#'whys that whole chest area blank' girl its 3 am

[suncklet]

girliepop

[blubberingmess]

Ready to comply [Android!Bucky x Fem!reader] chapter 2

*gif not mine*

Chapter summary: You're dizzy drunk last night, though you could vaguely remembered some of what happened. One of them is sticking one of your invention of that poor android's arm, deactivated it in the process.

Previous

It was early in the morning when you woke up with a massive headache, quickly taking the ibuprofen that's resting on your nightstand, although not remebring putting it there before sleeping.

Too tired to think about it, you took the medicine before making your way out of your bedroom.

"Good morning, (Y/n)."

"Son of a bitch! Who the hell are you?!" You screeched, placing a hand on your chest. Eyes still a bit blurry from sleep, you squinted them and saw an android standing still in the middle of your kitchen. Its hand behind its back, standing straight while staring blankly at you.

"Hello (Y/n), my name is... Bucky. Android B107 of CyberStark. Serial number; 103-678-3--" He began reciting his serial number all while scanning you from head to toe, although it looks like his checking you out.

[(Y/n);acquaintance]

[Scanning 'acquaintance'...] [Scanning complete]

[(Y/n);;; vital signs: 14% elevated ; "head"pain level>> 36%]

"Okay-okay! I remember now, fuck." You rubbed your temple while letting out an exasperated sigh. "Your making my headache worse."

["Head"pain level>> 40%]

"You asked me who I was, (Y/n)," Bucky points out matter-of-factly causing you to raise an eyebrow.

You scoffed, giving him a once over. "For an android, you sure are cocky. How long have you been standing there in my kitchen looking like a creep?"

"I've been standing here for approximately five hours, forty-three minutes and sixteen seconds."

You scrunched up your face before rolling your eyes, muttering a small "fucking creep" before making your way towards the stove to cook yourself some breakfast - surprise, surprise.

The android is completely unaffected by your words, turning his heels and started looking around your living area, scanning anything and everything like all androids would when positioned in a new environment.

Bucky is silent as a ghost as he walks around the living room and it slightly makes you uncomfortable knowing there is someone-- an android-- with you right this at moment inside your apartment yet not hearing anything.

It's like you're aware that there's a ghost beside you - it's just silent but it's there.

"So," you started, trying to fill in the silence. "What kind of android are you?" You're his owner right? Might as well get to know the android you've bought.

Bucky looks up from your plastic plant in the corner of the living room, eyes darting to the side to look at you. When he saw your back is faced towards him, he looks back down on the other plant -- this time, it's real-- beside the plastic one while answering your question.

"I'm a protector. My mission is to keep the humans safe."

The pancake you are cooking began to bubble on top and kept your eyes locked onto it as you questioned Bucky. "What? Like a bodyguard of some sort?"

Bucky turn his attention to the coffee table, analyzing the contents scattered on top of it. There's an empty pizza box and a half full uncapped bottle of coke, a bag of empty chips and a few used tissues with grease all over them; obviously from the pizzas and chips.

"You could say that."

His answer slightly surprised you, turning your cheek at him but not looking as your eyes focused on the tiled floor. "What?"

"I am programmed with skills most androids don't have. I am not like the DX line model for my biocomponents are much more advanced and my body can withstand most bullets and harsh climates," he explained whilst gently grabbing a picture frame.

It's a picture of a teenage girl holding the hand of another girl that looks exactly like you; much more younger and small, both smiling brightly at the camera.

[Scanning picture]

[Niki (L/n); age: 38 ;; year of birth: 3014 occupation: model at 'south of CSCV', and also known as Serpent]

[History: Adoptive daughter of (M/n) and (F/n) (L/n).]

"What kind of bullet is the most critical yet you can still handle?" Bucky heard you asked from the kitchen as the words and numbers cleared out in his vision.

".700 Nitro bullets." He answered, placing the frame back exactly where it belongs, like it never been moved in the first place. Bright blue eyes scanning the new information that appears in front that only he could see. His LED flickering from blue to orange then back.

[Searching >> (M/n) (L/n) and (F/n) (L/n)]

[Searching complete]

[(M/n); deceased, (F/n); missing ;; two daughters>> Nicki (L/n) and (Y/n) (L/n)]

"You're kidding me, right?" You flipped the second pancake before turning your whole body around to face your android, crossing your arms over your chest.

[New information found regarding (Y/n);acquaintance >> surname: (L/n)]

Bucky simply stares back at you with his usual blank, calculating eyes. "I am not," he replied.

"And CyberStark is planning on selling androids like you to the public?" That's downright stupid and dangerous. If an android like him gets into the wrong hands, who knows what could happened.

"It seems so." Bucky must've finished scanning your whole entire living room as he just stands there in the middle of the room. His arms behind his back and his posture straight as ever, awaiting to assist you if needed.

He doesn't really have to do that. You don't own him, he just followed you out of the store for reasons unknown to him. You're just the person who bought it... by force, too caught up on being drunk to actually know-- remeber-- what you've done.

You whistled, turning your attention back at your pancake. Not to your surprise, it's slightly burnt.

"Anything else I need to know about your model?"

Bucky answered without any hesitation. "As a prototype, CyberStark built me with two thirium pumps and if the public and the government ever approve with my model, CyberStark will change the design to the usual one thirium pump paper android like the normal android design." A pause. "I am also programmed to be able to engage on sexual intercourse."

"Fucking hell, a personal bodyguard and also a sex android? That's what I call 'safe and satisfied'," you smirked, picking up your plate of pancakes and began making your way to the living room.

You really have to try that later

You plopped down on your couch and started stuffing your face with your maple syrup drenched pancakes. It's not the best but you could care less.

Bucky's eyes follows you, not noticing the small click that sounded like a camera the moment he blinked his eyes.

"How much did I paid for you? A million?" You laughed. "My sister would be pissed!"

Bucky watched as you stuff your face with the greasy looking pancakes, contemplating if he should tell the truth about you not actually paying for anything-- basically stealing him from the shop-- or not.

"Wait, you said you're a prototype." You slowly chewed on your food, lifting up your head to look at him with a horrified look plastered on your face as the realization sets in.

"Oh shit. You're the prototype.... Oh, fuck, please tell me I'm wrong."

You're dizzy drunk last night, though you could vaguely remembered some of what happened. One of them is sticking one of your invention of that poor android's arm, deactivated it in the process.

Poor android, only doing it's job.

"You are correct." Bucky nodded his head before asking politely, "Is there something wrong?"

You were about to retort when a sound of loud knocking cuts you off before you can even open your mouth, making the two of you snaps your heads towards the door.

You cursed under your breath and moved your plate on top of the pizza box considering there's no more room to place it in the coffee table, and cautiously made your way to the door.

Glancing at the small screen attached to your door, you saw two men wearing suits and ties with matching sunglasses. One of them knocked a few more times before stepping back, both looking up where the small camera is placed, waiting patiently.

Bucky immediately goes and stood behind you, hands to his side and chest puffs out as he waits for your next move or his built in instinct, really.

Opening the door where only half of your face could be seen from the outside, you greeted the two men in suits. More like snapped a harsh, "What?"

Fuck being polite, they look sketchy as hell.

"We just wanted to ask you if you have a B107 android inside?" The bald one asked, his tone monotonous and gruff.

It took you all the willpower to keep your eyes at the two, silently hoping they wouldn't see the tall android behind you.

"Never heard about that model before. New?" You casually asked, resuming your act of innocence.

"Can we look inside?" The other man asked, ignoring your question. If it weren't for the lack of LED on their temples, you would've thought they were androids.

Unless they removed it, but you doubt they would do such thing. Only deviants have the 'guts' to physical remove their LEDs, which considered as a symbol of enslavement.

The revolution between humans and androids happened decades ago, androids are set free and finally have their own rights. Some became deviants, but some stayed the same; stone-faced, unsentimental machines.

But the two men in front of you, they look like they work for someone and you are certain it's not for CyberStark. You instantly knew because they don't have those shiny CyberStark logo pins.

"Why? I just told you, I never heard about a B107 before."

"Let us inside or we let ourselves in by force."

This is the moment you knew that they knew what you've done, that you have the android they are looking for.

"Fuck you," you growled before slamming the door shut, emergency locking it.

You quickly took Bucky's hand and sprint inside your bedroom, also locking it behind you. You grab your backpack from the hook behind your door and run towards your desk where your laptop, small gadgets, and inventions are messily set, shoving all of them as fast as you can.

The android analyzed your frantic movement, on guard as he quickly noted that the two men from outside are a threat.

"Bucky, let's go!"

"Where are we going, (Y/n)?" He calmly asked, tilting his head to the side.

You opened the window and slipped a leg out, glaring harshly at the android. "I don't know, but hopefully not in jail."

You both heard the front door slammed open and two sets of heavy footsteps sprinting towards your room.

Your heart jumps in fright and screamed at the android who is still calmly standing inside your room. Is he serious? Did you just bought a defective prototype of an android?!

"Come on you fucking scrap meta--" Your breath hitched when you saw one of his eyes quickly turned bright orange.

Bang!

🎧 Bang! bang! Into the room, I know you want it 🎶

[beerecordings]

Poison - Chapter 4

(Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3)

This is the chapter that made me think “yeah, I would have to rate this mature on ao3.” PLEASE be careful with trigger warnings for death, gun violence, blood, convulsions, vomit mention, and major abuse.

Should be a couple more chapters after this one. Hope you enjoy :)

It's been months since Marvin saw Chase.

He remembers an absent-minded goodbye, his hand drifting across Chase's shoulder as he moved towards the kitchen for an early morning cup of coffee. Chase was too eager to wait around for further farewells. He hadn't slept all last night in his excitement to see Izzy and Hunter again, and his face was flushed red with joy, his fingers gripping at the black backpack straps around his shoulders and hugging the stuffed presents he bought them to his chest.

Marvin's fairly sure he was the only one who had a chance to say goodbye to him before he was gone. It wasn't til the next day that they realized he never made it to Stacy's.

And then, without a trace, he was gone.

Until today. Until now.

“Chase?” he whispers. “Is it you?”

The body Anti wears is skeletal, worn down to bones and slate-colored skin, so thin his fingers look almost fleshless. Blue and brown eyes sit, mismatched, in a face steadily hollowing out, somewhere between snow white and smoke grey. Chase's mouth is calm and thin, his tired gaze nevertheless watchful, a gun clutched stiffly, painfully, in his hand.

He meets Marvin's eyes for just a moment, and then, with steady, ferocious, murderer's hands, Cottonmouth takes her shot at the monster coming down the stairs.

Her aim is perfect. She does not shake. She does not hesitate.

The bullet never hits.

Anti vanishes and reappears in a flicker of an eighth-second, closer to her now, and she takes a couple steps back, shocked, stunned, but not as shocked as Marvin.

He is in the break between his convulsions, but now it is the sight of him that freezes him to aching, petrified stone. It takes him a long time to open that bloodied mouth, to breathe through his swollen throat, and to choke out, like the prayer of a dying man, the only two words left in the world that matters in the slightest.

“Chase! Chase! Chase, amata!”

“What the fuck are you?” shrieks Cottonmouth, aiming the gun again. She shoots and Chase's body is gone again, vanishing in a spasm of red and green and blue and yellow light, exploding back into existence on the other side of the room, with colors falling off him like stray coding.

“I am a great many things,” says his mouth. He turns an empty gaze to Marvin.

“Chase?” whispers his aching, struggling throat. “Carissima?”

“Oh, Carissima,” repeats his savior flatly. “Look, listen, he still loves me.”

A giggle echoes around Marvin's head and he shivers, staring at the man, who does not move, does not smile, only stares, the gun held loose in his hands.

“Silly cat,” Chase continues, tilting his head at him. His face has all the emotion of a beach full of clean sand, like the water has withdrawn, and the rocks were carried away, and nothing hides beneath its surface.

“Is it really you?” chokes Marvin. Hot tears spill down his face. “Or is it Anti?”

His black baseball cap is tugged down low, mussing the exhausted yellow fringe at the end of his stiff curls. His eyes are empty – no color, no pupil, like cataracts have swallowed his irises whole. Heavy white strings dangle from the sleeves of his filthy winter coat, tight enough that his fingers are faintly blue, and struggle to clutch the gun properly.

“I'm not anyone,” he replies, in a voice like a wind dying down. “I'm not anything anymore.”

He wipes a little of Killian's blood off his over-sized camo-green jacket and moves forward, staring Cottonmouth's gun in the face.

“Who the hell are you?” she snarls. “You're nothing like fucking Blue Mask.”

“'Who the hell are you?'” repeats Chase's mouth, taunting, his voice high-pitched and erratic. Marvin whimpers, recoiling from a sound distinctly Antiseptic. “Look, a little girl with a coke addiction and no baby daddy to kiss her good night. You think cat's blood is going to make you feel any better, child?”

“Shut the fuck up!” she screams, and the blast of her gun explodes through the prison room once again, only for Anti to disappear and re-appear, the bandages wrapped around his throat beginning to soak red, a wide smile on Chase's face.

“How did you know that? How are you doing that? I'll fucking kill you!”

“Oh, Marianne! I know everything about you! You think you just get to scoop my big brother off the streets and feed him goddamn rodent killer without having to worry about me? No, no, no, little girl. Blue Mask should never have scared you. No one you've ever bought snow off of or hired as a thug or paid to hide your enemies' bodies should have ever scared you. Not compared to me.”

“Twink-ass bitch boys with power complexes don't scare me.”

Her voice is the hiss of a snake on the defense, but still she makes herself laugh, finding her smile again, her eyes wildly lit, her long hair disarrayed in sweaty curls around her face.

“Okay,” says Anti flatly. “Now that was just rude.”

She aims that gun again – futile, desperate, snarling, laughing. “I'm going to bite the meat off your fingers and cook the bones into acid.”

“All talk, child. All fucking talk.”

“Fine, then,” answers Cottonmouth, drawing from her inside coat pocket a long silver machete, fat and gleaming. Her eyes meet Anti's in the glow of a shared and entirely insane light. “No more chatting.”

She cuts forward knife swinging.

Anti shrieks with joy and vanishes, appearing beside her and yanking a blade out of thin air, meeting her blow as she turns. He brings the gun up and it is Cottonmouth's turn to disappear, leaping aside before the bullet can tear her apart and striking like a viper at his head. Anti ducks the blow and lashes out at her legs, knocking her backwards and leaping up to pounce on her, only to catch a heavy slash on his arm. He lets out a short cry, so much like Chase's voice that it makes Marvin gasp, and stumbles back a little, laughing as blood soaks through his split jacket. Cottonmouth leaps back to her feet and then –

A gunshot.

She screams, a short burst of agony from her lip-sticked mouth. Marvin stares in horror at her shattered knee, the bone destroyed by Chase's perfect aim and Anti's perfect hatred. She crumples, Anti surges forward, he has her by the hair, shoving away the machete and the gun, and then –

“Anti, don't kill her, don't kill her!”

Anti points the gun at her head.

“Little girls shouldn't play with things that belong to me.”

To her credit, the Cottonmouth never screams, never cries out, barely even trembles. Looking her death in the face, she turns her eyes up to Marvin.

Faintly, on her mouth, a smile.

Hatred in wild eyes.

Marvin's ears ring from the closeness of the gunshot and Marianne's body crumples at his feet.

For a long time, he just lies limp in his chains, eyes closed, tears slipping down his face.

And Anti waits.

Anti waits for him to look up again.

Marvin seizes once, twice. There is, by now, perhaps a minute between each convulsion. He had never known that exhaustion can hurt this badly.

“This,” he whispers finally, with a mouth that drips blood. “Is horrible.”

“Yeah,” sighs Anti, swiping blood from his cheeks and stepping forward, that white-ocean blankness burning like static hell in his eyes. “Really not your best day, old friend.”

----------------

“No, no,” mumbles Jackie. “This isn't right.”

His eyes roam the walls for hints to tell him he's dreaming or dead. The cold slatted wood of the apartment stares back at him without feeling. It has nothing to hide, and nothing to tell.

“This isn't right,” he repeats.

Soft, stained carpet presses up against his boots. Toothpaste mint smell and a faint fume of blood wafts through his nose. Computers buzz softly beside the wounded old mattress puffing out fatly with cotton and wire.

“This can't be where Anti's been keeping him. It's too...”

“Jackie.”

Max's hand comes to sit on his shoulder. Jackie reaches up to clutch it, not sure why he can't seem to focus all of a sudden. Not sure why there are tears in his eyes.

“It's too normal,” he croaks. “Max, your intel must be wrong. This isn't where Anti and Chase have been living.”

“My best guys tracked him back here. Saw where he was in that picture, guessed at a couple places he might have come from, called in at a couple residencies asking after him. Owner here recognized the description, gave us a room number, and then we checked the security footage. This is where Chase was this morning, Jackie, and he's the only one the apartment owner is aware of who lives here. He's been here for months. Anti's just hidden him well.”

Jackie breathes hot, hissing air through his teeth and stalks forward to begin tearing up the apartment again, drawing a low sigh from a worried Max. Yanking open blank cabinets of the cramped, empty brown kitchen area and scrabbling at the corners of shitty carpet flooring, Jackie searches for any sign of the things he expected – Chase's hair, maybe, bloodied clumps of it in the bathroom, confirming that he has been thrown around and forced through whatever torments might take Anti's interest at the time, but there is nothing but quiet beard trimmings scattered around the sink.

Or chains, maybe! Why are there no chains? No rope to bind his little brother up like a dog, trapping him in this single-room apartment, leaving him to dangle by his wrists or be shoved into the closet all day, cramped and aching? Where are the muzzles, the ropes, the torture weapons and car batteries? Why is there nothing but a couple old bracelets Jackie knows Chase was wearing the day he lost him, set gently down on the windowsill?

Or there should be – oh, Jackie doesn't know – powerful sedatives or opioids to keep Chase docile and weak, maybe, scattered around the drawers to be used when his poor little brother resisted too much or too long, but there is nothing Jackie recognizes except a box of cheap band-aids and a finished bottle of Chase's Cymbalta still sitting sadly on the counter.

Jackie picks up the bottle in his hand. It feels like a tiny little doll or something pressed between his palm like this. He got him this prescription with some forged documents and a couple pushes to see him off to a therapist, and he remembers Chase telling him he liked the symbolism of it more than anything else – putting the tiny pill on his tongue every morning like a promise: “Another day and I'm still trying. Another day and I still refuse to let this kill me. Another day and I'll keep taking my medicine, and this will never beat me.”

A promise. A promise. His little brother, a fighter.

“Why wouldn't Anti throw this away?” Jackie whispers, rotating the bottle in his hand. “Why does Anti still have so many of his things? Why is there no sign of the struggle? I know he must be struggling. I know. Max, something's wrong.”

That warm, sturdy hand returns to his shoulder. “Jackie,” he says. “Look at these, shoved beneath the mattress.”

In Max's hand, there is a tiny lime-green journal and two stained, squished, sorrowful little stuffed animals.

“Oh, oh,” cries Jackie, taking them from him and holding them in his hands. “Presents for Hunt and Izzy. He was going to see them.”

A once perfectly rotund, chunky seal plushie has been flattened into a weary little pancake. The little purple dragon is no better off, its long neck askew and its pink ribbon of a tongue flopping out of its smiling mouth.

“Maybe Anti used them to upset Chase,” suggests Max.

Jackie tears open the journal, desperate for an explanation, stepping in circles around the room as he devours snippets of page after page, flickering through as fast as he can.

“Jack's name is all over, too,” Max points out, scanning the ceiling and the walls of the room. “Just in marker, sometimes, but sometimes scratched in. I think you were right, he's been looking for him all along. But he never found him.”

Jackie can't even hear him over the rushing of his blood pumping rapid through his head.

“Max,” he chokes. “Max.”

“Yeah?”

Jackie's shaking hands can barely hold the journal.

I didn't know it would fucking hurt! Stupid fucking boy! I can't extricate myself anymore! I think this is a fucking curse, I think the Cat must have warded this body, or maybe I rushed in too fast, but I can feel myself changing and I don't know what to do! What is happening to me? What is happening? I can't hear Chase resisting anymore, I just feel repulsed by my own presence, and I can't stop thinking about the things that Chase loved.

He tears to another section.

My mind is being devoured. I was Anti yesterday and Chase before that but I can't remember who I am today. I think they used to want different things but now I can't think at all and I don't know my name. I can't tell why the body is suffering but I can see my skin getting so white. I want to eat but the last time I tried I expelled everything within the hour and the vomit burned at me and the body fainted and brought my mind down too. Being unconscious confuses me for reasons I can't understand and I do not sleep. I think that is why the body grows so heavy. So heavy. So heavy. I want to be torn apart.

Max is trying to take it from him, calling his name, but Jackie can't be pulled away.

Where are my brothers? Where's Jack? I don't know why I want them. I killed a girl today and it made the body start to cry and laugh at the same time. I started to hurt, like the brain was insisting there was a wound or a sickness, but I cleaned my flesh for hours and couldn't find an injury. I think I'm dying and I'm afraid. I woke up crying for the doctor today but nobody came and I think if he had been there I would have slit his fucking throat open stupid doctor boy stupid body let me go I can't get free anymore I don't know who I am or what's happening I think I am going to die and I am afraid –

Jackie's ringtone explodes into the air, finally yanking him from his reverie, and he drops the book, gasping.

“Jackie! Are you okay?”

Setting a hand on Max's shoulder to reassure him – despite an internal panic as wide as the Nile – Jackie yanks his phone out of his pocket and tries not to be afraid by the contact name “ZE GOOD DOCTAH” lighting up his screen.

“Schneep! What's wrong? Is Marvin still – ”

“Jackie,” croaks Henrik, and Jackie stiffens hard, digging his nails into Max's shoulder.

“Okay. Okay. Whatever's wrong, it's going to be okay.”

“Jackie – Jackie – ”

“I know, bud, I know, just tell me.”

“Come home,” Henrik demands, a gasp in his voice. “Come home now. Bring a car.”

This tone of voice does not take further questions. Jackie closes his phone and sprints from the apartment where Anti has kept his brother prisoner within his own flesh for months now, skipping the elevator and charging down the stairs.

“Follow me in the car,” he shouts to Max, and then he is racing onto the pavement and slinging his body onto Chase's old bike, pulling on his helmet and shoving the keys into the ignition.

Traffic laws and the police car following behind him be damned, he's getting home faster than anybody has ever raced down these streets.

And the only thought in his head for the whole seven minutes and forty-three second drive?

Henrik just saw Marvin die. Henrik must have just seen Marvin die. Henrik was watching. Henrik, his sentry. Henrik just saw Marvin die.

But nothing is as he expected it when he reaches home.

He lets the motorcycle tumble onto the pavement, racing into the house.

“Jackie?” calls Henrik, and Jackie is darting down the hall towards his voice, tearing open Marvin's door and coming to stand at the end of the bed, his footsteps slowing, slowing, freezing as he stares.

Star-silver light makes halos in Jameson's eyes.

“Schneep,” whispers Jackie. “What's – ?”

“He woke some sort of power up,” Henrik replies, in a hush like a twilight.

That much Jackie can see. He remembers the first night he saw his first little brother wake him up with eyes glowing like lanterns, crying about a power he didn't know how to control. Yes, he has known the blue light in Marvin's eyes a hundred times over, and felt power make stiff and heavy the air around them, just as it does now. Jackie steps closer, standing before JJ, keeping him safe in his shadow.

“He says he can see where Marvin is. Can see the path he took last night and the possibilities that are before him now. We need to go where he tells us.”

A soft and shuddering breath passes between Jameson's teeth, his eyes fluttering shut. Henrik is holding him up, his arms hugging his shoulders, his hand squeezed in JJ's so tightly it will soon be blue.

Jackie crouches down beside the bed and takes Jameson's other hand, reaching up to touch his face, coaxing the light in his eyes to turn back towards him. James looks down at him, trying to straighten up at the sight of Jackie, pressing his fingers into the strong bones of his brother's white hands.

“Doing okay, Jay?” murmurs Jackie.

Jameson nods.

“Does it hurt, buddy?”

“No,” he shakes his head, pressing on Jackie's hands as he tries to rise. Henrik helps him get up, but the hand crushing his own has begun to be as much for his own comfort as it is for JJ's.

“Jameson,” says Jackie. “Can you take me to Marv?”

Jameson finds his footing and straightens up with Jackie, tilting up his chin. His eyes glow. He's always shone like a star to Jackie anyway.

“Yes, Jackie,” he says. “I promise.”

He cuts through the overwhelming world and Jackie's tired face rises into a smile. He knocks his head against JJ's and gives a strand of his hair a teasing yank, pushing him towards the door.

“Go get your shoes on! Max will take us in the car. Schneep, let me get a look at the livestream so I know what we're dealing with and then let's get the hell out of here! We got thirty minutes and a brother to find!”

He whirls eagerly on Henrik, but his brother is unmoving, staring down at the carpet.

“Schneep?”

Henrik bobs his head in a nod.

“What's wrong? Can I... did we lose the livestream?”

“Um.” Henrik wipes at his glasses, sniffing. “It was... cut off.”

“What? Why would she do that?”

“It wasn't her.”

“What do you mean?”

Henrik continues cleaning his glasses, never looking up.

“Schneep. Henrik. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Someone found him first, Jackie.”

“What? Who?”

“Who do you fucking think?”

Suddenly Henrik is shouting and Jackie flinches, reaching forward to grab his hands before he can crush his glasses.

“Who do you fucking think? Who’s always fucking haunting us? Stalking my family from a shadow that never dies away with the sun, hunting us like foxes!“

His voice breaks. Jackie takes his glasses from him and grabs his chin, forcing him to look up.

And if Jameson's eyes shine with power, well, Henrik's bubble up with deep blue grief, a bitterness twisted on his mouth and terror shaking earthquakes into his steady doctor's hands.

“He’s wearing Chase,” Henrik sobs. “Jackie, Jackie, you have to make him stop, he’s wearing Chase. If you had seen him - if you had seen him - oh, Jackie, he is like a dead man already.”

Jackie barely hears him. He is already stepping from the room, unable to breathe, his mind fixed on his tortured, stolen, poisoned, poisoned, poisoned little brothers, waiting on him to save them.

He doesn’t intend to fail.

------------------

“Anti?” asks Marvin. “Are you going to kill me?”

His rescuer stares back at him. Dazed, exhausted, hurting, Marvin does his best to look back.

“Anti,” he says, again, louder now. “Are you going to kill me? What, you don’t have an answer? Anti, what have you done to yourself?”

Anti has none of his usual wild glee, none of his intensity. He stands before Marvin with his body slack and his eyes slightly glazed, those strung up fingers twitching, that grey face hollow as a lightning-struck tree.

“Anti,” repeats his rescuer distantly. “Anti?”

“Yes,” snaps Marvin, baring his teeth. “That's your fucking name, isn't it? Or what, you really are some fucked-up, puppet version of my little brother? Huh? My little heart? Tell me honest this time, you horrible little virus – Chase or Anti?”

At this, a flicker of confusion betrays his apathy, and he purses his lips, reaching up to play absent-mindedly with a string of Marvin's hair, curling it around his finger. Marvin recoils, wheezing.

“Chase or Anti?” he repeats, cocking his head at him. “Chase or Anti? I think maybe there was a difference once.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” chokes Marvin, trying to breathe through his fear. Tears are running down his face so fast he'd be blinded even if he could make his stiff eyes move. “What have you done to my little brother?”

Anti – Marvin has to think of him as Anti, he cannot believe it is Chase – hums distantly and drums his fingers along the barrel of the gun, considering. “Don't worry for us,” he says, in a voice felt-soft. “It was frightening at first, but now there's just us. Now there's just us, and you.”

Marvin spits at his feet, feeling the convulsions beginning again, and fear comes pounding through his head. “You've worn his body so long you've forgotten you're not him,” he shrieks, as his shoulders begin to tug him up, and his jaw begins to chew, and his arms, like sticks, refuse to support him. “You're just a fucking parasite, puppeting his body because you don't have your own – ”

Anti slaps him so hard he bites his tongue clean through, and then he is seizing. He chokes desperately, trying to scream, his eyes suspended motionless in his skull, his face turning blue, and Anti resumes his patient speech while Marvin writhes.

“Try not to be so rude,” he snips, shoving greasy hair which has lost all of its curl out of his mismatched eyes. “I have feelings, you know! Anyway, I was just stalking you.”

He leans down to push Cottonmouth's body away from Marvin's feet, the better to watch him spasm. “I was bored. I've been hearing about people looking for you and the other... um...”

He pauses, confused. Blood courses down Marvin's chin.

“Jackie,” he remembers, clapping his hands together, a moment of distress flickering over his face. “Lately I think so much at once it's like I can't think at all... you and Jackie, anyway, people have been looking for you. Something about revenge and murder and true crime, I guess, it was all pretty cool. Some people started watching you, I started watching them – and then, what do you know! I wake up one morning and pick up on this magnificent broadcast.”

Marvin can't breathe. Marvin is dying. He can't take any more of this.

“Ch-ay-ay-ase,” he sobs, as the relaxation finally fucking comes back. “Chase, help me, h-help me...”

Anti's eyes flicker.

He stills, watching him, his mouth slightly parted.

“Chase, Chase,” moans Marvin, well past caring what Anti thinks. “Amata, adiuva me, it hurts, it hurts! S-stella amata, little brother...”

“Marvin,” mumbles Anti – no, Chase, Marvin has to think of him as Chase, Marvin cannot think of him as Anti, not when he says his name so gently, not when his eyes are ringed so deeply in exhausted grey, and the soft pads of his bloodied fingers come up, slow, to touch Marvin's shattered cheek –

“It's going to be okay,” he soothes, and Marvin dissolves into tears, spasming in his chains, choking through his swollen throat. “Aren't you so grateful little brother saved you?”

“Let me down, let me down,” begs Marvin. “Please, I can't take any more of this, just let me down to die.”

“Now where would the fun be in that?” answers Chase, his voice suddenly cold, his eyes very dark.

“Why is this happening, what has he done to you...”

“You're really dying, aren't you? This is so strange, I feel... shaky... I thought this one was excitement, but maybe it is distress... it's so difficult for me to sort them...”

Marvin stares at him, unable to move his stiff eyes away and trying hard to keep his gaze focused on him, on something, on anything. “You're... you're crying.”

He is. He stands quiet before Marvin, his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, his calm mouth slightly parted, one eye brown, one eye blue, both glittering with tears.

“We cry often,” he says softly. “I used to try and make us stop... then I began to cry too. It was so scary. I had never cried before. Now we cry often, because I... I can't... I... Marvin...”

His eyes drift away with his words. Tears drizzle down his face, turning red as they meet Cottonmouth's blood, sprayed across his chin and mouth.

“I think I'm losing great parts of myself,” he mumbles thickly. “I think I am killing great parts of myself. I can't remember who I was before this. I just wanted... a body? Or was it to go see my children? My babies...”

“Stop, stop,” Marvin chokes, quivering in his chains, his mouth full of hatred and bile and love all together. “Stop pretending to be him! Fuck you. Let me die, Anti!”

Anti – Chase – he closes his eyes and breathes in deep, shaking his head slightly. “I lose focus so easily. We were talking. I was here to see you die. Did she tell you three hours? Nah, you've got more than that, dude. Look, this strychnine concentration is so low I'm surprised it turns the gophers into corpses. Besides, if you were really dying, you wouldn't be chatting, now would you?”

Marvin is beginning to miss the silent and staring version of Anti.

“You're being such a baby. Depending how hard you fight, you could make it another forty, fifty minutes? I mean, probably your little organs in your tummy are pretty fucked up, but you're still a little while away from dropping absolutely dead. Right? I think I read that. I'm doing my research right now and the internet's shitty down here in the basement. But the others are on their way, so we shouldn't wait.”

“The others?” gasps Marvin.

“Well, I think,” answers his little brother, glancing around the room, his eyes settling on the green bottle of gopher poison, standing up beside Cottonmouth's drink on the table. “Don't know for certain, but knowing our brothers, yeah, dude, they'll be here soon enough.”

He reaches out for the gopher poison – and then pauses, and takes the tea instead. Marvin watches through confused, blurry eyes as his tongue darts out to taste the droplets on the opening of the lid. He gives a small chirp of satisfaction and then throws the whole cup back, his throat working eagerly to quench its thirst. Turning to the almonds and tearing open the bag with long-nailed fingers and lighted eyes, Marvin is reminded of some sort of feverish raccoon tearing through the alleyway trash at two in the morning. He shoves a couple in his mouth and hums as he licks salt off his hands, pushing the bag into his backpack and then zipping it up tight again.

“I've remembered what I came for,” he announces, clapping his hands together. “Or I think so anyway! I want – okay, firstly – an answer to the deal I offered the big red one.”

“You're losing your fucking mind,” chokes Marvin. “What deal?”

“Well, I gave it to Red, or I think it was me, anyway. I offered a deal. I said I would give him back this body in exchange for one thing – Jack's location.”

For all that his mind is scrambled, split somewhere between Anti and Chase, that name has never disappeared. That obsession has never disappeared. Jack's location. Jack's coma. Jack, Chase's friend, Jack, Anti's creator, the one that damned him from the start.

Marvin didn't know that Anti offered Jackie anything in exchange for Chase. But it doesn't for a second matter to him. He trusts Jackie. He's always trusted Jackie. With his life, with Chase's, with Jack's. And he knows, immediately, the answer that Jackie would give.

“The reason you never got a reply is because he would never dignify that sort of bullshit with a response.”

Marvin's head is spinning. If this is the last of his strength, he's proud to use it defending his friend.

“You will never find Jack. You will never use Chase as currency for anything. You are falling apart, Anti, splicing yourself into Chase's brain just for one desperate moment of feeling like a body belongs to you. You've forgotten who you are. But don't worry, little brother. Some day Jackie's going to remind you of exactly what you are – a sick, twisted, hateful little murderer who chose to live in agony a long fucking time ago.”

Anti screams and strikes Marvin again, and, oh, yes, no more games, Marvin knows that it is Anti's fury that drives a blow like that, no matter how much he looks like Chase, no matter how deeply he has seeped into his little brother's head. Marvin knows what poison feels like.

“I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill you!” Anti is shrieking, tears flooding down his face, red, now, with hatred and despair, but it no longer matters to Marvin. He can barely feel the blows. Everything has dissipated into this far away agony, buzzing at the tips of his fingers, and he's afraid, but only because he's thinking of Jackie, and Henrik, and JJ, and his tortured, tortured Chase. Oh, but they'll have to grieve for him. They'll have to find him like this. They'll have to bury his body.

He never meant to leave them with this burden. He never meant to leave them at all.

Goodbye, my brothers, I hope you know I loved you, better than anything, better than I knew it was possible to love anything or anyone. I hope to see you again one day, in a place where the sun always shines and we are all of us safe... I hope I get the chance to hold you then, one more time and then a thousand more. I love you, I love you. Goodbye.

Something slams into Anti, halfway tackling him away from Marvin, a furious, airy little snarl accompanying Anti's shout of surprise. Marvin no longer has the strength to look up. His delirium is so hot now that he can't seem to put a coherent sentence together even in his head – apologies and final words and cries of pain whirl through his brain like somebody broke a washing machine and can't get it to stop spinning.

Faintly, he makes out a fight close at hand – Jameson pressing Anti to the ground, the gun kicked meters away and the machete pinned down to the cold concrete floor. Jameson hisses and shoves his long silver knife to the bandages at Anti's throat, drawing a stain of blood from his Adam's apple. His body spasms impossibly as he tries to glitch, but Jamie just whistles a shrill warning and presses the knife in tighter, making Anti choke and still. If he weren't wearing Chase, he would be dead already. Jameson's teeth are bared in a wild snarl and his eyes shine like stars.

To Marvin, all he is is a blur of silver light. He can taste his little brother's power in the air, but his brain doesn't connect it to JJ himself, and he shivers and turns his face away, afraid to be burned by the light.

“Marvin, Marvin, here I am, here I am. Oh, my brother. It's done, Marvin, it's done. I'm right here. I got you, I got you. Jackie, help me get him down.”

“I'm coming. Jay, keep him pinned,” calls a stronger voice yet. “Max, is there an ambulance coming?”

“I can't get any signal down here. I'll go radio for them upstairs.”

“Okay, okay. Here, bud, I got you, I got you.”

Arms wrap around Marvin's body, and he lets out a short, frightened cry – but then his chained hands are lifted up and oh, mercy of mercies, he is taken down from the hook that holds his straining body up.

Warm arms encircle him and carry him to the ground, cradling his head. He can almost breathe deep again! He can almost move! Maybe if he weren't so tired. All he can do is draw shallow, weary breaths through lips blood-stained and dry. He feels horribly swollen, like he is already a dead thing, and the stiffness is so painful he can no longer describe it in a meaningful way – he is wooden now, trapped within his own bones, aching to be free, motionless, it feels, for days and days and days.

And then – his cards!

A small cry of joy rises from his aching lips and someone gives a shaky, relieved little laugh as he clutches at the pack of cards pressed against his chest. Energy rushes through him – oh, almost painful, too much all at once. He sits back and tries to breathe through it, his fingers searching for the warm, healing magic of his hearts. Now that the cards have freed his magic, he hopes for a little relief before he dies after all. Maybe even some purification. He doesn't want his body to be so tortured for his brothers to find.

A cool, needle-less plastic syringe touches his lips, but he does his best to push it away with trembling fingers, trying to smile an apology at his captors. He can't drink with his throat so swollen. He's scared to choke. Don't make him. Let him go, please. He's ready for this to be over. A deep sigh falls from his aching mouth and he sinks back in the arms of the person holding him.

“Marvin, you have to take it.”

The syringe is back on his mouth. He groans, shifting wearily.

“Marvin. Marvin, hey! I need you to focus, please, you have to work with me. Jackie, pass me my – yes, thank you.”

A cold circle of metal touches Marvin's breast and he grumbles, hurting, trying to press back against the hands that hold it down to listen to his heartbeat.

“Is he going to be okay, Schneep?”

There's no answer. The cold metal moves down his chest. Someone's breathing has picked up above him.

“Schneep?”

“I – I don't know, I – ”

“What do you mean you don't know? We found him before three hours were up. That's enough! That has to be enough! Cottonmouth said he had three hours, it's only been two hours, forty-four minutes and – ”

“Give him the relaxant. Just – give him the relaxant.”

The syringe returns to his mouth. Marvin hisses, anguish mixing up with his pain. Leave him alone to die! Please! Why are they so insistent on him drinking it, anyway?

He cracks his eyes open and sees that it is not water that is being offered him. Dark and ichorous, it swirls before his mouth.

Someone shoves the syringe deep into the back of his throat and begins to push the liquid in.

“No!” he shrieks, trying to shove it out of his mouth. “No, no, no more poison!”

“It's not poison! Marv, stop!”

He is pinned to the ground by an earthquake's worth of pressure, making his spasming muscles burn with pain. Everything is bright, everything is loud, everything is painful, and he is not taking any more fucking poison. He's not fucking drinking that. They'll have to kill him before he takes any more of this shit. His hands tighten around the cards laid on his chest, something waking up inside him. Power warm as getting back into bed crashes through his stomach like a purifier, but it won't matter if his magic is trying to save him if someone is just shoving more fucking poison in his mouth! No!

He drops the Jack of Hearts and clutches at a Club. He doesn't need to look at it – he can feel the harsh burn of angrier magic. His eyes flicker open and his teeth snap around the syringe.

Henrik barely has time to register the bright blue glow in his brother's eyes before something explodes in his face.

Jackie lets out a scream in his stead as Henrik recoils from Marvin's side so hard he goes crashing to the ground, gripping at his face, unable to stop a ragged gasp falling from his mouth as hot, hot, hot iron magic burns into his cheek. Jackie is grabbing at him, trying to get a look at the burn, but Henrik can only clutch at his face, shocked tears coursing down his cheeks as the Six of Clubs burns, burns, burns deeper and deeper into his flesh.

“Max!” Jackie is shouting, looking up the stairs. “Where's the fucking ambulance? Marvin, stop!”

But Marvin is not listening.

He can feel nothing now but poison.

Throughout him. Filling up his blood. Without him. Spilled across the floor. Around him. He can feel a darkness. He can even feel somebody else's poison.

Underneath Jameson's hands, a being of pure poison.

Chase's heart beats weakly beneath his starving ribs, his face hollowed out with hunger and stress, his skin slicked in somebody else's blood and his face contorted in hatred.

“Amata,” croaks Marvin. “Chase...”

His whole body is shadowed by a heavy black poison.

And he cannot escape it alone.

How can he die knowing his little brother is in that much pain!

“P-purity,” he mumbles, pulling the King of Hearts from his deck with shaking fingers. A blue glow ignites in Marvin's eyes, to match the fervent silver of his little brother's across the room. “A spell for... a spell for purity...”

“No, no!” someone cries. “You don't have the strength! Please, no spells! You will die!”

Arms wrap around him, holding him tight despite the heat burning against his flesh, and he hears someone breathing close to him – crying close to him. Oh, Henrik's familiar hands, clutching at his shoulders, Henrik's head pressed against his own, his little brother hiding against his shoulder, whimpering for him to stop...

“Please, please.”

He's so tired. He's so tired of being scared all the time. He needs to have a happy ending for once.

The glow cools in magnificent eyes. Marvin pants, clutching at Henrik's hands, dazed. Hurting, hurting, hurting.

“Henrik,” he tries to say, but he cannot get his mouth to move. His swollen throat wheezes desperately. His heart races like a horse. “Henrik, this hurts.”

“Sh, sh, don't try to talk. I've got you, I know. I know. Let me make it better. Please, let me do it, Marvin, Marvin. Don't let me lose my big brother. Just trust me. Just put the card down.”

Marvin is sinking down against him, the energy draining out of him.

“Let me handle it, let me take care of you, it's me... the good doctor... or I'm trying to be... don't you trust me, Marvin? Don't you still believe in me?”

Ah, his Henrik. His brother.

Marvin drops his cards. One remains hovering in the air, the King of Hearts glowing with the power he summoned, but he stops trying to use it. He will let Henrik do the purifying for him – his little brother is right that he does not have the strength to be casting spells for his own healing or for Chase's. He has to trust his little scientist.

Henrik lets out a low, croaking cry of relief, holding onto Marvin's shoulders. Jackie crashes into the two of them, wrapping them both in his arms again. For a second, Marvin manages to turn his head towards them, smiling faintly, his eyes fogged over.

“Sh, sh, there you go. I’m not going to let you die, Marvin. I’m not going to let you die.”

Marvin lies still against his body as Henrik presses the syringe back into his mouth. He massages the relaxant down Marvin's aching throat, whispering assurances as Marvin sinks into silent tears against his shoulder, his face drifting as he slips towards sleep. Henrik spoons a mouthful of black medicine into his mouth. Jackie strokes his hair.

He's so filthy and so ugly and in so much pain, but they still hold onto him.

He wants to talk to them so badly. He doesn't even have the strength to move – no, no, wait! If he really focuses – if he really, really focuses – he can squeeze Jackie's hand.

He can push his head, just a little, against Henrik's.

He can look over at Chase and Jameson. See their faces again.

He was scared to die without seeing them again, but now he thinks he'd be ready to go. Yeah, he’d be ready. Doesn't know how his body would survive this much pain, anyway. Doesn’t know his heart could ever take this much hurt. He just needed to see them one more time.

“Love.” His mouth is trying so hard. His throat is fighting a war. His lips part like the waters of the Red Sea, but the word is a mangled mess on his mouth. “Love.”

And Jackie, Jackie, Jackie who has always understood him, from the day that he was born, back when he did not even understand himself – Jackie whispers, “Love you too.”

Marvin drifts beneath the warmth of unconsciousness.

[all-by-myself98]

I’m Sorry

Fandom: Hellboy

Prompt: Your chest will glow when you get close to your soulmate.

Character: Ben Daimio

Warnings: It’s 2019 Hellboy. There’s definitely swearing.

   It has been 8 years, 5 months, and 22 days since you were kidnapped and first experimented on. In those 8 years, no one seemed to care about your disappearance. The tiny box TV in your padded room tells you current events in the area and there is nothing about missing homeless teens from 8 years ago.

   Fair enough. You didn’t have much friends back then except for a few other kids on the street you would hang around.

   You also weren’t alone, from what you could tell. About 3 months ago, there was a lot of chatter with the guards about a new specimen locked away in their own special place.

   The experiments performed on you consisted of a lot of weekly injections. They would also wheel you into a room but you were never awake or told what they did to you. All you knew was that, one day, you were completely normal and, over the next few months, you realized that you could manipulate your own, and other people’s senses. You had even attempted to escape by rendering the guards blind but you learned that they could block your abilities by turning on a specific frequency.

   You knew you missed so much. You had been kidnapped at 18 from under a bridge where you made home. You were now almost 27. A lot of things would race into your mind.

   Where are your friends from the homeless network? Did they finally get off the streets and finish high school?

   What about the stray dogs you would feed every Saturday?

   Did you ever get a call back on that job opening at the movie theater?

   Is your soulmate well?

   You had been the last of your friends to not meet your soulmate and, now that you were here in this hell, you doubted you would ever get to see him. You would just end up being a guinea pig for the rest of your life.

   But it’s 8 years, 5 months, and 22 days after you were initially kidnapped that you will finally be saved.

   It’s another mindless day of tests. They always run tests on you, learning about you and poking and prodding you. In fact, you have never left this compound. They let you do their dirty work for them from the same interrogation room. You sit in the room, they bring someone or something in. They tell you what to do to it, what to change, what to heighten or take away.

   On this day, they do their tests as always. Eight AM to 1 PM, and then you have the rest of the day off to have your lunch, read, watch from limited television programs, and sleep. The rest of the time, they are working on their new mystery specimen.

   It’s around 7 PM, after they slide your dinner under the door, that something unexpected happens. The television flashes off and doesn’t turn back on again. Almost simultaneously, the lights switch off and then are suddenly replaced by a dark glow from the emergency lights.

   You frown, standing up from your place on the ground and checking the little stereo as well. It is also not working.

   Then there’s commotions from outside. Yelling and gunfire and fighting. The hands on your arms stand up on end, goosebumps arise as the heating system is also shut off.

   The eye-level flap to your door is opened and a guard yells out “Get back, you freak!”

   You do as told, crawling back onto your bed in the corner of the room. However, before he can unlock and open the door, something big and red rams into him and throws him out of your view.

   You suddenly feel a strange faint warmness from your chest. You look down to see that, through the gray T-shirt, there is a bright glowing emanating from your chest. Your soulmate is somewhere nearby!

   What in the actual hell is going on?

   The door is then thrown across your room, hitting the wall, with signs of scorching on what used to be the outside. A big, red, brutish man enters. He has long black hair, red horns that look to have been crudely sawed off, and yellow eyes. But his chest doesn’t glow. He isn’t your soulmate.

   “Hi.” He says point-blank. “Um... I’ll be honest, we didn’t know anyone else was here except for the weird fish guy.” He adds sheepishly, an irony to the screaming coming from down the hall. “So anyway, we turned the power off... and yeah... we’re here to save you. Let’s go.”

   He leaves, running down the hallways once more and you can hear the yelling and screaming of your abusers.

   You follow hesitantly, peaking your head out of the empty doorway. Blood and bodies litter the floors and walls, scientists who experimented on you for years, others who didn’t lift a finger to help when you screamed and cried as a young 18-year-old girl. You follow the hulking red man from a considerable distance. He’s a new face and, with the mind games that these people have played before, you wouldn’t be hugely surprised to find out this was all some sick simulation.

   But you also can’t argue that your chest is glowing right now. The sudden feeling of warmth and safety and love is not something they can fake. The feeling of real sticky blood on the walls isn’t something that can be faked either. And the hot scorching from the broken down door you left behind.

   There is simply no way this can be faked, right?

   All of a sudden, you find yourself thrown to the ground, a large creature on top of you. The large cat bares it’s fangs at you, its paw partially tearing into your shirt.

   You scream, trying to push it off before you notice the same glowing that comes from your chest also comes from its chest. You temporarily blind the thing, giving you the advantage to push it off and away from you. In front of your own eyes, the large cougar begins to transform into a naked and vulnerable man.

   The red-skinned person from earlier turns around to see what happened, noticing you shifting closer to the wall, hugging your knees to your chest with your shirt partly torn and the cougar man thing yelling that he can’t see.

   “What the fuck, Daimio? She’s was held captive, you dumbass.” He pauses as he approaches you both. ‘Daimio’ is silent now, curled into a ball. You scamper away again, back to your room and grab a blanket from the bed.

   “Why is he saying he can’t see?” The red man asks you as you come back.

   You don’t say anything, though. You still worry that you’re still under the control of the scientists and you were always told to keep your mouth shut. Instead, you drape the blanket over Daimio, placing a soothing touch to his head. His sight is immediately back and, even though he doesn’t shy away from your touch, his whole body is stiff and tense.

   You finally speak after you feel you’re in control again. “I’m sorry.” You whisper. Your voice is hoarse from a lack of using it. He relaxes a bit more under those words so you repeat them over and over again. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

   Daimio looks up once again, eyes open and eyesight fully restored. He repeats your words back to you when he sees the small tear on your shirt. And he apologizes again when he sees the glowing from your chest and his. But, with this realization that you two are soulmates, he finally relaxes and hugs you closer and refuses to let go.

   You haven’t realized until now as you hug this stranger who is no doubt your soulmate close to you that you missed touch. Despite all of this control over senses, the one you yourself lacked the most over the past 8 years was touch. The scientists only ever touched you to perform their tests and experiments on you and, even before, living life as a homeless teen on the streets, you never got to experience this feeling much. You had associated touch with danger or weakness.

   Now that you truly felt safe, you were willing to embrace the so-called weakness.

---------------

A/N: I totally feel like this was a bit extra and a bit too heavy on actions and descriptions but fuck it. As always, feedback is appreciated.

[sweetdejun]

coterie: the mini rubik’s cube (2/2)

gang!x1 x fem!reader

synopsis: you’re an ordinary girl, with an ordinary life. but what happens when you catch the gang that is famous for keeping their deeds under the table, in action?

coterie’s masterlist can be found here

pairing: kim wooseok and y/n

a/n: brief mentions of bullying, cursing, and an overall emotional rollercoaster. it’s good to be back :))

so within the next few weeks, wooseok got a new desktop mailed in along with a second swivel chair. you distinctly remember wooseok calling you over to the room, and when you stood at the doorway, he sent a broad smile your way before pushing a cardboard box over to you. “what’s this?” “oh, it’s your swivel chair that you’re going to put together.” you scoffed, “what, you’re just gonna watch me?” “not really,” he motioned his head towards the desktop. “I'm gonna set this up for you, so have fun doing that!” he handed you the toolbox and gave you one last thumbs-up before turning around to your computer. huffing, a strand of hair flew in front of your face as you sat cross-legged in front of the box and eventually assembled your new chair. the only sounds that were heard in the room were wooseok’s fast typing and your small sighs as you’d exhale after putting together one piece at a time. so naturally, to get rid of the silent and awkward air surrounding the two of you, you started the conversation. “so, I was wondering, how did you get all that information on me? like where I went to school, and what my schedule and stuff were like?” wooseok’s typing speed didn’t seize but he continued, “I’m a hacker, that’s what I do.” you snorted at his comment, and this caused him to turn his head around fully to face you. “what’s so funny?” “you sound like the guy from agent cody banks, bro,” you guffawed and shook your head. wooseok just blinked back at you. “who?” this caused you to put down the wheel and screwdriver. you looked up at him, your jaw dropped. “what? you’ve never seen that movie before? alright, wooseok, the first assignment from me to you: we have to have you watch agent cody banks. it’s a classic movie.” you started telling wooseok all about your love for movies, and how you grew up watching some of the films your parents found to be iconic and then movies that were iconic in your generation. you seemed to be so lost in your own little world, that you didn’t notice wooseok was now finished setting up what he needed to and was not diligently listening to you, watching the small twinge in your eyes only grow brighter as you progressed further. “oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you or anything. movies just get me so riled up,” “no, I didn’t mind it or anything.” you were caught off guard by the tone in his voice. “you know, you’re different now than what you were two weeks ago. I was scared to even talk to you,” you mumbled the last part to yourself, hoping he wouldn’t hear but alas, a bitter smile made its way onto wooseok’s face, “yeah, well I haven’t had the best experiences with people, in general.” you did get him to watch cody banks later that night though, which he enjoyed (you thought you saw him smile).

that was one of the few non-work-related conversations you’d had with him. well, if you count work as wooseok walking you through the programs, and file systems, then yeah. but you hadn’t gotten your first real assignment until a few days later. it was three in the morning and you were sleeping soundly when you heard rapping against your door. you groggily opened your eyes, sight still blurry from sleep and you staggered out of bed, the corner of the bed bumping you just above the knee. “ah, fuck,” you mutter, rubbing the inflicted area as you continue to the door. you open the door, and squint, making out wooseok standing there, chest heaving. “what in the world?” wooseok enters your room, pushing you to the side. “may I ask what you’re doing in here, at 3 AM?” “I’ve got your first assignment, and we need this done as soon as possible.” it took you some time to comprehend his words. “wait,” you start, “you want us to start on this now?” wooseok nodded as if it was obvious. if your eyes didn’t shoot open before, they were now. “so hurry up, come out and into the computer room, I’ll give you the details there.” “can I at least bring a coffee with me?” for a second, wooseok squinted, then grunted, “fine,” before walking out of your room, leaving the door ajar. “uh, thanks for closing the door,” you grumbled, before changing out of your pajamas and fixing your appearance a bit. you went into the kitchen and began making your coffee (you only got around halfway through, though, because soonja came into the kitchen, helping you make your coffee. you thanked her and insisted she go back to sleep, but she refused until the coffee mug was in your hands.) slowly, you walked to the room with steady steps, and knocked with your other hand. seconds later, the door gently swung open and you made your way to your chair, silently praying that it wouldn’t fall apart then and there (it didn’t). after taking a swig of your coffee, you set it down and pivot your seat to face wooseok, and before you can ask him anything, he starts, “seungwoo needs some details on the military leaders, because he’s about to send dongpyo to one of their bases and we need all the information we can possibly get.” then he jotted down a list of things he needed you to get. you scanned the note and it seemed like you only needed to find who this guy was affiliated with, in terms of his friend circles. not bad, you think, before getting to work. so from three to almost five-thirty, you’re hopeless, and although wooseok offered to help, a part of you wanted to do this by yourself. so you refused, to which wooseok nodded, then said, “I’ll be heading to bed, let me know when you’re done.” you mumbled a ‘yep’, then kept going. it’s not like you didn’t know what you were doing, you thought, it’s just slightly more difficult than you perceived it to be. luckily, wooseok left you something similar to a cheat sheet, and you quickly were able to get the information. 

at this point, you were about seventy-five percent done, and just finished research on the military leader’s favorite bar’s owner, when something striked you as interesting. the bar owner was from the same high school as jinhyuk. lee jinhyuk; the guy who got you into this whole thing. after jotting that information down, you couldn’t help but let your curiosity get the best of you, as you clicked on the high school name. loads of records popped up on your screen, from student yearbooks to records on all the staff from the past 10 years and the student incidents and records. you set out to look for jinhyuk’s stuff, again, out of sheer curiosity. only then were you surprised with what you saw on the screen. a picture of jinhyuk, tall and lanky as he still was with his arm hooked around wooseok. he still looks the same, albeit his features have definitely sharpened since and dare you say, he looks much more attractive now. you don’t know if it was from the lack of sleep or the caffeine, but you pieced some things together: jinhyuk did mention to you that he was close with one of the x1 members, and you did ask wooseok how he got the information on you, it’s clear that jinhyuk and wooseok are still quite close and they probably share everything with each other. your curiosity sunk into you further, and then you went back to the database before searching up wooseok’s name under the high school. the first thing you saw made your heart stop; it was an article labeled, “student runs away from school after severe bullying”, and reading it, you learned that around five or six years ago, wooseok had transferred midway through his senior year to this high school, for “personal reasons”, and people had called him a freak and had bullied him, pulling all sorts of stunts on him. one day he just ran away from school. as you read the finishing sentence of the article, your eyes started to sting and you couldn’t look at it anymore. you quickly closed the tab, gathered all your information and sent it right away to wooseok, shaky hands hovering over the keyboard. you press enter, clear your throat and whisper ‘going to bed’ because you can’t trust your voice right now, and you hurry on back to your room, where after some difficulty, you’re able to find your languor once more and fall back into a deep slumber. 

when wooseok and you began opening up towards one another, he showed you a different side of himself. he was no longer the asshole you made him out to be when you first met him; rather, he made a complete 360 of his original impression. but now, you understand why that may have been hard for him. your mind wanders off into these thoughts and you don’t notice that wooseok has been calling you for some time. it’s only when he barges into your room, finding you on your bed, eyeing the blank phone screen in front of you. “y/n,” you flinch, and look up to meet wooseok’s concerned gaze. “what’s going on? I’ve been calling you for a while,” you clear your throat and snap your eyes away from his, before saying, “sorry, I was thinking about something, did you need something?” wooseok’s eyebrows furrowed at your sudden movements. why did it seem like you were avoiding him? had he done something wrong? maybe he upset you? these questions began to hiss at his anxious state, that he was holding together in front of you. “uh, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any problems last night, looking for the information,” he starts, but you stop him, reassuring him with a smile too wide and a nod too positive, but it’s convincing enough as he nods quietly, before muttering that he’s gonna go, then gently closes your door as he leaves the room. you let go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding and push your hair back with your hands. it’s hard to avoid wooseok ever since you learned of his past; you see him every day, now, because you kinda have to. not that you don’t want to see him because of course, that’s not the case. in fact, you’d say you were growing quite fond of the man for some time now. which is why avoiding him has grown to be such a difficult task for you. but seeing him will only remind you of what he’s been through. you felt guilty for learning all this information without his being aware of it, and it felt like you violated his privacy. and you did, and so whenever you saw him, that guilt went off in your head like an alarm, a reminder.

you were paying the price for your curiosity, so much so that one night, you couldn’t sleep. it was like the guilt was eating you away, so much so that it was now in the way if your everyday life. you kept your conversations with wooseok minimal and silently did as you were told because you were afraid that it would be a matter of sentences before you burst. you grunted, burying your face in your hands as you paced back and forth in your room before you decided to put on your robe and slippers, then headed out to the backyard. the sounds of the cicadas and the stars shining in the sky managed to calm your jittery state, and your breathing relaxed a bit until you heard, “y/n? what are you doing out here?” you turn and lo and behold, by the back door leaned a relaxed wooseok, hands stuffed in his pockets. “couldn’t sleep. I had to clear my head,” you tell him, turning your head back to the sky. his footsteps are approaching closer and the sound of your heartbeat starts to reach your ears. then, his hand rests on your shoulder and you turn slowly to face him. “what’s going on? you’ve been distant for some time, you never talk to me anymore... did I say something?” you shake your head instantly, reassuring him that he didn’t do anything wrong, but then his voice grows louder, “well, why have you not been talking to me then? you’re avoiding me and I don’t even know why!” shocked by the sudden outburst, you don’t realize that tears are welling up in your eyes and wooseok’s widen. “I-I’m sorry, oh no, no, please don’t cry,” and wooseok, panicked, begins walking backward. enough is enough you think, and you wipe your eyes violently and whisper, “wooseok, sit, I’ll tell you everything.” and so you do. as you tell him the story, you notice the changes on wooseok’s face, this being one of the only times he’s expressed emotions as vividly as he ever did with you. “I didn’t want to say anything because I felt guilty. I felt like I did something I shouldn’t have, and I’m really sorry,” but he cuts you off, emotion thick in his voice, “no, I’m sorry. I get it, you were only curious. I transferred midway through the year because my family was breaking apart. my dad used to gamble, and he gambled away our home. my mom was fed up, so she took me and my younger brother and we ran away from him. I don’t talk about this a lot; in fact, I only told seungwoo about it, but, the reason I left was... was because it was suffocating living like that. wake up in the morning and go to school, only for people to push you around, take your stuff, and then the whole cycle repeats itself. I wasn’t alone, though, because I had jinhyuk. I spoke to him before I left and I told him I would leave, of course; he’s more than a friend, he’s like a brother to me. that’s why he and I are still as close as we were. but anyway, that’s why I have problems when there are circumstances in which my personal space gets violated. I don’t like it when people touch my things, I don’t like it when things aren’t a certain way and seungwoo knew this before he offered me this position.

“I get it, you were only curious, that’s why you made the decisions that you did. thank you for telling me, I thought I had done something to make you upset, and so I felt .” wooseok finished, looking up to see you silently crying. his hands reach up and wipe your tears, and you choke back a sob. “why are you crying?” “because you didn’t deserve any of that, you have such a good heart, wooseok. you are such a good person and it’s upsetting to know what you went through.” then you wrapped your arms around him, tucking your face into his neck. at first, wooseok doesn’t know what to do, body freezing at your sudden action, but then he slowly melts into your embrace and reciprocates it. after you calm down a bit, you push away from his embrace, bashfully gazing to the ground. “I’m sorry about that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything,” and wooseok smiles at your cute form. “y/n,” you look up at him through your lashes and see the grin on his mouth and wow, you didn’t think he could get more attractive. “I like you.” and although a pink hue settles on his ears, he continues, “at first I was upset you picked me. I thought I would teach you stuff, and you would just mess things up all the time, and I would have to correct your mistakes, but you proved me wrong. you’re one smart and kind young woman and I’ve had the honor and privilege to work with you. but with time, your quirks and habits grew on me, and well, so did you. so tell me, will you go out with me?” your heartbeat picks up its pace again and leaning in, you plant a small peck on his lips, and before you can pull away, wooseok’s arms wrap around your frame, pulling you in and deepening the kiss. then wooseok pulls back, cupping your face in his palm to lock his eyes with your own. “yes, kim wooseok, I’d like that very much.” and it is safe to say that since that night, you’ve experienced nothing but beautiful, radiant days, and peaceful, serene nights.

a/n: ahhh that’s over! thanks for waiting, I hope you guys liked it! this was written after my midterms so some parts of the storyline may seem a bit wonky, just fyi, but that’s all for wooseok. now, who do we want to see next? did you think it was going to be wooseok? if not, who did you associate with the mini rubik’s cube? comment down below <3

[thinkyoureholy]

Sweet Lies [9]

[A/n : the next chapter will be the last!]

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Pairing : Byun Baekhyun / [FEM] Reader

Genre : Angst, Violence, Fluff, Smut, Mafia! AU

Words : 3.1k

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt 4. Pt 5. Pt 6. Pt 7. Pt 8. Pt 9. Pt 10.

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-Y/N’s P.O.V; Three weeks later-

I leaned back against the wall behind me, staring at the ring that had been adorning my finger for the past few weeks. I couldn’t help but feel something when staring down at it. It was the normal feelings of joy and excitement, no, there was something familiar about this ring. No matter how long I stared at it and thought about it I couldn’t understand why it seemed so familiar to me. I tried to tell myself that there were probably hundreds of rings that looked similar or that I’ve seen something like this advertised on t.v. but I knew that wasn’t it. It was as if I had seen it on someone else’s finger a long time ago but the image in my mind was so blurred I couldn’t remember properly...or I just didn’t want to remember. Either way this sink feeling always accompanied the feelings of joy when I looked at it.

“Y/N!”

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the voice of the man that called out my name. I gave him a smile, waving as a hello as he got closer.

“I’m still a little shocked that you asked me to come with you for this. I would’ve thought I’d be the last one you’d call for this.”

I shrugged, pushing myself off the wall and heading into the store, “I don’t have many girl friends I’m close to and Sehun-”

I cut myself off after saying his name aloud. It had been so long since his name fell from my lips it almost felt foreign. Almost a whole year later and the two of us still had yet to speak to one another. I did try to reach out to him a couple of time but the last time I tried it said his number was no long in service. I knew that fight we had was a big one but I didn’t think it would be the one to ruin our friendship. I had even tried calling Jongin but I got the same thing, even Chanyeol and Junmyeon. I guess Jongin and Sehun convinced Junmyeon and Chanyeol to cut off all contact with me as well.

“Y/N…? You alright?” Jongdae asked.

I shook my head at the sound of his voice, shaking the thoughts off. I looked down at the ground below me for a second, unconsciously clenching my hands into fists at my sides. After a few seconds I raised my head with a heavy sigh.

“I’m fine. Let’s go.”

…….

“Ah...are you sure you want to let your fiance see you in the dress you’re gonna wear to walk down the aisle?” The woman that was supposed to help us.

At her words Jongdae and I looked at each other, confusion in our eyes before we realized what she was implying. Our eyes widened as we shook our heads quite vigorously, waving our hands as well.

“N-No he’s not--he’s just a friend.” I said, hearing Jongdae stuttering over his words as he tried to deny it as well.

The employee simply nodded, a small smile on her face. She then proceeded to take us to a room that held the dresses that fit the description I had given her earlier. I looked around at all the white dresses in awe, immediately falling in love with a floor length on towards the back. I walked over to it without saying a words, Jongdae and the employee staring after me. As soon as I pulled out the dress and looked at it in its entirety I knew I didn’t have to look at any other dresses. The dress was simple with the focus point being the little flowers on the arms that went across the chest area. I turned to Jongdae with a huge grin on my face, missing the look he had on his face at seeing me grin so widely.

“I think this one’s it.”

Jongdae smiled sweetly, looking the dress over, “Go try it on then.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice as I all but ran to the dressing room like a child that had been told they were allowed one cookie from the cookie jar.

-

Jongdae had insisted he be the one to carry all the bags and though I felt bad I knew there was no way I’d get him to let me carry at least one of them. I ended up leading the way to the food court, shopping leaving me hungry. We settled on sharing a pizza and everything was going smoothly...until silence settled over us for a while and my thoughts started going wild.

I started thinking about all the misfortune that had followed me all my life. My parents died in a car crash before I could even walk and I was the only survivor. I had been moved around from foster home to foster home, some more pleasant than others. I had began to steal at the age of fifteen, I had been lucky since I was never caught for any of it but one of my foster parents caught me red handed one day. Instead of reporting me to the authorities she took matters into her own hands and every time I thought back to it I would’ve picked going to a detention center than to suffer through what she called ‘a just punishment fit for a criminal’. She was the last foster parent I had before I turned eighteen...I still had the scars to prove what she did to me but I knew no one would listen to an orphan like me over a ‘respected’ adult. So the day I turned eighteen I packed my bags and got the hell out of dodge. And then not even a years later, after having blown through all the money my parents left me I was shot but some idiot gang member then saved by a member of a rival gang. So much has happened in my life you’d think I was making half of it up, though I wish most of it was just part of some sick nightmare but the scars reminded me of my harsh reality and fucked up past. I let out a heavy sigh and shook my head, ridding myself of these thoughts and memories.

“Hey Dae...what if I’m having second thoughts…?”I asked out of the blue.

I was scared of the misfortune following me into my marriage and dragging Baekhyun into my life of bad luck. Jongdae looked surprised to be hearing those words leave my mouth, his own mouth hanging agape.

“What…? Why?”

I looked down at the piece of untouched pizza that sat on my plate, “I don’t know I just--so many good things are happening I’m starting to think it’s all too good to be true. I mean am I even ready to get married? Does Baekhyun actually want to marry me? The proposal seemed so spur of the moment I’m finding it hard to believe he-”

“Y/N breathe.” Jongdae said in a soft voice, cutting off my rambling.

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, waiting for me to calm down before he spoke, “I’m sure you’re ready to get married...if you weren’t you wouldn’t have said yes. And Baekhyun he--he loves you, more than anything. I’m sure if he already had the ring prepared he was going to propose sooner or later. You deserve to be happy Y/N...I promise--I promise you there’s no catch.”

I nodded at his words, missing the sad look that crossed his eyes for a moment.

-

-Baekhyun’s P.O.V-

I scrolled through the messages with a blank expression, but with one look in my eyes anyone with brains would be able to tell how I was feeling inside. I couldn’t help the way the corner of my lips curled upwards the slightest bit at the picture I just received. I’d be a fool to deny that she was anything but beautiful. Jongdae sent me a picture of Y/N trying on a dress and...she looked damn good in it. I didn’t believe in that whole superstition about it being bad luck if the groom sees the bride in her dress before the wedding and she didn’t either but when I offered to go with her she declined so I sent Jongdae to her instead. I wanted to make sure she was kept safe and Jongdae was the best man for the job, he wasn’t our best fighter but he always seemed to be able to avoid conflict whenever it arose somehow.

I froze at my own thoughts, my hand clutching my phone tightly. I grit my teeth as I cursed to myself. I need her gone before I go completely insane. My thoughts had been contradicting themselves for months and I was sick of it. I just needed to finish this and go back to how my life was before she walked into it.

“You sure you still want to go through with this Baek?” Yixing asked, having been observing me this whole time from across the room.

I’m sure he saw all the emotions raging war within my eyes. The look on his face was all I needed to know that he saw each and every one of those emotions in my eyes. I felt irritation building within me at the concern in his eyes. I couldn’t help but scoff, rolling my eyes as I through my phone onto the coffee table in front of me.

“Ask me that again and I’ll strap you down to the chair next to her next week.” I said, watching him fight the urge to roll his eyes at my words, his jaw clenched.

“Fine. If you end up regretting it it’s all on you. You’re the one that’s gonna have to live with it,” He said, standing up, “We got the place ready for you.”

He dug through his pockets before throwing a set of keys my way. I caught them effortlessly, watching him put his jacket on and grab a duffle bag that I hadn’t noticed was sitting by the front door. He slung it over his shoulder and turned to signal Kyungsoo over with his head. He looked over at Minseok who had been glued to his computer for the past few weeks before his eyes met mine.

“I’m taking Soo with me to China. We haven’t checked in with our suppliers over there in a while, gotta make sure they’re still with us. We’ll be back in a few months.” He said, following after Kyungsoo who left without a word.

I said nothing as I watched them leave. It’s not like I needed them for what I had planned so I didn’t even bother stopping them. What he said was true anyway. Especially after that incident a while back we gotta make sure who’s still on our side and who’s betrayed us. I looked away from the door, my eyes catching my phone light up with a new message but I ignored it as I looked over at Minseok with a bored expression.

“Hey nerd...what the hell have you been doing on that computer for so long?” I asked, not getting an answer for some time.

Just when I was starting to get annoyed he spoke, his words so low I almost missed them, “Something important.”

I sighed, knowing that was the best I was going to get out of him. It was useless to talk to him when he was this focused but I had to ask him one more thing before I left him alone.

“Will you be attending the wedding? I need to know so I can order your tux…”

He grumbled something under his breath and waved his hand dismissively. I rolled my eyes cursing at him as I took his answer as a no. I guess the only ones that’d need a tux where Jongdae and I. I leaned forward and grabbed my phone, opening it up to call my tailor but froze as it opened up to the picture of Y/N Jongdae had sent me. I felt my heart sink to the pit of my stomach at seeing the complete and utter joy on her face.

……

-Y/N’s P.O.V; D-Day-

I looked down at my hands on my lap with nervous eyes. I couldn’t help but fidget at the thought of today being the day, the day Baekhyun and I get married. Some of my co-workers had voiced their thoughts about us rushing into marriage what with only having been together for a little over a year. Hearing that had me feeling a little discouraged about the whole thing but I snapped out of it fast. What a load of crap. If they were bitter that they were alone and I was getting married they could’ve just said so. I let out a huff of air, raising my head and looking at myself in the mirror. I had decided to do my own hair and makeup for the wedding, refusing when Baekhyun offered to hire someone else to do it.

“Y/N? You ready?” Jongdae asked, cutting into my thoughts.

At his words I could feel my nerves try and get the better of me. I stood up to face him on legs that felt like they’d give out any second. I held onto the vanity just in case my legs did decide to give out.

“Y-Yeah…”

Jongdae smiled softly at my response, coming over to stand in front of me, gently placing his hands on my shoulders reassuringly, “Let’s go it’s about to start. Don’t want to keep your man waiting now do you?”

I couldn’t help but smile at his words, nodding as I let him take my hand and lead me out the door.

The ceremony was all a blur, my emotions running wild. All I know for sure is that we both said ‘I do’ and sealed the marriage with a kiss. It wasn’t a big ceremony either, in fact there was only about ten people that attended. One of which was Jongdae and a few of Baekhyun’s other friends...in fact everyone there was someone Baekhyun knew. I didn’t bother inviting any of my co-workers with all the crap they were sprouting when I told them and the only other people I would’ve wanted to be here...cut all ties with me.

“Hey...let’s get out of here.” Baekhyun said, placing his hands on my hips.

I rose an eyebrow at his words, “And go where?”

He grinned before answering, “Our honeymoon of course.”

Hearing those words I couldn’t help but match his grin, “Let’s go then.”

He leaned in to place a quick kiss on my lips, grabbing my hand in his as he began to drag me out of the place. I was confused at seeing him give Jongdae a look over his shoulder but thought nothing of it as he lead me to his car. He stopped me just before I got in, placing his hands on my arms.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, his eyes never leaving mine.

“With my life.” I said without missing a beat.

I could see the look in his eyes wavering a bit but he regained his composure. Before I could question him about it he leaned in and planted another kiss on my lips. This one was deeper than the one before but he pulled away before I could get to into it. Without another word he undid his tie, holding it in his hands, silently telling me to turn around with his eyes. I hesitated for a second but turned around, feeling the his tie the fabric around my head, covering my eyes.

“I’ve got a little surprise for you.” He said in a lower voice.

I said nothing as he helped me into the car. Before he took off he grabbed my hand in his, placing a gentle kiss on the back of my hand. The car ride to wherever the hell he was taking me was mostly silent save for him uttering words of reassurance every once in a while. We had been in the car for about half an hour before I felt it come to a stop. I heard Baekhyun get out of the car before hearing him opening my door for me. I unbuckled my seat belt and blindly searched for his hand, grabbing onto it tightly as I got out of the car. He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze as he led the way. I moved my other hand to try and feel around for anything so I wouldn’t bump into it and fall over but I felt nothing but air, that is until Baekhyun suddenly sat me down. I sat down with a small ‘umph’ leaving my lips. I placed my hand on the arm rests of the chair I was sitting in, surprised at feeling something wrap around my wrists and restrain me to the chair. I tried to get out of them but they held my hands down tightly. As I started to panic I felt Baekhyun’s fingers brush against my cheek gently.

“Calm down, love. Everything’s gonna be alright.” He said, his fingers undoing the knot on the back of my head.

My eyes widened as I took in my surroundings. We were in what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, my hands tied down to the chair I was sitting in. I tried to break free of them but it was useless. I looked back up at Baekhyun who was sitting on a table in front of me, my eyes wide at the look on his face and the smirk playing at his lips. I felt the fear begin to course through my body, my mind going haywire as my heart sank to the pit of my stomach.

“B-Baek where--where the hell are we?”

“Somewhere quiet, away from everyone. Don’t worry...I won’t hurt you...too much.” He said with a devilish grin on his face.

I watched in terror as he pulled out a gun. He got up and walked around the table, sitting in the chair opposite me and placing the gun in the middle of the table. He leaned back in his seat, a look I had never seen in his eyes.

“We’re gonna play a little game...how’s that sound, love? Oh and before we start...you can scream all you want but no one’s gonna hear you.”

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[tiny-maus-boots]

The Art of Negotiation

A/N: Part 3 of The Debt Collector Series, or the many bespoke three piece suits of Aubrey Posen. 

Super big thank you to my bestie and beta @chloes-yellow-cup who puts up with me when I’m annoying (which is all the time), and STILL is kind enough to read and edit for me.

AAAAAND a very special thank you to @kate-harper because omgosh look at what she made!!! It’s beautiful and I love and I have it saved as my lock screen so I can stare at it all day at work. 

----

It was cold for the season and raining. Aubrey didn’t mind the rain though, it made it harder to notice if you were being followed and that worked to her advantage. The car ahead of them flashed its brakes as it slowed behind a line of traffic. In Los Angeles the traffic was a pain in the ass and definitely road rage inducing, but in the City it was nightmare and she definitely didn’t miss it. The company maybe but not the traffic. But she didn’t miss her current company as much as she missed Stacie.

They hadn’t parted on the softest of terms and she had been regretting it for the last three days and was already resolved to making it up to the other woman. Sometimes Aubrey got tunnel vision when she had a problem that needed solving and Weston Whitman was definitely a problem for her particular issue resolution skill set. But it had taken her away from home and pushed a wedge between her and Stacie and that made her even angrier at the situation.  

The cars ahead started to drive and she tipped her head to the side to rest against the passenger door window to see where her target was. “He’s getting off the turnpike.”

Jesse put on his turn signal on when he merged out of the lane and onto the ramp. She gave him a mild glare and shook her head. Rain didn’t prevent you from getting noticed if you were fucking obvious but he just smiled and shrugged at her. It was still good to see him even if he was an idiot.

“So you never said why you needed to know about this Whitman guy. What, is he in for deep or something?”

No. She was the one in deep. Way too deep for something that started so casually over a night of poker. She knew she loved Stacie because she’d never felt this way about anyone else in her entire life. It wasn’t just the want of her physically, though there was plenty of that, but she loved the way Stacie saw the world. She loved her good heart and practical business mind. She loved the way Stacie laughed when they were alone and wrapped up in each other. She just fucking loved the woman. And she didn’t even bother questioning it.

Aubrey didn’t answer and he nodded with a scoffed chuckle as if he had expected as much. She rolled her eyes and gave a lazy shrug. “He has something I want.”

“Yeah? Like what? You gonna go legit and start running some hedge fund?”

She pointed to the right when they came to the light and he turned onto the street while maintaining a good enough distance. They rode in silence for a few moments, each of them watching the road and the area they were headed. “No.” That was it. Nothing more. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell him but she just didn’t want to talk about it right now. After. When Weston was a footnote in their history, then she’d bring Stacie home to meet the Family. But not before when there were too many things to fuck that up still in the way.

“Jesus. I think we talk more when we’re three thousand miles apart.” Jesse nudged her in the arm playfully and it pulled a smile out of her. “Hey hey look. Un-fucking-believable that jag-off is stopping for a hotdog. What are you thinking?”

Aubrey watched as the black sedan pulled over and the front passenger got out to run across the street to a street vendor. It was risky in broad daylight but it was a tough neighborhood and the only people that seemed to be around were bangers and crackheads. “You follow until we get to the Heights. We’ll dump his car there.”

He nodded solemnly as she pulled on her black leather gloves. She checked to make sure the one man was still at the hotdog stand as they pulled up in front of the car. Aubrey ran through her usual routine and checked her clip before pulling the slide back on her gun. It was settling and she felt a mantle of cold detachment settle on her shoulders and through her chest. There was nothing but the buzz of white noise in her ears as she exited the SUV and tucked her gun tight along her thigh, hidden against the black of her long pea coat.

She gave the driver a smile and he smiled back, foolishly lowering the window to see what she wanted. When it was open just enough her free hand darted in to slam his face against the steering wheel twice in rapid succession. It wouldn’t knock him out, the guy had a face like a brick and probably just as hard too but he was disoriented enough that she was able to pull the car door open easily and yank him to the asphalt. She brought her gun up and fired into his chest, then twice more into his head.

“What the fuck?! Who the fu…”

“Shut up.”

“Do you know who the fuck I am? I’ll eat your fucking heart out you bitch, who the fuc…”

Aubrey pointed her gun at the man in the backseat before getting into the car and peeling away from the curb with a hard jerk. The man in the back flew across the seat in a hard thump against the door leaving him a little dazed. He seemed to understand that if he wasn’t dead yet it was for a reason so he sat quietly until she passed into the Heights where she pulled the car into an alleyway and got out. Jesse pulled up behind her and she opened the door for her passenger.

“Out.”

He looked around cautiously before exiting and turned to face the SUV with Jesse driving. Recognition sunk in and he gave a disgusted mutter. “Christ. Frank sent you didn’t he?”

“Get in the truck.”

“Look, whatever he’s paying you. I can pay double. You’re not bad looking, with that kind of money you could go anywhere, be anyone.”

None of the words coming out of his mouth were helping his case and she was getting tired of hearing his voice. Aubrey jabbed her gun hard into the small of his back and pushed him into the backseat, sliding into the car right behind him. She took a minute to do a quick frisk but she didn’t find anything. He had grown complacent, lazy even, and as her hand smoothed over his ribs looking for a gun she realized, fat as well. It was sloppy and shook her head in disgust at it.

“He’s clean.”

Jesse nodded and drove deeper into the neighborhood, taking several turns and doubling back on blocks just in case they were followed. She kept her gun trained on the man in the seat next to her as they drove and he watched her warily trying to figure her out. She said nothing until they pulled into a derelict garage on a street that had more rats than people and had been her father’s favorite spot to handle business. When the metal door closed behind the truck she got out and gestured with her gun for him to do the same.

He was still looking at her when she shoved him roughly into an old heavy office chair that had to be at least forty years old. Jesse moved to zip tie his wrists and hands to the chair and Aubrey slipped her gun into the holster at her back. Very carefully she peeled off her gloves, coat and jacket, laying them neatly over Jesse’s now outstretched arm. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment before she turned back to the man.

He looked back and forth between them wondering what was happening. It shouldn’t be quite so confusing, she’d shot his driver in the head and abducted him. Jesse wasn’t the muscle he was just her wheel man. A fact that was just now dawning on Nicky. Aubrey gave a soft snort and started to roll up her sleeves, first the left cuff exactly three turns, then the right exactly three turns. Aubrey pulled the well-worn slap jack out of her pocket and placed it on the table he was sitting near. His dark eyes went to it then widened as understanding filled them.

“I know you. You’re Mickey the Fist’s kid. Jesus I thought you were….okay okay okay listen. Triple. I’ll give you triple what Frank is paying you. We don’t have to tell anyone. I could make you a rich woman.”

She gave him blank look and picked up the slap jack that had been her father’s before her. Just having the weight of it in her hand reminded her of him and her lips quirked into a dark smile. “I’m already a rich woman.”

“Look. Let’s cut a deal. Just tell me what you want.”

Aubrey used the slap jack to tip his chin up and waited until his eyes met her cold gaze. “Tell me about the girls Nicky. The ones you send to Whitman.”

That had been three months and several bodies ago but it was all coming to fruition now. All the literal blood and sweat that had gone into this whole thing was finally coming together. She had moved just enough pieces and encouraged just the right kind of people to do the wrong kind of thing and now it was all playing out the way she wanted it to. Her trip to New York had given her a lot of information on Stacie’s husband and none of it was good.

He had a habit of buying women and beating them for kicks. Some of his tastes running too dark for even the kink rings of New York’s elite. There had been a few too many dead hookers to clean up and he had been shunned from the community. It was why his bosses had sent him to the firm in Los Angeles, figuring any attention he might draw from his habits would be too far away to affect them. Everything else she found out from there had gone from bad to worse but it was enough for her to fix the problem of Weston Whitman.

Aubrey rolled to her side, arm sliding over Stacie's waist to tug her closer. Warm, soft skin slid against hers in a delicious caress and she sighed. The brunette smiled at her and it took her just a second to catch her breath. There was a good chance whatever she was going to say now would have Stacie running out her door as fast as those long gorgeous legs would take her.

She knew Stacie wanted to be free of him, but this wasn’t just some guy this was Stacie’s husband. And free of him didn’t necessarily mean that Aubrey should kill him. Though she wanted to. Very very badly. Aubrey brought her hand up to cup Stacie’s jaw, bringing their lips together in a soft kiss. Just in case it all went sideways in the next few minutes, she wanted this last kiss.

Stacie pulled back with a frown sensing something different in Aubrey. “What’s wrong?”

It made her smile a little because of course Stacie could read her like a book, she was the only person alive that could. Aubrey took deep breath and met Stacie’s concern filled gaze. How Stacie responded wouldn’t change what was going to happen. Weston needed to go and if getting him out of Stacie’s life cost her all of this…she’d still do it. No matter what it cost her personally, Stacie needed to be free.

“He’s late on his payment.”

They hadn’t spoken of it since the night she’d confessed that he had come to her for a loan. Stacie didn’t need to know how or why just that he needed the cash and fast. Aubrey had laid out some severe terms for the loan knowing he’d never be able to pay it on time or in full. Not with the way he was being extorted anyway. Her fingers trailed down from Stacie’s jaw, along her neck to her shoulder. They traced over the faint scars of several savage bite marks and cold fury rose up in her. Tonight he’d start paying for each and every mark he’d made on Stacie.

“When do you have to leave?” Stacie wasn’t asking her not to do what needed to be done and Aubrey let out a breath of relief she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Now.” It was already later than she’d intended but she’d come home to find Stacie waiting for her in nothing but a pair of stilettos and one of Aubrey’s dress shirts unbuttoned to the waist, a silk tie barely knotted and hanging from her neck. So she was late now but who could blame her?

Stacie didn’t say anything, she just leaned into another kiss, claiming more of Aubrey’s heart with it. Whatever was happening or going to happen they were in it together now. And she hoped to God that they’d still be in it together when the dust settled because it was gonna get ugly fast now. Aubrey pulled away and slid out of the bed with a parting playful slap to Stacie’s ass that earned her a yelp.

“You gonna be here when I come back?”

��I’ll be here as long as you want me to be here.”

Aubrey gave a slight nod and padded into the bathroom to take a quick shower. Stacie knew what she did, who she was, but she’d never really seen her work. Didn’t exactly know how hands on Aubrey was when it came to collecting her tickets. Now it was all coming up in a very personal way and she wondered exactly how much blood was going to spill before it was too much for Stacie like it had been too much for her own mother.

When she had finished and stepped out of the shower she found a suit and tie already hanging from her dressing rack waiting for her. It was black on black save for the tie and underwear. Those were a deep crimson red and she’d never seen them before. Aubrey raised her brow at Stacie questioningly when the tall brunette walked out of the closet with a pair of matching heels.

“I thought you’d look good in a new suit.”

Aubrey smiled at that and hurried to finish getting ready and dress. The suit fit perfectly but she wasn’t at all surprised by that. Stacie had had her hands all over Aubrey enough times to know what would fit and what wouldn’t. When the last button on her vest had been buttoned she turned and reached for the silk tie to put it on but Stacie moved in close pressing her long naked body along Aubrey’s back. She draped the tie around her neck and wrapped her arms around Aubrey as she neatly and easily wound the tie around itself and knotted it in a perfect full Windsor knot just the way she liked it.

Stacie rested her chin on Aubrey’s shoulder and looked at them in the full length mirror. Aubrey turned in her arms and smirked teasingly. “So I look good?”

Stacie’s eyes darkened as they trailed down her body, one finger tracing the line of her tie to tuck it neatly into the vest. There was no doubt in Aubrey’s mind that Stacie thought she looked good. There was just one accessory missing and Stacie reached for the leather paddle holster and gun. Aubrey stayed still as Stacie clipped it in place at the small of her back then threaded her black leather belt through the loops to fasten around her waist before slipping the heavy 9mm into place.

“You definitely look good and the black won’t show blood.”

It was the first real acknowledgement of what she was about to do that Stacie had given. It was practical and just detached enough for Aubrey to realize that she’d thought this through while picking the suit out. That Stacie had already anticipated how the game would play out with Weston and was subtly showing her support of Aubrey’s life, of Aubrey herself.

Aubrey’s arms tightened around Stacie and she pushed them both against the wall, her frame tight against Stacie’s as she kissed her hungrily and with so much fucking need. She needed Stacie in her life, she needed someone that wasn’t just there to protect and fuck. She needed the strength of someone that understood her and had her back even on the dark days. And she needed the softness of comfort and the sweetest of laughs to remind her she was still a human deep inside. She needed everything Stacie was. She needed a queen at her side.

Stacie’s leg came up around her waist and Aubrey dropped her hand between them to stroke and tease the brunette. Stacie whimpered and rested her hand on Aubrey’s wrist even as her hips rolled for more friction. She brought Aubrey’s hand to her lips and kissed each fingertip before sighed in resignation.

“You’re late for work and I’ll be here waiting for you.”

Aubrey huffed at that but pulled back and slipped her jacket on. Stacie took the time to straighten her tie and collar for her before turning Aubrey toward the bedroom door with a little pat to her ass as encouragement. It made her smile and she stopped in the doorway to watch the other woman crawl back into bed with a book. She was silently watching for a moment, thinking about how that was a sight she could stand to see every night for the rest of her life. Aubrey leaned against the doorjamb her voice soft as she said something she’d never said to anyone in a romantic way before.

“Hey. I love you.”

She didn’t wait for Stacie to respond, she just picked up the heels and headed to the stairs. Aubrey took them at a fast clip, stopping at the bottom only long enough to slip on her shoes and tuck her cellphone into her inner jacket pocket. The car was already waiting for her and she slid behind the driver’s seat in the back. Happy, her driver smiled sunnily like she always did, not at all perturbed that she’d been left alone in the car for two hours with a man kicking in shouting in the trunk.

“Going to the office, Boss?”

Aubrey nodded and Happy pulled out of the driveway. The thumps in the back got quieter as they drove, Happy taking turns sharply when he got too loud. She said nothing the entire drive to The Dirty Bird. When they pulled up Lilly was waiting for them with the back door propped open. “Take him to the basement.”

She preceded them down the stairs, letting Lilly and Happy drag Weston down between them. He was wild eyed and sweating but wore his arrogance like armor, trying to puff himself up when he was shoved down into a chair and held steady by strong hands. Aubrey pulled a cigarette from the pack resting on the desk and lit it with the silver lighter she tossed on the table top. He watched her with wary eyes as she stalked over to him, one hand in her pocket the other bringing the cigarette to her lips for another slow drag.

“Mr. Whitman. How good of you to join us.”

“Did I have a fucking choice?” He tried to shrug off Happy and Lilly to show his dominance but they held him tighter. Aubrey smirked and gestured for them to back up and give him some room. “Look I’ll have your money okay? I just need another two days.”

Two days. Aubrey shook her head slowly at that.

“You’re already two days behind, add another two and that’s almost a week. The terms of our agreement were that each week you would provide me with a sum of money until your debt was paid off. Now you’re talking about missing a whole week. You know what this does to your interest rate Mr. Whitman?”

He nodded then and smiled, sure in the knowledge that he could broker a deal with her. That was his whole life, negotiating deals and playing with money. Robbing Peter to pay Paul as her father used to say. Aubrey stubbed out the cigarette in a tray and released the smoke in a slow exhale.

“Sure, our terms were that my interest doubles exponentially each day I’m late. But I can get it. I can get it all.” There was that smile again. The flash of his teeth brought up the image of the scars on Stacie’s shoulder. The sound of white noise drowned out everything else, even his voice as made a pretty show of a lot of reassuring words that didn’t mean shit at the end of the day. Aubrey didn’t need to hear them because she was only giving him enough rope to hang himself with.

“You smile a lot Mr. Whitman. I bet it goes a long way in getting people to believe you hm?” He wavered unsure where she was going with that but she ignored the question in his eyes. “Alright. I’ll grant you this one time extension but I want a little collateral as a show of good faith hm? How about I take that sweet ride of yours?”

Her voice had dropped to a deadly low tone making her words heavy with meaning. He knew there was danger in the question but didn’t understand where it was coming from.

“That’s a four hundred thousand dollar car, you can’t ju…”

His words trailed off when she turned to look at him. Immediately he nodded his agreement and smiled again and the corner of her eye twitched. That fucking smile.

“Sure sure of course. You can have my car, I’ll bring it by…or or…uh you can pick it up whatever you like. It’s yours.”

Aubrey jerked her chin at Happy and the blonde smiled and moved into place to hold his head steady. Whitman struggled against her but the curly haired blonde was strong and used her standing advantage to hold him still. Lilly held out a pair of pliers and Aubrey gave them a test click before she moved to loom over Weston.

“I’m going on a lot of faith, so I want to ensure you and I have an understanding about the terms and conditions of this deal.” He sensed what was about to happen and closed his mouth as though he could prevent her from pulling his teeth out. Lilly leaned over him, licking the bridge of his nose before she pinched the nostrils shut. It forced him to open his mouth to gasp in a breath and Aubrey grabbed his jaw in an iron grip. She wouldn’t take them all, just a few and mostly from the back. Mostly. “Let’s see how far you get making those deals now….”

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @kevaaronday!

Read on AO3

*****

Triple Point

1. Apparently, what soulmarks tell you is shit.

Derek is standing in the granola aisle in a fucking Walmart when it happens. He touches his collarbone mindlessly, trying to find a healthy yet chocolate-y granola, but the itching won't stop. Frowning, he scratches the skin, mildly annoyed, but the area flares with pain. He snaps his head to the side just to see a mark appearing on his skin, reading Mieczysław Stiles Stilinski.

At first, he is just confused, not understanding where it came from. It actually looks like a soulmark-

oh fuck. His heart stops for a second and he forgets how to breathe, because Stiles, his childhood friend, is apparently his soulmate.

Derek takes a shuddering breath, staring at the mark. He's always thought he'd be excited to see the name of his soulmate – not crushed – but he's also always thought it would be someone smart, funny, and a girl, obviously.

Derek is jerked out of his thoughts at the sound of an incoming text.

Stiles: hey you ok? we still on for Star Trek marathon?

Derek stares at the message for a beat, wondering if Stiles could somehow tell that he was freaking out. Soulmates sometimes have this feeling, this intuition, and Stiles is his soulmate, so-

oh god, Stiles. This texting, Star Trek-watching, childhood friend Stiles is his soulmate.

He takes the wrong granola.

2. It's ridiculous.

Derek thinks he acts more or less normally. Inside, he is still freaking out, but his face remains impassive, even as his shoulders are completely tense. Really, he's doing great, considering everything.

''Why did you buy dried fruits? You know I like the chocolate kind better,'' says Stiles, frowning at the box.

''Why did you even want granola?''

''I like how it pretends to be healthy. It's funny,'' explains Stiles, his hand inside the box already. What a savage, Derek can't help thinking with distaste, he's gonna eat it right from the box.

Stiles never manages to take out the oats, suddenly still, gaping at Derek's collarbone.

Derek freezes, somehow certain that Stiles can see the mark even though it's covered by his shirt.

''Dude, you're bleeding,'' says Stiles, his eyes huge.

''What?'' Derek frowns, his hand coming up to touch his collarbone. He stills feeling something wet – and sure enough, it is his blood.

''Jesus, wait a second, I'll just get – this thing-'' Stiles stammers, searching for the tissues. ''Here,'' he says, taking one and reaching to Derek's shirt.

''I'll do it,'' snaps Derek, taking it roughly from him.

Stiles startles at his tone but doesn't say anything.

Derek stands up, pressing the material to the mark, hoping for it to remain unseen. There is a bit more blood underneath and he reaches to dry it off, and fuck, he can hear Stiles' sharp intake of breath.

He doesn't dare say anything, doesn't even look at him, just presses the tissue to the mark.

''Derek,'' starts Stiles in a deceptively calm voice, ''am I your soulmate?'' The last word is said incredulously, Stiles' voice pitching high.

Derek's jaw tenses. He snaps his eyes to Stiles but the boy doesn't look back, his gaze still on the mark.

''It's nothing,'' Derek grits out. ''Just – forget it.''

Stiles lets out a disbelieving laugh. ''What?''

Derek shakes his head, avoiding his eyes. ''You're not my soulmate. It's just,'' he grips the tissue harder and winces at the pain, ''it's a mistake.''

Stiles doesn't answer and, after a long moment, Derek manages to raise his head to look at him. He seems pale, his face oddly blank as he watches Derek. ''Mistake,'' he repeats.

''Yes,'' says Derek curtly. ''I mean, Jesus. Stiles, you're my friend. You can't be-'' he contain a grimace, glancing down at his collarbone. ''I don't care what it says. You're my friend.''

''Wow,'' says Stiles under his breath. Derek looks up at him.

Stiles covers his face with his hand but finally nods, his eyes downcast. ''Okay, but I'm still checking what the fuck it means when your soulmark bleeds, cause that's fucking freaky, fuck.''

Derek eyes him and suddenly huffs out a laugh, the whole mess catching up with him. ''Fuck,'' he agrees.

Stiles' face does something strange, expressions flying through, and he turns away to open his laptop.

3. Derek won't think about it.

''Wait,'' says Derek and reaches with his hand to keep Stiles' face in place. ''Just wait a second.''

''Take it out, crap, this is so urky, I hate it,'' moans Stiles, his leg knocking some weird pattern on the floor.

''Urky?'' asks Derek with a hint of smile and takes out an eyelash that had made its way into Stiles' eye.

''Oh, yes, that's better.'' He sighs, blinking rapidly, then closes his eyes. He tears up a bit and Derek gently dries out Stiles' face with his thumb, watching him.

He is a guy. Stiles isn't feminine at any point, there is nothing androgynous about him, he is very much a guy. Still, his lips seem soft and pink, his skin looks pale and creamy. He has a pattern of moles on the left side of his face and Derek shifts a little to have a better view of it, his hand on Stiles' chin, the other still touching his cheek.

The moles go down, reaching his neck. Derek has a weird urge to trace them with his fingers.

He leans back, not looking at Stiles. ''So,'' he clears his throat, ''we were doing homework. What is the triple point again?'' he asks, pointing at the open notebook between them.

Stiles regards him for a second, his face clear of any specific emotion, just – watching him. Derek shifts his weight, uncomfortable, and Stiles finally looks back down at the notes.

''It's when a pressure and the temperature is such that the substance is gas, liquid and solid at the same time. Like, you have water, and at 32 degrees Fahrenheit it coexists as part water, part ice, and part water vapor. If you change the circumstances even a little you can turn the whole substance into one of those phases.''

Derek frowns. ''So it's like a turning point?''

Stiles rolls his eyes. ''If you need a literary metaphor to understand chemistry, yes.''

4. ...He can't stop thinking about it.

''Does it still bleed?''

Derek shrugs, thinking of an answer. They both know that Stiles is actually asking whether Derek continues to reject him as his soulmate. He grimaces at the thought.

''Sometimes. A little,'' he replies. Stiles has this blank look on his face, like he's masking something.

Suddenly, Derek feels like an asshole, even though it doesn't make any sense. He doesn't reject Stiles – he still wants him in his life – just – as a friend. It's not strange, they've been friends ever since playground battles between Batman (Stiles had an amazing action figure) and Captain America (Derek had an awesome shield).

He needs to change the topic.

''What did you get on the last chemistry test?''

Stiles smirks.

Derek narrows his eyes and jabs him in the side. ''I got B and I sill consider it a success,'' he says.

Stiles squirms, laughing and jabs him in the side as well, and soon enough they are full-on fighting, rolling on the floor. Derek comes out victorious, keeping both of Stiles' wrists in his hand, and grins down at him.

Like this, he can really look at Stiles.

It's weird how he has no idea how gay people even work, yet still can imagine himself holding Stiles close, touching him. His full arms, slim waist, his chest – even when his body is so different than a girl's – Stiles still looks good.

He realizes he's been staring at Stiles and stands up awkwardly. Stiles' lips are parted as he watches him with big eyes, uncertain.

''Homework or 'The Witcher'?'' asks Derek, deliberately ignoring whatever's just happened.

After a moment, Derek turns to him and sees as Stiles huffs and gives him a flat look.

''True,'' he agrees and opens the game.

5. Stiles is supposed to be his friend, though.

''Hey,'' Stiles sounds oddly hesitant, ''can you come over?''

''Sure,'' replies Derek, reaching for his shoes already. He's been feeling restless for a while and he's grateful for finally having something to do. ''I'll be there in 20.''

''No – wait, Derek, are you still there?''

Derek frowns slightly and raises his phone back to his ear. ''Yes, what's wrong?''

''I-'' Stiles pauses and Derek can almost see him biting his lip and knocking some odd rhythm with his fingers. ''I got my soulmate mark.''

''Oh,'' Derek manages after a while.

''Yeah, just, do you know some ointment or something to make it stop bleeding?''

''Bleeding?''

''Yeah,'' sighs Stiles. ''It won't fucking stop,'' he says, sounding weary. ''I checked on the Internet but everywhere I looked they repeat it's gonna stop on its own. But, you know, the presence of your soulmate helps.''

Derek finally finds his voice after a beat. ''I'll be there.''

Stiles seems okay, if tired, once they are alone in his bedroom.

''There is not much blood, don't worry. It's just annoying.'' He grimaces.

''Let me see,'' says Derek, sitting next to him and reaching towards Stiles' hip. The whole area is reddened and Derek's eyebrows draw together, regarding it. He touches the mark, dazedly reading his name, Derek Sebastian Hale, on Stiles' body.

Suddenly, Stiles groans and his head falls back, relaxing. Derek snaps his eyes to him, startled.

''What's the matter?''

''You've got magic hands,'' mumbles Stiles. ''C'mon, do the pain sucking thingy.''

Derek frowns at him, shakes his head in confusion.

''Just touch the thing,'' says Stiles, keeping Derek's hand on his hip. He sighs again. ''Oh god, this feels so much better.''

''I don't think it's bleeding anymore,'' observes Derek.

''Fucking magic.''

They sit in a silence for a while and Derek slowly looks up to Stiles, who's turned away, staring at the wall.

Derek licks his lips. ''You know I'm not, like, rejecting you, right?''

Slowly, Stiles meets his gaze, his eyebrows raising.

''I'm not. We can be – platonic soulmates,'' he says. ''That's like a definition of friends, right,'' he continues, keeping Stiles' gaze.

''Right,'' repeats Stiles. ''Yeah,'' he nods, his face perfectly blank.

Derek has no idea what he's thinking. He mindlessly reaches with his other hand to brush some hair from Stiles' forehead and is met with his assessing look. He takes his hand back, suddenly aware of the loss of the warmth.

''We should clean up,'' he says.

''Yeah,'' agrees Stiles and smiles weakly. ''It's like a murder scene.''

Derek nods. ''From Agatha Christie.''

''Or 'The Texas Chain Saw Massacre','' says Stiles.

Derek turns to look at him with wide eyes, taken aback. ''Jesus.''

Stiles shakes his head dismissively. ''It's not that scary.''

Derek doesn't answer and Stiles narrows his gaze. ''You watched that,'' he states suddenly.

''Shut up,'' says Derek instantly.

''Oh my god, you've really watched that and it scared you,'' continues Stiles, looking at him with a wide grin.

''One, I did not. Two,'' Derek pauses and makes a face, ''it's supposed to be one of the best horror films. Clearly, there's something wrong with this world.''

Stiles starts laughing, his head falling back, and Derek punches him in the shoulder, scowling. Stiles doesn't even try to fight him off, too busy gasping for breath.

+1. It changes with the triple point.

Derek has an idea what Stiles is thinking, of course. He just doesn't know if he really wants to understand Stiles – because he is smart, funny, the best person to imagine as his soulmate-

But he is a guy.

So Derek tries to imagine Stiles as a girl and that's just weird. It's just–

he freezes on his way to school, realization dawning on him.

It's just Stiles. If he forgets about gender – gay – bisexual – it's just Stiles, with his Star Wars and chemistry knowledge, his pale skin and moles.

This is the turning point, he thinks, or the triple point.

He can stay as only friends with Stiles, no matter how painful and – okay, downright impossible it seems. Derek can't tear his eyes away from Stiles most of the time now. He doesn't think he could ever get used to him if 16 years wasn't enough.

But he can stay friends with Stiles and wait as they slowly grow apart and, and he rejects the idea immediately.

Now, Stiles notices him and waves, brightening. Derek's lips curl up in response, feeling a small rash of pleasure that Stiles is happy just to see him.

Derek could also walk up to him, stand close, interlace their fingers, and see what will happen.

Stiles' eyes widen as he glances down at it, and then he looks up at Derek, his expression guarded.

''What's wrong?'' he asks, his eyebrows drawn a bit. ''Are you – cold? Or-''

Derek smiles a bit and lets himself touch Stiles' moles, the ones on his left cheek. ''No,'' he answers softly.

Stiles blinks at him. Derek can see the way he starts blushing and it makes his smile widen, he keeps tracing with his fingers the moles, taking in Stiles' pale skin, now flushed, his brown eyes, his lips.

''Thanks for giving me time,'' he says. ''I needed it.''

Stiles swallows thickly, his eyes locked with Derek's – but in a moment, he looks away and steps back, retrieving his hand and putting both of them deep in his pockets. ''It was better than the alternative,'' he says.

Derek moves forward, lifts his chin so Stiles has to gaze at him again, leans closer. ''I couldn't imagine leaving you. In every scenario, you'd at least stay my friend.''

''You had scenarios?'' asks Stiles, his eyes widening with interest.

Derek shrugs, smiling and Stiles laughs.

He can't look away from him. He's never been this close to kissing someone and it's never meant this much. His heart is beating like crazy.

''Stiles,'' he starts once the silence settles between them, ''will you be my soulmate?''

Stiles smiles at him, his lips widening in a completely open expression. ''Yes,'' he replies, grinning, and – finally – they kiss.

It should feel at least a little weird – they are both guys, after all – but it doesn't. It's good, almost unbearably sweet, until Stiles slicks Derek's lower lip with just a bit of tongue and Derek is hit with a wave of heat. He can only take what Stiles gives him, lightheaded and overwhelmed with the sensation.

He is grateful when Stiles ends it soon after, even if he misses the kiss at the same time. He leans his forehead against Stiles' and slowly opens his eyes, having closed them earlier instinctively.

Stiles gives him a small smile, somewhat hesitant, and Derek returns the expression, helpless to do anything else. He can't believe this is what he's been denying himself for so long, seeing Stiles flushed, unreservedly happy before him.

He'll make sure to buy chocolate granola next time.

[babbbyygurlll]

denied (2) | jungkook

member: jungkook

genre: fluff? angst? smut? i really don’t know

POV (point of view): jungkook pov until the end, then reader pov

- summary: She liked him and he didn’t like her. He was everything she wanted and she was everything he didn’t ask for. He was the only person she had eyes for and she didn’t even exist in his mind. However, this wasn’t the beginning for the two

note: hEYYY GUYS i’m back with part two of denied!! sorry for the delay i just went back to school and i have had 3 assessments due this week so i was very busy. thanks for so many likes on the first, i wasn’t expecting like 66 people to like it, that would be 65 more people than i expected. I would also like to mention before you read this, i have this in an Australian context. I am basing this off of my experience at a high school so i use “canteen” which is like a cafeteria? but yeah since i’m aussie its just easier to do this and also the reason for the area code in front of her phone number. Nothing important actually happens in this chapter, but don’t worry actual y/n x jungkook interactions should happen in the next chapter. aNYWAYS THANKS FOR THE SUPPORT AND ENJOY CHAPTER 2

+61 4568821: aye papiiiii

+61 4568821: did you miss me ?

+61 4568821: you were so harsh yesterday kook

+61 4568821: you lucky I have thicc skin

+61 4568821: almost as thicc as those thighs of yours

+61 4568821: maybe even that dick-

You: Jesus christ

You: I thought I blocked you

+61 4568821: lol dad

+61 4568821: I changed my numberrrrrrr

+61 4568821: my old one had a zero at the end

+61 4568821: now it's a one

+61 4568821: im like those bad infections you can’t get rid of

+61 4568821: im sure you have a lot of experiences with stuff like that ;)

You: You are kidding me

+61 4568821: iM mAKING A JOKE KOOKIE

+61 4568821: im not trying to offend my papi

+61 4568821: tbh I would still hit it even if you had an infection

+61 4568821: unless you have vagina warts

+61 4568821:

tHAT SHIT IS NASTY

+61 4568821: my pussy is a new concrete road not some bumpy brick path

You: How can I have vagina warts if I have a dick?

+61 4568821: man I wasn’t planning on giving a biology lesson so early in the morning

+61 4568821: but vagina warts are also known as genital warts kook

+61 4568821: and genitals include penises

+61 4568821: so it is very possible

+61 4568821: I have an educational question

+61 4568821: are boobs genitals?

You: anyways

You: Do you have a good explanation

You: For texting me

You: At 6:34 in the morning

+61 4568821: ahhhhh

+61 4568821: I have a really good reason

+61 4568821: okay okay here it goes

+61 4568821: its amazing

+61 4568821: so i wanted to tell you there is a bake sale happening at school this morning

+61 4568821: so you should go early

+61 4568821: to have some breakfast

+61 4568821: :)

You: Is that it?

+61 4568821: also

+61 4568821: to try out

+61 4568821: my new phone number

+61 4568821: :)

You: okay

You: Im gonna block you now

+61 4568821: wHATTTTTTTT

+61 4568821: man jungkook you and that block button are very intimate

+61 4568821: wHY YOU BLOCKING ME AGAIN

You: Cause you messaged me again

+61 4568821: whats so wrong with that

You: I don’t know who you are

You: And im not one to talk to strangers

+61 4568821: im not a stranger

+61 4568821: if anything im a nicer

You: Also you make jokes like that

+61 4568821: mY JOKES ARE FUNNY

You: not really

+61 4568821: wow kook

+61 4568821: that really hurt

+61 4568821: my body is in pain

+61 4568821: wait that's my period

+61 4568821: wELL YOU ARE MAKING IT WORSE

You: I will leave then

+61 4568821: but but

+61 4568821: you are my medicine ☹

you: you don't need medicine for you period

+61 4568821: dang he got me on that one

+61 4568821: you are my aspirin <3

You: I need to get ready

You: Change your number as many times as you want

You: I will still block you

+61 4568821: okay I have a grand idea

+61 4568821: how about you go to that bake sale

+61 4568821: and buy some breakfast

+61 4568821: and I will stop bugging you

You: You serious?

+61 4568821: as serious as herpes

You: Fine whatever

You: Leave me alone after that

+61 4568821: OKAY KOOKIE

+61 4568821: p.s the sweet bread is the best

+61 4568821: SEE YOU AT SCHOOL

+61 4568821: wait don't see me

+61 4568821: I will see you

+61 4568821: but you won’t see me

+61 4568821: hopefully

+61 4568821: dONT GO LOOKING FOR ME BOY

+61 4568821: bye bye kookie <3

You: I told you to stop calling me that

+61 4568821: okay okay

+61 4568821: bYE BYE PAPIIII

You were smiling alongside your friends, with your binder in one hand and a sweet bread in the other. A smile was spread across your face as you and your friends continue to walk to school. It was a cold summer day, you were wearing your school uniform that reached just above your knees along with your ugly ass school blazer. It may be ugly, but you were freezing so you choose to look ugly and warm for that day only. Your heavy backpack weighed down your shoulders, it was filled with schoolbooks you barely look at and packets of snacks for when you get hungry in class. You had your hair out which was an inconvenience for you as it kept on getting in the way when you tried to take a bite from the sweet bread. You were currently still in your morning daze as your eyes began to droop whilst walking. Unfortunately you were disturbed when you heard a loud pitchy voice.

“Oh yeah y/n, why didn't you want to come to the mall with us yesterday? We were going shopping for Bella’s birthday party.” One of your friends, Anna asked you whilst shaking your shoulders.

“ahh you see, my mum said I had to look after Aaron after school so yeah I had that. I need to get a present for ___ though.” You retort back to your friend, ignoring her shaking whilst continuing to snack on your bread. You smile to yourself when recalling the events of yesterday and even this morning, when you were lying on your bed with a chocolate bar in your mouth as you kept on messaging jungkook daddy and papi.

“Why are you smiling to yourself y/n? You look like a pervert when you smile like that” Anna snarks at you in disgust before you hit her chest with your binder.

“Ouch y/n!” She screeches loud enough to bust your ears. Her face was scrunched in pain but instantly stopped to look at you. “Wait did you say Aaron?” She questioned with bright eyes, you already knowing where this is going. “Yes I did” You said as you all stopped at the stoplight.

“oh my god! Aaron is so cute, I wish I had a baby brother” Your friend continues to whine whilst stopping her feet like a baby. You smile to yourself again as your friend takes the bait. “Why have a baby brother when you already are one?” You comment at her with a blank face, but your statement causes her to slap your arm. Your other friends begin to giggle and laugh with their hands covering their face, like how any high school girl laughs. The stoplight turns green and you start walking across the street. “Don’t be so mean y/n! My cup size is larger than yours, I wouldn’t call me a boy with that cutting board you call a chest!” Your friend rebuts before stomping in front of you murmuring something along the lines I’m not a little boy. You finally reach the path walk and you see Anna marching away like a little troll with that big ass backpack. The rest of your friends continue to laugh their heads off, but you just get lost in your thoughts and then pulls your dress away from your chest to take a peak at your boobs. “They aren’t that small” you whisper to yourself before removing your hand from your dress and shove another bite of the sweet bread into your mouth.

Jungkook was just a small crush, or at least that's what you say to yourself. You like Jungkook but you wouldn't say you love him. You barely knew the dude and only had a few interactions before the text message incident yesterday. The whole Jungkook situation only started a few months ago. You were walking to the canteen with a huge grin on your face as you went to go buy your third snack today. You had two sandwiches today so you were craving something sweet. Banana bread crossed your mind and it wasn’t a bad idea, so you take out the exact change you needed for a slice of banana bread in the palm of your hand. Your smile takes over your entire face when you skip past the canteen doors into the humid slightly – smelly canteen, and as soon as you enter you lock eyes with where the banana bread usually are. Your soul almost left your body when you take notice that there is only one banana bread left in the brown basket. Your feet start moving before your mind even notices the tall male figure walking towards the basket. You push through crowds of people as they wait in line, you hear yelling and screams in your direction but you were only thinking of yourself in this moment.

The worried expression on your face begins to disappear when you are a metre away from your banana bread. But when you start to lean towards the basket, a large hand moves in front of yours and quickly grabs the bread so fast your eyes didn't even notice until you reach out to grab nothing. Your eyes pop out of your head and a loud gasp leaves your lips. A hand is on your chest as you stare into the man’s back. You were left dumbfounded, as your precious baby was snatched before your eyes. Your body was motionless as the man stood in front of you waiting to pay for your banana bread. Your body couldn’t react to the man whose back was currently facing you, but in your mind you were burning his head with your laser eyes. The boy awkwardly looks over his shoulder to see a small brunette girl in a slouching position, squinting her eyes towards him with her hands in front of her in a grabbing motion. When you realises he was looking at you and that wasn’t your imagination you stand straight and suspiciously starts whistling whilst playing with your feet. It took you a minute to notice the boy’s very handsome features. His jawline, his eyes, his shoulders. You were always a fan of broad shoulders and a muscular chest and this boy had both of those. You could also say his chest is better than yours, but his chest wouldn’t look good in a pink lacy bra so yours ultimately wins.

“Do you want something?” he asks with his eyebrows squished together.

“Well” you drag on and scratch the top of your head. “ Since you asked” you say before stopping and using your index finger to point to the banana bread in his hand. “I want that” You flash him a big warm smile, hoping to appeal to the stranger’s soft side. He fully turns around to look down at you then look at the banana bread in his hand. “This?” He says whilst waving the bread in your face. “Yes please” you hold your hands together and start to bat your eyelashes. He looks at you oddly for a minute and then grabs your hand. Your body jumps at the instant contact, before you could ask him what he is doing he places the banana bread in the palm of your hand and walks off.

“ Take it. If it causes this much trouble, its not worth it.” He murmurs as he brushes shoulders with you and exits the canteen. You look towards the exit and tilt your head in confusion.

“What did he say?” You ask yourself, as you try to remember what he said. “Excuse me, you are delaying the line” A loud voice yells in your direction, you turn around to see the canteen lady yelling at you. You run forward and show your banana bread to the women. You hand her the two dollars and fifty cents in fifty cent coins and slowly walk out of the canteen. The court yard is filled with students, but your eyes try to find the same tall figure that was in the canteen moments ago. You unwrap the banana bread as you scan the yard, but the same tall figure wasn’t to be seen. You start to walk away from the canteen and go back to your friends. The banana bread was being shoved into your mouth and you took a large bite, still thinking about that mysterious handsome boy.

Then and even now, you didn’t even notice that you have met that boy before. In fact you were quite familiar with the stranger, and he did appear in your past quite often.

“Y/n!!” Anna wailed once again, seeing her wave her hands in the distance. You were standing in place by the cross walk but you could see all of your friends a far distance away from you. You were daydreaming and they didn’t even notice you stopped walking until now.

“Come on y/n!” Anna yells for the hundredth time. Waves of laughter leave your mouth and you start travelling towards her. Before you could make a step you fell a small vibration coming from your back pocket. You reach behind you and squint your eyes towards your phone screen, if you weren’t smiling before you sure would be smiling now.

New Text Message Jungkookie <3: You weren’t wrong about the sweet bread

An unexpected warmth spreads through your body and even hues of red appear on your cheeks. You shove your phone back into your pocket and start attempting to run towards Anna, which is more like waddling with that heavy backpack. As you sprint towards Anna, you shove piece of sweet bread into your mouth. You giggle to yourself when you realise Jungkook is eating the same food you are right now and tasting the same flavours you are right now, but if anything you are glad you got to repay him for the Banana Bread.

[5hfanfiction]

Everything Is A Metaphor

Chapter 3

* * *

Listen to: Fingertips by Ryan O’Shaughnessy

“I’ll choose not to choose.”

————————————————————————————————————

Zoom in.

The two girls are walking hand in hand, their faces hidden from the wintry midnight air only when they turn to laugh into each other’s shoulders. The taller one is tripping over herself, but in her poor senses dampened by alcohol, she blames it on the girl next to her; says that she’s making her so giddy, so happy, she can’t even stand up straight. People feel like that all the time; have that feeling of joy, so strong it propels them every which way because dammit, they just can’t contain it. Happiness does that: it overwhelms you until you simply lose control.

The two girls are walking hand in hand, unable to contain their grins.

The two girls are walking hand in hand, grips so tight their footsteps are in sync.

Walking hand in hand, into the street, blinded by happiness and joy and-

And light.

Just before things go black, the shorter girl stops the taller one dead in the street. Eyes gleaming, she says, “I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. Is that too cliche?”

“No,” The taller girl says, her smile hardening. “I feel the same way.”

And the two girls are connected. Together. Hand in hand. Marveling at one another.

Until the blare of a car horn reaches their ears and, finally, the screaming.

“Lauren!”

The last thing she sees is Camila’s face. Pupils dilating with fright; mouth struggling to open wide enough for her screams; her entire body trembling, like a dog caught in a snow storm-

Zoom out.

Lauren wakes up. One hand is in her hair, the other holding onto her chest so tight she can feel her heart just beneath the skin, beating as fast and loud as a failing cardiac monitor’s beeping. The blare of the car horn continues to ring in her ears, and terror grasps her again as she realizes the nightmare may not be over-

Until, finally, she turns to her left. There on her bedside table, spazzing out, is her alarm clock.

Wait- Her alarm clock? Ringing? But-?

“Lucy?” Lauren mumbles at first, her hands searching the bed for her missing girlfriend. Then, finding nothing, she shrieks, “Lucy!?” She jumps out of bed when there’s no instant response, but just as soon as her feet hit the ground, she collapses back onto the mattress, unable to stand. Shit. What happened last night?

Lucy calls from the bathroom, “I’m in here.” Her voice is tired, tone annoyed and reserved. Lauren hasn’t heard her sound such a way since the last time they argued- over a year ago.

But that’s not how Lauren knows something is wrong. What reveals that certainty is the fact that her alarm clock had to wake her up. Her alarm clock never has to wake her up.

“What the hell?” Lauren exasperates once Lucy descends from the bathroom, perfectly dressed and ready for class. Her hair is up in a tight ponytail, complementing her dark red sweatshirt. She even bothered to put on makeup- something she never does before 3 PM.

Lauren’s mouth drops even further. “Why didn’t you wake me up?!”

“I don’t know,” Lucy sighs, pursing her lips to dry her red lipstick. She turns away from Lauren to grab her book bag off its hook on the bathroom door.

“Maybe I just assumed you wouldn’t be up for classes after last night.”

“But you always wake me up, even when I’m sick-“

Realizing how childish she sounds, Lauren shuts up. She takes a moment to contemplate; what could she have done wrong?

But her mind comes up blank. Defeated, Lauren says, “You know, I can’t fix anything if you don’t tell me what I did wrong.”

Lucy halts, her bag in her hand, back still turned.

“You’re an asshole.” She mumbles under her breath.

“Excuse me-?” Lauren begins, but Lucy’s already starting for the door. Lauren attempts to jump off the bed again. “Lucy! Hello?!” She reaches for Lucy’s arm, but as her stomach begins turning she settles for the girl’s shoulder. Lauren covers her mouth with her hand, fearing she might vomit right then and there.

Shit, Lauren thinks. Am I hungover?

Lucy’s heavy sigh breaks her train of thought.

“Sit down,” She says, gesturing with a nod. She digs into her bag for a jar of Advil, handing two over to Lauren, who takes them gratefully. After she swallows them down, she stares at the floor, anxious and confused.

Lucy sighs again, rolling her eyes. “Do you really not remember any of last night?”

Last night. Lauren again searches her mind for what feels like an hour, until finally she’s hit with the revelation that she is, indeed, an asshole.

“Shit,” She mumbles, burying her face in her hands. “Lucy, I was just having a bad night, I-…I just wanted to forget about everything for a while. I should’ve woken you up, I know-“

“I’m not mad about that,” Lucy snaps, but she doesn’t continue her explanation. Instead, her arms simply tighten around her chest.

Lauren raises a brow. “I’m lost.”

“Jesus, Lauren,” Lucy runs a hand over forehead, slamming it downwards at her side. “Camila! I’m angry about Camila!”

“Camila? I didn’t-“

“She brought you home, Lauren! I wake up at 4 in the morning to someone pounding at the door and when I realize you aren’t in bed, I think it’s you, drunk off your ass or something. Instead, it’s Camila, who’s holding you, passed out, in her arms! What the fuck, Lauren?”

Camila. The night is coming back to Lauren, now; fragments that see the two girls together, at the bar. The streets. But walking home? She can’t remember a damn thing about that.

“Lucy-“

“Are you cheating on me, Lauren? Because if you are, I get it. The girl of your fucking dreams comes back from the fucking dead and by some grace of god, she’s into you, too.” Lucy’s voice tears, drowned out by the hitch in her throat. “Why wouldn’t you choose her over me, right?”

Lauren’s mouth actually drops open a bit, her brow furrowing. She turns her head, even tucks her hair behind her ears as if she didn’t hear correctly. When she looks back at Lucy’s glassy eyes, she realizes she heard exactly right.

“Lucy,” Lauren whispers, shaking her head in disbelief. She searches Lucy’s features for some sign of regret, something that shows she doesn’t actually believe the words she’s just spoken. But still, nothing. Lauren stumbles from the bed one last time, closing the distance between her and Lucy. She stares directly into her eyes, attempting to hold back the wave of nausea circulating through her gut.

“You’re not a choice to me. I didn’t choose you. If anything, you chose me.”

And before Lucy can argue, Lauren wraps her arms around the smaller girl.

“I’m sorry,” She says, loud enough for Lucy to hear. “I’m sorry for ever making you feel like that.”

Lauren pulls away then, grabbing Lucy’s hand instinctively. “Listen to me,” She searches Lucy’s eyes once more, and she sighs with relief once she sees the calmness washed over them.

“You’re everything to me. You hold my entire heart, always; you have to know that, Luce.” She takes a breath, running a hand through her hair. “I’ve just been…drowning this week.” Lauren decides not to explain further, her nausea growing stronger with each second. Instead, she simply pleads, “Please, tell me you understand?”

Silence.

Until suddenly, Lucy’s lips are on Lauren’s, again and again. Lauren’s feet are pushed backwards, again and again. And both of their hearts are beating rapidly, again and again. The temperature in the room rises. Lauren’s pushed back onto the bed, Lucy’s mouth moving from Lauren’s own to other places; first left to right, then up and down, like Lauren is the goddamn holy cross-

“Wait-” Lauren mumbles, eyes closed. “Not that I’m not loving this, but you know we can’t just brush over everything with sex.”

“I know,” Lucy sighs. “But I’m angry and I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.” She kisses Lauren in-between words. “Sex now. Talk later.”

Lauren smiles nervously. She knows the risk of unresolved arguments, of festering anger. This is a single crack in their relationship, and sex surely isn’t going to fix it.

Instead of voicing her concerns further, Lauren simply asks, “What about class?”

Lucy sighs again, this time out of pure frustration. Her lips move to Lauren’s shoulder; her neck; her earlobe.

She whispers,

“Show me how much you know about the human body.”

————————————————————————————————————

They spend about two hours in bed before heading to class. Lauren to one side of the campus, Lucy to the other. The separation is almost too much to bear, and as soon as the professor dismisses her class, Lauren practically skips to her’s and Lucy’s designated lunch table. She chooses the happiest playlist she can find, blaring of all songs, Wherever You Will Go by The Calling. She continues dancing over to the outdoor cafe area, until she feels a hand on her arm, gripping tightly. Lauren would’ve broken into full-on self-defense mode had she not felt that type of grip before.

“Camila,” Lauren mumbles in a disappointed voice, pulling her headphones off. When her vision clears enough to see Camila clearly, she almost apologizes for her tone of voice. The small girl wears a sad smile, almost a grimace. The shadows of her face contrast starkly with her bright outfit, a blue collared shirt with a white skirt. For a moment, Lauren is reminded of the same style Camila had in the past, before the accident.

Maybe people don’t change, after all.

“Mind if we talk?” Camila cocks her head to the side, her frown loosening into a grin. “Just for a second.”

Lauren looks over the girl’s shoulder at her lunch table and, seeing that it’s empty, she nods. The two girls shuffle over to a quiet corner where they won’t be seen.

“So, I guess I just wanted to check in regarding last night and everything,” Camila says, searching Lauren’s eyes. Lauren simply nods, not really looking at anything in particular.

“So, um, is everything okay, or…?”

Lauren nods again.

Camila sighs, “I know all your dirty secrets and I’m going to tell the entire university and get you expelled.”

Lauren nods again-

“Wait, what!?” She snaps her head up, genuinely afraid. She does indeed have a lot of dirty secrets, and the last thing she needs is NYU’s board finding out, let alone Camila.

Camila smirks. “Welcome back to earth. In case you missed it-which you obviously did,” She sticks her hand out, eyes wide with amusement. “Hi, I’m Camila! I’m pretty sure we met last night. You know, you threw up on my shoes, cried on my shoulder for like two hours…-“

Lauren buries her face in her hands, chuckling.

“Yeah, okay,” She runs her hands through her hair. “I’m sorry; about right now, I mean. Not about your shoes- although, I mean, I am, It’s just, if I didn’t vomit on your shoes then we wouldn’t have, um, talked so much and-“

“Are you still drunk, Jauregui?” Camila arches a brow, still smirking. “Or is this just you in your natural habitat?”

Lauren shoves Camila in the arm, giggling. “Fuck you, Cabello.” She pouts. “I’m trying my best.”

“Trying your best to what? Not stutter like an idiot around me?”

“Trying my best not to fall under your spell, Brown Eyed Girl.”

Then comes the break; the realization that maybe this innocent teasing isn’t so innocent; the question of “Holy shit, are we flirting?” rising in Lauren’s mind. She steps away from the smaller girl then, clearing her throat as if that’ll make the blood in her cheeks any less noticeable. When she looks back up at Camila, she realizes the confusion she’s caused. Shit, Camila looks like a damn puppy: her eyes wide, lips drawn inward as if she’s trying to contain her words. Then comes the look of regret, her eyes darting downward as she sighs.

“Um, so anyways,” Lauren forces a smile. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ears. “What were we talking about?”

Camila clears her throat. “Last night…I just wanted to make sure you’re okay and um, well…” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, itching behind her neck. “Ally told me some things about you…”

Lauren’s heart actually stops for a moment. She can hear the blood sloshing through her eardrums, as if it’s preparing to explode out of each and every opening in her body. Her mouth goes dry, and suddenly focusing on Camila is as difficult as focusing on calculus homework.

“W-What did she, um…” Lauren stutters, her lungs struggling to work. “Did she, like…did she say anything-?”

Camila drops the lower bottom corners of her mouth. “She told me I should stay away from you, that you’re really self-destructive and…some…other things I’d rather not repeat.”

Lauren’s heart resumes its beating, though this time it’s in a sadder, solemn pattern. Maybe Ally didn’t expose the truth about Lauren, her connection with Camila. But she did impose her strict parent-like ideals, as if Lauren would ever break Lucy’s heart just to be with Camila. I would never, Lauren swears to herself. But she looks up at Camila’s face then, and wonders briefly, Would I? How could she have just been promising Lucy her heart a few hours ago, only to question it now, in front of Camila?

It’s not like Lauren wants to be attracted to the girl. She loves Lucy- she does! But Camila…Well, Camila’s the only girl who’s ever had a real imprint on Lauren’s heart-

She shakes her head, cursing herself.

“I see.”

“So, would you like to go out to dinner sometime?”

For the second time today, Lauren snaps her head up, completely and utterly bewildered. Her eyes involuntarily blink rapidly, as if adjusting to a sudden bright light. Finally, she cocks her head, struggling to formulate words.

“W-W…What?”

Camila giggles again, embracing that same knowing smirk. “Don’t worry, I don’t have a kink for self-destructive people.” She arches a brow, shrugging. “Ally made me realize I don’t really know too much about you, except that you vomit easily.” Her smirk widens. “So, dinner, next weekend, maybe?”

And as she’s staring at Camila, at her brown eyes, which are lighter than usual; at her smirk, stretched so wide, like it can’t even begin to display the girl’s happiness; Lauren looks down at the girl’s hands, and realizes Camila really hasn’t changed all that much, for she’s intertwining her fingers together, like she always used to do when she was nervous; confident, but still a bit nervous.

And in this moment, she wants to say yes. In this moment, she wants nothing more than to grab Camila by the hand and drag her to some run-down restaurant; spill her secrets, maybe just about all of them. She wants to see Camila happy, smiling, laughing.

But also in this moment, as Lauren sees Lucy approaching their designated lunch table, she realizes she can’t. She loves Lucy. Camila is just a corrupt crush, brought on by nostalgia and suppressed desire. It isn’t real. It can’t be.

“I have a girlfriend,” Lauren spits out in one breath, shaky with nervousness. She avoids Camila’s eyes for a moment, attempting to gather enough strength to explain herself.

But Camila speaks before Lauren can. She cocks her head, arching a brow.

“Really?” She asks, her confidence unwavering. “Is that why you went down on me last night?”

Fuck, does Lauren’s heart literally stop. Again. For the fucking up tenth time today. Her breath actually hitches in her throat, causing her to cough like she’s choking…on air. Could that have really happened, Lauren seriously ponders for a moment? She was drunk off her ass, and not being able to remember the previous night’s events is never a good sign-

“Jesus, I’m kidding!” Camila rolls her eyes, this time trying to contain her laughs. “Relax.” She smiles firmly, reaching out to pat Lauren’s shoulder. Lauren freezes up again from the touch, only allowing herself to breathe when Camila snorts.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” She giggles. “I know you have a girlfriend, dumb-ass. Lucy was worried out of her mind when I brought you back to your dorm last night. You don’t actually peg me as that oblivious, do you?”

Lauren struggles with her words, cocking her head. What the hell is wrong with this girl?

“I just want to get to know you better, Lauren. Is eating out with friends not a normal thing in the city?” Camila asks seriously, then, seizing the moment, adds: “You know, like, eating out as in…food. Not like, you know-“

Lauren rolls her eyes, scoffing. “I hate you.”

“I’m only stumbling over my words!” Camila feigns shock. “Or is that not what you’re into?”

“Bye,” Lauren shoves Camila and turns around, walking towards her lunch table.

“Is that a yes?”

“No!” Lauren turns back to her, walking backwards now. She shrugs.

“So it’s a no, then?”

“No!” Lauren winks, stifling a smirk. “It’s a maybe.”

“You’re confusing as hell, you know that, Jauregui?”

“Is that not what you’re into?”

Lauren only regrets her playful words when she turns back to see Lucy.

————————————————————————————————————

Their argument is one to remember. Defense mechanisms strike down like lightning; guilt washes it all away like rain. The remaining result is jealousy.

Lauren sits at the edge of her bed, staring at herself in the mirror which hangs on the bathroom door. She takes note of the bags behind her eyes, the fading color in her hair(she really needs to re-dye it). Most of all, she notices Lucy at the desk next to the door of the dorm, burying her face in papers- searching for a real distraction, but ultimately finding nothing among ones and zeroes.

Finally, Lauren says, “If you don’t want me to go, I won’t.”

Lucy sighs, slamming her pen down onto the desk. “It’s not even the dinner thing that bothers me, Lauren!” She whirls around in her chair. “It’s the fact that you’re flirting with her and you don’t even realize it! Or-” Lucy lowers her voice. “Or you don’t even care.”

“I wasn’t-!” Lauren begins, but quickly shuts herself up after the realization that she can’t speak. She can’t defend herself. The truth is she really was flirting with Camila earlier, albeit unknowingly. It’s an impulse, an itch of a phantom limb: it’s only after you reach out to itch it that you realize there’s nothing there. Joking with Camila back and forth feels natural, just as with Lucy. Or Dinah. Or even Normani.

Lauren sighs, defeated. She garners enough strength to meet Lucy in the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” She says honestly. “You’re right, I don’t realize it. It just feels so…” She shrugs. “Natural; like we’re back to where we were two years ago-“

Lucy scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Then go date her, Lauren.”

She crosses her arms, leans back in her chair.

“One second you’re telling me I’m the only one who has your heart and the next you’re admitting to flirting with Camila and- and…You need to make your mind up. I can’t be worrying about school and work and the idea that my girlfriend is fooling around with her ex-”

“Hey,” Lauren rises from the bed, defiance flaring in her green eyes. “Watch it. You know I’d never cheat on you-“

“You’re not going to cheat on me, Lauren!” Lucy shouts. “That’s the whole damn point! You’re not that type of person. You don’t betray people; your heart does.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you might develop feelings for Camila, but you’d never act on them, not if you didn’t want to hurt me. But the point is those feelings are still there, Lauren! All you’re going to do is tuck them away and hide them until you’ve lost your chance with her. I know you, Laur.”

Lauren stands there, stunned.

“So go to dinner with her,” Lucy sighs, gathering her things into her book bag. “Find out who she really is, and if you find yourself falling, save me the heartache and tell me to my face.” She gets up and turns for the door, but Lauren grabs her by the wrist.

“Are you kidding me right now, Luce?” She scans the girl’s face, finding no trace of what she really wants to see; regret. “I told you! You’re not a choice-“

“But I am, Lauren!” Lucy smiles sadly, her voice thin. “Everyone, every fucking person in the world is a choice to each other. It’s just that you, consciously, can’t choose. The heart wants what the heart wants, right?”

Lauren tries to argue back, but Lucy slips out of her grip and walks out the door.

 ———————————————————————————————

hiiiii sorry 4 the late update school is absolutely killing me. thank u for all the feedback and pleaaasee keep it coming!!!!! the more messages i read the more motivated i am to update (lol). also, quick question….

Who should Lauren end up with? Lucy or Camila?

have a nice day!!

[readbookywooks]

5 R-i-i-i-p! I grit my teeth as Venia, a woman with aqua hair and gold tattoos above her eyebrows, yanks a strip of Fabric from my leg tearing out the hair beneath it. "Sorry!" she pipes in her silly Capitol accent. "You're just so hairy!" Why do these people speak in such a high pitch? Why do their jaws barely open when they talk? Why do the ends of their sentences go up as if they're asking a question? Odd vowels, clipped words, and always a hiss on the letter s. no wonder it's impossible not to mimic them. Venia makes what's supposed to be a sympathetic face. "Good news, though. This is the last one. Ready?" I get a grip on the edges of the table I'm seated on and nod. The final swathe of my leg hair is uprooted in a painful jerk. I've been in the Remake Center for more than three hours and I still haven't met my stylist. Apparently he has no interest in seeing me until Venia and the other members of my prep team have addressed some obvious problems. This has included scrubbing down my body with a gritty loam that has removed not only dirt but at least three layers of skin, turning my nails into uniform shapes, and primarily, ridding my body of hair. My legs, arms, torso, underarms, and parts of my eyebrows have been stripped of the Muff, leaving me like a plucked bird, ready for roasting. I don't like it. My skin feels sore and tingling and intensely vulnerable. But I have kept my side of the bargain with Haymitch, and no objection has crossed my lips. "You're doing very well," says some guy named Flavius. He gives his orange corkscrew locks a shake and applies a fresh coat of purple lipstick to his mouth. "If there's one thing we can't stand, it's a whiner. Grease her down!" Venia and Octavia, a plump woman whose entire body has been dyed a pale shade of pea green, rub me down with a lotion that first stings but then soothes my raw skin. Then they pull me from the table, removing the thin robe I've been allowed to wear off and on. I stand there, completely naked, as the three circle me, wielding tweezers to remove any last bits of hair. I know I should be embarrassed, but they're so unlike people that I'm no more self-conscious than if a trio of oddly colored birds were pecking around my feet. The three step back and admire their work. "Excellent! You almost look like a human being now!" says Flavius, and they all laugh. I force my lips up into a smile to show how grateful I am. "Thank you," I say sweetly. "We don't have much cause to look nice in District Twelve." This wins them over completely. "Of course, you don't, you poor darling!" says Octavia clasping her hands together in distress for me. "But don't worry," says Venia. "By the time Cinna is through with you, you're going to be absolutely gorgeous!" "We promise! You know, now that we've gotten rid of all the hair and filth, you're not horrible at all!" says Flavius encouragingly. "Let's call Cinna!" They dart out of the room. It's hard to hate my prep team. They're such total idiots. And yet, in an odd way, I know they're sincerely trying to help me. I look at the cold white walls and floor and resist the impulse to retrieve my robe. But this Cinna, my stylist, will surely make me remove it at once. Instead my hands go to my hairdo, the one area of my body my prep team had been told to leave alone. My fingers stroke the silky braids my mother so carefully arranged. My mother. I left her blue dress and shoes on the floor of my train car, never thinking about retrieving them, of trying to hold on to a piece of her, of home. Now I wish I had. The door opens and a young man who must be Cinna enters. I'm taken aback by how normal he looks. Most of the stylists they interview on television are so dyed, stenciled, and surgically altered they're grotesque. But Cinna's close-cropped hair appears to be its natural shade of brown. He's in a simple black shirt and pants. The only concession to self-alteration seems to be metallic gold eyeliner that has been applied with a light hand. It brings out the flecks of gold in his green eyes. And, despite my disgust with the Capitol and their hideous fashions, I can't help thinking how attractive it looks. "Hello, Katniss. I'm Cinna, your stylist," he says in a quiet voice somewhat lacking in the Capitol's affectations. "Hello," I venture cautiously. "Just give me a moment, all right?" he asks. He walks around my naked body, not touching me, but taking in every inch of it with his eyes. I resist the impulse to cross my arms over my chest. "Who did your hair?" "My mother," I say. "It's beautiful. Classic really. And in almost perfect balance with your profile. She has very clever fingers," he says. I had expected someone flamboyant, someone older trying desperately to look young, someone who viewed me as a piece of meat to be prepared for a platter. Cinna has met none of these expectations. "You're new, aren't you? I don't think I've seen you before," I say. Most of the stylists are familiar, constants in the ever-changing pool of tributes. Some have been around my whole life. "Yes, this is my first year in the Games," says Cinna. "So they gave you District Twelve," I say. Newcomers generally end up with us, the least desirable district. "I asked for District Twelve," he says without further explanation. "Why don't you put on your robe and we'll have a chat." Pulling on my robe, I follow him through a door into a sitting room. Two red couches face off over a low table. Three walls are blank, the fourth is entirely glass, providing a window to the city. I can see by the light that it must be around noon, although the sunny sky has turned overcast. Cinna invites me to sit on one of the couches and takes his place across from me. He presses a button on the side of the table. The top splits and from below rises a second tabletop that holds our lunch. Chicken and chunks of oranges cooked in a creamy sauce laid on a bed of pearly white grain, tiny green peas and onions, rolls shaped like flowers, and for dessert, a pudding the color of honey. I try to imagine assembling this meal myself back home. Chickens are too expensive, but I could make do with a wild turkey. I'd need to shoot a second turkey to trade for an orange. Goat's milk would have to substitute for cream. We can grow peas in the garden. I'd have to get wild onions from the woods. I don't recognize the grain, our own tessera ration cooks down to an unattractive brown mush. Fancy rolls would mean another trade with the baker, perhaps for two or three squirrels. As for the pudding, I can't even guess what's in it. Days of hunting and gathering for this one meal and even then it would be a poor substitution for the Capitol version. What must it be like, I wonder, to live in a world where food appears at the press of a button? How would I spend the hours I now commit to combing the woods for sustenance if it were so easy to come by? What do they do all day, these people in the Capitol, besides decorating their bodies and waiting around for a new shipment of tributes to roll in and die for their entertainment? I look up and find Cinna's eyes trained on mine. "How despicable we must seem to you," he says. Has he seen this in my face or somehow read my thoughts? He's right, though. The whole rotten lot of them is despicable. "No matter," says Cinna. "So, Katniss, about your costume for the opening ceremonies. My partner, Portia, is the stylist for your fellow tribute, Peeta. And our current thought is to dress you in complementary costumes," says Cinna. "As you know, it's customary to reflect the flavor of the district." For the opening ceremonies, you're supposed to wear something that suggests your district's principal industry. District 11, agriculture. District 4, fishing. District 3, factories. This means that coming from District 12, Peeta and I will be in some kind of coal miner's getup. Since the baggy miner's jumpsuits are not particularly becoming, our tributes usually end up in skimpy outfits and hats with headlamps. One year, our tributes were stark naked and covered in black powder to represent coal dust. It's always dreadful and does nothing to win favor with the crowd. I prepare myself for the worst. "So, I'll be in a coal miner outfit?" I ask, hoping it won't be indecent. "Not exactly. You see, Portia and I think that coal miner thing's very overdone. No one will remember you in that. And we both see it as our job to make the District Twelve tributes unforgettable," says Cinna. I'll be naked for sure, I think. "So rather than focus on the coal mining itself, we're going to focus on the coal," says Cinna. Naked and covered in black dust, I think. "And what do we do with coal? We burn it," says Cinna. "You're not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?" He sees my expression and grins. A few hours later, I am dressed in what will either be the most sensational or the deadliest costume in the opening ceremonies. I'm in a simple black unitard that covers me from ankle to neck. Shiny leather boots lace up to my knees. But it's the fluttering cape made of streams of orange, yellow, and red and the matching headpiece that define this costume. Cinna plans to light them on fire just before our chariot rolls into the streets. "It's not real flame, of course, just a little synthetic fire Portia and I came up with. You'll be perfectly safe," he says. But I'm not convinced I won't be perfectly barbecued by the time we reach the city's center. My face is relatively clear of makeup, just a bit of highlighting here and there. My hair has been brushed out and then braided down my back in my usual style. "I want the audience to recognize you when you're in the arena," says Cinna dreamily. "Katniss, the girl who was on fire." It crosses my mind that Cinna's calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madman. Despite this morning's revelation about Peeta's character, I'm actually relieved when he shows up, dressed in an identical costume. He should know about fire, being a baker's son and all. His stylist, Portia, and her team accompany him in, and everyone is absolutely giddy with excitement over what a splash we'll make. Except Cinna. He just seems a bit weary as he accepts congratulations. We're whisked down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, which is essentially a gigantic stable. The opening ceremonies are about to start. Pairs of tributes are being loaded into chariots pulled by teams of four horses. Ours are coal black. The animals are so well trained, no one even needs to guide their reins. Cinna and Portia direct us into the chariot and carefully arrange our body positions, the drape of our capes, before moving off to consult with each other. "What do you think?" I whisper to Peeta. "About the fire?" "I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine," he says through gritted teeth. "Deal," I say. Maybe, if we can get them off soon enough, we'll avoid the worst burns. It's bad though. They'll throw us into the arena no matter what condition we're in. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle." "Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?" says Peeta. "With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame," I say. And suddenly we're both laughing. I guess we're both so nervous about the Games and more pressingly, petrified of being turned into human torches, we're not acting sensibly. The opening music begins. It's easy to hear, blasted around the Capitol. Massive doors slide open revealing the crowd-lined streets. The ride lasts about twenty minutes and ends up at the City Circle, where they will welcome us, play the anthem, and escort us into the Training Center, which will be our home/prison until the Games begin. The tributes from District 1 ride out in a chariot pulled by snow-white horses. They look so beautiful, spray-painted silver, in tasteful tunics glittering with jewels. District 1 makes luxury items for the Capitol. You can hear the roar of the crowd. They are always favorites. District 2 gets into position to follow them. In no time at all, we are approaching the door and I can see that between the overcast sky and evening hour the light is turning gray. The tributes from District 11 are just rolling out when Cinna appears with a lighted torch. "Here we go then," he says, and before we can react he sets our capes on fire. I gasp, waiting for the heat, but there is only a faint tickling sensation. Cinna climbs up before us and ignites our headdresses. He lets out a sign of relief. "It works." Then he gently tucks a hand under my chin. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!" Cinna jumps off the chariot and has one last idea. He shouts something up at us, but the music drowns him out. He shouts again and gestures. "What's he saying?" I ask Peeta. For the first time, I look at him and realize that ablaze with the fake flames, he is dazzling. And I must be, too. "I think he said for us to hold hands," says Peeta. He grabs my right hand in his left, and we look to Cinna for confirmation. He nods and gives a thumbs-up, and that's the last thing I see before we enter the city. The crowd's initial alarm at our appearance quickly changes to cheers and shouts of "District Twelve!" Every head is turned our way, pulling the focus from the three chariots ahead of us. At first, I'm frozen, but then I catch sight of us on a large television screen and am floored by how breathtaking we look. In the deepening twilight, the firelight illuminates our faces. We seem to be leaving a trail of fire off the flowing capes. Cinna was right about the minimal makeup, we both look more attractive but utterly recognizable. Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you! I hear Cinna's voice in my head. I lift my chin a bit higher, put on my most winning smile, and wave with my free hand. I'm glad now I have Peeta to clutch for balance, he is so steady, solid as a rock. As I gain confidence, I actually blow a few kisses to the crowd. The people of the Capitol are going nuts, showering us with flowers, shouting our names, our first names, which they have bothered to find on the program. The pounding music, the cheers, the admiration work their way into my blood, and I can't suppress my excitement. Cinna has given me a great advantage. No one will forget me. Not my look, not my name. Katniss. The girl who was on fire. For the first time, I feel a flicker of hope rising up in me. Surely, there must be one sponsor willing to take me on! And with a little extra help, some food, the right weapon, why should I count myself out of the Games? Someone throws me a red rose. I catch it, give it a delicate sniff, and blow a kiss back in the general direction of the giver. A hundred hands reach up to catch my kiss, as if it were a real and tangible thing. "Katniss! Katniss!" I can hear my name being called from all sides. Everyone wants my kisses. It's not until we enter the City Circle that I realize I must have completely stopped the circulation in Peeta's hand. That's how tightly I've been holding it. I look down at our linked fingers as I loosen my grasp, but he regains his grip on me. "No, don't let go of me," he says. The firelight flickers off his blue eyes. "Please. I might fall out of this thing." "Okay," I say. So I keep holding on, but I can't help feeling strange about the way Cinna has linked us together. It's not really fair to present us as a team and then lock us into the arena to kill each other. The twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Circle. On the buildings that surround the Circle, every window is packed with the most prestigious citizens of the Capitol. Our horses pull our chariot right up to President Snow's mansion, and we come to a halt. The music ends with a flourish. The president, a small, thin man with paper-white hair, gives the official welcome from a balcony above us. It is traditional to cut away to the faces of the tributes during the speech. But I can see on the screen that we are getting way more than our share of airtime. The darker it becomes, the more difficult it is to take your eyes off our flickering. When the national anthem plays, they do make an effort to do a quick cut around to each pair of tributes, but the camera holds on the District 12 chariot as it parades around the circle one final time and disappears into the Training Center. The doors have only just shut behind us when we're engulfed by the prep teams, who are nearly unintelligible as they babble out praise. As I glance around, I notice a lot of the other tributes are shooting us dirty looks, which confirms what I've suspected, we've literally outshone them all. Then Cinna and Portia are there, helping us down from the chariot, carefully removing our flaming capes and headdresses. Portia extinguishes them with some kind of spray from a canister. I realize I'm still glued to Peeta and force my stiff fingers to open. We both massage our hands. "Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there," says Peeta. "It didn't show," I tell him. "I'm sure no one noticed." "I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often," he says. "They suit you." And then he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me. A warning bell goes off in my head. Don't be so stupid. Peeta is planning how to kill you, I remind myself. He is luring you in to make you easy prey. The more likable he is, the more deadly he is. But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.