#this chapter is sponsored by me lying sick in bed

[mxmooniper]

Gerry closed his eyes and asked, voice hushed as if trying not to spook Jon: “How was it for you?”

“H—how was what for me?”

“Quitting.”

“Oh. Well, technically I never did. Quit. Officially, I mean.” Jon rolled his stiff shoulders and winced. Then he started gently scratching Gerry’s head, who leaned into it in a manner certainly able to compete with Agnes’ hedonistic cat.

“Oh right, you just went compulsory cold turkey, didn’t you,” he rumbled, squinting through half-lidded eyes.

“Mh, yes. I didn’t have a steady supply of cigarettes throughout the apocalypse, but I managed to find them more often than not. I just always seemed to know where— well. I smoked my last shortly before I— I came here. With Georgie.”

Gerry hummed. Jon let the soft, melancholy pang of saying Georgie’s name out loud wash over him, then smiled self-deprecatingly. “But a collapsed lung does definitely change things. I still have rather awful cravings from time to time, but I know it really, really isn’t worth that kind of ordeal.”

[songtoyou]

Epiphany - Part Four

Paring: Luke Crain x Female Reader

Chapter Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3,080

Warnings: Talks of drug use and recovery. Swearing and self-doubt.

Description: Life has never been easy for Luke Crain. After the death of Nell, Luke realizes that he needs to make some changes. He decided to stay in Massachusetts and attend rehab. He was determined to remain on his path of sobriety. When you get assigned to be Luke’s sponsor, it opens a new door of possibilities that neither you nor Luke expected.  

A/N: I am sorry that it has taken me so long to write and upload this chapter. I have not been feeling so good since I posted that last chapter. Lots of anxiety keeping me from doing things such as write. Anyway, here is the new chapter. I wanted to write about Aunt Janet. I felt that the show didn’t really tell us much about her except that she took care of the kids after the events of Hill House in 1992. 

Note: Italics represent the past or past conversations.

Feedback is wonderful. It is nice knowing if people are actually liking this fic.

I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Tag list: @morningstar09

~Aunt Janet’s House – 2002 ~

“Luke! Hurry up, or you’re going to be late for school!” Aunt Janet yelled up the stairs.

“Luke! Come on!” exclaimed Nellie. “I’ll go check on him.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” said Janet. Her youngest nephew often worried her, especially since it was the tenth anniversary of Olivia’s death this past summer. Janet started to notice that Luke became more recluse and stayed up in his room. The only person Luke would interact with was Nell, which was not surprising to Janet. The twins only managed to become closer as they got older.

What really began to cause Janet to worry was catching Luke steal money from her purse. She asked him what he was doing and why he was stealing. However, Luke could come up with a pretty decent lie about needing money to buy flowers for Olivia’s grave.

In truth, it was to buy beer. Luke had taken a liking to the barley and hops beverage. It helped him feel numb and not worry about anything. Unfortunately, Luke had one too many beers last night and was paying for it. Nellie found him headfirst in the toilet regurgitating the contents of his late-night beer binge.

“Eww, gross. What is wrong with you?” asked Nellie. She pinched her nose as the stench of Luke’s puke was overwhelming.

“What does it look like! I’m sick! Tell Aunt Janet that I can’t go to school.”

“Luke, come on. You have missed too many days already. They’re going to hold you back another year if you miss any more school,” Nellie argued while searching through Luke’s drawers and closet for clothes.

Luke managed to get up from the bathroom floor when he felt it was safe. He rinsed out his mouth to relieve it from the after taste of throw-up.

“Come on! Get cleaned up and put these on,” ordered Nell and shoved Luke’s clothes in his arms.

Luke groaned and plopped down on his bed. “Nellie…I can’t go to school today. I’m too sick.”

“Well, your sickness is also making me sick, but I managed to get up and ready for school today. Now move it! I’ll keep bugging you if you don’t move. I’m not going to let you fall to the waste side. Do you hear me, Luke?”

“Fine! I’m getting dressed!” Luke yelled to get Nellie off of his back.

No matter what occurred between them, neither twin could ever hate the other. They were each other’s best friends and closest confidante. They had to be. Especially now that they were the last two left in Aunt Janet’s care. As soon as their eldest siblings turned eighteen, they hightailed it out of Janet’s house for college.

Luke slowly trudges down the stairs with his backpack slumped on his shoulders.

“Hey, there he is,” greeted Aunt Janet. “Would you like some breakfast, sweetie?”

“No! No breakfast,” Luke replied with his head on the table.

However, Nellie pushed a plate of dry toast in front of him and told him to at least nibble some bites. “Here’s some orange juice. Take slow sips. The last thing we need is you spewing junks in the toilet again,” whispered Nellie while Aunt Janet was in the kitchen. She would not out that her brother was hungover. That last thing Nell wanted was to cause any more trouble for Luke.

She knew why Luke did not want to go to school, and it had to do with, what else, their family. Some of the kids at school saw Luke as an easy target to bully and terrorize. The topic of their “messed-up” family was their go-to whenever they wanted to antagonize Luke. Nell often found herself a target for bullies but could stand up for herself a lot better than Luke.

With the anniversary of Olivia’s death, the bullies made it their mission to torment Luke about growing up without a mother or father. They would push him against the lockers, knocking his glasses off his face, and trip him in the hallways. It was too much to handle, and Luke was tired.

Leaning back in his chair, Luke re-read the words on the computer screen. His instructor loved the essay he turned in and advised him to expand upon it. Luke pushed aside his reservations about exploring his past traumas through writing. It was a better outlet for Luke to help cope and tackle past stressful life experiences.  Not only did Luke have support from his instructor and you, but his counselor at Banyan Treatment Center, Rob, also supported the idea of using expressive writing as a way to heal.

Luke could not deny that writing helped clear his head. Something he learned while being in rehab back in Los Angeles. It allowed him to face things from his past that he had pushed aside. However, Luke had some reservations about how much he should…open himself up when it comes to sorting out his past events. There were still things that Luke was not quite ready to face.  

Oh my God!" exclaimed Luke. "It has been a month and a half since we have seen that movie. It would be best if you got over the ending. It happened. There is nothing you can do about it."

"I can't, Luke. It was total bullshit!" you yelled back furiously.

Luke calmly said your name to get your attention. "Listen to me; we don't even know if Steve Rogers actually stayed back in time to be with Peggy. He may have…"

"Then where did he go? Huh? He just up and left his friends who he just got back. Steve and Peggy never even dated! They kissed, that is it. Yes, there was an attraction that each had for one another, but that was all it ever way…an attraction. They are a 'what could have been' type of couple—the movie completely throughout all of Steve's character development…right out the window. Whatever, I'm over it," you stated, throwing your hands up in defeat.

You and Luke were driving to his Aunt Janet's house for a visit. He mentioned to you about wanting to visit his aunt for some time but had not gotten around to it. You were surprised that he asked you to come along.

Luke mentioned that Shirley and Theo were too busy to come with him and did not want to go alone. You agreed on the condition that he drive since Aunt Janet lived an hour and a half away from Wilmington. Lately, your anxiety has been going up and down, so you were not comfortable being at the hands of the wheel, especially on the freeway. You did not understand why you had such anxiety these past few days. You chalked it up to being nervous about your final project at school. The assignment was to create a self-portrait. It should be simple enough, but of course, the art instructor wanted students to "think outside of the box" and not have it be a regular standard portrait of themselves.

Each draft you came up with was of you in some state of turmoil, whether it be you depicted on a gurney getting resuscitated from your heroin overdose or lying in a pool of your own vomit. You could not understand why this particular project was giving you such a hard time. You were three-years sober. You had a steady job and gone back to school. Your relationship with your parents was better than ever. So, why the thought of a self-portrait brought upon negative thoughts about oneself?

You mentioned your troubles to Luke, and he was very sympathetic. While he was now 206 days sober, there were times where he felt…like the achievement did not mean much.

"What do you mean by that?" you asked him while on the way to Aunt Janet's house.

"It's just���this isn't my first rodeo when it comes to recovery," Luke began to say. "There is always this little voice in the back of my head that…"

"That it is only temporary. I have that little voice too. I'm not too fond of that little voice. Three years sober, and there are times where I still feel like a total failure. I shouldn't, but…I can't help it," you revealed to Luke honestly.

"Thankfully, there is another little voice in the back of my head that gives tells me that I'm doing a good job now and then. It's just that positive little voice has been a tad quiet lately," you added.

Luke could pick up on the little defeatist tone in your voice, and he did not like it. You immediately felt his worry about you. "Hey," you said to get his attention and placed a hand on his arm. "Don't worry about me, okay. I'm fine. I have my fears like every recovering addict. It is nice to talk to someone about it, particularly someone who understands, you know. That helps."

Silence soon filled the car, but it was not awkward. You never had awkward or uncomfortable silences with Luke. For some reason, Luke was one of the few comforting presences in your life. Regardless of all of the hardships he has gone through in his life, he offered a sense of hopefulness. With his 6'3 stature, Luke really came off more like a gentle giant. It was like he did not view himself as this grown tall man, but probably still felt like that little kid hiding under the bed from the "Tall Man" at Hill House.

"Luke," you said to get his attention. "Are you happy?"

"No," he replied immediately, then clarified when he saw the look you gave him. "I mean, am I happy that I am over 200 days clean, then yes I am, very much so. But…I don't know, there is a small part of me that is scared to be happy…to be content in fear of something going wrong."

When Luke pulled the car into Aunt Janet's driveway, the older woman immediately came out of the house to greet her youngest nephew.

"There he is, my little boy," she said and wrapped her arms around Luke, which he reciprocated.

"Hi Aunt Janet, how are you?"

"I'm fine, darling. How have you been?" Aunt Janet asked, pulling away to get a good look at Luke. He looked much better than he did at Nell's funeral.

"Good. I'm doing good. Everyone is doing…fine," Luke replied, then turned towards you. He introduced you as his friend and not his sponsor to his Aunt, which kind of surprised you.

"So nice to meet you," said Aunt Janet taking your hand. She motioned for you both to follow her into the house. "I hope you both are hungry. I made an array of sandwiches and salads for lunch. Luke, I also made your favorite…chocolate pecan pie bars."

"Thank the Lord because he was hoping you would make them on the car ride here. It was all he talked about?" you teased.

"Once you have one, then you will know what I am talking about," Luke responded with a smile.

Aunt Janet lead you both into the kitchen.

"Can I use the bathroom to freshen up?" you asked her.

"Oh yes, dear. It is down that hallway, the first door to the right," told Aunt Janet as she showed you where to go. "Luke, you should probably wash your hands first," she added.

"Yes, Aunt Janet," he said and went to the sink to wash his hands.

When you were no longer in earshot, Aunt Janet stood beside her nephew and said, "Your friend seems really sweet."

Luke could not hold back his smile, "Yeah, she is genuinely nice. She's fun to hang out with. We have a lot of the same interests. Shirley and Theo have met her as well," he mentioned and shared that both of his sisters really liked you.

Aunt Janet turned her head to see if you came if you were around the corner. When you were not, she leaned over to Luke and said, "Very pretty too. She'd make a lovely…"

"Aunt Janet, she is just a friend. I can't date her anyway. She's…they say you shouldn't date anyone while still in recovery."

"I'm so proud of you," Aunt Janet said as she placed the food on the kitchen table. "You are becoming the man I always knew you could be."

Luke would be lying to himself if he denied that there was some form of attraction that he had for you, both physically and emotionally. He knew that the feelings that he was slowly developing towards you could be considered wrong. You were his sponsor…a dedicated one at that too. It would not be right for him to act on any attraction he may have for you—no doubt, that you would not reciprocate them, which would be disappointing to Luke.

"Better to just suffer in silence," Luke thought to himself.

"Don't you want a girlfriend? A family of your own someday?" asked Aunt Janet.

"Yeah…maybe. Someday. I'm just learning to take care of myself without drugs in my system. There is no way I can be a dedicated father or husband to anyone… at least not right now. I am still a work in progress," Luke admitted to his aunt. "I do like…" But Luke stopped when he heard your footsteps approaching.

"Oh, my goodness. The pictures on the wall… I'm assuming the little kid with glasses is you, Luke."

The three of you sat around the kitchen table with your plates stacked with delicious food.

"Luke was the absolute cutest kid. He had a little lisp as well," Aunt Janet shared. "I have more pictures of the kids if you would like to see them?"

"Yes," you replied ecstatically.

"No," Luke disputed, "We are in the middle of eating."

"We can multitask. Let's see those pictures," you asserted gleefully while Aunt Janet got up from the table.

With a belly full of food, the three you were now sitting outside on the patio, drinking tea, and eating Aunt Janet's yummy chocolate pecan pie bars. You already looked through three photo albums that showed Luke and his siblings' younger years.

"I wanted to take as many pictures as I could of the kids. They hated it, but I told 'em they would appreciate it when they got older," expressed Aunt Janet. "Here's a picture of Nell on her wedding day. That's her husband, Arthur. Sadly, he passed away a couple of months after they got married. But…they are together now."

You looked at the photo of the young couple. Nell looked very much like her older sisters and her mother. You could tell that there was a kindness about Nell just by looking at the picture. She was the type of person to go above and beyond for her family and even strangers. Luke would say that Nell was just that type of person to care about everyone, no matter who they were or where they came from.

Luke did share with you that one of his biggest regrets was not going to Nell's wedding. He said that he tried, but Shirley told him to leave. Luke said that it was for the best and that he was in no right state of mind to support his twin the way she deserved on her wedding day.

Thankfully for Luke, Nell understood and held no hard feelings. She never did when it came to her other half.

Aunt Janet began to sniffle, and when you looked up from the photo, you saw the older woman dab her eyes with a napkin. Out of instinct, Luke grabbed his Aunt's tiny hand and squeezed it with his as a way to show support. Just as he was Aunt Janet's little boy, Nell was her little girl. She was the one to raise them, take care of them, and guide them into adulthood.

None of the Crain children were perfect; they were far beyond that notion. However, there is no denying that if they did not have Aunt Janet take care of them and love them, they could have been worse off. Luke had the overwhelming feeling of guilt encompassing him at the moment as Aunt Janet tried to hold back her tears.

You instantly looked up at Luke. You could feel his sense of guilt towards the way he treated his aunt while growing up. He looked over at you. It was a silent conversation you both were having between one another. You mouthed, "Do you want me to go?" so he could have this moment alone.

With a shake of his head, 'No,' Luke spoke up to get his aunt's attention. "Aunt Janet…I'm sorry. I'm sorry for…for all the Hell I put you through while living here. You did so much for Nell and me, and the others that I…shit all over it. I stole and lied to you like it was my job. You deserved better. I just want you to know that…me getting hooked on drugs…well…that was…no matter what had happened…it was my choice to go down that path of destruction. I love you, Aunt Janet, and I am so appreciative of the sacrifices you made for my siblings and me. I wish that I weren't such a fuck up…"

"Oh sweetheart, no, you are not a…fuck up," Aunt Janet interjected and continued, "Not at all. I love you so much that…I would do anything for you, you know that, right? Your childhood is in the past. It happened. It is a part of you. The fact that you are continuing to remain clean after all that has occurred…well, that is something you should be most proud of. It shows that you are dedicated to your sobriety and turning your life around. No one said this process was easy, but you stayed the course and continued to make good decisions. As I told you earlier, you are becoming the man I always knew you could be."

"Now, I'm going to cry," Luke giggled as he dabbed his eyes with a napkin. "I didn't mean to turn this into a sob fest, but I wanted you to know that I'm sorry for what I put you through and that I love you very much, Aunt Janet."

Aunt Janet emerged from her seat to wrap her arms around her nephew and kiss the top of his head. It was a sweet moment to witness.

[artificialqueens]

Gimme Love, 2/9 (Miz Cracker/Blair St Clair) - Grinder

AN: Heyo, yall! Just hope yall are enjoying this fic so far. I worked really hard on it, but so proud. So many times I just wanted to quit it. But I stuck it out!

Major TW for this chapter: Child abuse mentions // mental breakdown // Anxiety // Dementia mentions

2020

I flinched, feeling a hand lightly slap my foot twice. "Wake up, Princess."

I rolled over slightly, blinking as if to clear my vision. Jujubee looked as if she had been awake for hours, looking fresh as fuck in her dressing gown. She must have had a shower hours before because, despite the dry hair, I could smell the mango and papaya soap. Fuck, it smelt so good.

Then there was me; hair wrecked, makeup long expired, body smelling of that typical hangover smell. Like a hospital, except unclean.

I whined like a child, rolled back over on my stomach and buried my face hoping it would stop my head from pounding.

"Nope. Not happened." Jujubee sat down on the bed and shook me.

"What time is it?" I asked with my face still smushed into the pillow.

"It's 2PM." She answered.

That's what got me up. I threw the covers back and went to stand. "Fuck!"

Jujubee grabbed my hand and pulled me back down. "Relax. It's our day off, remember?"

I whined even more, curling up with my head in her lap.

"Not that it makes a difference considering you're always late anyway," Jujubee added as she stroked my unbrushed hair.

"Shut up. I'm the boss. I can do what I want." I mumbled.

"Ah, Brianna Caldwell, you never change." Jujubee quipped. "Only follows the rules whenever it suits her, bosses everyone around - -"

"I do not, you whore. And can you please not speak to me so loud right now?" I pulled myself up and tousled my hair. "I need some shades or something."

I always needed shades when I was hungover, so Jujubee was already prepared. She pulled them from her pocket and handed them over. "Shade up, baby girl."

Life was already so much better with them on.

"But back to the topic at hand, though. Don't you remember the chess boys from high school?" Jujubee spoke a bit quieter now. "You literally bossed them around."

"They let me boss them around 'cause they wanted to sleep with me, Jujubee," I replied, reaching for my phone.

"And, you bossed me around too." Jujubee raised her brows.

"Mmmm, I don't remember that." I hummed, feeling pretty much over the conversation.

It took Jujubee an hour to convince me to get out of bed and clean myself up. After finally getting showered and dressed, we were out of the apartment and already heading to Starbucks.

I could have made my own coffee, but that required effort. And that I wasn't willing to give that day.

We were sitting at a booth in the back, with minimal effort in trying to go incognito. But this was a regular hang out for us. There was no need to worry about our names being shouted out. The baristas eventually learned to just bring our orders to us. It made Jujubee feel bad, but I didn't mind.

The barista, Kyle, came over and put our drinks down on the table.

"I deserve this. I really, really deserve this." I said, already taking a sip of my coffee.

"Congrats on last night. The boss said if you both need a refill, just let me know." Kyle winked. God bless Kyle. "So, When's the launch day?"

"Kyle, as charming as you are, you'll just have to wait like everybody else." I tried my best to beam a smile.

"Alright. Enjoy, ladies." And Kyle walked away.

Jujubee let her eyes follow for a moment longer. I know she was literally staring at nothing in particular, but I decided to have a bit of fun. "Go ask him out, Juju."

"Girl, you ask him out," Jujubee smirked. "I'm happy enough being a crazy cat lady. I don't need no man."

I knew it was a joke. Jujubee wasn't the type to encourage me to find someone. It was like she knew how it could bother me.

Despite liking the single life, I kind of did like the sound of being with someone. Maybe it was the fear of the past that stopped me from pursuing a relationship. I had a few girlfriends in the past. But they hadn't lasted long. I was afraid they would have somehow found out about my past self. Because, once upon a time, nobody would've even dared think of me as an attractive, promiscuous, alluring, single female.

But now that I had the glow-up of the century, dyed my hair blonde, I had quite a lot of admirers. It only really started to occur when NASA began sponsoring the project, bringing more traction.

My phone started ringing, but I paid no heed.

Jujubee, however, almost dropped her drink.

"Girl, why is Ed Sheeran calling you?" Jujubee raised a brow.

And as soon as the name met my ears, I was reminded of the night before. "Oh, God." I held my head in my hands.

"What did you do?" Jujubee was already groaning.

"I fucked up," I answered.

"You didn't have a quicky with him or something, right?" Jujubee questioned further.

I lifted my head, looking at her with squinted eyes. "What? No. Ew. Juju." I sipped my coffee before bearing the news. "OK, so...I don't know why I did it, maybe 'cause I'm a mess when I'm drunk, but I…" I lowered my tone, "kinda offered him the chance to be the first person to go into the other world."

"What?? I thought we were gonna do that!" Jujubee was freaking out.

"I know. I fucked up."

"Well, call him back."

"And, tell him what? 'Sorry, Ed. Jk'?"

Jujubee's forehead was in her hands, "I was really excited." She whined.

As I said before, this meant a lot to us. We hadn't discussed it with the team yet, but Jujubee and I had privately planned that we'd be first to enter the other world. So you could understand this was incredibly disappointing for her.

"OK. How about this? Ed will go in for 5 minutes. After that, we bring him back to Earth. And then we fly off by ourselves?" I suggested.

"I was looking forward to the pink sky. And the flying horses. And the…"

Jujubee went on a ramble as my phone began to ring again. I picked it up, letting it ring for a few seconds before declining Ed Sheeran's call.

I checked if there were any texts from him. Nada. But there was one message that caught my attention. The memory of reading it the previous night came flooding back.

Jujubee was still rambling, but I put my phone down and leaned across the table slightly. "Juju, do you remember Blair St Clair?"

Jujubee's expression changed instantaneously. "Girl, of course, I do. You were in love with her for years."

"Oh my God, can you whisper, please?" I questioned, the desperation in my voice very much apparent.

"Brianna, she's back in Ohio. We're in New York. I don't think anyone's gonna go and tell."

"You never know," I briefly looked behind me for fear that somehow the world decided to shit on my luck and make her appear in the booth behind me.

"Girl, chill out. And yes, I do remember her." Jujubee replied, "you know something that always stuck with me? Please don't ask why, but I'll never forget the day you told me you were in love with her. You came out to me that day too."

-_-_-_-

1995

"Juju, I gotta tell you something," I said, throwing my doll to the side of the fort. If I didn't tell her the truth now, I never would.

"What is it?" Jujubee sounded scared.

I crossed my legs in a pretzel shape, straightened my back and declared, "Juju, I like girls. And Blair St Clair is the girl I'm in love with."

I was expecting amazement, awe, shock. But Jujubee just seemed confused.

"What? How is that possible?" She asked.

"You promise you can keep a secret?" I offered my pinky.

Jujubee joined hers with mine. "Of course I can."

"OK." Our fingers remained twisted around each other. "Well, I saw two ladies in the mall kissing. And my Mommy told me girls can like girls. And I had an a-piffa-tree. The reason I like Blair so much is because I'm in love with her!"

"Brie-Brie, you need to slow down." Jujubee put her hand up. "If girls can like girls, then how come we never see girls kissing girls? It's always boys and girls."

"I don't know."

"Have you ever kissed a girl?"

"Nope."

"Then, how are you sure?"

"I don't know. You ever get that weird feeling inside that tells you that you're right? I can feel it. I know I'm not lying."

"Wooow." Jujubee looked away briefly. "Does that mean you like me?"

"I don't know. You're my friend, Juju." I shrugged. "I mean, maybe we should kiss just to figure it out."

Juju looked like she was contemplating this for a moment before nodding her head and sitting up. "OK!"

I didn't even hesitate. Instead, I moved closer and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.

"Ew!" We both pulled away.

We both agreed to never do that again, nor ever speak of it.

As if nothing had happened, we continued on playing with our dolls for another hour before the rain came out.

I walked Jujubee home, feeling very much like 'the big girl' being all responsible.

And in walking back to my own place, wrapping my arms around myself, I saw Blair - walking alone, drenched from head to toe.

"Blair!" I ran towards her.

She turned to look at me, her face scrunched up, trying to see through the downpour.

Call it instinct, but I knew something was up, just from how she was looking at me. I put my hands on her shoulders. "What's wrong?? Are you OK?"

"I'm lost. I-I'm trying to find my way home." She said quietly.

"What. How did you - -" I stopped myself from talking any further. Instead, I took Blair by the hand and pulled her towards the bus shelter off to the side of the road.

We both sat down when we got inside. She was shaking, close to catching a cold in the awful weather. Not to mention she had no jacket on. So I pulled my arm out of its sleeve and draped half of the coat over her.

"What happened to your coat?" I asked

"I didn't bring it." She replied.

"Why not? It's cold. You're going to get sick."

"I'm sorry. I just...ran."

I was silent for a moment. Then, "What do you mean?"

She was also silent for a moment, her blue eyes drifting to the ground. "Brianna...is it normal for Daddies to shout real loud all the time? Do they smash things a lot?"

No. It was not expected. I may not have had a Father figure in my life, but I knew well enough. "Blair, what happened?"

Blair clenched her fist around the jacket. "My Daddy...he…"

Despite her timid voice trailing off, I understood. She didn't even need to say it. "Do you have somewhere to go?"

She lifted her eyes to me, "I need to get home. I just ran as fast as I could. And somehow ended up here. I don't know my way back."

"I don't think you should go back," I admitted.

"I have to. Or he'll be even more mad."

I was wracking my brain. There was no way I could let her go back. "OK. Is there somewhere you can stay for a while? Somewhere close?"

"No." Blair shook her head. "Wait. Yeah. My Granny lives somewhere around here." She looked at me with optimism in her eyes.

"That's great! I know this place like the back of my hand. I bet I can find it in a few seconds."

After sitting for 10 more minutes, the rain was starting to settle, so Blair gave me the address, and off we went. I carried her bag for her. She was probably exhausted from all the walking.

All the while, I just listened as she talked about many things - Madonna, her Princess Belle doll, how Jade from school actually picked her nose when no one was looking. So many different topics. And I didn't speak a word. I guess I was just so...astonished. Here I was, walking along in a light rainstorm, hanging out with the prettiest girl in my class. How was this possible? Was this real life?

"You've been really quiet." Blair pointed out.

"Yeah, I just can't believe you're talking to me. What the fuck?" Yes, I said that.

Blair laughed at my potty mouth. "Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

I shrugged. "Well, I don't know. Maybe 'cause no one likes me."

Blair stopped in her tracks for a moment. "I like you."

I stopped, spun around, and looked at her with wide eyes. There was no way I heard her say those words. No fucking way.

"Come on. I know where we are now. Granny's house is around the corner." Blair began to move again.

But the butterflies in my stomach were going wild. I felt warm and wanted to just hug her. But I also didn't want to alarm her. Baby steps, Brianna.

I walked Blair to the house. Her Granny came to the door and was obviously quite confused. And Blair began to cry again.

I wanted to turn and run, feeling very out of place. But Blair grabbed me before I could leave and pulled me into a hug. She pressed her tear-stained face against my shoulder and whispered, "Thank you, Brie."

"I gotta go."

I pulled out of the hug and ran as fast I could. I don't know if I left her standing there confused or if she just knew by then it was just a me thing to be awkward.

But my mind was racing; Blair liked me. I knew not in the same way as I liked her. But, surely, that meant we could be friends.

Oh, how naive I was.

A few weeks later, it was the beginning of Summer. Mom took me to the park, and there was Blair with her friends.

I ran across the grass to the picnic blanket they were all sitting at.

"Blair!" I called excitedly. I practically threw myself down next to her, giving her a tight hug.

"Ew." Jade laughed.

"Shut up, Jade." Blair snapped.

"Are you friends with the freak now or something?" Carmen questioned, inching away from me.

"I'm not a freak!" I shouted.

"Uh, yeah, you are," Serena added. "We don't want freaks in our friend group. Go on. Get lost."

"Girls - -" Blair tried.

"You wanna join her?" Jade pointed her gaze at Blair, her face scrunched up in disgust.

I was waiting for it; The big 'fuck you' as Blair stood up, took my hand and walked away.

But she remained seated. Her eyes trailed down to the ground. I tried shaking her shoulder.

"Blair?" I spoke quietly.

She didn't say a word. It was as if she had turned to stone.

My body felt cold.

"See? She doesn't like ugly people like you. No one does." Jade smirked.

I remember the moment being more intense than it actually was. Because in a matter of seconds, the girls were screaming as I began to punch Jade in her bitchy face. I couldn't punch for shit. But if it left a bruise, I was happy.

"Brianna!" I heard my Mom's voice. Her dark arms wrapped around me, pulling me away from the now crying Jade. "We are going home right now." Mom threatened. But I didn't care.

From being dragged away from the fight scene all the way until we got home, I screamed.

Mom screamed back for a while when we were in the car. But you can't fight fire with fire. So she stopped when we pulled up.

I got in, I beat the fuck out of every object that came into my line of vision. And my shouting never stopped.

"No one wants you, ugly freak!" I smashed a vase. "Worthless piece of trash!"

Mom had been chasing me all over the house, trying to calm me down. But this wasn't like any tantrum I had ever had, and as Mom had no idea what was actually going on, she had no idea what to do.

She eventually scooped me up in her arms and held me tight as she sat on the ground. I screamed as I tried to fight off her grasp, downing out all her hushed whispers. "I got you, Baby. I got you. Mommy's here."

My screams did go on for another while, but as soon as they ended, all I could say to Mom was, "I should give up. Blair will never be my friend. I'm too ugly."

Mom stood me up, so she knew I was looking directly into her eyes. She pointed a finger in my face and spoke with a cracked but stern tone. "Don't say that. Never ever say that. You are so beautiful, and no one has the right to tell you that you're not. I want you to go look in the mirror, really, really look at yourself, Brianna. And I want you to see how pretty you are. Look at your hair, your brown eyes, your freckles. You are just as pretty as everyone else, girl. You are not ugly."

I squeezed my fists, feeling the hard lump in my throat. "Then why did my Mommy and Daddy give me away?"

Mom was stunned for a moment. She took my hand. "Baby, that had nothing to do with how you look. They…" she paused, trying to find the right words to use, "they just…" another pause, "look, I'll tell you when you're older. But I promise you are not ugly."

I couldn't hold on anymore. I let out a pained cry and immediately threw myself into her arms and buried my face in her shoulder.

-_-_-_-

2020

That was my first major emotional breakdown, marking the beginning of many more to come. But, unfortunately, Mom didn't want to immediately get me help. She had a feeling it would upset me further. And she was right.

Just as I had begun middle school, I had another huge episode. That was it. There had been too many episodes throughout those years.

You can try covering a crack in the wall with a pretty picture, but the problem would never go away, would it?

I couldn't stand therapy. Why was I the one to work on my emotions when I only felt the way I did because kids were assholes? Where were all the breathing exercises and meditation sessions to make them not be dicks?

But as much as I hated it, the older I got, I opened my eyes. What I hated the most was seeing the pain I was putting Mom through. So I really tried hard not to freak out.

I didn't want to upset Mom anymore. She really did her best. And to this day, I wouldn't change her for the world.

"We're here."

I was brought out of my thoughts as the cab pulled over. I had been so gone, just sitting in the backseat, staring at the magenta glass vase in my hands.

"Keep the change," I replied, handing the driver the money and thanking him as I got out.

He took my suitcase from the trunk and left it by my side. And with a goodbye, he drove off.

Standing at the bottom of the lawn, I looked at the house. Fuck, once upon a time, I wouldn't have been so in love with its appearance. I had no idea what my Mom was going for with the multiple colours. The outside was painted pastel yellow with a sky blue door and pink frame. Then there were the various flowerpots stuck onto the wall next to the door. All different colours; pink, green, orange or blue.

OK, I lied; as a kid, I fucking loved our house. Everyone else's was boring. But when high school rolled around, people would whisper how I was "the weird hippie chick from the rainbow crack house". So, you can understand why it quickly became an eyesore for me.

I knocked on the front door, feeling the excitement bubble within me. I had been so busy with the project, it was a few months since I last saw her in person. I glanced at the vase in my hand, the perfect Birthday gift. It was perfect because I got her a new one every year. Because I never got over the guilt from smashing her favourite vase as a child. This act was to make a point - to show that no matter how much I apologised, I was always sorry, and would always be.

I knocked again. There was only a barking behind the door. Good to know someone was in.

I still had my own key. No point in standing outside all day. I made my own way in, knowing I could just surprise her later.

"Hi, baby!" I spoke in a hushed tone as Piggie started to jump around excitedly. Fuck, I missed him so much.

I closed the door and knelt down next to the pug, bringing him into a hug and kissing him on the head. "You good boy," I said in between kisses, "Let's get you some food."

Standing back up, I made my way to the kitchen, and Piggie was only happy to follow. I still remembered where his food was kept, so I poured him a bowl. Then, while he was distracted, I took my suitcase up the stairs and into my old bedroom.

Fuck, there was always something so surreal about walking into it. I hadn't lived at home since before I went to college. From that moment on, Jujubee and I always had our own places. And now, I had my apartment in New York.

Meaning, the last time I had redecorated was years before my glow up (in personality and looks). The walls were pink, I remember them being a pretty pastel tone, but they looked duller now. Above my bed, the wall was littered with posters, writing and photos. I made eye contact with Reese Witherspoon on the Legally Blonde poster, remembering how I always wanted to be like her. Funny how I kind of did achieve that.

I realised I was just standing in the doorway, just staring. So, I sat the suitcase against my desk and went to lie down. I smirked as I found all 5'5" of my whole being still fit into it.

I took out my phone and snapped a picture of myself to Jujubee, the caption reading 'Hey, babe, my parents are out?￰ 😉😉 come over?'.

While waiting for her reply, I changed my pencil skirt and blouse, choosing to wear leggings and a tank instead. Suddenly, I felt 10 years younger.

An hour passed, and Mom was still nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe she's at work. Does she have a job?" Jujubee asked me through the phone.

"I... don't know, Juju," I murmured, my attention not really on the question but on the contents of the fridge.

There was a punnet of strawberries. I helped myself to a few.

"When was the last time you spoke to her? Seriously, Brie, I'm getting so nervous." Jujubee sounded concerned. I knew her mind was thinking of the worst. And oddly enough, I found it to be entertaining.

"A few months back, actually," I smirked. "She's been real quiet, to be honest." Piggie was at my feet, looking for one of the juicy strawberries. I shook my head at him.

"Oh God, no. Did you check every room? Talk to the neighbours?"

"Oh, fuck! Juju. My God, there's a head in the fridge!" I feigned terror.

"Brianna!"

"Relax. I'm fucking with you. I spoke to her last night." I took one more strawberry. Biting into it, the juice dripped down my fingers and onto the ground. Piggie was beyond happy now, licking it up. I let him be and made my way out of the kitchen.

"That's not funny, Brianna. Don't joke about that. I thought she was missing or...worse."

"Fair enough. Sorry, girl. Anyway, how's work today?" I walked into the living room and sat on the couch.

"Good, good. Ed Sheeran's team finally got in touch," Jujubee said with a hint of disdain.

I held my forehead in one hand, wanting to punch myself for even speaking to him the week before.

I groaned, "See, this is why I should stop drinking."

"Well, to be fair, you don't drink as much as you did back in college. But when you do, you go hard."

Jujubee continued talking, lecturing me about my life choices when I moved my foot and felt it touch something under the couch. It startled me at first, but I pulled out the item.

A slipper. Grandpa's slipper. Sitting back on the couch again, letting my eyes just stare at it. "Hey, Juju. I'm gonna go."

There was a sigh on the other end. "Fine. Not like I was talking about anything important or whatever."

"Sorry," I said quietly.

"Don't worry. I still love you, whore." She said.

"Of course you do."

I made a nasty kissing sound through the phone. She was grossed out, of course, and hung up. I chuckled for a moment and put my phone away.

Piggie came into the room and jumped up on the sofa next to me. I began to pet him, my eyes now back on the shoe.

Grandpa wore his slippers more than he wore regular shoes. Every time he found out Mom had put them in the wash, he would be furious. I would always listen to him ranting and wonder why men were gross. But I'd also laugh at how he threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

There was one time, in particular. He had gotten mad for the same reason. He huffed and came into the living room, sitting down on the couch, in the very seat I currently was sitting. He was shaking his head, just looking at the TV.

I shuffled closer to him and offered a few potato chips. His frown was immediately reversed. His smile had never seemed brighter. He took a few chips and asked with a full mouth, "Hey, kiddo. Aren't you late for school?"

It was 2PM. On a Saturday.

My smile was beginning to fade, my eyes still focused on the slipper. I could feel it - a familiar twisting feeling from somewhere within my stomach, the oxygen in my lungs seeming to fail me, a tremble taking my hands over.

And then, Piggie licking my arm.

I flinched slightly as I was brought back to the present. I smiled, petting Piggie. "Where would I be without you, baby?"

Piggie didn't answer, of course. Instead, he just licked my hand, which was enough for me to chill out.

I put Grandpa's shoe back under the couch, now inspired to search more of the house. But before I got off the couch, I checked my phone. Jujubee had Snapchatted me.

Clicking into it, I froze for a moment. She was in her bathroom, the shower running behind her. I wanted to say she was the main element to the picture, cocking her head to the side, pouting her lips and raising a brow. Despite the fact Jujubee never sent me pictures like this, it wasn't the first time I had seen her in her lingerie, though. But, I couldn't help but glance at her black lacey bra. The breath was caught in my throat for a moment.

The text read, 'You OK, babe?'

Around middle school, Jujubee developed this 6th sense, knowing when something was up with me. It was impressive.

I lifted my phone up high, took a picture and made sure to get Piggie in the frame. He wasn't looking, however.

"Piggie." He was looking now. I smiled and took the picture. I captioned it, 'Just hanging out with this one'.

I hit send. And now filled with inspiration to go on a nostalgia trip, I got up from the sofa and went off to explore. I called Piggie to follow.

I found myself upstairs, standing in the doorway of Mom's room. It felt rude to intrude. After all, a bedroom wasn't just a bedroom. It was a sanctuary, a place to be yourself, to carry out your own private rituals free from judgement, a happy place. So it felt like an intrusion to invade her space.

But I spotted the perfume bottles on her dresser. There was one bottle, in particular, a fragrance she always bought. It was her favourite - a musky scent with a hint of amber vanilla.

I couldn't resist. I made my way to the dresser, lifted the bottle and smelt the underside of the lid. Immediately, I felt my body relax. It smelled just like her. And there was no smell sweeter than the smell of your own Mother. It felt safe, loving, warm. Now, I was even more excited to see her again.

That was as far as I'd go into her room. So I put the perfume back, ushered Piggie to get down from her bed and left.

I was back in my old bedroom. I wanted this nostalgia trip to be unlike any other. So I knew exactly where I'd find it. I looked in the drawers of my desk. And in the very bottom drawer, I found it; my old diary.

"This is going to be wild, Piggie. I just know it." I smirked, sitting down on my bed, my back against the headboard. Piggie curled up beside me. We were both sitting comfortably. So I began.

'Dear Dairy'

Already, I had to pause and laugh. 7 year old me would have been a legend in a spelling bee.

'Today, I had a fight with Jujubee. She really upset me, but I upset her too. I should say sorry. That's all. Bye.'

Short and sweet, child me didn't beat around the bush. She just gave you the information you needed. That was it.

I flicked a few pages forward.

'Dear Diary,

I had another fight with Jujubee. I really don't want to upset her. But sometimes I get so angry, I don't know what to do. I lost a tooth today too. So I am going to leave a note to the tooth fairy. I want her to take all my anger from me instead of my tooth. I hope it works.'

I remembered that. I had gotten mad because we were playing house. I wanted Jujubee to be both the parents, and I'd be the two kids. She didn't want to. She wanted to play the part of a child too. I freaked out, of course. I specifically remembered telling her she'd do it if she cared about me. She said she did care. But in the heat of the moment, I didn't believe her.

"God, I was such a brat," I spoke quietly.

I skipped some pages, unsure of what I was to find. And seeing one specific name, I stopped flicking through.

'Dear Blair,

You are like the sunshine. You are…'

I stopped reading, cringing at my child self. Was this before I realised it was a crush or not? What was hilarious about this entry was how damn long it was. All other accounts were short and straight to the point. But this? It went on for 3 pages. I bet my younger self felt mega proud about writing so much. But now, I felt the need to build a fucking time machine, go back to that moment and tell little Brianna, "Guess what? Nothing happens. Blair never becomes your friend. She never feels the same way about you the way you feel about her, so stop before you make it worse for yourself!"

I decided I was taking this diary back to New York. I needed to investigate it more. And there were probably some accounts that Jujubee would cackle laughing at.

My nostalgia trip wasn't at its peak just yet. I needed something that would just send me over the edge of happiness. And I knew I'd probably find that in my memory box. But there was a problem. I had given it to my Mom, asking her to hide it away somewhere. And whenever I wanted to put something into it, I'd give it to her, and she'd hide it for me.

And I made her promise to only give it back to me when I turned 50. No matter how much I cried and begged, she could not break that promise. Young me knew one day I'd be on a one way trip down memory lane.

I was so tempted to find the box. Surely, it couldn't have been too hard to find. But Piggie growled for a moment, his ears perking up. He looked at the window and started barking. I was now aware of the sound of a car's engine. A familiar one at that.

Finally, Mom was home.

I peaked out the window to see she was grabbing her bag from the car.

Piggie and I raced down the stairs, taking the vase from the living room and waiting excitedly at the door.

Funny how with excitement there came a level of anxiety, the tiniest hint of fear bubbling in your stomach. And I felt it all as soon as I heard the jiggling of the key.

The door opened slowly as if she already knew something was unusual about the place like she was bracing herself for whatever she was going to find.

She peeked around the door. My smile was beaming.

"Happy Birthday!" I shouted.

"Jesus Christ!" Mom flinched, almost falling back and stamping on the ground. Piggie was going wild now, barking from all the excitement. "Brianna, you could have given me a heart attack!" She shut the door and clasped a hand to her chest.

I laughed at her over-the-top reaction and held out the vase. "I got you another one."

Mom looked at me, still panting from her shock. She was silent for a moment, and in that silence, I realised how much I had missed her.

Mom stepped forward, took the vase and put it to the side. As she pulled me into a tight hug, I could see her face scrunching up.

There are two people of people; those who can't stand seeing their Moms cry. And fucking liars.

Of course, I belonged to the first group. As you know, I…

Well, you already know. Here, let me put in a fun diagram of things I didn't want to deal with at that moment.

"Don't ever scare me like that again, you bitch." Mom spoke softly in my ear as she cried.

"I couldn't help myself." I forced a smile.

As much as I hated seeing her cry, I knew she needed it. Me being the only child she ever had, it broke her heart when I moved out in the first place. I'd imagine it was tough now that she was alone.

Yeah, she had Piggie. But it obviously wasn't enough. So I let her cry it out as she hugged me. I could smell the perfume, and again, I felt that safety, the security a Mother's love brings.

When she pulled away, she immediately moved to the kitchen, already brewing some tea. I let her know that I didn't mind if she had to go upstairs and change or anything. But she insisted we get into the catch-up.

"I invited some people from work to come over later. You remember the flower shop beside the old church?" Mom rambled, her shaking hands pouring the tea into two mugs.

"Of course I do," I answered, sitting at the table, with Piggie in my lap.

"Yeah, I work there now." Mom replied.

I felt bad. This shouldn't have been news. It was my part to already know that.

Mom sat at the table, placing the mugs down too. Piggie's attention was drawn to them, licking his lips with thirst.

"So I hope you're not jet-lagged, girl." The excitement was practically radiating from her face.

I was a bit exhausted, but she deserved to have a great night. "I'm good. Don't worry."

"Oh, and your aunt is coming." She added, sipping her tea.

"Aunt Monét! Yes, bitch."

It had been a very, very long time since I last saw Monét. She knew how to turn a party. And she was always so glamorous. I remember numerous times as a child asking her to teach me her ways, be my mentor, so I could grow up to look as good as she did.

"So, it's gonna be a long night. Be prepared." Mom said.

"So, it's a party?"

"Not my plan, but knowing Monét, that's how it will turn out. Anyway, I saw pictures from the event last week. You looked great up on that stage, baby. Keep doing me proud."

I gave her a gracious smile as I sipped my tea. A small drop fell onto my lap. Piggie was searching for it, but it had already soaked in. Sorry, Piggie.

"Yeah, I kinda fucked up, though," I said, playing with one of the dog's ears.

"'Fuck’ always has been your favourite word," Mom shook her head, "Go ahead. Tell me, what did you do?"

"So at the after-party, I kinda offered Ed Sheeran to be the first person to go through. Please don't ask me why. The answer is; I was drunk. I don't have a more logical explanation for you right now."

Mom was silent for a moment, her eyes narrowing. "Ed Sheeran? Why him?"

"I told you, I have no idea." I sipped my tea. "I'm just a fucking idiot when I'm drunk."

"So, what now? Is he actually going to do it?"

"Yep. His team got in contact. Everything is set in stone." I was ashamed of the whole Ed Sheeran thing, but now telling this to my Mother, it felt all the more embarrassing.

"Oh, God. This is going in history books, girl." Mom held her forehead in her hand.

"I know," I reciprocated. "Even worse, now they're asking the big questions like 'is the atmosphere safe on the other side?' We're still in the middle of working all that out."

"OK, asides from the Ed Sheeran fuck up," Mom put her hand on mine, "I am extremely proud of how far you've come since you were just a kid."

Uh oh. This wasn't what I wanted.

"And I know you're so busy with this whole thing, but sometimes, I just wish you'd call."

Fuck. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, no. I don't wanna make you feel bad, girl. Like I said, you're a busy lady." She held a hand up.

But still, I felt bad.

"Shit. I was supposed to pick up some lemonade on the way home." Mom stood up, taking her tea with her. She had barely touched it.

"I could go to the store if you want," I suggested, taking a big gulp of tea.

"I mean, if you wanna, go for it. Tina still works there. It would be nice to see her again." Mom continued. She reached in her pocket.

I kissed Piggie on the head before putting him on the ground. "It's OK. I got it." I stood up from the table.

We had a bit of back and forth about who paid. I left before she could even give me her spare change.

Before I walked out the door, Piggie looked sad to see me go. Of course, I was coming back, but he didn't know that. Therefore I felt guilty.

I put my sunglasses on as I walked out the door. It wasn't even sunny out, but I knew I'd probably get stopped by people I used to know to dive deep into conversations about how far I had come. I had things on my mind, so many thoughts circling in my head.

I knew I should have put more effort into staying in contact with Mom. But after years of putting her through hell, I felt a sense of guilt. There were a few times I'd message, and somehow the conversation would take a turn, and she'd bring up a childhood memory.

I was done with my past. I was once a troubled child who eventually grew up to have a better mindset. I didn't want to relay the breakdowns, all of the vases I had smashed.

Then I realised how much of a contradiction that all was as I realised it was all that was on my mind as I walked down the street. So I plugged in my earbuds and drowned out the thoughts with whatever Spotify had to offer.

[ilguna]

Metanoia - Chapter Two (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 4.5k

Warnings; swearing

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

It’s a small lurch when the train starts moving. You hardly notice it anymore. With how fast it’s going, you guys should be in the Capitol in less than a day. You practically have no time to do anything.

You turn a bit, going to face everyone that’s standing by. Brutus, Theo, a couple of peacekeepers, and the two mentors, Shaye and Areti.

The peacekeepers move to their respected position, since they’re not needed at the moment. With the way that Theo is eyeing you though, they might as well have stayed where they were originally. If Theo bothers to pick a fight, then he’s got another thing coming if he thinks that any of the bystanding victors will bother to help him.

“Well?” You prompt, “What are you staring at?”

Theo puffs out his chest for a moment, like he’s gaining confidence. But with one look from the mentors, he must realize that he’s not needed here. The confidence drains, his shoulders slump slightly, and without a single word, he leaves the train cart.

It isn’t until he’s gone, when any of you actually consider talking.

“Alliance?” You give a small glance to Brutus, before moving to the refreshment table.

“Do you really have to ask?”

“It’s better than assuming.” you say, grabbing the whisky and pouring plenty of it into a glass.

“Not too much,” Neysa, the female mentor objects.

“I’m going to get drunk if I want to.” you tell her, taking a whole mouthful of the alcohol, “It’s one of my last chances.”

“The problem is--” Edmond plucks the glass from your hand, “You’re going to make a fool out of yourself.”

“Have you ever actually seen me drunk before?” you counter, he doesn’t answer, “You should’ve said no. Which then would lead me to my next point; I’m an adult, not a teenager. Hand over the glass.”

You hold out your hand diagonally, fingers spread and ready for the expensive crystal glass. Edmond doesn’t want to budge, so you push yourself off of the fancy table and move to get in his face.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re not my parent. If you think I’m insane for wanting to volunteer, spit it the fuck out.”

With you standing eye to eye to him, straight faced, clearly radiating off the energy that you’re pissed, he takes a moment to assess the air. Picking his next words wisely, he speaks slowly, “I don’t think you’re in the most stable mindset.”

“Brutus volunteered.” You motion to him, “If he went to grab a drink, would you have objected?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe isn’t good enough,” you say, “It was a yes or no question.”

“(Y/n)--” Neysa tries.

You hold up your finger, “Unless you’re going to side with me, shut up.”

“No.” Edmond says.

“Then you’re being biased.” you reach over for the glass, and he moves it out of grasp again.

“Edmond.” Brutus’ voice is booming, clearly tired of this, “Give the woman her glass.”

“I think one sip is enough.” Edmond still is unmoving.

If you can’t have the glass, then you’ll settle for the bottle. As you laugh in his face, turning around and facing the table, you pick up the full bottle of whiskey. You wave it in his face teasingly like a child, “Your mistake. Now instead of one drink, I can have twenty.”

Not knowing what to say, they let you leave the room. You take the entire bottle with you, as you move to your room Inside, you unzip the back of the heels and leave them by the bedroom door. After that, you take a seat in the far right corner from the door. The chair is white, soft, and very cushioned.

Next to it is a table where you set the whiskey onto. Every now and then, you’ll reach over for a small, measured sip. You may be an asshole, but you’re smart. There’s no way you’re going to show up to the Capitol absolutely wrecked. Although, it could be a day or so before the other tributes even come in, so being drunk wouldn’t even be that bad.

It would be the morning after that you’d have to worry about. Being hungover and a complete bitch to the people around you. Unlikely, the people in the Capitol you can handle, it’s when the victors like Edmond--who has been around for years--thinks they know you well enough to police you.

You’re not a kid. You’re not a teenager. You can handle yourself.

You knew that they thought you were crazy for jumping at the opportunity so quickly. Some of the people in that little competition for the right to volunteer had thought it was a ‘leave it to the adults’ sort of thing. That you, and a few of the other younger people shouldn’t be allowed to participate at all.

You spat in their ‘respect the elders’ bit and told them that if they can take part, then you can too. Of course, you know how that turned out. All the older people got dropped off quickly, and like you said, Enobaria was the only one that was particularly difficult. 

You’d like to say that you’ve never liked Edmond, but you’re not too fond of people in general. They wouldn’t even have to do anything wrong, and you’d be able to pick apart every single reason why you could pass on their company. May it’s the way they speak, or walk. Maybe it’s the way they treat people.

Could be because of their publicity, the way they won their games, or if you see them as a copycat. A rumor you heard, if they’re too on top of fashion trends and bandwagons. If they don’t like something you like, showing too much enthusiasm for something they like.

Possibilities are endless, you’re just an irritable person. A good reason, a bad reason, whatever it is, you’ll find it. Sorcha is mean. Enobaria sharpened her teeth for attention. Edmond is controlling. Tanith is clingy. Zavian is a plain asshole. Daleka is too power-driven. Neysa takes everything on as her responsibility. Theo is annoying, no need to expand there. And Brutus is… beefy, he tries too hard.

The whole entirety of District Two is full of a bunch of ‘mean girls’ anyway. It’s not really a surprise that all those irritabilities were easy to pick out. You hate each year of volunteer tributes because they think they know what they’re doing and they don’t need help, even if you have more knowledge.

Hell, even interacting with the mentors of one and four to connect alliances is a bit too much at times. It’s always assumed that the main careers will stick together, so it’s not hard getting you guys together. It’s the whole sponsor gifts and how it can benefit everyone, rather than the one tribute that it was actually targeted for.

You don’t mind being selfish, but sometimes they want to be generous and they’ll insist on you doing the same. Partially because the sponsors that you receive are filthy fucking rich, which makes it more than easy to send big gifts if you felt like it. But you never did, and you think that you never will.

As for District Four, there’s five victors, only four of which actually participate in the mentoring, since one is practically insane. You don’t mind working with Mags, communicating is difficult, and you worked with her once. The year after that was Finnick, and you turned your back entirely.

You never actually got to work with the other victors, an older man and woman. You don’t care to know why. You’ve never met them in your life, you just know that they exist because of your tour nine freaking years ago. Simple as that.

There’s a knock at the door, “Come in.”

Door slides open, and there stands Brutus, not a surprise, “Done drinking yet?”

“Have at it.” you pick up the bottle, holding it out for him, “The reapings done yet?”

“Don’t think so.” Brutus takes the bottle, “We’ll be in the Capitol in an hour, it’ll be done by then.”

You look at the clock by the bed. Sure enough, it’s just about time to get yourself ready to stand at the train doors to great the Capitol citizens. You wish you had at least a little more time to sit on the train, since this will probably be the last time you get a real sense of peace and quiet for a while.

But all good things have to come to an end, right?

“Alright.” you push yourself out of the chair, stretching, “I guess I should talk to Neysa.”

“She’s going to tell you to apologize to Edmond.” There’s a little smile on Brutus’ face that you catch just before he turns his back to you, heading for the door.

“You’re a bad liar.” you inform him.

“Who says I’m lying?” Brutus has a straight face now.

“The smile you had before you turned away from me. You’re not slick.”

“Worth a shot.” 

He leaves after that with the whiskey, likely heading to the room where Neysa will be. Edmond is probably sulking in the last train car since you’ve outsmarted him yet again. Another thing about District Two: babies, all of them.

You grab your shoes, not pulling them on. You follow the path that you assume Brutus has taken to the first train car. In there, there will be seating and refreshments. You’ll probably eat something and then spend the rest of the time talking to Neysa and Brutus without Edmond being there.

Fingers crossed.

“How much did you drink?” Neysa asks as soon as you step in.

“Not that much, look at the bottle. Good portion of it was taken out because of the glass.” you jab your thumb towards the cup, “A sip here and there, I’m not even buzzed.”

You take a seat, watching as Brutus goes ahead and loads up a white glass plate with all the food you can imagine. You feel yourself grow a bit sick watching him. He’s a big dude, but if you ate nearly as much as he does, you’d find yourself with a stomach ache and the urge to puke it all out.

“What’s the plan?” you ask, leaning back, crossing your legs, “For when we land in the Capitol, I mean.”

“You won’t be groomed until tomorrow, if that’s what you mean. They’re going to save it for tomorrow, for the tribute parade so it’s more fresh.” Neysa says.

“Anyone there already?”

“One and nine.” Brutus says, taking a bite out of a sample sponge cake. 

Ugh, District Nine. Probably the most suffocating mentors you’ve ever met. Since Districts one, five, two and nine surround the Capitol, it obviously lets you guys get there quicker. As opposed to districts like seven, twelve, six and ten who are so incredibly spread out it takes an entire day and a half to even get to the Capitol.

Other districts in the middle of you and the farther districts take about a full day, it depends on what time they leave their own train station. Later in the afternoon, they’re arriving the next day. Early in the morning, they can find themselves arriving at midnight.

It makes it a whole lot worse because the reapings are staggered throughout the day to make sure that the Capitol will be able to watch them live and in order. They have the commentary of Caesar Flickerman and the other dude--haven’t cared to learn his name, since he’s not very important in the first place. And then they take their time between each reaping to pick apart certain things. Make their bets early on.

They have the time to do that, because while one district ends their reaping, another is just beginning with the dark days speech. When the speech is over, then they start picking things apart, and they get to watch the reaping. Rinse and repeat.

You have a feeling that tonight isn’t going to be the best when it comes to reviewing the way other victors won. You know how most won already, but like you said, it’s review. Like you’re preparing for some test. If you can memorize the way that people fight and move, then you’ll have a better chance inside of the arena.

“You guys should try to expand your alliances beyond just the careers.” Neysa says, and then her eyes land on you, “Which means, that if there’s anyone valuable, like Finnick Odair--”

“Fuck Finnick Odair.” you spit at her, “I’m not teaming up with him.”

“He would be a good ally.” Brutus mutters.

“Good or not, he’s an asshole.”

Brutus chuckles, lowering his plate from his chest from a moment, “Have you seen yourself lately?”

“I never said I wasn’t an ass.” you tell him, “And if I’m going to be working with Brutus, and the tributes from one anyway, then does it really matter? Honestly, you think anyone will be able to kill us?”

Neysa raises her eyebrows, “You do realize that Katniss Everdeen will be inside of that arena, right?”

“I can take her.”

“You know how to fight distance?”

“That’s what the training center is for.” you say, “And do you remember what weapon I specialize in at all?”

“Sai’s are not long distance, they’re basically swords.” Neysa tells you.

You roll your eyes, “Right.”

“I’m serious, (Y/n). Make allies with some other people too. You think someone like Katniss or Finnick wouldn’t help you in the long run?”

“You think either of them wouldn’t backstab?” you challenge, “You think I won’t?”

“I expect you to.” Neysa says, “But they’ll help wipe out the competition in the meantime.”

You lean forward, “Neysa, there will be enough morons to run to the middle, which will take out more or less, half of the tributes. There have been times in the past where four working together has been good enough.”

Neysa slams her glass cup onto the table, shattering it. The drink that was inside, spreads over the clear table, running off of the edges and dripping onto the carpet. Neysa, fed up with your argument, pays no attention to the mess she’s just made, and leans forward too.

“We are talking about victors here. Four people will not be good enough.”

“I know what we’re talking about, Neysa!” you yell, “I’m the one going inside of the fucking arena! I know exactly what I just signed myself up for. Leave the alliance making to the people that are making them.”

Neysa laughs, shaking her head, “You really are impossible to work with.”

“You’re not working with me. You’re working for me.” you correct her, which makes Brutus stop in the middle of his chewing, and Neysa whips her head in your direction, “You’re working in my favor. You’re working with the stylists for me. You’re working with sponsors for me. You’re going to be working with the other mentors of the tributes I choose to make alliances with for me.

“You’re not working with me. You’re working for me to keep me alive, and there’s a very big difference. Because I can’t work with you when I’m inside of the arena, because I won’t be able to connect the dots. You have to do the shit for me.” you’re straight-faced, trying to get her to understand, while he looks like she’s finally putting the pieces together herself, “The only thing I won’t allow you to do for me, is set alliances on track. That is my job, I have to deal with them in the arena.

“And if I say I can’t work with Finnick Odair or Katniss Everdeen or whoever else I deem unreliable, then that means I can’t work with them. Period.” 

Brutus slowly resumes eating his food, he’s probably just glad he won’t have to pull you off of Neysa or the other way around. He knows you won’t fight fair either, so stepping between you guys would have been a nightmare.

You’re not a difficult person, whether they want to believe that or not. You know what will happen when you get into that arena. You’ll be back to the first square, surviving and making sure that the people you did pick out for the alliances, aren’t going to turn on you.

Finnick will never be what you consider a good ally. He’s too perfect, too many people like him in the Capitol for you to enjoy him. His company isn’t nice to be around. He’s too full of himself, too confident in what he does. It makes you uncomfortable, and it makes it worse when he pretends that certain things haven’t actually happened to him. That where he is now, wasn’t given to him.

Plus all the histories he has with the games too. Certain titles that you can’t stand to see on him. He was the youngest ever victor to come out of the hunger games--fourteen. He’s absolutely adored by the Capitol, everyone fucking loves him. People not being able to see him as a threat inside of the arena, only for him to suddenly come out on top. And so much more.

It seems too whimsical for you. Too far-fetched.

With all the titles he already has--if he did get reaped for the Quarter Quell--the two-timing winner will just be another one added onto it. And even if you don’t know him pretty well, you know that will definitely inflate his ego. If there’s one person you wouldn’t mind strangling to death, it’s Finnick.

Just the thought of leaving your life in his hands for times when you’re fighting with other people inside of the arena, makes you want to puke. You’ll have to rely on him to keep you alive. And it’s not like he can’t make other alliances behind your back, because that has happened before in the arena.

Maybe those plans don’t always work out, but a tribute will maybe pair with the careers, but get a band of outsider districts to work with them to kill the careers. Even if the careers aren’t super good, they’ll take out a good portion of people while they can. Especially starting with the person who made that plan.

Finnick would definitely be a backstabbing bitch, you can just feel it.

“Okay, I’ll leave the alliances to you two.” Neysa says, “Promise me that you’ll try, though.”

“If I find even one person that I deem important enough, I’ll head your way for a request.” you say.

Brutus is loading up on a second plate, “Well, Katniss doesn’t really have any allies anyway, right?”

“What?” Neysa looks over her shoulder, and then turns her body to open it up for him to join the conversation.

“No one knows her, besides whoever she’s coming in with. We can twist her whatever way we want.” Brutus has a smirk on his face, you can see the way his cheek moves.

“Think she’s fond of careers?” you can feel yourself smiling too.

“She’s seventeen, she doesn’t know what to think.” Neysa says, nodding to herself as she begins towards the window, “We’re just getting in.”

“Time flies when you’re scheming.” you look at Brutus to see that he’s eating another piece of sponge cake, “Better clean up and brush your teeth.”

“Says the one with alcohol breath.” Brutus shoots back.

You give him a toothy smile, “All part of the charm.”

--

“Get out of my face.” You tell Theo for the third time.

“Tomorrow--”

“Neysa told me what happens tomorrow.” you say, “I get groomed early in the morning, I’m supposed be out of bed by six and in the living room half past. After that, I get waxed, showered, shaved--whatever. Then, the tribute parade.” you give Theo a bored look, “Let me know if I’ve missed anything.”

He opens his mouth, thinking. Then, a mischievous smile comes over his face, “Brutus doesn’t know.”

“Actually, I do.” Brutus says, he comes down the stairs to the living room, “Neysa and Edmond are very good at their jobs.”

“More like just Neysa is.” you mutter, reaching over for the remote so you can turn on the hologram.

As you get the entire program started, Theo finally leaves you be. Brutus takes a seat at the other end of the couch, slouched slightly.

The program starts with Caesar, introducing it all, like he does every year. He basically says that it’s a very special year, and that it should be interesting. He’s excited to see what will happen, yadda yadda. And then it begins with District One.

Girls go first, and you watch enthusiastically as Cashmere volunteers over the girl. Following her, is her brother, Gloss who also volunteers. They hold hands, smiling their white smiles and shaking her hands a little bit. Cashmere is preppy, nice and deadly. Nowhere near naive but she might run into things without thinking about it first.

Gloss is basically the same way, all you can say is that he lands somewhere on the himbo scale. He’s dumb, you don’t know in what way just yet, but he has that look about him. And he’s basically just a pretty face. However, since he is related to Cashmere, they’re definitely sharing fighting techniques.

Wherever one goes, the other will likely follow. They’ll agree on ideas and such. If you take votes, then that means they’ll keep together. You know deep down that they’ll be difficult to deal with, but probably worth it. They won their games for a reason, just like everyone else.

Caesar makes a small comment on how he’s surprised that the both of them have decided to go in together. It’ll make up a change if both of them make it to the end of the games. Having to kill your brother or sister--yeah, that’ll be hard to do. Unless they’re planning on making it back home together, somehow. That’ll never happen.

Next up is you and Brutus. The look on Theo’s face is hilarious both times around when you and Brutus interrupt him. Like Gloss and Cashmere, you and Brutus join hands, but there’s a difference. The siblings were obviously trying to look cute in some way, having their elbows bent with nice smiles, and the way they held onto each other.

With you and Brutus, it’s elbows extended, yelling into the crowd. There’s big smiles on both of your faces as you give the cameras a show. You’re proud, he’s proud. Two volunteers that are more than just excited to get into the arena. Even your soulmate couldn’t keep you from feeling what you did in that moment.

Caesar looks just as enthusiastic as you felt. The way he sits up in his chair, pointing his finger towards the screen, saying that’s the type of reaction they were hoping to get out of the tributes, the pride in all of this. Not some moping around bullshit. He compliments the two of you plentifully, before moving on.

District Three, Wiress and Beetee, two total nutcases. Beetee won his games by electrocuting the rest of the competition, which was a total of six people. He was crowned victor because of that, and since he’s older than Wiress, he might have even mentored her. They’re going to have around the same mindset.

“Wiress looks like she’s not all there.” Neysa says, standing behind the couch, leaning forward, “Look at her.”

“The both of them look scared shitless, what do you expect?” you laugh, “Beetee’s trying to keep a straight face, but there’s really no point. They’re like sheep in a pack of wolves.”

Nothing important comes from the commentators this time, so it rolls right into District Four.

This is when Finnick is pulled, followed by Annie who gets volunteered over by Mags.

Brutus laughs, “Look who it is!”

“I fucking jinxed it,” you shake your head, crossing your arms as you lean back against the couch, “Great.”

There’s a smile on Finnick’s face, like he’s proud that he’s going back inside of the arena. Just by the look of it, you can feel your blood begin to boil. He’s a prick, and he’s too much of a threat. If you want to win, he has to be one of the people that go first.

He goes over to Mags, pressing his head against her while he says something.

“How sweet.” you say through clenched teeth, before skipping to the next district.

District Five, nothing important. Six is the morphlings, another pain in the ass to deal with. They can hide all they want though, because they barely hold enough skills to live with in the first place. They’ll be gone before you know it.

Next is Johanna Mason and Blight, District Seven.

“Someone I can get behind.” you smile, leaning forward.

“Blight?” Brutus asks.

“Johanna.” you say, “Girl has got some power on her.”

“Is that a formal request?” Neysa asks.

“Write her down at least, I don’t think she’ll agree.” you say, “She despises the games entirely, I paid attention to her even after she won to see what would happen. She played the act up good.”

District Eight is some girl named Cecelia that has three kids holding onto her. You know immediately that she’s not going to survive just by the look of her. And then it proceeds to get worse when an old man named Woof is called up too. Brutus laughs like it’s a joke, and suddenly you’re skipping through the next two districts.

Nine and ten aren’t special, and neither is eleven with Seeder and Chaff. What you want to see is District Twelve. You watch as the district rep gets a little emotional when it comes to calling Katniss’ name. The camera picks up the tear on Katniss’ face, as the rep goes to call boys.

Haymitch gets pulled, and you’re about to call it, but Peeta volunteers over him.

“Look at that.” your voice is monotone, you’re not surprised. He’s in love with her, of course he’s going to volunteer to go in with her, “Deadweight is tagging along.”

“Deadweight?” Neysa asks, eyes following you when you stand from the couch.

“That’s what you call someone when they’re no use.” you say, “He can’t do anything for shit, and I dare you to try and change my mind on that.”

“No point when you’re right.” Brutus says.

“I guess I should call Cashmere and Gloss’ mentors.” Neysa pushes herself off of the couch, “And maybe call Johanna’s too.”

“Not Johanna.” you tell her, “Not just yet, she’s a maybe.”

“At least you’re making an effort.” Neysa says, disappearing around a corner.

[bad-thg-fanfiction-by-me]

So I was bored and here is Chapter Two of Keeping you alive for anyone who wants to read it. Here is the beginning. For the whole chapter use the link below.

—

After the meal we had for dinner that could cheer Ash and me up a little I sit in my room. My thoughts are racing and I am feeling a little sick. After being used to having too little food my whole life my stomach isn‘t used to being full or even too full. Dinner went by without much talking and if we talked it was about the food and Effie praising the Capitol for providing it. I could barely stop myself from rolling my eyes at it. How nice to feed us exorbitant food before we get slaughtered. I think of the possibilities I have to make my survival more likely. Effie is interested in having jet another victor but she probably doesn’t think that‘s likely to happen. District 12 isn‘t like District 1, 2 and 4. I don’t really know of what use she could be anyways. Haymitch is barely conscious but he was Peeta’s mentor and he won so I will try to get something usable out of him tomorrow. Peeta. The boy with the bread, the boy who saved my life seems dedicated to do so again. Since district 12 has no female winner Peeta and Haymitch are mentors. Maybe I can profit from having two. It will be their responsibility to get sponsors. Peeta is well known since his victory last year and his famous interviews and Haymitch had been part of the games for the last 23 years. That’s good, I tell myself.

I feel sicker and lay down on the giant bed but I won’t find sleep. So I stand up and walk through the train. My room is next to Ash‘s. He is finally sleeping and stopped crying. At least I think I heard him crying in his room after we went to bed. I feel sorry for him but I have to ignore most of my pity for him if I want wo survive. I won‘t be able to save him if I want to go back home. Peeta’s, Haymitch and Effies room are next. Effie‘s is the biggest one. I guess the capitol citizens have a higher status. As I pass the door to Haymitch‘s room I hear muffled noises. Something heavy hits the floor or a wall and someone shouts someone else is talking in a calming tone. The door slides open as I stand right in front of it. Surprised and a little embarrassed I stare. Haymitch is lying on the floor. Vomit on his shirt and Peeta is trying to help him up. He looks in my direction and I have the feeling I have to justify standing there.

„I heard something.“ I say.

„It‘s okay Katniss. I got this.“

„Do you need help?“ I ask though I would be glad to get out of this situation. Somehow I can‘t stand people being helpless. I can barely watch my mother and Prim take care of the injured and sick that are brought to our house back in 12.„No, we are used to that. Go to sleep.“

I nod and close the door as I step back.

I hear steps approaching me. I turn around and it‘s Peeta. For a moment I wonder how he survived the games with a pace that loud.

„Can‘t sleep?“ he asks and sit‘s down on the couch facing me.

[holyfuckthisfishcandrive]

Cat ears and Scrapes

First, Previous chapter (chap. 22), Ao3

Word count: 2004

Warnings: panic, destruction, mild injury

Janus woke up to a loud crash

They sat up in alarm and looked around their room.

Nothing unusual.

Outside something else crashed.

Janus frowned.

Mafia, gang or supervillain? None were good options.

They got up and quickly pulled on a shirt and jeans. Just in case someone came into the house. Just in case they'd have to leave suddenly.

"Mum," they called as they stepped into the hallway.

"Janus!" Mum came out of the living room. "Good, you're awake!"

She grabbed their shoulders and pulled them close. She was shaking slightly.

"Mum, what's going on? Is something wrong? What's happening out there?" Janus asked. Mum's fear was making their heart hammer harder in their chest.

"I don't know. There are these... things out there - I don't know what they are - they're destroying everything! You need to go, okay? Go to Patton's house. He'll keep you safe."

"What? What about you and Luan?"

"We'll come later. We can't leave everything behind. Go now. Please!" Mum was terrified. Whatever she had seen out there it had to be bad. Really bad.

So Janus just nodded, mumbling an "Okay".

They grabbed their boots and their coat and slipped out through their bedroom window onto the fire escape.

A sound they couldn't describe caught their attention.

Janus glanced towards the street and froze.

On the road was something that looked like a burn hole or maybe a glitch in the world. It looked vaguely like a person, flickering and unreal.

The street lamp it passed burned out suddenly and with a loud bang.

Another one followed it, dragging a street sign with it like a child might drag a stuffed animal.

There were dozens of them all over the streets.

Janus' phone vibrated in their pocket.

They pulled it out and nearly dropped it.

The screen was filled with text, overlapping, flickering and glitching violently.

Janus could barely make out a few words.

 ...monster...

 ...can't stop...

 ...will kill every...

They supressed a shiver and pocketed it quickly.

Uncle Pat. They just had to get to Uncle Pat's place.

Janus ran up the fire-escape onto the roof and took a running start to leap to the next one trying to ignore the glitch monsters down below.

They spotted a news reporter with a cameraman trying to get the camera to work to report what was going on to the rest of the city and the world.

So the glitch monsters were fucking up all electronics.

Janus ran on.

They nearly lost their footing on a steep rooftop the weightless feeling of falling making them feel sick before they managed to catch themselves, their knee scraping against the tiles and their jeans and the skin underneath tearing open.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

They managed to take a deep breath and focused on the next rooftop.

"Okay, I can do this," they whispered to themself.

The further they got the fewer glitch monsters were around. By the time they reached Armstrong Alley, there were none left.

Still, Janus stayed up on the rooftops until they finally reached the alleyway behind the flower shop.

The dozens of cats meowing up at them let some of the fear bleed out of their tense shoulders.

They were safe here.

They rang the two lower doorbells, one for Uncle Pat's apartment, one for the shop. Not because they expected him to be down there but rather out of habit.

The door opened just a few minutes later and Uncle Pat blinked at them in confusion clearly having just woken up. Janus felt a little bad for waking him like this.

"Janus, kiddo, come in!" Patton blocked off a few cats with his feet. "It's freezing out there!"

They only became aware of the cold now that they stepped into the warmer stairway. The adrenaline must've made them numb to it, they guessed.

"Why are you even outside at this time?" Uncle Pat asked leading them upstairs. "Did something happen?"

Janus let themself fall onto the couch.

Their hands were shaking.

"Something happened," they began trying to find the right words.

Uncle Pat sat down next to them and put an arm around their shoulder to help warm them up.

"I'm not sure how to... explain," Janus struggled.

"That's fine. Take your time, kiddo."

"I think it had something to do with a villain."

"Okay," Uncle Pat nodded encuragingly

"I- There were these... things all over the streets around our block. They were ripping everything apart and made the electronics freak out and I have no idea what they were-"

"Shhhh... Breath, kiddo. That's it. Nice and slow," Uncle Pat began rubbing their arm soothingly.

"Mum send me here," Janus continued once they had calmed down somewhat. "She said that she and Luan would come too. They're just getting the most important things to safety."

"Okay," Uncle Pat nodded with a concerned frown. "Then all we can do for now is wait."

Janus frowned at the thought.

"Wait here, I'll just get you a bandaid and some disinfectant real quick."

They watched their uncle go and looked back down at their knee. The wound was about a centimetre wide and was bleeding sloppily.

They frowned at the hole. Those had been their favourite jeans. They could respect someone with ripped jeans but it wasn't really their thing. They preferred to look nice.

Uncle Pat came back and carefully disinfected it. It stung a little but Janus didn't say anything. The bandaid had some pattern on it.

"Thanks," they finally said.

"Oh, of course, kiddo," Uncle Pat smiled at them tiredly. "Do you need anything else right now? If not I think I'll try to sleep some more. You should try to get some sleep too. If you want to I can make you some lavender tea?"

"No, thanks," Janus shook their head. They didn't want to go to sleep. They wanted to wait for Mum and Luan. But they also knew that Uncle Pat wouldn't let them. So, their best option was to pretend to go to sleep and 'wake up' from the sound of the door closing when they came. "I think I'll manage."

"Okay, if you need anything you can either call me or get it yourself, okay? Don't hesitate to wake me up if you need me."

"Okay," they slowly got up and went towards the guest room. "Good night, Uncle Pat."

"Good night, Janus. Sleep well."

They closed the door behind themself and let themself fall face-first onto the bed with a sigh.

They pulled out their phone. It was back to normal now.

Virgil had texted them.

 my uncle just enlisted me in his war against the target on mills str

 he says the others are on thin fucking ice

 says their crimes are numerous and unforgivable

Janus contemplated whether to respond or not. Usually, when Virgil mentioned his 'family' it was best not to encourage him. But right now they needed some kind of distraction and something to keep them from accidentally falling asleep.

 What are you doing against them?

For a while they didn't get any reply so they scrolled around Youtube and watched a video of a guy making a knife out of candy.

In the apartment a door fell shut and Janus perked up their heart rate picking up again.

Were Mum and Luan there already?

They got up slowly and snuck out of the room. They didn't want to risk waking Uncle Pat if he'd fallen asleep by now.

The living room was empty.

"Mum?" Janus whispered into the darkness.

No answer.

"Mummy?"

They felt like a child.

Scared and helpless, praying for their Mum to hear them and come save them from the monsters hiding in the shadows.

Pressure began to build behind their eyes the longer the silence stretched on and they blinked it back.

They felt a breeze around their ankles, coming from Uncle Pat's room.

Slowly they padded towards the door and put their ear against it.

The sounds of the city muted just slightly by the wood.

Uncle Pat didn't like to sleep with the window open.

Carefully they opened the door.

The curtains were blowing in the wind like thin ghosts and the streetlamps outside bathed the empty room in yellow light.

Janus slipped inside and looked around.

Out of the window was a fire escape and they could hear footsteps over them.

They climbed out and watched somebody climb onto the roof.

Either that was Uncle Pat or someone was living in the flat above his after all.

Janus swallowed and climbed up on the railing. It was quicker than climbing the stairs.

The stopped at the top of the stairs and peeked over the small wall at the roof.

The man standing just a few metres away was dressed in blue body armour and grey. He fiddled with something, clicked a button and on his chest a heart lit up, blinking like a steady heartbeat and slowly changing its colour.

Heartrate.

His hood was down, showing messy blond locks.

Janus pressed a hand over their mouth.

Uncle Pat put the mask over his eyes and pulled up the cat-ear hood.

Then he took a running start and leapt over to the next roof.

Heartrate.

Uncle Pat.

Heartrate and Uncle Pat. Were one person.

But-

Janus felt their knees give out and bang painfully against the iron grating of the stairs.

Uncle Pat was Heartrate.

For a moment that felt like an eternity, they remained frozen then they jumped up and ran down the stairs almost slipping and falling twice before they reached the bedroom window and slipped through.

It couldn't be.

Their eyes must've been playing tricks on them. It had been dark after all and they were tired too. They probably had been imagining things.

If Uncle Pat was Heartrate surely there'd be evidence in his room, right?

They just had to look around and they wouldn't find anything and then they'd be able to go back to bed and tell everyone that they'd seen Heartrate tomorrow. Or had dreamt that they had seen him.

They opened a few random drawers.

Underwear (okay, they weren't digging through that), pullovers, socks and pants with some papers and Uncle Pat's passport and social security card hidden at the bottom.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

They looked around some more.

A pen was lying on the floor, half kicked under the bed. It was one of those promotional pens from Grimm Enterprises, who had sponsored the new basketball hoops at school.

They knelt down and grabbed it, before hesitating.

There was a visible edge under the bed.

They reached out and felt along it and managed to wedge their fingers into a tiny gap, pulling out a loose floorboard.

They patted around in it and felt a box.

Janus managed to pull it out and sat up to open it, taking their weight off their knees.

It was mostly empty.

Only two domino masks, a pair of gloves and a few spare batteries.

They picked up one of the masks. It had the familiar sharp edges and the silver lining. So definitely Heartrate's. They put it over their eyes.

It hadn't been made for their face shape, not sitting right over their nose and temple. No, it had been made for a rounder and bigger face. Uncle Pat's face.

They dropped the mask, as if it had burned them, slammed the box shut and shoved it back into its place, putting the floorboard back. Quickly they stood up and ran back to the guest room.

Behind them the wind slammed the door shut just like it had earlier.

When Janus woke up the morning after, Mum and Luan were crammed on the couch fast asleep.

If they hid in the bathroom for a while so no one saw them cry then that was their business and no one else's.

At least Luan wrote them an excuse so they wouldn't have to go to school for the day.

Next

Taglist:

@patton-cake , @isabelle-stars

[galahadwilder]

Delirious Ladybug

Chapter 4: Meet the Parents

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AO3

Delirious Ladybug Archive

*

Adrien had meant to wake up early the next morning so that he could head home before Marinette or her parents woke up. Meant to.

He woke up to find Sabine Cheng looming over him, having climbed up into Marinette's bed to check in on her daughter. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, and Chat Noir had never been more grateful that Ladybug had cleared his name after the Copycat incident. And he was very happy that neither one of them screamed.

"What are you doing in my daughter's bed?" Marinette's mother hissed.

"I swear I didn't mean to!" Chat whispered back. "I was just dropping by to check on her, and she... um..." He swallowed. "She invited me up. Which, I promise, sounds worse than it is!"

She glared at him for a moment. "My daughter is sick!" she said. "Is now really the best time for you to—"

"I know!" Chat hissed. "That's why I'm here! She seemed so out of it earlier, and I just wanted to make sure she was all right!"

Instantly, Sabine's expression softened. "Oh," she said. "You're trying to look after her, aren't you?"

Chat nodded, relieved. "Much as I can." He glanced down at the sleeping girl beside him. "She pulled me up, wouldn't take no for an answer."

Sabine laughed. "Yes, that's our Marinette," she said, reaching down to Chat Noir. "Why don't we get you some breakfast?"

He grasped her hand and let her pull him upright. "Oh, no, ma'am, that's all right, there's no need to—"

"I insist," she interrupted with a smile. "I was wondering why she'd slept so soundly last night."

She brought Chat down into the kitchen—the family kitchen, not the bakery—where they found the absolutely GIANT man that was Marinette's father. "How is she, dear?" he said, before turning and seeing Chat Noir and shooting to his feet. "What are you doing here?" he growled.

Sabine laid a hand on Tom's chest. "Gentle, dearest," she said. "He was looking after our daughter. Nothing untoward."

Tom narrowed his eyes down at the cat. "You're not lying to me, are you boy?"

Chat swallowed. "No sir," he said, saluting. "Cat's honor."

Sabine laid a hand on her husband's shoulder. "I invited him to stay for breakfast, since he took so much time out of his busy schedule to look after our Marinette." She looked at him. "How do you know her, anyway?"

"Oh, we're in the same class," Chat said, pulling out a chair for himself.

"And you said she seemed out of it earlier?"

"Yeah?"

"You must be Adrien, then," Sabine said. "Marinette's said so much about you."

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Delirious Ladybug Archive

[travellvogue]

Meant To Be

CHAPTER 6- The Truth

(ps- if you wanna cry along with me, listen to a sad song whilst reading this lol)

A tingling nerve sensation ran through your body as you clicked on the Instagram App, fingers shaky as you opened the DM, the growing sensation of fear as you began to read. 

Hi babe, i'm on holiday in Dubai and I've got something to tell you. I've just met Jesse, asked him for a photo.. and well, he was with another girl (who definitely wasn't you) and they kinda looked cosy, too cosy for my liking tbh xx

The feeling of sickness was overwhelming, an emotion that simply wasn’t describable as you re-read the paragraph over and over again, no idea who this girl DM’ing you was, but your gut was telling you to trust her. The change in your heart rate told you there was something to be worried about, the lump in your throat that had formed within seconds was a clear guidance that something wasn’t right, your heart knew before your brain. 

And within seconds the sickness turns to heartbreak when the picture pops up in the DM the girl quickly attaching it to her message as a form of evidence, it was obvious that the picture had been taken in an attempt to be subtle and secretive, the Dubai beach bright and sunny, giving you the perfect view of Jesse and this random girl that had been mentioned, laying together on a sun bed, umbrella shading them slightly as his hand rests on her hip. The pictures not the clearest but it’s obvious to see that it’s definitely Jesse, the same skin tone, veins and muscles in all the right places, that fucking bucket hat next to him as his curly hair sponsors a damp look. But who is the girl? You need names, information, Instagram usernames... anything. You can just about make out some blonde hair, completely different to your own hair, skin tone paler than yours, a bikini that displayed the majority of her ass. Your shaky hands made it hard to reply to her as you tried your best not to sound desperate for information, but every inch of you wanted her to reply back and say she was wrong, that it was all a big mistake. 

Hi love... thank you for telling me. this is gonna sound crazy but can you tell me everything? xx

What the hell were you meant to say!? What are you meant to do when there’s a picture of your boyfriend lying close with another girl on your phone... a girl you knew nothing about, in a different country, whilst your sat at home helpless and lost, your brain telling you not to fall for it, your heart telling you this isn’t a joke.

You could feel the tears that were threatening to spill again, by now you thought you had none left to cry, but god were you wrong, the waterworks started again as another DM came through a few minutes later- the longest minutes of your life as you waited for a deeper explanation. And that’s how it was all revealed, he wasn’t ‘man’ enough to end your relationship before looking for another one. You had to rely on a stranger to rip the band-aid off, to make the decision final- get rid of that fucking cunt.

They were close… too close. His hands all over her, smiling and giggling. She had an accent, but not sure where from, blonde hair, orange face and white body. There was an awkward tension when I asked for a photo, as if he wanted to hide and tell me to go away, as if he had a secret. Obviously I don’t know the full story, all i know is that you deserve to be treated better than that xx

To trust her wasn’t even a question anymore. You knew she was telling the truth. And that was it, one Instagram message and you were packing up your belongings, just like Jesse had done two days ago. A rushed blur of movements, clothes thrown into a suitcase, makeup, jewellery, shoes. Anything that you’d kept at his packed into as many bags as you could get hold of. Anger overriding your body, ignoring the tears dripping from your face and onto the clothes you were shoving into the bags. Heavy footsteps storming around the house as you tried to find anything that resembled your relationship. Photo’s ripped from the wall, frames pushed to the ground and  smashed in a fit of anger, you body desperately needing to throw up from the mixture of emotions you were experiencing. 

Something inside you stopped your rage as you reached the kitchen, eyes laying on the matching ‘happy’ and ‘happier’ mugs, something so small yet so prominent in your relationship. Your heart ached to simply look at the mugs, the first gift he’d given you, “we first met when we both wanted a cup of coffee” he’d told you as you unwrapped it, a wide smile on your face as he showed you the matching mug he’d got, the routine of making coffee in them every morning eroded away just like your relationship. Fingers wrapping around the handle of each one as you brought them down onto the kitchen counter. Silence. Nothing but your thoughts filling your mind. And then tears, a cry so painful you couldn’t even muster up the sound of a sob, lungs hardly giving you time to catch a breath, silent tears holding the most pain. Knees buckling at the overwhelming pressure of the emotions, body sliding to the floor, knocking the ‘happier’ mug to the ground as you went. Broken china shattered across the floor from the drop, a metaphorical representation of you and Jesse. Broken. Unfixable. 

He’s happier without you. He’s happy is someone else’s arms. 

That hurt to admit, more than anything. You could come to terms that he had cheated. It was the motive behind it that left the deepest cut. He didn’t love you anymore… did he ever love you? Your heart was broken from loving someone that was in love with someone else. You’d cried yourself to sleep for weeks on end over someone who didn’t even care about you. 

If they loved you, they wouldn’t cheat. 

You knew he was capable of evil, for God sake he cheated on his previous girlfriend, and you were fully aware of that, yet you still fell for his charm. But that didn’t mean you weren’t aloud to hurt, this wasn’t an excuse for people to tell you ‘I told you so’. Sometimes your heart needs more time to accept what your mind already knows. 

Everything was packed, no trace of you left in his home, or his life. You were done, finished, he could have his freedom back, his new toy to play with- but you wouldn’t let him play with your emotions anymore. Your soul couldn’t deal with anymore heartbreak. To let go of something when you know it’s everything you’ve ever wanted, but in the end you’d rather be able to say that you loved too much than not enough. 

You’d returned back to comfort, your ‘second home’ with your cousin, a reckless drive back to where you belonged, leaving Jesse behind. You’d told her everything, from the beginning, tears still spilling, a salty sting to your eyes that you were now so used. A restless sleep, clouded thoughts. But you mind kept returning to one thing. Trent.

[bat-losers-inc]

Kintsugi: Chapter 10

Summary: Final Crisis/Red Robin AU. Dick admits Tim to a psychiatric facility after Bruce is lost in time. Jason finds him suffering at the hands of a Scarecrow-copycat and breaks him out. While safe in Jason’s apartment, Tim still struggles with panic attacks and drug withdrawal. At a loss for what to do, Jason calls Roy Harper.

Pairings: Jason Todd & Tim Drake, Jason Todd & Dick Grayson, Roy Harper & Jason Todd.

                                                    -   -   -   -

Tim woke to the early afternoon sun with his face pressed deep into the mattress and the sheets tangled up around his ankles. He wiped away the drool that puddled against his cheek. A line of plastic tubing snaked across the mattress to follow each of his movements. With inquisitive fingers, Tim followed the trail to its origin point in the crook of his arm where an IV needle was fastened down tightly with medical tape. Too tightly, in fact. Tim could feel where the skin puckered and pulled tightly against the adhesive tape.

“Leave it.”

Tim flinched at the voice from behind him. He stopped picking at the edge of the medical tape and rolled over to see Jason slumped in a chair, one hand massaging his eyes. Had he sat there all night? Tim pushed himself up until his back rested against the wall behind the bed. 

He cleared his throat as best he could with his mouth so dry and managed a throaty request. “Can I have a glass of water?”

Jason stood, thumping his chair down on the wood floor as he went. He appeared again a moment later at the top of the stairs with a glass of water. Tim held out an eager hand to take it from him but Jason stepped to the side and planted it down on the bedside table with more force than was absolutely necessary. 

He returned to his seat. 

Tim blinked.

He’d anticipated Jason’s anger, but the fact that Jason had brought him back to the apartment and cared for him made Tim think it would pass in a day or so. For now, he drank slow sips of his water and waited to see what choice Jason would make: voice some of the thoughts that were obviously consuming him or return downstairs and leave him to sleep.

To Tim’s surprise, he did neither. When his glass was empty and he couldn’t take the silence anymore, Tim asked, “Where’s Roy?”

“Blackgate.”

“Arrested or just visiting?” he said, trying to pull a laugh from Jason. Not even a twitch from Jason’s stony expression.

“He went to talk to Croc.”

“Killer Croc? Why ?”

Jason sighed and squeezed at the bridge of his nose. “He’s Roy’s sponsor. Last night... wasn’t good for his sobriety. There’s an NA meeting this afternoon and Croc told him to stop in.”

Tim placed his empty glass back on the bedside table. “Is he going to leave Gotham?”

Jason sighed and rubbed at his eyes again. “I would say there’s a fair chance of that happening, yeah. He was never too happy being here, and even if you apologize for your little stunt last night, I don’t think that it’s gonna change his mind.”

Tim stared at him. “Apologize? Who said anything about me apologizing for last night?”

It was the first time since he’d woken that Jason met his gaze and now he held it with a critical intensity. “ I did . Things got heavy here last night and you ran off to hide from it the only way you knew how. Addictions are hard to break. He understands that Tim, but you still need to apologize.”

“Sorry... but you’ve got it all wrong,” said Tim. “I didn’t make a mistake last night. I made a choice to fuck up my detox because I’m not ready to get clean yet. So, whatever narrative you’ve been quietly spinning to yourself or anyone else about why I did what I did... it’s a lie.”

Jason held up a hand. “No. Just...no. That’s just your fear talking. You were afraid of Dick when he showed up here, so you ran. When your withdrawal was too much for you to endure you went looking for drugs to feed it. And now you’re afraid to get clean and you’re trying to run from this too.”

“ No , I walked out when I saw the pissing contest you two were having and suddenly realized that neither of you gives a shit about me. Not really. I’m just another means for you to rub Dick’s face in the mud, and vice-versa. And yeah, of course, I’m afraid to get clean— who isn’t— but that doesn’t mean I have to let you force me into it.”

“You really believe—” Color rose in Jason’s face. “Fuck you! Seriously? I broke you out of a mental hospital, patched you up, and risked my ass to get the information you need to detox safely and this is the gratitude I get? You haven’t said thank you to me once. Not once! ” 

“Thank you! For what? Making a major life decision for me and just expecting me to run with it? Gee, thanks !”

“I didn’t ask you because I didn’t think there was another decision. It wasn’t your choice to start using in the first place so I assumed you’d want to get clean as soon as possible.”

“Put yourself in my shoes for a moment, okay? I survive that living nightmare of a situation where nothing I said or did could stop a forced drug addiction from happening. And then I wake up on your couch as you detailed my 12 step recovery plan with Roy—  the sponsor I never asked for— on his way.”

 “Do you have any idea how scary that was? I wasn’t ready for rehab, not even close to ready to go through it when I still felt so raw and shaky. But, you saved me. How could I say no without it being seen as spitting in the face of your kindness?”

Jason rubbed aggressively at his upper lip. “You think you know me so goddamn well. You don’t though and you could have told me!”

“Like I’m telling you now?” countered Tim. Jason’s mouth shut like a trap, hurt flashing briefly across his features. As if sensing how Tim was reading his every expression, Jason turned away towards the window, staring resolutely at the low-hanging gray clouds that floated sluggishly past them. 

Tim plowed on, wishing, no needing , his point to be heard. “Wanting to be clean and the reality of getting there are two very different things, Jason, and my ability to make that choice matters a whole hell of a lot.”

“If it was so horrible here then why didn’t you leave sooner, huh?”

“And go where?” snapped Tim. “With what?”

He counted out the reasons on his fingers— for the bad he’d need to use his toes, for the good he barely needed one hand. “I’ve got nowhere to live that Dick doesn’t already know about and no money to rent a new place to lay low in because by court order my bank accounts have been frozen. And even if I could go somewhere and hide, I’m too sick and broke to get the drugs I need. If I left here, I’d either be alone and sick with withdrawal pains or locked up in another ward. Dead in a week, either way, I’d say.”

Jason’s eyes flickered down to his lap. 

“Fuck, Tim,” he said quietly, “Don’t say things like that.”

“It’s the truth, I’m sorry if you don’t want to hear it.” Tim continued, pleading his case as best as he could, praying he hadn’t killed all of Jason’s sympathy for him. He’d take even just a scrap of kindness. “You were the only one that could keep me safe. I had to stay, even if that meant lying to your face. But now I think it’s time we stop living in this fool’s paradise and face reality.”

“Fine, then tell me for real why you won’t consider getting clean... because I know you’re too smart to make such as stupid a choice as continuing to use an abusive substance.”

Tim dropped his gaze and picked at the bedsheets by his hip. “What does it matter? You’re just going to think I’m crazy like everybody else.”

“What did I tell you about slotting me into the same stupid category as everyone else? If there's one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’m very anti-establishment, especially when it comes to those idiots we call family.”

Tim’s lips twitched and he found himself smiling down into his lap. Well, it was worth a shot… at the very least he’d learn if Jason was as good as his word.

“I don’t think Batman died during his battle against Darkseid. I think he got blasted back to a different time and he can’t find his way home. He’s out there… wherever, whenever, and I have to find him before the trail runs cold. I need to be able to focus on my research. I need to be able to go out and track down clues. That’s why I can’t quit the benzos now. I can’t do any of those things if I’m sitting around for a week or more puking into a bucket, having panic attacks, and generally being a useless sack of shit.”

“And what was your plan if you tracked down a clue that led you into a fight? Especially if it led you to Darkseid, a.k.a the guy who wiped the floor with Batman. You’ve got to know you’re crippled in a fight while on those sedatives.”

“I was planning on figuring that part out when I got to it.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Oh, fantastic.”

“Oh, like you haven’t done it too!” snapped Tim. He turned away, arms crossed tightly across his breast.

It didn’t deter Jason in the least. “Yeah, and the last time I did it got me killed. ”

It was a stalemate of an argument and Tim was smart enough to realize that their points of view were so starkly different, it was unlikely that they’d ever come to see eye to eye. Chalk it up to upbringing, personality, whatever… this was a hurdle they’d probably never cross and he just had to accept it. 

Perhaps Jason was thinking the same. “What if we negotiate a deal?”

“What kind of deal?”

“You agreed to start detox and I’ll let you do your research into Batman’s disappearance. If you catch a lead that needs on-the-ground investigating, I’ll track it down for you. This way you can still work towards getting better without worrying about wasting time being on bed rest.”  

Tim thought it over. Finally, he decided to put a stop to the tension. The truth was he didn’t want to fight with Jason and he also wanted to be better than this version of himself that spent half his days thinking about where he’d get his next fix. 

He sighed. “If I say yes will you please stop with the dead guy comments? Because I swear the guilt trips are worse than the puns.”

A small hesitant smile crept its way onto Jason’s face. When he spoke his voice was full of quiet hopefulness. “You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay.”

 Jason’s smile seemed like it was also there to stay. “Good. Now there’s somebody else who needs to hear it too. Dial 1.”

Jason tossed Tim his phone and Tim did as he was told, wondering with nervous breath if Roy was going to pick up.

[accidentally-a-writer]

you have no control

As promised, here is the second chapter of @stegekay and my collaboration. We are having the time of our lives working on this, so you can all expect plenty more whumpy deliciousness in the future ;) If you missed the first chapter the link is below; this story is also being posted on a03. 😘 Enjoy.

Chapter One link

...

Chapter Two

By @stegekay and myself

...

“Your Excellency,” Davies greets, tipping his head respectfully. Washington draws an eyebrow upwards that verges on suspicious.

“Davies,” he replies, tone reflecting his mood, “what brings you here? Colonel Hamilton cannot take visitors yet.”

Washington would be lying if he says he does not see Davies’ twitch at Alexander’s title. The man still manages to plaster a grin on his countenance and meets the general’s eye. His heart sinks at the reminder- Hamilton is convinced this is the man who attacked him, and yet, here he is; no one could be so foolish, right?

“Delivering rations,” Davies grits. Ah, that is not the most esteemed of tasks. “Which reminds me, the men urge a quick supply run; we’ve run low on… well everything.”

Washington sighs. The last thing they need is the potential to face another winter with a great shortage of supplies, but Congress has yet to act to provide more.

“I had intended to send Colonel Hamilton to garner more supplies a few towns west. But now, well…”

“That is a lot of responsibility for a boy,” Davies comments. His tone is indifferent but the general feels himself bristle all the same.

“I’ve great faith in Hamilton’s ability, I assure you. He is remarkable in his work ethic and effectiveness, I’ve never seen a man write the way Hamilton writes. He earned himself a sponsor at seventeen, and it is a great honour of mine to take that responsibility now.”

Davies’ eyebrow quirks. “You are the boy’s benefactor?”

“I was,” Washington mumbles, uncomfortable. Men had varied reactions to this admission, many believed Alexander was somehow unworthy of his position, a freeloader. Somewhere nearby he thinks he hears a scratching sound, almost like a quill on parchment. “He was very young when he first came into my service, and a mind like that should be allowed an education.”

“I see,” Davies grins.

“Now, however, he is merely one of my staff members. The best I have, truthfully.”

A short laugh, “It’s easy to overlook the faults of our favorites.”

“Excuse me?” Washington cocks a brow and shoots Davies a dark look. Somewhere nearby in the beat of silence, he thinks he hears that distant scratching again, though it’s too late for someone to be up writing. “If you are implying something, Sergeant…”

“No, nothing of the like sir,” Davies takes half a step back, but the smug expression on his face remains. Another odd sound, dull, like something falling on the floor. Washington glances at the door to Hamilton’s room before Davies goes on. “I merely meant, Your Excellency, that I find myself surprised, and impressed that you have such an efficient aide in someone so young.”

“I find that age has very little to do when it comes to natural talent.”

“Indeed sir,” Davies nods. “You’d do well to hold onto him as long as you can, then. I should be on my way. Please, impart my best wishes to Colonel Hamilton, in hope he recovers quickly.”

With that, the man salutes, and continues on his way. Washington stares after him for a minute, until he’s sure Davies seems consumed by his work. At last he turns to Hamilton’s door and opens it quietly.

He’s expecting to find the boy asleep.

What he finds is a scene that will give him nightmares for years to come.

Hamilton is prone on the floor, just open eyes illuminated by the light of a single candle, but in such a way that for a beat Washington believes him dead. But, then the boy shifts, his head moves, barely.

Washington rushes to his side. He’s- Hamilton- there’s blood, did he tear his stitches?

No, his mind supplies as he drops down, knees splashing against something that isn’t quite blood. Frantic fingers push the boy’s tunic away, he didn’t tear his stitches. The smell hits him full force, sick.

Alexander’s mouth is covered in it and Washington can see it splattered next to his bed, it’s mixed with blood. His worst fears are confirmed when the tunic falls away and reveals an impossibly black bruise spreading along Hamilton’s side.

Hamilton is in his arms in the next breath, cradled like a babe as the general desperately fights away his panic, his tears.

Washington doesn’t even realize he’s moving until his own voice startles him in the deserted corridor.

“Help,” he screams, voice raw, “summon a medic!”

He passes Davies, who regards them indifferently, though his eyes flicker at Hamilton’s prone form in his arms. Washington doesn’t take a second look. There’s no time.

An aide sees and rushes away, legs a flurry of movement that are still somehow not enough. They can’t go back to that room - there’s so much blood - he’ll take Hamilton to the room adjacent to his own. He should have always been there; what was Washington thinking?

He puts the boy down against the sheets, waits for the doctor. The seconds bleed into eternities, some passing like a blink of an eye and others stretching into lifetimes. He paces and can’t bring himself to look at Alexander’s pale and clammy face.

Washington can do nothing but wait. He takes the boy’s hand in one of his, squeezes painfully tight, and buries his face in his other hand. He’s not sure what good it will do, but when cold fingers twitch weakly against his own, the general closes his eyes and prays.

When the doctor comes he’s given an excuse to leave without guilt, unable to sit there as Hamilton is so quiet, but the guilt comes anyways.

The door opens after what seems like hours and the doctor steps into the hall, wiping his hands on a dirty, stained cloth. Washington stops his pacing mid step and turns sharply toward him. He cannot bring himself to ask the doctor of Hamilton’s state, but he levels him an expectant look.

“I’ve done all I can, Your Excellency,” The doctor reports. There’s some hesitation to his tone. “Colonel Hamilton’s survival is in his and the Almighty’s hands now. The bleeding is on the inside, nothing can really be done. It may stop on its own, but.. "

The doctor trails off. It's not necessary to explain. Washington has seen men crushed by horses with the same dark bruises Hamilton has under their skin. He's seen them die in agony, drowning from the inside.

"I've given him as much laudanum as I dare, sir," the doctor adds quietly. ”It will hold off the worst of the pain, and should he… apologies, Your Excellency, but it would make his last hours much easier on him."

Washington’s heart shutters. And then it goes wild. He can’t hear anything past the pounding in the ears and his own internal mantra of no no no no no.

The doctor is still talking. Washington should be listening but he can’t. He can’t listen to him talk about relief, and rest, and pain, and death.

Hamilton was getting better. Why- why is this happening now? “He was recovering,” Washington blurts out, interrupting the doctor mid-sentence. The man blinks at him, and the general quickly realizes he has lost much of his control over his typically stoic presence. “He was able to sit and speak. What changed?”

“It may have been there from the original injury, sir,” the doctor responds. Something in his tone makes Washington think he’s already said this, but Washington was not listening. “The bleeding can happen slowly. However, the more likely cause is he fell and aggravated the injury, or he was struck with something.” The doctor shakes his head. “My apologies. Colonel Hamilton- he’s a good man.”

A good man indeed- still a boy. Whose right is it to take him away? God’s? God hasn’t been merciful to him before, why should He start now?

Before he can further blaspheme Washington pulls himself away from his thoughts to shake the doctor’s hand.

He’s given a bottle. Laudanum. In case he does survive the night. In case, because the more merciful outcome is he slips away in his sleep.

Washington hesitates as he reaches for the door, just for a moment, wishing this could stay a far off reality as long as he’s out here. But it’s not, Hamilton is dying no matter where he is, so he rathers he’s with the boy.

The night turns into the first lights of dawn and Hamilton still lives. He doesn’t so much as stir, but he breathes, shallow and slow thanks to the laudanum. Sometime early in the night Washington lifted the boy’s shirt so to better observe the bruising along his side, engulfing him like a dark cloud.

Washington doesn’t dare touch the injury, mottled skin stark against the already scarring original wound. It’s gruesome, as is the boy’s overall state. His skin is deathly pale, lips dry and chapped. Hamilton’s eyes are closed, the skin underneath dark and bruised like his side. Horrible as it is, the general has memorized every detail.

Hamilton doesn’t move, doesn’t twitch. The only proof he lives is the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

A single knock at the door breaks the painful silence. For a moment, Washington wants only to order whoever is intending to intrude away, but then, he swallows, squares his shoulders. This is his army, and he still must command. He draws a breath and utters a quick, clipped, “Come.”

It’s Laurens. Of course it is, because knowing Hamilton’s current state none of the other aides would risk an encounter with Washington just now. Laurens, however, lingered outside the room after the doctor left until Washington assured him he’d send for him if there were any change.

“Your Excellency,” He greets, sounding as tired as Washington feels.

“Nothing has changed since the evening,” Washington says with barely a glance upward. “He’s much the same.”

Laurens makes a disappointed sound and moves a little closer. “That’s not why I’m here, sir.”

Washington sits back to better meet the young man’s gaze, “What is it then?”

“One of your guard was found dead the morning, outside one of the cabins. We spoke to all of the men inside, and all were accounted for, save one.”

He feels his blood instantly begin to boil. “Samuel Davies.”

Laurens nods, “Yes, sir.”

Washington all at once wants to rip the room apart. It all makes sense now, doesn’t it? He hurt Hamilton, got into camp, and then hurt him again. Or he was struck, the doctor had said. And Washington had seen him there, not ten feet from Hamilton’s room, chatted while Alexander struggled to the door. A distraction to gather his information, and Washington just let him linger about, questioned nothing.

He remembers an odd look in the man’s eyes as he’d raced down the hall with Hamilton limp in his arms.

Hamilton told him Davies attacked him. That he shouldn’t have been allowed to stay in camp, and he hadn’t listened. Hamilton had had to beg him to be believed and in the meantime he’d allowed that man to sow so much chaos and pain, and hurt the one boy he’d been determined to protect.

Washington lowers his head for a minute, hands curling into the blankets. Slowly, he takes in a breath. “Find him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Laurens moves quickly from the room.

The entire camp is searched, but Davies is nowhere to be found. Long gone.

He’d left as soon as he saw his work in action, Washington’s sure. What more needed to be done?

…

Days pass, and Hamilton’s state is stagnant. The doctor had once forced water down the boy’s throat, Washington would gladly never hear those choked noises leave Hamilton again.

And yet still, he sleeps.

Davies is out there, vanished without a trace. Washington wants him found, he wants nothing more than to look the bastard in his eye and order his hanging.

He wants to see him die. He wants to know he enacted justice. He wants… he wants-

He wants Hamilton to be okay.

His throat has healed a bit. It was ripped to pieces right after it happened, the coma, in a way, had accelerated its healing. That’s truly the only benefit of Hamilton’s extended rest.

The boy’s chest is now speckled with dark purple amongst the black, it looks no less painful but is an improvement from the solid black cloud which had looked so evil before. It’s a good sign, the doctor assures him, it means the bleeding has stopped and begun to heal.

He teaches Washington how to administer laudanum, for the pain will be overwhelming and this is all he can do to alleviate it.

...

Washington imagined what it would be like, the moment when Hamilton woke up. It was nothing like this.

This is pure pain, with no hope for comfort. Hamilton’s eyes open and he’s immediately overcome by the agony of his wounds. His pupils dilate, tears begin to fall, he tries to writhe but cannot due to the pain lancing its way through blood and muscle and bone and soul.

Washington’s relief at seeing his boy conscious and aware immediately turns to dismay as he realizes how aware Hamilton is.

Soothing him does nothing, and he can’t have more laudanum for at least another hour. It’s Hell, pure and simple.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Washington whispers brokenly. This is his fault. If he’d protected Hamilton from Davies, like he’d asked, the boy wouldn’t be going through this right now. “I’m so sorry, Alexander. Just hold on. Please, son, you’re so strong.”

At some point in his struggles Alexander desperately clasps Washington’s hand with his own. His grip is bone-breaking, but Washington would gladly allow him to crush his fingers if it brought him any semblance of relief.

It’s the longest hour of Washington’s life. When he’s finally able to administer the laudanum Hamilton’s subdued wails die into whimpers, his muscles relax. It’s a blessed relief for them both.

Then, and only then, when Alexander is drifting and no longer in excruciating pain, does Washington allow himself to feel his first pang of hope, maybe even joy.

It’s hard to tell from what seemed like an hour long torture session, but maybe Hamilton will be okay.

He strokes through the boy’s hair, remembering how it relaxed his foolish aide when he’d taken ill the previous winter. Hamilton is still half-awake, but after an hour like the one he’s just had he’s definitely edging more towards sleep.

He’s angry, Washington knows he is, and he has every right to be. But he still trusts him enough to take his hand, even now, and allow the general to offer him comfort. That hand is his lifeline, an assurance that all is not broken between himself and his dear aide with a penchant for attracting trouble.

Hamilton’s half-lidded eyes find him, but there’s no smile anymore. He’s exhausted, confused, angry. He needs rest.

“I’ll be here when you wake, son,” Washington murmurs, “you can go back to sleep.”

Hamilton forces his mouth open, croaks like he’s trying to speak. Washington continues his carding of the boy’s hair, grinning in as reassuring of a way as he can at the moment.

“Not yet, my boy. Your throat needs time to heal,” He remembers the puddles of sick, mixed with blood and Washington almost cannot continue. “When you wake I’ll fetch a parchment and paper, and we can talk.”

Something flickers behind Alexander’s eyes, but he concedes, relaxing into Washington’s grip and closing his eyes.

He doesn’t wake again for six hours.

…

Hamilton, despite popular opinion, knows how foolishly stubborn he can be at times. It doesn’t necessarily stop him, because the vast majority of times he’s being stubborn for a good reason.

His words had always been his weapon of choice, both spoken and written. He’d been disarmed by Davies and that is unacceptable. So yes, he was anxious to regain his speech.

Washington, ever true to his word, brought him the promised parchment and quill, but communicating through that means is so tiresome. It makes conversation disjointed and fragmented, with long pauses needed for his sake. He pretends not to see the quill shaking between his fingers and the unsteady lines on the page.

He wants to speak again. He has quite a few things needing to be said, thank you very much.

And the general is near never gone from his room, if not his side, either. He must be desperate for conversation as well. A full week’s gone by, and the time Washington has been out of sight totals less than an hour.

Other men might enjoy having a companion through recovery, but it is beginning to wear on Hamilton. Were he not a general, one might suspect Washington would make a fine nursemaid. Washington brings another blanket from a trunk, saying he looks cold. Hamilton shakes his head. “Fine,” he rasps.

Washington lays the blanket over his feet. He looks back at the boy, a thoughtful expression behind his eyes, “Do you need more water?”

Hamiton shakes his head. This is becoming a routine. “No,” he manages. The thought of drinking anything, even cool water makes him wince. He must be instantly reminded of the state of his throat.

“The doctor’s said you shouldn’t try to speak, son,” Washington settles back in the chair next to the bed. “You don’t want to cause yourself any more trouble recovering.You have the paper there,” He points at the few pieces of scrap parchment next to Hamilton on the bed.

Hamilton furrows his brow and scribbles on the top page.

Too slow.

Washington glances at him suspiciously, “I’ve seen you write faster than any man alive.”

There’s an almost sad smirk in response.

There’s a difference when I have to write my own words instead of yours.

Washington almost smiles in response, and the two lapse into a short silence. Hamilton looks thoughtful for a moment. He picks up another piece of paper and writes.

None of this is your fault, you know. I don’t blame you.

A beat. Washington thinks he feels his heart stop. He stares at Hamilton- this boy he’s failed twice now, who wouldn’t be here, drugged and fighting off waves of agony if he’d just believed him in the first place. Hamilton cocks his head when Washington doesn’t respond.

“Sir?”

“Don’t talk,” Washington responds without hesitation.

Hamilton nudges him, and then underlines the last sentence he wrote while those intense dark eyes fix on his. The boy is clearly waiting for a response. He falls asleep waiting.

Once he’s sure Hamilton is asleep, Washington takes the parchment and tosses it in the fireplace across the room. He watches as the flames instantly take hold of the paper, warping it and leaving only a pair of words visible before they too are consumed by the flame.

blame you

...

Laurens of course doesn’t complain, that he’s the one even higher ranking men send to report to Washington. Were the general able to distance himself, concentrate at all on anything beyond Hamilton’s state, he might be annoyed that even some of his generals use Laurens as a shield to bear bad news.

This afternoon Laurens looks angry as he enters the room. Hamilton is half awake and rolls his head towards the door as Washington stands.

“Sir,” Laurens salutes. He looks toward Hamilton, and his expression softens, if only for a moment. He turns back to Washington, “I- perhaps, if we discussed outside, if-”

Hamilton interrupts with a wordless croak and shakes his head a bit. No need to leave on his account.

“What is it?” Washington questions from the other side of the bed. He knows something, something is wrong, based on Laurens’ expression. “Something’s happened.”

“Yes. A pair of scouts just reported in from a mission a few miles north,” Laurens begins. Washington notices Hamilton’s brow furrow as he listens. “Several homes were attacked, burned just outside the town. A soldier and five civilians were killed.” He pauses. “Two were children.”

It’s not the time of year for a British advance, so Washington draws a sharp breath and closes his eyes a moment. “How’d it happen? Who?”

Laurens hesitates a moment, “Some survivors reported a small group of strangers in the area. One of them gave a name before they started burning buildings.”

Washington holds his breath for an instant, but he knows the man responsible. “Davies.”

“It seems so, sir.”

An inferno builds in Washington’s chest, but his voice, with some effort, remains almost too quiet for the situation, “Where did they go?”

“Apparently due east, some hours ago.”

He nods, knowing what needs to be done. Washington looks toward the bed, Hamilton’s attention has shifted to him, tired eyes wavering with concern. He leans forward, grasps the boy’s hand, and gives a gentle squeeze. “I’ll return shortly, my boy. We must discuss a response to this.”

They can catch Davies, bring him back here. Calm as he forces himself to appear from the outside, sad as he is for the pointless loss of civilian life, Washington allows himself the selfish indulgement; he wants to see Davies hang for what he did to Alexander.

Hamilton’s eyes go wide and he clumsily reaches to grasp at Washington’s sleeve. The general lets his hand cling for a minute before gently pulling free and resting a hand on the boy’s brow. “I promise you, I won’t be long.”

The boy exhales some indeterminate sound, but it’s too warped to be an actual word. Washington straightens from the bed, and Laurens follows him from the room.

"Scouts said Davies has five or six men with him," Once they reach the workroom Laurens hands Washington a hastily scribbled report recently delivered for the man to read himself. "Twelve men on horseback should be plenty to deal with him."

Washington stares at the parchment. He doesn't truly read it, but at Laurens' suggestion he looks up, and drops it to the desk.

"Send thirty."

Laurens' eyebrows go up. "Sir, it's a bit much, isn't it?" He asks the question, but Washington is positive that he wants Davies captured just as much.

So Washington doesn't answer. He turns, and heads back to his quarters. Back to Hamilton.

“Sir,” Laurens calls after him. “Allow me to accompany them. I can-”

“No.”

“But, sir, I-”

"Alert me when the men return with Davies."

It’s overkill, certainly, to send thirty men to capture one fugitive, but Washington orders it anyway. He will not let Davies escape.

Not this time.

Hamilton’s eyes are wide and scared when he reenters his room. There’s something terribly urgent about them, something he could only convey with the words that have been so cruelly taken from him.

He waves Washington toward the bed, and a blink later starts to scribble something on the parchment in his lap.

You sent men to capture him?

Washington glances at the strained writing and nods, “Thirty.”

Hamilton pales and momentarily loses the grip on his quill. “Don’t,” He barely whispers, fixing Washington with a desperate look. “Can’t.”

“He killed civilians, Hamilton,” Washington responds, barely containing the growl deep in his throat, “He nearly killed you twice. You expect me to let him walk away?”

Hamilton furiously shakes his head. He winces as it jars the rest of him before gripping the pen again.

He’s playing with you- he knows you’re emotional about this and-

Washington reaches forward and lifts Hamilton’s hand from the page, gives his fingers a gentle, insistent squeeze, “I know what I am doing, my boy. Davies and his men will be outnumbered nearly five to one. If they know what’s good for them they’ll surrender before a shot is fired.”

Hamilton fixes him with that frightened look again, “Trap,” He breathes. “He knows-” a round of coughing steals the weak words away, so Hamilton writes again.

This is exactly what he wants. He expects you to do this.

“If he wishes to die in the Pennsylvania woods, then so be it.”

Call the men back. Please. This is a mistake.

Washington reaches to grasp his arm, steady the increasingly distraught boy. “Davies cannot be allowed to continue to bring terror and death wherever he sees fit. You won’t need to see him when he returns and-”

Hamilton wrenches himself away from the general’s grip and almost topples over. Parchment and quill fly to the floor with the momentum. He catches himself before falling out of bed completely, and jerks his head back to Washington.

"Listen to me!"

It's not as much a shout as Hamilton might manage if he were healthy, but it's loud enough that Washington stops speaking and stares at him. The boy's eyes water and his fingers curl against his throat. He opens his mouth to speak again, but the words are lost, dissolving into painful coughs.

Washington feels a rush of guilt having left the room to make this decision, but he did what was necessary. The men will be back within hours, and then they can discuss this in more detail.

"You should rest," Washington breaks the tense silence and reaches for the boy's hand. Mid-cough, Hamilton jerks away and curls in on himself.

Clearly the boy is hurting, but when Washington reaches for him again Hamilton shifts out of reach and wheezes a strained, “No.”

The general feels his chest tighten as he slowly rises from his chair. He feels he should say something to Hamilton, but the boy is curled onto his uninjured side, hair loose, hanging in his face as he struggles to get his breath back. With that pathetic image ingrained in his mind, Washington leaves the room without a word.

It feels strange to work in his own office now, having spent days, weeks working out of his private quarters so he could remain with Hamilton. He settles at the desk, a bit surprised to find documents he left there weeks ago, untouched in the chaos since. His aides have kept Congress apprised of the situation, but Washington has yet to write them in his own hand. He can do so now without interruption, explain the whole thing, and how it is about to end.

He works for some hours, takes a little bit of time to respond to personal correspondence; replies to a letter from Lafayette in France, that glosses over the situation. No need to worry him without reason.

The candle is burning low when there’s a knock at the door, and Laurens appears once again. Washington glances up from his own work, but the greeting sticks in his throat when he sees the drawn expression on the young man’s face. Even with the poor lighting he can tell his face is pale.

“What’s happened?” Washington rises quickly from his seat, papers on the desk ruffling with the movement. Ice grips at his chest, and for a moment he’s not sure he can suck in any air.

Laurens clutches a piece of paper in his hand. He doesn’t meet Washington’s eye as he crosses the room and hands it over. The general though, quickly drops it to the desk, slams his hand down on the wood. Laurens does not cower easily, but he jumps at the sound.

“Tell me!”

“Davies had men, dozens, waiting in the woods, in the trees. Seems his men figured out how to mimic our own and hide in plain sight,” Laurens’ gaze is fixed on the ground. “Our men were fired on, scattered through the woods, and in the chaos-”

“How many dead, Laurens?”

There’s no answer, but Laurens finally looks at him, clearly struggling for words.

“How many?”

He shakes his head. “All of them, sir. They’re all dead.”

[baepsaets]

sunny day pt. 4 ~ park jimin

pairing: hybrid!jimin x reader

rating: sfw

word count: 3.5k

summary: you’re a veterinary student specializing in hybrid care when you get a call in the middle of the night that a feral hybrid has broken into the clinic where you work.

a/n: this chapter was a struggle to write but i’m satisfied with the result. i plan on making five pts to this au with a nsfw epilogue, so this is the chapter right before the end. it may take me a hot minute to write pt 5 but i’m going to try to pump it out as quickly as i can, thank you for your understanding, patience, and support! sending love to everyone reading this!

part 01 02 03 04 05 epilogue

It was two weeks before Jung Hoseok was knocking on your door, and you considered yourself lucky—he was a shameless gossip. You were surprised it had taken him this long to show up.

Hoseok was a past favorite. He’d been a stray like Jimin, and you’d treated him before you were even a full-time employee. He was a playful golden retriever breed with a heart like a marshmallow. With him was his past owner, Yoongi—a human like you, he was a classmate of Namjoon’s who he’d contacted to help sponsor Hoseok’s citizenship. Yoongi temporarily adopted him, but the two became so close that they remained roommates afterward.

Hoseok was already bouncing when you answered the door, and Yoongi held up take-out like a peace offering. “I brought lunch.”

Before you could open your mouth, Hoseok pulled you to his chest and squeezed. You let out a muffled sound, but it was drowned out by Hoseok’s, “(Y/N), I’m so happy I haven’t seen you in so long where is he where is he where is he—?”

“She can’t answer if you don’t let her breath, Hope,” Yoongi noted dryly, and then Hoseok released you panting, only looking slightly apologetic.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just excited.”

You couldn’t help but return his grin. It had been a long time since you’d seen him, and you couldn’t wait to introduce him to Jimin. Since formally adopting him, life with Jimin was better than you could have possibly imagined.

Of course, it wasn’t easy. Owning a hybrid was expensive. You were lucky—Namjoon vaccinated Jimin for free and went out of his way to make sure Jimin had everything he needed, medically speaking. The rest was harder, because owning a hybrid was basically like having a roommate that didn’t pay rent. Your grocery list doubled. Your water bill doubled. You added Jimin to your phone plan and bought him anything he needed, from clothes to necessities.

But none of that mattered whenever it gave you a chance to watch Jimin blossom. His ankle was healing beautifully, and he fit into your life like a glove. You hadn’t realized how lonely you were until you had someone waiting for you at home. You hadn’t realized how little you went out until you had someone to go out with. Just having the opportunity for Jimin smile at you every day felt like an accomplishment, and you knew it’d be selfish to lock him in the house where the only person he saw and knew was you.

“(Y/N)?” Jimin yawned, padding out of the bedroom and into the hallway. He froze when he registered Hoseok’s scent and took a wary step back when he saw both him and Yoongi in the doorway.

“Jimin, this is Hoseok,” you introduced. “He’s a former patient of mine. This is his roommate, Yoongi.”

He nodded and smiled, shyly, “Hi.”

Hoseok sucked in a deep breath though his nose. “Oh, my God, he’s precious.”

He shot forward and gripped Jimin’s hand in his own, gesturing wildly with the other. It made you grin, seeing Hoseok like this—there was a time, in the beginning, where Hoseok was weighted down so heavily with his burden that he couldn’t even smile. You’d wanted Jimin to meet Hoseok because he was someone from a similar background who’d overcame the same obstacles in order to find happiness, something you hoped Jimin could do, too.

Jimin relaxed gradually, as Hoseok often had a quality about him that put people at ease. You watching Hoseok lead Jimin into the living room, still talking quickly.

“You’re not allowed to break him!” you called after them. “His ankle is still fractured!”

You and Yoongi trailed after them and sat down on the couch. “I actually owe you my life,” Yoongi said, setting the take-out down on the coffee table. He watched Jimin and Hoseok talk animatedly across the room. “He has too much fucking energy. Tire him out for me, won’t you?”

The four of you ate and spent the day watching movies. You studied on the couch half the time, ignoring Yoongi’s playful jabs at how you overworked yourself. He was hardly one to talk. It was nice seeing Jimin interact with more people—he was so friendly, so extroverted. It was a side of him you never got to see, because his previous survival depended on being unnoticeable.

It was a relief when Yoongi and Hoseok left, not because you didn’t like them, but because Yoongi was right; Hoseok had a lot of energy. After you collapsed on the couch, Jimin eyed you curiously before slowly sitting next to you.

He scooted closer. And then closer. Until, as you were lying on your side, he curled up on top of you and wrapped an arm around your waist, resting his chin over the curve of your hip. He was warm, and his tail wrapped around your calf as he hummed happily, especially when you began petting his hair.

“Hobi-hyung told me something interesting,” Jimin said, burying his face against the soft skin of your side. You almost flinched; you could feel the weight of his head underneath your breast and tried to ignore it, and his breath through your shirt sent tremors down your spine.

“Yeah? What was it?”

Jimin hesitated. “He’s a dance student. His school has a hybrid-friendly program.”

You stopped stroking his hair, careening your neck to stare at him. “Would you be interested? It’s only May. We could enroll you this fall.”

He exhaled and nosed at the hem of your shirt. “Do you still want me to apply for citizenship?”

You wanted him to do whatever made him comfortable. Not every hybrid wanted citizenship—Taehyung didn’t. Because he was on the police force, he was technically a ward of the state. The police station handled everything for him, while he got a free apartment, a job, healthcare, and more.

Too much work, Taehyung had told you once, when you’d asked him if he’d ever want to apply. I couldn’t ask for more.

“I want you to do whatever you want to do,” you told him. “If that’s apply for citizenship, then we’ll do that. If it’s to enroll in college, then we’ll do that too.”

“Which would be easiest for you?”

“That doesn’t matter,” you murmured, scratching at the skin below the nape of his neck. “You’re not a burden, Jimin. I want you to do something that makes you happy.”

He started purring, nuzzling harder against your skin. You realized he was scenting you, and a sudden warmth filled your stomach. It made you panic, but you quelled your growing discontent and continued stroking through Jimin’s hair, who was steadily growing slack above you. Your heart caught in your throat.

You noticed that this was the hardest part, after spending so much time with Jimin. As the weeks faded into months, and Jimin opened himself up to you, this was definitely the hardest part—not the clinginess, which you admittedly liked. Not the lack of privacy. Not the money, or the emotional stress, or the pressure to provide. Every little nuisance paled in comparison to the fact that you were half in love with Jimin in a not-so-innocent manner, and it was eating you from the inside out.

You wanted from him something he was in no way obligated to give you, and the last thing you wanted was to pressure him into something he didn’t want.

So sometimes you curled away from him while cuddling on the couch. Sometimes you looked away when he smiled or laughed, and ignored his lingering stares. You nursed him to health in more ways than one, opening your home and your heart, as much of it as you could, before you lost yourself and started falling victim to foolish desires. There was a document somewhere, both in your house and in Jin’s office at the shelter, that stated you owned Jimin. It was your responsibility to set boundaries because of it, but it was hard. Jimin was the best person you’d ever met in your life and resisting him was like resisting the warmth and sunshine of spring.

Sometime in the late summer, Jimin woke up sick.

You slept in the same bed, his arm and tail curled around your waist, nosing sleepily against the nape of your neck. You lingered in the comfortable space between sleep and wakefulness, until you felt Jimin stiffen behind you. He rolled away, and before you could register the sudden cold against your back, he threw up over the side of the bed.

You scrambled into action. Taking his hand and leading him to the bathroom, Jimin kept throwing up into the toilet until there was nothing left to throw up, all while you stroked soothingly across his back. His face was red with exertion and embarrassment.

“Are you okay?” you asked. He nodded but closed his eyes, sitting on the edge of your bathtub and rubbing his forehead. You left to grab him a glass of water.

When he emerged from the bathroom he was pale, not completely steady on his feet. He held up his hand to stop you before you could rush to help him and stood frozen in the hallway.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked, thoroughly worried. He shook his head again, brushing his sweat-slicked hair away from his forehead.

“I’m sure,” he replied. He took a step forward and tripped over his own feet, stumbling into the wall. You reached out to help him, but then his eyes rolled back in his head, and Jimin collapsed on the floor.

   It took you one minute to get Jimin on the couch and Namjoon on the phone. It took you fives minutes to get Jimin out of your apartment and into the car, and within twenty minutes Namjoon and Jungkook were meeting you outside the clinic and getting Jimin into the emergency room. By the time that happened he was fading in and out of consciousness, eyes glazed over and dizzy. He wasn’t alert but was responsive, barely.

Namjoon ran every scan he could while interrogating you. He asked what Jimin had been eating, how he’d been feeling, if he’d been acting out of the ordinary. Nothing had seemed out of place, but you still felt guilty for not catching any of his strange behavior beforehand. Namjoon left you alone while the scans were processing, allowing you a moment of privacy.

You sat motionless at Jimin’s bedside, holding his clammy hand in your own. Jungkook peaked in to check on you often while Namjoon waited for Jimin’s test results. After one visit he lingered, braced in the doorway while he observed you.

“You two are close,” he noted.

You nodded. “Yeah, we are.”

He mirrored the gesture, glancing around the room furtively. “Are you in love with him?”

You snatched your hand away from Jimin, choking on your own spit. You coughed and sputtered while Jungkook watched in amusement, making no move to help you. After pounding on your chest for a minute you collected yourself enough to glare.

“I—I, uh,” you tried to say, still choking a bit. You held yourself rigid before collapsing into your chair in defeat. “I care about him, so much. Too much.”

Jungkook nodded again, empathetically. “Does he know?”

“No,” you replied, shaking your head miserably.

“Are you going to tell him?”

Your gaze snagged on Jimin, observing how fragile he looked. The hospital bed swallowed him. “I don’t know.”

Another nod. It felt like half of the conversation consisted on Jungkook nodding. You appreciated the gesture, no matter how small it was, because in all the time you’d known him, Jungkook had never initiated an emotional conversation before. “You should, you know.”

“I’m not sure,” you admitted, voice soft. “I’m afraid of taking advantage of him. It’s so hard to gauge—,”

“He has a right to know,” Jungkook interrupted, gentle but firm, and obviously tired of listening to your excuses. You opened your mouth to reply before he glanced down the hall and interrupted you again. “Namjoon’s coming.”

Jungkook left and Namjoon swept into the room. “Can I speak to you in my office?”

Namjoon’s office looked much better since it’d been cleaned. He’d put a very industrial, very intimidating lock on the backdoor that made it almost impossible to use from the outside. Once the two of you were settled, Namjoon took out Jimin’s scan.

“His entire system is out of whack,” he said. “It’s almost like I’m not even looking at a hybrid scan. And to add insult to injury, his body is in pre-heat. Have you talked to him about the regularity of his cycle?”

Your face flushed red, but you pretended he couldn’t notice. “Not yet.”

“Well, he’s about to start it,” replied Namjoon, until he stopped. Paused. His eyes narrowed over something on the scan. “There’s something wrong here, but I can’t tell what. It’s just—different.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. “I think I might call Jin to see if he’s seen anything like this before.”

Namjoon turned to leave the room, but not before shooting you a warning look. “Don’t go see Jimin. Jungkook told me he’s conscious.” You sat up straight in your chair, but Namjoon pointed his clipboard at you. “I’m serious, (Y/N). If he’s really about to go into heat, I don’t want you to accidently set him off.” 

As much as it killed you, you agreed with him. You sat alone in tortured silence until Namjoon returned, looking mildly surprised. “Jin’s on his way here. He said he wanted to talk to us in person.”

You raised your eyebrows but said nothing. Jin’s shelter was on the other side of the city and wasn’t as well-staffed as the clinic, meaning it was often a chore for him to leave. Somehow it seemed like he got there in half his usual time, and Namjoon alerted you when he smelled Jin walking toward the door, having been directed to the back by the secretary.

Jin was handsome enough that it made you nervous whenever you made eye-contact, and you were immensely grateful that he was a human and couldn’t hear your elevated heartbeat. He slinked into the room quietly, like he was trying to be sly.

Namjoon asked, flatly, “What are you doing?”

Jin startled and pressed a hand to his chest. “You scared me!”

“What are you doing?”

Jin looked sheepish. “I smell like the shelter. I didn’t know if Jimin was in here and didn’t want to make him nervous if he was.” You were touched by his thoughtfulness, but then he reached out his hand and gestured for the scan, suddenly all business. “When you described his symptoms over the phone I knew I had to get here as quickly as possible.”

Your pulse skyrocketed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Jin hummed and looked down. He wasn’t a medical doctor like Namjoon, but his experience with hybrid care was unparalleled. When he looked back up, his face was grim. “Have you heard of heat blocking?”

“Of course,” you said. Everyone had, it was the most controversial hybrid practice: should people be allowed to block a hybrid’s heat? The obvious answer was no, but even the most obvious answer could be distorted by prejudice and bigotry.

“Well, this is that,” Jin continued. “Except worse. There’s been an underground trend over the past decade—instead of temporarily stopping the heat cycle for a week or two, there’s a particular drug that will stamp out oxytocin production permanently, if left in the body long enough. It’ll stop the heat cycle completely. I think that’s what happened here.”

Namjoon looked horrified. Interrupting a heat cycle was bad enough, but ending it? Not only would that result in infertility and sterility, but the lasting hormonal effect it would have on the hybrid could ruin everything from endorphin production to serotonin.

“It’s not perfected though,” Jin said. “It’ll end the heat cycle, but the hybrid will get violently sick every cycle instead of aroused. Most people don’t think the trade-off is worth it, which is why the practice is dying out.” He shook his head and admitted, “I’ve only seen it once.”

“The fact that you’ve seen it at all is disgusting,” Namjoon growled.

“I think you’ve caught it early enough. There’s a drug you can administer that will counteract the effect, but it’ll take half a year for his heat cycle to normalize.”

“What’ll that mean for Jimin?” you asked. “Will he still get sick? Will he be sterile?”

Jin grimaced. “Sterility can only be determined after the heat cycle has re-started, but he should stop getting sick. They don’t usually faint, but then again, the drug was probably in Jimin’s body a lot longer than usual—he was a stray, so no one bothered to notice him. I’m just curious as to how he was exposed to the drug in the first place.”

You cursed quietly to yourself while Namjoon snarled. The atmosphere was tense and you said, “I need to step outside.”

“That’s fine, we’re leaving too. Namjoon, take me to the storage room. I’ll show you what you’ll need.” Jin scooted to the side and let you pass, but not before whispering in your ear, “Go check on him.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Sneaking into Jimin’s room was easy because Jungkook was tending to a patient down the hall. You closed the door silently behind you. When Jimin saw you, he gasped and said your name like a prayer, like relief. His face was sweaty, sunken, ashen—your heart ripped in half.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, voice hoarse. You crossed the room and laid a comforting hand over his, pulling a chair to the side of his bed.

“It’s okay, we know what’s wrong.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yes,” you said, “but we’re not sure how it happened.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, face dropping again. He flipped his hand over until he could thread his fingers through yours, and your heartbeat picked up.

You paused, unsure how to continue. “Have you ever… been drugged by someone?” His gaze darkened. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. What I mean is—?”

“The reason I don’t like shelters,” Jimin interrupted, suddenly. You paused like a deer caught in traffic. “I know you’re curious, but you’ve never asked.”

You sat back to regard him. “It wasn’t my business.”

“I ran away from one, when I was seventeen. My original family dropped me off there because they were moving out of the country. The place they took me to—was terrible,” Jimin whispered. “I don’t think they knew. I don’t think anyone knew. They would beat us, starve us, treat us like shit and beat us again when we complained. It was the worst year of my life.”

You kept silent and waited for him to continue. “The used to inject me with something, and it hurt like hell. I’ll never forget it. While I lived there my heat cycle got out of order, and then it just stopped, until there was nothing but this sickness that lasted for days. I knew it wasn’t normal, but I just—,” he ran a tense hand through his hair. “What was I supposed to do? Even after I escaped, it kept happening. I was just a stray. What if I told somebody and they sent me back? What if they sent me somewhere worse?”

“They were heat blocking you,” you said. “With an illegal drug. It doesn’t fade from your system naturally, you have to flush it out.”

Jimin looked at you. “Is it too late?”

You gripped his hand. “No! God, of course not. Namjoon’s getting a counteractive drug right now.”

He collapsed in relief again. He looked much better than he did initially, due to your presence and the antibiotics Namjoon was giving him. You couldn’t wait until Namjoon could give him the counteractive drug and everything would go back to normal.

“Do you need anything?” you asked, shifting to sit at the edge of the bed.

Jimin paused for a moment sheepishly before glancing at your from below his eyelashes. “Could you…?” he started, gesturing toward the bed.

You stared. “What?”

“Can we cuddle?” Jimin stared at you hopefully, ears turned forward and fluffing out. That bastard knew you loved it when his ears fluffed out.

“No,” you replied flatly, “I’m not getting in the bed with you.”

“Please,” he asked, pouting, and you were gone. So far gone you couldn’t see the end of the tunnel anymore.

“There’s no way we’re both going to fit,” you grumbled, throwing your leg over the side of it anyway. You fit yourself precariously against Jimin’s side, making sure to avoid lying on his I.V. as he purred happily. He buried a hand in your hair, and you relaxed against him as you found your balance.

You ached for Jimin and what he’d been through. You were grateful that he was in your life. The two of you dozed together on the bed, and if Jungkook peaked in and caught the two of you, he decided not to say anything about it.

[uswntpoet]

Love on the brain (Part 12)

Hey guys, this one gets a tad intense, hope you enjoy the chapter :D as always, sorry for any mistakes!

The chapter is also up on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17576201/chapters/42849599

“Guys do we have time to take a break? I really need to make a call.” Kelley asks stressed out. The meeting started really early in the morning and she hasn’t spoken to Alex for two and a half days.

“We really need to get this finished. It will only take a few more minutes. After that you’re free, if that’s okay with you?” one of the associates answers, distracted by some paper he’s reading.

“Yeah, sure…” Kelley answers defeated. However, minutes turn into hours and before she even realizes it, it got dark outside again. Kelley looks out the window of the conference room absentmindedly.

“KELLEY?” a loud voice yells.

“Hmm?” she says, turning her head quickly.

“Everything okay? I’ve been calling your name like 4 times.”

“Uhh, yes sorry. I just-“

“I know, we are tired too, but I know what will wake you up again.” one of her attorneys smiles.

“What will, Matt?” Kelley asks blankly.

“Tonight is the sponsor’s party! Good chance for you to talk to some people.” he says excitedly.

“I think I’ll pass on that.” Kelley grumbles.

“Actually, you can’t. It’s obligatory. They want to promote their product with this party. So you better put on a big smile.” Matt argues.

“Consider it done, Matt.” Kelley says, putting on a huge fake smile, which disappears immediately.

“I’m sorry, Kel. I know you should have stayed in New York, but this is a huge chance.”

“No, I know. And I really appreciate it. I’m sorry Matt. I know you had to leave your family as well. Thanks for your good work.”

“Don’t thank me for that. I’m happy to work for you and if I wasn’t, you’d still pay me.”

Kelley laughs out loud, causing Matt to chuckle. He’s happy to see her like that. Ever since Kelley arrived in LA, this is the first time he has seen her laugh, which is very untypical.

“I feel your pain. My wife wasn’t happy either, but you’re going to sort it out. You’re a good person, Kel.” he says, putting his hand on her shoulder and smiling at her sadly, before leaving the conference room.

“How many minutes until we leave?” Kelley yells after him, realizing that she is the only one in the room.

“Uber has been waiting outside for 10 minutes!” she hears him yell back. Kelley groans loudly, hitting her head against the desk, before jumping up to follow Matt.

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Alex is lying in bed, having a hard time finding any sleep. Kelley hasn’t reached out for more than two days, excluding the evening of their fight and it’s starting to get unbearable. Every single one of her thoughts revolves around Kelley and if she’s okay. Since she isn’t able to sleep anyway, Alex opens Instagram to pass some time. After 20 minutes or so, she refreshes the feed on more time, before meaning to close the App. That’s when Ken’s Instagram story pops up. Alex clicks on the button without hesitation and a video starts playing. However, she’s disappointed to see that it’s just a video of a party and Kelley isn’t in sight. Nonetheless, something catches her eye.

“Why is Ken at a BMW event?” Alex asks herself. She types BMW USA in the search bar and sees that they posted a story as well. The first video is showing the party and a few pictures of famous guests follow, which Alex taps on to skip them. After a few taps Kelley’s face appears on her display and she let’s out a deep breath of relieve, she didn’t know she was holding. Kelley looks really good, but also stressed and super tired, which she tries to hide with a gorgeous smile. A smile, which Alex knows is totally fake. It’s her media smile. The smile she perfected for days when she’s sick and has to do interviews or for the children, waiting in line for her to sign anything after lost games. A live video comes up, which was posted 25 minutes ago, showing a 360-degree view of the event and what Alex sees next must be some kind of sick joke. Her eyes begin to water with tears. The video shows Kelley standing at the bar with a drink in hand. Suddenly, a very beautiful woman approaches her and puts her arm around her, whispering something in her ear. Kelley looks at her and says something back, which makes the woman laugh in response. They then exchange a few words. Ultimately, the pretty blonde then leans in to whisper something in her ear again, pulling away and winking at Kelley. This time Kelley is the one to laugh, a genuine laugh, not a faked laugh and the video ends. Alex feels like throwing up and the tears are rolling down her face relentlessly. She locks her phone, not wanting to see the video again and tries to sleep, whishing she wouldn’t have opened the damn story. 15 minutes later, Alex’s sobs are interrupted by the buzzing of her phone. She blindly fishes for it and turns it around. Her heart aches when she reads the name on the screen. Kelley. Alex shakes her head and rejects her call, not wanting to talk to her. Just two seconds later her phone starts buzzing again, but she rejects it again. Kelley tries to call her non-stop and after the 6th time Alex picks up, but remains silent.

“Helloo? Alexx?” Kelley slurs. Her voice sounds totally drunk and desperate. Alex feels her eyes filling with tears again. The way Kelley is saying her name and her drunkenness making her feel sick to her stomach. Something must have happened and after seeing the video with the woman, Alex doesn’t even want to know.

“I don’t want to talk to you. Stop calling me.” Alex sobs and hangs up. Her phone immediately starts buzzing again. Kelley’s face appears on her screen, one of Alex’s favorite pictures of her, which she took herself. Seeing her smile only twists the knife, which is why she turns off her phone.      

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Kelley feels more and more miserable every passing minute that she has to stay at the party. When people talk to her or photos are taken, she puts on the best fake smile she can muster up, knowing that no one is going to notice anyway. After some very important socializing, she takes a break from walking around and sits down at the bar.

“What can I do for you?” a man in a tuxedo asks her.

“I need a whisky.”

“Would you prefer a specific brand?”

“Just pour me the biggest glass you have of the one that has the most alcohol in it.” Kelley says numbly. The barkeeper stops and looks at her for a second, but continues nonetheless.

“As you wish.” he says professionally. When the glass is put in front of her, Kelley takes a sip, feeling the liquid burn in her throat. She looks at the glass briefly and then puts it to her mouth again, downing it in one go.

“I need another one. And could you do me a favor and just keep them going?” she asks the barkeeper, who nods shortly. A few glasses later, Kelley still sits at the bar, drink in hand, staring through the room with dull, glazed eyes, her jaw tightened. She feels the alcohol kicking in and the pain in her chest starts to feel a little less heavy, as well as her thoughts, which begin to drive her completely insane. The taunting voices in her head getting quieter with every sip. Suddenly, she feels an arm around her shoulder.

“What’s up, not having fun?” the woman whispers empathically. Kelley looks at her and sees that it’s Linda, who works for BMW and initiated the whole sponsoring and partnership. Kelley gives her a tightlipped smile, a real one, but still one that looks piteous.  

“Yeah, no. Aawesome party, thankss Linda. But I reeally miss my fiancée. I didn’t leave on ssuch good terms. I think I ffucked up royally. Ssorry, that was inappropriate.”

She tries to sound as sober as possible. After she already screwed up with Alex, she doesn’t want to screw up the sponsorship as well. Linda laughs loudly.

“That’s okay. If I’m honest, I really hate those people, who pretend like they’re robots just because I made them sign a contract with me. You seem to be a good person, Kelley.”

“That’s the ssecond time I heard that today and I ccertainly didn’t act like it a ffew daays ago.” Kelley mentions with a self-loathing chuckle.

“I think you should talk to her as soon as possible. When my husband and I fight over long distance, it always gets worse without communication. I’m sure your fiancée will forgive you eventually.”

“Yeah…thanks.” Kelley smiles sadly.

“Okay and now go to your hotel.”

“Whaaat? Nooo, this par-ty is to promote the product, I sshhould be sstaying.”

“Kelley, I’m the boss here. Trust me, you should go.”

Kelley looks at her skeptically, which causes Linda to come closer and whisper into her ear again.

“These parties suck anyway, I’m just waiting to go home to my husband and kids.” Linda winks at her, when she pulls away. Kelley laughs loudly, throwing her head back, a genuine laugh, not a faked laugh.

“Thh-anks Linda. For everything.” Kelley smiles at her. Linda nods at her.

“The pleasure is ours.” she says, holding out her hand for Kelley to shake. Kelley stands up and shakes Linda’s hand, but before she can leave Linda stops her.

“I think you should leave that here.” she says, pointing to the glass in Kelley’s hand that’s still full of whiskey.

“Yyou’re right…I sshhould.” Kelley nods meaningfully and leaves.

“I think you saved her from an awful morning, Linda.” the barkeeper says.

“Oh no, that’s all you. Thanks for telling me, Parker.” Linda says to the barkeeper.

On her way out Kelley smashes into someone.

“Keeelley, I searched for you everywhere! How are you?”

“Ken!! Duuude, fin-ally yyou’re here. Wwere you able to-“

Ken holds up a box in response, which makes Kelley calm down. When Matt told her that Ken wouldn’t be in LA for another day, Kelley immediately instructed Matt to tell Ken to somehow buy her a new phone and bring it to LA as soon as humanly possible.

“Ken, yyyou’re a legend!”

“Kelley? Are you drunk? You smell like an alcoholic.”

“Alexx nd I got into a ffight.”

“Oh, so that’s why she called me.”

“Sshe called you? Duude, I have to get to my h-hotel room and ffind my SIM card.” Kelley slurs, pushing past him and jogging towards the exit.

“What? Hey Kelley wait!!!” Ken calls after her, but she is already too far away. Kelley sprints to her hotel room, which is further away than she initially thought. Much further. After a 30-minute spontaneous intoxicated marathon, Kelley arrives in front of her hotel room out of breath. She fumbles for her keys and opens the door hectically, starting to rummage through her stuff to find her old phone. After a few minutes, the new phone finally is ready and starts buzzing non-stop. Hundreds of missed calls and messages appear on her display, most of them from Alex and they’re not very happy messages. Kelley scrolls through them, reading things like: ‘I HATE YOU!!’, ‘You can sleep on the couch for the next year!!’ and ‘I miss you, I’m sorry.’, followed by ‘You can kiss my fucking ass Kelley O’Hara!!!”.

Kelley hastily dials Alex’s number.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up!!” she prays, but feels her heart sink, when her call gets rejected. She dials again and again, not giving up.

“C-ome on, Alexxx. Don’t llleave me hangin’” she slurs. That’s when Alex actually picks up, but all Kelley hears is silence.

“Helloo? Alexx?” Kelley slurs desperately, surprised that she actually picked up.

“I don’t want to talk to you. Stop calling me.” Alex sobs with a heartbreaking voice and hangs up. Kelley feels her heart tear into pieces.

“No, no, no, no.” she says, quickly dialing the number again and again, but Alex is not picking up. Just moments later her next call goes to voicemail.

“FUCK!!!” Kelley yells, knowing that she turned her phone off. She punches her first into the mattress repeatedly. She slides down the edge of the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. That’s when her body starts shaking, as the tears roll down her face. The voices begin to set in again. They’re getting louder and louder with each passing second.

‘You’re not good enough for her. Can’t you see what you did?’

“Stop it Kelley.” she whispers to herself desperately, but the voices keep on going. She puts her hands over her ears, the tears streaming down her face and dropping onto her shirt.

‘You hurt her. She’s crying because of you. Suffering, because of you. What can you offer her?’

“Fucking stop it!” she says louder, pressing her hands to her ears tighter. She closes her eyes and scrunches up her face in utter despair, rocking back and forth.

‘You’re stupid enough to think she wants you? She doesn’t even want you to call her! She’s better off without you, happier!’ the voices getting deafening loud. Kelley bites her teeth together.

‘What are you going to do next? Hit her instead of the wall? You’re dangerous. Get your temper under control for once.’

“NO!!! I won’t ever!!!! I will never do that!! I’ll change!!! Please, just make it stop.” Kelley yells loudly, letting out heartbreaking sobs.

‘Look at you. Who could love you? Drinking away your pain. You’re piteous, you’re nothing. She fucking hates you’

“STOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!!!!!!!!!” Kelley screams earsplittingly, as if in enormous pain and suddenly everything goes black.

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Kelley wakes up with a jolt. There is hectic movement around her and she hears loud beeping. She gasps for air. There is a mask sitting on her face. Her eyes wander around panicked. Everything is blurry and the voices around her are getting louder and louder. She tries to focus her eyes really hard, so she can see clearly. Her breathing is speeding up and her chest feels like something is pushing a huge amount of weight onto her. She moves her arms to try to get rid of the weight that has been placed there, but her hands just feel her shirt. Where is this pressure coming from?

“It’s okay, Kelley. Please try to stay calm. I’m Dr. Collins. You’ll be fine.” an unfamiliar voice tells her. Kelley nods panicked, her heartrate speeding up. She can feel her heartbeat pulsing in her ears and her breathing picks up even more. The voices that were loud and clear just seconds ago, start turning into muffled sounds and before Kelley can say anything, everything turns black again.

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This time waking up feels a lot calmer. A soft and steady beeping and no movement at all. Kelley opens her eyes and after blinking a few times, she can see clearly again. She is met with Ken looking at her with pity in his eyes.

“Kel?” he asks carefully.

“Where-where am I?” Kelley asks confused and disoriented, her voice hoarse.

“You’re in the hospital.”

“What?? What happened??” she asks with a weak voice.

“I found you hyperventilating in your hotel room. I followed you, because I thought something was off. You had a nervous breakdown caused by sleep deprivation and stress. Plus drinking your own weight and not eating anything for over two days doesn’t really go together perfectly.”

“Jesus Christ.” Kelley puffs out, looking up at the ceiling overwhelmed.

“Yeah…”

“Please don’t tell me you called Alex.”

“I did.”

“Nooo!” she groans, closing her eyes.

“I did, but she didn’t pick up, her phone must have been turned off.”

“Jesus, thank god!” she exhales.

“I left a message though.”

“Ugghh, damn it! I hope you didn’t call TMZ as well.” Kelley jokes sarcastically.

“Kelley that’s not funny. What’s wrong with you? That’s not you.”

“No Ken, that’s exactly me.” Kelley says bitterly.

“What are you talking about?!”

“It is. That’s me without Alex.” Kelley says looking at Ken frustrated.

“No, it isn’t. Kelley, I know you for 3 and a half years and I’ve never seen you like this. That was brutal.”

“I know.” Kelley nods soberly. Ken throws her a worried look.

“Ken, I am nothing without her.”

“That’s such bullshit, you were someone before her.”

“Yes, I was. I was an empty shell. Always laughing, but never feeling it. I didn’t like, who I was before her and I don’t want to become that again. Because that’s who you saw. Someone, who doesn’t care, someone, who is reckless, someone, who does those self-destructive things. I know it may seem like she caused that. But, Ken, she didn’t. It’s her absence that caused that and that’s my fault, I pushed her away.”

Ken looks at her pensively. Kelley looks back intensely, stressing her next words with an urgency that underlines the importance of them.

“Ken, listen. This. Is. My. Fault. Do you understand?”

Ken nods understandingly, his forehead creased. The importance of what Kelley is trying to say sinking in.

“Before Alex and I got close, my mom regularly found me with those nervous breakdowns, because I just felt numb and I wanted to feel something so desperately. Whenever I had a breakdown, those voices started in my head, telling me that I was worth nothing. And when Alex and I got closer it stopped. From one day to the next, it just stopped. The last time that happened was when I was 21. This has never happened when we got into a fight. I guess, I thought I lost her for good and it triggered these old patterns. Ken, I know I found something greater in Alex, I found purpose. She gave me the strength to realize, who I was and who I wanted to become. So, I continued to work on myself and it made me a better person. She made me and continues to make me feel, which is something I didn’t know how to do properly. So, don’t tell me that this is wrong. You don’t understand what she means to me and how she makes me feel. She makes me want to constantly work on becoming the most perfect girlfriend, fiancée and hopefully wife in this entire world, because that’s what she deserves and that’s what she is to me. But there are days I will fail and I just had a few of them.”

“Well, sounds like I should tell the doctor you suffer from love on the brain.” Ken smiles.

“Yeah, that’s what it is.” Kelley smiles.

[achildswriting-blog]

splash! | chapter one

zach morris x reader

chapter one - nostagie de la boue

Y/N Nicholson hugged her blue varsity sweater closer to her body and hurried quickly insider her hotel. It was starting to get a little cold and Y/N didn't really feel like getting her Father mad for staying out of the hotel too long.

The hotel had been her home for as long as she could remember, so so many memories and so many sweet moments had happened here and she could not wait to create some new ones.

The second she walked into the hotel she had grown up in, she was crowded with smiles and jovial hellos. Politely waving to everyone she knew, she hurried over to the bellhop.

Y/N grinned and hurried over to a light-brown haired boy and placed her hands over his eyes, "Guess who?"

Derek groaned but smiled, "Hmm, could it be my favorite friend in the world?"

Surprising Y/N, he quickly spun around and brought her tiny self into a hug. "How've ya been kiddo?"

"I'm only a month younger than you, chump."

"Exactly. Honey bunches of oats, a whopping 30 days younger."

"Speaking of which," Y/n dug into her sweater pocket and fished out a small blue box, "Here ya go, doofus."

"Thank you, milady." Derek opened the box to see a set of keys.

"Is this what I think it is?" He yelled loudly causing people's attention to divert to the excited pair.

"Probably not."

"Oh, it better be what I'm thinking it is." Derek burst out of the hotel doors into the backyard porch and straight into a shiny new golf-cart.

"YES! Y/N I COULD KISS YOU RIGHT NOW!!" He shouted and twirled the h/c haired girl around.

She burst out laughing, "I'm going to wait till you realize what you said."

"Oh, honey, I am so happy right now, I could be saying I want to die, right here, right now and I would be completely content with it." That comment surprised Y/N, she knew Derek would never ever say that in his life, he was lucky to be alive. When he was around 9 or 10 he had cancer and the hotel had sponsored him so he could pay for leukemia.

That was actually how the pair had met.

It was the year of 1984 and Y/N and Staci were playing Neighbors inside the hotel. Y/N was currently a rich single Mom, who dumped her husband for money and Staci was a poor widow, who was secretly a princess in disguise and was left with a cat to take care of.

"Staci, why don't you want to be a Mama?" Y/N asked as she pretended to shovel some baby food into her doll's mouth.

"Because I could never leave Princess Whiskers alone." Staci grinned and placed a crown on the poor Cat's head. Princess Whiskers was all dolled up in a princess fairy outfit with a wand all everything.

"But you could also have a baby too."

"I don't like babies, their too stinky." Staci wrinkled up her nose.

"I love babies. I want to have 50 kids when I get older and my Hubby will have to drive them all to school on a school bus!"

"What's a Hubby?"

"I don't know, it's what Mommy calls Daddy when they're alone."

"Oh...Okay."

"My Princesses!" Mr.Carowski clapped his hands excitedly.

"Hello, Daddy!" Staci ran up to her Father in a Sleeping Beauty outfit.

"Uncle Cawosche!" Y/N threw her doll in the air and hugged him, completely forgetting about her doll.

Y/N's Mother came up behind the hugging trio and laughed quietly at a grumpy Princess Whiskers, taking pity on the cat, she walked over to him and took him out of the wonderful costume.

"Girls, you need to clean up your mess." Heidi L/N rolled her eyes at the mess before all of them. "Then we are going on a trip to meet someone special."

"Ooo! Is it Nana and Poppop!" Y/N asked excitedly, they were Y/N's favorite people, they always gave her a bunch of candy and sweets.

"No, we are going to see a boy your age."

"He is very sick, so you both have to be very nice," Mr.Carowski said and picked up a few toys.

Once, everyone was finally done cleaning up, the L/N family and the Carowski family headed over to Malibu Beach Children's Hospital {a/n; i don't know man, just go with it}. The drive was about fifteen minutes, which wasn't that long but with everyone all packed in like sardines in one car felt like it took a full hour.

"Alright, everyone out of the car," Heidi said as the car reached the parking lot.

The Gang walked into the hospital and ignored the weird looks they were getting, after all they had Mr.L/n in a fancy suit, Mrs.L/n, Mrs.Carowki, and Adelaide who were in summer dresses, and Staci and Y/N who looked happy in a hospital which was definitely abnormal.

"Hello," Mr.Carowki greeted in his Boston accent, "We are here to see the Arthurs? Derek Arthur?"

As the adults figured out where the rooms were, Y/N was trying to find where all the blood and dead bodies were and Staci was trying to convince her not too.

"I'll tell!" Staci stomped her foot and stuck her nose in the air.

"You're such a tattletale!" Y/N glared, "C'mon, come with me. Don't you want to see Dead People?"

"No! They are stinky!"

"Everything's stinky! You're stinky! Let's go!"

"I am not stinky!" Staci screeched.

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Too!"

"Not!"

"TOO!"

"NOT!"

"Hey! Hey! Girls, what's going on here? Your Fathers on an important phone call, Y/N. You know better than that!"

"Y/N wanted to go sneak away and see dead bodies and I stopped her! But she called me stinky!"

"Tattletale." Y/N grumbled under her breath.

"Did you call her stinky Y/N?"

"Yes."

"Apologize."

"But then I'll be lying, Mama and you told me to never lie."

"Y/NNNN."

"I sorry. But I not sorry! I not sorry!" Y/N started to cry, she did not want to apologize because she was right! Staci was such a poopy pants!

"Okay, the room is- oh, Y/N why are you crying?"

"It's not important, Paulie. Let's just go."

"Alright, alright." The two families headed over to meet the parents of Derek Arthur, a boy facing a deathly cancer with no fears.

The parents greeted each other and introduced Y/N and Staci who were again fighting about sneaking away.

"Y/N, you can't."

"mhm." The girl replied distractedly as she tried to peak through windows. The pair hurried on, with Staci too busy saying how dangerous it was to notice they were slowly moving further and further away from their parents.

Y/N peeked into the last window of a hallway and something struck inside of her. She felt curiousity. The boy had no hair, was very skinny, and was entirely alone except for his trains that he was playing with.

Y/N grinned and looked for a door handle, finally becoming successful with finding the lock. Y/N opened the door and carefully snuck inside.

Staci gasped, "No! Y/N! We can't do this."

"Oh, c'mon Staci, don't be such a party pooper."

"I am not a party pooper!"

"Hi." A voice echoed behind them. Y/N turned around to see the boy looking at them confusedly but excitedly.

Y/N grinned, "Hello, my name is Y/N. Why do you have no hair?"

Staci gasped, "Y/N, you can't just ask them why their bald." {Whoever gets this refrence first gets a chapter dedicated to them}

"Why not?"

"You just can't. Anyway, sorry for coming in here. We'll just get out."

"No!" The boy said quickly, "No, no, it's okay. You can stay if you want to."

Y/N smirked she liked this boy already, even more than Staci and she doesn't even know what his name is. Y/N ran over to his hbed, dragging Staci along by the hand and hopped on the bed, "I like your trains. What's their names?"

"Names?"

"Ya, don't you name your trains?"

"No."

"Oh, then let's name them now!"

The boy shrugged, "Okay. What's the red ones name?"

"Hmm," Y/N thought back to her 3rd grade class, there was a boy who wore red to school every single day, "Let's name him Derek."

"Hey! That's my name!" Derek grinned.

"Perfect!" Y/N squealed

"Well, look what the cat brought in." A voice sneered at them, causing Y/N to lose her thoughts.

Y/N grimaced, not wanting to turn around but did anyway, "How are you, Stace?"

"Don't call me that." She snapped.

"Staci, I've told you a million times, I am sorry, but there was nothing I could have done. He kissed me, not the other way around."

"That's not what he's told me."

"You're really going to believe him over me." Y/N was close to tears, she hated her and Staci fighting like this. They had been best friends since they were tiny.

"Well, looks like you two found each other. How have you been, Y/N?" She heard a slight italian accent and a hand clap her shoulder.

"Great." She hugged a man that was like a second Father to her. "How've you been?"

"Splendid, now how is you're father?"

"Oof, I would start getting the Arnold Palmers ready. The airport messed up and accidentally sent our luggage to Tulsa, Oklahoma."

"Hmm, never heard of it."

"Me neither, I think I'm going to start getting ready for dinner. Father would be very mad at me if I looked like this." She hugged Mr.Carowski again, then moved onto Derek and mummured, "Happy Birthday...Idiot."

"We'll be celebrating you're birthday soon, Y/N." Mr. Carowki grinned after she wedged herself out of Derek's grip.

"I can't believe you'll be 16! I mean, wow, I remember when you were an itty bitty baby." Derek laughed and ruffled Y/N's blonde hair.

The group of three continued her conversation when she heard, "HEY! ISN'T THAT Y/N!"

Then a Screech, "Screech! Shut up! Y/N's not coming back."

"But she's right there, Zach. Lisa, my love, don't you see Y/N."

"If you call me love again, I swear, you won't have any of your teeth left after I'm finished with you. But I can't tell and I don't care, I just want to eat."

That's when Y/N knew she had to turn around, but she was called inside by her Father and once she looked back again, they were gone. She must have been dreaming.

Y/N quickly slipped her heels on as she raced down the steps, her curled hair flying in the air behind her, she grabbed the end of her gown and started to trot to the separate dining room, where they had weddings and special events, or just the L/N's for dinner. The L/N's were a very prestigious family. A family where they had arranged marriages, tea in the mid-afternoon, and wore gowns for dinner.

Her older sister was tapping the toe of her heel impatiently on the stone tile, "You're late."

"I know, do I look alright?"

Adelaide scanned Y/N from head to toe, she raised her hand and placed a lock of hair back in place, "Fine."

"Good because I am wearing my finest dress-"

"Gown, not dress."

"Same difference."

"If Father or Mother heard you say that you would be dead."

"I know." Y/N gulped knowing it was true literally and figuratively.

"Good Evening, Father." Y/N bent down to kiss her Father on the cheek, shakily.

"Good Evening, Mother." Y/N kissed her Mother on the cheek and took a seat next to her. M/N silently slipped Y/N's hand in hers under the table. Y/N instantly relaxed and threw her napkin on her lap.

The server came in and said in a posh accent, "Tonight we have sal.."

The dinner went by quickly for Y/N, it mostly consisted of the occasional eating in silence and Adelaide blabbering on about her new suitor. Which was a terribly boring subject for Y/N.

"May we be excused now?" Y/N asked politely looking at her Father.

"Yes, you may. But I need to talk to Adelaide about Paul."

"Alright, goodnight."

"Goodnight." The second the doors shut both Heidi and Y/N relaxed.

"I'm going to head to bed."

"I think I will join you, I'm very sleepy."

"Yes, it is 1 in the morning our time."

"Really? Oh, the three hour time difference." Y/N rolled her eyes at her stupidness.

"Is that really you gurl?" Y/N's foot froze from reaching up to the third step, but a huge smile was written across her lips.

"Now way. Lisa Turtle?" Laughter erupted from both of them. They ran up to each other and squeezed each other hard.

Y/N broke the hug but kept her hands on Lisa's arms, "God, you look so different."

"Well, I'd hope so! But you're one to talk Y/N! Wait, till Zach sees you. He'll pee his pants."

Y/N snorted, "I hope his peeing days are over."

"Oh, honey, wait till I tell them all, they'll be so happy."

"Wait, Lisa, could you maybe not tell-"

"Y/N! Is that you?" The h/c haired girl looked to her left to see Screech Powers, "See, Lisa, I told you it was Y/N."

Y/N burst into giggles but hugged the teen tightly. "God, I missed you all."

"What are you doing here, Y/N?" Screech asked.

"You doofus, her Father owns the hotel!"

"Oh, darrr." He smacked his forehead.

"Screech, dont do that." Y/N grabbed his arm concerned.

"Ya, please don't, you'll lose the only brain cells you have left."

Y/N rolled her eyes, "I'm just wondering when the wedding is."

"Y/N." Lisa gasped, "I thought you were nice!"

They all burst out laughing, {God, this is sooooo cheesy. I am so sorry.} "Y/N, I thought you went to bed with Mother."

Y/N looked up to see Adelaide, "Oh, shoot, is Father coming soon?"

"Yes, he's talking with Mr.Carowski."

"Shoot, I'd better get going guys. I'll see you tommorow, ya?"

"Yes, we need to catch up, missy. I haven't seen you in years." Screech pointed a threatening finger at Y/N

Y/N laughed, "Okay, Screech."

"I know, I saw you last year. But still, you need to tell me all the juice details of everything that's happened over the year. Especially the Staci situation and the Zach one!"

"But, Lisa-"

"Mmm, mmm, mmm, honey. You promised."

"I was hoping you would forget."

Lisa laughed, "Forget why my best friend talks about you 24/7. No, not happening, Sunshine."

"Alright, bye Lise."

"Bye, n/n."

After Lisa and Screech left, Adelaide decided to proceed her questioning, "What does Lisa mean?"

"Nothing, Addie."

"Obviously something happened between you and Zach. You know if Father finds out, you'll be in so much trouble Y/N. You know he already picked a suitor out for you."

"That doesn't mean I want one."

"Oh, please, I know you want one. You just want to be able to choose and you can! I did!"

"But I don't want some stupid, preppy idiot who only wants me for sex and cooking and keeping up their family dynasty."

"You want someone who loves you."

"Of course, I do. Who doesn't?"

After that comment, Adelaide kept quiet for the rest of the night.

Word Count: 2566

[ellanainthetardis]

We have a long night ahead of us today! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please do let me know!

[FF] or [AO3]

Chapter 20 : Dead Man Walking

On the third night of Training, Haymitch woke up damp with sweat.

He was sitting, panting hard, eyes searching the dark corners of the room for… What? Danger. He gripped the handle of his knife harder, ready to jump at any possible threat. Ready to…

“Haymitch.”

He blinked as light flooded the bedroom.

He didn’t understand at first.

Effie was standing there in the crumpled tee-shirt he had worn all day, staring at him with uncertainty, her hands up in the air in a gesture of peace. His eyes darted around, surprised to find himself in her bedroom when he had been so sure he was… there.

“It’s alright, Haymitch.” she coaxed slowly. “It was just a nightmare.”

There was nothing just about his nightmare.

For her to have gotten out of bed – and thank God she had gotten out of bed before he could stab her – it must have been a bad one.

He looked down at his hand, expecting his fingers and the handle of the knife to be covered in blood…

There was no knife. There was no knife because he never brought it to her room at night exactly in case this sort of things happened. Her hairbrush was trapped in his fist.

He had all the pain in the world letting go.

His breathing wasn’t calming down and he felt dizzy. His ears were ringing, his stomach was churning and he bolted out of bed and to the bathroom before he could be sick right there.

He kneeled in front of the toilets but it wouldn’t come out.

It wouldn’t…

He was aware Effie was hovering nearby, hesitating to approach yet.

He was shivering badly and, coupled with his short breathing, it was making it very difficult to remain conscious. He wanted to throw up, somehow confusedly thinking it would make him feel better. His stomach hurt and he gagged a few times but couldn’t actually manage to puke. He slumped on the open toilets without any care for how pitiful it must have looked. He was hot, too hot, like he was running a fever.

Images kept flashing in front of his eyes.  

Effie’s voice was coming from very far away.

She must have tossed caution to the wind because next thing he knew, there was a damp towel patting at his nape. He flinched when her hand grabbed his shoulder but he didn’t lash out. He was too weak to lash out.

He collapsed back against her. It took her aback and she almost overbalanced. She managed to keep them both steady though, as steady as they could be when they were sitting on the bathroom’s cold tiles in the dead of night.

The damp towel on his face was a relief and he clung to that feeling. He clung to that feeling with all his might and tried to ignore everything else. Block the images. Swallow back the panic.

The cloth left his cheek to run down on his throat, the back of his neck…

The shaking didn’t ease but the dizziness slowly receded, the nausea calmed down enough that he could try to work on his breathing. It wasn’t easy. It came out as loud heavy pants and every intake of breath was a painful whizzing punch to the chest.

“C… Cold.” he stuttered after a few minutes.

He wouldn’t have been able to sit by himself and she must have realized that because instead of fetching something warm, she simply shed her – his – shirt and slipped it over his head, guiding his arms in the sleeves like one would have done with a child.

It wasn’t exactly a rampart against that cold that came from within but her body was warm enough and he burrowed into it. She discarded the towel and wrapped herself around him like an octopus, apparently getting the idea.

If anyone else had seen him like that, he might have been mortified.

Effie… It wasn’t the first time. It was hard to be mortified with her when she had cleaned him up after he had been sick on himself more times than he could count. It was hard to be mortified when he had drunkenly ranted his pathetic life story to her enough times for her to know it by heart. It was hard to be mortified when she had seen him at his lowest point.

Sure, the lowest point wasn’t too far from this moment, because having panic attacks in the middle of the night didn’t rank high on his list of good times but…

Slowly, painfully, he managed to get his breathing back under control until it came out in slightly heavy puffs.

“Do you want to try and go back to bed?” she asked, detached.

She wouldn’t make the mistake of sounding commiserating. She knew him too well. He didn’t want sympathy and she wouldn’t give it. She would give affection and fondness and… that word that still terrified him sick but that he was becoming accustomed with because he was going to die so it couldn’t be the death sentence it used to be, could it?

He shook his head hard at her suggestion though.

There was no way he was lying back down, no way he would close his eyes again. Not without a bottle or two. Not without…

“Alright.” she agreed easily. “We can get up. I will have some tea brought for us in the living-room. We can play chess.”

“You… You suck at chess.” he pointed out through still chattering teeth.

“Poker, then.” she retorted. “You cannot beat me out at poker.”

“You wish.” he joked, for her sake more than his.

She helped him up and he tried not to feel too humiliated by that. She made sure his legs would hold before letting go, not meeting his eyes. She was naked now and he briefly entertained thoughts of funnier activities than a game of poker but he dismissed it quickly enough. He wasn’t in any shape to do that.

He checked the clock while she got dressed in silky blue shorts and a top. It was only three a.m. He knew she was tired from all her days of walking around on high heels and courting sponsors. He used to mock her for that but he had eventually understood it took energy to be so cheerful and bubbly all the time.

“You should go back to sleep.” he suggested half-heartedly.

She tied her silk dressing gown around her waist and picked up the sweatpants that had somehow gravitated to her room from the dresser. “I was not sleeping. I had a nightmare of my own. Truly, you are making me a favor by keeping me company.”

He wasn’t sure if she was lying or not but the perspective of killing time on his own until dawn rose was too daunting for him to insist. He put on the sweatpants and went in search of the stash of board games and cards that were stocked somewhere in a cupboard in the living-room – in case the tributes were in the mood for more games, he figured. They had used them occasionally when other victors had stayed for a late night drink.

He grabbed a few boxes of Effie’s favorites as well as the cards and the chessboard.

The living-room was cold, dark and empty and it made him shiver. He turned the lights to the maximum, as bright as they could go. There were flashes of colors from outside and he wandered to the bay window, wondering if the Capitol ever slept. It was a stupid question. He knew the answer to that, naturally.

He had always hated the Games parties but he would have taken them over being forced to get up for Training now.

He hated being back on the other side. The routine… Waking up at a designated time, sitting through advices during breakfast like he was a rookie and the boy had all the wisdom, heading down on the dot because Effie was obsessive about being on time and it wasn’t worth a fight, waiting for at least a good hour alone with Two’s victors for everyone else to show up, training in itself…

Katniss hung around the mostly empty stations, stuff that the other tributes dismissed to focus on weaponry. Sometimes Haymitch stuck with her because he wasn’t in the mood for socializing. Sometimes he made an effort to mix with the others in an attempt to find out more about their weaknesses.

He had trained in hand to hand combat with Chaff that day. Eleven’s victor was swifter than expected but Haymitch was stronger and he had pinned him down in a couple of minutes, his arm wrapped tight around his friend’s throat in a move that could have been deadly. He could have snapped Chaff’s neck.

The instructor had congratulated him. Chaff had joked it off. The few who had stopped to watch had turned away with a new information to keep in mind: he could fight.

He had hated every second it.

The knowledge that it could so easily become real in a few days.

Johanna and Finnick were avoiding him and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He loved those kids but… He supposed putting some distance between the three of them wasn’t the worst idea. Mags had come to him a few times but their conversations had been mostly superficial aside for one or two vague exchanges about what had happened to make the rebellion collapse. People covertly came to him about that as if he had any answer.

He was envious.

He was envious of the boy who got to go to the parties, drink the booze, joke with their escort…

It didn’t help that he had grown so dependent on the comfort Effie could provide. It was pathetic, really. He was a grown man, not a teenager, and yet he behaved exactly like Katniss.  

Effie and Peeta had stayed out late the previous evening. It was probably sad how he and Katniss had lingered in front of movies neither of them had been watching just because they couldn’t go to bed by themselves. At least, Katniss could acknowledge that she was scared of having nightmares without Peeta there. Haymitch had muttered an unconvincing excuse about wanting to know how they had fared with sponsors.

He had never thought he would miss the city but being trapped in the Center really was doing nothing good to him. He missed the freedom most of all. He would have given anything to be allowed out in the streets, to breathe the air that never felt pure to him, to be free to wander all he wanted without Peacekeepers behind his back.

“I ordered teapots.” Effie declared, interrupting his musing. “I thought it would be easier than going back to the kitchen every five minutes.”

They had barely settled down on either side of the coffee table – and he wondered what the kids would have to say if they got up and stumbled on them sitting cross-legged on the expensive rug like overgrown children – when the redheaded Avox girl whose sight had upset Katniss the previous year rolled a cart with two steaming teapots in the room.

“Thanks.” he mumbled automatically.

“Thank you, I will pour.” Effie said distractedly. “You may go back to bed. I will ring if I need anything else.”

The girl gave her an obedient nod and disappeared back in the dark corridors.

He swallowed back a remark on the way she treated Avoxes. She was more polite than most as it was and it always led to an argument anyway – because to her eyes they were criminals – so he let it rest. He didn’t have the energy to get into that tonight.

She was still so prejudiced on certain things…

She poured them two mugs while he dealt the cards.

They played two rounds, betting stupid things like oral or different sex positions… It was mostly for fun since neither of them was keeping tracks. Haymitch couldn’t quite focus, his body felt heavy like often after a panic attack, and Effie was far too good at bluffing. She was seriously kicking his ass but he didn’t mind. His favorite herbal tea went a long way into soothing his fray nerves. It would have been better with some whiskey in it but… He guessed you couldn’t have everything.

The smell of Effie’s strawberry tea was comforting too. Familiar.

She probably would have preferred white wine.

His eyes lingered on the only piece of jewelry she had on. The iris shaped ring was taunting him. It looked like she never took it off. She wore it to bed. She kept it in the shower. She kept it under her delicate lace gloves…

It wasn’t that she liked the ring so much, he figured, the diamond was too small compared to the huge rings she favored and the crafted petals and leaves were too discreet for her flashy tastes. It was the fact that he had given it to her. He had meant this as something she could sometimes take out of her box of memories and… Recollect.

If he had known she wanted some actual jewelry to wear…

The ring was inconspicuous because it was so simple. Nothing was ever so plain and simple in the Capitol. He would have gotten her a shiny pink gemstone or something.  

His own train of thoughts took him aback.

She was wearing that ring like some sort of proof of commitment. She was wearing it on her left hand. She was never taking it off. She was treating it like a wedding band. He had never intended it like that. He had asked nothing. He had never claimed strings were attached to the gift. Granted, she had never mentioned or requested anything but the way she wore the ring was enough. She was treating it like a wedding band.

And his only reaction to that was wishing he had gotten her a proper ring?

He was a dead man walking. He had nothing to offer her. Anything they would do would have no long term meaning.

And it was dangerous.

Except…

He was a dead man walking.

What does the Capitol care about who he slept with? It didn’t matter anymore. They had no reason to hold anyone against him. They were done with him.

“You want to have a toasting?”

The question passed his lips before he could hold it back.

He couldn’t get a real ring and it was probably for the best. That ring was simple. Like him. It wasn’t fake or…

Maybe he could give her something else anyway.

She had been studying her cards and she choked on her mouthful of tea. She coughed hard into the back of her hand, her bright eyes riveted on him.

“My apologies, what did you just say?” she asked.

He was considering suggesting they played it at poker when the scream echoed throughout the penthouse.

Katniss.

He was on his feet in seconds, heart racing in his chest, suddenly hyper-aware of his surroundings, hands patting at his waist for a weapon that wasn’t there. He would have rushed head first deep into the penthouse if Effie hadn’t planted herself in his path, hands wrapped tight around his forearms.

Her lips were moving but it took him a few seconds to actually hear.

“She is fine. It is just a nightmare.” she promised. “Haymitch. She is fine. Peeta is with her.”

He eventually accepted the words as truth. It was a minute or two before he relaxed though.

“She died.” he said flatly.

“I beg your pardon?” she frowned.

He swallowed hard and reached for her elbows. Their hands trailed down their forearms until they found each others. “In my nightmare. She died. They all died.” Only thinking about it was enough to make him nauseous again. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, defeated. His voice broke. “I can’t fail her.”

“You won’t.” she promised immediately. She stepped in his space and cupped his cheek. He leaned in her caress, not quite comforted by that oath. Her voice became tentative. “Haymitch, you will do everything you can to keep her alive, I know this. Peeta knows this. She might not but she is…”

“An ass.” he finished for her in a snort. He wasn’t sure Katniss was totally aware of what the plan was. She treated the whole thing as if they were both aiming to get out of there. He suspected it was too much for her to accept what he was willing to do for her. It was alright. He could live – and die – with that.

“Quite.” Effie approved, her thumb retracing the line of his cheekbone. “But… You know as well as I do that Games are never predictable. You will do everything you can but if she doesn’t survive…”

“No.” he spat, storming away from her and to the bay window. “No. She needs to win this, you understand? She needs to…” His voice faltered. “I can’t fail her. I failed everyone else. I can’t fail her.”

She didn’t ask who he was referring to. She was smart enough to understand.

His mother. Hayden. Mabel.

His family gone in smoke.

It was all a mess in his head. He was a mess.

He flinched when she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face between his shoulder blades but he didn’t push her away.

“Not dying for her is not failing her, darling.” she whispered carefully. “I am simply saying…”

“Well, don’t.” he snapped.

He waited for her to argue but she kept her peace and it made him feel… He had never expected her to accept this whole thing so easily. She was selfish. Always so selfish. Shouldn’t she be begging for him to get out no matter what? To throw Katniss and everyone else to the wolves and…  

How horrible a man was he to want her, to need her, to say those words?

They had made a pledge, long ago. It had gone unvoiced and unacknowledged but it had always been implied that if they ever won, they would do everything they could to protect their victors. He had never thought it would be like this. He had thought it would be the classical stuff: the prostitution, the Capitol’s usual threats, the own stubborn stupidity of every new victor… What they hadn’t bet on was caring so much for those kids.

They might as well have been their own.

They shared them.

He wasn’t just going to save Katniss for his own conscience. It was for her too. For Peeta.

It was a noble sacrifice but, unfortunately, being noble had never been of any comfort to him. Dead was dead. It didn’t matter how it happened or how noble it had been.

Dead was dead and he didn’t want to die.

He really didn’t want to die.

He wanted someone to want him to not die too.

Was that so wrong?

Was that so wrong to want someone in his corner?

Was that so wrong to want someone to choose him?

Was that so wrong to want someone to love him as much as he loved those children?

“What are you even saying that for? You’re rooting for her anyway.” he accused bitterly. It was unfair maybe. Probably. He had asked her to accept it, he hadn’t given her a choice, he had told her…

She pressed a kiss over the fabric of his shirt, moving her hands up from his waist to grab his shoulders from behind, plastering herself even more to his back.

“It kills me, you know.” she said softly. “The thought of the two of you being tossed in there… The fact that I know only one of you will come back… Might come back… The fact that a part of me hopes it won’t be her…”

“Effie.” he snarled. He had been wrong. He didn’t want to hear those words. It felt like betraying their victors. Like…

“I know.” she chuckled. “I am a terrible person. The worst is… I love her. I do. But you… Haymitch, you…”

“Never meant to be.” he reminded her in a sneer.

“You do not believe in fate.” she retorted. “Stop hiding behind it. What does this even mean… Meant to be. We were. We are. I maintain it is enough.”

“It’s easier if…” he sighed.

“Nothing about this is easy.” she cut him off. “I love Katniss. I will do my best to help save her and so will you. But if we do not succeed, if she does not survive, I won’t sit here and give up. I will get you sponsors. I will do everything I can to save you. Katniss comes first but do not ask me to watch you die without a fight. I will fight. With all I have. ”

He briefly closed his eyes before turning around to hug her close.

“I don’t want to die.” he confessed in her hair. “But I’m not sure I’d know how to survive this, sweetheart. If it comes to that… Might be kinder to… let me go.”

“No.” she refused calmly and flatly. She was stating a fact, not having a discussion. “It is preposterous to speculate anyway. We won’t know until we are there. And when we are…”

“We save Katniss.” he finished.

“We try to save Katniss.” she amended.

She brushed her lips against his neck, brushed words against his skin.

He melt in those words even if he left them unacknowledged yet again.

He had forgotten how it felt to feel them. He had forgotten and now…

He leaned in to kiss her, to somehow try to pay her back in kind…

The sound of footsteps broke the spell and they jumped apart just in time not to be surprised by the two sleepy looking teenagers.

“Oh, this won’t do!” Effie clucked her tongue, self-consciously patting her bare blond hair. He wasn’t sure she had ever been caught without her wig by one of the kids. “You both need your beauty sleep and…”

“No.” Katniss refused with the same determination Haymitch had showed earlier, hugging herself.

Peeta’s arm immediately wrapped around her shoulders in a protective embrace. The boy gaze passed on them and to the abandoned cards on the table. “Can we play with you?”

Effie blinked - about to insist they should try to get some proper sleep, Haymitch was sure.

“Depends.” he shrugged, settling back on the rug and patting the empty space next to him so their escort would sit. “You know how to play poker?”

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t.

Teaching them was fun. Katniss was helpless at it and drank half the strawberry tea, to Effie’s dismay. Peeta caught up quickly and turned out to be good. Haymitch laughed more than once when it came to a battle between the boy and their escort.

Nobody could bluff like Effie though and so she won most of the rounds.

They moved on to a board game after a while.

Katniss ended up falling asleep with her head on Peeta’s shoulder a little after five. The boy carried her back to bed.

“You should try to get an hour or two of rest too.” Effie advised. “You cannot be tired during Training.”

“You know we mostly joke around and only throw stuff once in awhile, yeah?” he mocked, rubbing his eyes.

He let her drag him back to bed by hooking her fingers around his gold bangle though. He had known there was a hidden purpose to that thing.  

She crawled on top of his chest and settled there like a warm blanket.

He coiled his fingers around her nape, slowly rubbing his thumb up and down her neck. She made her ring turn thoughtfully around her finger.

Neither of them slept.

Neither of them talked either.

[anavoliselenu]

Beautiful lies chapter 10

I’d been trying like hell to hold her at a distance – to keep her separate from my personal life – but there’s no denying it, she’s all I think about. She’s all I want. Though it’s entirely honest, the realization scares me. And it feels nice to be touched. Even if it’s not real.

Chapter Eleven

Selena

We’re lying in bed, facing each other in the pale moonlight. I should feel self-conscious about our shower activities earlier, but all I feel is blissfully happy and relaxed. Knowing Justin wanted me just as badly as I wanted him – that his desire for me had nothing to do with the transaction at the auction and was the culmination of raw lust – made it that much better.

"I have an idea…" Justin says, looking at me thoughtfully. "About you working."

He’s changed his mind. He doesn’t want me out of the house, which was my sole purpose for wanting to find a job. I swallow heavily and meet his gaze. "What is it?"

His thumb reaches out to smooth the crinkle etched into my forehead. "How would you feel about working for one of my companies?"

It’s just another way I’ll be tied to him. I’d wanted something for me. But as I open my mouth to speak, he continues.

"It’d be for my charity organization. I’m sponsoring a huge project in Africa and could use an extra set of hands. Mostly office work – if you’re good with word processing and filing. Kylie’s my only full-time office employee, and she’s been working seven days a week just trying to keep up with the workload. It’d actually be a huge help."

Knowing it’s for charity, and that’s he’s not just throwing me some pity busy-work, I find myself nodding my head. "Okay. I’ll do it."

"Perfect. I’ll let Kylie know. You can start whenever it suits you."

"Tomorrow will be fine." I don’t think I need another day of lounging in the sun or jogging aimlessly through Justin’s winding neighborhood of mansions.

He chuckles. "Tomorrow it is."

***

Justin wakes me in the morning with tender kisses to the back of my neck and I push my bottom into his groin and moan at the dual sensations. The damp sucking kisses and the rigid length of his erection nestled between my cheeks perk me up instantly. I’m wide awake. And suddenly very much in the mood, remembering that earth-shattering orgasm he delivered last night.

He nips at the base of my neck, moving lower down my spine. "Does that feel nice, sweetness?"

"Yes," I breathe. Rolling over so I can see him, I bring my arms around his neck and snuggle closer. I like our new lack of boundaries when it comes to touching. It feels nice to be held after not having a man in my life for so long. Last night bonded us and it’s obvious we’re growing closer. I have a feeling I’m going to miss him even more than before when he’s at work.

We kiss for several minutes and cuddle in the big, warm bed before Justin crawls out, saying he needs to shower and get ready for work. I guess I do too.

Chapter Twelve

Selena

Kylie is adorable. Probably a couple years older than me, she has wavy auburn hair tied in a messy bun on top of her head, and no makeup, but geez, she doesn’t need it. Her cheeks are rosy pink and her green eyes are large and wide-set. She’s barefoot and dressed in yoga pants and a tank top. "Hi!" She smiles widely, showing off perfectly straight white teeth. Does everyone in LA have teeth like this? "Don’t just stand there, come in." She tugs me by the arm inside her front door, closing it behind me.

"I’m…"

"Selena. I know. Justin is an absolute angel to send you. God, I was giddy when he called this morning." She leads me further into her house. "Sorry about the mess." She waves in the direction of the disheveled living room and kitchen. "I’m a terrible housekeeper. Hope that’s not a problem."

"No, it’s fine." I navigate the little living room, dodging laundry baskets and stray toys as I follow her.

Kylie leads me out the backdoor and to a set of steps. "Office is up there." She points. "Go ahead, I’m just going to grab the baby monitor."

I start up the stairs, wondering what I’m getting myself into. Joining me a few seconds later, she explains that when Justin hired her to run the day to day operations of his charity, he built her a home office above her garage. Her tiny two-bedroom house didn’t have any extra room to spare and she didn’t want to have to put her baby in childcare. It was the perfect arrangement – and awfully generous of him. I want to ask how they know each other, but I keep my trap shut and my jealousy in check. I’m here to work.

We enter a roomy loft above the garage. There are plenty of big windows to let in the light, and two large work stations with laptops and filing cabinets spilling over with papers.

Kylie thrusts her arms out proudly. "Welcome to the world headquarters of Highpoint Associates." She picks up a bottle and a baby rattle from the desk. "Seriously. Sorry about this. I would have cleaned up if I’d known you were coming."

"Trust me, its fine. I’m just happy to have a change of scenery. I’ve been cooped up at Justin’s for weeks and I’ve been going a bit stir crazy."

"Wow. You live with him? That’s…that’s…huge…" She turns to me, her mouth hanging open in surprise. "And that house is freakin’ incredible."

Interesting. She’s been inside his home and seems to understand that him having a woman living with him is a big step. I find it both fascinating and utterly frustrating that Marta and now Kylie seem to possess intimate knowledge about Justin. He must not be as discreet as his seems with his affections. His restraint is only reserved for me. Of course I have no way of knowing if Kylie has actually slept with him, but the faraway look in her eyes tells me she’s daydreaming of some memorable encounter with him. Oddly, it makes me want to hit something.

I shrug it off. "So, what’s on the docket today?"

"Right." She gives her head a shake, pushing away the thought. "First I’m going to give you an overview of the work we’ve done so far, and then I’ll explain what I’m hoping to accomplish next. You can be involved in any part of it that sounds interesting to you."

I nod. "Sounds good."

I listen while she explains, in more detail than Justin provided, about their mission to create a stable self-sustaining community in a sub-Saharan part of rural Africa. His vision is much more complex than just to provide clothing, food and medicine to people in need, like he’d humbly led me to believe. He wanted to do something bigger – something the residents could sustain long after he and his generous donations were gone. It’s quite a bit more sophisticated than I ever imagined and I’m impressed. No wonder he’s so busy.

He has a team of city planners, architects, engineers, teachers and doctors who are working together to drill for fresh, clean drinking water, plant crops and teach the local people about agriculture and farming as well as building a school for the children to ensure the next generation is prepared to lead. What Kylie is describing is a massive undertaking. He’s essentially creating an entire community from the ground up. I get goosebumps listening to her speak and I’m suddenly really glad I didn’t find a job at a coffee shop – this is much more worthwhile to devote my time to.

At the end of her explanation, Kylie provides an overview of the pertinent files on the laptop I’ll be using. "I’m so glad you’re here." She grins widely at me, showing off twin-dimples that make her look younger. "God, Stella was crazypants." Just then the baby monitor squawks and she jumps up from her seat. "Be right back."

She leaves me to work on creating mailing labels and to type up a letter to the additional investors Justin’s secured. My head is spinning and the work is a needed distraction.

Chapter Thirteen

Selena

After our erotic shower encounter, my relationship with Justin takes on a new meaning, changing in a subtle, but noticeable way. He texts me during the day while he’s at work and calls once he’s on his way home.

I’ve been working several days a week with Kylie, driving myself to her suburban home in one of Justin’s cars. It’s nice to feel like I’m making a contribution to something, and now that Justin and I are actually clicking, I feel a lot better about my situation.

He called at lunchtime today, sounding melancholy, which is completely out of character for him. I’d pressed him about what was wrong and he just said that it was a tough day and that he was looking forward to coming home.

At six o’clock, the house staff has been gone for hours and I’m anxiously awaiting his call to tell me he’s on his way home. I can’t wait to surprise him.

Finally my cell phone rings and I prance across the kitchen to retrieve it from the island. "Hello?"

"I’m on my way," he says, his voice flat and emotionless.

"Okay," I squeak. It will be my mission to cheer him up once he arrives.

When Justin arrives home thirty minutes later, I’m ready for him. I took special care getting ready too, taking an extra-long soak in the tub and shaving nearly every square inch of my body, and then prepared a special meal for him. It was the only thing I could think to do when I learned he was having a bad day – it’s the same thing my mom used to make me when I needed comforting.

I meet him by the back door. His suit is rumpled and his expression is sour. When his gaze lifts to mine, his face softens, but I can see something is weighing on him and the need to help bubbles up inside of me.

"Did something happen at work?" I ask, helping him out of his jacket.

He tosses the garment onto the waiting bench. He does this every night and they miraculously end up freshly laundered and back in his closet. I don’t even think he realizes it.

"Sort of," he says without meeting my eyes.

"I’m good listener. You can tell me things, you know? You can trust me," I assure him.

"I know. But when I get home, talking about my day is usually the last thing I want to do."

I nod. I know the feeling well. When Becca was sick, friends would encourage me to talk about it, and even though I appreciated the gesture, I knew talking about it would only bring all my worries and fears to the surface. Best to keep them locked away. So while I understood him, it made me even more curious about what could be troubling him.

"I made you dinner," I say.

"You cooked?" he asks, his voice lifting in uncertainty.

I nod my head, feeling insecure for some strange reason. It could be the curious way he’s looking at me.

"What about Beth?"

"I sent her home." I have no authority to release his staff, but Justin doesn’t say anything else, he just follows me into the kitchen, tugging at his tie to loosen it.

Now that he’s here in the kitchen with me, I’m fidgety. Using two pot holders, I bring the dish I’ve prepared to the kitchen island and set it down in front of him. I feel like I’m showing off an elementary school science experiment. One with very questionable results.

He looks down at it curiously before meeting my eyes. "You made me mac-n-cheese?" He grins unevenly.

I instantly feel like a fool. This man has an entire staff of servants and a personal chef. He dines on things like organic beet and arugula salad, grilled swordfish and hand fed prawns. And I just made him elbow macaroni smothered in processed American cheese. His amused expression makes me want to crawl into a hole and die.

Why did I even bother? And now I feel particularly stupid, because I’ve sent his cook home for the night. "Nevermind." I grab the casserole dish to clear it away and his hand on my wrist stops me.

"Stop."

"It was a stupid effort." Wasted.

"Stop," he says again, removing my hands from the dish. "You cooked for me." My eyes jerk up to his, trying to make sense of the reverence in his words. "I haven’t had a home cooked meal like this – comfort food – in…a long damn time. Thank you."

I’d misread his reaction. He’s surprised. And apparently happy. Pulling out a stool at the island, he sits down and helps himself to a heaping portion, piling a mound of macaroni in his bowl without pretense. "Do we have any milk?" he asks around a big mouthful of pasta.

I laugh at him and head to the massive fridge, and pull out a carton of organic milk to pour him a glass. I watch Justin eat two big servings of the dish, and he insists I join him. We sit side by side at the countertop, stuffing ourselves with ooey-gooey melted cheese and pasta. It actually tastes halfway decent and I’m relieved. Though if I’m being honest, it’s his reaction that makes my heart soar.

He’s instantly more light-hearted and seems to have let whatever stress was troubling him slip away.

"How are things going with Kylie? She says you’re a godsend."

"It’s fine. Kylie’s a sweet girl and it’s exactly what I wanted – something to get me out of the house."

"Good." Justin digs in for another bite, seemingly satisfied with my response.

"More milk?" I ask, noticing his glass is almost empty.

He looks at it thoughtfully for a second. "Actually…which wine pairs well with mac-n-cheese? Pinot Grigio?"

I nod. "Sure. If you like." I make a move to get up and his hand on my elbow stops me.

"Stay put. I’ll get it."

I glance down at the casserole dish that we’ve made a rather impressive dent in, and cover it with the lid, before setting it inside the fridge.

He returns a moment later with two glasses of wine and hands me one. "Thank you for this," he says, his voice solemn and his eyes on mine.

I nod and meet his gaze, taking a sip of wine. Mmm. Justin Justin, wine and yummy comfort food. My day is complete.

We set our bowls in the sink and head outside to the balcony off his office, settling into the lounge chairs to sip our wine. After several minutes the wine and soundtrack of the waves relaxes me.

"What should we do now?" The sultry tone to my voice is entirely unintended, but his dark gaze finds mine and my sex muscles tighten. Eep! The hungry look in his eyes is new and unnerving.

"Come here."

I slide off my seat and cross the few steps until I’m standing directly before him. My heart hammers unevenly in my chest and the sensuous look in his eyes has me wondering if tonight is the night. Though I’d been merely curious before, I’m now dying to know what it will feel like when he finally takes me. As strange as it sounds, it’s an invasion I would welcome. To be wrapped up in his strong arms, to feel his full lips on mine and to finally understand what all the fuss over sex is about…I shudder at the thought.

"Are you cold?" Justin’s fingertips reach out to stroke my upper arms.

I shake my head. The shivers racing along my skin have nothing to do with the temperature.

"What happened the other night…" he pauses, his tongue lazily stroking his bottom lip as his eyes burn on mine, "was that okay with you?"

I swallow the massive lump in my throat. I should have felt horribly embarrassed that he’d caught me masturbating in his shower. Yet any and all feelings of shame are absent. I feel liberated, free. And his response, to strip down and join me, his hard cock tall and proud pressing into my skin showed me that he felt the exact same way. There was something deeply comforting about that. And knowing that he knew how to pleasure my body better than I did? That was the icing on a pretty freaking awesome cake.

"Y-yes," I answer, blinking up at him.

He reaches up to trace my bottom lip with his thumb and then hooks his palm around the back of my neck, drawing my mouth closer to his. "Good girl." He leans in closer, wrapping his hands around the backs of my bare knees. "Take off your panties," he whispers.

"Here?" The balcony is private, but we’re still outside.

He doesn’t respond, his eyes just stay locked on mine. Clearly there’s no room for negotiation.

I’m wearing one of the cute sundresses I’d bought with Marta my first week here, and the cool night air nips at me as I reach under my dress and slide the panties down my legs. They drop to my ankles and I step out of them, handing the scrap of navy silk to him with a cheeky grin.

I have no idea what he wants, but his hand glides up my inner thigh, pushing my dress up out of the way. His fingers caress my bare skin. Even after the bikini wax started to grow out, I’ve kept myself shaved smooth, liking how sensual it makes me feel.

His eyes find mine as he continues lightly rubbing me. I can feel myself getting wet as endorphins rush into my blood steam. I wonder if last time was a fluke, or if I’ll be able to reach climax again. God, I want to. I tilt my hips closer allowing him a better angle and Justin’s mouth twitches with a smile.

"Come here." He takes my hand and helps me lower myself down onto his lap so I’m straddling him. My legs are spread wide and my bare pussy is close enough that he reaches down and begins rubbing me once again. His other hand curls around the back of my neck and he brings my mouth to his. His lips are soft and full and demanding.

He quickly takes charge of the kiss, his tongue caressing mine in a hypnotic rhythm. My entire body responds, my hips rocking closer and my hands pushing into his hair.

Reading my body’s reactions, Justin picks up his pace, circling and rubbing my clit until I’m soaking wet and right on the edge of climax. The need to touch him spikes within me. I reach between us, unbuckling his belt and nearly rip his pants open in my mission. Once his thick, warm cock is in my hands he lets out a soft growling sound of pleasure. I pump my fist up and down, loving the way his desperate kisses feel as we move toward release together.

Gripping my ass underneath my dress, he tugs me closer until his hot length is nestled right up against my cleft. Angling my hips closer, I rock against him. His fingers bite into my skin he breaks the kiss, his eyes flashing dangerously on mine.

I slid up and down his cock, my slick skin so sensitive I can feel every hard ridge and vein as I ride him. I wonder what he would feel like inside…

"Careful," he growls, his voice sticking in his throat. His eyes are dark and half-closed like he’s drowning in pleasure.

Ignoring his warning, I lift and lower myself on him, unable to stop moving against him. The friction of his solid cock against my sensitive clit is too much. Little cries of pleasure break the silence and I move faster, rubbing against his hard cock, chasing the orgasm I want so badly.

Justin watches me move against him, his hands still gripping my ass as I work my body against his. He feels so good. I wonder what it would feel like to let him finally push inside me… My body clenches and I cry out his name, coming in a wet gush all over him.

When the blur of my earth-shattering orgasm wears off, I open my eyes and meet his. His jaw is clenched tight and he looks angry.

"I’m…I’m sorry." I hop up from his lap and scramble away, afraid I’ve done something wrong.

Chapter Fourteen

Justin

I catch a hold of Selena’s wrist in my office and spin her to face me. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s breathing rapidly, still trying to recover from her orgasm. She did not get to tease me, ride my dick until she came and then just disappear. There’s nothing hotter than a confident girl who takes what she wants, but that is not how this works.

"I don’t think so, sweetness," I growl.

She pulls her lower lip into her mouth and sucks. My cock pulses, reminding me of his predicament. He’s still coated in her damp juices and now I want to watch her drop to her knees and lick them off. "Do you understand how close I was? How easily I could have lifted you up and pushed my way inside your hot little cunt?"

ze:11:�SD�2

[galahadwilder]

Delirious Ladybug

Chapter 3: Checkups

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*

Marinette's parents had taken her home hours ago, and Alya had left after making sure Adrien was all right in his house alone—which he was, with Nathalie and his father out of town. He'd assured her that he was all right by himself, and besides, he had the Gorilla—but he hadn't told her what he was planning to do.

Chat Noir perched on the railing on Marinette's balcony, staring down through the skylight while her parents doted on their sick daughter, making sure she was comfortable and she had everything she needed, tucking her in, brushing the hair out of her face, kissing her goodnight... Chat began to cry as he watched them. Was this what a real family looked like? A family that cared about their child?

It wasn't long before Marinette's parents left to go to bed, turning out the lights as they went. He waited a few more minutes, still as a gargoyle, to make sure they weren't coming back, before he quietly opened the skylight and slinked into the room.

Despite his heavy boots, he walked as quietly as his namesake as he padded across the shadowed floor towards Marinette's bed. Then, thinking better of it, he turned and lay himself out on her chaise lounge. He was determined to be there for her if she woke up tonight, but he didn't want to invite himself into her bed. He just needed to be where he could help.

He'd barely closed his eyes when he heard her speak. "Kitty?" she croaked. "What are you doing down there?"

He boggled for a moment at how she'd realized he was there before clearing his throat. "I... came in to check on you," he said. "Just... wanted to make sure you were all right."

"You're here to look after me, aren't you," she sighed. "How romantic." She hummed, a satisfied sound that send shivers through his body all the way to the tips of his cat ears.

"Uh... yeah, Princess. Is it okay if I... stay here tonight?"

There was a moment of silence while he waited for her response. "No," her voice finally floated down from her lofted bed, and his heart fell--before she continued, "Kitty needs to come up here for cuddles."

Thoroughly blushing now from his head to the tips of his toes, he got up from her chaise and scampered towards the ladder of her bed. "Are you sure, Princess?" he said, looking up at her.

She snorted. "Get up here, Minou," she said.

He clambered up the ladder and onto the bed, only for her to grab his wrist and yank her down next to him, wrapping him in an embrace so strong that even with his enhanced strength he didn't think he could break it of it. "Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur," she crooned with her eyes closed, then coughed.

"Princess, are you all right?"

"Shhhhh." She patted him on the head, still not opening her eyes. "Silly Kitty. Teddy bears don't talk."

God, she was so beautiful. How had he never noticed it before? How had he never turned in his seat just to look at this girl who had such fire in her, such warmth and joy, such absolute beauty?

She groaned. "F'rgot to say sorry."

"What for?"

"Couldn't..." She coughed. "Couldn't finish patrol. Fell asleep in someone's bed."

"Whose?" He already knew the answer, but... she might expect him to ask.

"Adrien's I think. He's so pretty." She smiled and booped him on the nose. "Pretty Kitty. Pretty like you."

Oh god, he was thoroughly red now. Red everywhere. She thought he was pretty? She thought both of him were pretty?

"Mmm." She turned over. "Make room for Adrien when he gets back, okay Kitty? Don't want to make him jealous." She buried herself deeper in her blankets. "Got my boys... My pretty boys..."

Then she started snoring like a rusty chainsaw, leaving a VERY confused Chat Noir to spend the rest of the night lying awake, wondering what she'd meant.

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