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seunqs · 3 years

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[ a long get to know me tag ]

tagged by: losers @woosohn @yeonjuins

what day is your birthday?

27th june! it’ll be on a monday next year

what’s your favourite colour?

blue! a rather specific shade of light sky blue but i also like dark blue! might be misleading because everyone would think beige/black since that’s the aesthetic i like + almost everything i own is black...

what’s your lucky number?

i don’t have one i think but i tend to say 7 if i’m asked?

do you have any pets?

sadly no >:( will get one in the future idc idc

how tall are you?

158cm tiny i wna be abit taller

how many pairs of shoes do you own?

off my head i think 3 pairs...? just 2 black and 1 white that i rotate depending on the outfit i’m wearing

favorite song?

asdjekw i don’t think i have one specific one but recently i’ve been listening to maniac by nct doyoung & haechan!

other honourable mentions: a book of love by ha hyunsang, wide eyed blind by saint raymond, irreplaceable by nct dream, lmly by jackson wang. that’s all i have off my head

favorite movie?

surprisingly i’m not big on movies... but i’ll always answer parent trap when someone asks! why do i sound like i always have prepared answers in my head for various questions... okay that’s bc i do.

what would be your ideal partner?

@june look away i already know you’re gna say this sounds a lot like someone..

shy... is the main characteristics lmao idky it’s not even like i’m outgoing but i tend to find myself liking shy-er boys over the outgoing ones! aaa those with very obvious leadership qualities and quietly cares and looks out for those around them :’) tsundere! i think shy may appear cold sometimes but i’m rly :’) when the shy ones become very affectionate in private or when you get to know them better :’) or shy with strangers but very goofy and silly with their closer social circle heh those that are more cat-like than dog-like, only approaches you when they’re comfy. okay also shy but willing to speak up when necessary! doesn’t let themselves get bullied for being quiet and also pls speak up for me i hate ordering food pls do it for me HAHAHHA also if they’re passionate about something they like/are good at! good listeners too heh doesn’t need to always have the best advice, just if they would sit with me silently and listen to me and give me a hug afterwards :’’’’’) i think i’m on the touchier side too so if they don’t dislike that it’ll be nice! OH someone who’s good at cooking too bc i hate cooking and the kitchen in general.. i’ll do the dishes though HAHAHAH ok that is all there is a certain idol in my head that is the embodiment of my ideal type and i hate him >:(

do you want children?

no... not so much bc i don’t find them cute or i can’t handle them but i think it’s a commitment that scares me! bringing up the child well with the right character and values ajksdbwkje i don’t know if i’m up to that HAHAHAH

have you gotten in trouble with the law?

nope @woosohn @yeonjuins pls be proud of my direct no why are the two of you.........

bath or shower?

shower! i don’t know if i’ve actually taken a bath before... probably when i was younger HAHAH i think i’ll get bored in the bath and i much rather be relaxing in bed than in the tub

what color socks are you wearing?

barefoot at the moment! the socks i own are mostly solid colour socks / simple cartoon or animal patterns but all ankle socks that can’t be seen with my shoes

favorite type of music?

i listen to pop, r&b and indie! that’s about all and favourite depends on the mood!

how many pillows do you sleep with?

just 1! and a bolster too

what position do you sleep in?

either on my back with hand over my head lmao or turned to either sides while hugging my bolster and face buried into the bolster

what you don’t like when you’re sleeping?

when it’s too hot! canNOT sleep if the weather is too hot. also if i get woken up rudely, by screaming or someone smacking me awake LMAO just tell me nicely to get up and i’ll be out of bed in 10mins pls give me awhile my brain is turning on HAHAHA

what do you have for breakfast?

recently i haven’t woken up early enough for bfast or my family is just about to go out to buy lunch by the time i’m up hahaha but on the days that i’m alive for bfast, iced coffee and any pastry sitting in the fridge! my family is big on pastries like croissants and cakes like banana and carrot cakes! so one of those but the iced coffee is a constant in my first meal of the day

have you ever tried archery?

nope and idt i’ll be good at it tbh....

favorite fruit?

strawberries, apples, peaches! there are some seasonal favs where i rly like them for a period of time and then suddenly not anymore but these 3 are the constants

favorite swear word?

hahahaha i dont think i have a favourite one..... but i say tf a lot and mf for kpop boys who make me more flustered than they should

do you have any scars?

i don’t think so! i have a few stretch marks around my waist and tummy tho

are you a good liar?

yes... HAHAH i used to get scolded so much for lying as a kid lmfao

what’s your personality type?

isfj-t has probably only dipped to isfp-t once but if not constant isfj!

what’s your favorite type of girl?

HAHAHAH uh.... okay with all kinds i think? except people in general who try too hard

innie or outie?

innie. was this question necessary tho AHHAHAHA

left or right-handed?

right-handed

favorite food?

ramen! but i like lots of food lmfao tiramisu, pork belly, lots of noodles, also lots of rice, beef, cakes, ice cream, i think i’m more salty > sweet!

favorite foreign food?

japanese ramen, korean cuisine!, lasagne

are you clean or messy?

clean

most used phrase?

i think alot of keyboard smashes, lmao, wtf, HAHAHAHHAHA, sigh, i’m tired LOL

how long does it take for you to get ready?

depends! fastest i think i can get out of the house 20mins after i’ve woken up. longest probably an hour where outfit is taking a while and accessories needs to be chosen

do you talk to yourself?

in my head yes.

do you sing to yourself?

not often but i sing out loud for the family to hear LOL in my head very often a song is playing up there

are you a good singer?

nop. i don’t think i’m a BAD singer but wouldn’t classify as good either HAHHAHA

biggest fear?

wow so many things but i think biggest is complete darkness, i need to see and know what is going on around me. i sleep with a night light on heh

are you a gossip?

with closer friends yes def HAHAH my school culture tends to have lots of tea that my friends and i don’t like to get too involved in but we do talk about the gossips that goes around hahaha have also been in the center of gossip way too often

do you like long or short hair?

long! can’t imagine myself with short hair.. used to have reallllyyy long hair that goes beyond my waist and cried when i cut it to slightly below shoulder length. that’s the shortest i’ll ever go

favourite school subject?

wow nothing i don’t like school lmfao but humanities and language are way more bearable than math and sciences

extrovert or introvert?

introverted

what makes you nervous?

unpredictable situations, being alone in public (contradictory because in private i would strongly prefer to be alone but i don’t enjoy being alone in public i feel judged HAHAHA), also currently waiting on a reply for something and that’s been keeping me anxious the past 2 days :’)

who was your first real crush?

when i was 13/14, tablemate in school that was kinda shy and had very limited social circle but talked to me endlessly in class lmfao he apparently liked me too but we never dated and went to different schools at 16 y/o. we’re still kinda in touch though! we talked quite a fair bit last month just catching up but he’s more of an acquaintance now

how many piercings do you have?

2! just one normal lobe piercing on either ears, don’t think i’ll get anymore

how fast can you run?

back in school i used to be one of the fastest girls in my class LMFAO i could clock 12.5 minutes for a 2.4km run. stamina came from dancing since i had to run laps before dance class 2 times a week. but that is long in the past and now i get tired from climbing more than 4 flights of stairs pls spare me

what color is your hair?

naturally black but dyed brown! my hair has grown quite abit since i dyed it though now its black at the top and brown from above my ears onwards

what color are your eyes?

a very dark brown lmfao almost black

what makes you angry?

irresponsible people. just pushing responsibility to others or avoiding their responsibilities. don’t need you to do a good job with your responsibilities, just don’t make your issues my issues. and if its a shared responsibility like group projects, then do your part to contribute and don’t expect others to cover you

selfish people, in many ways. just being self-centred, not caring about how others feel, doing things for personal gain at the expense of others

speaking in a passive-aggressive/sarcastic manner. i say this even though i’m afraid of confrontation but i much rather someone outright tells me they’re unhappy about something or wants to get a point across. i hate when they talk about it sarcastically or tries to sugar-coat their words to make themselves look less aggressive about their words. tell me straight as it is, if you’re already gonna talk about something bad don’t piss me off with your attitude at the same time

do you like your own name?

rae is nice! has a very nice ring to it and looks pretty!

do you want a boy or a girl as a child?

i don’t.. want one.. but both have their good and bad i can’t decide.. i want a puppy

what are your strengths?

is this an interview question i have had a few interviews over the past weeks i am well-prepared for this HAHAHA

i think i’m pretty resilient! i bounce back from bad times pretty quickly or i psycho myself to see the situation positively. but it is ofc coupled with a lot of complaining to the people around me first

although i hate unpredictable situations and having to quickly adapt to new settings, i think i adapt pretty quickly too. flexible? easy-going? idk what’s the right way to call it but yeah something along those lines. good at it but i still enjoy my stability and calm don’t want to have to quickly adapt to new situations.

what are your weaknesses?

very emotional HAHAH used to be much worse but i often let my emotions rule my head. i think i’ve improved A LOT though i used to be so bad but i think i’m now able to make rational decisions even if im bawling LMFAO

this sounds like a compliment but i’ve been told this too often as well. i tend to be way too nice to people who don’t deserve it. even if the person doesn’t deserve it or they’ve pushed all my buttons in the wrong way possible, i would still try to be as nice and polite as i can. really helps with me working in the f&b industry lmfao.

what’s the colour of your bedspread?

dark blue / grey!

colour(s) of your room?

white & wood (throughout my house actually + green from the plants in the living room) @yeonjuins says i live in a muji showroom

#/#this took so long

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grimmseye · 7 years

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I don’t have a clever title, but Bakugou just wants to kiss his boyfriend

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Eijirou, Brief appearances of other students

Other Tags: Kissing/Making Out, This Gets a T-Rating For More Than Just Bakugou’s Language, Kirishima Gets Unfortunate Bodily Fluids In His Mouth And No One Has A Good Time, Unspecified Timeframe

Anonymous said: I don't have any prompts but I can tell you silly stuff I think about. Like how their is going to be a point where Bakugou cuts his lips on Kirishima's teeth. Or Kiri licking Baku's hand bc that's hot right but didn't think about how his sweat is basically nitroglycerin. Ingesting that is a very smart.

A note: the class doesn’t know they’re dating in this. The narration is not accurate to the reality.

— — — —

Bakugou lives for summertime. He embodies it, heat in his veins, his skin, his eyes. God, his eyes put the sun to shame. They’re huge and wild and blazing and Kirishima falls right into them, he licks his lips and the salt-sweat and wishes he could taste it from Bakugou’s lips instead.

The thoughts are fleeting, more feelings than words. They pulse through his brain with each beat of his racing heart. No time to dwell, because Bakugou is suddenly so close, too close, and it’s all he can do to get his head down in time. The air ignites. Bakugou deals his blows and then leaps away to prepare for another barrage, a sneering grin on his face, a challenge.

Kirishima sucks in a breath and wills. And when Bakugou flies at him he doesn’t try to drop or dodge but meets him head-on. The blows land against him, ringing in his ears, smoke clogging his vision. He swipes his way through the screen and barrels on, catches a flash of shock in those molten eyes before impacting him.

Bakugou thuds on the ground, and Kirishima drops with him. It’s a struggle to pin him now because he thrashes like a wild thing, teeth snapping and body squirming and layering bomb after bomb on Kirishima’s hardened skin. His flesh aches down to its pores, his lungs burn, he’s running out of time.

He grasps Bakugou’s hands, palm-to-palm, and twists one up above his head, the next shoved into the grass by his face. Like this the force of his explosions echo back against his own hands, and he has to curb them to keep from fracturing his own bones. Bakugou’s chest heaves. His eyes are riveted on Kirishima’s, mouth parted around his breaths.

Kirishima leans down further, pushes more of his weight into Bakugou. It’s a struggle to breathe, let alone speak in this form, so his voice comes out as a grinding rasp: “I win.”

And Bakugou gives. He goes limp, a surrender, and Kirishima’s armor falls away. He sucks in a breath, but doesn’t let up. There’s no such thing as relaxing until the villains are packed away for containment.

Bakugou’s mouth is stretched in a grin, the kind of ecstatic satisfaction that comes from a good fight. He’s gorgeous. Raw power embodied, unstoppable and uncontainable, but Kirishima has him for this moment.

When Kirishima leans forward, Bakugou’s eyes roll towards him. He lowers himself inch by inch, gaze never breaking from Bakugou, and Bakugou doesn’t make a single move to stop him. Their noses brush.

“Kirishima!”

They wrench away. Kirishima rolls off of Bakugou and lands in a half-crouch. Tetsutetsu is charging from across the field -- must have seen them sparring. Or heard them, with all the noise they make between the explosions and their roars. “You kick his ass?” He hollers, pumping a fist in the air. “Come on, lemme give you a real fight!”

Bakugou snorts. Kirishima peers over his shoulder, heat flushing over his cheeks, but Bakugou is staring up at the sky.

“Yeah, let’s do it!” He shouts back, pushing himself up to his feet and going to meet his friend.

The taste of salt is sweet on his tongue.

ii.

Movie nights are apparently a tradition now that they all live in the dorms. They draw straws to determine the pecking order, only because Bakugou nearly got in a fistfight with Deku over which All Might movie they should watch the first time -- for once, the curly-haired boy had risen to his challenge, which only pissed him off more.

Tonight was Sparky’s night. Naturally, he had absolute trash taste. It was a foreign movie, subtitled. He hadn’t expected him to put on a romance of all things, but Mina had elbowed him firmly in the gut when he opened his mouth to say something. That wasn’t what deterred him. It was just that after she pulled that stunt, Kirishima took notice and told him in soft tones to let it go.

“He’s nervous as hell, man,” Kirishima murmured, gesturing with his eyes to Kaminari. Who, now that Bakugou was looking, did look jumpy. “And he’s trusting us not to give him a hard time. Besides, nothing is wrong with a romance.” The last words peter off into a mumble.

Is he blushing, or is that the reflection of his hair?

Bakugou squints and leans forward. The color deepens; he’s definitely blushing.

“Oh my god,” he scoffs. “You’re one of those fucking saps, aren’t you?”

“Wh -- no!”

“You’re as shitty a liar as your hair.” He snorts and tromps over to a couch, dropping heavily down onto it and swinging his feet up to take up all the cushions.

Kirishima follows with a huff of, “That doesn’t make sense.” He shoves at Bakugou until he rolls over and Kirishima can tuck himself against him, Bakugou draping a willing arm over his side. His hair is down, so it doesn’t jab him in the fucking chin.

They had to establish a rule for Kirishima: all cuddling must be done below the chin while his hair is up.

Sero and Mina are making kissy faces at them. Bakugou bares his teeth but they both just cackle and prance off to join Kaminari — they’re perfect for one another, a trio of fucking morons.

Somewhere along the way they became his, those three and Kirishima — though the his for Sero and Kaminari and Mina and the his for Kirishima are so, so different — and he can’t just let them go now.

The movie is, stunningly, not terrible. It has an underlying mystery that is just engaging enough for keep Bakugou’s eyes open. Kirishima is into it, though. He can tell because there’s a scene where the main character is crying after the death of — her brother? Her best friend? Bakugou wasn’t paying enough attention, apparently. But whatever happened, Kirishima begins to shake just a little.

Bakugou wraps his arm tighter around him and holds him like that until it eases. Kirishima turns, and they shift around a little so they can mostly face each other. His eyes are glossy in the television’s flickering light.

He wants to kiss him. There’s no reason he couldn’t. Except that it feels as though the entire class is watching them, even when he knows their eyes are on the movie. So he skims his lips over Kirishima’s forehead, a promise, later.

iii.

Later finds them in Kirishima’s dorm. It’s the furthest from the rest, gives the most privacy. They acknowledge it with flushed faces, the lingering implication of what they need privacy for hanging in their brains like a fog.

It’s dissipated now, or maybe it’s only gotten thicker, because they simply don’t care about implications. Kirishima has him pressed back into the pillows, straddling his waist. He cups Bakugou’s face because he’s sentimental like that, insists on holding him like he’s something cherished.

He kisses him slow and chaste, but not out of any shyness. It’s all languid heat, dripping down his spine and pooling in his belly. Bakugou gets impatient fast. He gets a hand fisted in Kirishima’s hair and tugs at the roots, relishes the whine that catches in his throat. It gets the message across. Kirishima puffs a breath against his lips and then slots their mouths together, open and wet.

Bakugou paws at his back, down to the hem of his shirt. Kirishima licks into his mouth, up against the roof of his mouth. His breath catches, his fingers curl tight in the cotton. When Kirishima backs off, Bakugou pursues, the hand in his hair keeping him still as he kisses him hard.

A groan vibrates against his tongue and he shudders, eyes wound shut. Teeth close on his lower lip. The nip is careful, but it sends a jolt to his belly that makes Bakugou jerk.

Then he’s hissing and clutching his mouth. Kirishima blinks widely at him, looking like a confused puppy, or more like a shark with blood smeared on his fucking chainsaw teeth.

“Did you —?” Kirishima licks his teeth and his face twists. “Oh my god.”

“Shut the fuck up.” God his lip must be fucking lacerated. It’s dripping into his palms.

“Dude your blood is in my mouth.” He seems caught on that fact, mouth hanging open as though he’s afraid to let it touch his tongue.

“Congratulations you fucking vampire! Can you get off your ass and get me a tissue or some shit?” Bakugou snaps. At last, Kirishima springs into action, grabbing the tissue box so Bakugou can start mopping up the mess.

His lip is swollen the next day. Kaminari looks at him, and then at Kirishima who is inconspicuously avoiding all eye-contact with his boyfriend. The moment realization flashes in his eyes, Bakugou snarls and draws a finger across his throat. It keeps his silence.

iv.

He knows that Mitsuki and Masaru like him. They’re always delighted to have him over.

“I’m so glad that Katsuki has a friend like you,” Masaru tells him, smiling kindly down at Kirishima. And Kirishima of course grins back and thanks him. But.

He can’t help how his brain stuttered on the word friend. Bakugou doesn’t correct him. Kirishima doesn’t expect him to, but it still stings.

“Do you ever plan to tell them?” Kirishima asks. He tries not to sound petulant. He gets it, as much as he can. The fear of parents knowing has never been his. His mothers knew everything there was to know about their son, his fears and his dreams and all his favorite things. They were the first to learn of his crush on Bakugou. He told them the same day he had his first kiss.

Bakugou shrugs. It’s listless.

Deep down, Kirishima is sure it will all work out. But Bakugou is scared, even if he’d sooner cut out his own tongue than admit it, so he doesn’t press. “I’ll be there whenever you’re ready,” he promises. He traces patterns on Bakugou’s leg, but does not take his hand, or kiss his lips, and it is a good thing because Mitsuki does not knock before opening the door. To an outsider, they look like two boys, two friends, anything but in love.

They wait until nighttime. A futon is setup for Kirishima to stay on, but he crawls up into Bakugou’s bed as soon as the hallway light goes out. They lay together and they press silent lips to each other’s skin.

Kirishima turns kind of fuzzy when he’s drunk on affection.

Bakugou admires his work, easing away from his thoroughly-kissed boyfriend and biting his own lip with a barely-concealed grin at the sight of him. Swollen lips and a flushed face, eyes hazy and dark. Delayed, he seems to realize Bakugou had pulled away, as he reaches for him in unsteady grabs. A mumble of, “K’tsuki,” leaves him.

Bakugou lets him figure it out, Kirishima’s hand finding his shoulder and winding around him to pull himself closer. “Katsuki,” he sighs again, and presses kisses over the line of his jaw. Each one trails a little bit closer, until their breath mingles, low eyes meeting in the dark.

For once, Bakugou’s touch is tentative, skimming Kirishima’s cheek. He watches red eyes fall shut, Kirishima nudging into the touch. It makes his chest feel full, his blood feel hot. Kirishima lifts his hands to hold Bakugou’s in place, nuzzling and kissing his fingers.

Breath comes unsteadily to Bakugou’s lungs. He’s enraptured, watching Kirishima, watching his eyes peek open again. His lips part, rows of sharp teeth opening for a pink tongue that drags slow over his palm.

Then Kirishima’s nose wrinkles. He jerks back, entire face scrunched up as he begins to gag. “Oh fuck,” he coughs, “jesus christ that burns!”

Bakugou doesn’t even have the capacity for frustration at this point. He slumps down onto the mattress and tries to come to terms with the fact that he will never be able to just kiss his god damn boyfriend.

vi.

Kirishima is staring at Kaminari. So is Bakugou.

“I, uh.” Kirishima blinks rapidly. “What?”

“I said, how the hell are you still single?” Kaminari raises his eyebrows at him. “Like dude, I’d date you. There are a ton of gay guys — or bi, whatever — here. Like, way more than I thought. How the hell are you still single?”

Bakugou says, “He’s not,” at the same time Kirishima gasps, “I’m not though?”

Kaminari gapes. “Dude! You — when the hell? And why didn’t you tell me?”

Kirishima and Bakugou just stare. Then they look at each other. “You’re telling me,” Bakugou says, slow, “that you don’t know who the fuck he’s dating?”

“You do?”

“Holy shit.” There’s an incredulous laugh in Kirishima’s voice. The class is beginning to pay attention now.

“You’re dating someone, Kirishima?” Uraraka asks, sounding surprised. “Ahh, he must be lucky.”

Kirishima drops his head into his hands. He’s shaking with silent laughter. Bakugou is shaking too, but it’s because his heart is palpitating and he’s not sure if he should scream or just shove his hand in Sparky’s face and go boom.

He does neither of these things. Instead he take’s Kirishima by the chin and presses their lips together, maintaining glaring eye contact with Kaminari. When he pulls back, Kirishima giggles. “Dude,” he snorts, leaning his head against Bakugou’s shoulder. “How do they not know?”

“We’re surrounded by fucking idiots, that’s how.”

There’s silence. And then Kaminari screams, and the class joins in, and nobody shuts the fuck up until Aizawa comes in and threatens them all with detention.

#kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #bakushima #kiribaku #this pairing might be the one that pushes me out of the sfw category someday #bnha #my writing

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possibilistfanfiction · 7 years

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hiya! i notice you tag a lot of your posts with 'nora, sloane, etc.' i understand these are characters for a story you're doing. i'm curious: what's the story about?

ok ! well @turnandchasethewind (olivia) & i have been working on the sketches for this show for like. a Long time lmao it has as most projects do grown & changed & become something entirely its own & i think it’s really awesome & lovely & am rly rly jazzed for it to move forward one day

anyway the working title for it is called views, & it basically follows sloane & nora, best friends who live & work in toronto. they met when they were 18/19 at a catering gig (terrible) & theyre the kind of love that is this epic soft quiet fun powerful love between female friends. they’re young & they’re a little lost always, & the world hurts, but like. they’re Good. the current storyline begins when they’re in their early/mid-twenties & nora meets ridley, who becomes her girlfriend. ridley is rly rly lovely & beautiful & whip smart & v kind & sloane hates her which is altogether mostly funny but a little sad

sloane ideally would be played by maia mitchell just for a visual but like. a grungier cooler hot mess version of maia bc like. sloane is a trash kid she’s our absolute fav she has tons of stick n pokes & her hair is a mess or buzzed (or both) & she will wear vans until they r literally falling off. she shops mostly at black market & she got this bike off kijiji that’s like 800% terrifying. she was diagnosed with bipolar I when she was 18 & shes on meds but its obviously still smth she deals with every day. shes from vancouver & she dropped out of mcgill after An Episode but mostly bc she hated it & she moved to toronto a few months after that (which is p much immediately when she met nora). shes like our token white character shes funny everyone drags her constantly abt so many things but they Love sloane. she eats Shit food unless nora’s parents buy her groceries & she drinks a lot & sometimes she has lil spirals but she has a dog named carly rae who helps a lot. she also has a big brother named whit he’s trans & he lives in brooklyn & she Adores him. shes a tremendously talented musician but ofc being a musician is v difficult so she also works a bunch of weird jobs between music gigs. she lives in a funky apartment in kensington w like six rotating roommates. she plays sets at the beaver all the time. if sloane was gonna write a song it would be ‘young’ by vallis alps but if sloane had a themesong its a tie between i wanna get better by bleachers & control by halsey & buzzcut season by lorde & then a rly rly sad cover of i rly like you by carly rae

nora is laura harrier bc like Hot & also biracial so thats dope. shes a baker & she works at a rly cute lil bakery on queen west & she always looks so pretty & put together & she rides this beautiful linus bike everywhere w a fucking basket & everything she wears so much birds of north america & oak + fort & rly just anything from victoire & she has like 12 pairs of blundstones. shes from etobicoke & her parents are both immigrants so nora is first generation canadian shes v v invested in how that all interacts shes a smart cool kid. she’s bisexual she came out when she was 16 bc she Literally got drunk in a closet & she has a history of dating Truly shitty ppl so sloane is like v v Hesitant when she falls for ridley. she has some beautiful tattoos & some silly stick n pokes, mostly w sloane. she has a rly cool little sister named kennedy who goes to ryerson & nora went to george brown. shes rly passionate abt intersectional feminism & she volunteers w a few different organizations around the city that help lgbtq+ youth shes like. a Good person & also sloane ADORES her & nora is in a v real kinda love w sloane theyre the v best pals. also girl can Drink. once a month regardless of how cold it is she & sloane make rly good pot brownies & go to trinity bellwoods & eat them & they end up Laughing a lot. nora also fosters w save our scruff bc she & sloane adopted carly rae together but carly rae is like an emotional support animal for sloane so she spends most of her time at sloane’s apartment so bc of that nora likes to foster dogs its rly cute. she has a beautiful lil tiny studio off euclid & queen. if nora had a themesong its like some dope gay (bi) ass mix of company by tinashe & feelin myself by nicki but then she meets ridley so shes like all night by bey

pls know that nora & sloane sometimes get Rly drunk at the greenroom in the annex mostly bc they love smoking in the lil alleyway its like. their trash special place. & their songs r like. california by grimes & love gang by whethan ft charli xcx & ribs by lorde

ok in our heads ridley is played by aj but mostly bc its hot & we love her lol, ideally ridley is quebecois metis. she has a degree in physics but her parents just both died so shes kinda taking a break from everything & rn shes a florist in the shop next to noras bakery on queen west. shes from montreal but she went to school in the states & she has a longtime ex named ash. theyre non binary & ridley & ash are still rly good friends which sloane is like Suspicious abt but nora is like sloane jfc. ridley is rly smart she wears a Lot of stay home club & j brands & she & nora have a lot of shoes n boots that look almost identical. shes queer & shes kinda just been queer forever? her parents were scientists so it was always a v inclusive educated lil home she grew up in. she was named after ridley scott & everyone always jokes that she was conceived during alien lol & honestly she probably was. shes rly funny & she has beautiful tattoos & pretty pretty eyes & nora falls for her rly fast. she has a lil quebecois accent & sometimes she forgets words in english when shes drunk or tired. she & nora first kiss outside of the beaver in the snow theyre in the alley behind the gladstone w rly beautiful street art they were smoking cigarettes & its just. soft. so queer. ridleys lil songs r hold by vera blue & 21 moon water by bon iver & Mostly corbeau by coeur de pirate

sloane has a plot twist & falls in love w jack who is half-japanese & hes rly good friends w ridley which is the plot twist part a little but the BIG plot twist part is that she falls in love at all bc she is Convinced no one can handle her & she isnt stable enough for romantic love etc etc. but jack is so good hes so smart & hes a music therapist for kids on the spectrum its like Absurd how good a person he is. hes trans & hes abt to have top surgery like a few months after he meets sloane & she goes for a while & is like blah blah im not in love w him whatever its just sex but then shes So worried abt him being ok during & after surgery & she cares abt him so much & she gets Rly drunk & cries abt it to nora its funny. one day sloane is having a rly rly bad lil depressive episode & nora has been outta town all weekend w her parents & kennedy at their cottage in muskoka & so nora texts jack like. yo sloane has bipolar i she shouldve told u this but like i gotta tell u now bc shes havin a meltdown so pls go over & bring her food from fresh get the falafel tacos & like all the pressed juice ill venmo you & Pls make her shower if she buzzed her hair try to find the scalp treatment i got her from lush its in her dresser top drawer. also shes gonna wanna drink just let her do that & make sure she takes her meds she’ll be ok itll take a day or two & hes like ok. a lot but ok. & he goes & he brings sloane food & a tshirt of his & he gets her into the shower & out to the couch & puts on superstore & she curls up into him on one side & carly rae on the other & she cries a little but honestly its not so bad & like. hes so in love w her its wild she never thought that would happen its a fun plot twist even olivia & i didnt plan on

so anyway the whole show is kinda an ode to toronto & an ode to being young & in love w your friends in a rly profound way & also what its like to fall in love w ppl u might wanna spend ur life with, a kinda love thats v new. its abt queerness & gender & race in a way thats v much present but all of the main characters r rly informed & rly like passionate abt intersectional feminism & thats a cool aspect we r both v excited abt. also sloane deals v realistically w a balance between being stable w bipolar I & also being v creative & v connected to making music which is smth thats v important to me esp. nora was sexually assaulted before she met ridley (HATE!) but we delve into that as well.

mostly like. its just ‘we’re never done w killing time/ can i kill it w you/ i’d like it if you stayed’

#views #Anonymous #sloane #ridley #nora #if u want u can hmu for my spotify bc there are a lot of playlists for views

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everlarkbirthdaydrabbles · 7 years

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Hi! My birthday is April 24th and I'd love to read everlark where Peeta thinks he's lost Katniss somehow, like a misunderstanding or even some kind of accident, but everything works out in the end. Love the drama/angst, and I'm down for any rating (but let's be real, the smuttier the better bc it's my birthday lol). No infidelity please! Tytyty! You are awesome!

Happy Birthday! There is definitely some angst in this one. Thanks for having a birthday so we can all enjoy this great story! And thank you to @katnissdoesnotfollowback for writing and submitting it. She’s been a MAJOR contributor to this blog, as have many others, and we can’t thank her enough. Links to part one & part two if you haven’t read them yet. Enjoy! I know we did.

Happy Birthday! Hope you enjoy this somewhatangsty story. Hugs and lots of love to you on your special day!

All’s Fair - Part 3

WARNINGS: RATED E for language, PTSD, and smut. Mostly the rating is forthe smut. SMUT I SAY!

A/N: HR inthis instance stands for Human Remains. There’s no gore or graphic violence inthis, but there is a healthy dose of angst. Thank you @peetabreadgirl for pre-reading.

************************

My boots scrape the pavement as I stop to stareup and down the parking lot aisles. I find at least four Jeep-shaped vehiclesunder black covers and sigh, drop my bag on the pavement, and search throughthe pockets for my keys. Not even my car keys, either. Customs fucked up mypacking job and I’m pretty sure they wound up back in my footlocker. I find thekeys I need underneath a half empty bottle of Gatorade and unlock my trunk,rummaging around until my fingers find the canvas ribbon on my at homekeychain. Yanking them out, I listen to the jingle of home with the distantgrowl of a C-130 spooling up its engines. The humid North Carolina air pressesdown on my lungs and I blink in the fading light.

It’s late. I’m exhausted and hungry. And the redREMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT tag on my keys is a one-two punch to the face. Idon’t even know where he is right now. He was supposed to be home sometime lastweek, although I don’t know the exact date, but the fact that he wasn’t here tomeet me means he was delayed somewhere. Or something far worse that I am notprepared to contemplate on four hours of shitty sleep on a cramped rotatorflight and an empty stomach.

Pocketing my car keys, I slam my footlocker shutand lock it back up, hefting my bag back on my shoulder and hauling the trunkonto its wheels to continue my solitary trek. I hit the lock button on the keyfob twice and hope my battery didn’t die while I’ve been gone. I’ve gotjumpers, but no one I feel comfortable inconveniencing. Most of the others havealready gone home. Prim couldn’t be here this time, unable to get away from medschool. Mom’s too sick to travel. Gale’s still somewhere in Fallujah, I think.At least, that’s the last place I ran into him.

Finally, my car honks back at me and I trudgethree aisles over towards the sound. Think it’s rough remembering where youparked your car after a thirty minute trip into a grocery store? Tryremembering where the fuck you parked it in a long term lot after a year longdeployment. I drop everything when I reach my Jeep. Unceremonious and messy.Fuck the Army and it’s obsession with order.

It takes me a few tries to get the cover off mycar and folded up enough to shove it in the back. My footlocker and duffle goin next. The pack goes on the front seat since it contains my wallet, such asit is. I climb into the driver’s seat and roll back enough of the canvas sothat I’ll be able to feel the breeze. Keys in the ignition and I freeze, oncemore staring at the bright red tag.

Peeta gave it to me right before my firstdeployment, in a black velvet box that looked like it contained a fancynecklace. Which it did. A single, luminescent pearl on a silver chain nestledunderneath a layer of padding, but on top had been this keychain. I’d laughednervously and shoved his face away from me when I saw the tag, but then he’dshown me what he’d bought for himself...a red, white, and blue double Akeychain. The emblem of the 82nd Airborne. My unit. They were meant to be asymbol. When we saw the keychains that ought to belong to each other, then we’dknow we were home.

The C-130 must be warmed up because the tone ofit changes, softens as it faces a different direction. Turning up the taxiway,preparing for takeoff. I wonder what they’re doing tonight. Dropping bundles?Cargo? Jumpers? Or maybe they’re just making proficiency runs. Either way, Iknow Peeta’s not with them.

“Come on baby, don’t let me down,” I mutter andcrank the engine. She starts rough but she does turn over. I throw my coveronto the passenger side floorboard, needing to feel the wind in my croppedshort hair after months of it being stifled beneath a kevlar helmet.

As I leave the lot, I make a last minutedecision, turning towards the airfield instead of the main gate. I just want tobe sure. I’d call, but my phone’s buried in the back and I didn’t think to pullit out while I was searching for my keys. And maybe I’m not ready to face thesilence of an empty house.

The drive is refreshing, but when I reach theairlift wing’s long term parking lot, I realize what a mistake this was. Theirsis almost as full as ours. I drive up one aisle and down the next, slowing everytime I see anything that might be silver. I find it in the fourth aisle.Peeta’s dark silver Mustang, parked next to a black Silverado, a layer ofpollen coating it, obscuring the color. I grip my steering wheel and stare atthe car for a moment. Then I force myself to leave.

I’ll be going home to an empty house.

The lights in town feel blindingly bright.Foreign after a year in the desert. When I tip my head back, I can barely makeout a handful of stars as they emerge into the night sky. At a red light, agroup of teens in a Tahoe with all the windows down stops next to me, laughingand singing along with their music. Once more, I’m massaging my steering wheeland trying to find my place in this world. It’s familiar and still disturbing.The lights and the colors too bright, the sounds too much like a dull roar, apounding in the skull.

It’s when I pass a McDonald’s and my stomachgrowls painfully that I realize I’ll be going home to an empty pantry, too.There might be a can of soup or something, but nothing fresh. No one’s lived inthat house for six months and I didn’t think to ask Eddy, our neighbor’s kid,to stock the pantry for us. He was just keeping an eye on the place,maintaining the yard, and bringing in any mail. It’ll all be junk, but it’sbetter than leaving it to piss off the mail carrier.

With a sigh, I pull into a grocery store thatlooks new, hoping they have a deli still open so I can get something alreadycooked and warm. I make it quick, though I do spend a few minutes debatingbetween macaroni or potato salad to go with my rotisserie chicken.Choices...something else that feels incongruously familiar. They’ve got abakery, too, and I add a loaf to my basket for dinner, and a couple bagels soI’ve at least got something to eat for breakfast, not caring that they’ll be alittle stale. I’ve eaten worse. I’ll come back tomorrow for a real groceryshopping trip.

I use the self checkout lane, though, becausethe last thing I want right now is attention called to me in the form of achatty cashier or someone wanting to thank me for my service. Most of them meanwell, but sometimes it’s hard to know what to say in response. ‘You’rewelcome?’ Arrogant. ‘Thank you?’ For what exactly? Thanking mefirst? ‘Just glad to serve my country?’ Yeah, tell that to Darius andhis family… I shake myself and gather my groceries before rushing out of thestore.

Once I’m safely back in my Jeep with nounnecessary human interactions, I breathe easier. She starts up like a dreamthis time and I drive home, only freaking out at one plastic bag as the windmakes it drift across my path. Pretty good, considering.

“Here goes nothing,” I say and reach up to pressthe button to my garage door opener. Nothing. Car battery lasted. Remotebattery did not. Time for the car and door dance. By the time I get my Jeep inthe garage, I add grouchy to my list of feelings. My pack goes inside with meand my food. The rest can wait.

The house is dark and smells musty. I open a fewwindows to air it out, humidity be damned, and flip on a couple lights so it’snot as depressing. Then I eat -- with a real fork, off a plate that I’ll haveto wash -- in about four minutes. Which is savoring my meal, by the way.

Once I’ve placed my leftovers in the fridge, Iget the rest of my shit inside and in the bedroom, glaring at the neatly madebed. Starting the shower, I toss crap from my trunk until I find my phone andplug it in. Then I wait for the thing to turn back on and for the water to warmup. I’ve got one voicemail from Prim. I’ll call her after my shower.

I leave my cams on the floor in a pile. I’llshove all of it in the washing machine later. The good thing about shampoo andsoap is that they don’t go bad, although there’s a strange crust around thecaps. I wash quickly, watching the murky water drain away sand and three daysworth of funk layered over remnants from months of half-assed showers.Normally, I’d be in a rush. Limited water and somewhere to be in five minutesmeans that when we got them, showers weren’t luxurious or even very efficient.They were just fast.

Standing under the clear, steaming stream, I tryto relax. To enjoy the luxury. But I can only manage a few extra minutes beforeI start to feel ansty and get out. It’s silly, but once I dry off and am standingin my underwear, staring at my drawer full of pajamas, I hesitate. Instead, Iyank open one of Peeta’s drawers, finger the neatly folded cotton shirts beforefinally dragging one over my body. The shirt smells stale as well, from it’smonths untouched in storage, but as long as I don’t inhale too deeply, I cansort of pretend that it’s his arms holding me. I comb through my hair andsettle on the bed to call Prim.

“Hey! Welcome home!”

“Hi, Prim,” I say and smile for the first timesince stepping off the plane.

“Oh my gosh! I can actually hear you! Nostatic!”

“Just one of the many perks of being stateside,”I say and look around the room. Prim prattles on for several minutes aboutschool and how excited she is to see me in a few days. I try to remaincheerful, but it’s not easy. All I can think about is how her life continueduninterrupted while I dodged bullets, sent a friend home in a casket, and camehome to a stale house.

“You okay?” Prim asks, cutting into my thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Why?”

“I asked if you’d be bringing Peeta when youcome home in a few days and you didn’t answer.”

“Sorry, Duck,” I say. “I spaced out. It was kindof a long flight home.”

“I’ll bet,” she says then waits for my answer.

“I don’t know. He was supposed to be back lastweek, but he’s not, so…”

“I’m sure he’s okay,” Prim says and goes on tosuggest that he can always catch up to us after he gets back, but her wordsopen the gates of fears and worries that I’ve kept carefully under lock andkey.

I maneuver awkwardly through the rest of ourconversation until I remind her how tired I am. When we hang up, I sit rigidand at war with myself. And even though I already know what's going to happen,I press Peeta's name and hold the phone to my ear.

Straight to his voicemail, but I listen anyways.Just to hear his voice for a few seconds, something I haven't heard in sixmonths. I disconnect before the beep and power my phone down then toss it onthe nightstand to charge the rest of the way, wondering if he ever called myphone during those six months he was here and I was not, just to hear my voice.I hug a pillow to my chest before laying down. I squeeze my eyes shut and ordermy body to sleep, but as exhausted as I am, I can’t seem to relax. The sheetscarry a musty smell of their own that makes my nose wrinkle, and they feelcold.

Four months. I haven’t seen him in four months,and even then, it was thirty seconds from a distance and a twist of luck. On atarmac in Baghdad while we were piling into the back of one plane, he waspre-flighting another. At least, I think it was him. We didn’t get a chance totalk. And I’m not even sure he saw me or knew I was there. Since his deploymentwas six months versus my year, we kept in touch better while he was stateside.Skype and e-mail, when I was lucky to stop at a base with internet. Theoccasional letter or phone call. But once he was in the desert too, all but theemails stopped. We just kept missing each other and it was more frustratingthan anything else.

With a low growl, I shove myself off the bed,dragging the spring green duvet into the living room with me. I plop on thecouch and turn on the TV, hoping it will numb me into slumber.

It doesn’t.

News channels covering events I know littleabout, since I was isolated from current events at home for a year other thanthe tidbits Mom, and Prim, and Peeta while he could, would send to me in theirletters. When I stumble across war coverage on one channel, I pause, butquickly move on. I live it. I don’t need them telling me what it’s like.Besides, there’s a small part of me that’s terrified that the next breakingstory will be about a plane crash.

The rest of the channels disappoint just asmuch. Petty squabbles on reality shows. Commercials and other fluff. It’s justlike talking to Prim only magnified. This used to be my life, I think as I turnthe TV back off and wander into the kitchen. I eat one of the bagels I’d meantfor breakfast just to have something normal to do.

When I finally shove myself back into bed, it’swith little hope of sleeping. Still, I try, and I must succeed because I seethings, some of them real, others more difficult to pinpoint. Sergeant Chaffyelling over the pop of gunfire. A woman racing into the streets to enfold herchild into the black billows of her dress before collapsing and crying over hisbody. Peeta’s smile. The ringing in my ears when a grenade went off close by,drowning out the shouts and gunfire that followed. A door kicked in beneath atan boot. Darius laughing the second before the IED went off. A fireball and atower of smoke against an azure sky, the twisted wreckage of a plane’s tail.

I gasp and wake up, sweating and trembling.Slowly, I manage to get ahold of my breathing and stand, walking slowly to thebathroom to splash water on my face in the dark. I gulp down a few handfuls andthen return to bed, stripping the duvet off first and using only the sheet.Staring at the ceiling as I wait for morning or sleep, whichever arrives first.I can’t tell which one it is, drifting in and out of dreams. Even when I see myroom, there’s Gale, detailing a strategy for clearing a street, his neckbandaged. My mother humming as she rocks in a rocking chair and sews. Theconstant, choking brown haze of a dust storm.

I am a stranger in my own life.

When I wake again, it’s late afternoon. Atleast, that’s what my clock says. The room is dark, the curtains drawn, so I’mnot sure that I’m not still asleep. I roll onto my stomach and stare throughscratchy eyes at what should be the empty space beside me. Only, there’s a bodythere, stomach down and faced away from me. My mouth goes dry and I hope it’snot a nightmare. I wouldn’t put it past my twisted brain to imagine him lyingdead beside me.

Reaching out, I poke his ribs and he startles.It takes him a moment, but he finally turns his head to look at me, his eyesbloodshot and dark circles beneath them.

“You look a little rough for a dream,” I tellhim and he blinks at me, confused. “And quiet, too. That’s how I know you’renot real. If you were, you’d have already said ten witty things.”

“Too tired,” he mumbles behind a yawn.

“You should've already been here,” I mutter, thefear of what could go wrong still clinging to me.

“Plane broke and we had to divert to Turkey.Then we got stuck waiting for parts. I called you as soon as we had a takeofftime from Canada, but your phone was off,” he says and I shrug.

“No one I wanted to talk to,” I tell him.

“Ouch,” he says and I scoot closer, hoping dreamPeeta feels half as good as real Peeta. He opens his arms and I snuggle againsthis body. My subconscious has at least gotten the incredible warmth that heemits right.

“You smell good,” I murmur and fist his shirt inmy hand.

“I better. I just got back two hours ago andtook a shower first thing.”

“You got naked without me,” I accuse. “Who’s incharge of this dream anyways?”

“You were out cold when I got in. Didn't want todisturb you. How long have you been home?”

“No idea. Tell you when I wake up.”

“Katniss,” Peeta says softly. “You are awake.”

I open one eye and look up at Peeta. Reachingout, I pat his cheek and he smiles.

“You didn’t wake me!” I shout and scrambleupright in the bed and put space between us. I’m not sure if I’m more angryover the fact that he climbed into bed without waking me or that by leaving myphone off, I missed the chance to be there for him when he landed. But he justlays there, watching me with tired blue eyes.

“I didn’t wake you,” he says softly, one handreaching for me and falling short on the bed, “because you looked so peacefuland wonderful, and all I wanted to do was to sleep next to you for a few hours.Just sleep with the knowledge that I wouldn't be alerted soon, and withouthaving to block out the sound of mortar shells.”

“How's that working out for you?” I ask,resenting the fact that he's the one who brought it up, reminded me that hewasn't all that much safer than I was over there. He shrugs.

“Not so well. It's so quiet here.”

“Yeah,” I say and fold my hands in my lap as weadd to the silence. Staring at one another, neither one of us knowing what tosay, and I wonder if I will feel like an interloper in this part of my lifetoo, caught in a world I no longer understand. I search his blue eyes for somehint of the person I left a year ago. His eyes are the same color, but they'reguarded. Maybe even frightened. And defensive. I don't know how to talk to thisperson.

“This is weird, isn't it?” I whisper. He bracesa hand on the mattress and sits up so our eyes are on the same level, but hedoesn't reach for me again.

“Feels that way, doesn't it?” he asks.

“Prim wanted to know if you’d be coming with menext week.”

“Yeah. If you want me too,” he says and I nod,because what am I supposed to say to this cautious dance around each other.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

“I could eat,” he says. We make our way into thekitchen and eat the rest of my chicken, salad, and bread from dinner lastnight. In silence. And we don't touch one another.

I try to summon some sort of feeling. But I'm sotired of fighting and I know he must be too. Maybe it's too late for us.

Two years of visits here and there while he wentthrough his training pipeline, existing on phone calls and quick weekends inwhich we tried to cram months worth of time missing each other. But there wasalways another absence looming on the horizon, and in those absences, it becamenecessary to survive alone. Without each other.

He fought to get an assignment that somewhatmatched up with mine, requesting an airframe that others in his service oftenlook down on, shocking his superiors when he wanted and pursued a heavy insteadof a sleek shiny fighter. Requesting a base slated for closure just because itwas attached to the fort I was assigned to. Fought to line up our deploymentsso we weren't waving at one another as we swapped places. And now, each of ustwo deployments in, I wonder if we spent so much time and effort trying to betogether that we don't know how to exist together anymore.

He flicks crumbs across his plate as we sit insilence, his foot bouncing nervously beneath the table. It's a twitch he'snever had before and I don't know what to think of it. Shouldn't we be happy?Crawling all over one another and ravenous?

Peeta takes a deep breath and I look up to findhim already watching me. “Think I'll unpack...since I'm awake now.”

“Okay,” I say, pushing away the guilt that Iwoke him after so little sleep when I’ve wasted almost an entire day moping inbed.

We move around one another, returning personalitems to their places, shoving one load after another into the washing machine,wiping away the fine layer of powdered sand that’s accumulated on almosteverything. We barely speak, just two ghosts sharing a house. I'm not even sureI'd call it a home.

“Grocery shopping?” he suggests after we'vestored our footlockers in the garage and I nod. I can't even look at him as wedress, afraid I'll find new scars or markings on his body that tell the talesof whatever horrors he lived through. And I don't feel his eyes on me either.

“Your car or mine?” he asks softly as he doubleknots his shoes.

“Mine,” I say automatically, and he nods butstill tucks his keys into his jeans pocket. I catch a brief glimpse of hisairborne keychain, dulled a little but still attached to his house key.

We limit our conversation to the necessary whilewe drive to the grocery store, and while we fill our cart. At one point, herests a palm on the small of my back as he leans around me to grab a box ofcrackers while I read a label and try not to fall apart at the minute touch.The heat of his hand sears through my shirt, and I lean back into it. When hemoves away, the disappointment rushes through me, swift and painful.

He tosses the box of crackers into the cart andlooks back at me, a small and hesitant smile curving his lips up just on oneside. And I can't take it anymore, pretending like everything's normal and fineand I’m not five seconds from falling apart. I drop the saltines on the groundand fling myself at him.

He only hesitates a second before his arms surgearound me and he buries his face in my neck, releasing a quiet shuddering noisethat might be a sob or a sigh of relief. I still shake with fears anduncertainties, my fingers digging into the back of his neck to make sure hedoesn't vanish from my arms. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips touchmy neck. And I don't care that we're in the middle of a grocery store with adozen people muttering in discontent as they have to maneuver their cartsaround us.

“What’s happening to us, Katniss?” he whispers,and I know he’s not talking about the nightmares or the shortened tempers, butthe apathy. The need to not make a big deal out of things, not even a reunionafter an entire year apart. Or the fact that it’s easier to ignore the possibilityof hurt or death or worse because if you think about it, you’ll go mad.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

“I missed you so much it physically hurts,” hesays, his arms shaking against me for a moment. I think about how many timesthese arms have been my refuge from the world. Always so warm and strong.

“Me, too,” I admit. But we’ve opened thefloodgates and words pour forth from his lips.

“It was bad enough being here and watching thenews. I’d go fucking crazy watching it, looking for you in the footage, hopingI’d get just a glimpse of you and dreading it at the same time. But being therewas a million times worse. Every time we got called for medevac or to moveH.R., I’d feel ill, certain that I’d be seeing your face or your name on acasket and knowing it’d be more than I could bear. Katniss, I don’t know if I’dever be happy again if I lost you.”

My eyes burn with unshed tears. I should tellhim about my nightmares, too. RPG’s and planes shot from the sky. The wordsstick in my throat, and then someone behind us clears theirs impatiently. Iswipe at my eyes as Peeta releases me and we step apart enough to look at theintruder.

“Excuse me. You’re blocking the shelf,” shesays, oblivious to or blatantly ignoring the obvious tears in both our eyes. Areminder that this is not the place for either of us to break down. Not with anaudience.

“Thank you for your patience,” Peeta says toher, bending to scoop the dropped box of crackers off the floor and depositingit in our cart as we walk away. Only this time, we join hands and each use onehand to steer the cart.

Our conversation is still somewhat stilted afterthat, and maybe it will be for awhile as we adjust back to each other’spresence, to the comfort of relative safety and the absence of the fears of thenight.

We pay for our groceries and I manage to get ushome without incident. As I cut off the engine, Peeta reaches out a hand tosqueeze my thigh and I look up at him while I press to shut the garage door,the remote now with a fresh battery. His thumb rubs up and down my thigh, asoothing touch along a rubbed raw nerve.

The air around us already hangs heavy withhumidity, but under his steady gaze, it thickens until it’s almost stifling. Heleans towards me and my grip on the steering wheel tightens. Peeta haltshalfway between us, his eyes flickering down to my mouth and then away with anearly inaudible sigh. For now, I will ignore the voice in the back of my headthat insists there’s no point. One or both of us will just be heading back outthe door in six to twelve months. A seesaw of adjustment to life and thensurvival. Or maybe they’re just two different kinds of survival. But I refuseto let this wall stand between us a second longer.

With my hands firm on the steering wheel, I moveto meet him over the gearshift and capture his lips with mine. His fingers onmy thigh clench and he brings his other hand up to hold me to him, his palmwarm on the side of my neck, his thumb tracing a path from the corner of mymouth to the edge of my jaw and back again. And I can't believe we waited thislong. I let go of the steering wheel and grip his shirt instead, yankingroughly on the fabric, needlessly because he’s not pulling back or going anywhere.

He tilts his head and I open my mouth withouthim asking, because I need this kiss right now. Right here. The soft tremorthat shakes through me at the first touch of his tongue to mine. We are sloppyand graceless, but one kiss only makes me want more. All too soon, though,Peeta gently separates our mouths with one last suckle of my bottom lip betweenhis.

“We should get the cold items put away beforethey all melt,” he croaks and I nod, although I’d much rather kiss him for thenext hour. Releasing my leg to open his door, Peeta kisses the tip of my noseand smiles at me.

With each mundane task that we complete, thegaping wound between us knits together. A gradual healing. By the time we’vefinished putting our groceries away and managed to prepare and consume a meallike human beings, I’m thinking of tonight, about spooning with him in bed,less in terms of something we just do and more in terms of the comfort that itmight provide.

When Peeta stifles a massive yawn, I suggestheading to bed, even though I’m not tired yet. He has to be beyond exhausted.Within seconds of crawling into bed, his breathing evens out and I lay in thecircle of his arms, listening to the calm sounds of spring outside our openwindow.

Eventually, sleep takes me as well, and while Istill see things I’d rather not, they’re easier to face with Peeta’s arms warmand steady around me.

Some time during the night, I wake to darknessand feather soft touches drifting up and down my side, beneath my shirt, aroundto my belly and up my ribs, back down and around to my side. Over my hip, thetouches dulled through the fabric of my shorts, igniting on my thighs before hereturns to my torso. For a second, I wonder if he’s even awake, but then hislips brush over my neck and I shiver. Peeta’s touches halt and I bite my lip,wanting him to continue.

“Why’d you stop?” I finally whisper.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers back.

“I don’t mind,” I say and rest my hand over his,guiding it in the soft caresses for a moment before I tuck my hands beneath mycheek and relax into his touch as he continues unguided. Each delicate brush ofhis fingers lulls me deeper into a boneless state of bliss, reminding me ofjust how starved I’ve been for something like this, for the softness of hisloving touches. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness.

“You know what I’m thinking about?” he whispersand kisses the back of my neck.

“No,” I murmur, content to lay here and let himkeep doing what he’s doing.

“I’m thinking about that quart of chocolate icecream in the freezer.” It’s not what I was expecting him to say, but my eyesjump open as the idea takes hold.

“You have my attention,” I say and he chucklesbefore kissing my neck again. Then he’s up and tugging me off the bed. We hurryinto the kitchen, laughing as I slide across the floor in my socked feet. Peetagrabs the ice cream while I get the bowls and spoons. Within minutes, we’reseated at the table and enjoying the frozen treat.

“Dear diary,” I say as I moan around my firstspoonful and then stare at the smeared reflection of my face in the bowl of thespoon. “It has been seven months since my last ice cream. And even then, it wasmelted by the time I got to eat it.”

“That’s just sad,” Peeta says and grabs thecontainer, adding another scoop to mine. “You need to catch up.”

“That’s a lot of empty calories,” I protest andhe shakes his head.

“We’ll burn them off later,” he says, andalthough the comment could be perfectly innocent, my stomach does a strangeflip and warmth pools in my chest in spite of the freezing chocolate in mymouth.

Peeta keeps eating, oblivious to the effect ofhis comment, and so I continue to spoon one bite after another into my mouth,savoring it like I haven’t savored anything in months. In between bites, wemanage to open a little more, share a few of the lighter tales of our timeoverseas. It’s relaxing, sitting here enjoying a midnight snack, him in hisboxer briefs and a plain white t-shirt, me in my pajama shorts and a tank top.It feels like something we could do everyday, made special in its normalcy.Eventually, though, our spoons both scrape our bowls to get the last melteddrops. I tip my bowl up and drink what the spoon can’t get.

“Are they useful calories if they’re slurped?”Peeta asks. When I lower my bowl to scowl at him, he’s grinning, blue eyessparkling in laughter. And for just a second, I see the eyes of the boy I fellin love with in the face of the man I still can’t survive without. My bowl hitsthe table with a loud clink and I wrinkle my nose at him. He bites hislip, like he’s trying not to laugh out loud.

“What?” I ask sharply.

“Nothing,” he says as he gathers both our bowlsand rinses them before loading them in the dishwasher. I toss the ice creamback in the freezer and set my hands on my hips to glare at him. “It’s just,you’ve got some ice cream on your chin.”

I swipe at my chin as unwanted heat floods mycheeks and spreads down my neck. Here I was thinking maybe our relaxing midnightsnack would help us leap the last unspoken hurdle, and I can’t even eat like anadult. Oh so sexy. But Peeta’s smile won’t be contained as he moves to stand infront of me and lifts his hand to my face.

“You missed,” he whispers, swiping his thumbover my chin. “And you call yourself a sharp shooter.”

His hand leaves me and his eyes still dance withmirth as he sucks the ice cream from his skin. In a flash, I am heated andrestless, unable to look away from his pink lips as they pucker around histhumb or the deep pools of blue as he watches me.

“That was mine,” I whisper and he pauses withhis thumb still in his mouth. When he removes it, the silence of the kitchenshatters with the soft sucking noise of release.

“Come and get it,” he breathes. We stare at oneanother for what feels like ages, the moment strung tighter than a bow ready tofire. We snap at the same time, mouths colliding and hands grasping shirts andhair.

Peeta steps forward, forcing me back until I’msandwiched between him and the refrigerator. His mouth slants over mine againand again, ravenous and demanding. I can’t tell my moans from his as Ifrantically relearn the feel of his hair, the back of his neck, his shouldersbeneath a soft cotton shirt. The taste of his tongue and the ridges of hismouth. When his hand cups my breast and kneads it in the same rhythm as thehand massaging the back of my neck, my fingers clench, scraping my nails overhis skin. His hips thrust into me and we both moan as my stomach somersaultsfrom hungry to rapacious.

Peeta flattens his body against mine and triesto say something that gets lost between our joined lips. His arms circle me, asteel band of support and I lift my feet to wrap my legs around his hips,trusting that he won’t drop me. With careful steps, he walks us back to thebedroom, but I refuse to stop kissing him. A year. An entire yearwithout his lips and hands on me.

We need to catch up.

When his knees hit the bed, our mouths joltapart and I giggle as we flop onto it, Peeta’s hands and the soft mattressbracing the fall as we bounce and he smiles at me before he resumes kissing me,our hips pressed together as we shift restlessly against one another. My feetcaress over the backs of his thighs and his hands encourage me, skimming overmy legs and grasping my ankle to wrap my leg around him again.

I want our shirts off. I can feel the heat ofhim burning through the fabric that still separates us. I want it unfilteredand undiluted on my bare skin. But I don’t want to stop kissing him to tell himthat either, so I leave the clothes and let the need build and scratch at thehairs on his neck and the back of his head.

After who knows how many minutes of this, hecomes up panting and tears at my shirt. Relieved, I arch my back and lift myarms so he can remove it to throw it across the room. I’m expecting him to takehis off, too, and gasp as he instead fuses our mouths together, the cotton ofhis shirt dragging over my nipples. The unexpected stimulation does wickedthings to my nerves, my legs pulling him closer in response, until the hardridge of his arousal presses into the soft folds of mine. His hips buck in myembrace, the sudden pressure sending a frisson of need all the way out to myfingertips.

“Katniss,” he gasps as he lifts his head to transferhis mouth to my throat. Each word he speaks is kissed into my skin, lower andlower on my body. “Hold. Onto. Something,” he warns, pausing only to give eachbreast one quick, hard suck and a moan of appreciation before he moves on. “Ihave an entire year of not tasting you to make up for.” Until he reaches mypajama shorts and silently slides them and my panties down my legs, lays mebare to his gaze. I slip my hands beneath the pillow and grab hold of it whilehe stares at me.

“Say something,” I whisper when he remains quietand still, staring between my legs beyond the point where I am still confidentin his desire for me.

“Words aren’t enough to describe how incredibleyou are. I’ll just have to show you,” he murmurs.

The bed bounces as he drops heavily between mylegs. With no warning or preamble, he wraps his hands beneath my thighs andholds me open, his mouth descends and he moans loudly as he suckles my folds.At first, I squirm, the sensation of being licked there distant and no longerfamiliar. But Peeta doesn’t let me hide behind shyness or uncertainty. Hismouth is on a quest, and before long, I’ve forgotten time and distance,writhing beneath the onslaught that sets my entire body aflame with need.

I grip his hair and then mine. The sheets andthen his hair again. I watch him until I can’t, my body taking over andbanishing thought in favor of feeling as I crest and shudder, moaning gibberishinto the night.

Instead of stopping, though, Peeta keeps going.His tongue pushing deep inside me to drink of me as I tremble and yell that Ican’t. But apparently, I can, as he sends me careening over another peak whenhe flicks his tongue over my clit then sucks it into his mouth.

Falling limp, on the bed, I gasp for air andgroan in beautiful agony. Still, Peeta gives me no reprieve, sliding his handsover my legs until he grips my calves and pushes my knees up until they touchmy ribs.

“Peeta, please,” I beg, unable to articulate thesearing feeling I can’t escape as his mouth continues it’s sweet torment. Hetakes it to mean that I want another, but it feels so good that each swipe ofhis tongue actually hurts. “Too much,” I finally manage to gasp.

Undeterred, Peeta’s head shakes as though he’stelling me “no,” but the result is a streak of pleasure so acute that I screamand kick wildly, thrashing on the bed violently enough to unseat him.

“Fuck!” I hear him exclaim, followed by a loudthud, but I am so lost in the shudders still wracking my body that I don’trealize what’s happened until the pounding of my heart calms enough for me tohear clearly again. It’s only then that I notice that Peeta’s not between mylegs any more. Not even touching me nor even on the bed.

“Peeta?” I ask hesitantly and his laughterdrifts up to me from the floor at the foot of the bed. Gathering my wits, Ishift to the edge and peer down at him. He’s lying on his back, looking up atme with a pleased grin on his face, one hand behind his head and the otherresting leisurely on his stomach. If it weren’t for the obvious strain of hiscock against the cotton of his briefs, I’d think he was just reclining downthere to get a rest.

“What happened?” I ask, self-consciously runninga hand through my own hair and tucking strands back behind my ears.

“You came so hard, you kicked me off the bed,”he says, but he doesn’t seem too upset about it. He reaches up and grasps mywrist. “Come here.”

I squeal as he tugs me over the edge and ontohis chest, but then I let go any embarrassment or doubt as he pulls me down tokiss him again. This time, it’s leisurely, allowing me a chance to recover fromwhatever the hell it is he just did to me. He reaches up and yanks the duvetdown to cover us both as he ends the kiss, his arms cuddle me to his chest andI settle my head on his shoulder. He’s still hard against me, but doesn’t seemto be in a rush to find his own relief. As it was when I woke earlier, his handtraces delicately over my skin, my back this time.

A restless longing takes place in my breast, andeven though he seems content to take things slow, this kind of hunger won’t besated easily. When he makes no move, I push myself off his chest and sit,straddling his hips.

“Where’re you going?” he asks quietly.

“Nowhere,” I tell him, but make my fingers walkdown his torso towards myself.

His eyes jump between my hands and my face as Iwatch him for any sign that he doesn’t want this as much as I do, but when myfingers curl beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, he lifts his hips fromthe floor and pushes them down his legs. I move my hips, dragging my still wetlips over the length of his cock. With a curse, Peeta drops his hips back tothe floor, his shorts still somewhere on his legs as I take him in hand andkeep up the steady revolutions of my hips over him, sliding him through both myhand and my lips.

“Oh fuck me, that feels like heaven,” he groans,eyes riveted to what I’m doing to him. I bite my lip and brace a hand on histhigh, and even though I just came three times on the bed, I already wantanother. Heat and blood pulse through me as I move and Peeta whines a little,his hands massaging my thighs.

I started this to tease him, but it quickly hasme just as excited as him. I let go of his cock and instead grip his shirt,tugging on it like it’s a set of reins and the only thing keeping me frombucking wildly on top of him.

“Katniss, please,” he begs and bites his lip,lifts his head and smacks it back on the floor in distress. “I wanna cum insideyou.”

With a nod, I shift myself and he aligns us,releasing a string of expletives as I sink down onto him, his right leg kickingin rapid succession as he tries to hold back. Taking his face in my hands, Ibend over and kiss him as we move. Short, sweet tastes as I slide up and downhis cock. Peeta’s arms wrap around me, hold me close as he draws hearts andswirls on my back, guides my hips in riding him. I try to keep it slow, but hekneads my ass and pushes my hips so they roll over him instead of bouncing. Mybody grasps hold of the pleasure and I take it, following his lead until mylegs start to cramp and I have to straighten them alongside his, laying my bodyflat on top of him.

When I can move again, I slide up his body andkeen into the night as he curses beneath me. It’s the best of both, taking hiscock in and out while still grinding my clit against him. I grab his chin andhold him so I can stare into his eyes, foggy with need and deeper than theocean. He whispers to me, dirty words in broken phrases.

“I dreamt about this every night, alone in ourbed and then in my bunk. How fuckin’ sexy you are when you’re on top of me, mycock deep inside you. Jerking myself off when my balls ached with the need tocome. I’d have to bite my lips so no one would here me and blow my load in ashirt or a sock and do laundry the next day. Fuck, Katniss,” he breaks off toswallow and kiss me a moment before I push his head back to the floor because Iwant his words right now.

“I’ve been starving for the feel of your lips anywhereon me I could get them, your legs around me, and fuck, your tits on my chest,god they feel so good there. And your pussy. I’ve needed your pussy on my cockevery day since the day you left. Fucking starving so bad for the clench ofyour walls and the smoke in your eyes as you come for me.”

I grip his shoulder and move faster, his wordsdrawing forth a greater arousal and making the slide smooth and easy asbreathing. But it’s not enough to get me there. I whimper and tell him that Ineed more and he grips my thighs, spreading me wide over him as he bends hisknees and leverages himself on his feet to thrust up into me. He’s groaningloudly, getting close as I still lag behind him. And for some reason I think ofthe night I first mentioned the possibility of our future together. I had noidea where we’d be on this night, but I remember the tremulous way he’d offeredme an out, if I’d wanted it. How scared and brave he’d looked as he tried tohide the hurt that just the thought my leaving caused him. Then how he cededcontrol to me without question and let me fuck myself sore and hoarse on him.

“Pull my hair, Peeta,” I urge and brace myselfto help.

“What?” he asks with wide eyes.

“Pull my fucking hair,” I order him and his handshifts to grip the short locks. Then I borrow the words that sent me hurtlingtowards my own orgasm all those years ago. I’ve never forgotten them. “Now takewhat you want. Your cock wants it so bad. I can feel it. Hot and pulsinginside of me.”

He makes a strangled noise as his fingers tanglein my hair and his hand yanks on me, slamming our bodies together again andagain as pain tingles across my scalp then mellows into pleasure.

“Stop holding back and fill me with your fuckingcum,” I demand and my muscles ache with the effort of maintaining this pace,but he shouts my name and his hips jerk erratically as his eyes squeeze shut.He stops moving, but I keep going, milking him until he grabs my ass and shovesme down onto him even as he thrusts up into me one last time. We remain there,hips suspended above the floor while he finishes with an elongated moan.

When he relaxes, dropping us to the floor, Itake his lips with mine and kiss the shuddering breaths from his throat. Hishands flex and clench on my ass and then start my hips rolling again, andbefore I can think or prepare myself, I shatter with a soft sigh, my clitpulsing against him as warmth and wonderment floods through me.

Peeta makes a sound of contentment in his throatas his leg spasms once more before we lay there, a mess of heavy breathing andfinally sated bodies.

“Too long,” he groans, his voice rumbling in hischest beneath my cheek. “A year is far too fucking long to go without you.”

“Yeah,” I agree. Then, because I am an idiot anddon’t think before I speak when I am a melted puddle spread across him, I saysomething stupid. “How long do you think we can live like this?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, shifting us so thatwe’re eye to eye. “But I’m willing to work for us for the rest of my life, ifthat’s what it takes, Katniss.”

“Me, too,” I whisper and kiss him once more toseal the promise.

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