain another thing, too. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. So, if those details are true. could it all be true? "You have a. remarkable memory," I say haltingly. "I remember everything about you," says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention." "I am now," I say. "Well, I don't have much competition here," he says. I want to draw away, to close those shutters again, but I know I can't. It's as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, "Say it! Say it!" I swallow hard and get the words out. "You don't have much competition anywhere." And this time, it's me who leans in. Our lips have just barely touched when the clunk outside makes us jump. My bow comes up, the arrow ready to fly, but there's no other sound. Peeta peers through the rocks and then gives a whoop. Before I can stop him, lie's out in the rain, then handing something in to me. A silver parachute attached to a basket. I rip it open at once and inside there's a feast  -  fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, and best of all, a tureen of that incredible lamb stew on wild rice. The very dish I told Caesar Flickerman was the most impressive thing the Capitol had to offer.  

Chapter 23 

The sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the cracks and illuminating Peeta’s face. Who will he transform into if we make it home? This perplexing, good-natured boy who can spin out lies so convincingly the whole of Panem believes him to be hopelessly in love with me, and I’ll admit it, there are moments when he makes me believe it myself? At least, we’ll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we’ve saved each other’s lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. Anything beyond that though. and I feel Gale’s gray eyes watching me watching Peeta, all the way from District 12. Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta’s shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.

“We’re wasting hunting time,” I say when I finally break away. “I wouldn’t call it wasting,” he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. “So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?”

He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. “Come on,” I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss

Chapter 24

“We’re wasting hunting time,” I say when I finally break away. “I wouldn’t call it wasting,” he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. “So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?”

He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. “Come on,” I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss

By the time we reach our destination, our feet are dragging and the sun sits low on the horizon. We fill up our water bottles and climb the little slope to our den. It’s not much, but out here in the wilderness, it’s the closest thing we have to a home. It will be warmer than a tree, too, because it provides some shelter from the wind that has begun to blow steadily in from the west. I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so grateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought. So glad that I don’t have to face Cato alone.  

Chapter 26. 

My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you." "Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says.

Chapter 27

Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that’s when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Peeta is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right

Finally, Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove toward the victor’s chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers have provided a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mother would call it a love seat, I think. I sit so close to Peeta that I’m practically on his lap, but one look from Haymitch tells me it isn’t enough. Kicking off my sandals, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Peeta’s shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I’m back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia’s put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage. I wish Cinna had given me a similar outfit, I feel so vulnerable in this flimsy dress. But I guess that was the point.

Chapter 27. 

Things pick up for me once they’ve announced two tributes from the same district can live and I shout out Peeta’s name and then clap my hands over my mouth. If I’ve seemed indifferent to him earlier, I make up for it now, by finding him, nursing him back to health, going to the feast for the medicine, and being very free with my kisses. Objectively, I can see the mutts and Cato’s death are as gruesome as ever, but again, I feel it happens to people I have never met. And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta’s name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night.

Behind a cameraman, I see Haymitch give a sort of huff with relief and I know I’ve said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he’s so moved. I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?”

I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.  

Chapter 27 ( Peeta finds out the truth) ( Okay No Kisses in this part but  This part honestly Just says so much)

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There’s no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can’t find anything to say now that we’re alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can’t know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I’ve spent gathering them with Gale.

Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay.” I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta’s eyes. “What’s he mean?” Peeta asks me. “It’s the Capitol. They didn’t like our stunt with the berries,” I blurt out. “What? What are you talking about?” he says. “It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say. “Coaching you? But not me,” says Peeta. “He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say. “I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. “So, what you’re saying is, these last few days and then I guess. back in the arena. that was just some strategy you two worked out.” “No. I mean, I couldn’t even talk to him in the arena, could I?” I stammer. “But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?” says Peeta. I bite my lip. “Katniss?” He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance. “It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding onto my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming. “Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I’ve climbed aboard, Peeta has disappiared into his room for the night. I don’t see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we’re pulling into District 12. He gives me a nod, his face expressionless. I want to tell him that he’s not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can’t explain how things are with Gale because I don’t know myself. That it’s no good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn’t be fair on my part. So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform’s thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. “One more time? For the audience?” he says. His voice isn’t angry. It’s hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

Catching fire 

Chapter 3

My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking in Peeta’s direction. Then, as if I can’t stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips - he still isn’t entirely in command of his artificial leg - and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that’s where we have our first kiss in months. It’s full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I’m not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won’t expose me in front of the cameras. Won’t condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He’s still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry. Instead I pull him to his feet, tuck my glove through the crook of his arm, and merrily pull him on our way. 

Chapter 4

Favourite colour

After a while I hear footsteps behind me. It’ll be Haymitch, coming to chew me out. It’s not like I don’t deserve it, but I still don’t want to hear it. “I’m not in the mood for a lecture,” I warn the clump of weeds by my shoes. “I’ll try to keep it brief.” Peeta takes a seat beside me. “I thought you were Haymitch,” I say. “No, he’s still working on that muffin.” I watch as Peeta positions his artificial leg. “Bad day, huh?” “It’s nothing,” I say. He takes a deep breath. “Look, Katniss, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the way I acted on the train. I mean, the last train. The one that brought us home. I knew you had something with Gale. I was jealous of him before I even officially met you. And it wasn’t fair to hold you to anything that happened in the Games. I’m sorry.” His apology takes me by surprise. It’s true that Peeta froze me out after I confessed that my love for him during the Games was something of an act. But I don’t hold that against him. In the arena, I’d played that romance angle for all it was worth. There had been times when I didn’t honestly know how I felt about him. I still don’t, really. “I’m sorry, too,” I say. I’m not sure for what exactly. Maybe because there’s a real chance I’m about to destroy him. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You were just keeping us alive. But I don’t want us to go on like this, ignoring each other in real life and falling into the snow every time there’s a camera around. So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends,” he says. All my friends are probably going to end up dead, but refusing Peeta wouldn’t keep him safe. “Okay,” I say. His offer does make me feel better. Less duplicitous somehow. It would be nice if he’d come to me with this earlier, before I knew that President Snow had other plans and just being friends was not an option for us anymore. But either way, I’m glad we’re speaking again. “So what’s wrong?” he asks. I can’t tell him. I pick at the clump of weeds. “Let’s start with something more basic. Isn’t it strange that I know you’d risk your life to save mine … but I don’t know what your favorite color is?” he says. A smile creeps onto my lips. “Green. What’s yours?” “Orange,” he says. “Orange? Like Effie’s hair?” I say. “A bit more muted,” he says. “More like … sunset.” Sunset. I can see it immediately, the rim of the descending sun, the sky streaked with soft shades of orange. Beautiful. I remember the tiger lily cookie and, now that Peeta is talking to me again, it’s all I can do not to recount the whole story about President Snow. But I know Haymitch wouldn’t want me to. I’d better stick to small talk. “You know, everyone’s always raving about your paintings. I feel bad I haven’t seen them,” I say. “Well, I’ve got a whole train car full.” He rises and offers me his hand. “Come on.” It’s good to feel his fingers entwined with mine again, not for show but in actual friendship. We walk back to the train hand in hand.

Chapter 4

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch’s voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it’s impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift … it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn’t seem forced at all.

Chapter 5

We descend the steps and are sucked into what becomes an indistinguishable round of dinners, ceremonies, and train rides. Each day it’s the same. Wake up. Get dressed. Ride through cheering crowds. Listen to a speech in our honor. Give a thank-you speech in return, but only the one the Capitol gave us, never any personal additions now. Sometimes a brief tour: a glimpse of the sea in one district, towering forests in another, ugly factories, fields of wheat, stinking refineries. Dress in evening clothes. Attend dinner. Train. During ceremonies, we are solemn and respectful but always linked together, by our hands, our arms. At dinners, we are borderline delirious in our love for each other. We kiss, we dance, we get caught trying to sneak away to be alone. On the train, we are quietly miserable as we try to assess what effect we might be having.

Cinna begins to take in my clothes around the waist. The prep team frets over the circles under my eyes. Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment. Nothing else happens, but our arrangement quickly becomes a subject of gossip on the train.

Chapter 6 On the way home

When I open my eyes, it’s early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta’s arm. I don’t remember him coming in last night. I turn, being careful not to disturb him, but he’s already awake. “No nightmares,” he says. “What?” I ask. “You didn’t have any nightmares last night,” he says. He’s right. For the first time in ages I’ve slept through the night. “I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay through the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice.” “Where did she take you?” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. “I don’t know. We never arrived,” I say. “But I felt happy.” “Well, you slept like you were happy,” he says. “Peeta, how come I never know when you’re having a nightmare?” I say. “I don’t know. I don’t think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror,” he says. “You should wake me,” I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down. “It’s not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says. “I’m okay once I realize you’re here.”

Ugh. Peeta makes comments like this in such an offhand way, and it’s like being hit in the gut. He’s only answering my question honestly. He’s not pressing me to reply in kind, to make any declaration of love. But I still feel awful, as if I’ve been using him in some terrible way. Have I? I don’t know. I only know that for the first time, I feel immoral about him being here in my bed. Which is ironic since we’re officially engaged now. “Be worse when we’re home and I’m sleeping alone again,” he says. That’s right, we’re almost home. 

 Chapter 9     I am being petty yes for this Part...

“I’ve heard worse,” she says . “You’ve seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain.” Someone they love. The words numb my tongue as if it’s been packed in snow coat. Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don’t know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But I’m sure he doesn’t remember it. Does he? I hope not. If he does, everything will just get more complicated and I really can’t think about kissing when I’ve got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. “Where’s Peeta?” I say. “He went home when we heard you stirring. Didn’t want to leave his house unattended during the storm,” says my mother. “Did he get back all right?” I ask. In a blizzard, you can get lost in a matter of yards and wander off course into oblivion. “Why don’t you give him a call and check?” she says. 

Chaper 11  Katniss comes home to a surprise I freaking love this part

By the time I reach my house, my left heel will bear no weight at all. I decide to tell my mother I was trying to mend a leak in the roof of our old house and slid off. As for the missing food, I’ll just be vague about who I handed it out to. I drag myself in the door, all ready to collapse in front of the fire. But instead I get another shock. Two Peacekeepers, a man and a woman, are standing in the doorway to our kitchen. The woman remains impassive, but I catch the flicker of surprise on the man’s face. I am unanticipated. They know I was in the woods and should be trapped there now. “Hello,” I say in a neutral voice. My mother appears behind them, but keeps her distance. “Here she is, just in time for dinner,” she says a little too brightly. I’m very late for dinner. I consider removing my boots as I normally would but doubt I can manage it without revealing my injuries. Instead I just pull off my wet hood and shake the snow from my hair. “Can I help you with something?” I ask the Peacekeepers. “Head Peacekeeper Thread sent us with a message for you,” says the woman. “They’ve been waiting for hours,” my mother adds. They’ve been waiting for me to fail to return. To confirm I got electrocuted by the fence or trapped in the woods so they could take my family in for questioning. “Must be an important message,” I say. “May we ask where you’ve been, Miss Everdeen?” the woman asks. “Easier to ask where I haven’t been,” I say with a sound of exasperation. I cross into the kitchen, forcing myself to use my foot normally even though every step is excruciating. I pass between the Peacekeepers and make it to the table all right. I fling my bag down and turn to Prim, who’s standing stiffly by the hearth. Haymitch and Peeta are there as well, sitting in a pair of matching rockers, playing a game of chess. Were they here by chance or “invited” by the Peacekeepers? Either way, I’m glad to see them. “So where haven’t you been?” says Haymitch in a bored voice. “Well, I haven’t been talking to the Goat Man about getting Prim’s goat pregnant, because someone gave me completely inaccurate information as to where he lives,” I say to Prim emphatically. “No, I didn’t,” says Prim. “I told you exactly.” “You said he lives beside the west entrance to the mine,” I say. “The east entrance,” Prim corrects me. “You distinctly said the west, because then I said, 'Next to the slag heap?’ and you said, 'Yeah,’” I say. “The slag heap next to the east entrance,” says Prim patiently. “No. When did you say that?” I demand. “Last night,” Haymitch chimes in. “It was definitely the east,” adds Peeta. He looks at Haymitch and they laugh. I glare at Peeta and he tries to look contrite. “I’m sorry, but it’s what I’ve been saying. You don’t listen when people talk to you.” “Bet people told you he didn’t live there today and you didn’t listen again,” says Haymitch. “Shut up, Haymitch,” I say, clearly indicating he’s right. Haymitch and Peeta crack up and Prim allows herself a smile. “Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up,” I say, which makes them laugh more. And I think, This is why they’ve made it this far, Haymitch and Peeta. Nothing throws them. I look at the Peacekeepers. The man’s smiling but the woman is unconvinced. “What’s in the bag?” she asks sharply.

I know she’s hoping for game or wild plants. Something that clearly condemns me. I dump the contents on the table. “See for yourself.”

“Oh, good,” says my mother, examining the cloth. “We’re running low on bandages.”

Peeta comes to the table and opens the candy bag. “Ooh, peppermints,” he says, popping one in his mouth.

“They’re mine.” I take a swipe for the bag. He tosses it to Haymitch, who stuffs a fistful of sweets in his mouth before passing the bag to a giggling Prim. “None of you deserves candy!” I say.

“What, because we’re right?” Peeta wraps his arms around me. I give a small yelp of pain as my tailbone objects. I try to turn it into a sound of indignation, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I’m hurt. “Okay, Prim said west. I distinctly heard west. And we’re all idiots. How’s that?”

“Better,” I say, and accept his kiss. Then I look at the Peacekeepers as if I’m suddenly remembering they’re there. “You have a message for me?”

“From Head Peacekeeper Thread,” says the woman. “He wanted you to know that the fence surrounding District Twelve will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day.”

“Didn’t it already?” I ask, a little too innocently.

“He thought you might be interested in passing this information on to your cousin,” says the woman.

“Thank you. I’ll tell him. I’m sure we’ll all sleep a little more soundly now that security has addressed that lapse.” I’m pushing things, I know it, but the comment gives me a sense of satisfaction.

The woman’s jaw tightens. None of this has gone as planned, but she has no further orders. She gives me a curt nod and leaves, the man trailing in her wake. When my mother has locked the door behind them, I slump against the table.

Chapter 11  They all know Katniss is hurt and Peeta is literally the sweetest human out there

“What is it?” says Peeta, holding me steadily. “Oh, I banged up my left foot. The heel. And my tail-bone’s had a bad day, too.” He helps me over to one of the rockers and I lower myself onto the padded cushion. My mother eases off my boots. “What happened?” “I slipped and fell,” I say. Four pairs of eyes look at me with disbelief. “On some ice.” But we all know the house must be bugged and it’s not safe to talk openly. Not here, not now. Having stripped off my sock, my mother’s fingers probe the bones in my left heel and I wince. “There might be a break,” she says. She checks the other foot. “This one seems all right.” She judges my tailbone to be badly bruised. My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I’m so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there. A side effect of the sleep syrup is that it makes people less inhibited, like white liquor, and I know I have to control my tongue. But I don’t want him to go. In fact, I want him to climb in with me, to be there when the nightmares hit tonight. For some reason that I can’t quite form, I know I’m not allowed to ask that. “Don’t go yet. Not until I fall asleep,” I say. Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. “Almost thought you’d changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner.” I’m foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I’d made a run for it, maybe with Gale. “No, I’d have told you,” I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today. I want to tell him about Twill and Bonnie and the uprising and the fantasy of District 13, but it’s not safe to and I can feel myself slipping away, so I just get out one more sentence. “Stay with me.” As the tendrils of sleep syrup pull me down, I hear him whisper a word back, but I don’t quite catch it.

I’m further reassured when Peeta casually tells me the power is off in sections of the fence because crews are out securing the base of the chain link to the ground. Thread must believe I somehow got under the thing, even with that deadly current running through it. It’s a break for the district, having the Peacekeepers busy doing something besides abusing people. Peeta comes by every day to bring me cheese buns and begins to help me work on the family book. It’s an old thing, made of parchment and leather. Some herbalist on my mother’s side of the family started it ages ago. The book’s composed of page after page of ink drawings of plants with descriptions of their medical uses. My father added a section on edible plants that was my guidebook to keeping us alive after his death. For a long time, I’ve wanted to record my own knowledge in it. Things I learned from experience or from Gale, and then the information I picked up when I was training for the Games. I didn’t because I’m no artist and it’s so crucial that the pictures are drawn in exact detail. That’s where Peeta comes in. Some of the plants he knows already, others we have dried samples of, and others I have to describe. He makes sketches on scrap paper until I’m satisfied they’re right, then I let him draw them in the book. After that, I carefully print all I know about the plant. It’s quiet, absorbing work that helps take my mind off my troubles. I like to watch his hands as he works, making a blank page bloom with strokes of ink, adding touches of color to our previously black and yellowish book. His face takes on a special look when he concentrates. His usual easy expression is replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world locked away inside him. I’ve seen flashes of this before: in the arena, or when he speaks to a crowd, or that time he shoved the Peacekeepers’ guns away from me in District 11. I don’t know quite what to make of it. I also become a little fixated on his eyelashes, which ordinarily you don’t notice much because they’re so blond. But up close, in the sunlight slanting in from the window, they’re a light golden color and so long I don’t see how they keep from getting all tangled up when he blinks. One afternoon Peeta stops shading a blossom and looks up so suddenly that I start, as though I were caught spying on him, which in a strange way maybe I was. But he only says, “You know, I think this is the first time we’ve ever done anything normal together.” “Yeah,” I agree. Our whole relationship has been tainted by the Games. Normal was never a part of it. “Nice for a change.” Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everyone by turning on the television. Usually we only watch when it’s mandatory, because the mixture of propaganda and displays of the Capitol’s power - including clips from seventy-four years of Hunger Games - is so odious. But now I’m looking for something special. The mockingjay that Bonnie and Twill are basing all their hopes on. I know it’s probably foolishness, but if it is, I want to rule it out. And erase the idea of a thriving District 13 from my mind for good.

Chapter 12

Staying quietly in bed is harder after that. I want to be doing something, finding out more about District 13 or helping in the cause to bring down the Capitol. Instead I sit around stuffing myself with cheese buns and watching Peeta sketch. Haymitch stops by occasionally to bring me news from town, which is always bad. More people being punished or dropping from starvation.

Chapter 13

“Thanks,” I say. I should go see Peeta now, but I don’t want to. My head’s spinning from the drink, and I’m so wiped out, who knows what he could get me to agree to? No, now I have to go home to face my mother and Prim. As I stagger up the steps to my house, the front door opens and Gale pulls me into his arms. “I was wrong. We should have gone when you said,” he whispers. “No,” I say. I’m having trouble focusing, and liquor keeps sloshing out of my bottle and down the back of Gale’s jacket, but he doesn’t seem to care. “It’s not too late,” he says. Over his shoulder, I see my mother and Prim clutching each other in the doorway. We run. They die. And now I’ve got Peeta to protect. End of discussion. “Yeah, it is.” My knees give way and he’s holding me up. As the alcohol overcomes my mind, I hear the glass bottle shatter on the floor. This seems appropriate since I have obviously lost my grip on everything.

Chapter 14 ( Okay this hug tho)

So I go to bed and, sure enough, within a few hours I awake from a nightmare where that old woman from District 4 transforms into a large rodent and gnaws on my face. I know I was screaming, but no one comes. Not Peeta, not even one of the Capitol attendants. I pull on a robe to try to calm the gooseflesh crawling over my body. Staying in my compartment is impossible, so I decide to go find someone to make me tea or hot chocolate or anything. Maybe Haymitch is still up. Surely he isn’t asleep. I order warm milk, the most calming thing I can think of, from an attendant. Hearing voices from the television room, I go in and find Peeta. Beside him on the couch is the box Effie sent of tapes of the old Hunger Games. I recognize the episode in which Brutus became victor. Peeta rises and flips off the tape when he sees me. “Couldn’t sleep?” “Not for long,” I say. I pull the robe more securely around me as I remember the old woman transforming into the rodent. “Want to talk about it?” he asks. Sometimes that can help, but I just shake my head, feeling weak that people I haven’t even fought yet already haunt me. When Peeta holds out his arms, I walk straight into them. It’s the first time since they announced the Quarter Quell that he’s offered me any sort of affection. He’s been more like a very demanding trainer, always pushing, always insisting Haymitch and I run faster, eat more, know our enemy better. Lover? Forget about that. He abandoned any pretense of even being my friend. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck before he can order me to do push-ups or something. Instead he pulls me in close and buries his face in my hair. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips just touch my neck, slowly spreading through the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go. And why should I? I have said good-bye to Gale. I’ll never see him again, that’s for certain. Nothing I do now can hurt him. He won’t see it or he’ll think I am acting for the cameras. That, at least, is one weight off my shoulders. The arrival of the Capitol attendant with the warm milk is what breaks us apart. He sets a tray with a steaming ceramic jug and two mugs on a table. “I brought an extra cup,” he says. “Thanks,” I say. “And I added a touch of honey to the milk. For sweetness. And just a pinch of spice,” he adds. He looks at us like he wants to say more, then gives his head a slight shake and backs out of the room. “What’s with him?” I say. “I think he feels bad for us,” says Peeta. “Right,” I say, pouring the milk. “I mean it. I don’t think the people in the Capitol are going to be all that happy about our going back in,” says Peeta. “Or the other victors. They get attached to their champions.” “I’m guessing they’ll get over it once the blood starts flowing,” I say flatly. Really, if there’s one thing I don’t have time for, it’s worrying about how the Quarter Quell will affect the mood in the Capitol. “So, you’re watching all the tapes again?”

“Okay,” Peeta agrees. He puts in the tape and I curl up next to him on the couch with my milk, which is really delicious with the honey and spices, and lose myself in the Fiftieth Hunger Games. After the anthem, they show President Snow drawing the envelope for the second Quarter Quell. He looks younger but just as repellent. He reads from the square of paper in the same onerous voice he used for ours, informing Panem that in honor of the Quarter Quell, there will be twice the number of tributes. The editors smash cut right into the reapings, where name after name after name is called.  

Peeta clicks off the tape and we sit there in silence for a while.

Chapter 17

Peeta walks me down to my room in silence, but before he can say good night, I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. His hands slide up my back and his cheek leans against my hair. “I’m sorry if I made things worse,” I say. “No worse than I did. Why did you do it, anyway?” he says. “I don’t know. To show them that I’m more than just a piece in their Games?” I say. He laughs a little, no doubt remembering the night before the Games last year. We were on the roof, neither of us able to sleep. Peeta had said something of the sort then, but I hadn’t understood what he meant. Now I do. “Me, too,” he tells me. “And I’m not saying I’m not going to try. To get you home, I mean. But if I’m perfectly honest about it …” “If you’re perfectly honest about it, you think President Snow has probably given them direct orders to make sure we die in the arena anyway,” I say. “It’s crossed my mind,” says Peeta. It’s crossed my mind, too. Repeatedly. But while I know I’ll never leave that arena alive, I’m still holding on to the hope that Peeta will. After all, he didn’t pull out those berries, I did. No one has ever doubted that Peeta’s defiance was motivated by love. So maybe President Snow will prefer keeping him alive, crushed and heartbroken, as a living warning to others. “But even if that happens, everyone will know we’ve gone out fighting, right?” Peeta asks. “Everyone will,” I reply. And for the first time, I distance myself from the personal tragedy that has consumed me since they announced the Quell. I remember the old man they shot in District 11, and Bonnie and Twill, and the rumored uprisings. Yes, everyone in the districts will be watching me to see how I handle this death sentence, this final act of President Snow’s dominance. They will be looking for some sign that their battles have not been in vain. If I can make it clear that I’m still defying the Capitol right up to the end, the Capitol will have killed me … but not my spirit. What better way to give hope to the rebels? The beauty of this idea is that my decision to keep Peeta alive at the expense of my own life is itself an act of defiance. A refusal to play the Hunger Games by the Capitol’s rules. My private agenda dovetails completely with my public one. And if I really could save Peeta … in terms of a revolution, this would be ideal. Because I will be more valuable dead. They can turn me into some kind of martyr for the cause and paint my face on banners, and it will do more to rally people than anything I could do if I was living. But Peeta would be more valuable alive, and tragic, because he will be able to turn his pain into words that will transform people. Peeta would lose it if he knew I was thinking any of this, so I only say, “So what should we do with our last few days?”

“I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you,” Peeta replies.

“Come on, then,” I say, pulling him into my room.

It feels like such a luxury, sleeping with Peeta again. I didn’t realize until now how starved I’ve been for human closeness. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness. I wish I hadn’t wasted the last couple of nights shutting him out. I sink down into sleep, enveloped in his warmth, and when I open my eyes again, daylight’s streaming through the windows.

“No nightmares,” he says.

“No nightmares,” I confirm. “You?”

“None. I’d forgotten what a real night’s sleep feels like,” he says.

We lie there for a while, in no rush to begin the day. Tomorrow night will be the televised interview, so today Effie and Haymitch should be coaching us. More high heels and sarcastic comments, I think. But then the redheaded Avox girl comes in with a note from Effie saying that, given our recent tour, both she and Haymitch have agreed we can handle ourselves adequately in public. The coaching sessions have been canceled.

“Really?” says Peeta, taking the note from my hand and examining it. “Do you know what this means? We’ll have the whole day to ourselves.”

“It’s too bad we can’t go somewhere,” I say wistfully.

“Who says we can’t?” he asks.

The roof. We order a bunch of food, grab some blankets, and head up to the roof for a picnic. A daylong picnic in the flower garden that tinkles with wind chimes. We eat. We lie in the sun. I snap off hanging vines and use my newfound knowledge from training to practice knots and weave nets. Peeta sketches me. We make up a game with the force field that surrounds the roof - one of us throws an apple into it and the other person has to catch it.

No one bothers us. By late afternoon, I lie with my head on Peeta’s lap, making a crown of flowers while he fiddles with my hair, claiming he’s practicing his knots. After a while, his hands go still. “What?” I ask.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever,” he says.

Usually this sort of comment, the kind that hints of his undying love for me, makes me feel guilty and awful. But I feel so warm and relaxed and beyond worrying about a future I’ll never have, I just let the word slip out. “Okay.”

I can hear the smile in his voice. “Then you’ll allow it?”

“I’ll allow it,” I say.

His fingers go back to my hair and I doze off, but he rouses me to see the sunset. It’s a spectacular yellow and orange blaze behind the skyline of the Capitol. “I didn’t think you’d want to miss it,” he says.

“Thanks,” I say. Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don’t want to miss any of them.

We don’t go and join the others for dinner, and no one summons us.

“I’m glad. I’m tired of making everyone around me so miserable,” says Peeta. “Everybody crying. Or Haymitch …” He doesn’t need to go on.

We stay on the roof until bedtime and then quietly slip down to my room without encountering anyone.

The next morning, we’re roused by my prep team. The sight of Peeta and me sleeping together is too much for Octavia, because she bursts into tears right away. “You remember what Cinna told us,” Venia says fiercely. Octavia nods and goes out sobbing.

Chapter 18 Peeta’s interview

As I pass Peeta, who’s headed for his interview, he doesn’t meet my eyes. I take my seat carefully, but aside from the puffs of smoke here and there, I seem unharmed, so I turn my attention to him. Caesar and Peeta have been a natural team since they first appeared together a year ago. Their easy give-and-take, comic timing, and ability to segue into heart-wrenching moments, like Peeta’s confession of love for me, have made them a huge success with the audience. They effortlessly open with a few jokes about fires and feathers and overcooking poultry. But anyone can see that Peeta is preoccupied, so Caesar directs the conversation right into the subject that’s on everyone’s minds. “So, Peeta, what was it like when, after all you’ve been through, you found out about the Quell?” asks Caesar. “I was in shock. I mean, one minute I’m seeing Katniss looking so beautiful in all these wedding gowns, and the next …” Peeta trails off. “You realized there was never going to be a wedding?” asks Caesar gently. Peeta pauses for a long moment, as if deciding something. He looks out at the spellbound audience, then at tin floor, then finally up at Caesar. “Caesar, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?” An uncomfortable laugh emanates from the audience. What can he mean? Keep a secret from who? Our whole world is watching. “I feel quite certain of it,” says Caesar. “We’re already married,” says Peeta quietly. The crowd reacts in astonishment, and I have to bury my face in the folds of my skirt so they can’t see my confusion. Where on earth is he going with this? “But … how can that be?” asks Caesar. “Oh, it’s not an official marriage. We didn’t go to the Justice Building or anything. But we have this marriage ritual in District Twelve. I don’t know what it’s like in the other districts. But there’s this thing we do,” says Peeta, and he briefly describes the toasting. “Were your families there?” asks Caesar. “No, we didn’t tell anyone. Not even Haymitch. And Katniss’s mother would never have approved. But you see, we knew if we were married in the Capitol, there wouldn’t be a toasting. And neither of us really wanted to wait any longer. So one day, we just did it,” Peeta says. “And to us, we’re more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.” “So this was before the Quell?” says Caesar. “Of course before the Quell. I’m sure we’d never have done it after we knew,” says Peeta, starting to get upset. “But who could’ve seen it coming? No one. We went through the Games, we were victors, everyone seemed so thrilled to see us together, and then out of nowhere - I mean, how could we anticipate a thing like that?” “You couldn’t, Peeta.” Caesar puts an arm around his shoulders. “As you say, no one could’ve. But I have to confess, I’m glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together.” Enormous applause. As if encouraged, I look up from my feathers and let the audience see my tragic smile of thanks. The residual smoke from the feathers has made my eyes teary, which adds a very nice touch. “I’m not glad,” says Peeta. “I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.” This takes even Caesar aback. “Surely even a brief time is better than no time?” “Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” says Peeta bitterly, “if it weren’t for the baby.” There. He’s done it again. Dropped a bomb that wipes out the efforts of every tribute who came before him. Well, maybe not. Maybe this year he has only lit the fuse on a bomb that the victors themselves have been building. Hoping someone would be able to detonate it. Perhaps thinking it would be me in my bridal gown. Not knowing how much I rely on Cinna’s talents, whereas Peeta needs nothing more than his wits. As the bomb explodes, it sends accusations of injustice and barbarism and cruelty flying out in every direction. Even the most Capitol-loving, Games-hungry, bloodthirsty person out there can’t ignore, at least for a moment, how horrific the whole thing is. I am pregnant. The audience can’t absorb the news right away. It has to strike them and sink in and be confirmed by other voices before they begin to sound like a herd of wounded animals, moaning, shrieking, calling for help. And me? I know my face is projected in a tight close-up on the screen, but I don’t make any effort to hide it. Because for a moment, even I am working through what Peeta has said. Isn’t it the thing I dreaded most about the wedding, about the future - the loss of my children to the Games? And it could be true now, couldn’t it? If I hadn’t spent my life building up layers of defenses until I recoil at even the suggestion of marriage or a family? Caesar can’t rein in the crowd again, not even when the buzzer sounds. Peeta nods his good-bye and comes back to his seat without any more conversation. I can see Caesar’s lips moving, but the place is in total chaos and I can’t hear a word. Only the blast of the anthem, cranked up so loud I can feel it vibrating through my bones, lets us know where we stand in the program. I automatically rise and, as I do, I sense Peeta reaching out for me. Tears run down his face as I take his hand. How real are the tears? Is this an acknowledgment that he has been stalked by the same fears that I have? That every victor has? Every parent in every district in Panem?

The moment we step off the elevator, Peeta grips my shoulders. “There isn’t much time, so tell me. Is there anything I have to apologize for?”

“Nothing,” I say. It was a big leap to take without my okay, but I’m just as glad I didn’t know, didn’t have time to second-guess him, to let any guilt over Gale detract from how I really feel about what Peeta did. Which is empowered.

We walk down the hallway. Peeta wants to stop by his room to shower off the makeup and meet me in a few minutes, but I won’t let him. I’m certain that if a door shuts between us, it will lock and I’ll have to spend the night without him. Besides, I have a shower in my room. I refuse to let go of his hand. Do we sleep? I don’t know. We spend the night holding each other, in some halfway land between dreams and waking. Not talking. Both afraid to disturb the other in the hope that we’ll be able to store up a few precious minutes of rest. Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. “See you soon,” he says.

See you soon 

Chapter  19

Finnick has reached Peeta now and is towing him back, one arm across his chest while the other propels them through the water with easy strokes. Peeta rides along without resisting. I don’t know what Finnick said or did that convinced him to put his life in his hands - showed him the bangle, maybe. Or just the sight of me waiting might have been enough. When they reach the sand, I help haul Peeta up onto dry land.

“Hello, again,” he says, and gives me a kiss. “We’ve got allies.”

“Yes. Just as Haymitch intended,” I answer. “Remind me, did we make deals with anyone else?” Peeta asks.

“Only Mags, I think,” I say. I nod toward the old woman doggedly making her way toward us.

“Well, I can’t leave Mags behind,” says Finnick. “She’s one of the few people who actually likes me.”

Chapter 19/20  Cpr is a kind of kissing 

I rush over to where he lies, motionless in a web of vines. “Peeta?” There’s a faint smell of singed hair. I call his name again, giving him a little shake, but he’s unresponsive. My fingers fumble across his lips, where there’s no warm breath although moments ago he was panting. I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.

“Peeta!” I scream. I shake him harder, even resort to slapping his face, but it’s no use. His heart has failed. I am slapping emptiness. “Peeta!” Finnick props Mags against a tree and pushes me out of the way. “Let me.” His fingers touch points at Peeta’s neck, run over the bones in his ribs and spine. Then he pinches Peeta’s nostrils shut. “No!” I yell, hurling myself at Finnick, for surely he intends to make certain that Peeta’s dead, to keep any hope of life from returning to him. Finnick’s hand comes up and hits me so hard, so squarely in the chest that I go flying back into a nearby tree trunk. I’m stunned for a moment, by the pain, by trying to regain my wind, as I see Finnick close off Peeta’s nose again. From where I sit, I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I’m stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it’s so bizarre, even for Finnick, that I stay my hand. No, he’s not kissing him. He’s got Peeta’s nose blocked off but his mouth tilted open, and he’s blowing air into his lungs. I can see this, I can actually see Peeta’s chest rising and falling. Then Finnick unzips the top of Peeta’s jumpsuit and begins to pump the spot over his heart with the heels of his hands. Now that I’ve gotten through my shock, I understand what he’s trying to do. Once in a blue moon, I’ve seen my mother try something similar, but not often. If your heart fails in District 12, it’s unlikely your family could get you to my mother in time, anyway. So her usual patients are burned or wounded or ill. Or starving, of course. But Finnick’s world is different. Whatever he’s doing, he’s done it before. There’s a very set rhythm and method. And I find the arrow tip sinking to the ground as I lean in to watch, desperately, for some sign of success. Agonizing minutes drag past as my hopes diminish. Around the time that I’m deciding it’s too late, that Peeta’s dead, moved on, unreachable forever, he gives a small cough and Finnick sits back. I leave my weapons in the dirt as I fling myself at him. “Peeta?” I say softly. I brush the damp blond strands of hair back from his forehead, find the pulse drumming against my fingers at his neck. His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet mine. “Careful,” he says weakly. “There’s a force field up ahead.” I laugh, but there are tears running down my cheeks. “Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof,” he says. “I’m all right, though. Just a little shaken.” “You were dead! Your heart stopped!” I burst out, before really considering if this is a good idea. I clap my hand over my mouth because I’m starting to make those awful choking sounds that happen when I sob. “Well, it seems to be working now,” he says. “It’s all right, Katniss.” I nod my head but the sounds aren’t stopping. “Katniss?” Now Peeta’s worried about me, which adds to the insanity of it all. “It’s okay. It’s just her hormones,” says Finnick. “From the baby.” I look up and see him, sitting back on his knees but still panting a bit from the climb and the heat and the effort of bringing Peeta back from the dead. “No. It’s not - ” I get out, but I’m cut off by an even more hysterical round of sobbing that seems only to confirm what Finnick said about the baby. He meets my eyes and I glare at him through my tears. It’s stupid, I know, that his efforts make me so vexed. All I wanted was to keep Peeta alive, and I couldn’t and Finnick could, and I should be nothing but grateful. And I am. But I am also furious because it means that I will never stop owing Finnick Odair. Ever. So how can I kill him in his sleep? I expect to see a smug or sarcastic expression on his face, but his look is strangely quizzical. He glances between Peeta and me, as if trying to figure something out, then gives his head a slight shake as if to clear it. “How are you?” he asks Peeta. “Do you think you can move on?” I notice a gleam of gold on Peeta’s chest. I reach out and retrieve the disk that hangs from a chain around his neck. My mockingjay has been engraved on it. “Is this your token?” I ask. “Yes. Do you mind that I used your mockingjay? I wanted us to match,” he says. “No, of course I don’t mind.” I force a smile. Peeta showing up in the arena wearing a mockingjay is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it should give a boost to the rebels in the district. On the other, it’s hard to imagine President Snow will overlook it, and that makes the job of keeping Peeta alive harder.

Chapter 24

know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins. "It’s all right, Katniss,” he whispers. “You didn’t hear them,” I answer. “I heard Prim. Right in the beginning. But it wasn’t her,” he says. “It was a jabberjay.” “It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it,” I say. “No, that’s what they want you to think. The same way I wondered if Glimmer’s eyes were in that mutt last year. But those weren’t Glimmer’s eyes. And that wasn’t Prim’s voice. Or if it was, they took it from an interview or something and distorted the sound. Made it say whatever she was saying,” he says. “No, they were torturing her,” I answer. “She’s probably dead.” “Katniss, Prim isn’t dead. How could they kill Prim? We’re almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?” Peeta says. “Seven more of us die,” I say hopelessly. “No, back home. What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him. Forces me to make eye contact. “What happens? At the final eight?” I know he’s trying to help me, so I make myself think. “At the final eight?” I repeat. “They interview your family and friends back home.” “That’s right,” says Peeta. “They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they’ve killed them all?” “No?” I ask, still unsure. “No. That’s how we know Prim’s alive. She’ll be the first one they interview, won’t she?” he asks. I want to believe him. Badly. It’s just … those voices … “First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge,” he continues. “It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We’re the ones in the Games. Not them.” “You really believe that?” I say. “I really do,” says Peeta. I waver, thinking of how Peeta can make anyone believe anything. I look over at Finnick for confirmation, see he’s fixated on Peeta, his words. “Do you believe it, Finnick?” I ask. “It could be true. I don’t know,” he says. “Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone’s regular voice and make it …” “Oh, yes. It’s not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school,” says Beetee. “Of course Peeta’s right. The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on their hands,” says Johanna flatly. “Don’t want that, do they?” She throws back her head and shouts, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

THE BEACH SCENE  Chapter 24 if your wondering

Peeta and I sit on the damp sand, facing away from each other, my right shoulder and hip pressed against his. I watch the water as he watches the jungle, which is better for me. I’m still haunted by the voices of the jabberjays, which unfortunately the insects can’t drown out. After a while I rest my head against his shoulder. Feel his hand caress my hair. “Katniss,” he says softly, “it’s no use pretending we don’t know what the other one is trying to do.” No, I guess there isn’t, but it’s no fun discussing it, either. Well, not for us, anyway. The Capitol viewers will be glued to their sets so they don’t miss one wretched word. “I don’t know what kind of deal you think you’ve made with Haymitch, but you should know he made me promises as well.” Of course, I know this, too. He told Peeta they could keep me alive so that he wouldn’t be suspicious. “So I think we can assume he was lying to one of us.” This gets my attention. A double deal. A double promise. With only Haymitch knowing which one is real. I raise my head, meet Peeta’s eyes. “Why are you saying this now?” “Because I don’t want you forgetting how different our circumstances are. If you die, and I live, there’s no life for me at all back in District Twelve. You’re my whole life,” he says. “I would never be happy again.” I start to object but he puts a finger to my lips. “It’s different for you. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be hard. But there are other people who’d make your life worth living.” Peeta pulls the chain with the gold disk from around his neck. He holds it in the moonlight so I can clearly see the mockingjay. Then his thumb slides along a catch I didn’t notice before and the disk pops open. It’s not solid, as I had thought, but a locket. And within the locket are photos. On the right side, my mother and Prim, laughing. And on the left, Gale. Actually smiling. There is nothing in the world that could break me faster at this moment than these three faces. After what I heard this afternoon … it is the perfect weapon. “Your family needs you, Katniss,” Peeta says. My family. My mother. My sister. And my pretend cousin Gale. But Peeta’s intention is clear. That Gale really is my family, or will be one day, if I live. That I’ll marry him. So Peeta’s giving me his life and Gale at the same time. To let me know I shouldn’t ever have doubts about it. Everything. That’s what Peeta wants me to take from him. I wait for him to mention the baby, to play to the cameras, but he doesn’t. And that’s how I know that none of this is part of the Games. That he is telling me the truth about what he feels. “No one really needs me,” he says, and there’s no self-pity in his voice. It’s true his family doesn’t need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me. “I do,” I say. “I need you.” He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that’s no good, no good at all, because he’ll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I’ll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss. I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down. This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind. “I can’t sleep anymore,” he says. “One of you should rest.” Only then does he seem to notice our expressions, the way we’re wrapped around each other. “Or both of you. I can watch alone.” Peeta won’t let him, though. “It’s too dangerous,” he says. “I’m not tired. You lie down, Katniss.” I don’t object because I do need to sleep if I’m to be of any use keeping him alive. I let him lead me over to where the others are. He puts the chain with the locket around my neck, then rests his hand over the spot where our baby would be. “You’re going to make a great mother, you know,” he says. He kisses me one last time and goes back to Finnick. His reference to the baby signals that our time-out from the Games is over. That he knows the audience will be wondering why he hasn’t used the most persuasive argument in his arsenal. That sponsors must be manipulated. But as I stretch out on the sand I wonder, could it be more? Like a reminder to me that I could still one day have kids with Gale? Well, if that was it, it was a mistake. Because for one thing, that’s never been part of my plan. And for another, if only one of us can be a parent, anyone can see it should be Peeta. As I drift off, I try to imagine that world, somewhere in the future, with no Games, no Capitol. A place like the meadow in the song I sang to Rue as she died. Where Peeta’s child could be safe

Chapter 25

Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. “For you.” I hold it out on my palm and examine its iridescent surface in the sunlight. Yes, I will keep it. For the few remaining hours of my life I will keep it close. This last gift from Peeta. The only one I can really accept. Perhaps it will give me strength in the final moments. “Thanks,” I say, closing my fist around it. I look coolly into the blue eyes of the person who is now my greatest opponent, the person who would keep me alive at his own expense. And I promise myself I will defeat his plan. The laughter drains from those eyes, and they are staring so intensely into mine, it’s like they can read my thoughts. “The locket didn’t work, did it?” Peeta says, even though Finnick is right there. Even though everyone can hear him. “Katniss?” “It worked,” I say. “But not the way I wanted it to,” he says, averting his glance. After that he will look at nothing but oysters.

I have the pearl, though, secured in a parachute with the spile and the medicine at my waist. I hope it makes it back to District 12. Surely my mother and Prim will know to return it to Peeta before they bury my body.

Chapter 26  

I don’t like the plan any more than Peeta does. How can I protect him at a distance? But Beetee’s right. With his leg, Peeta is too slow to make it down the slope in time. Johanna and I are the fastest and most sure-footed on the jungle floor. I can’t think of any alternative. And if I trust anyone here besides Peeta, it’s Beetee. “It’s okay,” I tell Peeta. “We’ll just drop the coil and come straight back up.” “Not into the lightning zone,” Beetee reminds me. “Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector. If you find you’re running out of time, move over one more. Don’t even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage.” I take Peeta’s face in my hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you at midnight.” I give him a kiss and, before he can object any further, I let go and turn to Johanna. “Ready?”

Mockingjay .

Chapter 3

I feel around for the parachute and slide my fingers inside until they close around the pearl. I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it’s soothing. A cool kiss from the giver himself.

skim my list. “Gale. I’ll need him with me to do this.” “With you how? Off camera? By your side at all times? Do you want him presented as your new lover?” Coin asks. She hasn’t said this with any particular malice - quite the contrary, her words are very matter-of-fact. But my mouth still drops open in shock. “What?” “I think we should continue the current romance. A quick defection from Peeta could cause the audience to lose sympathy for her,” says Plutarch. “Especially since they think she’s pregnant with his child.” “Agreed. So, on-screen, Gale can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel. Is that all right?” says Coin. I just stare at her. She repeats herself impatiently. “For Gale. Will that be sufficient?” “We can always work him in as your cousin,” says Fulvia.

“We’re not cousins,” Gale and I say together.

“Right, but we should probably keep that up for appearances’ sake on camera,” says Plutarch. “Off camera, he’s all yours. Anything else?”

I’m rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I’m in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I’m devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. “When the war is over, if we’ve won, Peeta will be pardoned.”

Dead silence. I feel Gale’s body tense. I guess I should have told him before, but I wasn’t sure how he’d respond. Not when it involved Peeta.

“No form of punishment will be inflicted,” I continue. A new thought occurs to me. “The same goes for the other captured tributes, Johanna and Enobaria.” Frankly, I don’t care about Enobaria, the vicious District 2 tribute. In fact, I dislike her, but it seems wrong to leave her out.

“No,” says Coin flatly.

“Yes,” I shoot back. “It’s not their fault you abandoned them in the arena. Who knows what the Capitol’s doing to them?”

“They’ll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit,” she says.

“They’ll be granted immunity!” I feel myself rising from my chair, my voice full and resonant. “You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety, or you’ll find yourself another Mockingjay!”

My words hang in the air for a long moment.

Chapter 16

“Always.” In the twilight of morphling, Peeta whispers the word and I go searching for him. It’s a gauzy, violet-tinted world, with no hard edges, and many places to hide. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, catch the scent of cinnamon, of dill. Once I feel his hand on my cheek and try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers.

I wish I could meet with Peeta privately. But the audience of doctors has assembled behind the one-way glass, clipboards ready, pens poised. When Haymitch gives me the okay in my earpiece, I slowly open the door. Those blue eyes lock on me instantly. He’s got three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn’t fight to free himself, though, only observes me with the wary look of someone who still hasn’t ruled out that he’s in the presence of a mutt. I walk over until I’m standing about a yard from the bed. There’s nothing to do with my hands, so I cross my arms protectively over my ribs before I speak. “Hey.” “Hey,” he responds. It’s like his voice, almost his voice, except there’s something new in it. An edge of suspicion and reproach. “Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me,” I say. “Look at you, for starters.” It’s like he’s waiting for me to transform into a hybrid drooling wolf right before his eyes. He stares so long I find myself casting furtive glances at the one-way glass, hoping for some direction from Haymitch, but my earpiece stays silent. “You’re not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?” I know he’s been through hell and back, and yet somehow the observation rubs me the wrong way. “Well, you’ve looked better.” Haymitch’s advice to back off gets muffled by Peeta’s laughter. “And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I’ve been through.” “Yeah. We’ve all been through a lot. And you’re the one who was known for being nice. Not me.” I’m doing everything wrong. I don’t know why I feel so defensive. He’s been tortured! He’s been hijacked! What’s wrong with me? Suddenly, I think I might start screaming at him - I’m not even sure about what - so I decide to get out of there. “Look, I don’t feel so well. Maybe I’ll drop by tomorrow.” I’ve just reached the door when his voice stops me. “Katniss. I remember about the bread.” The bread. Our one moment of real connection before the Hunger Games. “They showed you the tape of me talking about it,” I say. “No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn’t the Capitol use it against me?” he asks. “I made it the day you were rescued,” I answer. The pain in my chest wraps around my ribs like a vise. The dancing was a mistake. “So what do you remember?” “You. In the rain,” he says softly. “Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead.” “That’s it. That’s what happened,” I say. “The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn’t know how.” “We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then…for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion.” I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. “I must have loved you a lot.” “You did.” My voice catches and I pretend to cough. “And did you love me?” he asks. I keep my eyes on the tiled floor. “Everyone says I did. Everyone says that’s why Snow had you tortured. To break me.” “That’s not an answer,” he tells me. “I don’t know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers.” “I was trying to kill all of you,” I say. “You had me treed.” “Later, there’s a lot of kissing. Didn’t seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?” he asks. “Sometimes,” I admit. “You know people are watching us now?” “I know. What about Gale?” he continues. My anger’s returning. I don’t care about his recovery - this isn’t the business of the people behind the glass. “He’s not a bad kisser either,” I say shortly. “And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?” he asks. “No. It wasn’t okay with either of you. But I wasn’t asking your permission,” I tell him. Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. “Well, you’re a piece of work, aren’t you?” Haymitch doesn’t protest when I walk out. Down the hall. Through the beehive of compartments. Find a warm pipe to hide behind in a laundry room. It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I’m so upset. When I do, it’s almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.

Chapter 18 

I consider saying a final good-bye to Peeta, decide it would only be bad for both of us. But I do slip the pearl into the pocket of my uniform. A token of the boy with the bread.

Chapter 19 

After about an hour, Peeta speaks up. “These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth. Back and forth.” That seems grossly unfair, and my first impulse is to say something cutting. But I revisit my conversation with Haymitch and try to take the first tentative step in Peeta’s direction. “I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as…an ally.” That’s a good safe word. Empty of any emotional obligation, but nonthreatening. “Ally.” Peeta says the word slowly, tasting it. “Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.” He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. “The problem is, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, and what’s made up.” The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. “Your favorite color…it’s green?” “That’s right.” Then I think of something to add. “And yours is orange.” “Orange?” He seems unconvinced. “Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset,” I say. “At least, that’s what you told me once.” “Oh.” He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. “Thank you.” But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.” Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

Chapter 21

 Peeta buries his face in his hands for a few moments, then rises to join us. “Should we free his hands?” asks Leeg 1. “No!” Peeta growls at her, drawing his cuffs in close to his body. “No,” I echo. “But I want the key.” Jackson passes it over without a word. I slip it into my pants pocket, where it clicks against the pearl.

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. “There’s still time. You should sleep.” Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn’t recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It’s the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena. “You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers. “Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.” After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

Chapter 22

“Leave me,” he whispers. “I can’t hang on.” “Yes. You can!” I tell him. Peeta shakes his head. “I’m losing it. I’ll go mad. Like them.” Like the mutts. Like a rabid beast bent on ripping my throat out. And here, finally here in this place, in these circumstances, I will really have to kill him. And Snow will win. Hot, bitter hatred courses through me. Snow has won too much already today. It’s a long shot, it’s suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don’t let him take you from me.” Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I don’t want to…” I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.” His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs

Chapter 23

I think it’s time I give myself up. When everyone finally awakens, I confess. How I lied about the mission, how I jeopardized everyone in pursuit of revenge. There’s a long silence after I finish. Then Gale says, “Katniss, we all knew you were lying about Coin sending you to assassinate Snow.” “You knew, maybe. The soldiers from Thirteen didn’t,” I reply.

“Do you really think Jackson believed you had orders from Coin?” Cressida asks. “Of course she didn’t. But she trusted Boggs, and he’d clearly wanted you to go on.”

“I never even told Boggs what I planned to do,” I say.

“You told everyone in Command!” Gale says. “It was one of your conditions for being the Mockingjay. 'I kill Snow.’”

Those seem like two disconnected things. Negotiating with Coin for the privilege of executing Snow after the war and this unauthorized flight through the Capitol. “But not like this,” I say. “It’s been a complete disaster.”

“I think it would be considered a highly successful mission,” says Gale. “We’ve infiltrated the enemy camp, showing that the Capitol’s defenses can be breached. We’ve managed to get footage of ourselves all over the Capitol’s news. We’ve thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us.”

“Trust me, Plutarch’s thrilled,” Cressida adds.

“That’s because Plutarch doesn’t care who dies,” I say. “Not as long as his Games are a success.”

Cressida and Gale go round and round trying to convince me. Pollux nods at their words to back them up. Only Peeta doesn’t offer an opinion.

“What do you think, Peeta?” I finally ask him.

“I think…you still have no idea. The effect you can have.” He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes himself to a sitting position. “None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow.”

I don’t know why his voice reaches me when no one else’s can. But if he’s right, and I think he is, I owe the others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. I pull my paper map from a pocket in my uniform and spread it out on the floor with new resolve. “Where are we, Cressida?”

Chapter 27

I wake with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out the front door, and around the side of the house, because now I’m pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see him, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes. “You’re back,” I say. “Dr. Aurelius wouldn’t let me leave the Capitol until yesterday,” Peeta says. “By the way, he said to tell you he can’t keep pretending he’s treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone.” He looks well. Thin and covered with burn scars like me, but his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. He’s frowning slightly, though, as he takes me in. I make a halfhearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it’s matted into clumps. I feel defensive. “What are you doing?” “I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For her,” he says. “I thought we could plant them along the side of the house.” I look at the bushes, the clods of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the wordrose registers. I’m about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for. I give Peeta a nod of assent and hurry back into the house, locking the door behind me. But the evil thing is inside, not out. Trembling with weakness and anxiety, I run up the stairs. My foot catches on the last step and I crash onto the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. The smell’s very faint but still laces the air. It’s there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure.

Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life. I try to follow Dr. Aurelius’s advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again. I tell him my idea about the book, and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol. I got the idea from our family’s plant book. The place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory. The page begins with the person’s picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta. Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim’s cheek. My father’s laugh. Peeta’s father with the cookies. The color of Finnick’s eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor. Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late primrose preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie’s newborn son. We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then raises geese until the next train arrives. Fortunately, the geese can take pretty good care of themselves. We’re not alone. A few hundred others return because, whatever has happened, this is our home. With the mines closed, they plow the ashes into the earth and plant food. Machines from the Capitol break ground for a new factory where we will make medicines. Although no one seeds it, the Meadow turns green again. Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?” I tell him, “Real.”

epilogue

They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much. The questions are just beginning. The arenas have been completely destroyed, the memorials built, there are no more Hunger Games. But they teach about them at school, and the girl knows we played a role in them. The boy will know in a few years. How can I tell them about that world without frightening them to death? My children, who take the words of the song for granted:

Deep in the meadow, under the willow A bed of grass, a soft green pillow Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes And when again they open, the sun will rise. Here it’s safe, here it’s warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.

My children, who don’t know they play on a graveyard.

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I’ll have to explain about my nightmares. Why they came. Why they won’t ever really go away.

I’ll tell them how I survive it. I’ll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I’m afraid it could be taken away. That’s when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I’ve seen someone do. It’s like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.

But there are much worse games to play.

And Because I am a super Petty Person Gales   Kisses will be added below 

"If only it were that simple." He picks up one of the flowered cookies and examines it. "Lovely. Your mother made these?" "Peeta." And for the first time, I find I can't hold his gaze. I reach for my tea but set it back down when I hear the cup rattling against the saucer. To cover I quickly take a cookie. "Peeta. How is the love of your life?" he asks. "Good," I say. "At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?" he asks, dipping his cookie in his tea. "I'm not indifferent," I say. "But perhaps not as taken with the young man as you would have the country believe," he says. "Who says I'm not?" I say. "I do," says the president. "And I wouldn't be here if I were the only person who had doubts. How's the handsome cousin?" "I don't know ... I don't ..." My revulsion at this conversation, at discussing my feelings for two of the people I care most about with President Snow, chokes me off. "Speak, Miss Everdeen. Him I can easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution," he says. "You aren't doing him a favor by disappearing into the woods with him each Sunday." If he knows this, what else does he know? And how does he know it? Many people could tell him that Gale and I spend our Sundays hunting. Don't we show up at the end of each one loaded down with game? Haven't we for years? The real question is what he thinks goes on in the woods beyond District 12. Surely they haven't been tracking us in there. Or have they? Could we have been followed? That seems impossible. At least by a person. Cameras? That never crossed my mind until this moment. The woods have always been our place of safety, our place beyond the reach of the Capitol, where we're free to say what we feel, be who we are. At least before the Games. If we've been watched since, what have they seen? Two people hunting, saying treasonous things against the Capitol, yes. But not two people in love, which seems to be President Snow's implication. We are safe on that charge. Unless ... unless ... It only happened once. It was fast and unexpected, but it did happen. After Peeta and I got home from the Games, it was several weeks before I saw Gale alone. First there were the obligatory celebrations. A banquet for the victors that only the most high-ranking people were invited to. A holiday for the whole district with free food and entertainers brought in from the Capitol. Parcel Day, the first of twelve, in which food packages were delivered to every person in the district. That was my favorite. To see all those hungry kids in the Seam running around, waving cans of applesauce, tins of meat, even candy. Back home, too big to carry, would be bags of grain, cans of oil. To know that once a month for a year they would all receive another parcel. That was one of the few times I actually felt good about winning the Games. So between the ceremonies and events and the reporters documenting my every move as I presided and thanked and kissed Peeta for the audience, I had no privacy at all. After a few weeks, things finally died down. The camera crews and reporters packed up and went home. Peeta and I assumed the cool relationship we've had ever since. My family settled into our house in the Victor's Village. The everyday life of District 12 - workers to the mines, kids to school - resumed its usual pace. I waited until I thought the coast was really clear, and then one Sunday, without telling anyone, I got up hours before dawn and took off for the woods. The weather was still warm enough that I didn't need a jacket. I packed along a bag filled with special foods, cold chicken and cheese and bakery bread and oranges. Down at my old house, I put on my hunting boots. As usual, the fence was not charged and it was simple to slip into the woods and retrieve my bow and arrows. I went to our place, Gale's and mine, where we had shared breakfast the morning of the reaping that sent me into the Games. I waited at least two hours. I'd begun to think that he'd given up on me in the weeks that had passed. Or that he no longer cared about me. Hated me even. And the idea of losing him forever, my best friend, the only person I'd ever trusted with my secrets, was so painful I couldn't stand it. Not on top of everything else that had happened. I could feel my eyes tearing up and my throat starting to close the way it does when I get upset. Then I looked up and there he was, ten feet away, just watching me. Without even thinking, I jumped up and threw my arms around him, making some weird sound that combined laughing, choking, and crying. He was holding me so tightly that I couldn't see his face, but it was a really long time before he let me go and then he didn't have much choice, because I'd gotten this unbelievably loud case of the hiccups and had to get a drink. We did what we always did that day. Ate breakfast. Hunted and fished and gathered. Talked about people in town. But not about us, his new life in the mines, my time in the arena. Just about other things. By the time we were at the hole in the fence that's nearest the Hob, I think I really believed that things could be the same. That we could go on as we always had. I'd given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I'd skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn't even know I'd gone hunting and they'd be wondering where I was. Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, "I had to do that. At least once." And he was gone. Despite the fact that the sun was setting and my family would be worried, I sat by a tree next to the fence. I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted. Finally I went home. That week I managed the snares and dropped off the meat with Hazelle. But I didn't see Gale until Sunday. I had this whole speech worked out, about how I didn't want a boyfriend and never planned on marrying, but I didn't end up using it. Gale acted as if the kiss had never happened. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. Or kiss him back. Instead I just pretended it had never happened, either. But it had. Gale had shattered some invisible barrier between us and, with it, any hope I had of resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship. Whatever I pretended, I could never look at his lips in quite the same way. This all flashes through my head in an instant as President Snow's eyes bore into me on the heels of his threat to kill Gale. How stupid I've been to think the Capitol would just ignore me once I'd returned home! Maybe I didn't know about the potential uprisings. But I knew they were angry with me. Instead of acting with the extreme caution the situation called for, what have I done? From the president's point of view, I've ignored Peeta and flaunted my preference for Gale's company before the whole district. And by doing so made it clear I was, in fact, mocking the Capitol. Now I've endangered Gale and his family and my family and Peeta, too, by my carelessness. "Please don't hurt Gale," I whisper. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. That's all that's between us. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now." "I'm only interested in how it affects your dynamic with Peeta, thereby affecting the mood in the districts," he says. "It will be the same on the tour. I'll be in love with him just as I was," I say. "Just as you are," corrects President Snow. "Just as I am," I confirm.

For the first time, I reverse our positions in my head. I imagine watching Gale volunteering to save Rory in the reaping, having him torn from my life, becoming some strange girl's lover to stay alive, and then coming home with her. Living next to her. Promising to marry her. The hatred I feel for him, for the phantom girl, for everything, is so real and immediate that it chokes me. Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable. Why did it take him being whipped within an inch of his life to see it? Because I'm selfish. I'm a coward. I'm the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. I rest my head forward on the edge of the table, overcome with loathing for myself. Wishing I had died in the arena. Wishing Seneca Crane had blown me to bits the way President Snow said he should have when I held out the berries. The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. The trouble is, I don't know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. Could it be the people in the districts are right? That it was an act of rebellion, even if it was an unconscious one? Because, deep down, I must know it isn't enough to keep myself, or my family, or my friends alive by running away. Even if I could. It wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't stop people from being hurt the way Gale was today. Life in District 12 isn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it. Well, it's not hard for Gale. He was born a rebel. I'm the one making an escape plan. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.

By the time we reach the town square, afternoon's sinking into evening. I take Cressida to the rubble of the bakery and ask her to film something. The only emotion I can muster is exhaustion. "Peeta, this is your home. None of your family has been heard of since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you're calling for a cease-fire?" I look across the emptiness. "There's no one left to hear you." As we stand before the lump of metal that was the gallows, Cressida asks if either of us has ever been tortured. In answer, Gale pulls off his shirt and turns his back to the camera. I stare at the lash marks, and again hear the whistling of the whip, see his bloody figure hanging unconscious by his wrists. "I'm done," I announce. "I'll meet you at the Victor's Village. Something for...my mother." I guess I walked here, but the next thing I'm conscious of is sitting on the floor in front of the kitchen cabinets of our house in the Victor's Village. Meticulously lining ceramic jars and glass bottles into a box. Placing clean cotton bandages between them to prevent breaking. Wrapping bunches of dried flowers. Suddenly, I remember the rose on my dresser. Was it real? If so, is it still up there? I have to resist the temptation to check. If it's there, it will only frighten me all over again. I hurry with my packing. When the cabinets are empty, I rise to find that Gale has materialized in my kitchen. It's disturbing how soundlessly he can appear. He's leaning on the table, his fingers spread wide against the wood grain. I set the box between us. "Remember?" he asks. "This is where you kissed me." So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn't enough to erase that from his consciousness. "I didn't think you'd remember that," I say. "Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer. I'm too weary to work through his latest charge. I spend the short ride back to 13 curled up in a seat, trying to ignore Plutarch going on about one of his favorite subjects - weapons mankind no longer has at its disposal. High-flying planes, military satellites, cell disintegrators, drones, biological weapons with expiration dates. Brought down by the destruction of the atmosphere or lack of resources or moral squeamishness. You can hear the regret of a Head Gamemaker who can only dream of such toys, who must make do with hovercraft and land-to-land missiles and plain old guns.

Gale finds me when they arrive late one afternoon. I'm sitting on a log at the edge of my current village, plucking a goose. A dozen or so of the birds are piled at my feet. Great flocks of them have been migrating through here since I've arrived, and the pickings are easy. Without a word, Gale settles beside me and begins to relieve a bird of its feathers. We're through about half when he says, "Any chance we'll get to eat these?" "Yeah. Most go to the camp kitchen, but they expect me to give a couple to whoever I'm staying with tonight," I say. "For keeping me." "Isn't the honor of the thing enough?" he says. "You'd think," I reply. "But word's gotten out that mockingjays are hazardous to your health." We pluck in silence for a while longer. Then he says, "I saw Peeta yesterday. Through the glass." "What'd you think?" I ask. "Something selfish," says Gale. "That you don't have to be jealous of him anymore?" My fingers give a yank, and a cloud of feathers floats down around us. "No. Just the opposite." Gale pulls a feather out of my hair. "I thought...I'll never compete with that. No matter how much pain I'm in." He spins the feather between his thumb and forefinger. "I don't stand a chance if he doesn't get better. You'll never be able to let him go. You'll always feel wrong about being with me." "The way I always felt wrong kissing him because of you," I say. Gale holds my gaze. "If I thought that was true, I could almost live with the rest of it." "It is true," I admit. "But so is what you said about Peeta."

Gale makes a sound of exasperation. Nonetheless, after we've dropped off the birds and volunteered to go back to the woods to gather kindling for the evening fire, I find myself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the faded bruises on my neck, working their way to my mouth. Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or I'll never go back to him. I'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. So in the fading light I shut my eyes and kiss Gale to make up for all the kisses I've withheld, and because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it. Gale's touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body's still alive, and for the moment it's a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. When Gale pulls away slightly, I move forward to close the gap, but I feel his hand under my chin. "Katniss," he says. The instant I open my eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not our woods or our mountains or our way. My hand automatically goes to the scar on my left temple, which I associate with confusion. "Now kiss me." Bewildered, unblinking, I stand there while he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly. He examines my face closely. "What's going on in your head?"

"I don't know," I whisper back.

"Then it's like kissing someone who's drunk. It doesn't count," he says with a weak attempt at a laugh. He scoops up a pile of kindling and drops it in my empty arms, returning me to myself.

"How do you know?" I say, mostly to cover my embarrassment. "Have you kissed someone who's drunk?" I guess Gale could've been kissing girls right and left back in 12. He certainly had enough takers. I never thought about it much before.

He just shakes his head. "No. But it's not hard to imagine."

"So, you never kissed any other girls?" I ask.

"I didn't say that. You know, you were only twelve when we met. And a real pain besides. I did have a life outside of hunting with you," he says, loading up with firewood.

Suddenly, I'm genuinely curious. "Who did you kiss? And where?"

"Too many to remember. Behind the school, on the slag heap, you name it," he says.

I roll my eyes. "So when did I become so special? When they carted me off to the Capitol?"

"No. About six months before that. Right after New Year's. We were in the Hob, eating some slop of Greasy Sae's. And Darius was teasing you about trading a rabbit for one of his kisses. And I realized...I minded," he tells me.

I remember that day. Bitter cold and dark by four in the afternoon. We'd been hunting, but a heavy snow had driven us back into town. The Hob was crowded with people looking for refuge from the weather. Greasy Sae's soup, made with stock from the bones of a wild dog we'd shot a week earlier, was below her usual standards. Still, it was hot, and I was starving as I scooped it up, sitting cross-legged on her counter. Darius was leaning on the post of the stall, tickling my cheek with the end of my braid, while I smacked his hand away. He was explaining why one of his kisses merited a rabbit, or possibly two, since everyone knows redheaded men are the most virile. And Greasy Sae and I were laughing because he was so ridiculous and persistent and kept pointing out women around the Hob who he said had paid far more than a rabbit to enjoy his lips. "See? The one in the green muffler? Go ahead and ask her.If you need a reference."

A million miles from here, a billion days ago, this happened. "Darius was just joking around," I say.

"Probably. Although you'd be the last to figure out if he wasn't," Gale tells me. "Take Peeta. Take me. Or even Finnick. I was starting to worry he had his eye on you, but he seems back on track now."

"You don't know Finnick if you think he'd love me," I say.

Gale shrugs. "I know he was desperate. That makes people do all kinds of crazy things."

I can't help thinking that's directed at me.

Gale catches my arm before I can disappear. "So that's what you're thinking now?" I shrug. "Katniss, as your oldest friend, believe me when I say he's not seeing you as you really are." He kisses my cheek and goes.

[ghost-in-the-stalls]

Neil Josten's Playlist Part 1: Andrew

Masterpost and link to the playlist in its entirety

These songs are going to be the biggest chunk of the playlist. Are we surprised?

Okay here we go:

1. Take Me To Church - Hozier

I was not joking about Neil being a Hozier fan. You cannot tell me this boy doesn’t hear this song on the radio and immediately think of Andrew. Every time it came on he’d make sure the radio stayed on the station so he could listen all the way through. It got overplayed but he’s probably the only person in the world who never got sick of it at the time. He got used to listening to the same songs over and over again with his mom, so he's even comforted by repeating songs now.

5. Stay - Rihanna & Mikky Ekko

So one night, after several nightmares within the span of a few hours, Neil wasn’t too proud to admit that he absolutely wasn’t going to get any decent sleep that night. Andrew took him on a long drive without even having to be asked. The silence was shoving Neil even further into his thoughts, so Andrew turned on the radio. He settled on a station that was playing softer music that Neil probably wouldn’t hate, and he just kept driving. Once this song came on, Neil became enamored with it. It’s another one of those songs that makes him think of Andrew, but it’s more because he listens to the lyrics and realizes Andrew has said half of these things to him. It’s now a song that, even years later when he and Andrew are living in separate states and desperately trying to land contracts with the same team, Neil listens to on bad nights.

6. River - Bishop Briggs

Listen... this is just another really solid Andreil song.......... and I’m absolutely positive this is a song that Neil would like. Let me have this.

For Neil everything with Andrew is simultaneously loud and quiet and intense and gentle and hard and soft. He’s never known someone to make him feel so much yet calm him down from panic to nothing so smoothly. Even their intimacy holds so much complexity and weight to it. This is a song I feel like Andrew introduced him to, because it absolutely makes him think of Neil too (not that he'd say that out loud).

8. Dreams - The Cranberries

Renee likes the Cranberries and she got Andrew into them too. Andrew pretends this song doesn’t make him think about Neil but no one is actually fooled by that when they catch him listening to it. Least of all Neil because he feels the same thing listening to the lyrics. Not much explanation past that. Neil vibes with this song right from the opening lyrics (”Oh, my life is changing every day in every possible way”), to the comparison of a lover to a dream (he still remembers when Andrew called him a pipedream, even if he didn’t understand at the time), to the vocal breaks in the middle and at the end where it just sounds like someone singing their soul right out of their body.

Neil is a private person and not someone to ever scream his love from rooftops. But that doesn’t mean the concept doesn’t hit him deep. He’s been through a lot and he’s come out the other end with a love of his own that’s deeper and more than anything he ever imagined. His lack of expressing passion about most things (Andrew) doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel incredibly passionate about certain things in a way that cuts deep. He found love and it’s incredible

12. Easily - Bruno Major

I've mentioned this previously, but I hc that Andrew and Neil almost broke up in Neil’s last year at Palmetto. Not going to get into it, but this song had a big part in pulling Neil through that whole year, ESPECIALLY the situation with Andrew. Maybe I’ll make a separate, more detailed post about that sometime. But basically I hc that neither of them were in good spots emotionally. And Andrew was very close to giving up on everything - including Neil.

They managed to pull through and stop one another from giving up on it all, even when things got really hard.

15. Sunlight - Hozier

No I’m not done with the Hozier songs. Did I say I was done with the Hozier songs? Not gonna happen.

Anyway so the story of this song is he was talking with Allison and Nicky once about music and their SOs (well he was listening more than talking but he wasn’t ignoring them), and Nicky outright asked him if there was a song that made him think of Andrew. He’d heard this one for the first time recently and it was just the most recent of many songs that make him think of Andrew, so he threw it out there to humor them. They hadn’t heard it but were very doubtful that any song titled “Sunlight” could have anything to do with Andrew at all, so he showed it to them. They didn’t really change their minds and instead Allison went on another tirade about how Neil is gone for Andrew in a way that Andrew couldn’t possibly be for him and how she was worried for him. Nicky stood up for his cousin a bit, but ultimately was still agreeing with Allison to a degree that Neil may be expecting more than what Andrew could give him blah, blah, blah.

Neil wasn’t happy. Instead he found himself latching onto this song even further and becoming even more assured that it was a song for Andrew. Just because the others refused to understand who Andrew really is and the ways he’s learning to grow and heal and the fact that he’s someone worth loving god dammit, doesn’t mean Andrew is the monster they make him out to be.

For a while afterwards, he’ll put this song on if he’s ever given the aux cord. Because he’s petty. If Andrew catches on to what he’s trying to do, he never says anything.

19. Little Talks - Of Monsters and Men

This is definitely a song that makes Neil think of Andrew, though he'd never tell him that. They have both played both parts in this song, and it makes Neil's heart ache to think of all the bad nights that they weren't there for one another - whether it was distance or stubbornness or just general shitty circumstance. They both can get so trapped in their own heads in different (and sometimes similar) ways, and they're relationship has really been built in a lot of ways on the depth of emotional support they've learned to give one another in rough times. That steadiness, that presence that stays by you and keeps you grounded even when you want to crawl out of your own skin and hide somewhere far away. That is what they give one another.

24. Day After Day - Badfinger

This is another one he used to listen to with his mother, but he didn't really latch onto it until his final year at Palmetto when he and Andrew were doing long-distance. He learned in that year just how sentimental he had become in some ways. He finds it in the bone-deep longing he gets on late nights when he just wishes he could lie in bed next to Andrew - because he knew that's when he sleeps best. He'd listen to this song and let himself wallow for a little while, and then eventually put it away and carry on because he didn't have the time to slow down and feel things too hard.

Things are much better now and he doesn't feel as bad when he listens to the song. It's just a pleasant sound he leans into sometimes.

26. Don't Dream It's Over - Crowded House

This is another one that he first heard from his mother, but kept for himself without allowing it to be stained with her memory. It is one of those ones he listened to a great deal during his last year when things with Andrew got hard. He committed himself to not letting him go or breaking off what they had unless Andrew ever directly asked him to. He couldn't find it in himself to ever do that.

This song reminds him of that commitment and helps him stay strong with it, for better or worse. Everyone was convinced from the beginning that either Neil was bad for Andrew (Aaron) or Andrew was bad for Neil (everyone else except Renee and Nicky basically). This reminds him that he knows Andrew better. He knows HIMSELF better. He knows they aren't perfect, but he refuses to let himself fall into their blocked mentality where they choose to be blind to the reality of Andrew's character (or his own for that matter). He knows they are good together. He knows they help one another, they don't hold each other back. And he refuses to give up on them unless Andrew asks him to.

28. How Deep Is Your Love - The Bird and The Bee

This is another final-year-at-Palmetto one. He stumbles across this song while listening to one of Robin's playlists while he was driving her to practice. Listen to the lyrics and hear just how Andreil this song is. It fits so well, and Neil has to pull over and collect himself for a moment when he first hears it. It had been an especially rough week and he'd been struggling trying to balance giving Andrew space and support with communicating his own needs. This gives him the push he needs. He calls him later that night to talk and their time apart starts getting a bit more bearable for it.

29. TALK ME DOWN - Troye Sivan

This was Andrew's song that made him think of Neil. In every way. He found it while they were doing long distance. Neil first heard it on a midnight drive they took while he was visiting Andrew. They didn't say anything, but they didn't need to. Neil eventually asked him why he listens to this one when his taste is usually much louder stuff. He was expecting a stoically-delivered joke denying any potential relation to Neil or a comment about how Nicky got it stuck in his head or something while they were video chatting one weekend. Instead, Andrew just responded "You know why."

Neil stored the song away to listen to later on when they were once again sleeping in separate beds in separate states, knowing Andrew was probably listening to it as well.

38. Talking Bird - Death Cab for Cutie

Neil doesn't know why this song makes him emotional (yes he does). He doesn't know what it is about it that feels like it cuts so deep (it's because Andrew sent it to him). He doesn't get why Andrew showed it to him (it's because Andrew asked him to stay, but would never force him to if he ever did decide to run). He just listens and feels comforted.

44. I'm so Tired - Lauv & Troye Sivan

This is another one Neil found when he and Andrew were doing long distance. It was a bit of a rocky time for them and there were several of those make-or-break moments. You know, the kind any relationship has where you either pull through it together and are stronger for it, or end things where they are and go your separate ways. I imagine - during a particularly rough patch - Neil heard this song from one of his underclassmen roommates. He was thinking about Andrew (when is he not) and part of him wondered if Andrew was better off finding guys in bars to take home and have no connection to. It was a spiteful moment of self-pity that he let himself indulge in before coming to his senses and giving Andrew a call to smooth things over a bit.

He still listens back to the song sometimes. It has a nice, soft, smooth feeling to it. Now when he listens to it, he finds himself focusing more on the singer asking their lover to take them home so they can move forward because they're too tired to fight. He remembers how, when he and Andrew have reached that point, they've continuously chosen to fall back to one another instead of pulling away. It's a very comforting thought for him.

45. NFWMB - Hozier

I don't even know if I have to explain this one.

There are a lot of things that Andrew and Neil see in one another, but I think one major thing is how strong they both are in their own ways. Neither of them are someone you want to fuck with. This song is perfect for that.

And, once again I will say, Neil is a Hozier fan and I'll die on this hill.

50. It Will Come Back - Hozier

Another Hozier song look at that

Anyway this is song encapsulates exactly how Andrew feels about Neil repeatedly choosing Andrew (at least, how he feels about it in the beginning of their relationship). And Neil isn't blind to this at all. What he also isn't blind to (but that he knows Andrew forgets sometimes) is how Neil is also the stray Andrew showed too much kindness. Andrew is as stuck with Neil as Neil is making himself stuck with Andrew.

51. Love Lies - Khalid & Normani

If asked why he likes this song, he'd say it's because Matt showed it to him and it reminds him of Matt and Dan's inspiring relationship. There are very few people he'd admit the truth to.

Something about the song feels too typical and approachable to admit applying to him and Andrew. They don't have a "normal" relationship and there are a lot of norms they don't stick to. Neither of them are ashamed of that in any capacity (as they absolutely shouldn't be), and ultimately it just feels very strange to them both to consider what's between them as being on the same level of what other's have. Not necessarily in a better-worse context, more just an acknowledgment of stark differences.

But I think Neil also experiences a certain level of comfort when he catches himself relating to other "normal" people. So when he finds himself thinking of Andrew when he hears this song, he's not going to ignore that or let it go. He may, however, keep it to himself for a while. It just feels nice to do that.

72. 99 Luftballons - Nena

As a general rule, Neil doesn't like loud music. This one is an exception (though "loud" may be a bit of a stretch here) because he once got to hear Andrew singing along to it in the car late at night.

Andrew does that sometimes, sings along to songs when it's just him and Neil. It's never with a great deal of gusto or volume, more so just a soft mumble on a late night drive to ground them both. This song came on on a particularly rough night, but by the end of it Andrew was singing along louder than he ever did. Still not saying much, but it was a noticeable change to Neil.

Neil knows he was allowed to see something special that night - Andrew allowing himself to let out something he was feeling. Neil got to see Andrew in what amounts to a moment of vulnerability for him. It means the world to him.

74. Gooey - Glass Animals

This song makes Neil feel the way Andrew makes him feel. There's no other way to describe it. When it's just the two of them and they have moments of quiet intimacy, there's a specific feeling Neil starts getting - float-y but secure. Like he'd drift away if it weren't for an invisible string Andrew was holding.

If Andrew caught Neil humming this song one night as he fell asleep, unaware, he kept quiet about it.

75. Turn - The Wombats

This song Neil keeps because it's one Andrew specifically sent him. He didn't give an explanation, just "for your playlist, rabbit".