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thatonedaydream · 4 years

Text

That one rule. [demon au]

Part 3 (Reader x Prompto, Ft. Nyx, Gladio)

A/N: Part 2 here. [slides into 2020] It has been a very long time. I just finished up this piece and edited it and here you go and whatever I guesss. How do I even write for these boys anymore?????? To YouTube!

☠☠☠☠☠

After a dizzying amount of corridors, Nyx stopped and knocked on a door before opening it and gesturing for you to go inside. You didn’t have the mental strength to try and memorise the twists and turns and you had no good starting point anyway. Even though Nyx had said they didn’t plan to keep you captive, you were starting to worry that maybe it was a lie.

Prompto was waiting inside, pacing the length of the room. His face lit up when he saw you. “You’re okay!” It looked like he wanted to hug you, but when you shirked, he stopped himself. “Right—sorry. I’m glad to see you’re okay. We were all worried when we heard you had run off.” He exhaled. “Like, really worried.”

You had to remind yourself of your tenant. Don’t trust what he’s saying. When it comes to emotions they’ll say anything to get you closer. You stayed passive, even though you really wanted to believe that he cared for you in some way. The weak human part of you would have been pleased, but the hardened side if you knew what the risk would be if you indulged in that feeling. “Sorry.” Your answer was flat. “I—After the phone call, I didn’t know what to do.” You avoided eye contact to try and minimise any meaningful contact.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Prompto sounded disappointed. “Um, Ignis thought you might be hungry—or you might get hungry. He’s made some sandwiches, but he wasn’t sure what you’d want and made—” The blonde gestured the large platter with what looked like several options for drinks on the side. “Dig in if you want.”

You wanted to say ‘no’, but before you could say it, something else answered for you. You could control your heart, stamp out the voices in your head, but you definitely couldn’t silence the rumble of your stomach that was a little loud—at least it was loud enough for the demons in the room to hear it.

They tried to be polite about it, but you could see the growing smirk on Nyx’s lip and decided to busy yourself with a tasty-looking sandwich instead of biting back. Prompto beamed and sat in the cushy chair opposite you and helped himself to one of the many sweet drinks.

It was quiet as you slowly ate. Begrudgingly you had to admit that it was helping you feel better. You hadn’t eaten before you left for the Citadel, so you were low on energy. The food was also delicious and it helped emotionally. You briefly wondered if a demon’s sense of taste was more fine-tuned than a human’s. It would help in making flavours perfectly balanced in meals.

“I wonder if he’s okay.” Prompto checked his phone, but then dropped it on the table. “Do you—do you think he’ll be okay?” He sounded worried.

Before you could stop yourself you asked, “Who?”

“Noct. Noctis—King Noctis.” The blonde rolled through the names. If you remembered correctly Prompto and Noctis were childhood friends and while Prompto wasn’t a royal Noctis never treated him any differently, so to the King was just Noctis or Noct to him. “I just—I don’t get all of this political or royal stuff, but what happened? It wasn’t Noct. He’s busy doing diplomatic stuff and I—I can’t help him right now.” Prompto looked so helpless.

It occurred to you that this was the first time you would have spoken to any of the Inner Circle like this. This conversation was turning into something less casual business and more—friendly. It made you uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. You avoided these kinds of conversations with demons because this was a fast way to get close to someone. Demons appealed to human emotions like this all the time to be able to manipulate the human heart.

Nyx watched the exchange as he stood by the door on guard. He had to give it to the kid, Prompto was kind of dangerous to humans without meaning to be. He was open and friendly and honest and he could play a person without even knowing it. From his brief interaction with you, he could tell you didn’t like demons one bit. You didn’t even want to trust him enough to accept his help to get you up off the floor.

Now, Prompto was honestly looking for a little support from you. Would you help?

“You think he’ll be okay?” Prompto continued, seemingly oblivious to your discomfort. “Noct said he was nervous—he looked worried? Ignis said he’d be fine—there was a plan or something—but I just wish I could help. Y’know?” When he looked at you with what might have been hopeful eyes, you really didn’t know what to do.

“Prompto—” You put down your half-eaten sandwich and tried to think of right words. You did know how he felt and you really wanted to comfort him, but there was such a risk—you couldn’t. “You have to be careful with who you say these kinds of things to. It's part of the whole political and royal thing, some people would look for any kind of weakness to use against the crown.”

Nyx was impressed, it was a really good neutral answer, but—

“You wouldn’t do that though. I trust you.” Prompto didn’t even take a moment to think about his reply and it floored you.

He trusted you? Were demons even capable of something like that? Maybe they were between themselves, but trusting you, a human—prey? You hadn’t even thought that that was even a possibility. All you had ever considered was how much you didn’t trust them and how they all had some kind of hidden agenda. Was this part of a play too? If it was, it was low.

But… Somehow looking at Prompto’s gaze dart away and then back at you nervously—it was such a human thing to do, maybe demons did it too? Maybe the blond really was concerned and needed some support. “It’ll be okay.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them. “The King isn’t going through this on his own and there are contingency plans for crises like this. Ignis is a capable advisor. Just give them time.”

It was like whiplash, Nyx had thought you were stone-cold at first and now that you were showing some warmth—he smiled to himself. It was kind of attractive.

When Prompto beamed at you again, it felt like you made a mistake. Did he just play you for a fool? There was some emotional support there, he had taken advantage of your human heart. You argued in your head that it was an indirect connection, he was worried about the King and you only stated facts. Still, it felt like you had crossed a line. The conversation wasn’t professional, it was a friendly chat.

Before any more conversation could be made, there was a knock on the door. “It’s me.” Gladio’s voice was muffled by the closed door, but not for long. When he entered the room, he took a moment to observe the half-eaten food and casual setting before grinning. “Well look at you, having a good time with demons.”

It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Any warmth in the room was dragged out with Gladiolus’ little joke. He meant nothing by it, he was happy to see you loosening up, but his words were like a slap in the face to you; a wake-up call.

Suddenly you could see your friend through the glass window. Their hollow gaze begging for someone who would never look at them again. You could see the shells of the people you worked with who had fallen prey to demons, people who were smart and knew better, people like you.

You knew better. You knew better than to do this.

That smell of fear was back. They all picked up on it. It was like waiting for the air to run out after being buried alive. The suffocation before drowning. The anticipation of impact. The scent was a spiralling, constricting piece of barbed wire, digging and cutting and burying deep.

You stood up quickly, knocking over some of the drinks. They spilt over the carpet, but no one cared. You needed out. You needed air.

“Room next door is empty too,” Nyx called out, not moving as you dashed through to the mentioned room and slammed the door shut. You promised not to run. He would trust you, just as Prompto did. There was silence. Then, “Nice one, Gladio.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Gladio bared his teeth in a threat, even though he knew Nyx wouldn't flinch. He messed up and got a little ahead of himself. What was it that made you panic like that? He had sensed fear before, but nothing like yours. It wasn't that blunt darkness of the fear of death. It wasn't that sour sting like wanting to run. Your fear was grounding, earthed. It was roots buried deep. Burnt, engraved. Traumatic.

It was traumatic.

Next door, you sat in the dark windowless room. Your breathing finally steadied and you closed your eyes, taking one last look at the memories of people broken around you, burying your own experiences back down deep, deep beneath your scars.

You wouldn’t break. You remembered your personal mantra, to not trust in the demons around you who knew only to lie. They didn't care about you. You steeled yourself, put your walls up higher and higher.

You wouldn't break, but was it because you knew better? Or was it because you were already broken?

☠☠☠☠☠

masterlist

#ffxv #final fantasy xv #reader insert #prompto #prompto argentum #prompto x reader #prompto argentum x reader #demon au #nyx #nyx ulric #gladio #gladiolus amicitia #gladio you dumb fuck hahaha #its okay he'll apologise #i think #not sure of reader will accept but who knows #anyway let me know what you thinkkk

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excuseme-youpretty · 4 years

Photo

Pairing: Kim Namjoon / Reader

Side Pairings: None

Rating: Teen

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3,748

Warnings: Brief allusions to sex, but nothing too graphic.

Notes: This oneshot was requested by anonymous. They wanted adorable fluffy Namjoon spending a rare day off with his partner. I hope, wherever you are, that you liked it and I’m sorry for the delay ♥ I’ve had a virus that’s been kicking my ass.

Make your own requests: HERE

As you fold your body up on the axis of your hip, rotating in a clean arc to reach across the mattress toward Namjoon's designated patch, you are fully expecting to feel the cool compress of abandonment rippling along your sheets.

It's always the same, the harsh bite of cold satin which has somehow preserved your boyfriend's silhouette and the residual cling of his cologne; leaving you a little disappointed but nevertheless eager to progress your day until his inevitable return.

Only on this morning it is not a reminiscent frost that you feel, but rather an unmistakable warmth and the soft, shallow breaths which can only belong to one man.

Namjoon wakes you organically, with lips of spun sugar and the barely-there pull of his teeth leaving a curl of calligraphy along the underside of your jaw. He tastes of peppermint and sunrise, pulling you from the remnants of your sleep with a soft exhale of your name.

"Good morning, Princess." He sighs, nuzzling a deliberately soft semi-circle just beneath your ear. "Or should I say 'good afternoon'?'"

The hot midsummer sun bleeds through your aerated curtains like tangerine paint dripping from a saturated canvas. You can hear songbirds twittering enthusiastically just outside your window and the elated laughter of children participating in a rowdy all-bets-off game of kickball in the park across the street.

Everything is go go go. Nonstop motion. Somehow, the world ticks on in spite of your unorthodox absence.

The crab-shaped clock on the wall indicates that you have missed breakfast. You are close to missing lunch, too.

And you couldn't be more delighted.

Because with Namjoon, days off are as rare as a rainstorm in the middle of the Sahara; a much-deserved rejuvenation.

"What time is it?" You whisper, your words coming out all slurred and sleep-blanched.

Namjoon presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. "Well, let's see… I accrued three missed calls and four text messages before finally deciding to just turn off my phone."

"Ah, so the children are missing your effervescent presence then?"

"It would appear so. As long as we can get through the day without Yoongi-hyung committing mass Fratricide, I'll consider it a victory."

You can't help but to giggle at the notion as unprompted visuals of an unamused Yoongi wrestling with a quartet of multicolor leashes, each one connected to the torso of a hyperactive dongsaeng, and Seokjin's disapproving pursed lips, overwhelm your senses.

"And in the meantime? You have a whole twenty-four hours before things return to normal. How do you want to spend it?"

Namjoon answers your question with the brush of his lips against your own. He takes his time claiming your mouth, his lips startlingly hot in contrast to his sweet and minty tongue.

Namjoon's fingers weave slanted tendrils down over the bare flesh of your pelvis as soon as you part, summoning a film of goosebumps to the surface of your sun-soaked skin.

You shudder helplessly as you ride out the residual sensation of such an earth-moving kiss.

"Mmm… Well, I hope you're happy, Mister. That kiss just wasted a good five minutes of free time."

Your boyfriend's teeth pull a fluorescent pinstripe across his bottom lip, seemingly lighting his way as he begins his slow descent down your exposed stomach and between your thighs as they give without much instruction.

"If you call kissing you until you're weak a 'waste of time' then you're really gonna hate this next part, Princess."

The tip of his nose skims past your naval, crafting a pathway for himself in the stipple of airbrushed freckles which blossom on your skin. And yet, you are quick to catch the nape of his neck with your fingers, maintaining a barely-there hold of his hair to prevent him from creeping any lower.

"Hold up there, Handsome. How about we nail two birds with one stone? There's a hot, soapy untimed shower with your name on it. And I'd be more than willing to help you scrub any… hard to reach places~"

Namjoon tilts his head back inside your loose grasp, the pads of your fingertips pushing through his silvery-blonde strands to rest almost tauntingly against his scalp. He purses his lips in thought.

"Well, I'd be a fool to refuse such a titillating offer." He presses a large open-mouthed kiss to the underside of your naval. "And I'm no fool."

You are plucked from the barely-there drape of your duvet before you can reasonably react, Namjoon's arms imprisoning your midsection and hefting you skyward before carrying you into the cool porcelain of your bathroom.

The water which had cascaded down from your shower faucet was luxuriously light, a sprinkling of powdered sugar across your sleep-eased muscles. And yet the petting was nothing short of heavy.

Namjoon had taken his time working sweet-smelling suds into your skin until you gleamed with sparkling iridescence; scents of lavender and violet mingling with the sharp musk of your boyfriend's shampoo.

He had kissed you until your lips ached, buttering you up with an overdose of affection even as you stepped out of the shower and into the baked afternoon sunlight.

After a brief rendezvous in your closet, one which had taken longer than necessary to navigate thanks to Namjoon's wandering hands and greedy lips, you both finally settled on outfits which would compliment such a rare day off.

He now sits across from you, grinning from ear to ear as he indulges himself in a

verifiable cloud of scrambled eggs and generously buttered toast; the first home-cooked meal he has had the pleasure of tasting in far too long. Even Seokjin's schedule has become so saturated that he can no longer find the time to finesse his way around their dormitory kitchen.

Who would have thought a group of seven growing boys could survive on a consistent diet of frequented takeaway restaurants and prepackaged vending machine snacks?

He always looks so beautiful like this, dressed in nothing but a pair of faded jeans and a simple t-shirt. His hair, still damp from your shared shower and lacking any product, hangs limply around his handsome face in a fashion not too dissimilar from the signature whistle necklace draped across his chest.

"I swear, babe, this is amazing." Namjoon croons, using a napkin to stipple away the loose crumbs which have gathered in the crevice of his ever-present smile. "What's your secret?"

Pushing your fingertips through the damp sheen of his hair, you take a seat beside him and indulge in a long, contemplative sip of your orange juice.

"A whole lot of love for my boyfriend and an unreasonably long night's sleep."

Namjoon's grin is so vast that his eyes momentarily disappear into little crescents.

"That's fair."

He wraps an arm securely around your shoulders, tucking you into his hip where he feeds you small prisms of toast and watches as the amaranth horizon dances across your cheekbones.

You feel the cold, wet compress of a soft puppy nose brushing against your calf when RapMon darts wildly between your ankles. He yips musically, vibrating with an overdose of unexpected energy as though he himself had also indulged in a deliciously long slumber and was now reaping the rewards of his pent-up energy.

Namjoon can't help but to laugh, the sound reverberating in tandem with the small bell looped onto Moni's technicolored collar.

"I think our Puppy is ready to hit the road. Don't you, Princess?"

"It would certainly appear so."

You watch as Namjoon cross-hatches his thumb across an array of emails on the screen of his business cell phone, organising them into their designated folders, before he opts to switch off the device all together.

Following his lead, you gather up the empty breakfast plates and place them in the sink; deciding rather quickly that all dishwashing tasks are a problem for a future you. You take a bottle of chilled water from the fridge and grab Moni's collapsible bowl as well as his monogrammed leash, clipping it in place upon his collar and earning some gentle puppy-dog kisses in response.

You run your fingers through Moni's soft fur, giving special attention to his pointed ears and muzzle. Placing an affectionate kiss to his snout, you rise to your feet once more and turn towards your boyfriend.

Namjoon rattles his house-keys with a grin.

"Ready to get some sunshine?"

"With you? Always!"

The scarlet-hot skyline reflects prettily upon the shimmering silver swingset where you perch, your toes dangling mere millimetres above the dew-slicked grass. Scents of fresh pine and spring flowers permeate the air, as well as the sugary sweetness of cotton candy being spun into cute little beehives by a nearby vendor.

At the centre of the park, a small group of children are having a competition to see who can blow the largest bubble. Like confetti, the air is full of shiny little bubbles as they rise up to the sky. And darting after them with an open mouth and comically wagging tongue is a soap-spritzed Moni.

The children shriek with laughter, running around in circles with Moni bouncing merrily behind them.

Namjoon's fingertips brush over your shoulders as he pushes you gently on the swing. He traces plump cartoon hearts over the nape of your neck, erecting a small film of goosebumps with every stroke.

"It's such a gorgeous day out." He muses, turning his head to place an unexpected kiss against your forehead.

"Yeah, we really lucked out. Summer sunshine allll day."

"I'd take thunderstorms and heavy rain in a heartbeat as long as I get to spend the day with you, baby."

Ever a poet, Namjoon's words leave your insides tingling akin to sticky sherbet and fizzing pop rocks.

"Dork~" You chastise in a soft voice full of mirth.

You can feel his infatuated grin press into the back of your neck, his fingertips twirling around the stray strands of hair which ribbon over your noon-warmed cheeks.

"Only on my days off."

When Namjoon's digits begin to sway across your collarbones, you concertina them gently between your fingertips. You bring his hand to your lips, kissing across his skin with an audible smack. The pad of his thumb skims over your cheekbone as though he were an artist buffing paint across a canvas.

"You're so beautiful, Princess." He muses.

His words take on an illustrative quality; as though he were scribbling his infatuation across clean journal pages. And yet, before you can respond, he's dipping down just out of view to clasp a fistful of lawn.

"What're you doing, Joonie?"

"Just wait and see - It's a surprise."

Behind you, you can feel Namjoon's fingers work with fast needle-sharp precision. The rounded edge of his nail pierces through stem after stem as he braids several dainty daisies together into a makeshift crown.

"Now, what is it that every princess needs, baby?"

"Her Prince Charming? Or Prince Destroys-Everything-He-Touches, whatever works."

"This is true." Wiping away the residual pollen on the leg of his pants, Namjoon takes a step closer toward you. He carefully places the crown on top of your head. "But she also needs her very own tiara!"

Grinning maniacally, you bring a hand up toward your head to stroke over the small stack of downy-soft petals which frame your forehead.

"You're so cute, you know that?" You shriek, gasping when Namjoon presses a stream of rapid open-mouthed kisses against your glowing cheek.

"Yeah, it's a special gift of mine. Come here, gorgeous."

With his hand outstretched in front of you, Namjoon holds his phone poised on both of your grinning faces. He snaps picture after picture, selca after selca, honing in on the kaleidoscopic shimmer of your eyes and the iridescent glow of lip balm which has transferred from your lips onto Namjoon's.

You stay like that for what feels like an eternity; dissolving into a world where your boyfriend's palms leave semi-permanent prints upon your hips from how tightly he embraces you and his laughter resonates deep within the crevices of your soul.

Namjoon's cellphone feels positively heavy with the weight of all the memories you have captured together. From the soft and tender lip-locks, to the poorly performed rendition of Magic Shop, to the footage you filmed of a hyperactive Moni playfully chasing a butterfly through a cluster of dandelions.

You have squeezed an entire month's worth of desperately craved affection into a single afternoon.

It is only once the air begins to develop the faintest tickle of frost that you finally decide to depart from the park.

Namjoon's jacket falls around your shoulders like a cloak of denim. His cologne overwhelms your senses, scents of crisp waters and juniper berry, and at your feet walks a very tired but exceptionally happy puppy.

After briefly stopping by your favourite local bookstore to purchase some light reading material, as well as picking up an order of strawberry croissants and freshly brewed coffee from the quaint little patisserie where you and Namjoon had your first date, you finally arrive home.

You unclasp Moni's leash, prompting him to scurry enthusiastically over toward his pet bed for a well-deserved nap, and retreat back to your own bedroom in order to slip out of your dress and into something more comfortable.

Namjoon's old sweatpants drape around your hips like an elasticated hula-hoop, just barely held in place by fraying cord and sheer willpower. The sweater you have liberated from the back of your closet was once a Christmas staple before the gaudy crimson bows fell off, leaving a simple doe in its place. There are pinhole sized holes all over the elbow and sleeve, as well as a fraying hem, and yet you always find your greatest comfort when dressed in those faded and pilling fibres.

Once you have changed into your lounge wear, you return back to your living room to find Namjoon staring purse-lipped at the carpet beneath his toes. He has his business cell phone tucked in against his ear.

"So there's no major emergency then, Guk? Because this is supposed to be my day off."

You can just barely make out the airbrushed whistle of Jeongguk's voice tittering apologetically on the other end of the phone.

"Yes, she's here." Namjoon glances up at you, smiling fondly as you throw yourself down on a nearby couch. "We're about to settle in for the evening actually, so - I… yep, okay. I'll tell her. Mhm. I will. You too, Kookie. Aight, bye."

"That sounded like fun~" You tease, wedging your spine backwards into a mismatched eruption of multicolored pillows. "Are all six members present and accounted for?"

"So far. JK sends his regards."

Rubbing away the small pearls of tension which had accumulated in his temples during the duration of his phone call, Namjoon places his cellphone down on the coffee table. He passes over your coffee order as well as a beautiful ooey-gooey strawberry croissant and folds his large limbs over the criss-cross of your own.

His lips are a scarlet compress of sugar-syrup kisses against your cheek as he presses small puffs of laminated pastry into your open mouth.

"Now, what are we watching, Princess?"

It is surprisingly easy to dissolve into a rarely-negotiated routine with your billion dollar boyfriend.

With old Friends reruns playing quietly in the background, interrupted only by the occasional snore from Moni as he navigates his way through a puppy dreamland, and the balanced warmth of Namjoon's large fingertips weaving aimless patterns across your scalp, your afternoon bleeds well into the evening before Namjoon's ravenous stomach alerts you to the passage of time.

Your fingertips have been fragranced by the scent of persistently thumbed pages, and you have just reached the point in your novel where the fair maiden must choose between the handsome but tender farm-hand or the rugged but passionate business executive.

You spare a glance toward your own leading man. With his deep-set dimples and a smile which could thaw the Arctic, you conclude that you have your own fairytale ending right in front of your very eyes.

"Hey, seeing as I'm in such a good mood, why don't we start on dinner? We can attempt that spaghetti recipe again!"

You can't help but to tut at the notion. "You mean the spaghetti recipe which nearly burned our entire kitchen down?"

"That was an accident. It could've happened to anyone!"

"You tried to cook the pasta without any water, Namjoon-ah."

"In my defence, I followed the instructions carefully. 'Cook the noodles in a pan.' I did that."

"Oh, they were cooked alright."

You giggle in response to Namjoon's petulant pout, smothering the blush of his bottom lip in a brief but affectionate kiss.

"How about instead of turning our kitchen into a living charcoal exhibit we order takeout from that Italian place you love?"

Namjoon's stomach rumbles with ravenous hunger as though in response to your proposal and you can't help but to laugh as you reach for the phone, having already committed your boyfriend's usual order to memory.

It is less than an hour later, once your stomachs have been sufficiently plied by copious quantities of rich, herby sauces and ribbons of silken (and most definitely not cremated) pasta, that Namjoon is curling back into your hip with a well-worn notebook in hand.

You have both settled on a film for the evening, opting to delve headfirst into the technicolor vibrancy of San Fransokyo with Moni settled comfortably upon your lap and the fuzziest blanket imaginable draped around your shoulders.

Namjoon's breath is deliciously warm where it unfurls across your throat, dripping like molten honey into your collarbones and stippling a light film of goosebumps across your skin. You can't help but to shudder as his lips find your temple, your cheek, flowing freely across the ridge of your jawline until he finally settles against the upturned curl of your lips.

"I love you so much, Princess." He sighs, inundated with adoration for his girl.

"Not as much as I love you."

As the movie plays quietly in the background Namjoon's fingertips are ever-moving. The light scrape of his pen nib darting across clean paper provides a percussive soundtrack to Baymax's bumbling antics, the edge of his palm stained by faded charcoal ink from touching the page before his words have sufficiently dried.

Out of the corner of your eye you can just barely make out the curl of Namjoon's haphazardly jotted Hangul, piecing together the sentences he has written in your honor.

'...Your eyes are a sunrise which blanch my skin and leave me burning all night long.'

'... Your smile, sweeter than candy, paints syrup in my veins with every glance.'

'... When you say you love me I can feel it resonate skin-deep, stacking promises like petals in my ribcage.'

Namjoon's lyrics are picturesque and beautiful. Even without the accompaniment of instruments and production you can practically feel a cococonphy of emotional ARMYs singing along passionately to each word; as though wearing your boyfriend's carefully scribed poetry like a badge of honor.

To be the inspiration behind so many awe-inspiring songs, whose lyrics act like a beacon of hope for many individuals scattered throughout the universe, well… it's quite the undertaking.

Fortunately, Namjoon makes it all worth it. He's handsome and expressive and capable of leading an entire ARMY into a head space of pure gold.

And as he pulls your body a fraction closer to his own, the tip of his nose nestling against your pulse point to emboss an asymmetric heart on your honeydew skin, you realise you couldn't possibly love him any more.

As the credits for Big Hero 6 begin to roll across your television screen, stark and loud and full of celebratory fanfare, Namjoon is quick to locate the television remote underneath his saturated notebook pages in order to hit mute.

Beside him your eyelids have fallen to a close, lips parted to release several soft snores which fall in almost perfect tandem with Moni's fitful exhales. Your lashes flutter delicately, poured like strips of raven lace across your cheekbones, and your fingers curl instinctively in your lap as you clutch onto whatever adorable projection your mind has chosen to supply.

Placing his notebook and pen aside, Namjoon is careful to shoo RapMon away from your lap so that he does not disturb you. He half-attempts to fold the blanket which had cocooned your shoulders, opting instead to toss it onto the nearby recliner out of harm's way.

Your body is feather-light when he lifts you into his embrace. He is careful to rest your cheek against his chest, hooking your legs over his forearm to make it easier to transport you to the safe haven of your bed.

After navigating your hallway with a surprising degree of sufficiency, having knocked over little more than a plastic vase containing decorative pebbles and perhaps skewing a photo frame or three, Namjoon carefully places you upon your bed.

Your mattress seems to eagerly welcome the barely-there compress of your body, your satin sheets lapping up against your limbs like terracotta waves frothing upon the shore.

Once he has dimmed the lights, Namjoon places his cellphone down onto his bedside table and connects his charging cable once he is certain that he has reinstated his god-forsaken alarm.

He kicks off his jeans, opting to remain in his t-shirt and boxers for tonight, and carefully removes his whistle necklace so that he can slide comfortably in bed beside you.

Your perfume lingers upon the collar of his shirt, fragrant and floral and enhanced considerably by the catalyst of Seoul's delicious summertime air. And on his lips burns the faintest smother of the strawberry lip balm you so generously applied after your post-dinner teeth cleaning; the very same lip balm that Namjoon had been so eager to kiss off of you.

In your sleep, you turn comfortably onto your side, bowing your spine backwards until you reach the solidity of your boyfriend's elongated torso. Namjoon is quick to bracket his calf around your ankles, pressing a stream of steady kisses down your jugular and over the swell of your clavicle.

"Sweet dreams, my Princess." He sighs softly. Contentedly.

His lashes soon begin to droop as though laden with lead, influenced in no small part by an entire day's worth of carefree relaxation and indulging without consequence.

No meetings.

No leadership.

No band mates.

Just his beautiful dog, his beautiful girlfriend and a beautiful twenty four hours.

#bts #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan boys #bts ff #bts drabble #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #kim namjoon #rap monster #rm #namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you #kim namjoon x y/n #bts request #bts imagines #bts drabbles #peanootzramano #bts writer

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softwrite · 5 years

Text

the little things

❦ pairing; husband!yoongi x wife!reader

❦ genre; basically just tooth rotting fluff, a lil bit of friendly nagging, slightly stressed out yoongi, cutesy, lovey dovey & soft shit :)

❦ wc; 5k

❦ summary; yoongi, having been a bit stressed out recently from working on his new project for his job, is barely able to find time to spend with you as of late. not being the one to let this put a strain on your relationship, you determinedly set out to find something to bring the two of you together for this valentine’s day.

a/n; happy valentine’s day! mwah, i love u yoongi. i had a lot of fun writing this & it didn’t take very long at all lol, i love this sm i hope u guys like it!

Something wasn’t right.

This was the first thought that popped into your brain upon returning to the living realm.

Scrunching your eyes together, you hesitantly peeled your eyelids open, revealing your tired eyes to the world. Taking in the familiar surroundings of your shared bedroom, you attempted to figure out what felt so off in your sleep that had awoken you.

Scanning the room with your squinty eyes, the warm sunlight that bathed the rather spacious bedroom caused portions of your face to seem as if it was glowing, setting the room with a yellow hue and caressing the bedsheets that were currently wrapped around your smooth legs. Your hair laid across your shoulders, masking the side of your face that you hadn’t slept on while your pupils landed on the opposite part of the bed, realizing what had felt so wrong.

Your husband, Yoongi, currently was not in bed like he usually was at this hour.

Perhaps thinking that you miscalculated the time, you rolled over onto your other side, stretching your arm out in front of you in order to bring your pink alarm clock closer to you.

The time read 9:27 AM.

For you, this was a quite normal time to be up and about. However, for Yoongi, this was almost an alternate reality. You were usually the one to wake him up closer to noon with a delicious breakfast and a kiss on the cheek.

How dare he ruin your routine. If he wasn’t in bed, where else could he be?

Questioning the situation for a moment, you decided it would be best to get up as well in order to figure out the whereabouts of your husband. Grasping hold of the silky sheets that were currently painted with the soft oranges, yellows, and pinks of the morning sun presently beaming through your perfectly clear window which was adjacent to your queen sized bed, you began to get up.

Eyeing the lack of clothes on the floor on the side which Yoongi slept on, you decided that he hadn’t of changed if he had woken up before you. Pursing your lips together in a firm, suspicious yet confused line, you continued your usual schedule of getting yourself ready to start the day.

Heading to the bathroom, you took a brief shower, patting your steamed body with a dry, fluffy towel, standing in front of the foggy cabinet like mirror after you had finished. As you began to dress yourself, the mirror began to gradually return to normal, revealing your now clean form with a faint smile adorning your face.

Tossing the slightly damp towel into the hamper lodged into the corner of the white tiled bathroom, you leaned forwards, gripping the single knob built into the mirror, pulling it open to glimpse inside for your toothbrush and toothpaste. As you nudged the other necessities like medicine and combs out of the way, you thoughtfully eyed your husband’s own toothbrush contently placed beside your own, being held up by a cute, pure white hollowed out chubby cat with pink blushing cheeks painted onto it.

It was a gift you had gotten him for your 3rd year anniversary of being married, and you’d never forget the look of annoyance on his face despite being able to tell he appreciated it with the fond kiss he had placed upon your head afterwards, along with a shy ‘thank you, sweetheart,’ slipping from between his lips.

After cleansing your teeth, you delicately wiped your mouth with the hand towel resting against the edge of the large white sink. Clearing your throat, you stepped out of the bathroom, humming a soft, unnamed tune under your now minty fresh breath. Making your way out of your bedroom, you entered the hallway which led towards the main part of your owned home, the living room connected to the kitchen as well as the dining room.

Upon entering the living room, you glanced over the long dark bar that stretched across the wall that divided the living room and the kitchen area, awaiting to find your lost husband.

However, he was nowhere to be found.

Becoming slightly frustrated, you thought to yourself for a moment, trying to figure out where on Earth he could be. It’s the weekend, so he shouldn’t be at work at the moment, he doesn’t have any company dinners, and he never told you about any plans with his rowdy bunch of friends. What other options are there?

As you continued thinking quietly within the living area of your house, you paused, a loud yet muffled thud attracting your attention from further down the separate hallway. Twisting your head around in surprise at the unexpected sound, you blinked, an idea manifesting within your brain.

“Oh my gosh, no he didn’t,” you huffed, already beginning to feel a snarky comment bubble within your throat at the possibility of your assumptions being true.

Marching down the hall, your bare feet softly echoed against the hardwood floors, barely reverberating against the pale eggshell walls that were occasionally presented with bright yellow streaks due to the windows that lined the left side wall. Quickly stopping your motions in front of another wooden door, you immediately curled your small palm around the golden knob, pushing open the door with abruptness in order to enter the room.

Entering inside, you frowned at what laid before you in knowingness and disappointment.

Min Yoongi, your beloved husband, had fallen asleep on his desk inside his office, for the seemingly millionth time.

However, what wasn’t so shocking, was the fact that he was still asleep.

Crossing your arms against your chest, your oversized beige t-shirt folded under your movements, the hem reaching your thighs. Jerking your hip out to the side in a sassy like way, you observed your husband’s hunched over form, his tufts of pale hair mostly visible as he sprawled across the large mahogany colored desk.

What you had heard earlier, the thud, was a large folder stuffed full with thick papers, scribbles slightly visible along the sides where Yoongi had taken notes or written valuable information down, that had fell on the floor. All of the papers somehow remained within the folder, so you didn’t have to worry about picking any of them up, but you were surprised that the sound hadn’t woken him up, considering it was quite heavy and had hit the floor rather abruptly.

Rolling your eyes, you maneuvered over to him, his faint breathing making its way into your attentive eardrums as you neared him, his shoulders gently weighing up and down every few seconds. He was apparently in a deep sleep, which is why he barely reacted to the loud echo of the booklet falling onto the wooden floors.

Hovering beside him, his features were utterly relaxed, his short eyelashes brushing against the top portions of his cheeks as they moved slightly beneath his closed eyelids. With the short strands of his nearly white hair almost completely blocking his eyes from view, you couldn’t help the faint smile that passed over your lips as you eyed your husband’s peaceful aura in the early morning hours.

Remaining silent, you considered something for a moment.

Valentine’s Day was today, so you knew you were already planning on doing something special with your husband for the lovely holiday, but you weren’t exactly sure of what. You figured you would have time to conjure up some sort of plan considering you knew he would be sleeping in rather late like usual, so to say you freaked out a bit when you didn’t find him beside you this morning was an understatement. Though, now that you knew where he actually was, you decided you were going to surprise him with something a little different than your usual gifts.

Making sure not to make any sudden noises, despite knowing that the possibility of Yoongi waking up is slim, you snuck back out of the room, a wide, sneaky grin enveloping your features as you slipped between the crack of the door, gently sealing it shut behind you once more. The soft sounds of Yoongi’s snores being the last thing you heard as you headed to the main entrance of your home, giddily applying your comfortable slippers to your feet.

☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁

Having taken your personal car out into the city, by the time you reached your destination, you carefully glanced at the digital clock built into the front portion of your car, nerves lighting up within your body.

10:19 A.M. Hopefully by the time you got back, Yoongi will still be asleep, but by the looks of what kept him from coming to bed last night, you were assuming it would be a while until he officially woke up.

Appreciating your husband’s habits of sleeping like a hibernating warm-blooded animal, you lift yourself out of the driver’s seat of your vehicle, slamming the door shut behind your exiting frame. Making sure to properly lock the doors, you took a glance around, the heated yet comforting rays of the morning sun shone down on your body, illuminating your happy presence within the area as you witnessed several other people as well as couples roaming the sidewalks of the downtown like area.

Walking around the nose of your car, you headed down the street, passing by multiple people whom you weren’t associated with, though you easily and confidently presented them with kind smiles as they walked beside you, eventually becoming lost in the groups of people once more behind you.

None of these occasional occurrences deterred you from your task, though, not even the thought of your husband becoming angry with you for what you’re about to do.

Eventually reaching the corner of the sidewalk where it split off to the crosswalk to the left and the sharp turn to the right, you happily eyed the big, cursive letters which were written on the top of the shop before you.

Hopeful Pets.

You couldn’t wipe the excited grin that was stretching across your lips. Hurriedly entering inside, you pushed open the see-through door with the palm of your right hand, your left holding onto the leather straps of your purse which hung off your left shoulder.

The jingling of the bell that was attached to the top of the door filled the small shop, alerting the owner and those who worked there to your presence, along with the bundles of joy that were scattered throughout the store, hoping for someone to adopt them and take them home.

And that, is what you’re here to do.

Taking small steps around the pet store, you eyed the multitudes of animals that were separated in glass boxes, those of the same breed and type contained in the same ones for organization as well as making the viewing process easier.

As you browsed, you giggled occasionally at the small animals that climbed atop of each in thrill at the sight of a human observing them from the other side of the glass. You happily twiddled your fingers at the animals as you walked by before a familiar voice gained your attention from across the shop where the front desk was located.

“Y/N! What are you doing here?” A nasally yet overly happy voice greeted you by your name, causing you to lift your hand upwards in another waving like motion.

“Hey Hobi! I may or may not be here to surprise a Mr. Yoongi when he wakes up from his deep sleep back home,” you informed your good friend, Jung Hoseok.

Hoseok was someone who you and Yoongi have known since you were all in highschool, so when he learned about your current sneaky behavior, he wasn’t in the least bit surprised.

“Oh, well why didn’t you say so, Y/N,” he laughed, rolling his eyes in a playful motion as he moved around the edge of the clean, granite counter. “What type are you looking for?”

“I’m hoping to find a cute little puppy. I don’t really care so much about the breed, but I know Yoongi likes smaller dogs. I guess I should take his opinion into consideration even though this is almost entirely self-indulgent,” you joked, adjusting your bag upon your shoulder as you slouched, waiting where you were as Hoseok made his way over to you.

“Gotcha gotcha,” he hummed, eventually standing beside you with a thoughtful look placed on his sharp, long features. As Hobi looked around, eyeing the handfuls of dogs they offered at his store to see which one would fit you two the most.

However, as he continued searching, your eyes followed along the rows of cages and boxes that contained the precious creatures, their squeaks and meows surrounding you, a sight before you entirely lured you in the minute your eyes landed on the ball of fluff.

Curled up on the slightly messy glass floor of the box, a slightly bigger pup with fluffy dark black and gray fur slept peacefully by itself, its face squished together because of its baby fat. It’s chest rose and fell a bit unevenly due to its puppy heart racing in its sleep, but you felt like it had snatched your own heart right out of your chest.

“Oh my gosh, who is this baby!” You squealed, leaning closer to inspect the sweet thing, your hands reaching upwards to lightly press against the smooth surface of the glass.

Having heard your high pitched voice from afar, Hoseok quickly made his way back over to your location, eyeing your state as you observed the puppy fast asleep despite your closely observing being. He couldn’t help the small chuckle that emitted from his chest as he leaned in as well, getting a good look at the dog.

“That breed is a Keeshond. They’re a bit of a medium sized dog, would that be okay?” He questioned, flickering his dark eyes over to your stargazed features in order to compare the dog’s information with your previously made requests.

“I don’t even care oh my god, look at the baby. Please, I need it, Hoseok,” you begged, spinning on your heel and dramatically leaning towards your best friend, whining almost like a child. “It’s even sleeping like Yoongi,” you added with a laugh present in you voice.

Grinning, Hoseok nodded, guiding your feet in the direction of the counter in order to gather the paperwork for you to fill out in order to officially adopt the little guy.

While you stood at the granite surface, filling in the required blanks with your correct information, Hoseok had gone back in order to gather the puppy in his arms, placing its slightly stirring body in a small crate that you were allowed to take with you, free of charge.

After finishing the form, you double checked the written words before scooting it towards the other side of the counter, placing the borrowed black ink pen back into its holder on the desk. “Done!” You announced excitedly, looking over your shoulder just in time to see Hoseok gather food and toy supplies for your sleeping puppy.

“This will probably last you about two weeks,” he stated regarding the dog food, continuing to hold it within his arms. “I’ll help you load it into your car outside,” he offered, a large eye smile gathering on his features.

“Thanks Hobi!” You breathed out appreciatively, glad for his help.

Having already paid the proper amount you owed for the dog, you made your way outside with Hoseok, making sure to hold the door open for him as you held the puppy’s crate, while he carried its supplies to your parked car just a bit down the street.

Carefully holding onto the black handle as well as the bottom of the cage in your arms, you happily peeked at the still sleeping puppy on the inside, its features scrunched together in slight discomfort at the small jostling your body made as you stood at the curb.

Barely able to contain your excitement to bring the guy home, your cheeks nearly hurt due to your actions in smiling so much in just the past hour.

“Welp, you’re all set!” Hoseok naturally shouted, the palms of his large, bony hands smacking together in a dusting off motion, causing you to shrink back and yell at him in a whispered rush.

“Hobi! You’re gonna wake him up, you doofus!” You teased, though a slight seriousness laced into your tone due to wanting the puppy to remain silent until you reached your home.

Wincing, Hoseok ran an embarrassed hand through his light brown fluffy hair, the stiff strands directly falling back onto his forehead. “Sorry,” he whispered back, eyeing the puppy squeak within its sleep, rolling over onto its back.

Eventually, Hoseok opened the passenger door for you, aiding you in placing the puppy crate within the seat beside your own, securely buckling it in so it doesn’t slide around while you drive.

“Alright, now go get ‘em! Please I beg of you take a video of whatever you’re going to do and send it to me. I’ll come by after work later to check up on you guys,” he giggled, his eyes creasing at the corners in contained excitement at the idea of helping you in messing with his friend.

“Of course Hobi. Again, thanks so much!” You cheered, wiggling your fists in a giddy motion, blowing him a quick, friendly kiss before climbing back into your car, starting the vehicle as you possibly can.

As you began to drive away from the cutesy pet store, the sun shone brightly to the side of your car, shining down on your hood and causing bright beams of yellow light to disperse throughout your vehicle. Glancing upwards, the faint figure of Hoseok giving you a thumbs up in the distance is the final sight you see of him as you made your way home where your unsuspecting husband, Min Yoongi, awaited you.

You couldn’t wait to see the look on his face.

☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁

As you pulled into the driveway, your tires squeaked against the concrete, causing the previously quiet puppy to become alerted within its crate. Cursing under your breath as you heard it begin to move around in it’s small space, you quickly parked the car, switching off the engine and opening your side door.

Stepping out of the car, you headed over to the other side, gently picking up the cage in your arms, making sure to have a complete hold of it in order not drop the puppy inside. Deciding to gather its supplies in the trunk after you had woken up Yoongi, you take out the key to your house out of your purse, fumbling with the keys in your dominant hand while holding the, thankfully lighter, crate with the other.

Eventually opening the front door, you quietly stepped into the house, peering around the entrance to make sure Yoongi was nowhere in sight and hopefully still asleep in his office.

You wouldn’t want to spoil his surprise so early.

Shutting the door behind your figure, you scurried into the center of the living room, placing the black and now rattling cage due to the puppy’s movements onto the carpeted floor. Surrounding you were two sofas as well as a single lounge chair, so the puppy would have a hard time escaping your sights without completely leaving the room, which you were glad for.

Yoongi would kill you if you let the puppy have an accident in the house in the first few minutes of it being here.

As you snapped open the latch of the cage, pulling the gridded door open in order for the squishy thing to step out, you patiently leaned back on the heels of your feet, bringing your knees upwards to press against your chest with a suppressed grin present on your lips. You were trying to keep your cool so you wouldn’t freak out the little guy, but you were barely keeping it together.

As you sat there, letting the puppy take its time and walk out of its crate on its own time, you began to think to yourself within the living room, eyeing the mass of dark fur beginning to sniff the open air.

“So, Hobi said you were a boy, but I’m not really sure if I should wait to name you or do it now,” you hummed quietly, tilting your head at the precious creature in interest as you watched it begin to tumble out of the crate, almost tripping over its own chubby paws.

Chuckling under your breath, you extended a hand outwards to let it get acquainted with your scent as well as your presence.

“Huh, little guy? What do you think? Do you think I should go ahead and name you so Mr. Min can’t take you back? I should guilt him into this, yeah? You’re a smart guy, buddy,” you mumbled, easily dangling your small hand to let the sweet thing sniff at your fingers.

As you veered off into your own thoughts, trying to conjure up some names you could use, you barely registered the sound of another voice in the room until your own name passed through your eardrums.

“..Y/N, please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did,” A deep and groggy familiar voice entered the room.

Peering over your shoulder at your tired, barely awake husband, you grinned, tossing your hair over your shoulder while your other hand remained outstretched towards the curious puppy. “What ever do you mean, honey?”

“We literally had this conversation a month ago about how we couldn’t afford to have a puppy right now, Y/N,” he grunted, discontentedly eyeing the bundle of fur currently nibbling on the tip of your finger.

“Well, don’t worry about it, I got a discount because of Hobi!” You informed excitedly, your eyes shining with joy as you awaited your husband to become just as excited as you are. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen as quickly as you’d liked it to.

“Y/N, please, I don’t want to deal with this the minute I wake up. I just want to drink some coffee,” he sighed out, using both of his large hands to drag across his now obviously exhausted features.

Frowning, you watched as your husband made his way into the kitchen, his bare feet padding along the transitioning wooden and tiled floors as he began to make his usual coffee, the sounds of the boiling water filling the home as you silently sat by yourself on the floor with the puppy.

You needed to push harder.

Getting up, you cradled the now comfortable and excited fluff in your arms, heading in the direction of the long cushioned sofa situated in front of the television screen. Seating yourself down, your tilted lips remained the same as you awaited Yoongi’s actions in sitting down with you in the living room.

Eventually, the familiar sound of his feet heading in your direction registered, causing you to look up and eye his slouched frame, though you could tell from his stance that his shoulders were tense from sleeping in that awkward position on his desk all night long. As he sat next to you, slightly at a distance due to his dislike for the unexpected presence of the puppy, his lips remained pursed, occasionally sipping from his personal coffee mug, eyeing the blank screen of the TV.

“Yooooongi,” you whined, scooting your frame closer to his side of the couch, raising the tone of your voice, carefully picking up the puppy in your lap and bringing him with you. “Your son wants to meet you and you’re being very rude right now,” you pouted.

Huffing, Yoongi briefly glanced at the dark ball of fur within your arms, now licking at the flesh of your bare arm in a repetitive manner. However, he almost immediately looked forwards once more - stubborn.

Grunting, you persisted, raising the puppy upwards, purposefully bringing it next to his pale features. A large grin adorned your lips as you witnessed the puppy momentarily pause to sniff at the unknown human before immediately beginning to drag its tongue against his cheek.

Almost instinctively, Yoongi grunted, flinging his head in the opposite direction in annoyance and surprise. “What the hell, Y/N,” he whined right back, switching his hands that he held his mug with in order to wipe at his now wet cheek with the back of his hand.

“He loves you! Love him back!” You pushed, bringing the puppy even closer and shoving its squished features against your husband’s causing his whiskers to brush against his own face and tickle his skin.

Trying his best to avoid the unwanted attention, Yoongi protected his face with his hands, crying out in desperation for relief. “Babe, please! I just woke up. I had a very long night last night working on this project for work and I just want to start off my day with my coffee, not some stupid puppy,” he replied rather harshly, causing you to pull back in surprise.

You hadn’t realized how stressed out he must be.

“..I-I’m sorry, Yoongi, I thought-,” you attempted to reply, unable to contain the slight upset lingering in your tone due to your inconsiderate actions. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to surprise you for Valentine’s Day,” you mumbled, an apology lacing your voice as you lowered your head, causing the puppy to begin licking at your nose as you brought it closer to the center of your body.

Hearing a sigh from your right, your husband glanced up at the ceiling as he calmed down from his light and brief outburst. “No, babe, I’m sorry. Shit, I totally didn’t even realize it was already Valentine’s Day. I was trying to get my work done early so I could only spend time with you,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in a frustrated manner, though his shoulders visibly sagged as he leaned backwards into the couch.

Peeking upwards at Yoongi from your peripheral vision, you acknowledged his apology, causing a small smile to twitch at the corner of your lips. “It’s okay, I’m sorry too. I really should have asked if this was okay and if you wanted to go out instead,” you breathed out, both of your non-confrontational personalities mixing together.

“Let him kiss it better!” You suggested, bringing the puppy forward once more, its pink tongue excitedly drooping out of its mouth as it observed your husband with its precious tail wiggling back and forth.

Yoongi arched a single eyebrow, now lazily gazing at the fur ball. “I’m not letting that thing anywhere near -,” he began, though you beat him to it before he could finish his negative words, forcing the dog onto his face once more, causing it to immediately begin attacking him in puppy kisses.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you under all that fur!” You laughed, your high pitched sounds echoing within the house as you leaned against your suffering husband, his whines muffled slightly under the chest fur that was currently shoved against his mouth.

☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁

Hours later, just a bit after you had decided to cook a homemade dinner for the two of you, Yoongi was currently in the living room spending time with your new puppy, though it was a bit silent, so you weren’t entirely sure if he was actually doing what you suggested.

However, as you quietly cleaned up the kitchen, having already put away the dishes, your eyes perked up at the sound of a faint knocking against your front door several feet away from your current position. Wiping your hands against the towel you had placed onto the marble counter, your gradually began to make your way towards the door, gripping onto the handle and hesitantly peeking around the corner, making out who stood on the other side to be none other than Hoseok.

“Oh, there you are,” you greeted your friend, fully opening the door for him to enter inside your humble abode, him being rather familiar with the layout. As he stepped inside, you quietly shut it behind you, following behind him as he neared the kitchen where the remnant scents of your dinner was.

“You never sent me that video I asked for earlier, so I hope everything went okay,” he commented, facing you momentarily before eyeing the area in confusion. “Where’s Yoongi? He’s not still asleep in his office, is he?” He asked, though you could tell he was joking by the large smile stretched across his face as well as his eyes shining with amusement.

“No,” you laughed, pointing in the direction of the living room with your pointer finger. “He’s in there with the dog. We still haven’t named him yet, maybe you want to help?” You offered, causing his eyebrows to shoot upwards in excitement.

“Hell yeah I want to help!” He choked out, hurriedly guiding his feet in the direction of the living room.

Passing through the threshold of the living room, you peered around the corner, only to abruptly pause at the sight, standing directly beside Hoseok who’s features were filled with extreme amounts of amusement. “Well, look what we have here, Mr. Min and Min Jr,” he mused.

Sprawled along the couch, your husband laid with his back down, his white, soft hair ruffled against his forehead with a small, dark ball of fur curled up against the crook of his neck - the puppy.

The two curled up together warmed your heart, completely forgetting about the previous dislike Yoongi had stated for the dog. Their breathing was almost entirely together, their eyes fluttering together as they were deep in sleep, Yoongi’s large hands settling on top of his chest.

“Looks like your boys are getting along,” Hoseok joked beside you, though you barely heard him as you took in the adorable sight with a warm smile coating your lips.

You liked the sound of that, you thought.

Your boys.

Maybe this little Valentine’s Day surprise wasn’t so bad after all.

237 notes · View notes

layaltheblogger2019 · 5 years

Text

A compilation of your favorite songs this semester: what experiences do they remind you of? when you like to listen to them?

A year in music

Aka freshman year was pretty wild.

Note: I’ve linked the music that I mention to start at around the time the quoted lyrics start playing but feel free to listen to the songs from the beginning!

Music. Whether you’re the kind of person that rarely listens or the kind that always has a soundtrack playing in your head, you can’t deny that music is sort of everywhere you go. I myself am not a very regular listener, but I can appreciate a good chorus or beat when I hear it. When I listen to music, I close my eyes and allow myself to be carried away by the poetry of the lyrics and pulled under by the hidden meanings of certain verses. When I listen to music, I envelop myself in a song like a caterpillar in a cocoon, and invariably attach a feeling, person, or life event to it. Particularly when I am at the highs and lows of the sine graph that is my life do I look to music to find some way to explain how I feel.

Freshman year at MIT was one of the craziest sine curves I could have ever imagined; it was one of the most life-changing years of my life. I transformed so much that there were times I didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror. I morphed in such a way that sometimes others didn’t recognize me. I made a lot of mistakes. But I also grew up, became more experienced, found my identity, and blazed my own trail. This is my freshman year in music:

September – Phone by Mickey Singh Making new friends

I was in Aliza’s room. After a good venting session on my part and some delicious pudding, courtesy of her snack shelf, we each began to work on our own assignments and responsibilities, her at her desk, me sitting on her bed. She asked if she could play music, to which I agreed. There were awkward pauses in the flow of interaction between us, but it was endearing, as is typical on the path of new friendship. Everything was quite normal, until a song I didn’t recognize began to play. It was poppy; it was intriguing. And it was in a different language. ‘Do you want me to skip this’, she asked quickly. ‘My YouTube is on autoplay and it automatically played desi music’. As it stood in that moment, we were two people from unlike backgrounds who didn’t know that much about each other yet. I was an Arab from Florida, she, a Pakistani from New Jersey. I hesitated momentarily before I replied with ‘no, I like it’. And I did like it.

Little did I know that this would become a common soundtrack throughout my fall, a beat that reminded me of my first naïve but confident steps into independence. A beat that reminded me of true happiness and freedom. A beat that reminded me of my first, wonderful group of friends.

October – My Blood by Twenty One Pilots Making a home somewhere new

Homesickness. If you asked me in December, freshman fall was like heaven on earth. At least that’s how it felt like when it was ending. But near its beginning, I wasn’t totally happy. I missed home, my family, and my friends. Everyone I loved was together back in Florida, I was much further north. It was colder here, lonelier here. Sometimes I got impatient that I wasn’t good at conversation, that I somehow couldn’t make as many friends, that I couldn’t figure out my academics, that I just couldn’t do anything—as well as my peers could.

I just felt at a loss sometimes.

Stay with me, no, you don't need to run Stay with me, my blood, you don't need to run

(I may be biased because I went to a Twenty One Pilots concert at the end of October)

November – Still Feel by Half Alive Making it through

I was kind of killing it: getting psets done, practicing swimming (to pass the boat test), going to the gym. This was the beginning of what I guess I could call my sprint to the finish. I had my life together – for like the first two weeks anyway.

But then I was barely holding on. Psets were crammed hours before they were due, swimming turned into sinking, and things weren’t going too well. Then I found a medium place, where I was just making it. I was half alive, and I was okay with that.

I still feel alive When it is hopeless, I start to notice And I still feel alive Falling forward, back into orbit

That’s what November felt like.

December – Castle on the Hill by Ed Sheeran Made it

December was hugs farewell and tying loose ends. December was last assignments and final exams. December was crossing the finish line with a second to spare. December was the feeling of belonging somewhere. (And then shortly after, having to leave it)

I said goodbye to a good friend, Samar along with a few others as we drove her to the airport, Castle on the Hill playing in the background. I made a semester recap video to the same song, which brought back nostalgia for times I had only experienced a few weeks prior.

Found my heart and broke it here Made friends and lost them through the years And I've not seen the roaring fields in so long, I know I've grown But I can't wait to go home

And going home for winter break, my last view of MIT in 2018 was a room filled with people I really cared about, all playing the same game, eating pizza and laughing, all smiling and waving back at me.

Since when could you feel homesick for two places at once?

January –What You Know by Two Door Cinema Club Making a new path

I don’t remember much about January except that it was very cold and very dark. Over IAP, I was still surrounded by the warmth and light of friends who were here, and I was also taking more classes than humanly possible. This song reminds me of waking up on a lazy and dim IAP morning, looking at the gray sky and frosty-covered outside as it snowed, wrapped up in navy bedsheets.

February –100 Bad Days by AJR Making mistakes

A rough start to a semester. But it’s too early to give up isn’t it?

When all is going wrong and you're scared as hell What you gonna do? Who you gonna tell? Maybe a hundred bad days made a hundred good stories A hundred good stories make me interesting at parties

March – Connection by OneRepublic Making choices

Things are moving too fast, I’m changing too fast, there’s so much to do and so much to think about. I don’t know what I’m doing. I am an impostor. I wish I could take a break. I need help. Who do I turn to? Why do I feel like such a burden?

Maybe I should try to find the old me Take me to the places and the people that know me Tryin’ to disconnect, thinking maybe you could show me If there’s so many people here, then why am I so lonely? Can I get a connection? Can I get, can I get a connection?

April – Viva La Vida by Coldplay Making progress

There was one very special Sunday in April. I made time with some others to go to Revere Beach. And to say it was a welcome distraction from the stress is an understatement. We were there for maybe a collective hour, but the entirety of the trip gave me a feeling of love I didn’t know I needed. Self love. Love of nature. Love from others. Love for others. Loving the small moments of bliss and joy that I can get in these busy times.

On our way there, we sat in the car singing along to the sound of nostalgia, laughing our responsibilities away, and putting our arms out the window to feel the wind on our skin: all to feel something again.

And once we were driving on a bridge we heard this:

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing Roman Cavalry choirs are singing Be my mirror, my sword and shield My missionaries in a foreign field For some reason I can’t explain Once you go there was never, never a honest word And that was when I ruled the world

For a brief moment, we did rule the world. All of us in that car. That is what happiness feels like when you most need it.

May – Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol Breaking down

May was hugs farewell and tying loose ends. May was last-minute projects and final exams. May was crossing the finish line with two seconds to spare. May was loss, heartbreak, and unstoppable tears.

Aliza was killed by a drunk driver shortly after we all said goodbye to her for the summer. We didn’t realize how long we’d be saying goodbye for.

The night before she left MIT to go home we got late night from Maseeh dining and then, because of the beautiful weather, decided to sit on the sidewalk, right between Maseeh and McCormick. And we sat there for a wonderous half hour. I had a final the next morning, but the weather was too good, the company even better. We could see the remains of the full moon in our periphery. We didn’t know what would happen when the sun rose, but we focused on the cool breeze on our faces, the stars in our eyes. I never wanted to leave.

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world? Forget what we're told Before we get too old Show me a garden that's bursting into life

I am so lucky to have met her.

June (encore) – Good Grief by Bastille Making it through life, one step at a time

A summer in Boston that I put together very last minute, my life is slowly rebuilding. It’s a mess, but what life isn’t? I’m nervous to see the outcome, and I worry about tomorrow before I get through today. What can I do except try my best then hope it all works out?

Watching through my fingers, watching through my fingers In my thoughts you're far away And you are whistling the melody, whistling the melody Crystallizing clear as day Oh, I can picture you so easily, picture you so easily What's gonna be left of the world if you're not in it? What's gonna be left of the world, oh Every minute and every hour I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more Every stumble and each misfire I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more

(I still miss you)

Since my freshman year has ended, I haven’t really been able to slow down and reflect on everything that has happened. Until I sat in front of my computer to write this.

From where I stand now, I know things will get better again. Then they will inevitably get worse. It’s kind of how sine graphs flow. But I am the producer of my own track, I am the composer of my life symphony. There are three more years of new people to meet, interesting classes to take, difficult problems to face, and melodies for me to piece together. And once it’s all over, I can’t wait to take a look at what has been created. Once it’s all over, I can’t wait to press play.

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loveinpanem-blog · 6 years

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Love in Dark Places

@mega-aulover gets a the credit for this title and some ideas that made there way here. Thank you @chele20035 for being my bata last minute! This is rated E for smut.

Happy Valentine’s Day Everlarkers! ❤ @savvylark

Something about you makes me feel like a dangerous woman.

This should feel wrong but it feels so right. His hot kisses have become more intense and more delicious. His lips make a trail down my neck, leaving a fire in their wake. He bites and sucks my pulse point and I lose my breath. I trail my hands up and down his broad chiseled chest and mural of beautiful body art, tattooed in his skin to camouflage the painful childhood scar his mother left. I shove him down to the bed and make a point to kiss every single scar. We don’t talk about it, but we know they’re there, and where they came from.

He moans and draws a need deep within me for more. He finds the clasp from my bra and frees me. His talented fingers trace my spine. I sigh in his touch.

We don’t talk about how we once knew each other years ago. We pretend we were strangers, attracted to one another, who met and flirted at a bar thousands of miles from where we grew up.

As his luscious lips trail down my chest I can’t help but hum in anticipation. My heart is pounding wildly, and I’m nearly breathless as I watch this perfect man slowly unravel me. Fulfilling all my teenage fantasies.

He lifts his gaze to meet mine, deep blue eyes meet silvery gray and I could almost pretend that he’s thinking the same thing, that he’s fantasized about this. He bites that sexy lower lip and can’t help but gawk at his near perfection.

I’ve never wanted anyone like I wanted Peeta, but he was off limits, which only fueled my growing and frustrating desire for him. Some of these feelings I chalked up to physical attraction and teenage hormones. The dangerous desire of forbidden love. Yet, I could never ever shake this innate connected feeling with this guy. Clearly, nothing in this room has anything to do with hormones, the chemistry and heat has been mind blowing.

How many times had I tried to pretend I didn’t get lost in these very deep blue pools of his eyes that speak depths of wonder, beauty, and pain?

How distracted I would get with those impossibly long eyelashes! They should get tangled up, but somehow never did.

How I would daydream about his plump lips wrapped around my bottom lip, wondering what he would taste like. My heart seems to do a double take in disbelief.

I reach up to capture his lips again just to confirm this is real and not a daydream I’ve imaged since high school. My lips are greedy as I pull and nip and suck his. Our tongues meet and dance, stroking and exploring. Like kindling, building the heat and fanning the fire inside me.

His hands crawl up my ribs and brush the sides of my breasts teasingly a few times. I twitch a little in anticipation. When his hands finally cup my breasts I make a low noise I didn’t know I was capable of. I try to remember to breathe as his lips travel down my neck again. I feel a smile from his face on my collarbone.

He’s remembering the time I tried to land that jump and fell off Madge Undersee’s bike, breaking my collarbone. The first real instances we got close without his step-sister around. He felt responsible because it was definitely his fault. You don’t dare Katniss Everdeen to do something, even if I was only an 11 year old and he was 13, I refused to back out of the challenge. He knew it too, and he used that slick tongue of his to convince me. That slick tongue is traveling down my shoulder.

I’m brought back to the present as he bite my shoulder, while his fingers brush and squeeze my nipples. I moan and wiggle my hips, shifting my thighs, attempt to find any kind of friction.

I was entirely awkward about anything remotely romantic or sexual for the longest time as an early teen. While other girls were fantasizing about prince charming I was prancing around with Gale in the woods, probably full of mud. My mother assured me that I was just a late bloomer. I had even wondered if I had any sexual preferences at all because I wasn’t attracted to anyone in that way.

Until one day, wrestling champ and golden boy Peeta Mellark and I were seated on the porch of the house his mom and the major call home drinking lemonade. Nothing out of the ordinary, but usually we have his step-sister Madge as an optimistic buffer.

I can’t even remember what lead to such a dark turn in our conversation but we accidentally started to talk about painful memories of our past. Instead of the conversation being awkward, it was amazingly cathartic. It felt like releasing the pressure of a painful festering injury.

Everyone saw this picture perfect boy, when the truly painful things he continued to struggle with had a way of digging in and eating away inside. He hid it all with a kind smile and quick humor.

There was a moment where we stood gaping at each other. Suddenly I saw him in entirely new light, but what truly scared me was, I saw something I identified with. I recognized his soul being just like mine, battered and bruised, but resilient and courageous.

That Emily Brontë quote runs through my mind once again, “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

I tried, but I’ll never forget how my heart leapt out of my chest upon the recognition, the awakening within me. I was captivated by this man.

I started having dreams about him, innocent at first, just he and I against the world in various settings, hand in hand. I started to find myself more attracted to Peeta Mellark with each time I saw him. The dreams took on a more physical and eventually explicit nature.

My attention is drawn back as Peeta’s searing lips reach my nipples and I arch into him. His hands run down my back and start to play with the waist of my jeans. My fingers sink into his wavy blond hair. I love it longer and unruly like this.

It may have been my imagination, but it seemed from that day, the way I saw Peeta changed, he started to go through his own metamorphosis. He dropped out of wrestling, “One championship title was enough,” he said. He spent more time concentrated on artwork, dropped the debate team, in favor of drama club.

He was also able to stand up for what he wanted, despite what his mother pressured on him. Insead of his neatly styled Ivy League haircut he grew it a little longer on the top. His preppy attire shifted to reflect a more creative and darker Peeta. It fit him better and people took notice.

In my naive mind, I used to think that I was the catalyst for Peeta taking his life back and,not being a piece in his mom’s calculating chess game. I let go of that idea a long time ago.

My hands grip his back slip down the plains of his muscular back, I trail my hands around and down his abs, follow the happy trail and ever so quietly lessen his belt and lower his zipper ever so slightly. I have admired his infamous backside and appreciated how nicely he fills out a pair of jeans. I dip my hands past the band of his boxer briefs and cup each cheek while he lavishes the other breast with strokes of his tongue. I’m writhing under his ministrations.

He still has the same familiar scent of herbs and a specific peeta sent that brings to mind memories of happier times. Of innocence, but also the thrill of desire for him that courses through me. The familiarity alone is starting to drive me wild. I smooth my hands around his hips and down each let as I start to ease his pants down.

He’s momentarily startled, as I hear a sharp intake of breath. I wriggle and use my feet to push the pants down further. I tangle my legs with his and a line our hit centers and move my hips in slow figure eights. The guttural deep moan I’m rewarded with shoots spark to my very core.

Peeta looks up at me with an intense look I only recognize because I might be giving him the same one. I don’t understand how this can be the most intensely hot encounter to date and yet this connection feels like coming home all at once.

Peeta was so hot in high school, it was no secret. He dated the most gorgeous girls to walk those halls. His artistic endeavors didn’t put a damper on his popularity, he was still crowned homecoming king. His artwork was displayed all over the school. He seemed more mysterious Peeta and that much more alluring. The more artist dark Peeta challenged text book popularity, his depth and commitment to being true to himself started tidal wave of change in people all around him. Cliques didn’t matter, race and sexual orientation seemed to fade as a division. Peeta boldly accepted everyone and cause others to question their prejudice.

It meant a lot to me that he still chose to walk with me, a lowly sophomore and his little (step)sister’s sullen and surly friend to choir on his way to the drama department his entire senior year. I always tried to keep my heart from pounding out of my chest, but once he started our conversation I was always put at ease. I kept thinking he would get side tracked by a friend more worthy of his attention, but he was unwavering.

Still unwavering, and so much sexier in present day, Peeta is hovering over me. His eyes, hazy with lust make my stomach flip, I tremble under his touch. His hand smooths over my hip, and get the strong urge to kiss him again.

Oh lordy, I might actually be addicted to his lips. I grab his head and pull it down to mind. Our lips smash together not as aggressively this time. Our tongues meet and dart and chase. His hand now cups the front of my pelvis and I moan into his mouth. Instinctively I reach for his length, I don’t know what I was expecting but it’s impressive, I gasp.

“Oooh Katniss!” I hear his low voice groan my name in my ear.

This is the first time either of us has acknowledged that we know each other beyond tonight. I think it’s been 6 years since either of us has set foot in our shitty hometown, and just about the same that we’ve seen one other. I wonder what this means for the evening, for our little game?

I run my hand up and down his manhood a few times teasingly. His ragged breath against my throat is doing things to me. His fingers wonder and tease until he rubbing me with more pressure and more purpose. I release him as he scoots his body further down to kiss my stomach and dip his tongue in my belly button, his kisses trail lower. I pant in anticipation as he continues to stroke with just the right amount of pressure on my core.

I think of all the times I admonished myself for these dirty thoughts. The pep talks I had in my head about how he was off limits, and how dangerous it was to fantasize about such things with Peeta of all people, most wanted man of Panem High. After Madge’s falling out with her former friend and brother’s ex, we made a pact, brothers and step-brothers are off limits, until further discussion.

There were a few times when we had Show Choir performances at the All School Assembly. I could have sworn I saw Peeta’s eyes locked with mine as I sang, in some sort of trance. Like he knew I was singing for him. Like he was aware that he gave me courage to do so, with every day that he existed. With every fiber of his being. I had to brushed it off the thoughts. Just my imagination playing tricks on me.

But the look he was giving me earlier, eyes boring into my very soul, recognizing it's… no, don’t go there, just enjoy this.

My underwear is flung across the room and he pins my legs down and draws them further apart as if a man on a mission. I blush at the vulnerable feelings I have, drape my arm over my eyes and sigh. His hands travel up my thighs and I desperately try not to growl.

I’m a girl on fire, a raging inferno is building inside me, only be quenched by a man that doesn’t know he possesses my heart. This tattooed tortured artist with mesmerizing eyes, and the kindest heart despite this cruel world.

His strong tongue and slender fingers reaching where I had been waiting years for him. Elicits in me things I didn’t know were possible. I’m dazed and lost in wave after wave of pleasure. I’m flying and its glorious. Fantasy and daydreams be damn. As the euphoric energy sends my head buzzing I am awakened some how. I feel like a new woman. I feel dangerous. Aggressive. Desired.

I shove Peeta down and straddle him with a wicked grin. His eyes meet mine. Predator and prey. I roll my hips and a deep moan reverberates through him. I bite my lip in attempt to hold in the smile and satisfaction I feel from his primal reaction. I gave him that reaction.

He sits up reaching for his wallet on the nights stand to retrieve a condom, I keep my body flush to his and trail kisses along his jawline. I hear the foil packet crinkle. The anticipation does weird flowery things to my heart. I should feel lucid with lust, instead I’m giddy, like I’m about to get away with tasting forbidden fruit I’ve wanted for eons.

He takes the lead, he wraps me in his strong arms and whispers the most poetic filthy things about my body. I growl and murmer my appreciation as his hands travel and explore.

I gasp as he teases my cavern with the tip. He lifts my left leg and drapes my ankle above his shoulder.

“Please Peeta, I need you. Ruin me.” I repeat some of his desires he whispered in my ear.

We share a moan as he slides deep inside me. My slick walls welcome him and the safety and confidence I feel in him, in this moment of vulnerability are not lost on me. I open my eyes search his face. Awe and wonder, probably read in my face as well. His blue eyes seem to dance with emotions. I’m so swept up in this moment I don’t try to understand it. I just grip it for dear life with my very being.

Somehow, I don’t have words, but it feels as if being reunited, being pieces together. To recognize my own heart entwined with someone else’s in an other worldly sense.

We move as one colliding and giratung, a slow and sensual dance. We are one and I am whole.

I can’t look away, I’m locked in place with his gaze and I feel like I’m soaring high above this world. “Ooooh, Katnisss you feel incredible.” Peeta groans as his low baritone vibrates into my chest where his face is buried between my breasts.

I never pretended to understand love, but the depths of affection I’m pouring out as waves of pleasure wash over me forces me to recognize that this might be similar.

I should be scared. I should hide and escape the intensity, but I’m not strong enough. I can’t escape how deeply he’s rooted himself in me. Someone who became a very part of my being a long time ago.

The tension in the air and friction our bodies create hurl us forward, we dive and dip, faster and harder. He murmurs filthy things in my ear as he pulls me on top of him. His expression euphoric, jaw dropped, eyes nearly rolling back in his head and filled with emotion. I ride him until we’re tumbling into oblivion. I collapse on top of him as he mutters broken obscenities into my neck, sputters and grunts that indicate his release. I continue to squeeze and milk him deep within me until I know he’s finally sated. I catch my breath and let out a light chuckle, relief and happiness revealed. Peeta wipes away the tears that escaped my eyes mid-orgasm.

I sigh. My hands lazily roam over his shoulders and the plains and dips of his chest. He holds my gaze and flashes a shy crooked smile, wraps me in his warm embrace and pulls me tight. He smooths a lock of hair out of my eyesight and studies my eyes and face for ages. I wish I could read his expression, or the look he’s giving me but I can’t place it. I also haven’t seen him in a very long time.

There’s so much I want to say to him but words elude me.

You’re the one I’m on fire for.

You left a mark on my heart and memory forever.

I don’t believe in soulmates but this is making me rethink everything I thought I knew.

Don’t ever let you me go.

Peeta holds tighter to me as if I am something precious he could lose. My heart melts, I’m putty in his hands.

The fear of parting ways grows heavy on my heart. I don’t know how to fight it, but if we don’t talk it may strangle me from the inside.

“Do you–”

“Where do–” we speak at the same time then laugh nervously.

“Where do you call home Katniss? I know you’re here on a business trip like I am.”

#LiP 2018 #vday 2018 #fanfiction #submission

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brookeap3 · 7 years

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Dawn

Bittersweet musings as Regina watches Robin sleep the morning after their first time together in the vault.

A/N: Prompt #132 Regina watching Robin sleep the morning after the vault before she gets up and dressed for @oqpromptparty. Thanks to Brittany for the beta!

{ ffn } { ao3 }

She’s an early riser by nature.

Has always been up with the sun, no matter what. It’s as if her internal clock is tuned to the rising of a new dawn, waking her naturally to begin anew each and every morning. So it’s no surprise really when Regina feels herself pulled from the seductive oblivion of sleep in the wee hours of the morning.

However, the light of the rising sun does not filter through her sheer bedroom curtains of her mansion, slanting across her torso as it normally does. In fact, there is no light besides the low burning of a few candles that are just petering out as she opens her eyes. There are no birds chirping outside her window. For a moment, she’s disoriented, confused by her unfamiliar surroundings.

Shifting on the mattress, Regina suddenly becomes overly aware of the arm draped across her middle, and images of the night before come rushing back to her in clairvoyant waves.

Robin.

Her vault.

Their kiss.

Of course, it hadn’t ended with only a kiss. Not with his declaration. The distance they’d both been trying to keep from each other, for the sake of honor and doing the right thing, had crumbled beneath their feet. Unable to resist the simmering passion between them, they’d both succumbed to the desires of their hearts and bodies.

Regina shivers at the memories. Robin’s hands stroking over her body, eliciting feelings and sensations she’s never felt with any other man in her entire life. His mouth sucking kisses along the column of her throat, down to her breasts and further south still until he’d made her cry out in ecstasy.

They’d been connected.

Heart and body. Mind and soul.

Falling asleep in his arms, after everything they’d been through, had felt like a dream. But it’s not a dream and as the dawn rises and she has to face the reality of the day before her, Regina suddenly doesn’t want to burst this bubble they find themselves in. They’re hidden away here in her vault, the stone walls keeping the outside world from them for awhile longer.

Turning in his arms, Regina allows her gaze to wander over Robin’s sleeping features, taking this rare and likely singular opportunity to study him like this. He looks peaceful. The worry lines that have marred his forehead each time she’s seen him lately smoothed away. A slight smile tips the corners of his mouth up, teasing just a hint of the dimples she adores.

Suddenly overcome with the need to touch him, not to arouse, not to wake, simply to touch, Regina slowly maneuvers the hand trapped between their bodies up to run her forefinger lightly along Robin’s jaw. His stubble is scratchy beneath the pad of her finger, and it brings back memories of the delicious way it had felt against her skin the night before.

Continuing her journey, she swipes it over his bottom lip in one fluid motion, running it down the bridge of his nose. He’s gorgeous. And for just this moment, this quiet period before the day fully begins, he’s hers.

It won’t last. Regina knows that. It can’t last. Frozen or not, he still has a wife , and Regina is still the other woman in this scenario. And after all the daggers life has thrown at her, she doesn’t quite believe that the universe won’t come and kick her in the teeth yet again. As nice as this brief interlude has been, Regina isn’t foolish enough to believe that she will be gifted with her happy ending. One that includes waking up with this man every morning.

So she’ll savor this time while she has it. The dimming candlelight flickers over his face, casting shadows over it that somehow only make him appear handsomer, and his arm is still warm over her naked body, holding her to him in his sleep.

Oh how she wants to stay just like this forever.

For awhile Regina simply watches him. The slow and steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes deeply in sleep. Her gaze takes in every inch of him she can, memorizing exactly how he looks so that she can hold it close to her bruised and battered heart (resilient be damned) on the cold and lonely nights that she knows are within her future.

The cell phone left forgotten on the floor, lying among their scattered articles of clothing, buzzes alarmingly in the still quiet of the room, and Regina fears for a moment that Robin will wake from the noise. With a quick flick of her hand, the noise stops and much to her relief, Robin doesn’t move a muscle except to shift slightly, drawing her closer to his body.

Apparently, as light of a sleeper as she is, Robin is a heavy one.

The realization makes her smile and Regina can’t help lying there with him for just a little while longer, letting her head rest on his shoulder, her hands drawing absentminded patterns over his chest as her thigh wedges itself between his legs.

Closing her eyes, Regina struggles to stay in the moment, to not dwell on anything but the heat of Robin’s skin against her own and the sound of his breathing. But there’s no denying the truth she’s avoided admitting to herself since the moment her perfect world had come to a screeching halt and she’d watched her soulmate be reunited with his wife.

She’s in love with him.

That reckless leap she’d taken with her heart only a few weeks ago has led her here. And despite the fact Robin’s admitted to loving her as well, they can’t be together. It won’t work. Not with everything else going on. Not with his wife’s return and the chance for his family to be whole again. As much as Regina had wished and hoped that they could build that future, their second chance together, it’s not in the cards for them. They’re only lying to themselves to think anything otherwise. The previous night's events notwithstanding.

Her damn cell phone rings again and Regina silences it magically with an annoyed huff. Who is calling her this early in the morning? Interrupting her last few precious moments with her soulmate — the man she’s destined to be with, destined to continuously miss her chance with.

It’s but another reminder that she can’t stay here like this, with him, for much longer. With a resigned sigh, Regina turns her head and places a light, gentle kiss over Robin’s heart, breathing in his pine scent as she does her best to keep the tears threatening to spill over at bay.

Letting out another weary breath, she extricates herself from his embrace, ignoring the chill that instantly seeps through her bones as she rises from the bed. Gathering a fresh set of clothes from the wardrobe she keeps in this hidden room and fishing out the annoying cell phone from the heap of her dress and Robin’s vest on the floor, she begins to tiptoe from the room, not wanting to wake him.

She may be an early riser, but he looks entirely too peaceful for her to disturb him yet, for the harsh reality of their world to intrude on this all too short interlude.

Still, Regina can’t help but pause at the door, turning back to gaze at Robin’s sleeping form for just another minute, taking in the sight of him naked and asleep in her bed. It’s not something she’s ever likely to see again, at least not if she wants to continue on this path of redemption she’s set out on, and she wants to remember every second of it.

Her heart aches deep within her chest with as much joy as there is sorrow.The confusing blend of emotions is too much for her. With one last long, lingering glance, Regina quietly whispers, “I love you,” into the silent room and then turns to leave, unsure what her next step should be.

All she knows is that everything they’ve shared in the last few hours is nothing more than a precious memory, and with the rising sun, their tentative hold on each other is about to come to a close, shattering like rays of light in a sunrise with the coming day.

#brookeap3 writing #oq ff #OQPromptParty #outlaw queen #oq fan fiction #oq fan fics #Regina Mills #robin hood #regina and robin

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bestloversfan · 2 years

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I've been reading (again lol) some posts about Katniss' decision to have children, and I've seen some Everlark shippers using an argument that bothered me a bit. So I'll give my two cents on this.

Katniss didn't have children because "Peeta forced her", and anyone who is capable of comprehending what they read knows that. There's plenty of canon evidence refuting this take, and we've talked about this many times already. But I think we shouldn't use the quote "When I wake, I have a brief, delicious feeling of happiness that is somehow connected with Peeta" as an evidence that she always wanted to have children.

That happens in the morning after her daydream about "a world where Peeta's child could be safe", it's true, but that doesn't mean the two events are connected. In her daydream, she was imagining a future she was not in. A future where her plan to die for Peeta in the Quarter Quell had succeeded. Let's check the full quote:

“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.

She wasn't imagining herself as the mother of his child, so why would her "delicious feeling of happiness" be caused by that thought? It doesn't make sense. The most likely interpretation is that the happiness she felt was the happiness of someone who's in love. On the previous night, she had openned her heart to Peeta in a way she never had before. She told him she needed him and kissed him passionately. So her happiness was completely natural. Anyone who has been in love at least once has been there, too (lol). Also, the embarrassment she felt when she saw Peeta after that corroborates that view.

We can use that quote (about Peeta's child) as an evidence that Katniss was fond of children and only didn't want to have one because she felt her world wasn't safe, and as an evidence that Suzanne Collins was foreshadowing what would happen in the epilogue. But we can't (or at least shouldn't) use the happiness Katniss felt in the morning after as an evidence that she already wanted to have a child with Peeta at that point, because, as I said before, she imagined a future she was not in. She wasn't expecting to be the mother of his child at that point. She wanted to die for Peeta and give him the opportunity to live a happy life in the future, even if it meant he would be with someone else. And he wanted to do the same for her. And this, my friends, is love!

The fact that Katniss didn't want to have children at that point doesn't diminish the choice she made years later. Everyone has the right to change their mind, especially when the circumstances under which they had formed their opinion change. So we don't have to believe she ALWAYS wanted to have children for her choice to mean something. Right? 😉

#I can't believe I'm talking about that topic again #lol #but I really felt like saying something after reading those posts #there's so many good arguments to prove Peeta didn't force Katniss to have children #we don't need to use weak arguments #anyway #I hope everyone will understand what I was trying to say #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark #thg #sorry any english mistake

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blissfulcastiel · 7 years

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Sunday Morning

Written for philkas week: Day 1 ~ Domestic AO3

Rays of early morning sun shine through the blinds, slowly inching their way across the bed and lighting up the darkness of sleep behind Philip’s eyelids, to his dismay. He rolls over so his back is to the window and the unwelcomed light doesn’t wake him before he’s good and ready. He scoots closer to the center of the bed, searching out a particular warm body to nuzzle into but finds the right side empty. Cracking open his eyes, he confirms that he’s indeed alone in the bed. Furrowing his eyebrows, he sits up and scans the room until he catches sight of the light leaking through the cracked door of the attached bathroom. He rubs his eyes, his sleepy brain still trying to connect the pieces together when Lukas walks out of the bathroom, shirtless with a toothbrush in his mouth. His eyes fall on Philip and he smiles around the toothbrush. “Morning, sleepyhead.” Philip groans, flopping back on the bed. “Why’re you up already? It’s Sunday at what, eight o’clock in the morning?” “Exactly,” Lukas chuckles. “Remember I got my meet today? I wanted to take the bike out for a quick spin and give her a once over before we left.” Philip’s eyes widen as he sits up again. Shit – that’s right! He had this whole morning planned out for Lukas. He even set a stupid alarm so he’d get up on time, he swears he did. Reaching over to his nightstand, he grabs his phone off the charger and looks up his alarms, pointedly ignoring the strange look Lukas is giving him from across the room. Well, he did set an alarm. For 7:30. PM.

Groaning, he drops the phone and shuffles out of bed, brushing past Lukas to get into the bathroom. “Why didn’t you wake me?” Lukas turns, still watching him with scrunched eyebrows and steps up to the sink to spit the toothpaste from his mouth. “Because we don’t have to leave until 10:30. You looked so comfortable and – how could I wake you looking like that? Figured you wouldn’t mind sleeping in a bit.” Philip grabs his toothbrush, squeezing a little too much toothpaste on it and shoves it in his mouth. “But it’s your big meet - the first one of the season and you should’ve woken me up,” he mumbles grumpily. He brushes his teeth a little harder than needed, watching out of the corner of his eye as Lukas rinses his mouth of the rest of the toothpaste before leaning against the doorway, eyes trained on Philip. When he’s done swirling water around in his mouth and spitting out the last of his toothpaste, Philip sighs as he turns off the water, guilt beginning to creep under his skin for snapping like he did. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so pleasant to you this morning,” he murmurs, lowering his eyes. He feels like such an asshole. The only person he’s frustrated with is himself and no one else. Lukas snorts softly and closes the space between them, wrapping his arms loosely around Philip’s waist as he touches their foreheads together. “What’s going on?” Philip shakes his head. “I had this whole thing planned out for this morning but I didn’t set my alarm right and –“ he cuts himself off when the frustration bubbles up again in his stomach. “I just wanted to do something special for you before your first meet is all.” Lukas tilts his chin up so that their eyes lock together. “You don’t have to do any of that. It’s more than enough just to have my fiancé there to see me, you know.” Philip shrugs, disappointment still pulling his lips down into a frown. “I guess.” Lukas rolls his eyes and presses a tender kiss against his lips, Philip’s body automatically melting into Lukas’ in response. He pulls back briefly, smiling at Philip before giving him one more peck and walking back into the bedroom. “What did you have planned anyway?” Philip turns on the sink again, letting the water run until it warms up. “I was supposed to get up early and give you breakfast in bed. I was gonna go all out too – banana pancakes with that fruit syrup you like so much, fresh squeezed orange juice, a flower in a vase. The whole nine.” “Seriously? A flower in a vase?” Lukas asks, sounding impressed. Philip chuckles, cupping his hands under the faucet and splashing the water onto his face. He repeats a few times before turning off the faucet and grabbing a towel, drying his face as he walks into the bedroom. “Yeah, I went hardcore with my plan. And it didn’t stop there either.” Lukas shuffles through the drawers in their dresser, pulling out his practice clothes and raising his eyebrows questioningly at Philip. “You had more planned?” Smirking, Philip tosses the towel on the bed and crosses the room to Lukas. He trails his fingertips down his side until they brush over the waistband of Lukas’ underwear, looking up at him from under his lashes. “Well, I was thinking after breakfast we would conserve a little water and shower together. Maybe help loosen you up before the meet,” Philip murmurs as he hooks two fingers under the hem and pulls Lukas closer, craning his neck to kiss along his jaw. Lukas shudders under his touch and Philip smiles to himself. “Dude,” he groans, his hands coming to rest on Philip’s hips to pull them together. “C’mon, we still got some time before we have to go.” Philip shakes his head, prying himself out of Lukas’ grasp and making his way to the hallway, pausing in the doorway. “Sorry, but no can do. I refuse to let you leave until you’ve had a decent meal and Bo will disown you if he sees you at the meet with an unpolished bike.” Lukas still gives him a dirty look despite the completely valid reasons. He opens his mouth like he’s about to call Philip out on his little teasing act but resigns the accusation. “Fine. But I expect a reign check on that shower that I’ll be cashing in later.” Philip grins, not bothering to hide the tease now. “Only if you earn it, big boy.” Lukas smirks at the name but goes along with it, throwing him a wink in response. “Don’t worry, I will.” Chuckling under his breath, Philip turns and makes his way to the kitchen. He pulls out the ingredients for the pancakes and gets to work making them. By the time he’s assembled what was supposed to be his little surprise this morning, Lukas is strolling into the kitchen dressed in his practice clothes. “Mmm, smells good,” he hums as he sits at the table. “Hopefully they taste as good too,” Philip says, bringing both their plates to the table and sitting down across from him. He watches Lukas dig in, nipping at his bottom lip nervously until he sees Lukas moan around the fork, to which he smiles faintly before taking a bite of his own. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? When have I ever not liked your cooking?” Lukas says as he cuts himself another forkful. Philip shrugs, taking his first bite. “You’ve had Gabe’s pancakes before. I don’t think mine will ever be as good as his.” Lukas rolls his eyes. “They’re good, okay? Even Gabe said he had competition.” Philip snickers but keeps his rebuttal to himself. He settles for watching Lukas eat across from him and talk about who the competition is and how he predicts everything will play out today. Philip can’t help but smile as he listens. Seeing Lukas get excited about the season starting up again makes his heart feel light. Lukas has been counting down the days since the season ended last year. They clear off the table and wash the dishes together when they’re done, which somehow always turns into a battle of flicking water and suds at each other. Philip swears Lukas always starts it first. “Okay, I’m pretty sure at this rate, we’re going to still be here doing dishes when Helen and Gabe come,” Philip laughs, backing away from Lukas who is trying to gather another handful of bubbles for his next attack. “I’m gonna go get dressed and you go make sure there’s no flat tires,” he says as he dries his hands and bare chest, which is dripping wet at this point. “And then we can go for a quick drive before they get here.” Lukas snorts. “Good thing we both know how much I excel at fixing flat tires, right?” Philip rolls his eyes playfully and starts towards the bedroom before Lukas catches his wrist and pulls him back. “What are you doing?” he asks, eyeing Lukas cautiously who’s gazing at him with a sudden softness to his eyes, a smile ghosting over his lips. “Thanks for breakfast. It was delicious.” Philip nips at his lip to keep from smiling too much and shrugs. “It’s nothing, really. Just wanted to give my fiancé a good morning since it’s a big day for him.” Lukas brings his hand up to gently ease Philip’s bottom lip from his teeth before leaning in to give him a soft kiss that’s sweetened by pancakes and fruit syrup. “Your fiancé appreciates it,” he murmurs against his lips. Philip grins against his lips. “Good.” Lukas presses one more brief kiss against Philip’s lips before making his way to the garage and calling over his shoulder. “We can go for a ride when I’m done giving her the once over. I’ll polish her up when we get back.” “Okay – I’ll be ready in ten,” Philip calls back. He stays in place though until Lukas disappears out the door that leads into the garage, smiling to himself. The morning may not have gone the way he wanted it to go, but he’s happy. Lukas is happy. And that’s all that really matters.

#philkasweek #philkas #philip x lukas #eyewitness #philkas fic #adoringjensen #coffeewithcynicism #lol idk which url you want me to tag #megan writes #my stuff #non spn #gah my first philkas fic #hopefully it doesn't completely suck lol

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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25. When I wake, I have a brief, delicious feeling of happiness that is somehow connected with Peeta. Happiness, of course, is a complete absurdity at this point, since at the rate things are going, I'll be dead in a day. And that's the best-case scenario, if I'm able to eliminate the rest of the field, including myself, and get Peeta crowned as the winner of the Quarter Quell. Still, the sensation's so unexpected and sweet I cling to it, if only for a few moments. Before the gritty sand, the hot sun, and my itching skin demand a return to reality. Everyone's already up and watching the descent of a parachute to the beach. I join them for another delivery of bread. It's identical to the one we received the night before. Twenty-four rolls from District 3. That gives us thirty-three in all. We each take five, leaving eight in reserve. No one says it, but eight will divide up perfectly after the next death. Somehow, in the light of day, joking about who will be around to eat the rolls has lost its humor. How long can we keep this alliance? I don't think anyone expected the number of tributes to drop so quickly. What if I am wrong about the others protecting Peeta? If things were simply coincidental, or it's all been a strategy to win our trust to make us easy prey, or I don't understand what's actually going on? Wait, there's no ifs about that. I don't understand what's going on. And if I don't, it's time for Peeta and me to clear out of here. I sit next to Peeta on the sand to eat my rolls. For some reason, it's difficult to look at him. Maybe it was all that kissing last night, although the two of us kissing isn't anything new. It might not even have felt any different for him. Maybe it's knowing the brief amount of time we have left. And how we're working at such cross-purposes when it comes to who should survive these Games. After we eat, I take his hand and tug him toward the water. "Come on. I'll teach you how to swim." I need to get him away from the others where we can discuss breaking away. It will be tricky, because once they realize we're severing the alliance, we'll be instant targets. If I was really teaching him to swim, I'd make him take off the belt since it keeps him afloat, but what does it matter now? So I just show him the basic stroke and let him practice going back and forth in waist-high water. At first, I notice Johanna keeping a careful eye on us, but eventually she loses interest and goes to take a nap. Finnick's weaving a new net out of vines and Beetee plays with his wire. I know the time has come. While Peeta has been swimming, I've discovered something. My remaining scabs are starting to peel off. By gently rubbing a handful of sand up and down my arm, I clean off the rest of the scales, revealing fresh new skin underneath. I stop Peeta's practice, on the pretext of showing him how to rid himself of the itchy scabs, and as we scrub ourselves, I bring up our escape. "Look, the pool is down to eight. I think it's time we took off," I say under my breath, although I doubt any of the tributes can hear me. Peeta nods, and I can see him considering my proposition. Weighing if the odds will be in our favor. "Tell you what," he says. "Let's stick around until Brutus and Enobaria are dead. I think Beetee's trying to put together some kind of trap for them now. Then, I promise, we'll go." I'm not entirely convinced. But if we leave now, we'll have two sets of adversaries after us. Maybe three, because who knows what Chaff's up to? Plus the clock to contend with. And then there's Beetee to think of. Johanna only brought him for me, and if we leave she'll surely kill him. Then I remember. I can't protect Beetee, too. There can only be one victor and it has to be Peeta. I must accept this. I must make decisions based on his survival only. "All right," I say. "We'll stay until the Careers are dead. But that's the end of it." I turn and wave to Finnick. "Hey, Finnick, come on in! We figured out how to make you pretty again!" The three of us scour all the scabs from our bodies, helping with the others' backs, and come out the same pink as the sky. We apply another round of medicine because the skin seems too delicate for the sunlight, but it doesn't look half as bad on smooth skin and will be good camouflage in the jungle. Beetee calls us over, and it turns out that during all those hours of fiddling with wire, he has indeed come up with a plan. "I think we'll all agree our next job is to kill Brutus and Enobaria," he says mildly. "I doubt they'll attack us openly again, now that they're so outnumbered. We could track them down, I suppose, but it's dangerous, exhausting work." "Do you think they've figured out about the clock?" I ask. "If they haven't, they'll figure it out soon enough. Perhaps not as specifically as we have. But they must know that at least some of the zones are wired for attacks and that they're reoccurring in a circular fashion. Also, the fact that our last fight was cut off by Gamemaker intervention will not have gone unnoticed by them. We know it was an attempt to disorient us, but they must be asking themselves why it was done, and this, too, may lead them to the realization that the arena's a clock," says Beetee. "So I think our best bet will be setting our own trap." "Wait, let me get Johanna up," says Finnick. "She'll be rabid if she thinks she missed something this important." "Or not," I mutter, since she's always pretty much rabid, but I don't stop him, because I'd be angry myself if I was excluded from a plan at this point. When she's joined us, Beetee shoos us all back a bit so he can have room to work in the sand. He swiftly draws a circle and divides it into twelve wedges. It's the arena, not rendered in-Peeta's precise strokes but in the rough lines of a man whose mind is occupied by other, far more complex things. "If you were Brutus and Enobaria, knowing what you do now about the jungle, where would you feel safest?" Beetee asks. There's nothing patronizing in his voice, and yet I can't help thinking he reminds me of a schoolteacher about to ease children into a lesson. Perhaps it's the age difference, or simply that Beetee is probably about a million times smarter than the rest of us. "Where we are now. On the beach," says Peeta. "It's the safest place." "So why aren't they on the beach?" says Beetee. "Because we're here," says Johanna impatiently. "Exactly. We're here, claiming the beach. Now where would you go?" says Beetee. I think about the deadly jungle, the occupied beach. "I'd hide just at the edge of the jungle. So I could escape if an attack came. And so I could spy on us." "Also to eat," Finnick says. "The jungle's full of strange creatures and plants. But by watching us, I'd know the seafood's safe." Beetee smiles at us as if we've exceeded his expectations. "Yes, good. You do see. Now here's what I propose: a twelve o'clock strike. What happens exactly at noon and at midnight?" "The lightning bolt hits the tree," I say. "Yes. So what I'm suggesting is that after the bolt hits at noon, but before it hits at midnight, we run my wire from that tree all the way down into the saltwater, which is, of course, highly conductive. When the bolt strikes, the electricity will travel down the wire and into not only the water but also the surrounding beach, which will still be damp from the ten o'clock wave. Anyone in contact with those surfaces at that moment will be electrocuted," says Beetee. There's a long pause while we all digest Beetee's plan. It seems a bit fantastical to me, impossible even. But why? I've set thousands of snares. Isn't this just a larger snare with a more scientific component? Could it work? How can we even question it, we tributes trained to gather fish and lumber and coal? What do we know about harnessing power from the sky? Peeta takes a stab at it. "Will that wire really be able to conduct that much power, Beetee? It looks so fragile, like it would just burn up." "Oh, it will. But not until the current has passed through it. It will act something like a fuse, in fact. Except the electricity will travel along it," says Beetee. "How do you know?" asks Johanna, clearly not convinced. "Because I invented it," says Beetee, as if slightly surprised. "It's not actually wire in the usual sense. Nor is the lightning natural lightning nor the tree a real tree. You know trees better than any of us, Johanna. It would be destroyed by now, wouldn't it?" "Yes," she says glumly. "Don't worry about the wire - it will do just what I say," Beetee assures us. "And where will we be when this happens?" asks Finnick. "Far enough up in the jungle to be safe," Beetee replies. "The Careers will be safe, too, then, unless they're in the vicinity of the water," I point out. "That's right," says Beetee. "But all the seafood will be cooked," says Peeta. "Probably more than cooked," says Beetee. "We will most likely be eliminating that as a food source for good. But you found other edible things in the jungle, right, Katniss?" "Yes. Nuts and rats," I say. "And we have sponsors." "Well, then. I don't see that as a problem," says Beetee. "But as we are allies and this will require all our efforts, the decision of whether or not to attempt it is up to you four." We are like schoolchildren. Completely unable to dispute his theory with anything but the most elementary concerns. Most of which don't even have anything to do with his actual plan. I look at the others' disconcerted faces. "Why not?" I say. "If it fails, there's no harm done. If it works, there's a decent chance we'll kill them. And even if we don't and just kill the seafood, Brutus and Enobaria lose it as a food source, too." "I say we try it," says Peeta. "Katniss is right." Finnick looks at Johanna and raises his eyebrows. He will not go forward without her. "All right," she says finally. "It's better than hunting them down in the jungle, anyway. And I doubt they'll figure out our plan, since we can barely understand it ourselves." Beetee wants to inspect the lightning tree before he has to rig it. Judging by the sun, it's about nine in the morning. We have to leave our beach soon, anyway. So we break camp, walk over to the beach that borders the lightning section, and head into the jungle. Beetee's still too weak to hike up the slope on his own, so Finnick and Peeta take turns carrying him. I let Johanna lead because it's a pretty straight shot up to the tree, and I figure she can't get us too lost. Besides, I can do a lot more damage with a sheath of arrows than she can with two axes, so I'm the best one to bring up the rear. The dense, muggy air weighs on me. There's been no break from it since the Games began. I wish Haymitch would stop sending us that District 3 bread and get us some more of that District 4 stuff, because I've sweated out buckets in the last two days, and even though I've had the fish, I'm craving salt. A piece of ice would be another good idea. Or a cold drink of water. I'm grateful for the fluid from the trees, but it's the same temperature as the seawater and the air and the other tributes and me. We're all just one big, warm stew. As we near the tree, Finnick suggests I take the lead. "Katniss can hear the force field," he explains to Beetee and Johanna. "Hear it?" asks Beetee. "Only with the ear the Capitol reconstructed," I say. Guess who I'm not fooling with that story? Beetee. Because surely he remembers that he showed me how to spot a force field, and probably it's impossible to hear force fields, anyway. But, for whatever reason, he doesn't question my claim. "Then by all means, let Katniss go first," he says, pausing a moment to wipe the steam off his glasses. "Force fields are nothing to play around with." The lightning tree's unmistakable as it towers so high above the others. I find a bunch of nuts and make everybody wait while I move slowly up the slope, tossing the nuts ahead of me. But I see the force field almost immediately, even before a nut hits it, because it's only about fifteen yards away. My eyes, which are sweeping the greenery before me, catch sight of the rippled square high up and to my right. I throw a nut directly in front of me and hear it sizzle in confirmation. "Just stay below the lightning tree," I tell the others. We divide up duties. Finnick guards Beetee while he examines the tree, Johanna taps for water, Peeta gathers nuts, and I hunt nearby. The tree rats don't seem to have any fear of humans, so I take down three easily. The sound of the ten o'clock wave reminds me I should get back, and I return to the others and clean my kill. Then I draw a line in the dirt a few feet from the force field as a reminder to keep back, and Peeta and I settle down to roast nuts and sear cubes of rat. Beetee is still messing around the tree, doing I don't know what, taking measurements and such. At one point he snaps off a sliver of bark, joins us, and throws it against the force field. It bounces back and lands on the ground, glowing. In a few moments it returns to its original color. "Well, that explains a lot," says Beetee. I look at Peeta and can't help biting my lip to keep from laughing since it explains absolutely nothing to anyone but Beetee. About this time we hear the sound of clicks rising from the sector adjacent to us. That means it's eleven o'clock. It's far louder in the jungle than it was on the beach last night. We all listen intently. "It's not mechanical," Beetee says decidedly. "I'd guess insects," I say. "Maybe beetles." "Something with pincers," adds Finnick. The sound swells, as if alerted by our quiet words to the proximity of live flesh. Whatever is making that clicking, I bet it could strip us to the bone in seconds. "We should get out of here, anyway," says Johanna. "There's less than an hour before the lightning starts." We don't go that far, though. Only to the identical tree in the blood-rain section. We have a picnic of sorts, squatting on the ground, eating our jungle food, waiting for the bolt that signals noon. At Beetee's request, I climb up into the canopy as the clicking begins to fade out. When the lightning strikes, it's dazzling, even from here, even in this bright sunlight. It completely encompasses the distant tree, making it glow a hot blue-white and causing the surrounding air to crackle with electricity. I swing down and report my findings to Beetee, who seems satisfied, even if I'm not terribly scientific. We take a circuitous route back to the ten o'clock beach. The sand is smooth and damp, swept clean by the recent wave. Beetee essentially gives us the afternoon off while he works with the wire. Since it's his weapon and the rest of us have to defer to his knowledge so entirely, there's the odd feeling of being let out of school early. At first we take turns having naps in the shadowy edge of the jungle, but by late afternoon everyone is awake and restless. We decide, since this might be our last chance for seafood, to make a sort of feast of it. Under Finnick's guidance we spear fish and gather shellfish, even dive for oysters. I like this last part best, not because I have any great appetite for oysters. I only ever tasted them once, in the Capitol, and I couldn't get around the sliminess. But it's lovely, deep down under the water, like being in a different world. The water's very clear, and schools of bright-hued fish and strange sea flowers decorate the sand floor. Johanna keeps watch while Finnick, Peeta, and I clean and lay out the seafood. Peeta's just pried open an oyster when I hear him give a laugh. "Hey, look at this!" He holds up a glistening, perfect pearl about the size of a pea. "You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls," he says earnestly to Finnick. "No, it doesn't," says Finnick dismissively. But I crack up, remembering that's how a clueless Effie Trinket presented us to the people of the Capitol last year, before anyone knew us. As coal pressured into pearls by our weighty existence. Beauty that arose out of pain. 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. Just as we're about to eat, a parachute appears bearing two supplements to our meal. A small pot of spicy red sauce and yet another round of rolls from District 3. Finnick, of course, immediately counts them. "Twenty-four again," he says. Thirty-two rolls, then. So we each take five, leaving seven, which will never divide equally. It's bread for only one. The salty fish flesh, the succulent shellfish. Even the oysters seem tasty, vastly improved by the sauce. We gorge ourselves until no one can hold another bite, and even then there are leftovers. They won't keep, though, so we toss all the remaining food back into the water so the Careers won't get it when we leave. No one bothers about the shells. The wave should clear those away. There's nothing to do now but wait. Peeta and I sit at the edge of the water, hand in hand, wordless. He gave his speech last night but it didn't change my mind, and nothing I can say will change his. The time for persuasive gifts is over. 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.

#CatchingFire

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