#and drag her out of the crowd to the fresh air with her toes scraping the ground behind us

[jesterguy]

Two Door Cinema Club is coming in February and I'm going if it costs me my life

[ezekielbhandarivalleros]

Beach Day

Paring: Jake Tweneboah x Jackie Varma

Summary: Summertime fun with Jake and Jackie

Taglist: @princess-geek @schnitzelbutterfingers @yourresidentplayer @aussieez @choicesficwriterscreations @secretaryunpaid

Jake was awakened by something soft hitting him in the head. He opened his eyes, squinting against the bright sunshine beating its way into the room to confirm the source of the blow to his head amused but not surprised to discover it was her. Jackie was lying on top of him, elbows propped up on the bed, chin resting on her hands, grinning at him with that smile that melted his heart, the pillow she had used to hit him with lay on her side of the bed where the blankets were wrinkled and tangled around her.

"Morning," he greeted her with a kiss.

"Morning," she said kissing him back but rather quickly to his surprise "you know what today is right?"

She was looking at him with an eager look, waiting for an answer.

"No," he replied curiously and she grinned bigger.

"It's beach day!" she declared loudly, squirming excitedly under the covers.

And then he remembered. For days after waking up from her coma, once she had regained some physical strength and had been clarified on what she had missed while in the hospital, she was anxious to get back to her normal life. One of those senses of normalcy was taking trips and the first thing she had begged him for was a trip to the beach.

"I want to go to San Diego with you," she asked sweetly "I want to see where you work and your house and the beach, please can we go?"

Unable to resist the adorable pout Jackie gave him, and once he had cleared it with her doctors after her release from the hospital, he decided on a day that would be good for the both of them between her therapy sessions to go to San Diego.

After a sabbatical from his work there, he returned to California with her in tow, the both of them settling back into a normal routine, with Jackie as well, in his condo. It had been over a week now and she had begged him everyday to take her to the beach near the condo complex since she couldn't drive herself just yet and it was too far to walk.

Now, with her eager smile and excited squirming, he knew she couldn't wait any longer to see the ocean and spend some time in the sun.

"Oh that's today?" he teased her which earned him another pillow to his face.

"Yes," she said "you promised, now hurry up, let's go before all the good spots are taken."

She untangled herself from all the covers, pulling on his arm to get him to move and follow her as she got ready, happily chanting 'beach day" over and over. He grumbled and made a point to yawn and stretch over exaggeratedly in displeasure at having to get up so early but he knew she had been looking forward to this for weeks and he loved her to pieces so getting up early to go to the beach with her was like a dream come true.

He went downstairs to make them breakfast while she packed up a large beach bag with towels and sunscreen and everything they would need for today. As he was setting out plates for them to eat, he thought about the trip today and felt a slight concern that a lengthy duration at a crowded beach in the hot sun might be too much for her post coma. But he had to remind himself that she was Jackie Varma, a force to be reckoned with and his concern faded away.

After breakfast, which she practically inhaled just to get them out the door faster, they loaded up his truck with the beach bags, folding chairs, a few snacks and some bottled water. When he got in the car she was already in the passenger seat, radio playing, window rolled down and sunglasses on staring at him with a goofy grin.

"Ready?" he asked her and she nodded, squirming to settle back in her seat while he drove.

San Diego was her new favorite place, she thought as she leaned back in her seat, the breeze whipping her hair around as they drove a few miles down to the ocean front she had been anxious to see for weeks. They passed palm trees, lavish homes and lots of people being out in the fresh air and warm sun. She tried to find a cloud in the sky but there wasn't a single one. That made her smile more.

Jake had to pay extra attention to the road as he drove because he found himself stealing glances at her. She was stretching to see ahead of the traffic for their destination, leaning back when she determined it was still not in view, humming along to the radio and being ridiculously adorable.

When he slowed the car to a stop inside a large parking lot full of other cars and beachgoers, she leapt out and raced around to the trunk to start retrieving their supplies.

"Easy," he warned her when he noticed her trying to carry the two folding chairs, beach bag and cooler all at the same time.

"I can do it," she reminded him trying to show she was still the same after her coma.

"I know," he said "but let me help."

She reluctantly handed him the folding chairs but continued to drag the rest of the supplies through the hot asphalt parking lot to the sandy entranceway a few feet ahead.

"Let's set up there," she declared boldly pointing at a spot "no there"

Jackie switched it up at least six times before finally shuffling through the sand to a spot no one had occupied yet and promptly dropping all the supplies down to claim their territory.

"Here, this is perfect," she announced beginning to rummage through her beach bag while he set up the chairs and umbrella that came with it for shade against the hot sun beating down on them.

Once everything was set up, she bounced over to him and asked "What should we do first?"

"Relax," he suggested leaning back in one of the chairs while she continued to stand, arms crossed in disapproval.

"That's boring," she complained "we should go swimming and look for seashells and build a sandcastle and surf and-

She was cut off by him grabbing her wrist and pulling her down to sit in his lap. She giggled as they both almost fell out of the chair.

"We can do all that stuff," he said "I promise, we have all day, lets not rush it."

"Okay," she finally agreed after he kissed her in the hopes of settling her down.

He knew her so well, she thought as she leaned back in his arms to watch the waves roll in.

As he inticipated, she couldn't sit still for long. She dragged him out of the chair and to the waters edge, dropping to her knees in the sand and starting to dig through it for seashells. He didn't want to discourage her, but after living here for a few months, he know most shells were likely going to be broken due to the strength of the wave and all the tourists walking the beach everyday. Nevertheless, he dropped to his knees in the sand beside her to help her search.

After a good twenty minutes of scraping at the sand, they still had not found anything yet.

"Maybe next time sweetheart," he tried to assure her but she still looked disappointed.

They were both covered in sand so they stood in the ankle deep water, letting the waves wash over them. One particularly strong wave hit her and almost knocked her over.

"Careful," he warned, fearful of her tumbling into the ocean and the consequences somehow leading to another coma.

He reached out to hold her hand and guide her away from any more oncoming waves but when he grabbed a hold of her, she pulled him further into the waves until they had both fallen into the water. He thought it was an accident, until he heard her laughing hysterically at their mishap.

"Gotcha," she teased splashing water at him, still laughing.

That laugh turned into a scream when he leapt up and chased after her, catching her quickly and scooping her up in his arms.

"Gotcha," he teased back before promptly tossing her into the next wave.

She screamed again but laughed at their game. She raced back to him and pushed him into the water to make him chase her again. Back and forth they went, tossing each other into the water. She loved the thrill of him chasing her, then the moment when he caught her, lifting her up in his arms making her stomach tingle with anticipation before he swayed with her over the water momentarily then spilled her into the waves.

After the fourth time they did this, she stood on the shore line catching her breath and he was worried that they had overdone it.

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, sweeping her tangled wet hair out of her face.

"Fine," she said breathlessly.

"We can take a break if you want," he said.

"Oh and let you win?" she said smugly "no way, it's tied, we have to break it."

He had no idea she had been keeping track of how many times they had tossed each other in the water but he loved her spirit so he said "Game on."

They raced back to the waters edge, waiting for more waves. She stood on her toes searching the deeper water for any sign of one. When one finally bubbled up and started moving closer she begged "Chase me" and raced along the shoreline.

She was so fast and so full of energy it was like she never fell into that coma, he thought as he did what she asked and raced after her. She had every intention of winning, she thought, as she lured him out into the water when a less violent looking wave came along. She had to slow down to avoid a group of kids and it cost her. He caught up to her, sliding one arm around her waist and pulling her back to him.

"No," she protested loudly, trying to squirm out of his hold but could feel her feet sinking into the wet sand instead.

In one motion he had scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to the waters edge.

"What to do with you?" he teased swaying treacherously over the water with her to build the suspense.

She kept fighting to escape his hold but he wasn't letting her go that easily. As the next wave approached, he tossed her right into it, hearing her shriek in surprise but laugh when he came to rescue her seconds later.

After their jaunt through the ocean, they raced back to their chairs and towels to dry off.

"I'm hungry," she announced to him.

"Me too," he said looking around at the little shops and cafes behind them on the boardwalk "what should we get?"

"Pizza!" she said firmly.

He agreed and went to fetch them some food. On his way back from the little café with their pizza, he spotted a gift shop and grinned when one particular item caught his eye. When he returned with their food, she ate it just as fast she had her breakfast. He knew her doctors had put on her a careful diet after her coma to get her body used to food again so spoiling her with a few slices of pizza didn't bother him. When she finished eating, he presented her with another bag and a grin.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Just open it," he encouraged her.

She tore into the package like a kid on Christmas and pulled out two plastic buckets and two plastic shovels with little holes in them.

"I know they are for kids," Jake explained "but I figured we could use them to find some seashells, might make it easier."

Jackie was staring at him as if he had presented her with a million dollars. She felt tears of gratitude sting at her eyes and she bit her lip to make them stop.

"I love it-I love you, thank you" she gushed launching herself at him with a hug.

"I love you too," he said smiling at how the simplest gestures seemed to make her the happiest.

"Come on," she insisted handing him a bucket and a shovel "lets go look now."

She didn't wait for him as she raced back to the waters edge, sank down into the sand and began digging away furiously.

Despite being equipped with tools, every shell she found was broken just like he anticipated but didn't have the heart to tell her. But she refused to stop searching. She had dug several holes in the sand in a small area around them, scrapping as far as her arm could reach for any in tact shells that might be hidden. The sun had started to set when she yelped suddenly, startling him but when he glanced up, she was grinning, and holding up two perfectly whole seashells.

"Look Jackie ," she gushed excitedly presenting him with the shells as if they were gold.

"Nice," he said impressed with her resilience at searching in the hot sun.

She brushed off the sand that coated the shells delicately with her fingers so as not to break them before carefully setting the pair into her bucket for safekeeping. She wiped her hands of loose sand then rubbed her eyes. He noticed her do that whenever she started to get tired at home or at the hospital after the coma and he took that as a cue to start packing up their stuff and head home.

In the car, she was less energetic, no longer humming along with the radio but instead staying silent and examining the tiny shells with care. Back at his condo, she dumped all their supplies in the hallway and shuffled over to the sink to start cleaning the shells better. She kept glancing at her cell phone that was on the counter and provided instructions on how to properly clean them. She set them in a plastic cup with water to soak for a little, resting her chin on her hands on the counter watching the shells sink to the bottom of the cup slowly.

"I'll unpack," he offered, kissing the top of her head while she watched the shells.

"I need a shower," she declared abandoning the shells to do that in the hopes that they would be clean by the time she was done.

After a shower and a change of clothes, she immersed herself into the world of seashells, using her laptop to research different types and how to search for them properly. She sat cross legged on the couch in the living room while she worked, chewing on her thumb while reading article after article trying to retain as much knowledge as possible until her eyes grew heavy from staring at the screen too long and she had to stop. She retrieved the now clean and dry shells from the kitchen and took them into the master bedroom where Jake was already in bed watching T.V.

She crawled into the bed and under the covers exhausted, lying on top of him like she had done this morning, holding up the shells for him to see and saying "Aren't they pretty?"

"They're beautiful," he praised her, hugging her tight.

She smiled and placed the shells gently on the nightstand for safekeeping, settling back in his arms, her head resting on his chest, feeling sleepy but still wanting to keep talking.

"I love this place," she mumbled tiredly to him "I love the beach and seashells and you and our special beach day, thank you for taking me."

"You're welcome sweetheart," he said struck once again by how the simplest gestures seemed to mean so much to her.

As she dozed peacefully in his arms, he couldn't help but think of all she had been through and all she was doing right now to live her life to the fullest. Every second with her was a gift, her survival a miracle and he wasn't going to waste any chance to spoil her with love and beach days.

[writingbakery]

“[bi]cycles of love”🚲

this little piece was originally written as oc content, then reworked for a different fandom, and finally comes to rest here. it’s very special to me, as i’ve never fully learned how to ride a bike, & i always wanted a friend to teach me, so we could fall in love over the handlebars <3 taglist; @shinhoetoshi @secondhand-trash @keigos-dove @redbeanteax @katsukisprincess @shinsouzone

[pairing; shinso hitoshi x gn!reader]

[warnings; romance, crushes, friends to lovers, growing up together, slice of life, too many bike references]

ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ ゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟ

┌─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───┐

pinarello; an italian bicycle manufacturer

based in Treviso, Italy. founded in 1952

raleigh; a british bicycle manufacturer

based in Nottingham. founded in 1885

└─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───┘

hitoshi loves his bike.

it’s a pretty thing, a pinarello, painted gold over the chrome and cream along the framework. a tiny silver bell sits across one handlebar, the grips sturdy enough to tie whatever he’s carrying on as he rides. the seat is a tan leather, red stitching bold at its seams, just wide enough for comfortable sitting.

six years of wear and tear have left the chains a little rusted, the leather of the seat dimpled in the middle like the indents of hitoshi’s cheeks. the gold is chipped here and there, but he spends every weekend painstakingly painting over the glimmers of chrome, pouring all his pride into the fullness of his tires, the sheen of his spokes.

he can still remember the way his chest had tingled with excitement the first time he’d laid eyes on it, propped up in the tiny garage against his father’s workstation. the bright red ribbon is garish, too flashy & overbearing for such a simple gift, and the rough strokes of gold against the metal are clearly from his father’s calloused hands, but no present has ever been so special in his eyes, and it shows.

he’d shot up like a weed that summer, legs scraping against the concrete every time he dragged his cherry-red raleigh down the street. long outgrowing his training wheels, the bike was a relic even when he’d received it at four years old, and the chains rattled dangerously every time he went over three miles an hour.

still, he’s fond of the old thing, and adding the red stitching to his new bike was a little nod to the bike of his childhood. the only thing he loved more than the raleigh was his pinarello; and the only thing he loved more than his pinarello was you.

you had been in hitoshi’s life since you were born, really, a chubby cheeked tomato of a baby that had babbled excitedly every time you’d seen hitoshi’s too-big, two year old eyes. even so young, hitoshi had felt an overwhelming urge to keep you close, cuddled right up against his baby pink heart that beat too fast whenever you so much as smiled at him.

you had loved the raleigh almost twice as much as toshi did, always begging to sit behind him as he cruised up and down your quiet street. you’d scoot yourself up so close to hitoshi’s back, socked feet against the red pegs of his training wheels, chubby little hands digging into his waist. stuck together like that, your excited giggles would wash over the shell of hitoshi’s ears, smooth and sweet like the breeze.

at ten, you weren’t much taller than you’d been at four, six, eight, always comfortably nestled against hitoshi on the dilapidated raleigh & if it weren’t for both of the chains finally snapping one afternoon, hitoshi would’ve given it to you. the deep, wobbly pout on your lips had been far too much for his twelve year old heart to bear, already thumping with the beginnings of sweet babylove, and that’s how he finds himself promising to take you along on his pinarello always.

the pinarello is bigger than the raleigh, longer & a little wider in the seat and suddenly you’re not leaning forward against hitoshi but sitting, chest pressed tight to his back as you sail around the neighborhood. like this, hitoshi can feel the steady thump, thump, thump of your heart, beating in tandem with the giggles that escape you every time hitoshi rounds a corner too fast, the wind ruffling his messy, home-cut bangs and teasing your pink cheeks.

hitoshi takes you everywhere, to the corner store on fifth & main, the park, the library, to school in the morning and back home at night. those are his favorite moments, when the sky is tinged with dawn or dusk, sleepy whines floating up from the smaller human clinging to his body, warm cheek pressed close against his back. like this, you’re soft and sweet and so painfully close that hitoshi can almost call you his, the love in his chest innocent & fresh like baby powder.

the love grows and grows and blooms so wide and bright that it hurts sometimes, pushes against the confines of hitoshi’s chest and winds up his throat like it wants to bubble from every corner and edge, spilling from his eyes and mouth and ears like kaleidoscope lights, dotted with the shine of your smile.

and yet, hitoshi tucks it close to the ever steady beat of his heart, not quite ready to let it blossom the way it wants to. he’s not prepared to face the light in your eyes, the sunshine of your smile and tell you that your are hitoshi’s everything, just in case you don’t want to be. and hitoshi would be okay with that, really, in the same way you’d be okay with your favorite teddy bear losing its stuffing, or the stars twinkling out slow, one by one. it would sting and hurt and ache but eventually, the world would right itself again, and he’d breathe like he did before he fell in love with soft cheeks and sweet smiles. your happiness has always been his main priority, and he’s determined to uphold that silent promise.

and he spends so, so much time preparing himself for the worst, bandaging up his heart before it can break, that when he finally pours his heart out to you, sits you down on the soft leather seat of the pinarello and tells you he loves you, that he’s woefully unprepared for your face to break out into a smile as wide as the morning sun shining down on them, the gleam of it outshadowed by your pretty glow.

now, he finds himself pacing outside of your house, two down and one across from his own, his best plaid pants on and his good black turtleneck - the one his mother had said made him look “distinguished” - tucked into them, the glint of the afternoon sun bouncing off his silver belt buckle. he’s nervous, and understandably so, the little drops of sweat rolling down his temple and skating along his jaw. he’s regretting letting his mother fill in his eyebrows and line his eyelids with her kohl pencil, certain that you’ll think he’s overdoing it, worry and panic rolling in slow, methodical waves inside him until he’s ready to fake the flu and escape back into his bed.

the soft squeak of a door, followed by a gentle click of its lock snaps him to attention again, and suddenly all the air’s left his body, fear and worry melting into a forgotten puddle at his feet as you make your way down the porch steps and towards hitoshi.

you’re dressed a little more appropriate for the warm spring weather, a maroon pair of corduroy overalls with a baggy black sweater tucked underneath, the collar wide to expose your glitter speckled collarbones. your black creepers have maroon laces to match, and if he squints right hitoshi can see a gold and maroon bumblebee pin in your hair, a gift from him. you’ve got more glitter on your eyelids and cheeks, and if he were twelve still, he’d worry about getting glitter against the back of his turtleneck as you ride down the street on his pinarello.

as it stands, he’s lucky he still remembers how to breathe.

you give a timid little wave, hand covered in pretty silver rings that catch the fading sunlight. “hi, toshi,” you say into the cool air, voice shy and rich with all the nervousness hitoshi’s holding in his stomach. somehow, though, knowing that you’re feeling the same way he is soothes the stress creeping up his throat, and he smiles dopily back before he can stop himself.

“hi kitty. you look amazing, so pretty. really pretty,” he manages to say before the nerves creep up again, the crimson flush staining his cheeks mirrored on your own. you stutter quietly, dig your toes into the dirt and smile; “you too, toshi. you look handsome,” you mumble, but the sunshine is written all over your face. your eyes flick up after a moment to rest on hitoshi’s face again, and you can see the warmth lying there, the fondness that you know is all for you. then they fall just behind him, and the endearment only grows.

right. the bike.

at eighteen, hitoshi still hasn’t gotten his licence - he’s not a bad driver, per say, he just hasn’t gotten rid of his driving jitters, and he’s far too embarrassed to ask his parents to drive them. besides; “i thought it’d be meaningful for our first date, kind of? i did promise to take you everywhere, right?” he asks hopefully, a hand coming down to rest on the handlebars. the answering smile he gets in response warms his heart, the love forcing its way up in the open air.

you easily step up to the pinarello, pausing to wrap soft arms around hitoshi’s waist in a welcoming, calming sort of hug. it’s a silent affirmation, one that he appreciates immensely; you both have always been able to read each other, and he’s certain the relief blossoms out over his face clear as day. swinging a leg over and settling into the seat, he grins up at you widely, face full of unbridled enthusiasm. “your chariot awaits, your highness,” he teases, and that earns him a wind-chime bout of laughter, sweet and tinkling down into his ears. they’re older now, not quite as small as they used to be and your legs are crowded just behind his own, knees knocking together with nervous excitement.

you easily snuggle into hitoshi’s back, one hand reaching up to tuck an earbud into his ear - a recent new tradition of yours, sharing headphones and alternating on whose library they listened to - an easy, soft beat filling the silence. it’s upbeat but slow, a perfect soundtrack to the picnic they’re headed to along the river, a sweet spring afternoon of newfound love. when they get there, hitoshi will drop the pretty necklace he got you from the flea market into the river via sheer nerves, and you will spend too long rambling about nothing in an attempt to soothe your own anxieties. you’ll share a chaste, too-shy kiss in the glow of the sunset, then another, and another until you’re giggling into each other’s mouths, honey soaked declarations of love in the moonlight.

but for now, you’ve got your cheek pressed to hitoshi’s back, your arms wrapped close around his waist and one hand tangled in hitoshi’s own. hitoshi’ll ride slow to avoid the cracks in the sidewalk, your giggles floating up to his ears amidst the smooth melody of their music and he’ll know that everything will be alright, the world will right itself again.

he’ll always love his bike. but he’ll always love you just a little bit more.

[asmileyoucouldbottle]

Found - Odesta

"Did you love Annie right away, Finnick?" I ask. "No," A long time passes before he adds "She crept up on me." Pre-trilogy, Odesta. Mostly fluff.

TRIGGER WARNINGS! - panic attacks, mentions of r*pe (nothing detailed or explicit)

Word Count- 2561 

~*~

There she was again. The red-haired woman everyone said was mad. She didn’t look particularly crazy, laughing as she splashed in the surf with the neighborhood children. But Finnick knew a thing or two about madness. It sneaks up on you, and you don’t see the memories coming until they’re there.

The woman dunked underwater, and reappeared in a wave that drenched all three of the children. One of the kids fell over giggling, and the other two continued to play. 

A slight turn of her head, and the woman caught Finnick staring. Her smile widened as if they had just shared a private joke, and Finnick ducked his head. He was surprised to find his own lips curling up.

Swinging a net over his shoulder, Finnick walked over to the woman and children.“Would you mind helping me?” 

The children hopped up immediately to grab the two wooden poles on either end of the long bait net. The woman stood opposite of him, and he could see the laughter still flickering in her eyes, as well as slight shyness.

“My name’s Annie.”

He smiled, and nodded in turn. “I’m Finnick.”

The group stepped to the side, dragging the net along as they went. Finnick could already see the little bait fish getting towed along against the net. 

Annie paused while Finnick and his side continued, making a rotation around her until the net made a C. From there, they dragged it back towards shore. The dance was as natural to Finnick as breathing, and he felt peace in familiarity wash over him. Every brief respite from the Capitol was a blessing, and he’d just arrived home yesterday morning.

They brought the net up to shore, and the children squealed as the minnows and other little fish began to try and jump from the net. Annie ran to get a bucket, which they promptly emptied the contents of the net into.

Finnick noticed a Peacekeeper glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, watching to make sure he didn’t steal the bait.  He picked up the bucket, and began to haul it in the direction of the Peacekeepers. “It was nice to meet you.” Finnick’s words were sincere, and carried a weight that the overused formalities rarely held. Annie waved as he left. 

He was intrigued by her, this woman like him, and he wasn’t sure they were so different. 

~*~

It was the day of the Hunger Games tour, and earlier the winner of this year’s games had given their speech. Now was the “partying,” where the whole town was in the main square “celebrating” the Hunger Games for the cameras. 

Finnick caught a glance of Annie, her eyes vacant and hand twisting her hair. 

“Annie?” At the sound of his words, she turned her empty eyes on him. “It’s very loud.” She murmured, eyes seeking Finnicks own. His heart panged as it related painfully. He knew all too well how triggering loud noises could be, and on a day such as today- a day completely dedicated to The Hunger Games, he'd had his own share of flashbacks. 

“Maybe we should get a breath of fresh air.”

Annie nodded, and Finnick took her hand and led her out the door. Her eyes were frantically darting, and he took them to a dock just outside the square. No one noticed them leaving the crowds. Sitting down, he took off his shoes and put his feet in the water. Annie followed him, and the water seemed to soothe her. Yet, one hand continued to stay on her ear, even though the only noises came from fishing boats in the distance. 

“Hey.” Finnick touched Annie’s hand  gently, and she looked at him. Her eyes focused on his, as if trying to bore holes.  Or maybe climb out of one. He didn’t break the contact. “You’re in District 4, and the water on your feet is from the bay.” She nodded, feet wiggling in the water. 

“District 4.” She repeated to herself, gaze moving to her toes as she grasped for footholes out of her mind. 

Finnick continued to talk about District 4, all its features, and the land around him. Every word seemed like a wedge in a cliff, a little ledge that she used to pull herself up, bit by bit. Even the flashing light of the Peacekeeper watchtower over the sea, which was always a point of anger and anxiety for Finnick, seemed to be helping.

Once the light had fully returned to her eyes, Annie half collapsed on Finnick’s shoulder, as if the effort had exhausted her.

”Thank you.” She whispered.

“Of course,” They looked out at the water, trying to find peace with the marching of Peacekeepers, the barbed wire fences, and memories threatening to drown them.

~*~

Finnick awoke, gasping. He shivered at the sensation of hands roaming all over, his body not feeling like it belonged to him.

Breathing heavily, Finnick tore back the sheets, blindly fumbling out of his room. Blinded by a rising panic as he started working himself into a frenzy, he ran to the beach right outside his house. Tearing off his shirt, Finnick jumped in the water without a second thought. The salt stung his eyes, and he began to rub himself down with sand, trying to clean off the fingerprints of hundreds of people who’d touched him over the years. His breathing and heart only quickened as the seconds dragged on, his skin raw with the friction of the sand. And yet, the fingerprints never went away. 

“Finnick?” He looked up to see a silhouette in the light of the lighthouse. “Are you alright?”

No, he was definitely not alright.

Intending to dismiss her, he was surprised when the simple truth was pried out in a tight breath. “Not particularly.” 

There was a beat, and Finnick let his handful of sand sink from his hold. A slight ripple, and he saw Annie coming to join him in the water. The moon outlined her frame, and her exposed shoulder only made him shudder. His vision of her kept being interrupted with images of other women, people he’d never learned the names of, and their faces were blurry in his memory. All that remained were their hands and the scars they left behind.

“It’s alright.” She said, forcing the images away. “it’s alright to be not alright.” 

Something about the words made him choke out a breathy laugh. 

“I’m glad that it’s okay that I’m having a meltdown.” The word meltdown echoed around his soul, the connotations raising a new round of battering. Words like coward and weak soon joined the symphony, and Finnick felt his self-control slipping.

“You don’t sound very convinced.” Annie commented. Finnick forced his mental downward spiral back as he tried to focus on her words.

She kept talking. “Right now, I’m fine. But sometimes, I’m not okay either. But that’s alright. We’re hurt, but that doesn’t make us lesser.”

A little bit of the frenzied knot began to loosen in his chest as words finally sunk in. The chorus belittling him receded, and he braced himself- expecting a new onslaught of phrases and the secrets of various lovers to fill the space.

Before his mind got the chance, Annie asked, “Would you like to know what I do when I’m upset?” 

Finnick tried not to sound desperate when he responded, “what?”

“Follow me.” She led him out of the water, and the panic was delicately held at bay. Annie brought him to a pile of rope on the dock. She chopped a bit of it off using the sharp edge of the rusty ladder. Finnick watched, enraptured, as she began to tie knots. Any sailing teacher would’ve been proud as she filled the whole rope, untied, and repeated. 

Once she’d finished her demonstration, Annie handed him the rope. Immediately, his fingers began their work. With each knot, his horror became more manageable, easier to put in the back of his mind as the burning of his fingers and endless lessons on knotting took the foreground. 

~*~

The mayor was getting married, and he was throwing a huge party for the whole district to celebrate. 

Finnick was more than content to sit by the refreshments and listen to the music. He’d had a fair amount of guests, man and woman alike, beg him to join them.  With a charming smile and claim of exhaustion, he’d send them on their way.

“Would you like to dance?” 

Finnick spun around, his signature smile already playing on his lips. At the sight of Annie, all deceptive charm vanished, and his lips melted into something real. Her own eyes were clear of all flirtations, and he felt that this must be what friendship is. No manipulations- just two people, everything laid at their feet.

“It would be my pleasure.”

The song was an old sea shanty, one that sang of a sailor and his lover reunited on land. The music resonated in their bones as the dancers clapped, stomped, twirled, and laughed. Finnick picked Annie up in a spin, and she showed off her footwork while prancing in a circle around him. The dance climaxed, and all he could see were the spins and motions. A brief catch of eyes there, a glimpse of her smile, the flash of her sea green dress. An unknown sensation built in the pit of his stomach as he felt her hands in his.

The downpour began all at once, with a loud crack of thunder and sudden sheets of water. The rain only brightened Annie’s face, and her laughter became fuller as the water clung her clothes to her skin and dripped off her nose. 

Though their movements weren’t as light or graceful, the heart of the dance only grew as the pair became more and more soaked. The energy of the remaining crowd built up, the dampness only feeding the fire. With a final twirl, the song ended, and Finnick was left looking over shoulders to see where Annie had twirled off to.

~*~

There was something about her that drew in Finnick’s eyes everytime she was in his vicinity. At the market, fishing, on the street, everyone and everything dulled to the background. 

He watched her exhibit kindness to the smallest of creatures, from bugs to the animals on the streets. More than once, Finnick had seen Annie scooping bees and beetles out of the water to dry on the jetty, rinsing off scraped knees of the street children, or slipping dogs little bits of fish. Her smile awaited him everywhere. Every one of her sunshine looks felt like a countdown, one that he could only imagine how it would end.

Many nights they’d find each other, distraughtly walking the beach. Wordlessly, they’d decide to go on together, often finding comfort simply in being in the presence of another who understands. He didn’t know exactly when they started holding hands along the way. It was a mutual agreement, a subconscious reach for the other. Their eyes hadn’t met, but the pressure of her hand intertwined in his stabilized both of them better than any line of rope. 

~*~

Finnick didn’t know when he realized. He’d thought of it as a countdown, every little action pushing forward the timer in his heart. But what it really was, was a buildup. Every smile that was bolder than the last, every musical laugh, every knot he tied beside her, all collecting to tip the scales of her heart. The way she would hold him in moments of weakness, just as he held her. The peace of mind that came just from seeing her, and how she’d now take his hand in moments of excitement or happiness as well as fragility. Her ability to see the light of the world despite a darkness within and all around her. 

They had been drawn together by mutual need. Need of understanding, need of comfort, need of true friendship. But if the flipping minnows in his stomach were any indication, Finnick wasn’t quite sure that ‘friends’ was a suitable enough word. 

He never expected it. How could someone as broken as him fall in love?

The answer was simple. Annie had said it to him once, “we’re not broken, nor missing pieces. We’re still whole…  just a little cracked.” From there, she’d intertwined her fingers with his. Finnick looked down and saw that seperated, the spaces between their fingers looked like cracks. But when they laced them together, the cracks were filled. They were still there, but less noticeable. 

That’s how Finnick felt with Annie. He knew that no person or love could completely heal him, but it could help. It made the hurt less prominent, and replaced some of his dreariness with hope.

~*~

The sunset was brilliant, and Finnick could see Annie sitting on the dock outside his window. Her auburn hair was stunning in the golden light, and his breath caught. Not bothering to even put on sandals, he walked out to meet her.

She turned to see him as he walked down the dock, the light making her face glow. Something in him felt like it was filling at the sight of her. Even his view of patrolling boats on the sea wasn’t enough to damper his happiness. It was all he could do not to lift her up, twirl her around, and tell her everything he felt. 

Actually, he hadn’t completely ruled it out yet. 

“Annie…” He didn’t know how to continue, and she was watching him expectantly. Despite being the Capitol’s darling, he didn’t know the first thing about actually sharing his feelings when they were true. Never once had he been seductive around Annie, nor her to him. 

It made no sense, yet here they were.

He reached down to take her hands, and pulled her up in front of him.

“You fill in my cracks.” He said finally.

Her eyebrows flickered briefly with surprise, but soon her face softened with a smile. “And you fill in mine.” She whispered, barely audible over the sound of waves. The moment was so heavy, Finnick could barely breathe.

He searched her eyes, longs poems he’d heard in the Capitol, he was anything but lost in their depths. Rather, he felt found. 

Annie stepped towards him, and on tiptoe, rested her forehead against his. Finnick sighed, and she tilted up her face and pressed her lips to his sweetly. The kiss was over in a moment, and she was flat on her feet, face open as she waited for his reaction.

Something in his chest felt wild, and without hesitation, he picked her up and spun her around- just as he’d wanted to. She giggled, her hands stabilizing on Finnick’s shoulders. He laughed, holding her gaze as he set her down. A rush of emotion filled him, and he didn’t know how he could contain it all. 

He leaned down and kissed her again, and she clung to his neck as he dipped her down. The sound of waves receded as his pounding heart filled his ears, and brought her back up to standing. 

“I love you Finn.” She looked up at him, bashful yet bold. Finnick beamed at her, and brushed her nose with his own. “And I love you.” 

Capitol be damned- he’d found love just where he was. 

[aggie-the-poet]

The Ceremony

Chapter One: The Ceremony

Goddess Tears Masterlist

Summary: The reader is of elven heritage, living within the city of Danu’s Garden. Working as one of the magistrature representatives, the reader is called to council on account of foreign visitors of Asgard coming to negotiate an alliance in such dire times. The elven people give their greatest asset to aid in the war, but not willingly. A frustrated reader finds solace in the sly prince of Asgard.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: mild swearing, snarkiness, sassy Loki

Word Count: 2857 (I know it’s long oops! This one just has a lot of lore, but the next chapters will probably be shorter.)

Author’s Note: I based the elven culture on parts of my own. Some of the language between the elves are in gaelic, so I’ll translate them in the beginning for reference. I tried making context clues to have it seem understandable and natural.

Also, this is set after Ragnarok but before Infinity War. Pretend the horrors of Infinity War never happened! This is going to be like the set up of Infinity War where Thor finds more people to help defeat Thanos.

__________________________________________________

Go raibh maith agat- may you have goodness (thank you)

Vinok- a floral wreath worn as a crown during special occasions

Is é mo theach do theach- my home is your home

__________________________________________________

Church bells are ringing off in the distance. I wonder which priest will be performing the ceremony today. There’s a lingering scent of bonfire smoke in the air, causing a smile within me. Great fires are to be lit today, for today is one to be written in the history books. Today is to bring peace to our lands, to end the discrimination against our people at last.

Rising from my cot, I stretch my arms and legs. My bones crack with a satisfactory pop, and a yawn is expelled from my mouth. Once I stand up, I ground myself and step outside my tent. Only a few others are up already. I always was an early bird. I nod happily to the others awake, taking note of their determination in training. This should be a pleasant day far from the fighting. I suppose some folks just need to be prepared at all times. It’s a bad idea to become too comfortable, especially soldiers. We’re always on the move, anyways.

I decide to head down to the church to make myself useful. The ministers always need help in one form or another. I take the longer route, enjoying the feeling of the breeze swaying me back and forth. Once I make it to the church I greet Merith, a young man training under the head priest.

“Yahey, Y/n! It’s wonderful to see you on such a fantastic day!” Merith shines, bowing his head before making his way over to me.

“Indeed. I’m sure you’re all on your toes today. We’re all a tad nervous, but I have the highest of hopes. Anyways, I came to offer my assistance.” I offer.

“Go raibh maith agat, Y/n. You’re too kind to us. Fortunately, some of the local children are helping us set up decorations. The priests are preparing for the morning ritual, but the others and I are left to deliver blessed vinoks to today’s participants. There’s not much for you to help with here, truthfully, but I’m sure you’re well needed at the city’s council.” Merith chuckles, generating a grumble from myself.

“I know. That’s partially why I offered my help. I know how swamped I’ll be later, so I was hoping you could take up my time before the council finds me.” I explain.

“Well,” Merith starts. “You are our representative of magickal defenses. And today is going to be the day you’re most needed so I wouldn’t get your hopes up on escaping them for long. They know how early you rise as well.”

“Stop teasing! I can’t help it; I just get so restless.” I slump defeatedly.

“Uh oh, you may want to hide behind the shrubbery if you don’t want to get caught.” Merith points out. “You know who is on his way over here.” Immediately, I dive into the bushes beside Merith. The thorns scrape all over my face, but nothing is worse than getting caught by Ettrian, the representative of Queen Fennore.

“Y/n, get out of the damn garden. I saw you jump in there, you know. I have eyes.” Ettrian glares. I simply poke my head out, not fully committing to leaving the safety of the bushes.

“C’mon, sir. Please don’t make me go just yet! I want to enjoy my last bit of freedom before my work really starts.” I plead with a trembling lip. None of this works on Ettrian of course.

“Out. Now.” He states bluntly.

“Fine…” I exit the shrubbery and adjust my clothing and give Merith an apologetic look before following Ettrian to the palace. The walk is long, silent, and awkward. So to lighten the mood I offer up a conversation.

“So are you excited for the big day, sir?”

“I suppose. Admittedly, I would’ve preferred to have us stay in isolation for the rest of our days. As long as we’re away from the fighting, we won’t have a war on our hands.” He replies.

“Well, you can’t fully expect such a war to stay away from us forever. These people visiting spoke quite desperately about it, stating it was a matter that affects all beings in the universe. If that is true, we can’t just watch idly.” I state quite passionately.

“Hm. I have no doubt someone of your status would want a war at any time.” Ettrian snaps coldly.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I stop and glare.

“Y/n! I’m so happy to see you on such a momentous day! Please, come inside.” Queen Fennore quickly grabs my hand and leads me inside the back sunroom of the palace. I don’t speak, as Ettrian’s statement still flutters around my head. I look up to see her staring at me with a frown. “Don’t pay any mind to him. He means well, but he’s not exactly the lightest of persons.”

“No kidding,” I reply, walking to the open window. I close my eyes and smell the fresh flowers being delivered to every citizen. The scent takes me back to my childhood, before the days I knew the harsh reality of war and peace.

“Are you nervous about today?” My queen asks me softly. I simply nod, not looking at her just yet. “I’m not quite sure what the diplomats will be looking for in us, but we must give them our best if the situation is truly as dangerous as they said it was. I don’t believe these men would be asking for… our help if it wasn’t so.”

“It’s just so unfair. We’re a peaceful civilization, yet we’re dragged into petty war time after time.” I finally look her in the eyes. Her golden iris glows with the incoming sunlight. She brushes her long dark hair to one side and steps towards me. She reaches out and touches my face with her lithe fingers.

“I fear they will ask too much of us… of you,” Queen Fennore whispers with a pained look.

“I’m prepared to make any sacrifice necessary for the sake of our people.” I proudly state.

“I know, but you’ve always been the one sacrificing everything. It should be someone else for once.” She pleads.

“No one else can. You know I’m the only one they’ll need.” I take her shoulders into my hand and give a soft squeeze. I smile falsely, trying to show content with our future.

“I know I must let you go yet again… but you will be missed greatly. Not just by me, but by the people as well.” My queen informs me. This causes a genuine grin to creep onto my lips.

“Even Ettrian?” I joke.

“Yes! Especially Ettrian! He secretly finds you charming, you know?” She jokes back. We both share one last laugh before heading to our changing rooms.

Queen Fennore wears her most elegant gown, paired with her jeweled headdress. I, on the other hand, am forced to wear the most horrendous robe. It’s far too loose for any swift mobility, and it’s all black, symbolic of mystery and magick. I would much prefer to wear my armor, but today is perhaps our last day of peace, therefore all armor and weapons must be stashed away.

“You look beautiful, my queen.” I admire Queen Fennore. A light blush dashes across her face.

“As do you, Y/n.” She offers. I nod, taking her arm and leading her to the entrance of the palace. Almost all the citizens will be awake by now, most definitely waiting by the palace gates awaiting their queen.

“Take a deep breath, Y/n. I fear I may hold mine this entire day.” She grabs my arm tighter as we approach the doors.

“Relax, my queen. Today is to be that of celebration. All will be well.” I reassure her, and with that, the grand front doors are swung open. We’re met by thousands of smiling faces, young and old, all come to relish their queen on this momentous day.

No guards are needed to keep people back from the queen. Everyone knows enough to offer Queen Fennore her respective space. People cheer and whistle from a comfortable distance away from us, offering the occasional flower or hand to shake. Queen Fennore makes it a point to accept every gift and touch every hand lent her way. She always was such a people-driven queen. The support and safety of the people was always her main concern. For that, she is truly loved by all her people. It takes us over an hour to finally get to the center of the city, where the ceremony is to be held. There, we await the arrival of our expected guests. Not long after, a messenger runs along the path from the port.

“The princes have arrived, Queen Fennore!” He announces out of breath. A thunderous cheer erupts from the crowd around us. Flowers are thrown onto the pathway, veils are tossed up in the air, and people have begun dancing around in circles. In the short distance, I spot two looming figures strutting toward us.

“I present to you: The Princes of Asgard! Thor and Loki Odinson!” The messenger yells at the top of his lungs before reporting back into the crowd. The two Asgardians loom over our people, at least a head taller than everyone. Their broad shoulders contract to our slim features. They’re so foreign, and it unnerves me.

The bigger one walks ahead of his brother. His light hair is short and choppy, uncharacteristic of an Asgardian. Behind him, the brother with long raven hair glances around suspiciously. They both wear their armor, against our wishes.

Give them the benefit of the doubt, Y/n. I’m sure they wear armor as a formality. Don’t get angry. Don’t glare at them. Just be calm and smile politely.

“Welcome! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Odinsons.” Queen Fennore melodically greets the princes.

“Your majesty, it’s wonderful to meet you as well. I am Thor, and this is my brother Loki. We’re both so appreciative to be here with you all today.” The bigger one speaks up, extending his hand to the queen. She tenderly grips his hand, giving it a solid shake. Loki steps up next, silently shaking hands with the queen as well. Immediately, Queen Fennore turns to me and pulls me up to her side.

“This is my advisor in magickal affairs, Y/n. Say greetings, Y/n.” She whispers to me with stern eyes.

“A pleasure to meet you both. I look forward to working with you both.” I offer bluntly, but before they can reach out their hands, I snap a little. “I’m concerned seeing you both in armor, considering our agreement was to forbid all objects of war on this day.”

“Ah, yes… Well, we just like to be ready to defend at all times…” Thor awkwardly explains, shifting from foot to foot.

“As the head of defenses, I assure you no harm will come to you today. Understand that we feel quite at a disadvantage, seeing as how we’ve locked away all armor and weapons, leaving us open and vulnerable for you. Was this not the purpose of our celebration? Are we not in agreement on this?” I feel Queen Fennore grab my arm, giving it a tub to get me to let up.

“A little bit of armor won’t hurt anybody. Besides, you and your people still have your magickal abilities, no? Can’t quite stache that away, can you?” Loki suddenly shares his thoughts. My eyes narrow into his.

“The purpose of magick isn’t inherently for war. What you do with the magick is what counts.” I stand my ground.

“Based on that logic, a knife can’t kill you on its own. A murderer must accompany it for it to do harm.” Loki throws back with a smirk. What I’d do if only I could slap that smirk off his face.

“Alright, how about we go inside for our meeting. We’ve prepared a number of our best dishes for you all to enjoy. Let our peoples celebrate together while we sort things out. Follow me!” Queen Fennore quickly takes my hand and leads me away from the princes.

“I thought we were going to be on our best behavior today!” She scream-whispers at me. I can hear Thor doing the same to his brother, but I can’t quite make out what they’re saying.

“I was! I was simply pointing out their misunderstanding with their wardrobe.” I snark. We make it back to the palace and head to the dining room. There lie plates full of freshly prepared food. Vegetables and fruit, meat and bread, all laid out and ready to be eaten. We all take our seats, Queen Fennore and I sitting at one end of the table, Thor and Loki sitting at the other.

“What a lovely feast!” Thor praises.

“Please, enjoy!” Queen Fennore announces, yet I am in no mood to eat.

“What is it you want from us?” I inquire. Thor spats out the meat he stuffed into his mouth.

“Pardon?” He sheepishly looks at me.

“You called this peace treaty for a reason. Something is coming and you need our help in fighting it, correct? Then what is it you want from us?” I sternly press the issue.

“Y/n! Remember your manners!” My queen scolds me.

“Well, I suppose we need anything you can give us. Soldiers, supplies, hell a place to stay would be much appreciated.” Thor chuckles sadly.

“Soldiers we can’t afford to give. As you know, elves are hated all across the galaxy. We must preserve our forces in case of an invasion, which happens far too frequently. Supplies we can give, but only if there is enough to go around here first. As for a place to stay, wouldn’t Asgard be your preferred shelter?” I don’t give the queen a chance to answer. She’s far too polite in these circumstances for anything to get done for our benefit. However, I glance at her for approval. She simply nods and looks onto the princes.

“Asgard is… gone. All we have is our ship. This is all that is left of us.” Thor looks down in grief.

“Our sincerest apologies, your highness.” Queen Fennore offers. Thor smiles gratefully, but Loki looks unimpressed.

“That is a shame. Very well, Danu’s Garden will now act as a safe haven for the Asgardian people. Ettrian, inform the local representatives of this and tell them to open the shelters. Give the Asgardians beds, food, and water rations.” I order.

“Just like that? No questions asked?” Loki snaps suspiciously.

“There’s no need for further convincing. You’re now our closest allies, and if your people are in need we are more than willing to help.” I grin at the satisfaction of surprising Loki.

“Thank you so much! If you are ever in need, we shall offer you our help as well.” Thor stands in happiness, rushing over to the queen to shake her hand once more.

“Of course, your highness. Is é mo theach do theach.” My queen smiles warmly.

“I suppose you’ll need me as well,” I state sadly, knowing the queen wishes against this. “I can help you defeat what it is you’re up against.”

“What can you do to help?” Loki laughs bitterly.

“I’m the head magician of our people. I’ve mastered countless spells. I’ve won countless battles. I may not have the strength of an Asgardian, but my skills in battle are not to be taken lightly.” I glare across the table.

“Y/n is, by all means, the strongest of our people. We may not be able to sacrifice our numbers, but you’d have our greatest weapon.” Queen Fennore defends me. I cringe at the thought of being referred to as a weapon.

“Wonderful! We’re very grateful to have you then! Right, Loki?” Thor gives his brother a look. A sigh comes from his brother, followed by a confirming nod.

“That’s settled then. The earliest we can send you off is tomorrow morning. Will that suffice?” My queen offers.

“That will do well. We thank you for your generosity and hospitality.” Both brothers shake the queen's hands again, giving me only a small nod and awkward grin.

“Now, go. Be with your people and rejoice in the peace this one day!” Queen Fennore exclaims with false happiness. This seems to satisfy the princes as they head for the exit, leaving only myself and my queen.

“This isn’t the way it has to be.” She whispers, not daring to look me in the eyes.

“It must. I’m so sorry, my queen, but I must go. Whatever it is they face, I must fight it head on. I must protect you and our people in the best way I can. This is it.” I try to reason with her, but she’s having none of it.

“I know you must leave, but I don’t want to lose you.” She holds my hands and presses her forehead to mine.

“I promise I will return to you, my queen.” I mentally cross my heart, swearing to myself to not let Queen Fennore down.

__________________________________________________

I hope you all like this new story! I wanted to try a different kind of fanfiction that has a lot more backstory and lore to it. I hope it’s not too much!

I love feedback, so comment your thoughts! My requests are also open, so feel free to send an ask!

[anon-luv]

Manhattan [Jungkook X Reader]

ONE SHOT[Jungkook X Reader]

Genre: Angst/Romance/Fluff

Word Count: 2,500+

Summary: Jungkook had always dreamed big, and you didn’t know if you could keep up with him. You were scared that you would drag him down with you, and you wanted him to continue his path to be among stars. They said if you love something set it free, but in this lifetime....maybe you didn’t want your love to come back to you...you wanted him to fly up high and soar in the skies.

Author’s Notes: Idk...what to even say about this fic. To get the full experience I would play the song this fic is based on in the background while you read. I want to dedicate this one to my new tumblr friend @bunnybubkook. Thank  you sweetie for suggesting this song, I have my music soulmate everyone!!

Minor grammatical mistakes are possible, since the super edited version I had went down the drain when Tumblr went down on me (did anyone else have problems??)

Comments, Likes, and Messages are greatly appreciated. I hope you all like it!!

Based on Sarah Barielles’ song Manhattan LINK TO SONG!

You can have Manhattan

I know it's for the best

I'll gather up the avenues

And leave them on your doorstep

And I'll tip toe away

So you won't have to say

You heard me leave

Darkness had become an old friend of yours as you walked along the city that never sleeps. The brightness of the lights prohibiting you from catching a glimpse of the starless sky you have grown accustomed to, since you moved into the city with the love of your life, so he could accomplish his dreams. You had given up everything for him, your career, family, friends, and simplistic goals of the future. All you wanted was to see him smile, that beautiful bunny smile of his.

You were a goner from the very first time your eyes met his brown ones. It was a cold autumn evening when your 10-year-old self-met him while aiding his scraped knee at the park. Ever since that day, you had become inseparable. Jungkook’s personality always shined so bright, he had become your light in the darkness, so when he proposed you moved with him to the city to pursue his singing career, you didn’t even think about it twice.

Jungkook had the talent. Everyone in your little town praised him wherever he went. His voice was gold and velvety like a soft whisper or silk caress. It was sweet and moving, it could bring anyone to tears. His emotions were engraved in the tunes that blessed your ears every night before sleep and every morning as a beautiful welcome back to reality.

The dreams that interlaced with yours were Jungkook’s biggest motivation to pursue his own. He wanted the girl he loved to succeed and be happy beside him hand in hand.

Reality is cruel though, and sometimes dreams are not all what they ought to be. Your schedule gave you a limited time to pause and admire the things that now surrounded you. The location that had seemed appealing, now felt like an endless routine, a confined cage.

Jungkook’s smile had been worth it, and as it grew and increased in numbers, yours faltered. The only happiness that erupted in your stomach was the nights you cuddled in his arms, and his optimistic talks that rambled on and on about how life couldn’t be any more perfect for him. For Him…

The decision had not been easy, looking back at the lone boy that lay in the big king size bed that was made for two, gave a pang in your chest. Recently he had noticed your lack of enthusiasm as you spoke of your daily activities, he noticed how the sparkle in your eye had disappeared. He brought it up. He wanted to make it up to you. He wanted to take you out. He wanted to show you the world. The thought of traveling made your fear grow even more. You wanted something familiar, you wanted to go back to that sky full of stars….the one Jungkook had kissed you under for the first time.

The walk out the door that night was painful, but it would be even more dreadful to take him away from his dreams. With one last whispered “I love you” you walked away from the love of your life, whose dreams were bigger than your own. He deserved the world, and you wouldn’t take that away from him.

You can have Manhattan

I know it's what you want

The bustle and the buildings

The weather in the fall

And I'll bow out of place

To save you some space

For somebody new

The sun’s bright rays blinded you as you walked out of the airport, the greenery around you was highly different to the orange trees you had left behind along with him. Your phone had been off since you boarded the plane. You did not want to hear his voice before you were able to distance yourself to at least an ocean apart, for you knew you would run back to him in a second if he asked.

Jungkook, as praised as he was, had never fit in back in your hometown. He was a boy’s whose craving was of something more beyond what these trees and warm skies could offer. When you moved with him to the city the hunger that had been present in his stare and tone of voice seemed to be satisfied. Jungkook didn’t belong in this town. Jungkook didn’t belong with you. Jungkook maybe in another life would’ve been yours. One where you didn’t crave familiarity and instead seeked adventure into the unknown. One where you could offer him the artificial lights and crowds roaring his name.

Jungkook deserved someone who had her own spotlight. The spotlight you had always ran away from.

You can have Manhattan

'Cause I can't have you

Ah

You couldn’t help but think of what had been his first reaction as hiss eyes landed on your empty side of the best. Had he found the letter?? It might hurt him right now, but in the future, you knew he would move on, just like he moved on from your little town.

You could already picture him with someone as bright and full of life as he was. He would hold her hand interlocked by the pinky like he had with you. She would absolutely dazzle everyone she came in contact with in those glamorous parties Jungkook always managed to drag you out to. Jungkook would find his other half in a beautiful talented aspiring woman with dreams as big as his were. They will be perfect together. Their love will have no limits, just like their dreams.

You can have Manhattan

The one we used to share

The one where we were laughing

And drunk on just being there

Hang on to the reverie

Could you do that for me

'Cause I'm just too sad to

For the first few months the city had been more than great to you. Your new job had been a pleasant change of routine, and the ever-changing flickering building lights were a nice scenery. It was all artificial though, and after a while the monotonous array of colors out of your bedroom window became dull.

Jungkook liked taking you out to the many hot spots of the city. Your favorite one was the Central Park, which was usually filled with laughing children, people jogging, and couples walking around happily, just like the both of you. He would chase you around the playground, and when he would finally capture you in his strong arms he would carry you away tickling your sides untill you scram loudly that you loved him. Jungkook always made time to make you laugh. He said your laugh was an enchanting melody accompanied by a wild hyena. Jungkook just loved teasing you. Jungkook had always been more than a lover, Jungkook had been and always will be your best friend first.

As you arrived back to your old house, a whole bundle of past memories of the both of you eating popsicles in the front porch step when you were younger and still believed he had cooties made it’s way to your mind. Replaying them over and over again like a favorite old movie. You remember spending a whole summer wondering if there was a cure for those, since you loved holding his hand, and hated to have to wash them super well after touching him.

You craved his touch, his kisses, and his presence. You couldn’t keep holding on to them if you wanted to move on. You needed to. For your best friend, for your lover, you needed to not be selfish. Jungkook needed to stay in the city, so he could share his talent with the world. You were not going to be the reason he would be dragged down and his melodic voice wasted.

You can have Manhattan

'Cause I can't have you

The last kiss you shared with him was sweet and pure, just like the love that had grown throughout the years between the both of you. The smile that he gave you after, as he pressed his forehead against yours and nuzzled his nose with yours, will forever be engraved in your mind.

When you love something let it free…..in your case you didn’t want him to fly back to  you, instead you wanted him to fly way up high and soar through the skies.

And so it goes

One foot after the other

'Til black and white begin to color in

And I know

That holding us in place is simply fear

Of what's already changed

It had been a little over a day since you had left, and the blue skies were as clear as you remember. The night was filled with countless of stars, and as you saw one shoot by, you closed your eyes and wished for Jungkook to only hold onto the good memories, and let the bad ones disappear just like a shooting star across the sky.

The tears brimming behind your eyelids fell to no witness, as you were alone in the dark surrounded by endless green  hills. The fresh air you inhaled was missing the usual sweet smell you had grown fond of at a very young age. A mix of mint and breeze….that’s what he smelled like….

Your phone was still turned off in your purse, you were frightened of listening to the messages he might’ve left. He was your weakness and you were his…..but Jungkook had always been stronger than you. By calling him back you would just make him want to hold on tighter to a sinking boat, and he needed to stay afloat and swim ahead.

Ah

You can have Manhattan

I'll settle for the beach

And sunsets facing westward with

Sand beneath my feet

I'll wish this away

Just missing the days

When I was one half of two

You can have Manhattan

'Cause I can't have you

3 days. 3 long bright sunny days. That were filled with loneliness and waking up in your cold bed, brought upon an ache in your chest. You were not used to waking up with no one besides you, it had been years, and when you woke up your brain betrayed you and input a false image of Jungkook next to you snoring softly.

You missed him so much, but as you took your morning walk along the beach shores and let the sound of the waves crashing against eachother relax you, you knew you had made the right choice. Your souls might’ve wanted to hold on to one another, and the dependency you had on that bunny smile was all consuming, but were  you really what was best for him.

The memories on the days you had spend by the ocean holding hands with the boy who had become your life were all full of happiness, and you felt grateful of being able to have experienced such an unconditional love.

The walk back to your little house felt endless as the regret that you have had since you had tiptoed out of his life had exploded along with your heart.

You wanted to be near him and hold him close, let him sing you your lullaby as you twirled his hair strands with your fingers. You wanted  to lay upon his chest and count his heartbeats until both of yours fell into the same rhythm.

It had only been 3 days, but it already felt like an eternity since you had been kissed by his soft pink lips.

The old wood door of your house slammed as you walked inside. The house was way too cold, and the dust that had collected from the year of abandonment was triggering your allergies. Coffee was not a solution to the pain, but it would at least wake you up. You closed your eyes as the aroma of the fresh brewing liquid took over your senses. A warmth surrounded you, and the feeling of his arms around your waist as he kissed your neck in the morning felt almost real.

“Don’t ever leave me again” you heard a deep husky voice whisper in your ear.

You turned around to see a pair of doe eyes, the doe eyes you had fallen in love with, since the first time you looked into them. His eyes were red and teary and the dark circles that surrounded them sent a wave of guilt.

You turned around and jumped into his open arms while you kissed him all over his face. The tears you both had held in, spilled like flowing rivers.

“I’m so sorry, I am so so sorry. I couldn’t stay. I didn’t want to rob you of your dreams. Your world…..You don’t have to give it up for me. I was just wilting with all the chaos ,and if you weren’t around me ..I felt suffocated….you were the only thing that kept me breathing in that sea of people….I didn’t want to do that to you” you said between sobs.

Jungkook set you down on the dusty floor and wiped away the tears that decorated your face, “The city is not my world, you are….and by you leaving,,, it was like my world had left me. My dreams are not me singing on a huge stage infront of millions, my dream is to sing for you to hear me….and how can I see your beautiful face as I sing if you are not near me. If being in the city is not for you, we will move back here” he said as he held on to your waist as if you were going to run away once again.

You looked down ashamed, Jungkook had left it all for you, “What about your career?? What about your singing”

Jungkook gave you a sad smile “I can sing anywhere I want,  but I can’t find a love like yours anywhere else”

Your eyes went wide as he kneeled down in one knee, and took out a black box with a rose shaped ring inside.

“(Y/N), forget the world, forget this little town, forget the city, forget our careers, forget the future, Think about the now, and right at this moment I am asking you, with all that I am, to let me show you how much you mean to me. You are my world, you are my dreams, and without you by my side I also feel like I can’t breath. You are my air, my ocean, and my stars. You are in every single memory I cherish. Please be mine and don’t leave me EVER again” he said adding a bunny smile.

You looked at the handsome man infront of you, and  how sincere his eyes were. He was looking at you in a way he had never looked at anything else in his life….not even the city. Looking back realization hit you full force as you remembered as you were staring at the endless buildings that illuminated the crowded city, Jungkook’s focus had always been directed to the twinkle in your eyes. You had been Jungkook’s dream all along. Jungkook’s dream was manifested at the mere age of 10, under a big green old tree, in the middle of the old neighborhood playground, at the same time as yours.

You nodded your head yes, and kissed him over and over again, as if his lips had been the oxygen your lungs had been lacking.

[gripefroot]

Saturday

Saturday mornings are supposed to be lazy. Slow, bleary, luxurious. Meant to be taken one yawn at a time; no rush or other responsibilities - no, those are for the other days of the week. Not supposed to be heralded by the pitter-patter of small feet at six a.m., and a rattling of the doorknob with a drawn-out squeak as the door is opened. 

Bucky doesn’t open his eyes. He knows who it is - Rebecca is a frightfully early riser, just like her uncle Steve. A scant second later, the tiny footsteps bumble over, stopping at the foot of the bed as the mattress dips - a small body heaves itself up, crawls up to the top, and slides in between the covers.  

Just ignore it, you’d told him, months ago. If we look asleep, they’ll get bored and fall back asleep, too. 

So Bucky takes your advice. Even if he is feeling stirrings of annoyance that there’s now a person between you and him.  

It starts as some big-little girl breaths, sighing at first and them humming an unrecognizable string of notes. Then tiny toes, experimentally poking Bucky’s knee beneath the covers, to which he does not respond - and finally more sighing and squirming and flopping around, and he knows sleeping in is a pipe dream.  

She nuzzles closer to him - hairs tickle his face, sun-kissed and smelling of outside; reminiscent of the hours the girls played in the yard yesterday evening, daydreaming about fireflies while Bucky had dozed off on the porch, and you’d chatted with your mother on the phone inside. Beck’s weight settles heavily on the crook of Bucky’s elbow, her soft skin rubbing against the metal that she never seems to notice, and her warm breath is almost ticklish. Her arm flops onto his flesh shoulder facing up, giving a sort of pseudo half-hug, and her tiny hand gives several pats - mimicking the way you or Bucky comfort her after a scraped knee or bad fall or for just a regular old hug.  

Groggy, broken, sweet and sleepy - Rebecca makes an attempt at whispering but it seems like a shout in the quiet of the bedroom. “I love you, Daddy.”  

Bucky’s heart swells, and a bleary smile lifts his lips before he remembers he’s trying to look asleep.  

“What about me?” Your slightly-grumpy reply; voice just as crumbled as Bucky can’t help snorting. Façade over, he supposes.  

“Sorry, Mom,” Bucky says back, wrapping Rebecca around the back with his flesh arm to pull her tighter to his chest as she giggles. “She loves me.”  

“I love Mommy, too,” Becks says matter-of-fact. “I love Winnie and Teddy and Grammy and Papa and Uncle Stevie and Aunty Sharon and Sammy and Tasha and - ” Her spiel goes on as Bucky forces his heavy eyes open - on the opposite pillow, your head is turned to him, your eyes sparkling and your smile beaming, and he stares sappily back until Rebecca’s list finally makes it to the volunteer librarian at the local library, and ends with the mailman and the puppy she had seen at the grocery store a few days earlier. 

Beck’s arm tightens around the back of Bucky’s neck, and her sloppy lips press an enthusiastic kiss to the side of his mouth.  

“What a cute alarm clock,” Bucky mumbles, giving her another squeeze.  

“Where’s my alarm clock?” you tease.  

“Still sleeping,” he retorts.  

“Lame.” 

Far below Rebecca’s short legs, your toes have found Bucky’s - he grins over her head, and you wink.   

“Daddy, you need to shave.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.” With solemn wisdom, Beck nods her head. “You’re scratchy. And I’m scratchy too.” 

You snort, and Bucky full-on laughs - there have been a fair share of mornings with Beck and Winnie sitting on the bathroom sink, faces lathered in shaving cream as they giggled madly.  

“Not Mom?” he jokes. This throws Beck for a loop - she twists away from him to stroke her small hand on your cheek, and then snuggles back into Bucky.  

“No,” she declares. “Mommy not scratchy.”  

“Oh, phew!” you laugh.  

“Not fair, Mom.” Bucky pretends to be severe, and reaches over to pinch your arm. You pinch back, and he yelps and draws his arm away with a glare.  

“Keka?” Another squeak of the door, and Bucky lifts his head to smile at Winnie - a stuffed bunny’s paw clenched in her little fist. She gasps and squeals, rushing the already-crowded bed as she bounces into to snuggle you.  

“Oh, no,” you groan, but pepper some good-morning kisses all over Winnie’s face, anyway, as Winnie giggles and squirms. “Now we really have to get up.” 

“No, you don’t, Mom,” Bucky says. With a conspiring grin, he lowers his head to Rebecca’s ear - she eagerly tilts her head, and he whispers, “Should we make breakfast for Mom?” 

“Yeah!” The resounding shriek pierces his head - but he laughs anyway, as Becks and Freddie hop back up to jump out of bed. Bucky takes advantage of the newly-freed space between him and you, and scoots over to wrap you up in your own morning hug.  

“Morning,” he drawls, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as the pitter-patter of two pairs of bare feet take off down the hall. Scrunching your face but smiling anyway, you peer up at him as your fingernails drag down the front of his chest, to his abs. Oh - that sort of morning.  

“Are you going to put on a shirt first, at least?” you tease.  

“Aw, don’t you like me all buck-naked?” Bucky teases right back, planting a kiss on the tip of your nose.  

“Sure, but not cooking. That’s unsanitary. But if you stay here and just hold me a little longer...”  

“Daddy!” can be heard all the way from the kitchen, along with some noises that sound suspicious and messy. That’s unfortunate. With a groan he untangles himself from you and the sheets, sending back a glare as you pinch his bum all innocent - your eyes stay on his front as he finds a t-shirt to pull on over his head, and Bucky throws his hips out as he leaves the bedroom, and your laughter echoes.  

The kitchen faces east, and so it’s awash with bright yellow light; the floor sun-warmed and dust floating in the air. Beck and Winnie jump around, wild and eager until Bucky helps them focus on a task: empty the dishwasher and put away everything they can reach.  

It keeps them occupied for ten minutes, and the practice of working under pressure has Bucky already dolloping pancake batter in a skillet by the time they're done. He has experience working with a toddler hanging on each of his legs, too, which is good - because his working conditions are inhumane, really. Cruel. Especially when they laugh maniacally as he pretends to struggle to move to the sink and back to the counter, grunting and groaning like they weigh a ton.  

When the tray is finally lowered down to be carried by the twins together (Bucky’s blood pressure is through the roof), he follows their snail’s pace from behind, eyes trained on the rattling dishes and swooshing juice, ready to catch it at a moments’ notice. 

But Freddie and Becks have pretty good balance, for a pair of three-year olds.  

You’re laying on your stomach in the middle of the bed, snoring loudly and very fake, but the girls start giggling madly anyway. Carefully they lay the tray at the foot of the bed, and then squeal as you lift your head with a playful roar, and the girls just laugh harder and harder. 

“Go eat in the kitchen,” Bucky tells them sternly, shooing them out - he’d made sure to fill their plates already. They’ll be occupied - for maybe five minutes before hollering for more. Five minutes is plenty of time. “Up,” he says to you next, pulling back the covers - you glare up at him, but sidle up to sit against the headboard, crossing your fingers in your lap primly. “Sheesh, these jammies aren’t very modest, are they?” Bucky teases, pulling on the strap of your shirt. “You’re showing yourself off.”

“And you like it,” you retort with a smirk.  

“I do. Now eat up.” 

But your eyes spark with challenge, making him grin. “You eat.” 

“I wanna, but the girls will walk in as soon as they’re done. Can’t have them see their daddy desecrating Mom.”  

Your hand catches the waistband of his shorts - Bucky grins, leaning close for a consolatory kiss. The promise in your sparkling eyes warms him head to toes. But he slides the tray over to your lap, and goes to supervise the little ones.  

This is the way Saturday mornings are supposed to be. Relaxed, lazy, full of giggles and syrupy lips and sloppy kisses and spilled milk and banana peels on the table and dishes piling up, punctuated with occasional reminders not to touch anyone’s hair with sticky fingers. And when you bring your half-eaten breakfast into the kitchen to finish, (the bed is lonely, or so you say), Bucky sneaks some strawberries from your plate, you pinch his behind, and Rebecca gasps in indignation. 

“Mommy! No pinch!” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, darling…” But the wicked glare you send Bucky isn’t sorry at all.  

Breakfast finishes a long time later; every pancake fresh off the skillet goes onto the girls’ plates, (boy, can they eat), and by the time Bucky is sitting with his own stack, everyone else is full. Figures. Do all the work, eat alone.  

But he doesn't mind. It’s your turn to wrangle the girls into clearing their dishes, washing their faces, and send them off to get dressed. And from the table, Bucky has a prime view of your backside as you start washing the dishes.  

Prime view.  

“Can I send you and the girls to the hardware store today?” you ask without turning around. 

“Uh huh. What do you need?”

“I have a list.” 

“Okay. You don’t wanna come with?” 

“I have something to do here.” 

“Which you’d rather didn’t involve toddlers underfoot?” 

You do turn around at that, casting Bucky a bright, beaming smile that makes his heart skip a beat. “I’ve given too much away already,” you tease.  

“A surprise, huh?”

“I know you love surprises.” 

“Only if they involve you n- ” A rushing of little feet, and Bucky snaps his mouth shut as his face turns hot, and Winnie throws herself into his lap with her clothes in her fists. He pretends to shriek. “Ahh! Naked girl!”  

She giggles and giggles and giggles - and Bucky laughs and you laugh and Rebecca comes streaking in naked, too, clearly just as pleased with herself as Freddie is.  

“Not the naked girl I was hoping for,” Bucky says to you over their heads, as Winnie plants her hands on his shoulders so she can step into the shorts he’s holding for her.

“Well, maybe you’ll have to keep hoping, then.”  

Not for too long, though. Because fifteen minutes later the girls are dressed and occupied with building blocks and trains, and you’re deliciously naked in his arms behind the locked door of the bathroom, and it’s a tiny but utterly perfect heaven on earth.  

Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the local hardware store - massive and sprawling and filled with people busy with projects, Bucky squints at the handwritten note you’d sent with him. A few screwdrivers and wrenches in odd sizes, tin cutters, a breaker bar, rust dissolvent, rags - and an air compressor. He’s wondering if he should’ve asked what your plan is before running off with the girls.  

“Vroom, vroom!” Becks yanks the steering wheel around in the plastic car, and Winnie just sways as she sings. Bucky grunts and heaves the shopping cart around, trying his darndest not to run into any display cases. With a device so creaky and old? It’s going to take all of his super skill to stay in the aisles.  

“You girls need to learn how to drive,” he says, as a wheel wobbles and he nearly takes out a stack of windshield wiper fluid. They just cackle madly back at him, and Rebecca pretends to drive even more wildly.  

At the checkout, Beck squeezes out of the car contraption, and walks up to Bucky to tug on the end of his jacket. “Daddy,” she stage-whispers. “I need to go potty.” 

“Oh!” Winnie scrambles out of her seat next. “Me too!”  

What would usually be a twenty-minute trip to the store ends up being over an hour and a half. Pretty typical, when it’s Bucky and his girls - and when they have the brilliant notion on the ride home to stop for their tacos, (“we were good at the store, Dad!”), he just glances back in the rearview mirror to see their eager, lit-up faces, and laughs.  

“Of course we can get tacos,” he promises. “As long as we bring some home for Mom.”

Their little cheers fill the car. Worth it.  

It’s early afternoon when Bucky pulls into the long, winding driveway to the house - he calls it a house, but you call it a cottage; a half-mile from the road and flanked by forest on all sides. He won’t say it, but the acre of pristine green lawn is his favorite - he loves the tediousness of mowing, and watching the girls play barefoot in the grass afterwards.  

He’s not surprised to see you kneeling amongst the flowers and bushes that circle the house. Hat atop your head, dirty gloves buried in the ground as you glance up with a smile at their arrival. After letting the girls loose from their car seats, they hop out and immediately start running and shrieking in the yard, skillfully finding a ball they’d forgotten to put away last night. Maybe on purpose. 

“Hey,” Bucky calls over to you, grabbing the bags from the car. “Have a good time without us?” 

“I amused myself,” you admit, a little cryptically. 

“I brought you tacos.” 

“Tacos, huh? Was that your idea, or theirs?” With that teasing you stand, smiling brighter than the sun as he drops the tools on the stairs to the front of the house, and takes two big ol’ strides to your side. Bending low for an enthusiastic but sloppy kiss, your hat falls to the ground from the force of his assault, but your arms wind around his neck and he can feel a clump of dirt fall from your glove and onto his back.  

“Babe?” 

“Hmm?” 

“What do you need an air compressor for?” 

With a laugh you pull away, patting his cheek with one dirty hand. “You’re going to need it,” you say lightly. The gloves fall to the ground by your gardening tools, and you grab his hand to start hauling him behind the house.  

“Why?” Bucky asks again, a little plaintively. 

But you don’t respond - a wicked grin over your shoulder, and you take him all the way to the shed. The doors are partially closed, but you slide them open, and stand back.  

“Happy Saturday,” you say smugly. “Since it’s not your birthday.” 

“Is that?” Blinking, Bucky takes a tentative step forward into the dusty shed - dustier still is the automobile parked in the center. Rusty and discolored and missing a few wheels - but it’s - it’s -  

“A 1921 Amilcar CC,” you say, when he doesn’t. Because he’s too busy gushing.  

“Babe - this is the car my grandparents owned! They would - they would take us to Nantucket every summer until...until Pops died, but…” Bucky runs his hands over the cool exterior, drinking in a sight absent from his mind’s eye for so long that he’s struggling to really see it. But no, it all comes rushing back as he touches door handles, the window frames, the hood… he glances up from peering into a corroded side mirror.  

“I know, Bucky.” Arms crossed, you lean against the shed door, grinning as if the present had been for you, not him. “Steve told me.” 

“Steve?” 

“Steve.”

“But - but why?”  

“Because I asked him, silly.” 

Bucky barely refrains from rolling his eyes at your joke. “But why - why did you buy this?” 

Your eyes are sparkling the best kind of mischief - but desperate for a straight answer, he strides back to you, grasping you around the waist as you melt into his arms. Lip caught between your teeth, you just gaze up at him. “Do I need a reason to spoil you?” you ask, pretty reasonably.  

“No, but - ” 

“Bucky,” you interrupt, planting your palms on his chest. “Look. I know that sometimes you get a little restless here if you’re too long between missions. This is just...this is something for you to do, all on your own. No girls allowed, if you want. Have Steve or Sam over to help. Or Tony, if you’re really desperate. Just...I want you doing something that’s special to you.”  

“You’re special to me, and I’ve been doing you just fine.” 

You burst into trilling laughter. “That’s not what I meant,” you say fondly, and he chortles.   

“So you had this delivered this morning while I was gone?” Bucky asks, quirking a brow as he tugs you closer - hips pressed into hips, thighs to thighs - and still not close enough.  

“I did.” 

“And...so you sent me out with our daughters to buy...my own gifts to go along with it.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corner with your smile. “Well, duh.” 

“Wow, babe.” 

“A ‘thank you, babe’ will suffice.” 

“Thank you, babe.” With exaggerated annoyance and a roll of his eyes, Bucky bends low to kiss your lips - a little outdoorsy, but infinitely sweet. Home. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Aw, man. You bought me a car to fix up and I only brought you tacos.” 

Your laugh fills the shed, and the running footsteps approaching cut off any further teasing. The girls ooh and ahh over the new project, wiping their hands through all the dust as Bucky keeps an arm wound around your waist - your head rests fondly on his shoulder, and he kisses the top of your head.  

“Let’s drive, Daddy!” Freddie shouts.  

“I wanna drive!” from Becks. 

“I have to fix it first,” Bucky tries to explain - whether they’re listening or not is debatable. “If I can, we will definitely go for family drives through the country.”  

“Alright, city boy.” You pinch his side, and he squirms.  

“MOMMY! I FOUND! A KITTY!” 

“You left one of your toys out here?” you ask, drawing away from Bucky and towards Rebecca’s shriek.  

“No! A real kitty!” 

“A real - ” Startled, you glance back at Bucky, but he just shrugs. If he concentrates, he can hear the faint rapid patter of an animal’s heartbeat - and he’d just been thinking it was a squirrel outside. From around the car comes Beck, a fluffy grey thing in her arms as Winnie starts jumping up and down with excitement, hands over her mouth.  

“Aw!” You crouch beside Beck, clearly wanting the animal out of her arms - but she’s not letting go of it, no way, no how. A head peeks up, glances around, and yowls indignantly.  

“We can take it to a shelter,” Bucky says. Wrong move - two glares from the little ones, and even you’re a tag reproachful, as the cat starts licking the palm of your hand. You coo, scratching its dirty head. Winnie pets the tail. Rebecca kisses its nose. “Oh, c’mon,” Bucky mutters. “One measly cat and suddenly I’m not the favorite anymore.” 

“Don’t listen to the mean old man,” you croon to the kitty. “You’re precious! You can stay with us.” 

“Can I name it, Mommy?” Winnie pleads. 

“I found it, I name it,” Beck shoots back.  

“We’ll decide together,” you promise. “Let’s take him inside to find a can of tuna, huh girls?” 

Side by side, Freddie and Beck start walking out of the shed - Bucky steps aside, because they aren’t looking where they’re going, and they make a crooked path to the house. He sighs.  

“They don’t love me anymore,” he says mournfully.  

“Don’t be absurd,” you admonish, winding your arm through his. A gentle tug, and he’s being taken back to the house, too. “You can share the the title of ‘favorite.’” 

“No, I can’t.” 

“Then you’ll just have to get used to it.” 

Bucky has to admit, watching the girls pet the cat as it nibbles away at canned meat on the front porch is a pretty cute sight. You gorging on tacos, not so much - but just as endearing.  

“I’ll take it to the vet on Monday,” you decide.  

“Leave it there,” Bucky deadpans.  

“Bite me.” 

“Let’s wait until the girls are asleep tonight, yeah?” He sends you a wicked wink, but you just grin in return, licking some spilled guacamole from your finger.  

The afternoon is spent adoring the cat - mostly outside, the girls getting grass stains on their clothes as you return to weeding the flower beds. Bucky helps you for a while, scolds the cat for peeing on the rose bushes, and then scolds it again for poking its claws into his t-shirt while he was trying to pet it.  

It’s a monster.  

When the sun starts to go down, it’s a stampede to the bath. Bucky washes his hands and face as the girls mostly just splash each other in the bathtub, and a moment of generosity has him digging around the linen cupboard for the most threadbare towel. He takes it to the porch, and bundles it up for the indignant cat left on the front step. 

“As soon as we know you’re clean and free of critters, you can come inside,” Bucky tells it, as it licks its chops. He starts to go inside, closing the door behind him - but peers back. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.” 

Dinner, clean up, books, and bed. The early morning brings heavy drowsiness fast - within ten minutes of lights out, the girls have stopped chattering, and Bucky can hear their slow, even breaths from where you’re snuggled up to him on the couch.  

“We should do something,” you mumble into his chest - his arm around your shoulders tightens.  

“We’re too tired,” Bucky jokes. 

“Then we should go to bed.” 

“You first.” 

A pause. You don’t move, and it’s a while before Bucky can drag his tired body, and yours, to bed.  

Whatever the teasing had been; the taunts and quips and seductive winks - it’s only sleep on his mind tonight. Faded moonlight cascades down the walls, your soft warmth in his arms so perfect in every way. Your hands travel up his arms, holding him close, and he touches all his favorite parts of you. Gentle, feathery kisses on noses and cheeks and lips - not too eager, but simple, content reminders of “I’m here,” “I love you,” and “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”  

Oh, and tomorrow is Sunday.  

Even better. 

[teentopgot7teen]

Opposites Attract

Opposites Attract| Choi Hansol/Vernon

Prompt:

With additional  Elemental!AU.

A/N: So this is what my post earlier was referring to. I hope you enjoy because I’m glad to be releasing this story after starting it over a year ago. I did change the prompt slightly so I hope this is okay!

Warning: Sexual content ahead.

The day was warm and sunny, just how you liked it. Summer was beginning and the evidence was all around you. The flowers sprouting in the beds just outside the academy building, the grass; bright green and bursting with life and the children; bored and sweaty inside a stuffy classroom.

You flicked your fingers against your palm, sparks flying where your nail scraped the skin. You rested your head on your free hand as you gazed at the front of the classroom. The lesson was probably important but you couldn’t concentrate. It wasn’t natural for a fire elemental to be kept inside when the weather was your own.  You were going stir crazy.

A note hit the back of your head lightly before floating onto your desk. You scowled and turned to see the culprit of the note. Your expression softened when you saw your boyfriend cheekily waving at you. He grinned and pointed at the note. You looked back down to it and smiled at the cute doodle on the front: a chibi girl with tiny flames flickering out of her outstretched hand.

‘Don’t worry. We’ll go out to the park after school <3’

You swivelled to look at your boyfriend. His cheeky grin was contagious and you couldn’t help but grin back. You nodded at him and he threw you a thumbs up. You looked back to the front, grin still plain on your face, as you carefully folded the note and placed it in your notebook. You kept all the notes Vernon sent you. Even the ones from before you were dating where he was asking what was going on in class because he wasn’t paying attention.

The teacher continued to drone on about the mechanics of elemental power as your wound your hair through your fingers. Slowly, you began to lose yourself in your thoughts. Mostly thoughts of Vernon.

You had been dating for about a year and it had been the happiest year of your life. Vernon was the perfect boyfriend. You only argued if Vernon was being particularly dense and had done something incredibly stupid like that time he ate the brownies you had made specifically for your grandmother’s birthday or the time he abandoned you on a date to participate in a rap battle you had passed while walking down the street.

Everything was perfect except you were always afraid of hurting him.

You weren’t the best elemental in the academy. You were one of the few that still hadn’t quite controlled their power yet. You were good at most things. You could summon your power at will, you knew what set it off, you knew how to energise yourself and when to conserve your power. However, the appearance of it was still unpredictable. You could control it in everyday life. But when you got excited or nervous it could explode out at any moment.

Obviously, when you were around Vernon you were always either excited or nervous. He made you happy, of course, but you would become fluttery every time he kissed you or held your hand. Over the year that you had been dating those little things didn’t trigger your power anymore. You felt safe and in control. But you were worried about any new things which could set it off. That’s why the two of you still hadn’t had sex yet.

The bell signalling the end of class rung above everyone’s head and you all packed away your things without waiting for the teacher’s say so. It wasn’t only you that was dying to get out of the classroom and outside into the fresh air.

Everyone drifted out of the room until it was only you and Vernon left. He sat on the desk next to yours as you carefully put your school books and stationary back into your bag. Neither of you spoke but the silence was comfortable. You were always the chattier one in the relationship so if you didn’t speak there was often a silence between you two.

Once you finished, Vernon took your bag and slung it over his free shoulder before offering you his hand. You took it with no fuss. Vernon always offered to carry your bag for you. At first, you fought vehemently. You were perfectly capable of carrying your own bag, thank you very much. But after Vernon got upset with you and gave you the cold shoulder for several days for declining his offer you just let him do what he wanted. He was prone to throwing tantrums over the smallest thing so it was easier to just go with the flow when it came to him.

As soon as he clasped your hand in his he dragged you out of the classroom door and through the crowds of students milling around the corridors. You stumbled behind him, apologising to everyone who you ran into as you ran. Vernon extended no such courtesy, barrelling through people without as much as a glance back to acknowledge them.

Vernon didn’t slow down until you had gotten through the front doors of the school and hit the fresh open air. He let go of your hand and allowed you to bathe in the sun’s rays. You physically felt your energy increasing as you stood in the sunlight. A blissful smile graced your face and you uncurled your hands, allowing small flames to wrap around your fingers.

Vernon stood by as you enjoyed your moment in the sun. He gazed at you fondly as you relaxed. He felt the sun beating down on him, uncomfortably hot against his skin. He felt sweat gather at his hairline and he gently wiped it away. He wished he were a fire elemental like you. Fire elementals never sweated in the sun. Their skin was made to be in hot temperatures, unlike Vernon.

“Come on, let’s go.” He said.

You opened your eyes with a start. The fire which flared on your skin died as Vernon came closer. It was as if your body reacted automatically to his presence so that you wouldn’t burn him.

You smiled softly at him and linked your fingers with his, “Can we get ice cream?”

“Sure we can.”

Vernon didn’t want to admit that he would do anything to get you to smile at him. He would give you anything in the world as long as you kept smiling at him just like you were right now.

You collapsed on your sofa with a loud sigh. You threw off your school blazer and tie before removing your tights. You wiggled your now free toes in the air and felt your skin cool down at their exposure to the air.

Vernon came back into the living room levitating two glasses of ice water. He gently floated the glass down to rest in front of you before taking his from the air. You smiled at him and concentrated on cooling down your hand before taking the glass to ensure that the ice didn’t melt and the water didn’t boil upon your touch.

After spending the whole afternoon outside you were completely energised.  You could feel your power lingering, waiting to be used.

Vernon sat down by you, “Planning on doing the homework that was set, Y/N?”

You scoffed, not even bothering to answer his question as you drank quickly. Some of the water collected at the corner of your mouth and Vernon laughed as he used his thumb to wipe away the water.

You watched as his expression suddenly turned serious. He brought the rest of his hand up to your face and gently caressed your cheek with his fingers. You let your eyes drift closed and a smile graced your face. You were startled when Vernon softly kissed you but you melted into his touch quickly. He brought his other arm around to your waist and pulled you closer to him. You hummed in approval as the new closeness allowed you to feel his body against yours. You especially liked resting your hands on his arms and feeling the new muscles that had developed there.

The sudden thought of hurting him crossed your mind and you hesitated. You quickly pulled back from the kiss and rested your forehead against his. You closed your eyes, breathing heavily to catch your breath.

“Y/N? What’s the matter?” Vernon asked as he rubbed soothing circles into your back.

You opened your eyes and found yourself staring deeply into Vernon’s. They were filled with worry. You couldn’t help but smile at how sweet your boyfriend was. He always wanted to make sure you were okay. He would never do anything if he thought it would put either of you in danger.

With that thought, you had made up your mind. You took a deep breath and sat up. Vernon loosened his grip on you and continued to look at you in concern.

“V-Vernon, I was thinking about… something… that I think I’m ready to try…” You fiddled with your fingers as you stumbled over your words and you saw sparks flare as your fingers twisted around each other.

Vernon’s hands didn’t leave your waist and it was calming to have the solid hold there. Vernon was your rock, your strength and you needed him.

“What was it that you wanted to try?” Vernon asked in a low voice.

You raised your eyes to find that his concern was replaced with other emotions. It was replaced with curiosity, interest and something which caused you to flush with a different sort of heat than you were used to.

You blushed as you felt a wetness collect in your underwear. You cleared your throat but your voice was still small and unsure when you spoke, “I’m… I’m ready Vernon.”

He smiled reassuringly as his hold on you tightened and he laid you gently down on the sofa and lay on top of you, his forearms either side of your head to hold himself up. His hands gently cupped your head as he brought you in for a searing kiss. It was hot, all teeth and tongue and biting and sucking. You felt like you were on Cloud Nine and he hadn’t even touched you yet. Oh god, what were you going to feel when he touched you?

The thought made you moan wantonly into his mouth and you heard his breath hitch. He fastened his teeth around your bottom lip and pulled. You opened your eyes and saw his smirk once he released your lip. You must have looked a state, all blissed out, flushed and lips bruised and red from just a kiss but it was worth it just to see the resounding effect it had on Vernon. Seeing his eyes, slightly glazed over and more dominant than you were expecting and his lips equally as bruised from the kiss was a birthday gift come early.

Your whimper brought him back to you but he moved to your neck instead. The fleeting kisses were perfect but they just weren’t enough. You could feel the heat in your stomach blooming but you needed something more. You shifted your hips to get some form of friction and moaned loudly as your clothed clit brushed against Vernon’s thigh.

You blushed as you felt Vernon freeze. His lips stopped kissing your neck and he raised himself up above you to look you in the eye. You tried to avoid his stare but you couldn’t. In the end, you succumbed and made eye contact. You didn’t think that he could look even better but it was as if what you had seen so far was Vernon holding back.

“Am I not looking after you properly, Y/N?” He said slowly.

You gaped at your boyfriend’s dominance. You expected him to be quieter, more unsure about this. You never expected this sort of confidence, even if it was false and mustered up purely for your benefit. It made you feel comfortable and all of the insecurities you felt began to melt one by one.

You felt Vernon’s confidence rub off on you and you linked your arms around his neck and brought him back so that your lips were brushing over his.

“Touch me, Vernon. Make me feel good.” You whispered and Vernon moaned as he kissed you deeply.

His arms moved from beside your head to around you waist and moved you so that you lay on top of him. The new position spread your legs so that you were straddling one of Vernon’s thighs. He continued the kiss he had to break to move you by kissing you gently and slowly. You squirmed impatiently and whined as you felt you clit rub repeatedly on Vernon’s thigh causing you to get wetter and wetter and needier and needier.

“Please, Vernon. Please touch me. Please.”

You gripped his wrist and tried to guide his hand to you. He stopped you and ignored your whines whilst he guided you to sit upright. His hands settled on your waist once more but this time his grip was tight.

“Ride my thigh, baby.” He said in a raspy voice.

You hesitated, slightly unsure of yourself but began to grind against the thigh between your legs. You gasped as you felt little jolts of pleasure with every movement and began to push harder. Vernon bit his lip as he watched you come undone above him and gently moved his fingertips underneath the blouse of your uniform to softly touch your warm skin.

“Can I take this off?” Vernon asked.

Too far gone and wrapped up in your pleasure, you simply nodded frantically as you tried to quickly undo your buttons to remove the offending garment. Vernon chuckled quietly and smoothly moved your hands to his chest so that he could remove your blouse more efficiently. You used the new angle that Vernon had put you in to quicken your thrusts and you groaned in relief.

“Come on, baby, let’s get this off you.” Vernon murmured. You stopped grinding and allowed Vernon to guide your arms out of the sleeves and throw the blouse somewhere in your living room.

He ran his hands over your exposed waist and slowly moved up your ribcage until his fingers were grazing the bottom of your bra. You grasped his wrists and placed his palms firmly on your chest.

“Please, Vernon.” You whined. You could feel your skin heating up. Sweat beaded on your forehead and temples. Something was curling in your lower stomach and you shifted restlessly. The cloth of your underwear was soaked and stuck to you.

He ran his fingers teasingly over your nipples which were sensitive, even through the fabric of your bra. You arched your back into his touch and moaned loudly at the feeling of Vernon finally getting his hands on you.

His eyes were firmly fixed on your chest and his tongue came out to gentle lick his lips, “Calm down, baby. You’re burning up.”

You froze and glanced down at your body frantically to see if you could see any danger to Vernon. “I’m sorry. Oh my gosh, I didn’t think. Are you hurt? Did I burn you? Did I-“

Vernon grasped the back of your head and sat up abruptly to bring you into an intense kiss. His tongue pushed into your mouth and you relaxed, allowing Vernon to angle your head and deepen the kiss.

He pulled away with a quiet smack and smiled into your half-lidded eyes, “I’m fine don’t stress, baby. Don’t think about it. Let me make you feel good.”

Vernon moved one hand to your back to steady you and the other trailed down to caress the damp cloth covering your slick entrance. You gasped and your hips immediately jerked forward to get more of the electric feeling Vernon’s actions caused. Vernon groaned at the shameless action. His fingers moved over your underwear again and again until they bumped against your clit.

“Oh god, Vernon.” His name was dragged out with your moan and Vernon lost his last shred of self-discipline.

He ripped off his shirt along with your skirt and underwear before picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom. You sucked hickeys over his collarbones and neck as he carried you and your hand crept down his toned body before palming his dick through his underwear. Vernon’s grip on you tightened as you felt a satisfied hum rumble in his chest.

Once you reached the bedroom he dropped you onto the bed and quickly pressed his fingers to your dripping entrance.

“Ready, baby?” Vernon asked.

“Yes, Vernon. God yes.” You panted and you felt your walls pulse at the thought of any part of Vernon being inside you.

He pushed his fingers into you slowly and your core sucked him in eagerly. You both groaned, you at the sensation of finally being full and him at the visual of you. Your back was arched, your cheeks blushing prettily as your mouth hung open and your eyes screwed shut in response to the intense pleasure that he was giving you.

Vernon kissed the sweat from your hairline and ignored the heat emanating from your skin. He moved his fingers in and out of you, gaining speed as he watched how much you loved his fingers thrusting into you. Your voice became strained and higher in pitch the closer you got to your climax, your breath came out in lovely little gasps and your nails scratched Vernon’s arms as you tried to find something to ground you as you climbed to your first orgasm. Vernon never took his eyes off of you as you released you loudest moan and pulsed around his fingers. Every muscle tensed before relaxing into post-orgasm bliss and Vernon had to rank it as the sexiest thing he had seen you do.

Vernon removed his fingers from your entrance with a lewd squelch and you whined at the loss. He wiped the juices coating his fingers on the bedsheets and moved the hair away from your face. It took a few moments to catch your breath but once you did you smiled up at him sleepily. He grinned back and kissed you sweetly.

“You okay, Y/N?” He asked.

You sighed and leant up slightly to kiss him again.

“Never better,” You murmured after the kiss.

Vernon grinned and picked you up to lay you properly on the bed. You automatically wriggled underneath the covers but winced when you felt soreness in muscles which you didn’t even know existed.

“I’ll go get you a damp towel to clean you with and some water. Okay? I’ll be back soon.” Vernon went to leave until a hand around his wrist stopped him.

He turned back to see you looking up at him with a cute pout, “But you didn’t get to finish.”

He smiled and took your hand in his, “It’s okay, baby. I’m fine.”

The use of the pet name sent another pulsing wave between your thighs. You blushed and nodded weakly. Vernon gave you a soft smile as he left to get the things you needed.

You snuggled down in the covers and sighed happily. Everything went better than you were expecting. Now you won’t be so nervous to initiate more things with Vernon. You grinned sleepily and closed your eyes. After all, even though air elementals and fire elementals were an unusual pairing, you and Vernon managed to prove them wrong.

Vernon managed to cool you down through your hottest tantrums and you managed to light a fire in him unlike any he’s ever experienced before.

You two were the perfect pair.

[readbookywooks]

PART I "THE SPARK"

1. I clasp the flask between my hands even though the warmth from the tea has long since leached into the frozen air. My muscles are clenched tight against the cold. If a pack of wild dogs were to appear at this moment, the odds of scaling a tree before they attacked are not in my favor. I should get up, move around, and work the stiffness from my limbs. But instead I sit, as motionless as the rock beneath me, while the dawn begins to lighten the woods. I can't fight the sun. I can only watch helplessly as it drags me into a day that I've been dreading for months. By noon they will all be at my new house in the Victor's Village. The reporters, the camera crews, even Effie Trinket, my old escort, will have made their way to District 12 from the Capitol. I wonder if Effie will still be wearing that silly pink wig, or if she'll be sporting some other unnatural color especially for the Victory Tour. There will be others waiting, too. A staff to cater to my every need on the long train trip. A prep team to beautify me for public appearances. My stylist and friend, Cinna, who designed the gorgeous outfits that first made the audience take notice of me in the Hunger Games. If it were up to me, I would try to forget the Hunger Games entirely. Never speak of them. Pretend they were nothing but a bad dream. But the Victory Tour makes that impossible. Strategically placed almost midway between the annual Games, it is the Capitol's way of keeping the horror fresh and immediate. Not only are we in the districts forced to remember the iron grip of the Capitol's power each year, we are forced to celebrate it. And this year, I am one of the stars of the show. I will have to travel from district to district, to stand before the cheering crowds who secretly loathe me, to look down into the faces of the families whose children I have killed... The sun persists in rising, so I make myself stand. All my joints complain and my left leg has been asleep for so long that it takes several minutes of pacing to bring the feeling back into it. I've been in the woods three hours, but as I've made no real attempt at hunting, I have nothing to show for it. It doesn't matter for my mother and little sister, Prim, anymore. They can afford to buy butcher meat in town, although none of us likes it any better than fresh game. But my best friend, Gale Hawthorne, and his family will be depending on today's haul and I can't let them down. I start the hour-and-a-half trek it will take to cover our snare line. Back when we were in school, we had time in the afternoons to check the line and hunt and gather and still get back to trade in town. But now that Gale has gone to work in the coal mines - and I have nothing to do all day - I've taken over the job. By this time Gale will have clocked in at the mines, taken the stomach-churning elevator ride into the depths of the earth, and be pounding away at a coal seam. I know what it's like down there. Every year in school, as part of our training, my class had to tour the mines. When I was little, it was just unpleasant. The claustrophobic tunnels, foul air, suffocating darkness on all sides. But after my father and several other miners were killed in an explosion, I could barely force myself onto the elevator. The annual trip became an enormous source of anxiety. Twice I made myself so sick in anticipation of it that my mother kept me home because she thought I had contracted the flu. I think of Gale, who is only really alive in the woods, with its fresh air and sunlight and clean, flowing water. I don't know how he stands it. Well ... yes, I do. He stands it because it's the way to feed his mother and two younger brothers and sister. And here I am with buckets of money, far more than enough to feed both our families now, and he won't take a single coin. It's even hard for him to let me bring in meat, although he'd surely have kept my mother and Prim supplied if I'd been killed in the Games. I tell him he's doing me a favor, that it drives me nuts to sit around all day. Even so, I never drop off the game while he's at home. Which is easy since he works twelve hours a day. The only time I really get to see Gale now is on Sundays, when we meet up in the woods to hunt together. It's still the best day of the week, but it's not like it used to be before, when we could tell each other anything. The Games have spoiled even that. I keep hoping that as time passes we'll regain the ease between us, but part of me knows it's futile. There's no going back. I get a good haul from the traps - eight rabbits, two squirrels, and a beaver that swam into a wire contraption Gale designed himself. He's something of a whiz with snares, rigging them to bent saplings so they pull the kill out of the reach of predators, balancing logs on delicate stick triggers, weaving inescapable baskets to capture fish. As I go along, carefully resetting each snare, I know I can never quite replicate his eye for balance, his instinct for where the prey will cross the path. It's more than experience. It's a natural gift. Like the way I can shoot at an animal in almost complete darkness and still take it down with one arrow. By the time I make it back to the fence that surrounds District 12, the sun is well up. As always, I listen a moment, but there's no telltale hum of electrical current running through the chain link. There hardly ever is, even though the thing is supposed to be charged full-time. I wriggle through the opening at the bottom of the fence and come up in the Meadow, just a stone's throw from my home. My old home. We still get to keep it since officially it's the designated dwelling of my mother and sister. If I should drop dead right now, they would have to return to it. But at present, they're both happily installed in the new house in the Victor's Village, and I'm the only one who uses the squat little place where I was raised. To me, it's my real home. I go there now to switch my clothes. Exchange my father's old leather jacket for a fine wool coat that always seems too tight in the shoulders. Leave my soft, worn hunting boots for a pair of expensive machine-made shoes that my mother thinks are more appropriate for someone of my status. I've already stowed my bow and arrows in a hollow log in the woods. Although time is ticking away, I allow myself a few minutes to sit in the kitchen. It has an abandoned quality with no fire on the hearth, no cloth on the table. I mourn my old life here. We barely scraped by, but I knew where I fit in, I knew what my place was in the tightly interwoven fabric that was our life. I wish I could go back to it because, in retrospect, it seems so secure compared with now, when I am so rich and so famous and so hated by the authorities in the Capitol. A wailing at the back door demands my attention. I open it to find Buttercup, Prim's scruffy old tomcat. He dislikes the new house almost as much as I do and always leaves it when my sister's at school. We've never been particularly fond of each other, but now we have this new bond. I let him in, feed him a chunk of beaver fat, and even rub him between the ears for a bit. "You're hideous, you know that, right?" I ask him. Buttercup nudges my hand for more petting, but we have to go. "Come on, you." I scoop him up with one hand, grab my game bag with the other, and haul them both out onto the street. The cat springs free and disappears under a bush. The shoes pinch my toes as I crunch along the cinder street. Cutting down alleys and through backyards gets me to Gale's house in minutes. His mother, Hazelle, sees me through the window, where she's bent over the kitchen sink. She dries her hands on her apron and disappears to meet me at the door. I like Hazelle. Respect her. The explosion that killed my father took out her husband as well, leaving her with three boys and a baby due any day. Less than a week after she gave birth, she was out hunting the streets for work. The mines weren't an option, what with a baby to look after, but she managed to get laundry from some of the merchants in town. At fourteen, Gale, the eldest of the kids, became the main supporter of the family. He was already signed up for tesserae, which entitled them to a meager supply of grain and oil in exchange for his entering his name extra times in the drawing to become a tribute. On top of that, even back then, he was a skilled trapper. But it wasn't enough to keep a family of five without Hazelle working her fingers to the bone on that washboard. In winter her hands got so red and cracked, they bled at the slightest provocation. Still would if it wasn't for a salve my mother concocted. But they are determined, Hazelle and Gale, that the other boys, twelve-year-old Rory and ten-year-old Vick, and the baby, four-year-old Posy, will never have to sign up for tesserae. Hazelle smiles when she sees the game. She takes the beaver by the tail, feeling its weight. "He's going to make a nice stew." Unlike Gale, she has no problem with our hunting arrangement. "Good pelt, too," I answer. It's comforting here with Hazelle. Weighing the merits of the game, just as we always have. She pours me a mug of herb tea, which I wrap my chilled fingers around gratefully. "You know, when I get back from the tour, I was thinking I might take Rory out with me sometimes. After school. Teach him to shoot." Hazelle nods. "That'd be good. Gale means to, but he's only got his Sundays, and I think he likes saving those for you." I can't stop the redness that floods my cheeks. It's stupid, of course. Hardly anybody knows me better than Hazelle. Knows the bond I share with Gale. I'm sure plenty of people assumed that we'd eventually get married even if I never gave it any thought. But that was before the Games. Before my fellow tribute, Peeta Mellark, announced he was madly in love with me. Our romance became a key strategy for our survival in the arena. Only it wasn't just a strategy for Peeta. I'm not sure what it was for me. But I know now it was nothing but painful for Gale. My chest tightens as I think about how, on the Victory Tour, Peeta and I will have to present ourselves as lovers again. I gulp my tea even though it's too hot and push back from the table. "I better get going. Make myself presentable for the cameras." Hazelle hugs me. "Enjoy the food." "Absolutely," I say. My next stop is the Hob, where I've traditionally done the bulk of my trading. Years ago it was a warehouse to store coal, but when it fell into disuse, it became a meeting place for illegal trades and then blossomed into a full-time black market. If it attracts a somewhat criminal element, then I belong here, I guess. Hunting in the woods surrounding District 12 violates at least a dozen laws and is punishable by death. Although they never mention it, I owe the people who frequent the Hob. Gale told me that Greasy Sae, the old woman who serves up soup, started a collection to sponsor Peeta and me during the Games. It was supposed to be just a Hob thing, but a lot of other people heard about it and chipped in. I don't know exactly how much it was, and the price of any gift in the arena was exorbitant. But for all I know, it made the difference between my life and death. It's still odd to drag open the front door with an empty game bag, with nothing to trade, and instead feel the heavy pocket of coins against my hip. I try to hit as many stalls as possible, spreading out my purchases of coffee, buns, eggs, yarn, and oil. As an afterthought, I buy three bottles of white liquor from a one-armed woman named Ripper, a victim of a mine accident who was smart enough to find a way to stay alive. The liquor isn't for my family. It's for Haymitch, who acted as mentor for Peeta and me in the Games. He's surly, violent, and drunk most of the time. But he did his job - more than his job - because for the first time in history, two tributes were allowed to win. So no matter who Haymitch is, I owe him, too. And that's for always. I'm getting the white liquor because a few weeks ago he ran out and there was none for sale and he had a withdrawal, shaking and screaming at terrifying things only he could see. He scared Prim to death and, frankly, it wasn't much fun for me to see him like that, either. Ever since then I've been sort of stockpiling the stuff just in case there's a shortage again. Cray, our Head Peacekeeper, frowns when he sees me with the bottles. He's an older man with a few strands of silver hair combed sideways above his bright red face. "That stuff's too strong for you, girl." He should know. Next to Haymitch, Cray drinks more than anyone I've ever met. "Aw, my mother uses it in medicines," I say indifferently. "Well, it'd kill just about anything," he says, and slaps down a coin for a bottle. When I reach Greasy Sae's stall, I boost myself up to sit on the counter and order some soup, which looks to be some kind of gourd and bean mixture. A Peacekeeper named Darius comes up and buys a bowl while I'm eating. As law enforcers go, he's one of my favorites. Never really throwing his weight around, usually good for a joke. He's probably in his twenties, but he doesn't seem much older than I do. Something about his smile, his red hair that sticks out every which way, gives him a boyish quality. "Aren't you supposed to be on a train?" he asks me. "They're collecting me at noon," I answer. "Shouldn't you look better?" he asks in a loud whisper. I can't help smiling at his teasing, in spite of my mood. "Maybe a ribbon in your hair or something?" He flicks my braid with his hand and I brush him away. "Don't worry. By the time they get through with me I'll be unrecognizable," I say. "Good," he says. "Let's show a little district pride for a change, Miss Everdeen. Hm?" He shakes his head at Greasy Sae in mock disapproval and walks off to join his friends. "I'll want that bowl back," Greasy Sae calls after him, but since she's laughing, she doesn't sound particularly stern. "Gale going to see you off?" she asks me. "No, he wasn't on the list," I say. "I saw him Sunday, though." "Think he'd have made the list. Him being your cousin and all," she says wryly. It's just one more part of the lie the Capitol has concocted. When Peeta and I made it into the final eight in the Hunger Games, they sent reporters to do personal stories about us. When they asked about my friends, everyone directed them to Gale. But it wouldn't do, what with the romance I was playing out in the arena, to have my best friend be Gale. He was too handsome, too male, and not the least bit willing to smile and play nice for the cameras. We do resemble each other, though, quite a bit. We have that Seam look. Dark straight hair, olive skin, gray eyes. So some genius made him my cousin. I didn't know about it until we were already home, on the platform at the train station, and my mother said, "Your cousins can hardly wait to see you!" Then I turned and saw Gale and Hazelle and all the kids waiting for me, so what could I do but go along? Greasy Sae knows we're not related, but even some of the people who have known us for years seem to have forgotten. "I just can't wait for the whole thing to be over," I whisper. "I know," says Greasy Sae. "But you've got to go through it to get to the end of it. Better not be late." A light snow starts to fall as I make my way to the Victor's Village. It's about a half-mile walk from the square in the center of town, but it seems like another world entirely. It's a separate community built around a beautiful green, dotted with flowering bushes. There are twelve houses, each large enough to hold ten of the one I was raised in. Nine stand empty, as they always have. The three in use belong to Haymitch, Peeta, and me. The houses inhabited by my family and Peeta give off a warm glow of life. Lit windows, smoke from the chimneys, bunches of brightly colored corn affixed to the front doors as decoration for the upcoming Harvest Festival. However, Haymitch's house, despite the care taken by the grounds-keeper, exudes an air of abandonment and neglect. I brace myself at his front door, knowing it will be foul, then push inside. My nose immediately wrinkles in disgust. Haymitch refuses to let anyone in to clean and does a poor job himself. Over the years the odors of liquor and vomit, boiled cabbage and burned meat, unwashed clothes and mouse droppings have intermingled into a stench that brings tears to my eyes. I wade through a litter of discarded wrappings, broken glass, and bones to where I know I will find Haymitch. He sits at the kitchen table, his arms sprawled across the wood, his face in a puddle of liquor, snoring his head off. I nudge his shoulder. "Get up!" I say loudly, because I've learned there's no subtle way to wake him. His snoring stops for a moment, questioningly, and then resumes. I push him harder. "Get up, Haymitch. It's tour day!" I force the window up, inhaling deep breaths of the clean air outside. My feet shift through the garbage on the floor, and I unearth a tin coffeepot and fill it at the sink. The stove isn't completely out and I manage to coax the few live coals into a flame. I pour some ground coffee into the pot, enough to make sure the resulting brew will be good and strong, and set it on the stove to boil. Haymitch is still dead to the world. Since nothing else has worked, I fill a basin with icy cold water, dump it on his head, and spring out of the way. A guttural animal sound comes from his throat. He jumps up, kicking his chair ten feet behind him and wielding a knife. I forgot he always sleeps with one clutched in his hand. I should have pried it from his fingers, but I've had a lot on my mind. Spewing profanity, he slashes the air a few moments before coming to his senses. He wipes his face on his shirtsleeve and turns to the windowsill where I perch, just in case I need to make a quick exit. "What are you doing?" he sputters. "You told me to wake you an hour before the cameras come," I say. "What?" he says. "Your idea," I insist. He seems to remember. "Why am I all wet?" "I couldn't shake you awake," I say. "Look, if you wanted to be babied, you should have asked Peeta." "Asked me what?" Just the sound of his voice twists my stomach into a knot of unpleasant emotions like guilt, sadness, and fear. And longing. I might as well admit there's some of that, too. Only it has too much competition to ever win out. I watch as Peeta crosses to the table, the sunlight from the window picking up the glint of fresh snow in his blond hair. He looks strong and healthy, so different from the sick, starving boy I knew in the arena, and you can barely even notice his limp now. He sets a loaf of fresh-baked bread on the table and holds out his hand to Haymitch. "Asked you to wake me without giving me pneumonia," says Haymitch, passing over his knife. He pulls off his filthy shirt, revealing an equally soiled undershirt, and rubs himself down with the dry part. Peeta smiles and douses Haymitch's knife in white liquor from a bottle on the floor. He wipes the blade clean on his shirttail and slices the bread. Peeta keeps all of us in fresh baked goods. I hunt. He bakes. Haymitch drinks. We have our own ways to stay busy, to keep thoughts of our time as contestants in the Hunger Games at bay. It's not until he's handed Haymitch the heel that he even looks at me for the first time. "Would you like a piece?" "No, I ate at the Hob," I say. "But thank you." My voice doesn't sound like my own, it's so formal. Just as it's been every time I've spoken to Peeta since the cameras finished filming our happy homecoming and we returned to our real lives. "You're welcome," he says back stiffly. Haymitch tosses his shirt somewhere into the mess. "Brrr. You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime." He's right, of course. The audience will be expecting the pair of lovebirds who won the Hunger Games. Not two people who can barely look each other in the eye. But all I say is, "Take a bath, Haymitch." Then I swing out the window, drop to the ground, and head across the green to my house. The snow has begun to stick and I leave a trail of footprints behind me. At the front door, I pause to knock the wet stuff from my shoes before I go in. My mother's been working day and night to make everything perfect for the cameras, so it's no time to be tracking up her shiny floors. I've barely stepped inside when she's there, holding my arm as if to stop me. "Don't worry, I'm taking them off here," I say, leaving my shoes on the mat. My mother gives an odd, breathy laugh and removes the game bag loaded with supplies from my shoulder. "It's just snow. Did you have a nice walk?" "Walk?" She knows I've been in the woods half the night. Then I see the man standing behind her in the kitchen doorway. One look at his tailored suit and surgically perfected features and I know he's from the Capitol. Something is wrong. "It was more like skating. It's really getting slippery out there." "Someone's here to see you," says my mother. Her face is too pale and I can hear the anxiety she's trying to hide. "I thought they weren't due until noon." I pretend not to notice her state. "Did Cinna come early to help me get ready?" "No, Katniss, it's - " my mother begins. "This way, please, Miss Everdeen," says the man. He gestures down the hallway. It's weird to be ushered around your own home, but I know better than to comment on it. As I go, I give my mother a reassuring smile over my shoulder. "Probably more instructions for the tour." They've been sending me all kinds of stuff about my itinerary and what protocol will be observed in each district. But as I walk toward the door of the study, a door I have never even seen closed until this moment, I can feel my mind begin to race. Who is here? What do they want? Why is my mother so pale? "Go right in," says the Capitol man, who has followed me down the hallway. I twist the polished brass knob and step inside. My nose registers the conflicting scents of roses and blood. A small, white-haired man who seems vaguely familiar is reading a book. He holds up a finger as if to say, "Give me a moment." Then he turns and my heart skips a beat. I'm staring into the snakelike eyes of President Snow.