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wh6res · 3 years

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dreams come true | yuta

"soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks." — ny

[ part of the my bloody valentine collection ]

tw. gore, blood, murder, death, killings, mentions of illegal organ trafficking, violence, mentions of stalking, minor character deaths, weapons (a knife and a gun), almost (??) suggestive content but nothing happened

disc. this is rlly fucked up and yuta is unredeemable. i dont condone such acts. this is all a work of fiction and meant to entertain.

wc. 5k

every time you sleep, the void is sickening. it was all you could see, lightyears and lightyears away of pitch black that made your head dizzy and your stomach dry heave. you've always wondered when you'll start dreaming about your soulmate's memories. they were like little secrets, another way for two people to be intimate without even being together. their days were flashing before their soulmate's eyes in the form of a dream. it's as if you spent the day with them!

you loved it, the whole concept of it. it sounded so wholesome and sweet and jesus fucking christ, you've always been such a hopeless romantic.

it was sweet until it turned sour. you loved it until you hated it. it was romantic until it turned downright terrifying.

you wake up covered in cold sweat, panting and gasping as if you've run a whole marathon.

moonlight seeps through your glass window, slightly left ajar for the midnight breeze to pass through – you walk up to it, pull it shut, and draw your thick curtains together. you exhaled, breath shaking as you tried to anchor yourself back to the ground.

with the only source of your light disappearing, darkness envelops you whole. for once, you craved the void. you want that void back if it meant never seeing something like that again – something straight out of your worst nightmare.

"119, what's your emergency?"

"uhm, i think… i think i just witnessed a massacre."

you reiterate everything you saw in the dream – the mahogany door, paint chipping off the drywalls. the doorknob was rusty, so were the hinges, and it made an ominous creak when pushed open. the light switches on, the first you see was a bunch of dirty ice coolers in what should've been the living room, it wasn't even the slightest bit organized. they were everywhere, and the floor looked grimy and disgusting, like there's a stain they can't seem to scrub off. only when your soulmate has stalked closer did you see the labels haphazardly taped on top of the ice coolers.

kidneys. livers. lungs. pancreas. intestines – you nearly vomited on the floor, trying to relay everything you saw to the operator on the other end of the call.

then came the gruesome parts.

their deaths.

they were five people in total. men clad in cheap t-shirts and pants, wearing all these similar leather jackets. some were well-built, ripped in the arms and thighs, but some were skinny, the jackets hanging on their small frames.

they never stood a chance against him.

your soulmate is agile, quick on his feet with outstanding eye-hand coordination. only equipped with a butcher's knife, but it was all he needed to take them down and send them knocking on inferno's gates. he was skilled, knowing when to pounce and where to slash his knife to maim but never to kill. by the time your soulmate was through with them, everything is bloody red. all the victims' eyes widened as they sputtered and choked on their blood – not dead, but dying...

because your soulmate wasn't done yet.

a killer should have a modus operandi, should they not? so he took out a desert eagle, stood before the bleeding bodies, and shot two bullets straight into their eyes. the finishing touch? carving a frown on their faces with his butcher's knife.

the operator only told you one thing after she's made you describe the place for them to track the crime scene down.

"double-check all your windows and doors."

because you couldn't be too sure, not when you have been granted a front seat to the sad face slayer's most recent endeavors.

the detective eyes you with a certain pity. maybe that's why you don't bother meeting his eyes. you sit still on a chair, camera blinking red behind him, the interrogation room is freezing even with the thick jacket you're wearing.

seven billion people in the world and you're soulmate's a ruthless serial killer who took it upon himself to purge the world of evildoers – he was playing god, no wonder the detective is looking at you like that.

"uhh…" he's awkward, fidgeting in his seat. "and you saw this all in a dream?"

"yes."

you've known him only minutes ago. mark lee was his name and he seems to be a subordinate of a higher, more experienced detective named kim doyoung. you don't know whether to feel offended or not for having a doe-eyed newbie taking care of the case, but you pushed it at the back of your mind, knowing his superior is watching on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"did you have, like, other past instances where you dreamt of him? of what he…" mark looked like he was going to throw up. "what he does to his other victims?"

you shook your head. no. "i've mostly just heard of him on the news. i don't think i have the stomach to find out in-depth what the killer does."

mark takes out a folder, features walking the fine white line between looking apologetic or wanting to say me too. "i'm, uhh, really sorry to hear that."

there's a sudden pregnant silence encapsulating the interrogation room. it felt like you were mourning for something, the chains of dread dragging your heart to the ground as it pounded against your ribcage. mark looked like he wanted to say something, but you swore his eyes darted towards the camera in the corner and decided otherwise.

"anyway…" he trails. flipping the folder open in one swift motion. "past sightings have given us the sad face slayer's name."

he slaps down a picture of a man, his hair raven and a permanent scowl etched on his face. the quality was shitty. it looked like it was a screenshot taken from zoomed-in cctv footage.

"nakamoto yuta, twenty-five, japanese, and has slipped one too many times past authorities that at this point, it's practically a talent."

and just like that, it made sense why you're here.

your lips pursed in contemplation, palms quaking as your fingers reach forward to inspect your soulmate's picture. "and… you want to use my soulmate connection –" you glowered. never had a sentence sounded so fucking cursed and utterly wrong. "– to catch him?"

mark can't look you in the eye. "yes. he's very elusive. his killings have been happening cross-country and, as you can see, have garnered national media attention. the police are hanging by a thread here. a month in his case and all we got is his MO, name, and that he has this weird god complex on him. if we can't catch him by the end of next month…" he shrugs. "the feds are going to interfere, sooner or later."

"so…" you trail, urging him to continue.

"so, we need as much information about him as we can get and your dreams about him will be able to provide that."

fucking great.

the much newer revelations of precisely who it was on the other end of the soulmate connection put a significant damper on your mood. you'd like to think your new little cop buddy who follows you around gives you the least bit sense of security, but alas, it doesn't. not when you've seen first hand how yuta took down five men all at once without breaking a fucking sweat – you absolutely refuse to call him your soulmate, you'd never accept a person with his nature as a soulmate.

you try to hide the bracelet mark handed you last two weeks ago, during your time spent in the precinct's interrogation room.

"please have this on you at all times until we catch him, okay? this is for extra measures, just in case something happens to the cop assigned to guard you. just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?"

considering you're now probably being hunted alive for snitching on a serial killer? mark lee, that was not funny at all.

"do you have to get inside the lecture with me?" you whine, shielding your face with your hair when you notice people shooting glances at the rather handsome cop they assigned to you. "it's not like he'll attack in broad daylight! and in a fucking classroom, for that matter."

jaehyun looks just about ready to hurl you out the window. "lower down your voice," he scolds. "serial killers don't pick a time and place, sweetheart. he kills when necessary and if it's fucking necessary to murder everyone in that classroom to get to you? he'll do it in a fucking heartbeat."

you sigh when the chair next to you screeches against the floor, the aforementioned male taking his seat right next to you. jaehyun felt more like a babysitter than a cop, who seems to have a habit of constantly inputting his not-even-needed opinions on the most superficial things.

are witness protection protocols like this?

it was a good thing that overgrown bat doesn't come hanging around in your apartment, but he does have the police car parked right across the building's entrance. judging by how meticulous and thorough he seems to be, he won't miss any face that comes in and out of the building.

you didn't forget exactly why you're under witness protection. for the cops to waste one good officer to follow you around, you needed to be valuable and being valuable meant sleeping through nightmare-induced dreams of what your soulmate does for a living. the scenes are so gruesome, so graphic and utterly gory, that you dart towards the bathroom first thing after waking up in cold sweat, draining all of dinner down the toilet bowl.

after dreaming of him in action a few times, you've now completely understood what detective lee had said regarding yuta's god complex. it was unsightly, yet there was a twisted sense of heroism to it. if there's one thing, he only gutted the bad guys – but that didn't make nakamoto yuta any less of a bad guy, himself.

i need to ask you a favor [sent 2:05am]

JJH: what? [received 2:10am]

often the nightmares were too much. too much that you thought of escaping its horrors by never getting a wink of sleep ever again – until you realized you're a witness and is probably the only chance for the seoul police department to catch that bastard.

buy me sleeping pills? [read 2:08am]

when you peep out of the window, you find an empty spot across the road where jaehyun usually parks the police car. twenty minutes later, you answer the knocking on your door. he used that little "code" he did for you to know it was him. jaehyun was glowering and muttering about how he wasn't some errand boy when he shoved the plastic bottle in your hand yet, you still thanked him nonetheless.

the pills worked like a charm. you managed to stay asleep throughout the whole night, ceasing those episodes of yours where you jolt awake in the middle of dreaming about the sad face slayer's memories.

life continued for you. it became a little bearable, but that didn't mean the horrific murders you see in your dreams are something you can get used to – you don't think you'll ever get used to the sight of him slashing his victims, the blood trickling like a goddamned waterfall.

today the dreams were different. anticlimactic, per se, if you compare it to the violence so utterly present in his memories.

the first you see were black gates, then it shifted to him ordering coffee in a café (amazing what a simple black mask can hide). it switched to him walking on a sidewalk, then he arrives at his destination, an apartment building – it wasn't too rundown, nor was it extravagant.

the serial killer takes the elevator and walks up to a mahogany door –

your room number is a blaring sight.

you couldn't be wrong, not when the 506 with the missing zero in the middle was a sight you saw every day, going and coming home from university.

that was your front door.

he was at your front door.

you jolt awake, ignoring the icky feel of sweat making your clothes cling onto your skin. ice creeps up your spine and freezes you over when you notice with a sinking realization.

those black gates are from the university you attended. that café is your favorite study nook. and that sidewalk is a route you take every day.

you clamp your hands on your mouth as tears roll down your cheeks in rivulets. you pull the comforters up above your head, fear gripping onto you with a vice-like grip as you sob.

it was in the dead of night, moonlight grazing the confines of your room and hours away from dusk. you finally utter those three words in a frightened whisper.

"he's stalking me."

as if having the overgrown bat jaehyun following and annoying you around wasn't enough, you now have another person keeping watch over you. mark lee, unlike jaehyun, may not be as ripped with muscle, but you heard from your cop buddy that the young detective has a few black belts under him. people at the precinct said that if they have to choose one person who can ever come close to the sad face slayer's agility, mark lee's your guy.

"you gotta be shitting me," you mutter, leaning close to jaehyun to whisper like high school girls talking about gossip. "he doesn't look the type!"

jaehyun, in turn, plays along and copies you. "yeah, true. he gets that a lot, i think,"

"guys, i'm literally in the back seat. i can hear everything."

the change hadn't been too drastic. at least mark was there when jaehyun proved to be difficult, pulling him towards the other way when the older male tried waltzing into your class again. "you don't need to sit next to her in her class! are you serious? there's one exit and entrance and we're on the fifth floor. breaking into that classroom will be the end of nakamoto's serial killer career!"

you shoot mark an appreciative smile, one he quickly returned before hauling jaehyun around the hallway. "we'll just be at the canteen, okay? press the 'lil button on your bracelet and we'll be right there!"

shaking your head with a slight smile on your face, you entered the classroom, sat in your usual spot, and did some of your readings from our other class to kill time. you hardly hear the screech of the chair next to you as it was pulled back. not like you cared much for whoever sat down next to you, but you can't deny there's that feeling of missing jaehyun when he used to force his way into the lecture.

"settle down! settle down, people!"

the professor enters and the class begins.

you were meticulous with your note-taking system. it's thorough, leaving no room for information to slip you. having already printed hard copies of the powerpoint presentation and simply jotting down some extra key points mentioned by your professor.

you were just about to raise your hand for a question when you feel something warm graze past your arm. you absentmindedly look down.

the breath is sucked right out of your lungs.

hi, soulmate

there, scribbled with an ominous red crayon on a small piece of paper. it was almost laughable how innocent it looked but when you follow the ring-clad hand, up the black hoodie he's wearing, and finally to his face—

"hi! i'm yuta."

his cheshire smile spikes up your heartbeat. it makes you want to throw up, makes you want to slam your head against the desk. the fight or flight hormone you have is making you restless, eyes pinned on the serial killer sitting next to you, scared that if you avert your gaze, he's going to take out that desert eagle and shoot you until your skull caves in and the bullets in his magazine empties.

"but judging by your reaction, i don't think introductions are needed, hm?" his tone is easy, conversational even and it shoots a freezing jolt of fear right up your spine. it makes you sweat profusely because you don't fucking know what to do, your thoughts in complete and utter disarray.

"just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?" you swallow, sneakily pressing the button without breaking eye contact with the serial killer sitting in front of you.

"look upfront. now." yuta orders and you nearly snap your neck as you turn your head with lightning speed.

"i thought i was above the soulmate rules, but here we are. my soul is either too tainted or too great to be tied to such trivial things, but oh well, we learn to work with what we have. surprisingly, i learned to like dreaming about how your day went."

you feel something sharp poking at your thigh and when you look down, he has a silver butterfly knife pointed against you. the precision of the angle he held it with doesn't slip your notice. one slice of that knife, no matter how small, and he'll be spilling your guts in this classroom.

a fat tear rolls down your face.

"can you imagine how much my heart broke when i learned you were spying on me? leaking information to that snobby detective? to those incompetent cops? bad baby, that was very bad of you."

"yuta—"

"you think the cops can save you from me?"

his other hand comes in contact with the nape of your neck, holding your head in place as he leaned down to invade your space. he scoffs, and you can picture that terrifying cheshire grin you've seen one too many times in your dreams.

the knife digs through your coat, the tip hardly poking your skin only because he doesn't want to drive it into you yet. how did he even manage to get inside the university? not to mention the weapons he possessed? shouldn't anyone be suspicious when they see a man dressed in all black, clad in jeans and a hoodie, into a university—

he even dressed the part. with that hood drawn up and carrying that one notebook, he looked fairly normal. someone who can easily blend in with the crowd.

you eye your professor, willing him to look at you but your soulmate is having none of that. you squirm when he drives the knife further, at the base of your stomach. with his other hand, he twirls a lock of hair around his finger. "now, now, soulmate. you don't want half the people here to get hurt, do you? unless... that can easily be arranged—"

"no!" you whisper, head jerking to the side to look at him humming in satisfaction. damn. out of all the faces he's seen contorted with fear, yours is his absolute favorite. with those pleading, glassy eyes and parted lips, yuta is tenting in his sweats.

"thought so," he chuckles. "let's get up. we're leaving. that old crook doesn't care if students just up and went in the middle of his lecture."

you don't want to think about how he even knew that because it implied attending the lectures a good amount of times. it's with sinking realization that jaehyun was right. if it weren't for him insisting to sit next to you, nakamoto yuta would've long gotten you in his claws.

you tried gathering your things until he purred into your ear.

"ah, ah, ah. you wouldn't be needing those with where we're going."

the hallways were empty, not that you had much time to scream for help when he had a knife pointed up your back, shoving you into the fire escape stairs. within the tranquil confines of the staircases, the sad face slayer couldn't fucking care less for your personal space.

he disgusts you greatly, he needn't do anything but stand there in front of you but you can already smell the long blood trail from his path. it reeks of rotting flesh and that infuriating god complex he had left a sour aftertaste.

"you know, i genuinely wanted to get to know you," yuta pouts, shaking the hoodie off his head. his hair raven, it's ends kissing the nape of his neck. he looked like he came right out of a shounen manga but the bloodlust in his eyes is something that can never be masked. "i detested the soulmate connection at first, i thought i should just kill you off because you could be my loose end."

his humorless smile is enough to give you nightmares.

"but seeing how sweetly normal and untainted you are made me hold back," the butterfly knife appears before your line of sight, yuta teasingly dragging the tip right down your cheek to trace your tears. "so, why did you snitch, baby?"

you shiver when he noses the side of your neck, inhaling your scent as his other hand hooks underneath your top, freezing fingers making you jolt. when you don't reply, his patience starts to dwindle. then again, he was never a patient man.

"answer me, you bitch. why did you rat me out?" gone is the playful lilt in his voice. the vibrations surge through you as his deep, demanding voice scares you shitless.

you feel, hear, and smell him everywhere. this wasn't like any nightmare. this is real, and you won't magically wake up on your bed, sighing in relief, knowing he isn't there, that it was all just in your head. no, this was very much real and there's absolutely no escape.

"i didn't," your voice cracks. "i didn't mean to—"

"bullshit!" he yells. you wail in pain when he slams you against the wall, head aching as it came in contact with concrete. "because of you betraying me, i nearly fucking got caught, and i never get caught!"

you were full out sobbing at this point, noisy and unsightly as the snot mixes with your tears. your only hope now is he gives you a quick, painless death and that he doesn't carve and mutilate your face like what he always does to his other poor victims. "i'm sorry! please... i'm so sorry. i was scared—"

he coos mockingly, tilting his head to the side as he inched his face closer. "aw, scared? my sweet little soulmate was scared?" he places the blade flat against your neck. as humiliating and degrading as it was, you almost peed on your clothes. "how about now? i'm sure as hell that you're fucking terrified for your useless life right now."

you cringe when his hand abandons the expanse of your stomach, no longer inching higher, finding its purchase on the hair sitting at the crown of your head. he holds you in place like that, forcing your head parallel against the wall, with his whole body pressing up to you that it's nearly suffocating.

"just one quick little slice," he taunts. you hiccuped when you feel the feathery light scrape of the blade moving against your skin. "you won't even have time to scream… but i'm sure we don't want that, do we?"

you forgot how to speak. forgot how to breathe. whenever your mind wanders, you've always thought about how you'll give this killer a piece of your mind, with the amount of fear and sorrow he inflicts upon other people. but you guess realities were a lot more different than expectations. the yuta you dreamed of meeting is in handcuffs, but fate is a fickle little thing.

"do we?" he repeats, slicing ever so slightly at your skin. enough to draw blood in droplets, never a waterfall.

"n – no."

he smiles. "you can make it up to me. do you want to make it up to me?"

the butterfly knife digs even further. a warning. and if you value your useless life, you should be smart enough to know what to answer. drawing a shaky breath, you tried forcing the ends of your lips up to a smile. "of course, yuta."

your voice breaks as your sobbing grips your body whole. the fear consuming your entire being like a parasite consuming the host. you would've shut down altogether if it weren't for the calloused hands gently gripping your face. "i know, i know. i see how regretful you are, baby. don't worry, i won't hurt you. you'll make it up to me."

anyone would be fucking stupid if you believe those words coming from a serial killer.

in your wrecked state, you barely register that he's pushing you down to your knees. skin coming in contact with the freezing linoleum floor as you refuse to look at what his hands are doing. yuta has pocketed his knife. the sound of a belt unbuckling in itself added insult to injury.

you stare blankly at his shoes as he shoves his bottoms down enough for his cock to show. if you squint hard enough, you'll see tiny splatters of blood in the shoelaces. whether or not he feels you're unresponsive, he doesn't show. maybe he doesn't care entirely. he takes one of your hands and used it to wrap around himself. he gasps, sharp, followed by a hiss.

you feel it throbbing and it strengthens the disgust you feel. no way you're going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact when you're already forced to blow this psycho.

"eyes up."

you sniffled, vulnerability present in the tone you speak. "i don't want to. please, don't make me."

if words alone aren't enough for you to follow orders, maybe you'll feel more motivated if held at gunpoint. it's unmistakable, the infamous desert eagle you've only seen in your nightmares. the last thing you ever expected is to be on the side where the bullet comes out.

the barrel is freezing as he digs it into the crown of your head. "soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks."

your eyes looked up then. glaring as the tears rolled down your face. "you're a monster," you mutter under your breath. where you got the confidence to fight back is unknown.

"i've heard that before, be more creative next time," he holds your hair tight in one grip, shoving you forward, eye-level to his throbbing dick. "now… suck, baby."

"freeze!"

you knew that voice, you've been hearing it for the last two weeks. "jaehyun–!"

yuta cuts you off, shoving the gun into your mouth. the safety clicking off resonating in the tranquil room. it's deafening, and it makes you immobile.

"hands up. step away from the civilian." whether or not mark is nervous as he points the gun at the serial killer, he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

yuta sighs, exasperated as he throws his head back. his raised arms came down to tuck himself back in his jeans, and the action made jaehyun's calm exterior crack. "i said, hands up, asshole!"

"chill out, motherfucker. i'm just trying to wear my pants." the serial killer hisses, glaring at jaehyun over his shoulder.

"mark, call back up already. what are you doing?" jaehyun mutters, side-eyeing the young detective whose gun shakes as he holds it up. the taller cop takes a step forward, eyes never leaving the notorious killer as he addresses you curtly. "(name), come here."

just as you plant your palms to the ground to push yourself up, one of yuta's hands shoves you down quick as lightning. "no. she stays here, with me."

jaehyun scowls, takes another step forward. "and what makes you think i'm going to let that happen?"

"i don't think. i know."

there's a constant ring in your ear as the gunshot temporarily renders you deaf. you've shut your eyes in utter fright, hands shooting up to cover your ears but it was too late. you refuse to open your eyes, you didn't want to see a dead body lying before you, even if it belonged to a heartless serial killer.

but when your eyes fluttered open, it's not yuta bleeding out on the ground.

"no, this can't be – jaehyun!"

it was a bullet straight to the head, no one could've survived a shot like that. his eyes are empty as he stares at you, unblinking, stoic. the color is yet to drown away from his milky complexion. but you can't even manipulate yourself into thinking that jaehyun's still alive. not when his eyes are empty, not when he just looks so lifeless.

it couldn't have been yuta who pulled the trigger.

his weapons were on the ground and the shot rang too fast. the sad face slayer couldn't have crouched down for his gun to shoot the cop, it would've taken too much time. and among the three men, there's only another person holding a weapon, and that was –

"great shot, mark."

the detective smiles, but with the blood splattered on his face, it looked cold. "told ya i've been practicing."

yuta hauls you up by the arms, addicted to how frail your body feels as it collapses against him. he's finally got his little soulmate in his arms. and he will never, ever let you go.

the cops lost – you've lost.

yuta, with a sense of victory coursing through his veins, took the liberty of trailing little pecks down your neck as he mutters, "mine, mine, mine!" but you couldn't care less about his display of mocked affection. not when the other person meant to protect you, turned out to be everything you think he wasn't.

mark must've felt the gravity of your stare as he crouches before jaehyun's bleeding body. grabbing the fallen cop's gun, he took it upon himself to empty the magazine. the lopsided grin he sends you broke your resolve more than yuta ever could.

"i'm sorry. it's nothing personal."

639 notes · View notes

ktheist · 3 years

Text

life is yours

muses. professor!fiancee!namjoon x reader x fiancee’s friend!past life husband! expecting father!yoongi

genre. reincarnation au. college au. pregnancy au.

word. 1.7k

you loved min yoongi, you’d die for him.

and died for him you did. when the traitors came for your king, you’d leaped in front of him and took a swing of the treacherous sword. history books portrayed him as the king who went mad. the king who slayed hundreds of lives in one night and ruled for fifty more years as a tyrant.

what are histories if not painted with a tragic romance?

they said it was because of you he went mad. because he lost his queen, his breath.

a few hundred years later, he’d found her again. at the age of twenty-seven and you, twenty-two.

his girlfriend was pregnant with his baby and you were professor kim namjoon’s student-turned-fiance.

“it’s funny, you know,” you took a whiff of the cigarette and breathe out through your mouth, “we can walk out of our current relationships and ruin everyone’s perception of us, or we can just lead the life we’re living like we didn’t remember anything.”

yoongi squints his eyes as he stares up at the sun. lips tucked downwards, as though telling the universe that after one lifetime too many, he’s unimpressed.

“or we could just run away,” he recalls the flames of the torches of that night - not as bright as today’s sun but just as mocking, “forget about everything and run away.”

“you make it sound so easy,” a laugh escapes your smoke kissed lips, “it’s not as if the people we’ve known and loved are fake, faceless puppets.”

this life is just as real.

though it would’ve gone much different if you’d met each other sooner.

yoongi taps the pointed corner of the invitation card on his palm. it tickles but it’s nothing compared to the burning sensation as he held onto the handle of the sword despite it grazing his flesh.

“how far along is she?” his girlfriend, you mean.

walking into namjoon’s office - the office you’d snuck into a few times too many but felt utterly alien - you saw the porcelain, snow-kissed complexion of your king. all at once, the memories hit you like a rain of shards.

and in each, individual shard, you see the images of your first step, first drawing, first embroidery and the first time you met yoongi. an arrogant boy whom you pushed into the koi pond.

the same boy who smirked at you the whole time during your engagement ceremony while you squirmed in your seat, scheming a runway and an apology at the same time.

and the man who strutted into the room, plopped on the left side of the bed and bade you good night on your first night as a married couple.

it was until three months later, that you trapped him under you and confronted him about it.

you thought yoongi, the crown prince turned king, had a lover. but he loved you too much to hurt you. they said you’re supposed to bleed on your first time. you laughed until your stomach hurt because you were happy beyond words that your husband was abstaining himself for you and not going around fucking a lover behind your back.

not even a year later, you caressed your stomach and giggled to yourself, thinking about yoongi’s stone cold expression turning pink and speechless. that night, the rebellion happened.

your last memories was of him holding you in his arms and calling out your name.

in this lifetime, your first memory of him is watching him smile a familiar smile that screamed awkwardness as namjoon relayed their youthful tales.

that was, until he got to the part where yoongi’s about to be a father.

all of a sudden, there’s a knot in your stomach. it twists and tightens until you feel like you’re going to puke if you didn’t excuse yourself, saying something about calling your mom that you’d be having dinner with namjoon and letting the two men catch up.

“ten weeks. we’re ten weeks pregnant,” he sucks in a deep, agonized breath - and from the way he’s gazing up at the sky with his hands on his hips, you don’t think he meant to hide his afflictions.

the way he refers to himself and her as ‘we’ makes that knot all the more painful.

“i was a seven weeks pregnant,” you smile softly to yourself, gazing down at your stomach as if you could feel your baby from your previous lifetime.

you shouldn’t have said it.

should’ve just kept quiet.

but-

“they told me you were eight weeks in,” the soft, breathless tone that comes from yoongi is what makes your heart beat again.

as if you’d come to life. as if min ___, the queen of joseon had come back to tell her king the one thing she wished to say. the one thing she wished for.

a family.

“taeyang. i was going to name him taeyang because he was going to be the sun of the dynasty and bring peace to the nation,” you laugh and it’s the choked up sound that you make that makes you realize you’re on the verge of crying.

“never thought i’d be talking about histories and dynasties with anyone - i hate history,” the confession slips out of you like you’re talking with an old friend. someone you trust wholeheartedly. someone you know you can confide in.

yoongi was your friend, your lover, your king.

“come with me. i have a savings account, we can start anew somewhere, we can have what we couldn’t have back then.” he turns to you and looks at you in the eye.

“what about your baby?” you ask because you know it’s meant for his future family.

“i’ll send child support every month,” he says.

“your parents?” you ask because his mother was a concubine and the king barely remembered his name out of the names of his many children.

in this lifetime, from the way namjoon candidly told the story, you know they love their eldest son as much as he loves them.

“they’ll adore you,” he says.

“no one’s gonna love a homewr- ah,” you hiss, dropping the cigarette that was trapped between your fingers until it burned your skin.

“___,” a familiar, deep but less gravelly tone reverberates against the walls as namjoon comes jogging at you like you’re a kid who just bruised her knee.

you study his face and yoongi’s eyes burn holes in your head.

from the way he meets your gaze and gives you ‘your fingers almost got burned and you’re looking at me?’ you think it’s safe to say that he didn’t hear what you were saying.

“i’m fine, i just burned my fingers because i got too engulfed in yoongi’s stories about how you two met,” you laugh at how namjoon’s inspecting your fingers more attentively than a doctor would.

“another reason to include in the long list of reasons not to smoke,” your finacee chides.

“that was my last,” you announce in a higher pitch than your usual voice - and that’s how namjoon knows you’re half-joking, even when you- “i promise.”

“anyways,” you place the injured hand on his chest to distract him - the way yoongi’s jaw tighten doesn’t go past you, “i talked to my dad because apparently my mom was cooking and couldn’t come to the phone and he said to tell you to bring me back before curfew.”

it’s the way namjoon freezes underneath your touch, his eyes blinking once and his soul retreating far back into his subconscious that makes you giggle.

“i’m kidding.”

only then, does he breathe again.

“my mom wasn’t cooking, she was watching her favorite show,” you say again.

it takes a split second for namjoon to put two and two together and tenses up again. as if he feels your father’s hardened gaze behind him. your father didn’t take it too well when you introduced your professor as your boyfriend who proposed to you a week before.

“it was nice meeting you, yoongi, we look forward to see you at our wedding,” you extend a hand, the playful smile reserved for namjoon, now directed at your king.

the king whom you died for. and the king who you’re telling to live his life, as you’ll live yours.

“wouldn’t miss my best friend’s wedding for the world,” he smiles, his hand grasping yours and you thought you’re going to combust from the electrifying sensation that runs through your veins.

but it’s only short-lived.

you pull your hand away and he summons his back to his side.

he turns to namjoon and gives him a pat on his shoulder, congratulating him again but this time, with a lingering stare before walking past the two of you and towards the parking lot.

“professor, i’ll get my purse from your office and we’ll be good to go.” you say absently before skipping to the opposite direction of where yoongi was headed.

with each step you take, you hear your heart breaking. just like the pieces of your memories that rains down like shards of glass.

you wonder if you’ll make it through this life without dying of a broken heart.

“i thought we fixed that?” namjoon murmurs behind you, just as you sling the strap of your purse over your shoulder.

“hm?” you turn to the man leaning against the doorframe, observing you with a crease between his brows.

“you called me professor again,” namjoon mumbles almost as if he’s sulking.

and your heart warms at the tender sight of a grown man acting like a child. you’re reminded of the reason you fell for kim namjoon. his gentle nature was the opposite of yours yet he laughed at your jokes like he laughed off your flirtatious advancements.

he told you he saw you as a student and lent you his scarf when he saw you shaking in the cold while waiting for your uber. the next time he saw you, at 11 pm before the library closes, he offered to drive you home even though his was in the opposite direction from yours.

“namjoon,” you say his name, a smile tucked on your lips as you wrap your arms around his waist and his arm that had been crossed over his chest instantly makes it way around you, “thank you.”

“for what?” his eyes light up like a christmas tree, dimple digging into his cheek.

“for choosing me,” you stand on the tip of your toes and he meets you halfway for the kiss.

and you loved min yoongi, you died for him.

you love kim namjoon, you choose to live the rest of your life with him.

note. so like, the title - technically, it’s like oc saying “my life is yours” to both yoongi and namjoon but in different lifetimes :D

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thewidowsghost · 3 years

Text

Stay Strong, Alex - Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

"Detective (L/n)," Rick sneers. "And they say there's never a cop around when you need one."

"So you know me?" (Y/n) asks, her voice soft.

"Of course," Rick answers. "I took a whole year planning this. Watching Alex, preparing," (Y/n) folds her hands together and she can hear Kara pacing behind her near the door. "I know everything."

"How did you know I was Supergirl?" Kara snarks.

"That day at the beach," Rick replies. "Before you started wearing glasses." He pauses. "I had no idea that Alex would end up playing for the other team, so to speak." (Y/n) swallows thickly. "I was just happy she showed up on the date. And then there was a crash. And Alex's kid sister walked away without a scratch," Rick says calmly, looking up at Kara, who standing over (Y/n)'s shoulder. "People at school said it was adrenaline, but, uh . . ."

"But you didn't believe that," (Y/n) finishes, her head tilting a little.

Rick nods, "I saw Kara Danvers do something amazing. And it stayed with me. I knew Kara was living in National City, and then Supergirl showed up in National City . . ." Rick chuckles. "I put two and two together. I knew it was you."

"What happened to you?" Kara asks softly. "I remember when Alex had chickenpox, I was eating lunch by myself," Kara's voice sounds a little wistful as she remembers the Earth portion of her childhood. "You came and sat with me."

Rick chuckles again. "I was fourteen," as Rick begins, (Y/n) rises from her chair to lean against the table. "And I didn't have the nice house or the perfect family that you and your sister had."

"You think we had it easy?" Kara asks skeptically. "You have no idea what Alex sacrificed for me. Or what I was going through!"

"Why?" Rick sneers. "Because you had to hide your superpowers? I was hiding bruises!" Rick is yelling now and (Y/n) had taken half a step backward. "Do you have any idea what it's like to have your mother tell you your garbage every single night?" The blonde man makes eye contact with (Y/n) and the young woman crosses her arms. "A belt whenever you had the wrong opinion? And then I found a lifeline. A father my mom kept from me. And he saved me from her and he moved me away from Midvale. And even though he was always struggling, he always made sure there was food on the table and he got me enough money to go to college. And then three years ago, the state took him from me."

"Your father killed two people," (Y/n) says, her voice low. "He confessed."

"They had it coming," Rick growls and (Y/n) straightens, her arms still folded over her chest. "And now I'm going to rescue him like he rescued me." Rick pauses. "I can't believe we're still talking about me! You have twenty-four hours and eleven minutes." Kara stiffens as Rick continues, "Come on, Kara, show us some of that rah-rah Midvale Junior High Spirit." Rick is yelling now. "Free my dad! Or your sister dies."

Kara growls, zooms over, flips the table, and pins Rick to the wall.

"Oh, you use half this much gusto in springing my dad, you'll have your sister back for game night."

"Kara! We're done here!" (Y/n)'s voice cracks.

Kara lets go of Rick and the man drops to the ground. "Hey. You know what'll be fun?" Rick asks. (Y/n) frowns, an eyebrow raising as she steps back from the man. "Finding out which one of you loves her more." (Y/n) closes her eyes momentarily, a wave of anguish washing over her. "Honestly, I wouldn't know where to place my bet," Rick sneers and (Y/n) swallows thickly.

Kara frowns at the man and after a minute, the two women go to leave the room, (Y/n) pausing for a second.

"Go Stallions," Rick grins.

Just outside the room, Kara speaks, "I'm giving him one minute, then I'm going back in there."

"No," (Y/n) says and Kara turns to look at her, Kara's eyes blazing.

"Why?" Kara snaps.

"Let him sweat it for a while," (Y/n) tells her, her voice softer than usual as she talks to her girlfriend's sister. "We got what we wanted."

"What?" Kara asks. "All we know is how he knows my identity."

"We know that Rick's pinned his whole sense of self-worth on Peter Thompson," (Y/n) explains, her voice still soft. "Thompson is the key to getting Alex back."

Kara's blazing eyes seem to extinguish as she considers (Y/n)'s words.

. . .

An hour or so later, (Y/n) and Peter Thompson walk into Rick's integration room.

(Y/n) closes the door behind Thompson.

Rick grins down at the table, before standing up after a moment.

"Ricky," Thompson says with a smile.

"Dad," Rick says, and the two embrace.

"All that time in prison, I imagined a day when . . . I could talk to you without a pane of glass between us."

"The DEO moved heaven and Earth to free this man," (Y/n) says. "We did what you wanted. Now, tell us where Alex is."

"No. No, not until my father and I are far from here," Rick says.

"You think we're stupid?" (Y/n) asks. "I showed you mine. Your turn."

"So you can toss us in Gitmo?" Thompson asks. "Not gonna happen."

(Y/n) shakes her head in disbelief.

"Maybe he gives you a piece. A little token of goodwill," Thompson adds. "You gotta give them something, Ricky. That's how it works. Just tell them where she is." Thompson narrows his eyes at his son.

"Well, you really nailed his essence, I'll give you that," Rick says.

"What?" (Y/n) asks, stepping forward, her arms crossing.

"I mean, that thing . . ." Rick says, studying his father's face. "He couldn't decide whether to hug me or not. That's vintage Dad." Rick sits back down in his metal chair.

"What are you talking about?" Thompson asks, walking up to stand beside the table.

"My father would never be playing these games. He'd be wanting to get the hell away from here and making sure that he never went back to prison," Rick's expression is one of anger. "I've been planning this for a year. Do you really think I didn't prepare for you," Rick pauses, looking up at Thompson, "Martian?"

Thompson walks over to (Y/n) and shifts back into himself.

"You're down to twenty-three hours and fourteen minutes," Rick says as he gazes at (Y/n) and J'oon. "And counting."

(Y/n) closes her eyes, pressing her index finger and thumb to the bridge of her nose.

. . .

Winn runs down the hall. "Guys! We found Alex. I found her."

Kara - who is standing with Mon-el - turns to face Winn. "You did?" Kara asks frantically.

"We got a ping from her subdermal tracker," Winn explains. "She's not far!"

. . .

Back in the interrogation room, (Y/n) is sitting across from Rick, her hands folded and resting on the table in front of her.

"(Y/n)," Kara says, opening the door to the room. "Winn found Alex."

"What? How?" (Y/n) asks quickly, rising from her chair to look at Kara.

"I guess you underestimated my sister," Kara says, looking past (Y/n) to look at Rick. "Let's go."

But (Y/n) pauses, turning to look at Rick. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"You're delusional," Kara sneers. "And the second we get back here with Alex, you're going to prison with your dad."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Rick says with a shrug, and fear surges through (Y/n)'s heart.

Kara strides out of the room and (Y/n) meets Rick's eyes, holding the stare for a moment.

(Y/n) runs out of the room. "Watch him," (Y/n) tells the guard as she runs past him after Kara. "Hey, stop," (Y/n) tells Kara. "Malverne still thinks he's in control," (Y/n) tells her.

Kara turns, looking highly annoyed with (Y/n) at this point.

"He's not acting like someone who just lost," (Y/n) continues. "He didn't even flinch. It's like he expected this."

"No, no, no, we are not listening to that psycho," Kara says, walking closer to (Y/n). "Every minute we wait for matters."

"I - I want to get her as badly as you do," (Y/n) retorts, "but we can't punch our way out of this. We've got to get this right."

"If the shoe were on the other foot, Alex would already be out the door. I'm not waiting," Kara argues.

"You're not the only one who cares about her!" (Y/n) says, her voice rising.

"I'm going!" Kara yells over her shoulder as she strides out of the DEO.

(Y/n) swallows thickly and looks at the ground.

. . .

Kara flies across the city and lands in a warehouse, crashing through the roof.

"Kara!" comes a faint voice.

"Alex!" Kara yells in reply.

"I'm down here!"

Kara runs over to a metal plate on the floor and bends the metal, puling up the plate. Throwing the plate aside, Kara freezes, reading the writing on the wall: 'NOW YOU HAVE FOUR.'

"Four?" Kara asks. "What . . ." There is a rapid beeping and the timer next to the computer screen flashes to four hours.

. . .

In Alex's cell, water begins rushing into the cement cage. Alex, panicking, grabs her jacket to try to plug the pipe.

. . .

"Oh, my God," Kara whispers, her voice full of fury.

. . .

Kara walks back into the DEOs' headquarters, holding the laptop in one hand.

Entering Rick's room again, Kara sets the laptop on the table.

"Where is she?" Kara asks, her voice steely.

"I told you not to go . . ." Rick says calmly.

"Tell me where she is now!" Kara thunders, slamming her hands down on the table.

"I gave you thirty-six hours to break my father out of prison," Rick replies. "But you didn't listen. So now, that room is gonna fill up with water in less than four hours. I think it's time you got moving."

Kara's lip quivers. "Let me talk to Alex."

Rick leans forward and presses a few of the keys and there is a beep.

Kara turns the laptop around and leans down to talk to her sister through the computer.

"Alex," Kara says, her voice quavering.

"Kara! I sent out a signal, I thought you were coming," Alex says, the water up to her waist now.

"He re-routed the IP address. He sent us somewhere else. Do you have any idea where you are?"

"I was unconscious. I could be hours away or I could be in the city," Alex replies, a frown spreading across her face. "I don't know."

Rick leans forward. "Alex, it's Rick. It don't want to hurt you. I keep on telling your sister that. Tell her to get my father, and this can all be over. You can come home and get dry."

"No. Kara, no," Alex says, pointing at the camera. "You do not give that terrorist what he wants. You cannot let yourself be blackmailed. You cannot open yourself up to that, ever. Do you understand me? Supergirl is better than me."

(Y/n) enters the room and, seeing Alex on the screen, runs over. "Alex!"

"(Y/n)?" Alex asks.

"I'm right here," (Y/n) replies.

"(Y/n), I need to speak to you alone," Alex says, and (Y/n) grabs the laptop and walks out of the room.

(Y/n) stands down one of the hallways. "Hun, everyone here is working hard and we're going to find you."

"The water is rising fast and there are things that I need to say," Alex says, her voice cracking a little.

"No," (Y/n) says, tears welling up in her eyes. "Don't start talking like this is the end."

"I don't want it to be, but in case that it is . . ." Alex says, pausing for a moment.

"It's not," (Y/n) whispers. "It can't be. You're a badass, Alex. And if anyone could figure out a way to get themself out of there, it's you. You're gonna hold on until I find you," (Y/n)'s voice cracks, and a tear slides down her cheek.

"(Y/n), listen to me, please," Alex tries to get out.

"No," (Y/n) argues desperately. "We just had our first Valentine's Day and I want to do more with you. I want more firsts. I want a first vacation. We haven't even argued about where we're gonna go yet, and it's bound to happen. Or what to name our first dog. Do you want to get a dog?"

(Y/n) lets out a watery laugh. "See, there's a lifetime of firsts that we're going to do together. So," (Y/n)'s voice quavers, "you hold on, okay? Hold on until I get to you. You promise. Promise me!"

"Yeah, um . . ." Alex pauses, scratching the back of her neck. "Let's name her Gertrude or we could adopt one from the animal shelter you volunteer at."

"I -" Alex tries to say, but the video cuts out.

"What?" (Y/n) whispers, typing furiously on the keyboard. "Alex!" (Y/n), frustrated with worry, tosses the broken laptop to the ground.

"What happened?" Kara asked, striding over to (Y/n).

(Y/n) meets Kara's gaze, her eyes alight with barely controlled anger. "I-I told you not to rush in. N-now you've made things worse."

"I did what I thought was right . . ." Kara argues.

"I should have been heard," (Y/n) says, her eyes narrowing. "I should have been listened to. I'm her girlfriend."

"I'm her sister!" Kara argues angrily.

"And you think that trumps me?" (Y/n) asks. "That you know what's right for her. I . . ." (Y/n) falters. "I got her to be herself, Kara." (Y/n)'s voice cracks. "I-I have just as much to lose as you." (Y/n)'s eyes burn. "You should have listened to me."

Word Count: 2,305 words

Taglist:

@procrastinatingsapphictrash

@makegoodchoices

@fanboy7794

@theofficialzivadavid

@confusinggemini612

#alex danvers x reader #alex danvers x fem reader #supergirl x reader #supergirl x fem reader #reader insert #fem reader #female reader

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chrisevansgoodgirl · 4 years

Text

give me all your venom, i love that shit

summary: i do apologize. no one asked for this...but i accidentally watched assassination nation. okay, it was intentional the first time. but the twenty times after that while i was writing this were accidental. anyway...smut stuff. webcam smut with love of my life Andrew Barber.

warnings: cheating. age gap. andy gets a little dark. this is prob as dark as i would ever write this perfect, beautiful man. a million and one pet names also.

word count: around 11,100 lol oops

pairing: andy barber x reader

a/n: so yes, age gap. it’s unclear what that is. go ahead and do what you will. it’s truly none of my business. also...one day, i’ll write in my tags ‘i’m gonna post tonight’ and actually post that night. not 300 nights later!

Laurie was a great woman, pretty much the kind of woman that you had always wished your mom would just wake up one day and feel completely compelled to act like. She was always so nice when she spoke to you, even the times you were clearly a little drunk and practically falling out of your tiny skirts.

She chalked it up to youth, so you’d once been told. That was huge in the little town you lived in. Mostly, if people saw all the skin you were showing, what they thought of you was clearly written all over their faces.

Laurie just liked talking to you. About anything. Everything. School, friends, boys, the future. This interest that she took in you didn’t end when you stopped babysitting for the Barbers, if anything, it made your conversations warmer. It was evident that the little time she could get with you was precious to her.

Jacob was the sweetest kid in the world. You had been apprehensive when she first called you. One reason only: babysitting boys was the worst. They were little demons and their parents either were blissfully unaware or did know and just didn’t care. You’d seen the same show for several years.

Not Jacob. And definitely not the Barbers. They were all so perfect and well-adjusted. You hadn’t been sure what to make of them those first few months. You had briefly suspected that both Laurie and Andy were total sociopaths who’d spawned another little sociopath. Come to find out, you just actually had such a fucked-up family situation.

Jacob loved playing video games with you, even though you were terrible at them. He never got upset when you made him lose, he just insisted that you needed to practice. Around the time you left, you’d started to get a little decent at them. He also enjoyed coloring and reading, two of your preferred babysitting activities.

Still, he was also an energetic little boy and that meant that he had dragged you outside sometimes to play very distracted versions of soccer, basketball, baseball a few times, and football once. Only once.

You’d both ended up covered in mud, it had been raining that morning but neither of you wanted to be deterred by that. When Laurie found you, she was horrified. Maybe a tad amused, seeing as she needed several pictures of the two of you.

You had wanted to walk home that night, the same thing you did after most shifts. The problem was, they had arrived home a bit later than usual. Laurie first, Andy about 10 minutes later. You didn’t want to walk through the house, so while Laurie was still threatening to hose off Jacob outside, you made your way around to the front porch.

Just as Andy was unlocking the front door.

Andy. He was easily the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on. Mostly, he was in these perfect god damn suits because he was a lawyer. Other times, he didn’t shy away from tight shirts that clung to his arms and chest, and jeans that did the same for his ass.

The coveted position of babysitting for the perfect, loving Andy and Laurie Baber. It was hilarious that it went to you because you were the only one who hadn’t been desperately trying to get it. All your friends would bend over backward, even though a friend of a friend of a friend, Julia Something, had claimed that Jacob was an utter hellion.

But what it came down to was the fact that Andy looked like he had been made by someone trying to create the perfect human being. Everyone was just looking for a way in and when you got it, no one could believe it. You hadn’t been as serious about babysitting. You liked the families you liked and tended to stick to three to five, but Laurie got your number from one of those mothers. How could you say no?

According to many of your friends, you should have. It was a betrayal, but one they couldn’t be too mad about because only an idiot would turn down an offer like that. They tended to pay generously also, so it took a total of three seconds to decide you were in.

He arched an eyebrow at you. “Back door locked?”

“No, I just didn’t want to walk through the house.”

“Right.” He gave you a once over before turning down to his phone. “Do I even want to know?”

That would officially mark the most words he’d ever said to you in one conversation. Laurie loved you, Jacob claimed that he was never, ever going to allow another babysitter to step inside his house, but Andy hardly even looked at you. That wasn’t uncommon. Most of the dads didn’t care, but those were the families that you didn’t stick with for too long.

“Football,” you explained.

He gave you a surprised look.

“But don’t get your hopes up or anything. Jacob sucks.”

He scoffed.

“Can you grab my bag? It’s just right by the door.”

“Heading home?”

“I should. My parents hate when I work this late, they’ve probably been texting me for the past two hours now.”

“Yeah, one sec.”

He didn’t close the door after him so you could hear Jacob excitedly screaming about his father being home. Andy was a great dad and Jacob idolized him just as much as he idolized Laurie. It was a beautiful family dynamic that sometimes still baffled you. Your family looked much different.

He returned with your bag.

“Thanks.” You took it and turned.

“Y/N!”

You looked back as Laurie was rushing out.

“Oh, don’t walk home, dear. Andy will drive you.”

The look on his face told you that he had not offered and that she hadn’t even run it by him before that moment.

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” you attempted to decline. “Honestly.”

“It’s late and cold.”

“I don’t want to get mud all over the car.” It was an expensive fucking car.

“Nonsense, it’s just a car,” Laurie insisted. “Besides, I paint the house a lot. I’m sure we have a few tarps still. Andy, will you go get one?”

He didn’t need further prompt to disappear inside. Laurie apologized for being late, you told her not to worry about it—more time with Jacob was never a bad thing. She thanked you for everything you did for them and you shyly accepted. She asked about your parents then, and before you had to give an elaborate answer, Andy was back with the tarp.

The drive was awkward.

It had started silent and you tried to hide away in your phone, but apparently, no one felt like texting you in that moment. Prior, your friends had been trying to talk to you nonstop, but wasn’t life just funny like that?

You felt like an idiot just staring out the window. This wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen around a thousand times before; he wasn’t even driving a different way. It looked like you were trying to avoid him and this insane, aggressive part of you just hated to appear weak or caught off guard.

Maybe it was your fault then. You were the one who spoke first and after that, things were just different. “How was work?”

It took him a moment to come up with a reply, and what a reply it was. “Fine. I guess.”

“Cool…” you sighed, clicked your tongue a couple of times, then glanced at him. He was staring forward, eyebrows pulled together, confused. Sure, he’d never taken much of an interest in you, and up to that point, as far as he knew, you’d never taken an interest in him. “What kind of lawyer are you?”

“What kind?”

“Like…a wife kills her husband for all of his money. Where are you in the courtroom?”

He chuckled. “I’m a public defender. I don’t normally get cases like that, unless my boss is trying to get on the good side of some irritating, rich people.”

You hummed. “You like it?”

“I do.”

“Cool.”

“Why all the questions? You want to be a lawyer?”

You snorted. “I was just curious. I don’t really hear you talk about work.”

He didn’t say anything else and you felt shot down in a sense. Most fathers were easy to talk to. They loved to hear their own voice and they loved how you pretended to like to hear every word. Obviously, Andy wasn’t in that group. At least a few of your friends had responded to your texts so it wasn’t terribly awkward. He said goodnight when you climbed out of the car, you said it back and closed the door.

You thought that was that.

After that, any time you babysat, he would drive you home. Laurie didn’t even have to say anything, it was just expected that he would do it. He was the one who spoke on the second drive because you weren’t going to try again. It was just stupid stuff. How you were doing with school. How your family was. How your friends were. How your boyfriend was. Because you had a boyfriend, right? He had asked but you knew that he knew you did, Laurie asked about him a lot. Andy never seemed to be paying attention.

That was how it was for almost a month. Then something just changed. The conversations became something else. He asked you where you wanted to go, you weren’t sure you wanted to leave Massachusetts, but you knew you wanted to put some miles between you and your family. He asked you about the future, where you saw yourself. He told you a little about himself, only what he had wanted his life to look like when he was your age.

He had believed he was going to be a high school history teacher.

It wasn’t weird. You didn’t talk to any of the other fathers like this, but it didn’t feel like something you shouldn’t be doing. He just liked talking to you and he actually wanted to hear what you had to say, what you thought about things.

It was innocent. Even when he started coming home early just to make sure he could drive you home. Even when you started taking your jacket off in the car or crossing your legs and pretending you didn’t notice that your skirt was riding up. Even when he looked at you and you acted like you didn’t see it. Even when you would end up sitting in his car, parked down the street from your house, just talking because he knew you didn’t want to go inside.

Perfectly innocent. For almost six months.

You were walking home from school when you got a text from Jacob. He couldn’t find his science project that you had helped him work on. You could have just told him where it was, but then you wouldn’t get the chance to stop by the Barber house. You showed up and Laurie happily invited you in. It was in the garage, something you pretended to remember after about an hour. Jacob had a play date so when his friend’s parents picked him up, Laurie asked you to stay for coffee.

You did. You wanted to extend your time there because even if he didn’t come home soon, Laurie would tell him you had been there. She would mention you and he would be thinking about you. Which is all you ever really wanted.

But sometimes your plans didn’t really work out. You had been turning down jobs, better-paying jobs, jobs you’d had far longer than the Barbers. They had been friends of your parents, it was how you met them, so typically, word got back to your mother. She felt you were the most irresponsible person in the world and didn’t fail to remind you of those feelings when she sent you seven texts and ordered you to get home.

You didn’t want to deal with the chaos of making her angry by spending any more time trying to see Andy. It was a failed attempt at getting closer to him, and as you were walking down the street, you were almost thankful. What the hell were you doing? Why were you trying to get closer to him? Jacob’s father, Laurie’s husband, your boss. That was it. That was all he could be.

But then, much earlier than you’d ever seen him, he was driving by you. You smiled, waved, but kept going. He was the one who circled back and told you to get in. You didn’t need to be told twice. You wanted to talk anyway, you wanted to tell him what was going on with your mother.

He parked down the street again. It wasn’t dark like it usually was but there was no one around. Everyone was staying warm inside. The heaters were on and you had draped your jacket over your legs. It was freezing but leaving the car was the last thing you wanted to do.

He only spoke when you had finished venting. And it wasn’t in the direction you had thought it would go. “You’ve been turning down jobs?”

Shit. You just shrugged. “A few, I guess.”

“Why?”

“I’m busy.”

“You’ve been around the house a lot more lately,” he pointed out. “Is that how you’ve been so busy lately? With Jacob? With us?”

“I…I just don’t feel like babysitting for them anymore.”

“Because you just want to babysit for us.”

“I don’t know,” you finally said. “I don’t know why I’ve been turning them down.”

“I know.”

You lifted your eyebrows.

He placed his hand on your thigh with absolutely no hesitation.

You couldn’t explain how good his skin felt against yours. Like after running a mile and then finally catching your breath. Or waking up and seeing that you still have hours before your alarm clock goes off. Like when you’re walking down the streets during October and the houses are all decorated. Like when you’re starving and you finally eat something you’ve been craving.

“You want to see me.”

“I like seeing Jacob,” you muttered. You saw his hand move up before you felt it, your breath audibly caught and you shuddered. Pathetic. Weak. Desperate.

“You come over almost every day.”

You turned up to him, trying to keep your voice level. “You come home early every day.”

“I want to see you,” he assured. “Just like you want to see me…right?”

You nodded.

“Because you feel something for me.”

You wanted him, that was the best way to describe it. So fucking bad, so bad you couldn’t think straight sometimes. So bad that when your boyfriend touched you, you nearly got physically sick sometimes. So bad that in your bed, at night, with your hand between your legs, you pictured Andy and no one else.

“And you feel something for me,” you countered.

“I do.”

Before you could respond, his phone was ringing. Laurie, oh god. He saw the look on your face but clearly had no interest in letting those logical emotions—shame, guilt, disgust—grow. “Give me your phone.”

You weren’t sure why you did so. He handed it back to you with a new contact. Under the name: Daddy. You closed your thighs, rubbing them together, catching his fingers where they were still laid over your leg. You were so wet, desperate for some friction.

“You’re going to go inside,” he started. “You’re going to go to your bedroom, strip down, get in front of your mirror, and fuck your fingers. You’re going to watch the whole time. Then, when you can’t take another orgasm, you’re going to send me a picture.”

“Of what?”

“Whatever you want.”

Your mind was reeling. You had never sent naked pictures before, but that was because you knew what would happen if you did. They would get shown to everyone. Andy couldn’t show anyone. Andy wouldn’t show everyone even if he could.

“Okay.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

You swallowed thickly. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Give me your panties,” he ordered. “I want to take them home.”

You wondered if he had done this before, if he did it often maybe. But did it matter? At the end of the day, that wasn’t going to make either of you any less terrible than you were being.

But there was just one problem with his request. “I’m not wearing any.”

His eyes dropped down. “You aren’t wearing panties?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“I think you do. Now, you didn’t plan on fucking me tonight. That’s too much too soon. But I am the reason…it wasn’t because you thought my fingers would end up buried in your pussy, not yet… Daddy wants an answer, baby girl.”

Baby girl. Oh, fuck. Instead of speaking again, you spread your thighs and brought your own hand up your skirt. You were soaking, something he could hear when you pressed your fingers down. Which was why you had decided to skip underwear. Any time he was around, in a suit, you were wet.

His hold tightened on your thigh and you let out this small whimper. It was almost deafening in that car.

You pulled your hand back and brought your drenched fingers up to the steering wheel. You just wanted to leave something for him without risking anyone seeing you both in a weird situation.

He leaned forward almost instantly, inhaling as his eyes shut. “Fuck, you smell exactly like I thought you would.” His tongue dipped out just slightly and he licked the slick off the steering wheel, groaning gently. “And you fucking taste…”

Your phone buzzed and you both startled. “Shit.”

Andy sat up, clearing his throat. “Go. Do what I said.”

You went to reach for the door, but he cleared his throat. Oh, god. After what you just did, could you even pretend that you hadn’t surrendered completely? “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

After that, it was all kind of just a blur. You quit babysitting, which was very hard. You really did love Jacob and you were sad for a very long time every moment you remembered that you weren’t going over there to see him. You were never going to that house again, at least that was what you had told yourself.

That meant you didn’t see Andy quite as often, which was probably for the best. But he saw you. Often. Very naked. You sent him nearly hundreds of pictures a month, dozens almost every night. He was never too busy for you and maybe you liked that, maybe that was what made you feel so special. Maybe it was just him, the way he looked at you during those awkward exchanges when your mother dragged you to the grocery store with her and you ran into them. Maybe it was when he would call you even though he was at the office once you got home because he wanted to hear you orgasm. Maybe it was after your boyfriend would drop you off at home—and Andy always knew because you told him, you weren’t going to lie, you had no reason to—and he would ask you if he touched you, if he made you come.

He was your age. Andy was much older. More experienced. He never failed to remind you that that meant he could make you feel so much better. You weren’t sure what you were doing, why you didn’t just break up with him. Security, probably. If Andy ever decided to end this. Whatever it was. At least you wouldn’t be alone.

When Laurie wanted something, she got it. It wasn’t because she was aggressive or just didn’t take no for answer. It was because she was such a good person, how could anyone feel okay disappointing her? You certainly couldn’t.

When she insisted that you come over for dinner, you knew it was wrong. You knew she would rightfully hate you if she knew what you were doing with her husband. You knew she would feel hurt by the both of you, betrayed, outraged, disgusted. But you went anyway, and it wasn’t to flirt with Andy. Sure, you had done that once or twice in the past, but not this time. This time was for Laurie because she missed you. You had quit so suddenly and then it was like you didn’t exist to her at all. You owed her this dinner.

The look on his face when he saw you in the living room told you that he hadn’t been told about this. He looked terrified, worried.

“Look who I ran into this morning!” Laurie called out from the kitchen. She was over the stove stirring some pasta and you were at the table looking at all of Jacob’s drawings he had done in the past few months since you’d last seen him.

You gave him a look. He should know better than anyone why this was something you couldn’t just get out of. He couldn’t be mad at you. And he better not be accusing you of playing with Laurie like this.

He nodded once, just slightly. “Y/N.”

“Mr. Barber,” you returned.

Then nothing, he went upstairs and you returned your undivided attention to Jacob. Around a half-hour later, Laurie had to go upstairs and drag him downstairs, both trying and failing to hide their irritation.

She asked you about the usual after you had all settled in a bit. School was always the start. Laurie told you that school was the most important thing in the world. She had graduated but with a degree that she didn’t utilize. She loved her life, but she had her regrets and she didn’t want you to make the same mistakes.

She moved to family next. You always kept the answers light around Jacob, knowing that Laurie could read between the lines anyway. Your mother joined two different book clubs. Laurie knew that meant she was just trying to avoid your father.

Then your boyfriend. Another thing she wanted you to be careful about. She wasn’t expecting to get pregnant with Jacob when she had. She loved both Andy and Jacob, but she would have loved to hold off for a few years. She told you to take care of yourself first. Take care of your dreams, your future, your body, your identity before you worried about anyone else. Be selfish, be ambitious. She was like a mom; one you never even knew existed outside of television. You often wished she weren’t so nice to you. You knew you didn’t deserve it.

She just wanted to know how he was. How long had you guys been together, again? Right, that was quite a long time, she claimed. Where was he working? The same place still? You felt Andy’s eyes on you the entire time. He hadn’t looked at you for the whole dinner until Laurie mentioned your boyfriend.

Did you know about his politics? She promised it was better to know before it was too late. She knew his parents, knew that they were rather conservative. Everyone there was, though. The chances of finding a perfect man? Well, Andy was already taken.

Had you guys spoken about the future? Not really, not cohesively, but that wasn’t the answer you gave. You knew what he wanted and he pretended that he didn’t know what you wanted, pretended that one day you would just wake up and see it all his way. What does he want to do?

You were thinking about Andy. His hands, his mouth, his beard. You thought about making him mad, jealous. You thought about how he would be short over text and make you send him pictures and videos until he was less angry, then he would call and his voice would be so deep, he would growl orders at you. Fuck. “Yeah…he wants a huge family.”

“Oh.” Laurie nodded, clearly it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “Well…what do you want?”

“I don’t know.” That wasn’t necessarily a lie, but Andy would give you hell for it later. He told you that was one of the sexiest things about you. That you knew what you wanted. Basically, he just meant it was sexy that you were selfish enough to be getting involved with him.

“Well, just make sure you know before you make any choices that can’t be undone.”

If only someone had given Andy this lecture all the way back. You wondered how things would be if he wasn’t married, if he had never met Laurie, but If he was still here. You wondered what relationship you would have with him.

“You want to stay in Massachusetts?”

You shrugged. Andy wouldn’t let you come later, until you promised you were going to stay. You just had this deep, sinking feeling he wasn’t going to be kind about it either. Good. It had been so long since he was rough with you. Even over text, he was dominant and in total control. He owned you but you were worried he was getting comfortable with that, you worried that he was under the impression that he could be less possessive. Hell no. You were his, undeniably, but only so long as he was going to claim you as his.

“Well, you’re young…the possibilities are endless.”

“Well, I hope you guys break up,” Jacob bluntly stated.

You and Laurie both turned to him with wide-eyed looks. Andy was stunned for a moment, then had to hide his smile by sipping at his beer.

“Jacob,” Laurie scolded. “Don’t say things like that. That was very mean.”

“Well,” he huffed, ‘if she has more time, she can come back to babysit me.”

You scoffed.

He turned to you. “Is it because of him?”

“No, I promise. I’m just…busy.”

“Busy?” He rolled his eyes. “Adults are always “busy”.”

“You know, I think it’s time I put him to sleep,” Laurie scoffed.

“No,” Jacob whined. “I never get to see her anymore!”

Laurie sighed. “Jacob—”

“I’m not going to bed until you promise to come back,” he declared.

“Jacob,” you pleaded.

He crossed his arms over his chest, brow furrowed. “I’ll stay awake forever if I have to.” Then he set his jaw and turned forward. He had never looked more like Andy, where usually, he looked eerily like Laurie.

You really did miss him. Not that you would ever tell Andy, but a part of you did resent him for the fact that you had to quit. It wasn’t all on him, but if he had never let this start, things would still be the same.

Laurie looked completely exasperated and it wasn’t like you didn’t have enough guilt where she was concerned. “Okay, Jacob, if you go to bed, I will try to come back for the summer. You know, I won’t be so busy.” You glanced at Laurie who appeared just as hopeful. “You know, maybe at least a couple of days while you guys are at work.”

“Well, I was going to do this later because I didn’t want you to feel like this was the only reason that I asked you here. We miss you and I just wanted to see you, but…” she glanced at Andy. “I just found out that I’m going to be taking a work trip this summer.”

“Work trip?” you inquired. You weren’t aware that her job would ever require traveling.

“Yeah, just this conference, kind of, for people who work with children. This is the first time we have been invited to it, so it’s really important but I’m just not okay leaving Andy and Jacob alone. Andy’s job…”

“I told you, I could take the summer off,” Andy assured.

Laurie gave him a look. Yeah, that was highly unlikely. Andy wouldn’t know what to do with himself after probably the first three weeks. She faced you. “I don’t want to put any pressure on you. If you can’t come back, we understand. The Rifkins were telling us about your friend, the one who also babysits. Her name is Lily…something?”

Your eyes instinctively went to Andy. He was giving you a knowing look. All your friends would fuck him in a heartbeat. You shouldn’t have cared. If he fucked anyone, you should have had the plan to just walk away. You doubted your ability to do that, unfortunately. And you couldn’t stand the thought of him touching her. Anyone but her.

“I’ll think about it,” you promised Jacob.

He smiled widely. “Okay, I’ll go to bed now. I’m exhausted.”

You smiled.

Laurie took Jacob upstairs after saying goodnight to you. That left you alone with Andy for what you both knew would be just enough time for anything, but you had your limits. Not in the house. Not while Laurie and Jacob were here. You decided it was time to call it a night and he decided he was going to walk you to your car. It was dark after all.

You just rolled your eyes and marched out the front door. You tried to stay in front of him so you could get inside your car first, so he couldn’t grab you or talk to you. You just needed to get out of there, anything that needed to be said would have to wait for that night when he texted you.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t get my kid’s hopes up.”

That was how he wanted to start? You looked back at him; eyebrows lifted. “You mean yours.”

“Jacob misses you—”

“And you?”

He sighed at you. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing, just don’t try to use Jacob against me. I will think about it…there are just things…that could go wrong.”

“Like what?”

“You know what, Andy—”

His eyebrows shot up. “What did you call me?”

You crossed your arms, silently staring up at him. Your back faced the driver’s side door, the handle perfectly in your reach if you needed it.

“Baby,” he warned. “Don’t start acting up right now just because you know I can’t do anything about it.”

“I’m not acting up—”

“Then what did you just call me?”

“Nothing,” you muttered. “I’m sorry, I meant to call you daddy.”

He moved closer then, either hand on the car door behind you.

Your eyes widened in sheer panic and you immediately looked around. It was too dark to see anything, and this was Andy Barber. He was a trusted and well-respected man. No one would think anything even if they did walk out and saw this with their own eyes. He was a damn good lawyer and could convince anyone of anything.

It had been months since you spent so much time with him, but even still, the closest the two of you had ever been was in the car. There was an invisible line that neither of you crossed because you never wanted to get caught. It was always so light out, your creepy neighbors would just sit on the porch from sunrise to sunset because they were desperate for anything.

This was different. There was no one around. There was nothing to stop either of you from taking this further than you ever had. This was the extent of your relationship. Stealing moments. Secrets. But he had never touched you, he’d never kissed you. It was all you could think about in that moment.

“What was all of that?” he asked.

“What?”

“All that bullshit? You lied to Laurie.”

You scoffed. “No, actually, I didn’t.”

“Really? That’s what you want to fucking do with your life? Just be some god damn trophy for that boyfriend of yours?”

You shrugged. “I would love to be a trophy.”

He glared. “You’re smart, okay? And you’re interesting—”

“So, instead of being a trophy, I should be a spectacle? I should entertain people—”

“That is not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That I’m fucking angry.”

“About what?!”

“Him!”

Well, mission accomplished. It wasn’t that you were surprised he felt that way, you just weren’t expecting to hear him say it.

He sighed, turning up. He was probably watching the window to make sure Laurie hadn’t heard anything.

“What are you even angry about?”

“I work with his fucking father.”

“And?” you demanded.

He looked down at you after several seconds of staring at the window. “He always fucking talks about you. He thinks you’re going to marry his son.”

You shrugged. “Maybe I will.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?” you pressed. “Maybe I fucking will, Andy.”

“He’s an asshole. You tell me all the time. And if you think I’m going to let you—”

“Let me?” you scoffed. “You’re married. You can’t do shit.”

The look he gave you told you that was the last thing you should have said. He grabbed your shoulders and turned you away from him, pushing you into the car door.

“Andy—”

You were in a tiny pair of shorts, despite how freezing it was that night. That must have been what gave him the idea to smack you, more so your thigh than your ass, but it hurt, nonetheless. You slammed your hands over your mouth to stifle your yelp.

There were times when you thought you were going to die if he didn’t touch you. Obviously, you were always wrong, but you didn’t care. Sometimes, when you would plead to whatever or whoever it was up there, that you just needed him to touch you, just a touch, you would claim you didn’t care how. This worked. Even though it really fucking hurt and the cold air was still stinging your skin, this was what you wanted.

“You know what you need to be calling me, honey.” His hand was at the button of your denim shorts and you panicked.

You tried to catch his wrist, but he was much stronger than you. Before you said a word, he had yanked them open, the zipper too. But no, not now, not here. “Daddy, stop—”

“You still think I can’t do anything?”

“Please, not here—”

His fingers pressed against your stomach and traveled down. You instantly lost your ability to speak or think. When he reached the band of your underwear, he scoffed. “Wearing panties? Why?”

What kind of question was that?

“You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” he cooed. “Such a sweet girl.”

“Daddy,” you whispered.

“Daddy will stop,” he promised. “But only if you want him to. Do you want daddy to stop?”

“Please.” Yes, please. But also, maybe please, don’t. Please, keep going. Please, touch me more because you never have. Please, touch me where we both want you to so bad.

“Okay, but first, I’m going to check if you’re wet. If you aren’t, fine. If you are, well, you know you’re not supposed to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” you promised. “But—”

“Shh, baby.” He pressed his fingers down and you felt like you were dying. Honestly, like your life was on the verge of ending because nothing had ever felt so good and nothing should feel so good.

He didn’t go inside your underwear, of course not. He was always teasing you. Instead, he moved down until he felt the material was damp and made a soft, disapproving sound.

“I wasn’t lying,” you insisted, trying not to move too much. If he thought you were enjoying this too much, he might decide to get cruel.

“So, you want daddy to stop right now?”

You wanted to say yes, you wished you could make yourself. However, you stayed silent because you knew he would stop, you knew he would completely withdraw from you until you were begging him. Mostly, you couldn’t force yourself to want him to stop touching you no matter how wrong you knew it was.

“You know, baby girl, daddy wants something from you.”

You almost promised him anything he wanted but thankfully, forming coherent words was still something beyond you.

“Daddy wants you to come back this summer.”

No. That wasn’t going to happen. You knew now that it couldn’t happen. You knew now that if you were ever in a room with Andy, that both of you would get as close as you possibly could, that you would try to touch in any way that wouldn’t raise concern. And if no one was home? If Jacob was upstairs and you and Andy were downstairs? No, you wouldn’t do that to Laurie. Not in her house.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

You shook your head. “You know I can’t.”

“All I know is that I don’t like it when you tell me no.”

Which is something he wouldn’t actually know because you had never told him no. This was different. This was about hurting someone who had only ever been good to you. And Jacob—god, Jacob. If you were caught, Laurie would leave Andy and that was the last thing you wanted for Jacob.

“I’m saying no,” you insisted, but your voice was hardly more than a mutter.

He said nothing for several terribly long seconds, then pulled aside your panties and finally touched your pussy.

Your eyes fell shut and you pressed your forehead against the car window. His fingers moved higher until he circled them around your clit and you shuddered. Even biting your lip couldn’t completely muffle the sounds you were making.

He shushed you, a completely patronizing gesture as he was the reason you were being so loud.

“Daddy,” you gasped. “Daddy, please.”

“You want to come on daddy’s fingers?”

You nodded fast. “So bad, daddy.”

“Mm. Well, daddy wants you back, princess.”

“Daddy,” you whined. This couldn’t happen, not now. Where was his fear? Anyone could walk out. Laurie could just glance out the window and see everything.

“Daddy wants to see you back in the house every day. Playing on the floor in your tiny little skirts and your tiny little shirts that you never wear a bra with. Daddy wants to see you biting your lip and pressing your thighs together when you’re watching me, when you think I don’t notice.”

Fuck. You genuinely had thought you were being discreet. He was clearly discreet, however, because you had never noticed that he was watching so closely.

“But more than anything, I want to have you all to myself, baby girl.”

“I…would be babysitting,” you reminded.

“Jacob has a lot of friends. I’ll schedule him some play dates. Say yes.”

“No, daddy, please—”

“Say yes,” he ordered.

“I can’t.”

“I’m not going to let you come until you do.”

The noise you made was a cross between a cry and a whimper, something truly pathetic. He had you scared and he knew it, so he thrust two fingers inside you and when your mouth opened to scream, he wrapped his opposite hand around your neck.

You swore you would come just like that if he didn’t stop. You had dreamt about his hands around your throat. You would try choking yourself when you were making videos for him, but you knew it wasn’t like the real thing. When he would call you, you would always beg choke me, daddy.

His fingers were thick enough to stretch you even though you were dripping. Your mind wandered to his cock. You could feel it against your ass, and even through his pants, you could tell he was big. But it was little more than a theory. You’d never seen his cock because he didn’t send you pictures. Most of your relationship with Andy had been set around your imagination.

He kept you quiet with his hold around your neck, but his fingers fucked into you so hard that the wet sounds echoed down the empty street. If anyone found the two of you, you would be completely humiliated by how evidently desperate you were.

“Daddy,” you gasped when you felt yourself just right there, so close to that edge. Maybe you were biased in the moment in thinking that this was going to be the best orgasm you had ever had. You had toys, Andy had made sure of that, and some of them did the trick. But it was never like this. Close, at times, but only ever when you were making videos for him or talking to him on the phone. It was all Andy, he hadn’t been exaggerating when he was telling you no one else could make you feel so good.

“You close, princess?”

You hummed a confirmation and just like that, he pulled his hand away altogether. The one around your neck was keeping you quiet but your pussy was completely neglected. It was absolutely devastating.

Stupidly, you’d forgotten his grand plan of forcing you to say yes. You weren’t going to, this was so much bigger than this stupid affair. You could live with yourself knowing you were a whore, you could live knowing you were a homewrecker so long as no one else knew, but you could not and would not even attempt to be okay with sheer stupidity. And stupidity was playing this game. You didn’t understand why he wanted to either.

“How do you feel now?”

“No,” you snapped.

“Watch the tone,” he warned.

“God,” you huffed tiredly. “I can’t. No, I’m saying no.”

He simply hummed and with no warning, buried his fingers inside you once more. “Then I guess we’re going to be here for quite a while.”

A whine caught in your throat and you practically choked trying to talk to him. “Daddy, we’re going to get caught.”

“Then say yes. You think you can have an attitude and mouth off and I’m just going to let it go because we might get caught?”

Well, honestly, yes, you had expected that. This was bad and you knew you were fucked up because that was making it feel better. He was pressed against you, hiding you from any eyes that may look outside because he was insanely possessive and didn’t want anyone else seeing you naked. He was holding you so tight that it actually hurt and he was barely letting you breathe, you were getting dizzy and lightheaded and you just needed to come.

He did this to you so many times that you lost track. The only thing you did know was that it wasn’t taking long even though it felt like it. It was Tuesday night and you had been here enough at this time to know that this was a busy night for these rich people. You’d walked out of the house at 7:46. The bathroom light was still on and would be for another 30 minutes at least, because Jacob was a menace when he wanted to be—but never with you. Mrs. Johnson always came home from her cooking club at 8:20 to 8:30. Mr. Garcia would always come out at around 8:15 to leave his trash or recycling, depending on the night of the week. Sometimes, Mrs. Wilson’s grandchildren would stop by for late visits. They were all doctors and lawyers, at least, that was the reason they gave for never coming at a reasonable hour, but they actually just wanted money and knew she would be too tired to say no. Mrs. Taylor’s twin demons you once had the displeasure of devoting your Monday and Friday nights to had to go out every night at 8:30 until 10:00 because of some stupid project they were doing on stars.

Andy had to know all of this also, so you understood that he was just trying to call your bluff.

Well, fuck, it was going to work. You were terrified. There were so many variables, anyone could show up early. Or hell, there had to be some people here with drinking addictions, an affliction for pills, a house fire could start. Or a revealed affair could lead to a staged murder that looked like something else. Andy being so calm was almost worrisome.

But you were more worried about Laurie. Apparently, you weren’t like him. You couldn’t just shut off your guilt surrounding her. You knew you had to try one more time to get out of this. Andy was pretending right now to be so hard, but he was more than soft for you. He spoiled the hell out of you and let you be very bratty even though he put on a whole show that he couldn’t stand it. But you knew that when you gave him a look, when you softened your voice just enough, when you said the right things, that man would give you the world if he could.

In your littlest, whiny voice, you begged him. “Daddy, please.”

He froze for a moment, letting his hand fall away only to take your shoulders and turn you back to him. He was looking at you curiously, also a tad suspiciously.

You simply stared at him with pleading eyes. He couldn’t honestly think this was a good idea. “We can’t do this. Not around Jacob. Not in the house.”

Realization showed on his face and he scoffed. “Oh, baby, you really are the sweetest thing.” He leaned in to press you flat to the car door once more and brought his hand up, slipping his fingers into your mouth. His eyes were on yours the entire time, as you sucked and licked, and then as he started shoving them down your throat. You gagged, tears were running down your cheeks, and you had started rolling your hips, grinding against the bulge in his pants.

“You are the most beautiful little girl in the world, you know that?”

You hummed, thankful that you didn’t actually have to put an answer to that. He never stopped telling you that you were beautiful, that he’d never see someone else like you, but when you really had to think about it, you were just the average insecure person.

“You’re my little girl, yeah?” He pulled his fingers from your mouth, touching your swollen lips. “Tell me.”

“I’m your little girl.”

“Do you know how badly daddy wants to eat your pussy?”

It took you a moment, but when you realized that he wanted an answer, you shook your head. He didn’t talk about it much. He just liked to listen to you, he liked to tell you that he just wanted to be inside you, that he couldn’t wait to feel you around him.

“Mm…I do. I want to lick you for hours until your begging me to stop. I want you to come in my mouth. I want you to grind your pussy all over my face. You have to know how badly daddy wants you on his cock, though?”

“Yes.”

“Say you’ll come back, gorgeous. Of course, Jacob can never know, this isn’t a game. I just miss seeing you. I miss smelling your perfume and hearing you laugh. I miss having you so close.”

“I miss you, too,” you promised. But. There was still a but, even if you didn’t come right out and say it.

You felt his hands moving against your stomach and then you heard the zipper of his pants. Oh, god. He took your hand and slipped it down his boxers, you both shuddered as your skin touched his.

His eyes fell shut and he took a deep breath in. He tightened his hand around yours and began slowly jerking your hand up and down his cock. “What do you think, baby girl?”

“You’re really big, daddy.” And so fucking thick, you were going crazy just picturing yourself trying to ride him. He was much bigger than your boyfriend, much bigger than anyone else you’d ever fucked.

“Imagine my cock inside your beautiful little cunt. I bet it’ll hurt so much that you cry. And I am going to pound that pussy until you are so stretched and used that your boyfriend won’t be able to make you come at all.”

You wanted nothing more, but you also wanted to have a little bit of fun. “I said you were big…but I didn’t say you were bigger than him.”

He pulled his hand and yours out of his pants and the next second, he was on you. His hand was around your neck, his other holding your jaw, and his face just inches away from yours. “You fucking little brat. You’re lucky I don’t make you get on your knees and choke you on my cock.”

“Kiss me, daddy.”

And just like that, he was no longer upset with you. It was hilarious how easily you could push this man into anything you wanted. And he didn’t even care, he just wanted to give you everything you could think to ask for.

He sighed, glancing around. “I can’t do that, baby, not here.”

Then where? That was when you finally understood. He wanted you back so badly, because where else would you be able to do this? He could get a hotel room but if anyone ever saw you, there would be no defense. It would be apparent what you guys were doing. Your house? Your parents were always around. That only left his house and if Laurie was going to be gone…maybe you didn’t see much harm in that.

“Say yes,” he whispered.

You should have never turned around to look at him. He had won, there was no way you could deny him anymore. You nodded. “Yes, daddy.”

He smiled and your heart stuttered. He was the most beautiful man in the world. “I’ll let Laurie know...I’ll tell her this was why I was out here so long. And you, angel, need to go straight home, shove a toy in that pussy, and make some videos for daddy.”

It was weeks later than Andy told you he had a surprise for you. A few months had gone by. You hadn’t returned to the Barber home since the dinner and you kept your usual contact with Andy. Just more sending pictures and videos and texting every second it was possible.

He was still thrilled that you were going back for the summer and regularly checked in just to make sure that you didn’t change your mind about it. You still had a few months and he was constantly worried you would feel a sudden burst of guilt. It wasn’t too farfetched, actually.

When you got home, your mother informed you that you had received a package. She claimed it didn’t say who it was from. You knew what that meant. You had checked your phone that morning and saw a text informing you to expect something.

You texted Andy, I got it, then you went to your drawers to pick out something skimpy and lacy.

Good. Take off all your clothes.

Odd, he usually wanted you wearing something. You did as was asked of you and let him know when you were ready for more instruction.

Go to your bathroom with the box.

Once more, you let him know when you’d complied with his orders.

Open the box.

Inside was another smaller box, a picture clearly displaying the product. He bought you a dildo, a rather large one. You didn’t normally get toys this size, they were harder to film with.

Before you could respond, he texted again. Get it out of the box and clean it really well, then stick it to the floor.

Again, you followed his directions. Once it was set up and immovable, you let him know.

Get your laptop, we’re going to Skype.

That left you naked in front of your laptop that was a few feet away. He had you sitting with your legs bent and spread wide so he could see your pussy.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt, that was the first thing you noticed. The second was his background, you didn’t recognize it.

“Where are you, daddy?”

“Home. My office. Laurie’s sister is in town so they both went out to see her. Focus, baby. I’m going to send you some videos that I want you to watch.”

“Videos?” You had a feeling you already knew what he meant. And mere seconds later, got confirmation through the email link he sent to you. Porn. Not surprising and you weren’t really opposed.

The videos he sent you were all starred older men, many roleplaying as the stepfather, and younger women playing the innocent, naïve daughter. Older than you mostly, but still significantly younger than the men they were fucking. The videos started tame, small, just cheesy scenarios and rough sex following. But as he sent you more, the men became more dominant. They would choke, pull hair, spank, call her degrading names. You didn’t hate any of it.

He wouldn’t let you touch yourself and he didn’t touch himself. He just watched you the entire time, sometimes talking and asking you questions, but he mainly just wanted you focusing on this. He made you keep your legs open so he could make sure you weren’t being sneaky, which was slightly humiliating. You felt that voicing that, however, would be considered talking back.

It was nearly an hour later that he requested you show him how wet you were. Your fingers frantically ran through your cunt and you held them out toward the camera. He told you to pause the video and get on the dildo. You gracelessly rolled onto your knees, your legs just a little tired from the uncomfortable position he’d directed you to hold for so long. You climbed over the toy, one hand holding it as you straddled it.

“Just take it slow, baby girl.”

You carefully spread your knees further, bringing your pussy closer to the head of the fake cock. You heard him shifting as soon as if touched your skin. You weren’t as nervous as you should have been, you figured you were wet enough to take it all. That insatiable longing to be filled and ruthlessly fucked by him clouded your mind.

As soon as it was inside you by what probably wasn’t even an inch, you froze. Yes, bigger than anything you’d ever taken. It stung a little, yet you didn’t want to pull off completely. You kind of liked the pain anyway.

“Keep going.”

“It hurts.”

“Just try for me, angel.”

You set your hands to the floor, once again spreading your legs wider. The ache didn’t dull as you kept going. “Daddy, I think it’s too big.”

“I’m bigger, that’s why I want you to get used to it.”

Bigger? Even though you were struggling to handle this, you wanted him instead of the toy. You wanted him on top, forcing you to take his cock, cooing to you and kissing your face the whole time. This was a flawed plan that he came up with because you were going to need some major convincing to get any further on this thing.

“Take a minute,” he decided, and you needed no further prompt to pull off.

You hissed lightly, looking at it. You had barely made it down the head. So, this was going to be one of those long calls.

“Use your mouth,” he instructed.

That you could do. You leaned over it, immediately dropping down until it hit the back of your throat. Your eyes flickered up to the screen where you saw his arm moving so slowly, back and forth. You would ask later if you could see him, when you didn’t have something in your mouth.

“Baby doll, you are fucking beautiful.”

You hummed, pulling back and then sliding back down.

“Gag on it. I want to hear you choking.”

You prepped your throat by bobbing up and down, taking it a little further each time. It wasn’t until your nose was hovering just above the floor that you gagged loudly. You backed off hurriedly but did it once more, a second time, a third, a fourth, until he told you to stop.

“Stay there, sweetheart, keep it down your throat. Try swallowing around it. I want you to get used to that, too. That’s how I love having my cock sucked.”

You obeyed, attempting to swallow around the thick piece of silicone. Those tries were followed by a lot of short coughs, gagging noises, and your body moving almost violently every time you got just a little too ahead of yourself. You were suddenly very thankful that you’d woken up late, since you’d stayed up until almost 5 in the morning talking to him, and hadn’t had time to eat anything.

“You think you can do it now?”

You hummed and hoped he wouldn’t press for more. You weren’t sure. You were nervous to try but it wasn’t like he was going to let you off that easy.

“Okay, try again.”

Positioning yourself over it, you realized you were much wetter now. Getting the head inside was easy enough but just as soon, it started to hurt again.

“You okay, princess?”

“Yeah.” You turned your attention down and tried to force yourself to relax. You were nervous, double that now because you didn’t want to fail in front of Andy. You wanted to show him that you knew what you were doing and that when he finally fucked you, it was going to be perfect. You didn’t want him to think of you as some inexperienced little girl.

“Remember, take it easy. Don’t hurt yourself.”

You never thought you would have an issue with him babying you. “I wish this was your cock, daddy.”

He hummed as if it was a question but was much more focused on your comfort than your attempts to distract him.

“Mhm,” you returned. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me. I can’t wait to be filled up and dripping with your cum.”

“I’ll cover you in my cum, sweetheart. You wanna try taking a little more?”

You hadn’t moved and it was still aching, but your mind was getting hazy. You were thinking about Andy and how good he was going to fuck you. You wanted it so hard and so fast that you didn’t think the dildo would even suffice. You lowered a tad too fast, earning a disapproving sound from him.

And yes, it hurt, but admitting any type of defeat was beyond out of the question. “Fuck, daddy, it’s so big,” you sighed. You didn’t pull off, but you tried shifting your hips to get a little more comfortable.

“Fuck yourself with it.”

You used your arms for balance and began pulling back carefully before dropping back down. You did this several more times until it was no longer uncomfortably painful. “Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

You pushed yourself up, balancing on your knees as your hands came up to your breasts. “Can I see you?”

He arched an eyebrow at you. “You wanna see me?”

You nodded. “Please?”

He sat up, pushing the laptop back as he stood. You finally got to see that hard stomach you had been pressed against that night and it did not disappoint. You had no idea that he was going to look so strong and beautiful—and honestly, what the hell was he doing with you? You were confident enough and sometimes, some days when things were just going your way, you even loved how you looked. But Andy was inhumanly, unfairly breathtaking.

Then you saw his cock and you instantly whimpered. He was so big, bigger than the toy just as he’d claimed. You’d suspected he was exaggerating, most men did. He laid his cock out on the desk, tip leaking, skin angry and red.

“Daddy,” you whispered.

“What, honey?”

“I can’t wait for summer. I need you now.”

“Just be patient. You need to get a little more accustomed to the toy first because I’m not sure I’m going to be able to be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“You want daddy to make it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Touch your clit, princess. I want to see you come.”

Your hand snapped down to your cunt, mindlessly searching for, and at times successfully catching, that hypersensitive spot. As soon as you heard him grunting, jerking himself off to the sight of you, you knew you weren’t going to last long.

You watched his arm move, the way his muscles tensed, you noticed the veins. He wasn’t the kind of man to show off. His suits were always fitted and occasionally, he wore a short sleeve tee, but you were starting to realize he was rather modest. It was this secret that he finally told you, he was finally showing you parts of himself that you never would have known about had he not extended some type of trust to you.

You needed him to fuck you. You needed him wrapping his arms around you and holding you against his chest, hips thrusting into yours. You were bouncing on the dildo now, uncaring of how much it hurt, fingers still rubbing large, unskilled circles into your clit. You were high off him, completely entranced and focused on Andy. “Daddy…”

“You close?”

“Yes. Can I please come?”

“You can come, angel.” He stroked himself faster, opposite hand settling on the desk as he leaned over a little.

You took as much of the dildo as you could and stayed, just focusing on touching your clit. You whimpered and whined as you approached your finish, mewling ‘daddy’ at least a dozen times, and told him several times that you needed him inside you, and promised you would do anything for his cock. He was quiet even though he was still fucking his fist, wanting to hear every sound you were making for him.

You nearly collapsed when your orgasm hit. Thankfully, instead of down—because seriously, this was an obnoxiously large toy and there was still so much that wasn’t inside you yet—you fell forward and caught yourself with both hands. You continued to roll your hips, haphazardly moving your hair out of the way with one hand at a time so he could see your breasts move and just how far down you were getting. One feeling you never quite got rid of, no matter what you were doing, no matter how good whatever you were being fucked with was: his praise was even better than coming.

“Fuck, baby girl,” he blurted out. You heard one of his knees buckle, it hit the desk he was standing behind.

“Are you close, daddy?”

He hummed shortly.

“I wish I was there, daddy. I want to taste you so bad.”

And that was all he needed. With a slight groan, his cum streaked out onto the desk between him and his laptop. His hand slowed but didn’t fully stop until he was done coming. He fell back into his chair, chest rising and falling with his quick breaths.

“You want me to come over, daddy? I could help you clean your desk.”

He scoffed. “Come on, princess, don’t start being a tease.”

“I’m not,” you promised. “Really, I’ll come over if you want me to.”

He finally looked back at the screen, eyes moving over you as you pushed yourself back onto your knees. Though you still felt the toy was too big, it no longer hurt so you were counting this a success. If you continued to use it every day until you were working for him again, fucking him wouldn’t be so difficult. At least you hoped.

“You wanna come over? You’re not scared of getting caught anymore?”

You shrugged. Yes, you were still terrified but your pathetic desire to be touched by that man could make you do some pretty stupid things.

“Don’t be a brat,” he scoffed.

“Then you should come here. My parents won’t notice.”

“I’m not some uncontrollably horny teenage boy you can convince to sneak in through your window. Come on, you just gotta wait a little longer.”

You sighed. “But I want you.”

“I know, trust me, I want you…” His eyes lowered on the screen and he sighed. “I want to taste you, too. Especially after you just finished.”

You leaned forward to grab the edge of the laptop and pulled it closer. “Look, daddy, I took a lot.”

“You did, baby,” he agreed, voice still just a little light. You came down much faster than him. You had to stall and get him ready to go before he decided it was time to end the call. You wanted to see him. In person. And you were not opposed to playing dirty.

“Do you want me to try again? I can do more—”

“No, no, don’t worry about it, angel. You did good today, you need to rest before we do this again. Maybe take a day or two.”

A day or two? Fuck that. He couldn’t see your face, all he could actually see was the dildo still buried in your pussy. You looked down, finding your slick was dripping down the toy. This was going to be easy. You took your fingers and ran them up, collecting what had leaked out of you. You brought it up to your mouth and moaned lewdly—you had to be a little extra, just to make sure he knew.

“Sweetheart,” he warned.

“I wish you could taste me, too, daddy. I’m really good.”

“Come on,” he complained. “Stop it, right now.”

“I could get in my car right now, daddy. We could drive out to that dead-end street by the park. Just one quick, little taste and then I’ll come back home and get into bed and make some more videos for you.”

He said nothing, which you always knew actually meant that you were closer than he wanted to let on.

“Please, daddy? I just need something…summer is so far away.”

“Damn it,” he muttered, finally sitting up straight in the chair. “Damn it, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry, daddy but I really, really need you.” You started to pull your hips up and then slowly slid back down. “Can’t you hear how wet I still am?”

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Okay. Okay, fine.”

You shoved the laptop back, leaning down on your forearms. “Really?”

“But you’re going to keep that toy inside your pussy.”

“What?”

“Keep it right where it is. Get dressed. Drive to the dead-end street. Wait for me. Oh, bring a towel.”

“A towel?” You tried not to sound too excited, but you knew you’d failed. He wasn’t really planning on fucking you, was he? You wanted it, you would never say no to that man, but you hadn’t thought it would be so easy.

“You’ll need to bite down on something when I’m spanking you.”

Oh, fuck.

#andy barber x reader #always accepting andy requests just fyi #my writing

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talas-starlight · 4 years

Text

Scarred Spirit - Zuko x fem!reader (pt.2)

SUMMARY: reader faces the consequences of interfering with the Agni Kai (emotionally and physically)

WORD COUNT: 3.9k

WARNINGS: angst. Torture, semi nudity (NOT sexually) –traumatising!! physical and some mental abuse. Violence. Mentions/descriptions of death. Crying. Swearing. Ozai being a literal nutter. Azula being nutter 2.0.

A/N: THIS IS A REPOST FROM THE AUTHOR OF THIS FIC - I had some complications with the original blog this fic was posted on so please show this some love,, ALL FUTURE CHAPTERS FOR THIS FIC WILL BE POSTED HERE!! hi friends!! Thank you to everyone who showed some love to the first chapter eep! Anyway I’m really scared for y’all to read this one, but!! I’m aiming to have the gaang in the next one so if you hate this I’m sorry but I didn’t want the story to be rushed so I couldn’t bring myself to skip this :// Please read the warnings!!

Also! In this part italics are internalised thoughts 😊

OTHER PARTS: pt1 / pt3 / pt4 / pt5 / pt6

MASTERLIST: Here!

The Fire Lords command echoed throughout the room, encompassing the crowd in a thick silence.

Zuko let out a small gasp, one only you were able to hear. After experiencing just a fragment of the physical pain he endured, you didn’t want him to make any decisions he would regret, especially if he was considering to defend you. You didn’t deserve it. Burnt, dead skin, blisters across your left side in the hot atmosphere around you. Your heart begins to tighten and rip you apart all at the same time, realising how much pain you caused for taking all of those lives.

Continuing to kneel on the floor of the duelling platform, you’re frozen, filled with disgust as you finally acknowledge the person you became. From your first commission four years ago, you were numbed to the experience of taking someone’s life. Seeing the life fade from someone’s eyes as you plunged your flame lit sword into their chest, you felt nothing. It was as if it were just a switch inside of them, nothing more. One moment they were there, the next they’re not. You recall Zemin’s reaction when you recounted the events of your first kill, and he didn’t make it seem like it mattered. His only response was to scold you for showing off because you didn’t need to light your sword on fire to kill the man.

Managing to push through the new thoughts and emotions that have awoken within you, your mind travels back to the boy behind you. Despite what you’re currently feeling, it will never amount to the emotional pain he has after being attacked by his father. Fire Lord or not.

Continuing to face the floor, you can’t bring yourself to even glance at Zuko, barely managing to croak out, “Forget who I am. Stay alive, that would be enough.”

You feel his stare to the back of your head. You wish you could turn around and say something, anything at all, maybe even hold him. Anything to get rid of the disgusting, vulnerable, and isolating feelings within you. You wanted to tell him he didn’t deserve it, even if you didn’t know who he really was. Because as much as you hated to admit it, you were afraid. So fucking afraid. Zemin never taught you what to do in these situations, especially anything involving saving the Prince’s life.

Unknown to you, Zuko’s right arm cautiously reaches out to take hold to the back of your robes. So close his fingertips graze the fabric, but not close enough. The two nearest guards rushed to grab you while everyone in the crowd stared at your figure on the duelling ground.

With one guard on either side of you, they grabbed your arms and shoved you off the platform. Hissing, and failing to shove down a pathetic sob ripping through your half-burnt throat, you fall onto your hands and knees. A moment later, the guards were back at your side, dragging you through the door you couldn’t bring yourself to walk through minutes earlier.

Freedom feels like a distant, pathetic dream.

You try to take in the palace around you as they drag you to the right. Connecting where you are to the map, you saw last night, becomes increasingly difficult as the prolonged burning sensation on your skin begins to fog your mind. It’s no use keeping your eyes open. The dark colours of the palace give you a headache. You want to pass out. Give up completely. But Zemin didn’t lock you up in a pitch-black, underground labyrinth, for three months when you were eight to learn nothing. Instincts kicking in, you allow your eyes to close and begin to count your movements, listening to your surroundings.

20 steps forward.

Turn left.

15 steps.

Turn right.

You notice the guard to your left has a weaker hold on you than your right. Possibly about of disgust for holding your arm, or maybe to cause less pain. You assume the former.

18 steps.

The guards come to a stop.

You feel the guard to your left, slightly turning her body towards you. “Hey, maybe we should stop for a bit. I think the kid passed out.”

Ah, so maybe the latter as well then.

The guard to the right scoffs at her suggestion. “Don’t worry about it. She’s not completely out yet, she managed to keep moving. Probably just weak from the pain. Stupid kid. We’ve got a long way to go, and the Fire Lord will want her towards the top of the prison.”

Still unconvinced the female guard persists, “Shouldn’t we be taking her to the infirmary? These are really severe burns.”

There’s a pause. Only for a few moments, but enough for them to weigh up their options. “We should, but the Fire Lord would end us if we did that. We’ll just send a healer to the cell after we get her there.”

The guard shakes you, forcing you to open your eyes. Guiding you out of the palace, you squint your eyes as the sun blinds you, eventually able to make out a tall tower-like building before you. Entering the darkness that lies inside it, you struggle to keep up with their pace as they wind their way further and further up the spiral. Making it to a cell, the guard to the right drops you instantly making you crumble to the floor, eliciting a subtle dig to your hip. You’d forgotten all about the dagger strapped around your waist under your robes—the one you used to kill the general.

While the guard is holding your injured arm tugs you back up, you decide to act while one of them is preoccupied. Balancing on your right leg, you swing your left leg around, slamming into the back of their knees, making them fall. You quickly take out the dagger from underneath your robes, flipping it in your hand and using the blunt of the handle to knock her out in the head. The thud to the guards’ head alerts the other ahead of you. By the time they’ve processed what happened, you ran to them, kicking them in the stomach propelling them into the cell they recently managed to open. Running towards them you drop to both of your knees, arching your back as you slide under streams of fire passing above you. Rookie move on their part. Bringing your torso back up, you send a punch to their face knocking them out cold.

You grab the other guard and drag them into the cell as well and swap your robes for their uniform. It’s too large for your adolescent figure, but its good enough. Taking the keys, you lock them both in there, closing the main door on your way out in hopes no one will notice them in there instead of you.

Breath, you still have a long way to go.

With determined strides, you make your way past other guards in the prison, praying to the spirits that for once they’ll be on your side. Following the steps you memorised in your head from earlier, you end up back at the point where they led you from the arena. From this point, you decide to go in the opposite direction to which they took you. To the left.

Stay calm y/n, you’re going to make it.

You find a door leading out of the castle, and you can see the palace gates in the distance.

Holy Spirits! So… I would have made it out in time if I left the Agni Kai… That doesn’t matter anymore, you’re going to make it out now.

Walking out into the open, you force yourself to suppress a scream of pure joy. Time began to slow down as you saw the gates coming closer and closer. So close you started wondering where you’d go once you made it through.

Those thoughts were abandoned when you hear screaming from behind you.

“Close the gates! That guard is the traitor! Don’t let her out, and close the gates!”

No. No, not again. No, no, no! Fuck!

Breaking out in a sprint, you push yourself harder and further than any training exercise Zemin put you through. You let out a painful scream as if it would make you run faster than the guards at the gates, slowly pushing them shut. Nothing could compare to how much you wanted this slice of freedom. After just a few hours of being in the miserable palace, you were convinced you’d rather walk and swim to the Northern Water Tribe without any food or water, than have to spend another moment here. Mind going into overdrive, you don’t seem to hear or even register the fact that there is a group of around twenty guards behind you, ready to take you down.

With an echoing clang, they seal the gates shut. You falter, slowing down as waves of desperation and hopelessness consume you, yet unable to bring yourself to stop completely.

No, please.

One guard managed to catch up to you in your moments of weakness, throwing a strong punch to your head before you have time to react.

WEEK ONE

It had been a week since you were caught (again) and imprisoned in the Fire Nation jail cell and quite frankly, you were bored. After your stunt when you were first brought here, they ensured that you would never have access to any sharp objects, serving food in wooden bowls with only your hands to eat. Bold of them to assume you didn’t know 21 ways to use the bowl if you truly desired to kill them. No one spoke to you, not even the healer who came in wordlessly the first night to treat your burns. You lay on your right side, staring up at the ceiling admiring the small light that came through the poor excuse of a window.

I wonder if Zemin was worried when I never came back. Would he be worried? No that’s a stupid question, of course not. If anything, he’d be annoyed that I damaged his reputation by getting caught… I still hope he got those gold pieces though, at least then I can slowly waste away in here knowing I don’t owe him any more money. Maybe he could finally fulfil his dream and go to Ba Sing Se. He used to always guilt me into learning a new form of fighting, groaning on about how he gave up the money he had to move there and start a new life with the woman he loved, to raise me. Idiot. He never had an obligation to raise me in the first place, I’m probably from nowhere, and my parents were probably mediocre people in the grand scheme of things. Who even were my-

Cutting off your train of thought, one of the guards walked up to the cell and unlocked it, another quickly grabbing your wrists, and latching them in chains. “The Fire Lord has ordered to speak with you.”

You crack a smirk, “Oh goodie, I think I’m ready for a rematch!”

“Shut it kid, you’re lucky he ordered that you can’t be disposed of… yet.”

Am I lucky? Being burnt alive and having access to a non- waterbending healer and a bowl of old rice is lucky? Oh great Spirits, thank you for gracing my life with these blessings from the great Fire Nation.

What. A. Load. Of. Shit.

Leading you to the palace, you make it into the throne room. At this point, you wanted to laugh at their efforts to scare you.

Really? Dark Lighting and a fire wall right in front of the throne you sit high and mighty? If only I were an Airbender, then I could huff and puff until you fall into the flames.

A guard standing near the Fire Lord is the first to speak. “Bow before your Fire Lord!”

Spitting on the ground, you look at Ozai in the eye. “I will never bow before you!”

He laughs.

“I know you are the one who killed one of my generals before the duel after acquiring your blade. It’s quite interesting how you managed to get to him without any bending, I must find and congratulate whoever your trainer was. Lucky for you though, the general was of no value to me and easy to replace. I will also show you mercy for what you did at the Agni Kai, only because it was my disgrace of a son you protected, and just like that general, not anyone truly valuable to the nation. Regardless of your crimes, you have already proven yourself a very great asset for a mere child. For that, I will grant you the ultimate freedom, free of any ties you have with the low lives outside of the Capital. Instead, you can directly serve your Fire Lord as my personal assassin. I will have the best swordsmen train you. Taking your abilities to new heights, you wouldn’t even begin to imagine for yourself. I will make you unstoppable. For a non-bender, that is.”

Based on the confident yet bored tone of his voice, you could easily assume he didn’t care. Yet his golden eyes narrow down towards your figure. Waiting. Testing to see if you dare defy his wishes. The offer is objectively easy. Technically, all he is asking of you is to do the same thing you’ve been raised to do, just under his allegiance.

Zuko flashes in your mind. Tears streaming down his face, and begging his father for mercy. “I will never kill for you! I would rather relive the burns you gave me every day than stand by your side!”

He sighs. “If that is what you wish. Maybe over time, you will learn what a great honour it is to be offered such an opportunity, let us meet again next week.”

The guards, as if they were expecting this, shoved you to your knees, ripped off the top you were wearing, and the bindings across your chest. Frozen as the warm air from the flames around you hit your chest, you were mortified. Knowing other guards present were intently watching you be humiliated in front of the Fire Lord, you forced yourself to control the urge to vomit the contents of your prison food on the floor. Quickly bringing your arms and hands to your chest, you winced at the sudden movement from your left arm.

Without any time to mentally prepare, both guards ignited streams of fire to your back. Instinctively you hunch over, attempting and failing to avoid the flames. Unbeknownst to you, everyone in the palace all the way to the kitchens, froze as your haunting screams echoed throughout its halls.

Through your tears and screams, you faintly heard the Fire Lord speak. “You will learn to agree, and you will comply.”

THREE MONTHS

Despite crying every time it happened, you became accustomed to the burnings every week you refused Ozai’s offer. You began to lose any emotional feeling when it happened, robotically going through each step.

They bring you to the throne room.

You say no.

You take off your shirt and bindings for yourself.

The guards burn you.

You cry.

Ozai watches you as if he had better things to do with his time.

Although today, hours after the ritual, you received your first guest that wasn’t a guard or a healer. You knew who they were after sensing them as they hid behind a pillar in the throne room every week. Sensing them through the body heat within them, a gift you always had since you were little. Theirs was crackled with so much anger and hatred; it was so unique to everyone in the palace, you barely had to think about it.

“What do I owe the pleasure of the one and only Fire Nation Princess being in my worthless presence?”

“Shut it scum!”

You let out a small laugh. “Ooo scum? That’s a lovely nickname, but honestly, a little bland, don’t you think? You ARE the Fire Nation princess after all, why not add a little spice to it?”

She didn’t seem to like that. “ENOUGH! You want spice?!” Shooting a streamline of fire from her fingertips, she shot at your head. Luckily enough, you weren’t in front of Ozai or defending her brother, so you swiftly dodged her shot.

Not giving her the satisfaction of retaliation, you sat in the middle of the cell, closing your eyes and crossing your legs. You began to meditate, trying to block out the irritating sense of fire within her.

She walked up to the bars, staring down on you. “I hope you know that my dear brother Zuzu won’t be coming back any time soon.”

This was the first time you’d heard about the Prince since the Agni Kai. She paused, waiting to see if she got a reaction out of you, but you were a trained assassin for Spirit’s sake, you had more control than that. Letting out a deep breath of air, you knew all you needed to do was stay calm.

“You do know what happened to him after you failed to protect him, don’t you? Oh! That’s right if I do recall correctly, you were so paralysed with what you had done, you didn’t even spare him a glance!” She let out a laugh as you remained still.

“Awww, yes! Poor Zuzu doesn’t even know what his ‘saviour’ looks like and he never will! You want to know why, scum?”

Not really but I guess I don’t have much of a choice.

“Because he will NEVER come back. He will NEVER step foot into the Fire Nation again because he was banished to capture the Avatar! It’s a bit ironic, don’t you think? All your pathetic little life, you have been KILLING to get out of here, gain your freedom, and you’re never going to get it. You’ll die in this cell. Yet, on the other hand, Zuzu wants nothing more than to come right home and stand by father’s side! That really does top it all off, doesn’t it, scum? You have trapped yourself here, to save someone who only just wants to come crawling right back. And if he ever did by some miracle, capture the Avatar? He would look you in the eyes and burn you himself for being such a traitor to this Nation.”

You tensed for a second, keeping your eyes closed you quickly regained composure. “Okay Azula, you’ve had your fun. That’s enough.”

She smirked with a sinister glint in her eyes. “You embarrassed him that day. You took away the little bit of dignity he could have had if you just let him get all his scars… Or at least let him die getting them.”

Enough.

“You will forever be a reminder of what should have been his. You’re going to die here for nothing.”

Enough.

“You thought you could do some good in this world? You were wrong! Your one poor excuse for saving someone’s life will always mean nothing! Zuko doesn’t care if you saved his life! He hates you! He hates you for taking away his dignity! You will die with him hating you! Your hope for doing good in this world means nothing because he is searching to take away the one thing that would end this war, even though they’re already dead!”

“THAT’S ENOUGH, AZULA!” Opening your eyes, they snapped from your usual e/c to a blinding golden light. The fire you trained for so long to control reached its tipping point and exploded from every pore in your body setting fire to anything in its wake. Azula rushed away from the bars of your cell as it melted around you. Feeling your hair raise in a halo of fire, you raised your right arm as a blast fired right next to her head. A warning shot.

The guards outside of the cell who have been watching you since you were imprisoned, stared in shock. Not once had you shown any indication of being a fire bender.

Generally, in this state, you were unstoppable. A force even Zemin didn’t 100% know how to train, leaving you to your own devices. However, these weren’t normal circumstances. You have been tortured weekly, barely given any food or water and countless wounds that aren’t even close to being healed. After the sudden use of intense energy, you felt yourself passing out, allowing the guards to grab you quickly.

***

Groaning as if no time had passed, you found yourself chained up on a boat. “Am I going to be executed?” You weren’t sure if you were worried or hopeful at the possibility.

The female guard you knocked out on your first day in the palace sat next to you, letting out a sigh. “No, but you might as well be in your condition. You’re going to Boiling Rock, into The Cooler.”

SEVEN MONTHS

The guards came by the Cooler to deliver your food. They usually throw it to the ground and leave, but it seems today they received news that was too good to pass up the opportunity to torment you.

“Did you hear that kid? They tracked down your poor excuse of a trainer and killed him. Figured if the best he could produce was you, he wasn’t even worth sending to Boiling Rock.”

You remained curled up in the corner, unmoving as they laughed their way down the hallway. As their laughs slowly died down, you realised how pathetic you let yourself become.

Why did people have to keep dying because of you? You wanted to scream. Burn this stupid icebox down with your hands. Set the whole place to flames. But you were tired. So, so tired. You didn’t even have the energy anymore to cry when they burned you every week. Regularly being exposed to entirely polar elements began to fuck with your body. It didn’t know how to function anymore. Physically and mentally.

Despite being four months since your encounter with Azula, her words continued to spin in your mind every day. What seemed to break you the most was that you knew even if she were right, you’d do it again. If you could go back, you knew you would jump in front of him every time if it meant he was alive. Knowing he was far away from this hell hole brought you a weird sense of peace, regardless of if he was searching for the Avatar or not.

Unlike him, you weren’t far away from this wretched place. You were helpless.

Grabbing the old and cold bowl of rice, you finished your meal for the first time in three weeks.

EIGHT MONTHS

The guards walked in to take you to the palace for your weekly offer, and for the first time, you were already standing. After placing the chains to your wrists, they took you out of your cell just like they did every week. While travelling back to the Capital, you continuously persuaded yourself, this was the only way. You knew, deep down, this was the right choice. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

Entering the throne room, you make your way up to Ozai. Holding eye contact as the flames burn between you.

Bowing before him in the most traditional Fire Nation bow you can muster. You bring yourself back upright, stance and face stoic, contrasting the satisfied smirk on his face. For the first time, he doesn’t bother to make his offer.

“I am at your full service, and ready to comply my Fire Lord.”

A/N: Thank you to everyone who is reading this or coming from my old blog!! please follow this one and stick around, I am currently working on the third chapter and a lil sokka oneshot :)) and to my taglist, i love you all, thank you all so much, i’m so sorry that you all have to deal with me rn and im so so sorry <3

TAGLIST:

@slythergirlimagines @mangoberry43 @eridanuswave @whiskeywinter89 @callums-keith @kaylove12 @simplyfandomish @khaleesi-of-assassins

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday, booksandeverlark!

Our sincerest apologies for the delay on your gift, @booksandeverlark! We hope your birthday back on October 22nd was a wonderful one, and that you got exactly the presents you were hoping for. To bring your party feels back around, the lovely @mega-aulover has written a monster of a fic just for you!

RATED E - For sexual situations and trigger warnings for manhandling and mild violence. Some Hunger Characters are off Cannon for the purpose of the story.

a/n Peeta Mellark is one of the worlds most recognizable stars, and he needs a break. He goes missing and is hiding in plain sight because he has fallen for Katniss Everdeen who is raising a tween Prim. Everything goes according to plan until one day Hollywood comes a’callin

- special thanks to @norbertsmom who beta’d this monster of a story. 20K sorry to Booksandeverlark for the lateness of the story I hope you had a belated birthday.

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

Pete Holly Golightly

-THE JUNKET

“Where the hell is the kid?” Haymitch growled.

“He’s in his bedroom,” his red-haired assistant said, popping her gum not even looking up from her phone.

Haymitch opened the door, and saw red. He took his phone and called the kid, and the phone began ringing. There was a buzzing sound coming from behind the ensuite bathroom. The younger generation never went anywhere without their phones. The kid was no exception.

“Kid,” Haymitch marched into the room and banged on the door.

He had a bone to pick with the kid. The junket was a roller coaster. The kid was barely coherent during the second half of the interviews. His co-stars did the heavy lifting. Haymitch did everything in his power to get the kid in this movie, and he was brilliant, an Oscar worthy performance, but now the kid was burnt out.

The phone began buzzing again.

“Come on Peeta. I know you’re in there I can hear the phone buzzing.”

It was silent on the opposite side of the bathroom door.

“Kid,” Haymitch said once more. Peeta was one of the most responsible people. Today was so out of character for him. Yet again, the pressure by the press lately made the kid feel like a guppy in a bowl full of piranhas.

A few weeks ago, some not-so-distinguished members of the press broke into the kid’s home. Peeta’s privacy was smashed when he found out it was his own mother who gave the pap’s the key to his house for a cool $100K. Ever since then the kid changed.

Haymitch was worried. The pressure was getting to Peeta. He was no longer having fun. His smiles never reached his eyes anymore. Haymitch was just about the only one who could tell when Peeta became Peet-the-movie-star. No one could distinguish the polished, charming, and funny persona from the genuine affable, fiercely loyal, kind kid Peeta was at the core of his being.

After the press junket was over the kid gave him the slip. Normally they talked about the next project or movie. Opening the door, Haymitch cursed when he saw the kids’ phone on the bathroom counter with a note next to it.

“Haymitch, I’m just exhausted. I need a break. I promise I’ll be at the world premiere of the movie - Holly Golightly.”

Haymitch crushed the note in his hand. He laughed bitterly at the code name the kid gave himself whenever he checked into a hotel. The kid loved the movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Thankfully, this was the last appearance Peeta had to make before the movie premier in less than a week. But a week later, when Peeta didn’t make it to his movie premiere, the entire industry went up in arms.

Peeta's disappearance was the talk of the town. Even three weeks later the fury hadn’t died down. Every paparazzi fueled by the promise of the mini fortune for the first picture of Peeta Mellark was now hunting down the kid. The good boy gone missing had every tabloid spinning articles and fake sightings. Peeta had gone into the Elvis Presley stratosphere of speculation. Everything from aliens, to he became a monk. One thing for certain, the pap’s were seeking Peeta like a struggling dieter seeking a rich German chocolate cake.

-THE SEARCH

“You got any proof you saw Peeta Mellark?” Claudius questioned Judy Morphling.

“You got the cash?” the thin girl with the dark circles under her eyes asked.

Claudius showed Judy the white envelope filled with a couple of hundred-dollar-bills. She was a junkie. And he took advantage of her broke status to make a quick buck to fix her addiction. Claudius slipped the envelope back into his pocket. He wasn't fooled by kids like these.

He’d spent the past four weeks hunting down dead ends. People willing to sell their left arm for money. True, there were other pursuits where he scored a couple of thousand. The hottest going ticket in tinsel town was finding the whereabouts of Hollywood's golden good boy Peeta Mellark. The movie he was in had gone to number one for the past four weeks. It was driven by the mystery of his disappearance, and the phenomenal acting performance in the movie about race. It was a true story, a love story about a man who moved heaven and earth for the love of his life, a freed slave.

“Okay,” she said.

“Now the proof,” Caludius demanded.

He was familiar with his informant's story, all too well. Judy won a popular game show when she was in college. She became an instant national sweetheart. During her 15 minute of fame, she was invited to every single hot Hollywood party. Subsequently, she got hooked on alcohol and drugs. One of the bellhops tipped him off that she was in the hotel where Peeta was having the junket and that she had seen him the day he disappeared.

She looked side to side nervously reaching into her pocket to whip out her phone. "Here."

With detached indifference he looked at the picture. It was hard to tell, the guy had on a baseball cap and sunglasses. Claudius swiped the screen and saw that trademark chiseled chin his ex fawned over. It was him. Still, knowing the kid had walked out of the junket didn’t help him. He wasn’t ready to part with his money for just any reason. “This could be anyone,” he said.

Judy lifted an eyebrow. “A friend of mine that works at a gas station said he also saw him.”

Claudius took a step back. “Sorry Judy. I need real proof.”

“I just need something to tide me over...please...look I have a friend... my friend’s name is Morph.”

“Morph like in the TV show?”

“His mom was a big into 1970’s reruns.” She shrugged, though the light trembling in her lips let Caludius know she was desperate.

“Okay look.” He took out a twenty and showed it to her. Her eyes went wide as she stared at the money. “Give me this guys information. If it proves to be fruitful, I’ll pay you what you asked for.”

“Okay,” she held out her hand. “I’ll text you his information.”

His phone buzzed. He looked down at the information. “That’s out of State?”

“Yeah.” Her eyes were on the money.

“You say he works at a gas station?” Claudius enjoyed taunting his informants. He waved the cash, like a cat and mouse game.

“Near the border.”

Claudius withdrew the folded bill. He needed assurances that she wasn’t just talking to get the money and not coming through with information vital to him. The payout for finding Mellark was nearly 200K. Judy licked her lips as her eyes followed the money reaching out with her hand.

“I’ll text Morph to give you an exclusive.”

“Text him now.”

“Okay, okay.” Judy’s fingers moved quickly over the screen of her phone. She even included him in the group chat. When the reply came back as “no problem”, Claudius was satisfied.

“Here ya go,” Claudius said, giving her the twenty bucks. He walked away; he needed to make the trip to Peeta Mellark’s last known position. He hummed as he got into his car, thrilled for the chase.

-LIVING WITH THE ENEMY

Gale Hawthorne glowered from underneath the tree in his backyard as District Twelve’s newest resident, that blond painter Pete Golightly, made a move on Katniss Everdeen. He was supposed to be taking out the trash when he saw them by the curbside.

They stood so close in the dark that she was swallowed up by the guy's physique. But they weren’t touching, and although that was a relief, he wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.

He liked Katniss. No, that was an understatement. He more than liked her, he could see that there was a potential between them. She was smart, he wouldn’t call her pretty, hell she never smiled. But she made sense to him, she was practical, determined, efficient, loyal, punctual, and some much more. Katniss never looked at him like a piece of man meat. A lot of girls looked at him that way.

Frankly it was great, but sometimes, Gale sighed, sometimes he wanted to have an honest conversation with a girl. With Katniss he could, he’d talk, sure she didn’t say much, but she listened and that’s what he wanted. He held a candle for her so long that watching her with the new guy made him grow tense. He wanted to punch a wall.

The nerve in his temple drummed making his headache even worse.

Rubbing his temple he wondered what the hell a guy like Golightly had that made Katniss, and for that matter, every single woman within a fifty mile radius act like a cat in heat. Even his own mother talked about how handsome the painter was. And of all of the available girls, the douche chose Katniss to hang around.

The peal of girlish laughter reached his ears. Gale walked closer, using the darkness to hide himself. He wanted to hear what they were saying. He crouched by her car. From this position he could see them. Pete dipped his head low near hers. Gale knew that hovering move, it was a move he used to get close enough to kiss a girl.

Gale furled his fist. He watched Katniss reach up and smooth Pete’s golden locks away from his face.

Katniss didn’t do that. She didn’t touch people, hell she didn’t like to be touched. He recalled how she recoiled when he tried to touch her. She did the same thing at Greasy Sea's whenever someone touched her by accident. Gale loved it when she scowled at them.

Then she leaned up on tiptoe.

“No, no, no,” Gale ground out. He then stood agog as Katniss lifted her head up to kiss Pete Golightly.

It wasn’t a long kiss. It was really a peck, but Gale could see that both parties enjoyed the kiss. Her hand was perched on his chest and his hand covered it while the other one cupped her chin. This guy was a smooth operator. Gale’s head pounded as he saw red.

Pete separated from Katniss and gave her a soft kiss on the forehead before he walked away to his car. Once he pulled out, Gale stood to his full height.

“I thought you didn’t have time for that.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. He stomped over to her, his fists curling and uncurling. He was trying to keep his calm.

Katniss turned around and gasped her eyes wide and silvery in the moonlight. “What the hell are you doing, Gale?”

She had the look of a girl who was properly kissed and that drove Gale insane. “You chose that pasty faced wimp?”

Her face transformed into that steely scowl of hers. She walked around him.

Gale followed. “I’m talking to you.”

She ignored him as she moved forward.

When she reached the front door of the garage apartment she rented from his mother, he turned her around, leaning down toward her. “What, you don’t have anything to say?”

Katniss looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. “It’s none of your damned business.”

Gale was going to say something to her when she opened the door to the apartment and quicker than a fox stealing eggs from a henhouse she slipped inside and shut the door in his face.

Gale pounded on the side of the door. This wasn’t over.

-80’s QUEEN

“Prim,” Katniss hollered through the bathroom door of the small studio apartment.

The apartment was basically a portion of Hazel Hawthorn's garage. There was no privacy except for the small airplane sized bathroom. She jiggled the bathroom doorknob. Prim was going to be late for the bus.

“Katniss!” Prim screeched from the other side.

She rolled her eyes at her baby sister's dramatic response. “You’re going to be late for school.”

The door opened and Prim stood there pouting, her blond hair a riot. Katniss did not dare gasp. Prim was a tween and Katniss knew how vicious kids could be at school. Instead she sighed, “Okay, what can I do to help?”

“It’s 80’s day at school today and I need to look like that,” Prim pointed to the picture on her phone of Christie Brinkley.

“We’re going to need a lot of hairspray and a brush,” Katniss rolled up the sleeves of her shirt.

“But I’m going to be late to school!” Prim cried.

Prim was twelve and at this age everything was a crisis. Katniss wasn’t as dramatic as Prim at that age, though she was moody. “Hey, I’ll give you a ride into school. It will be alright,” Katniss smiled over Prim’s head, their reflected images showed a united front. They were as different as night and day, but both girls had their dad’s smile and their mom’s button nose.

"Thanks Katniss," Prim said in a small voice. She was almost a teenager, but still very much a little girl.

"Okay, let's rock this." Hair and makeup wasn’t her strong suit but Katniss had a crash course having to take guardianship of her baby sister at the age of eighteen. When their parents died, Katniss fought tooth and nail for her sister. She didn’t want Prim to go into the foster care system. She elected not to go to college and found a job. She sold their parents’ house, paid off the debts and made a home for herself and her then 10-year-old sister.

It was a rough learning curve, but somehow Katniss made it work.

Taking a brush, she quickly brushed and smoothed her sister's hair. She took a portion of Prim's beautiful wavy blond hair and put it in a side ponytail. The rest of her hair Katniss curled and teased into perfect 80's puffiness. Combined with her ripped jeans and oversized sweatshirt she borrowed, Prim was perfect to go back in time.

They were rushing out of the house. Katniss started her beat up Camry and began to make her way down the mountain. The mountains of Panem’s District Twelve were a beautiful blue grey. A lot of the residents lived in the high hills because they were cooler than the valley below. It was private and no one got a house in the hills unless it was passed down by family inheritance or in her case, a rental by a friend of the family. The school was a good half-hour away from the entrance of the steep hill, but as they drove, the car began to shake as they made their way down a steep incline.

Her palms were sweaty as she frantically pressed on the brakes as they made their way down to a small plateau. She pulled the heaving, trembling Camry to the side of the road.

“No, no, no,” she uttered as it began to smoke. Katniss sighed and hoped that it wasn’t something costly. “I’m going to take a look.” She popped the hood. Getting out, she went to the hood and released the latch. She jumped back as a waft of billowy hot plume of smoke wafted from the engine.

“Dagnabit,” Katniss muttered.

“Is it fixable?” Prim asked out of the window.

She grimaced before she looked toward where her sister sat in the car, at this rate Prim was never getting to school. Her knowledge on cars was limited. She knew how to change the oil, change a tire, and do the necessary upkeep for a car. However, it was the more complicated stuff like identifying which of the hoses that broke causing her car to overheat, was out of her scope. That would mean she’d have to deal with Gale, a mechanic by trade.

Gale was obsessive about her, something that Katniss hated. They were once friends until Gale stopped looking at her as a friend, but something to be possessed. He didn’t acknowledge they were too alike, in temperament and personalities. To Katniss it didn’t matter Greasy Sae said Gale was sex on a stick, she just didn’t like him like that.

Her appetite for men ran in a different direction. Sighing, she gave the car a bewildered look. The odds were not on her side.

“Katniss, I'm going to miss school,” Prim said desperately from the window of the passenger seat.

Katniss felt bad. These were the times she felt guilty for not being a better sister / guardian to her sister. Prim was a good kid and deserved better. Looking down at her watch, time was running out. Squaring her shoulders Katniss vowed she was going to get her sister to school. “Come on,” Katniss said, reaching down and grabbing Prim’s knapsack. “We’ll be late, but we can walk to school.”

“We can call Pete,” Prim said quietly.

Katniss couldn’t help the flush that crept up to her cheeks at the mention of their new hunky neighbor. Those darned butterflies began whizzing around her stomach. Katniss wanted to hush them or at least put them on a leash whenever Pete was around.

Pete lived on the mountain with them. He was quiet, and he and her sister got along like chicken wings and buffalo sauce. Pete was the different her appetite was hungry for. Her mind replayed the soul stirring kiss they shared. They said a kiss was a window into a person’s heart, and if that kiss was an indication of what was in Peeta’s heart it was a three alarm fire that burned for her.

However, the kiss was something she wasn’t going to share with her twelve-year-old sister. Hell, that wasn’t something she wanted to even think about. “Prim.”

“Katniss,” her sister’s eyes glittered with mischief. The little imp knew what she was doing.

“I don’t need a man to come rescue us. We can walk to the school.”

“I know we don’t need a man, but we’re not even halfway down the mountain and I’m more than half-an-hour away from school. Pete is about two minutes away.”

Her sister’s logic was infallible, and Katniss knew it, but loathed to admit. “Fine, call Pete.”

-INCOGNITO

Peeta drove exactly three minutes from his home to see the old dark Camry with the hazard lights on. His gut clenched when he saw the petite fiery woman with the olive skin tone, eyes the color of a raging storm, and cute pert nose. They were seeing each other, not in an official I’m dating you way, but definitely in the, there was something going on between them.

Peeta was used to women fawning all over him. Not Katniss, and he’d fallen for her harder than a sledgehammer hitting concrete. They’d kissed last night. Not a gentle peck on the lips, but the type of kiss that proved the earth was round, because your world shifted on its access. One moment you were standing on the floor and the next you were standing on the ceiling.

He’d been a star since the age of six months. A casting agent walked into his parents’ failing bakery and spotted him sitting in a high chair. The agent convinced his father to put him up for one of those national baby advertisements. Yet none of the accolades he received compared to winning a small smile from the woman standing on the side of the road.

“Hi,” Katniss said pushing her long rope of braided raven hair over her shoulder.

“Hi,” Peeta said, climbing out of his truck.

“Hi Pete,” Prim greeted, her eyes alight with joy.

“Hey, little duck.” Katniss' sister Primrose was as infectious as sunshine after a rainy day. She was the one person Peeta was sure Katniss would put her life down for. He had never seen that type of devotion and love before. In the industry he was in there wasn’t much room for any sort of relationship. Everything was colored by money.

His own mother was the poster girl for how money corrupts absolutely. When that casting agent walked into the family’s failing bakery his mother doubted he would get casted; she often said he was an ugly baby. His mother was wrong. Peeta won the contest. His round little face with his priceless blue eyes was soon appearing on every jar, can, and package of that brand of baby product. His mother got bit by the show biz bug, or rather the money that he made from it. She became his manager, and without anyone’s knowledge, took money from Peeta. As he became older and less easy to control his mother became abusive.

Peeta longed for a normal semblance of life. Despite not having two pennies to rub together, Katniss was raising Prim on her own and she was doing it all right. Not once did he hear Katniss lose her temper with her baby sister.

“Hi,” Katniss waved back, her face a deep shade of purple. She slipped her hands into the pocket of her pink diner waitress uniform Greasy Sae made Katniss wear. Her white sneakers shuffled back and forth.

Peeta got out and slipped his sunglasses off. He opened the cab door and held it for Prim and Katniss.

Katniss rolled her eyes at him.

They had this discussion before, about how he didn’t have to hold the door open for her. Peeta knew Katniss was more than capable of opening her own doors, but he was a romantic. He believed in Arthur and the Round Table and a knight’s code. His friend Finnick often told him he was born in the wrong era. He stood up when a lady walked into a room, held doors open, and walked little old ladies across the street.

“Seat belt,” Katniss reminded Prim who already had her earbuds in.

“K,” Prim replied.

“Oh, your lunch,” Katniss said, taking out a brown paper bag littered with glittery stickers from her brown leather messenger bag.

“Katniss, pink panda bears?” Prim huffed.

“I thought you liked them?”

“I do, but these stickers scream six-year-old kid.”

“Okay next time I’ll do a plain brown bag.” Katniss put on her seat belt.

Peeta caught the way Prim’s fingers went over the stickers with awe and reverence. Once more he couldn’t help loving the way the sisters were a unit.

For the whole of his life Peeta longed to be accepted and loved by his family. His older brothers were self-involved and didn’t give a flying fig newton about him; he was just their meal ticket. His mother was abusive and money hungry. His father was a simple man who couldn’t stand up to his wife.

His dad failed to protect Peeta.

The lesson he learned growing up was that no one needed him. They needed his bank. That last stunt was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Peeta needed a way out and he found a way. His friend, mega star, Finnick Odair helped him get it. Starting over was worth breaking a few rules. He made a few withdrawals, put it in a new bank account and when the time was right, he left.

The trek to the small country of Panem that sat between the Canadian border and the United States border took less than 19 hours including a 90-minute ferry. Panem was a small island, with little islands scattered around it. District twelve was the smallest of the islands and had the smallest community. He chose this small island because it was so far removed from everything that reminded him of Hollywood.

He could have continued travelling but stopped when he met Prim and subsequently her older sister, Katniss. Peeta stayed far longer than what he wanted to because he was fascinated by Katniss.

Once they were on the road, Katniss kept on sneaking looks at him. It was when he caught her gaze going down to his mouth that he knew he was in danger, by the way he stiffened in his jeans. He looked back at Primrose in the seat and the pressing problem in his jeans shriveled.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Katniss said, clearing her throat. She picked up her phone and called the school and her husky voice on the phone made him uncomfortable once more.

Peeta told himself to keep himself in check. Peeta wasn’t a lady’s man, but that didn’t mean he was a saint. However, he was the type who liked to be in a relationship. In his opinion, the best sex was had when he was emotionally connected with someone. When it was used just to blow off steam or to scratch an itch, he found it empty and meaningless, so he stayed clear of women who only promised that sort interaction. By Hollywood standards, he was a virgin. Compared to him, Katniss was a unicorn.

He respected her and if she knew his thoughts she’d no doubt shoot him through the eye with her bow. To be fair, he was terrified of Katniss, especially when she was in what he called the ‘Hunter Mode.’ Her scowl combined with her glittering silver eyes promised pain and certain death to whomever was in her crossfire.

There were two things he learned not to mess with, one her sister Primrose, and the other was her personal business. Katniss was an extremely private person. Peeta sighed as they sped toward Prim’s school.

“Prim,” Katniss said. “I let the school know we’re on our way.”

“What about Greasy Sae?” Peeta asked.

“Greasy was the first person I called while Prim called you.”

They approached the school and there were a few stragglers, parents rushing to get their kids into the school building. Katniss jumped out of the car.

“Katniss, I'm not a baby. I can make it into school by myself,” Prim whined.

“Prim I have to sign you in, and that will continue straight up through high school.” Katniss' matter of fact tone of voice let Prim know this wasn’t the time for a pre-teen hissy fit.

“Fine,” Prim said quietly.

Peeta grinned. “I’ll wait here while you get her sorted.”

Katniss nodded, a look flitted through her eyes. She had been avoiding him, and in a way he had been avoiding her as well. He knew the kiss was a dangerous thing and with everyday he stayed put, there was a chance he could be discovered.

He pulled his hat lower and slipped on his sunglasses. Even though he’d let his natural blond hair grow out, there was a chance people would recognize him, his eyes were legendary. The only thing he was grateful for was that his mother despised his blond locks.

To the public at large, he had brown hair. For the majority of his career Peeta dyed his hair and eyebrows. He purposefully didn’t take movies where he had to be a blond. After his parents’ stunt, he had begun to let it grow out. Cinna, his stylist, helped him wear a wig whenever he needed to make a public appearance.

It was easy to slip on some glasses and walk out of the hotel. About halfway through the interviews Peeta had his double sneak in, so that he could escape. No one could make out the difference, well no one but Haymitch.

Peeta felt guilty for duping his manager and mentor. The wrap on the window pulled him out of his thoughts. Katniss stood on the other side, her eyes were staring at his hands. He didn’t realize the white-knuckle grip he had on the steering wheel. He felt the blush creeping up the side of his neck. Leaning over he quickly jumped out and opened the truck door for her.

“Pete,” Katniss mumbled under her breath.

“You’ve got your quirks, and this is one of mine.” He could see the beginning of a small smile on Katniss face and that right there was the reason he kept on coming back to see her. When she smiled it was better than Christmas, better than fresh baked cookies, and better than a greasy bacon double cheeseburger after a night out knocking back beers with Finnick.

He got into the car and drove out of the school parking lot.

“Look,” Katniss grimaced.

Peeta sucked in a breath. Here it came, the excuses passed off as rationalizations. Peeta dreaded the speeches that ranged from it was a mistake, we should forget that it happened, and his least favorite, it’s not you it’s me, I’m sorry I’m just not that into you.

“I don’t do that,” Katniss said. Her eyes were focused on her hands.

Peeta sat back waiting patiently for Katniss to continue.

Her cheeks were tinged with a warm red color. She wrinkled her nose and bit her bottom lip, all signs of her nervousness. Peeta found it endearing.

“I don’t go around.” Her leg began shaking now. “...kissing, I don’t go around kissing...”

“I know.” He put his hand next to hers, but didn’t touch her. Yet, the nearness of their hands caused butterflies to make an appearance in his stomach. The connection between the two of them was electric. He hoped she felt the same way. He saw her look turn from trepidatious to one of suspicion. He cleared his throat. “What I mean is you take care of your sister. She’s your whole life. You don’t have time for romantic entanglements.”

Her eyes opened.

“You have to worry about putting food on the table, a roof over your heads, plus everything that comes with raising a tween.” They came to a stop at a stoplight.

She blinked.

Peeta opened his mouth and shut it. He sighed and nodded; her actions proved refutably, his words were wrong. He didn’t hear her moving across the cabin, or the way her hands braced his face before she kissed him.

Peeta’s heart exploded like a redstone rocket leaving the mission pad into the atmosphere. Her lips were warm and supple, and they tasted of ginger and mint. His hands gently cupped hers.

Katniss pulled away. Her lips plump, her eyes were a dark stormy gray, from their kiss. She smiled at him shyly. “Thank you.”

“I think I should be thanking you.” The light turned green and he began driving. He couldn't hide the ear to ear grin.

Katniss raised an eyebrow and gave him a chaste kiss. “I like you Pete Golightly.”

Hearing his fake name sat like sour milk in his stomach. Peeta wanted to come clean to Katniss but didn’t know how. Katniss wasn’t anyone who trusted people easily, and she let him get close. He felt guilty for not being honest with her. But he held onto the idea that he was going to be leaving soon. He also told himself that the less people knew about his secret the easier it was for him to be able stay incognito.

He gently let go of her hands and he missed her touch when she pulled away. “I like you too, Katniss Everdeen.”

“You want to come overnight,” Katniss asked.

“As long as you let me make you and Prim dinner.”

She looked indecisive.

“Look, you’re going to be late picking up Prim tonight, and when you get to the apartment you’re going to focus on Prim and her homework while making dinner. Since today is Wednesday you do the laundry.”

Wednesday is the most dratted day...it runs a close second to Sunday night. Katniss hated laundry. She hated the separating, the folding, the waiting well just about everything except for the smell of the fabric softener. She said it reminded her of a spring meadow on a warm day.

“Okay,” she said. Laughter bubbling up from her lips. “How do you know me so well?”

Peeta winked slowly. “I always take notice when you’re in the room Katniss.” He enjoyed the blush that blossomed on her cheeks.

-THE CHASE

Less than two days later Claudius unfolded himself from his car. He pulled into the gas station near the border of Canada and Panem to fill up his tank.

A young family got out of the rest stop right next to him. The girls got out and were talking about Peeta. There was a billboard of the movie hanging right in front of them. Claudius followed them inside, he went to join the line, he had cash to pay for the gasoline. The girls queued up behind him.

“He’s so cute,” the young girl said, pointing to the tabloid with the picture of Peeta Mellark. The headline read he was taken by aliens.

Claudius glanced behind him, and estimated the girl must have been sixteen.

The other one who looked to be fourteen said, “He’s so yummy. Too bad mommy wont let us see his movie.”

“I know,” the sixteen year-old grumbled.

“Do you think his parents had something to do with his disappearance?”

“I don’t know,” the older sister said.

Claudius reached the front of the line and paid forty for gas. He walked outside into the sunlight. It had been a long ride from the junket to this small town. He had to stop halfway there and rent a hotel room for the night. After a complimentary stale pastry and tepid tea for breakfast, he was back out on the road. He was finally just outside the small town.

He walked toward his car and began to pump gas. The girls came out of the small convenience store and sat down in the small shaded picnic area next to the gas stop.

A young boy about their age walked by them and they were giggling and laughing.

“Girls,” their mother called out. “We’re leaving.”

“Okay mom,” the girls yelled out in unison. As they stood up from the shaded area. They looked up at the billboard. And continued to speak about Peeta Mellrak.

Claudius smirked at the girl's conversation. The actions of the young star were a mystery to Claudius and to the entire world.

Why leave all of the money and power behind, Claudius wondered? That question is what drew him to the story, he’d discovered. The kid was clean, didn’t do drugs, didn’t drink, he wasn’t broke. The kid had millions in the bank.

In his last movie, Peeta, was involved in the producing, directing, and script writing. The success of the movie had everyone clamorning to work with him. The kid was on the cusp, he had the ability to make more money and have the kind of power to make his own movies. They billed him as the next Ron Howard. Why would the kid throw all of that way? No one was that crazy. Claudius knew of one person who left it all behind at the height of their career, Dolores Hart. Dolores starred opposite Elvis Presley, and some of Hollywood's top male actors of the time. She left Hollywood to become a nun.

Claudius wondered if Mrs. Mellark had anything to do with Peeta Mellark’s Agatha Christie stunt. The Mellarks were a mess. The kind that were a paparazzi present wrapped up tightly with bright ribbon under the Christmas tree. His older brothers were sleeze balls. His oldest brother was in hot water for making several statements that were deeply offensive to a number of people. The middle Mellark was a mainstay in Vegas. He was a gambler and rumored to have connections with the mafia. He was seen with the daughter of notorious mobster Seneca Crane.

His mother, she was a joy, a really Betty Croker, complete with shark teeth. The woman sold her son’s privacy for 100 grand. The reporters entered his house and took detailed pictures of his home. The best was his color coordinated underwear draw. Everyone knew he was a boxer brief guy. His father was a patsy, with the personality of a limp wet towel.

Claudius wondered if they were the reason he left Hollywood? But then again, Peeta had nothing to do with his family. They lived separate lives. Peeta didn’t even have pictures of his family in his house. Only gorgeous paintings that were discovered to have been painted by Peeta himself. If his family was the reason, it didn’t matter to Claudius. He wanted to be the first to find Peeta Mellark.

It’s why he was in the border town looking for Judy’s friend Morph.

-NIGHT IN

Katniss watched Peeta with her sister. Her heart raced a thousand miles an hour, a common occurrence whenever he was around. He was washing the dishes with her sister as she folded laundry.

Prim introduced them, and Katniss hadn’t wanted to be his friend. She didn’t want to be with anyone. She had to raise Prim. Her sister took the priority in her life and few people understood the pressure that came with being so young and raising a child. She was still only twenty, and they were visited by a fastidious case worker Effie Trinket whose sharp eyes never missed a thing. If there was speck of dust on a lampshade Miss Trinket would spot it.

It’s why she stayed away from men. They complicated her simple drive to protect and provide for her sister. Pete however never imposed his person on hers. He never demanded that she pay attention to him. Instead he slowly and politely became her friend. She hadn’t wanted to face him after the kiss, but after fate brought them together, and she spoke to him in the car she couldn’t help but kiss him again.

That second kiss caused Katniss to realize maybe she was ready for more with Pete. He was kind, gentle, intelligent, witty, funny, and sexy. The last word caused her to blush, because she chose that moment to stare at him. As if sensing her stare, he looked up and his eyes darkened. His gaze dropped down to her lips before they moved up once again.

He was thinking of their kiss and Katniss squirmed in her seat.

Prim said something funny and he laughed.

“That’s just as bad as Gale making a pass at my sister.”

“No way?” Pete said gazing at Katniss.

He was curious about Gale. Katniss told him she didn’t have any romantic feelings about Gale.

“Way,” Prim said. “Gale thinks Katniss should date him because he’s so,” she said holding up her fingers in the air to make quotations. “...great.”

Pete didn’t say anything.

“They were friends and then my parents died. Gale expected my sister to fall at his feet. He kept on coming to the house to try to help, to make it known Katniss was his girl.” Prim’s face soured like that time she drank bad milk.

They never spoke about that time after their parents died. Katniss preferred to move forward.

“After the funeral he tried to make his move.”

“After the funeral, you mean the day you were…”

Katniss stopped folding the clothing. She had no idea Prim had overheard. She thought her sister was in their old home.

“Can you believe it!” Prim shook her head. “I was in the tree house hiding. I saw him grab my sister by the shoulder and try to kiss her, but Katniss pushed him away. She told him she wouldn’t have time for him, because she needed to petition the courts for me. Gale told her that raising me was a mistake. My sister kicked him in the nuts.”

“Did she?” Pete asked, his eyebrow quirked. Katniss could see his admiration, not for kicking Gale in the nuts as Prim said, but for sticking to her guns to take care of her sister.

Prim giggled, “He never saw it coming.”

“So how did you guys end up living in their garage?”

“Katniss had to sell our house to pay for the bills and for the lawyers and court fees.”

Katniss stood up and sighed. “Gale’s mother is the real estate agent that helped me sell our house. She offered the garage as a way for her to make extra money after her divorce from Gale’s dad.” Katniss shrugged, “She needed the extra income, and I needed a place to live. It was a mutual agreement.”

"Katniss worked really hard to make the garage homey."

Katniss watched Pete look around the apartment as if he’d never really taken a good look. His focus was always on Prim or herself. To be fair he wasn’t someone who took notice of the disparity they lived in. Gale constantly offered to fix things for her, including her person. It was like that perfect backhanded compliment. You look nice in a dress, you should wear one more often, or the one that always made her see red. Your face is pretty when you smile and wear makeup.

Katniss wanted to hurt Gale every single time he said something stupid and asinine.

Gale’s harsh words didn’t extend only to her person, they also extended to the apartment. Gale made her feel insecure about her flea bargain finds, dollar store buys, and hand-me-down furniture. He thought the colors dull, and her paint job was poor, but never offered to help paint.

Katniss could see all of the gaff’s she made painting. Katniss decorated their small home with calm earth tones, wanting it to convey peacefulness, warmth and be inviting. When they moved here Prim was ten and Katniss wanted to make sure her sister felt like everything was going to be alright.

The studio was small with a loft. Katniss gave her sister the loft so that she could have privacy. Prim was growing up and Katniss understood the need for space. Katniss went through those awkward years with their parents, their door was always open. It’s why she made a bedroom for herself in the nook below the loft. Katniss used shutters for a wall near the entrance and creatively used a tension rod between two bookshelves to make an entry to her makeshift bedroom.

Yet in Pete’s warm blue eyes she saw what could be considered admiration.

“You are amazing,” Pete said simply.

Katniss could feel the onslaught of warmth that rushed from her heart to her cheeks, because unlike Gale’s thinly veiled insults which hailed from a vain superficial perspective. Gale could only see beyond his own needs whereas Pete's hailed from deep within.

“Yes she is and she needs someone just as amazing,” Prim piped up, and Katniss was mortified. What came out of Prim’s mouth next however made Katniss want to bury her head in the sand. “Someone like you, Pete!”

Katniss thought she wanted to strangle her sister, but her feet were rooted to the floor. She glanced up and found herself staring at Pete’s lips. She wanted to be alone with him and kiss him once more but she couldn’t do anything in front of her sister.

“Prim I think you sister is more than capable of making her own decisions about who she wants to date.”

Pete’s words were commendable, and given the way his blue eyes looked darker and the fact that his eyes were gazing at her lip was a clear indication that Pete was thinking of the same thing, that kiss.

“You two are perfect for each other.” Prim’s gaze switched between Katniss and Peeta’s. “I am going up to my loft, put my noise cancelling headphones on and listen to my favorite K-Pop band really loudly in case you two want to kiss,” Prim wiggled her eyebrows with all of the mischievous and impish power she held.

“PRIM!!” Katniss gasped.

Prim’s peal of laughter exploded in the apartment as she ran up her loft ladder.

If Pete hadn’t been standing next to her she would have chased her sister. She turned slightly to Pete who stood with his hands in his pockets.

“I,” Katniss uttered, unsure what to say. The mood was ruined by her impish sister.

“Katniss, we can just hang out,” Pete suggested. “Maybe watch a movie? Or even fold laundry.”

Katniss wanted to roll her eyes at his suggestion to fold laundry.

“You doubt my folding abilities? I will have you know I know the secret of folding a fitted sheet, it’s a family secret but I may have to kill you unless you’re willing to die for it," Pete said wiggling his eyebrows.

"You know I am an excellent archer." Katniss narrowed her eyes in mock anger.

His instant grin and mischievous glint in his blue eyes caused a small fire to begin in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t explain the butterflies that sprung in her stomach whenever she was near him. Or the way she couldn’t stop staring at his nearly translucent eyelashes. She swallowed thickly as she stared at his lips and recalled how sweet he tasted, and the insane need, no scratch that, desire to walk up to him and kiss him.

“Oh hell,” Katniss breathed before she walked up to Pete and kissed him hard. Her hands reached up to cup his face while standing on tiptoe. She groaned the moment his arms wound around her, bringing her closer to him. Warmth spread from the deepest part of her chest and spread throughout her body.

The kiss wasn’t forceful, but man did it do things to her insides. Katniss disengaged and took him by the hand, dragging him to her makeshift bedroom.

“Katniss,” Pete raggedly uttered her name.

Katniss wasn’t even sure if what she was doing was correct. She didn’t have much, okay, in reality she knew zilch, zero, a big old donut hole about intimacy. The laws of attraction didn’t lend themselves to her until the day Pete Golightly came into her life.

She sat on the bed and scooted backward, trying to convey silently for Pete to come to her. Katniss wasn’t sure where this coquettish side to her came from. But Pete did things to her that made her want everything.

Her eyes scanned him as he stood by the foot of the bed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. If this were Gale he would have been the aggressor and that would have been like being thrown into a frozen lake in the middle of winter. It’s not that Pete couldn’t be aggressive, he was massive. His hands were warm and large, he was broad shouldered, strong, and taller than she was. Pete could probably bench press her caveman style, but he was sweet and polite, and that drove Katniss wild.

She sat up on the bed and crooked her finger at him.

Swiftly Peeta moved, coming to lay on top of her. She felt the moment he melted into her and she reveled in the power. They both gasped and moaned at the sensation of their bodies being pressed into one another.

Katniss tilted her head slightly to kiss him and little currents of pleasure flowed from her mouth to her belly and further south. Her hands grasped his face so that she could do something she’d heard about, kissing with tongue. It should have felt weird to have her tongue in his mouth. She instinctively sought entrance to his mouth and Pete gasped then angled his head and slowly opened his mouth for her. Her toes curled the moment his tongue greeted hers. Kissing was phenomenal, her new found favorite sport. Yes, it trumped archery.

Her hands released his face and began to roam as they kissed. Katniss had a sneaky suspicion that Pete was some sort of athlete because his chest was firm. Her hand snaked under his shirt and she felt the ridges of his abdomen. Pete moaned and pulled away, his blue eyes wide. He looked dazed, a flush spread up to his cheeks.

She wasn't the type of girl who noticed that a guy was hot. Not that she was blind. Even though she didn’t like Gale. Katniss could admit to herself Gale wasn't an ogre. He was actually good-looking in that tall, dark and too handsome for his own good sort of way. She was just not attracted to him. She was one hundred percent attracted to Pete. And at this moment, all the naughty things she never thought of, never thought she would ever want to do, and had no time for, were rushing through her mind like one of those poorly written super trashy novella's Delly was so fond of reading.

Katniss wanted the shirt to come off, she wanted for it all to come off, she wanted him naked. The word naked should have terrorized her, but in actuality it didn’t. She sat up and tugged up on his shirt. Pete pushed her hands down.

“Katniss we can’t.” Pete sounded like he had run up the steep hill carrying one of those 100lb crates of potatoes Greasy Sae had delivered to the restaurant. He sat back on his haunches. His eyes traveled over her and he shook his head. Katniss sorley wished she knew how to seduce.

"Katniss," he said before he grimaced.

She frowned.

“Your sister,” Pete said pointing up at the loft above.

She’d forgotten about her impressionable baby sister. “Dagnabit!”

Pete smiled gently.

“I hate adulting.”

“We all have to be adults.”

She fell backwards onto her pillow, frustrated. Selfishly she did not want to stop. Realistically Pete was correct. Prim was a scant few feet away. She couldn't act like a typical 20-year-old. She had to be smarter, which is why she tucked all of those awakened me-want-sexy-time thoughts into a corner of her brain. A place where boring things resided, like matching clean socks, cleaning the oven, or pumping gas.

"Talk to me." Pete laid down next to her, not touching her, but just looking at her. It was comfortable, it was nice and yet those butterflies were acting like they were banging spoons and pots in her stomach.

Talking was not her thing. As her court appointed family psychologist said, she was introverted, thoughtful and not someone who could eloquently speak unless pressured. This was partly because talking could lead to trouble. Katniss always reminded herself that until her sister turned eighteen, she had to be careful.

“You’re right,” Katniss sighed. “I can’t get carried away.”

“Believe me, it’s not easy walking away, but I get that you’re not ready for some things.”

“You do something to me,” Katniss blurted. “There are these butterflies I get in my stomach whenever you’re around.” She then realized how childish that sounded, she was twenty and not a thirteen year old girl.

He laughed.

Yep Katniss thought, Pete thought her crazy.

“I get butterflies in my stomach whenever I am around you too.”

“You do?” she was surprised.

“I do. You’re the sweetest most beautiful, bravest woman I have ever met. You are amazing.”

“I don’t know how to take that?” She was awestruck. She didn’t consider herself any of those things. Especially beautiful. She was not beautiful.

“Slowly like breathing. Let the words penetrate your heart slowly.”

Katniss nodded. “I just, I’ve never been with anyone. I don’t have the least idea about what or how I am supposed to act.”

“To be honest there isn’t one way to act; you just be yourself. If you’re not comfortable with something you tell me no or stop. Just like I pulled away and you respected my decision to pull away. I know this sounds like a cheesy movie line, but I like you, Katniss, I like you a lot. You are, and I keep saying this word, amazing, because I’m in awe of you.”

Words shouldn’t be that powerful but the way Pete wielded them caused her to want to rip his shirt and pans off and do stuff. What stuff she wasn’t sure, but stuff that people did in bed. She closed her eyes briefly and wondered what happened to the girl who a few weeks ago was grossed out at seeing two people make out in public.

He smiled and his blue eyes glowed. “I think you did a great job decorating too.”

“Now I know you’re crazy.”

“Given what you had to work with, you did amazing. Besides I’ve seen Prim’s loft…” Peeta grinned, the loft was a riot of baby blue, pinks, and purples. “Believe me you did a great job, even with your sister's space. Just enough chaos but enough organization to help a budding genius.”

“Oh no, she’s got you watching Pinky and the Brain?”

“Zoik!”

“Ugh,” Katniss said.

“What? I’m not a Brain, I’m more of a Pinky. Prim is the Brain.”

“Sometimes I am afraid about how smart Prim really is.” Katniss sighed. “Do you know she knew her periodic table before she turned three? She can spout all of the weights of the elements and is in advanced calculus and physics in school. I’ve asked her if she wanted to move on, you know, to a higher grade, but she said no because she wanted to grow up normal.” Katniss sighed. “She’s had so much disruption in her life. I just want her to have as typical a childhood as possible.”

Pete leaned in and kissed her soundly. Katniss sighed.

He leaned away. “I would like to take you out on a date.”

“When?” She scooted closer to him.

“What about Friday?” He scooted closer to her.

“S’okay.” She moved closer, so close she could see the pale specks in his blue eyes.

“Cool.” He gently enfolded her in his arms.

She’d never been held before, and it was better than ice cream on a warm July evening.

-THE SCENT

It took Claudius the entire day to track down Morph. Even with a stupid name, no one in this forsaken side of town knew the scrawny strung out kid. He went to every single gas station and no one could identify him.

Claudius was frustrated. Viciously glad the only thing he wasted was chump change. He was going to pack it up when he came upon a run down gas station near the border. It was a sad place. The kind of place people were murdered or bodies appeared. With a broken lamp and one gasoline pump because the other one had a white paper taped to it with the words ‘out of service’ hastily scribbled on it.

Claudius went inside and was struck dumbfounded when there sitting behind a laminated counter sat Morph.

“Morph,” Claudius said.

“Yeah.”

“Judy sent me.”

“Oh, yeah,” Morph nodded. His eyes looked unfocused and even in the dim light of the interior his irises were fully dilated.

Crap, Claudius thought, the idiot is high.

“Judy,” Morph said grinning.

“Do you remember why Judy sent me here?” Claudius wondered if this was going to be another dead end.

“Yeah.”

“And.”

“Oh.” Morph waited a moment. “Yeah.”

Claudius would rather get shot during a root canal. “Look kid, have you seen him,” Claudius took the tabloid from off the wrack and pointed to Peeta.

Morph blinked. “He was here, he paid for gas, cash.”

“He did?”

Morph held out his phone screen to Claudius. The thrill of the chase running through his veins. He showed him the picture of Peeta’s side profile. He was wearing the same baseball cap and sunglasses he wore in Judy’s picture. Morph then pulled his phone back and stared blankly.

“Can you tell me what direction he took?”

Morph turned his head. “Yeah.”

“Well.”

“He headed toward Panem.”

“Panem?” Claudius was struck. “Are you sure he didn’t head toward Canada?”

Morph took out his phone and swiped.

There on the screen was a picture of Peeta’s car with the license plate heading toward the Panem border. Claudius took the idiots phone and sent himself the pictures. He slapped a 20 on the laminate counter.

Claudius pumped his gas but mentally he chanted, “Gotcha.”

-CONSPIRATORS

“Good morning,” Prim said from over her bowl of cornflakes.

Pete grinned. The time on the microwave read 5AM. Rubbing the back of his head, he said, “Morning Prim.” He and Katniss fell asleep in her room. He hadn’t woken up until this moment. Katniss was still sleeping.

“So you and my sister,” Prim wiggled her eyebrows.

“Prim.”

She grinned then made little kissy faces.

“First, you are too young to think that way. Secondly, I respect your sister far too much…well, to push her into something she is not ready for.”

“Please, there’s no need for an explanation. I know you guys didn’t do anything. I came downstairs around eleven and both of you were snoring. You, by the way, drooled on her pillow.”

Peeta rubbed his face. He had a sinking suspicion Prim was going to hold this over him.

Prim smiled but as she continued slurping her milk.

“Your sister,” Peeta said, sighing. “I really…I...like her alot, more than a lot actually.”

“Listen Peeta,” Prim said. “You make my sister happy and she makes you happy.”

“Prim,” Peeta hushed Prim. “You can’t use my real name.”

Prim rolled her eyes.

She was the only one who had figured out who he was within seconds of meeting him. She waited until they were alone and then she began to grill him like a well done steak. He had been going to Sae’s diner for one of her infamous soups, but he also liked to watch Katniss. She was graceful. The way she walked around people without making sound or spilling drinks or bowls. He had been trying to gather the courage to speak to her.

One day Prim showed up and his entire ruse was over.

Katniss wasn’t the only Everdeen to be protective. Prim was like a mama bear around Katniss. Her attitude toward her older caused Peeta to have a deep appreciation for Katniss. That she sacrificed so much for her sister was humbling. Peeta wished he could use all of his money and connections to help out the sisters.

However as he got to know both of them, he knew neither sister would take money from him. These two were fighters, they were a team. When Prim figured out he wasn’t playing with her sister’s heart, she was a mini bulldozer pushing them together. Prim was, as Katniss stated, frighteningly intelligent.

“You mean Peeta?” Prim said it louder.

“Prim, keep it down.”

“My sister sleeps like the dead. And you owe me cheese buns.”

Peeta sighed. He’d forgotten the bet, which Prim won. Last night they did end up making out. He couldn’t help the buzzing in his body at the memory of the way Katniss silver eyes turned like liquid mercury when she was aroused. “Okay, we’ll have to go over to my place.”

“Why?” Katniss walked into the kitchen, her hair askew. Her sleepy face was adorable.

Peeta walked to her and planted a sweet kiss on her lips. “Good morning. I’m making cheese buns.”

“Why?” Katniss yawned.

“Because, you should never make a bet against an Everdeen.” Prim winked. “I’m going to grab my clothing and stuff. I’ll pack something for Katniss too.”

Katniss frowned, watching her sister walk toward the loft.

Peeta couldn’t help himself. He cupped her face and properly kissed Katniss. She hummed, groaned and moaned all at once.

She gazed up at him with awe and with the embers of desire. “I lost a bet to Primrose, and now I owe her cheese bun.”

“She shouldn’t be doing that, but your buns are well worth it.”

“You like my buns?” Peeta hoped she meant something else entirely.

Katniss slipped her hand around to his butt and squeezed him briefly before sassily winking at him. “Yup I just love your buns.”

Peeta laughed. And kissed her swiftly, feeling like he had come home.

-THE OUTRAGE

Gale wanted to rip the backyard tree from it’s trunk when he woke up to see Pete coming out of the apartment early this morning. They were laughing and holding hands.

Hi misery could only be accompanied by the rage he felt.

Katniss was supposed to his girl.

Gale closed his eyes momentarily as pain shot through him. He opened them to see the lovers wrapped up in each other. What hurt the most was that, this wasn’t sex, they weren’t fucking for fun. The way they held one another as they kissed, denoted tenderness, deep care, gentleness, and soft yielding toward the other.

Gale tore his eyes away. He loathed Pete Golightly for taking the one girl he thought belonged to him. The one girl he wanted.

Katniss might never be his, but he was never going to accept them as a couple.

-THE HUNT

Peeta Mellark was smart, but Claudius was smarter. With the plates he was able to trace the car. Peeta had turned his car into this obscure car rental in Panem’s Capitol. While he couldn’t confirm that Peeta rented a car, he showed the girl the picture from Morph’s phone. It was imperative he got that first picture of Peeta Mellark. It was now worth nearly 300 Grand. And Claudius wanted to sit on a throne made of money.

“Yeah, I’m trying to trace down my nephew. My brother had a heart attack and my nephew he’s on one of those retreats you go wireless.”

The perky blonde’s eyes widened. "Oh my goodness, are you alright?”

Bingo! Claudius said to himself. People were inherently good, well unless you were a bastard like him, but in reality they wanted to be helpful and that’s where he, the bastard, preyed upon them. “I am okay, my brother,” he added enough emphasis on the word brother to allude that he was mortally grave. “I just hope to find my nephew before…” He trailed off.

“Oh, I can’t give you information, because it’s private.”

Claudius grinned, “Yeah, of course,” he said pumping something close to sincerity in voice. “Could you tell me if someone has seen him if I describe my nephew to you?”

“Sure I can totally do that.”

“Great, you have no idea how much this means to me.”

-THE CONFRONTATION

Gale walked into Greasy Sae’s. He found Katniss briskly walking between tables, serving coffee.

He sat in her section, at the counter and waited patiently as the crowd thinned and she came behind the counter.

“Gale,” Katniss said, her lips were thinned into a tight smile. “What can I get for you today?”

“Coffee,” Gale’s eyes slid down her form. He recalled what she looked like in a pair of shorts and a tank top. She had a slight build, small breast and a small ass too. He thought before that outfit she had a boy's body, but he was wrong. That was the summer before her parents died. “And you.”

Katniss plopped the coffee saucer on the table and then said, “I’m not on the menu.”

“Well you’re sure on Golightly’s menu.”

Her eyes widened before she narrowed them. “That’s none of your damned business.”

“What? That you’ve been whoring yourself to him?” He reached out and snagged her wrist.

“Let go of me.” she tugged.

He tightened his grip, now that he had her, Gale couldn’t let go. He was fascinated by the silvery color of her eyes, the way her pert nose wrinkled. Once again, he thought she wasn’t beautiful, hell, she wasn’t even pretty, but there was this pull about her. One he could not let go, even though she was with that man.

“You’re hurting me,” Katniss whispered struggling.

“Gale Hawthorne,” Delly Cartwright said, slapping him upside the head.

Gale blinked and released his hold on Katniss. He frowned looking at the fat cow Cartwright.

“You let her go or I will call my cousin to arrest you for manhandling.” Delly’s voice was high and squeaky.

He realized everyone was looking at him. Embarrassed he pushed back his hat and said, “I don’t want anything from the likes of her.”

Katniss held her wrist protectively. Her eyes were a glittery silver. Her scowl was in place and he knew that if she had her bow she wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

“You okay?” Delly asked Katniss.

Gale scoffed looking at Katniss's wrist. “She’s not even bruised.”

“Get,” Delly said.

Gale saw that a few of the other residents stood up, their demeanor letting him know that they were backing the girls.

“I’ll be back.”

“No you won’t, I’m going to tell Greasy, and when she hears about this you’ll be banned,” Delly put her finger at the center of his chest.

Gale left, but he swore Katniss was going to pay for embarrassing him.

-THE DATE

Katniss was nervous. She looked at her wrist, glad she didn’t have a bruise after Gale manhandled her at work yesterday. She sighed and put the incident behind her. She wanted to focus on her date tonight with Peeta. Twirling to the side she fretted about the dress, was it too short, was it too revealing? She wasn’t sure about the color.

“You’ve got to relax, Katniss.”

Katniss swung around to face her sister. “You’ve got everything?”

“Yeah,” Prim said, rolling her eyes.

“Prim,” Katniss forgot to worry about her date with the worry about her baby sister.

“Katniss,” Prim grabbed her cheeks between her hands. “I AM GOING TO BE FINE!”

Katniss frowned. It was a night of firsts. She was going on a date with Pete, and her sister was going to her first slumber party with her friend Ginnee at the new girl Coral’s house. Katniss had met Coral’s parents yesterday when Prim came home with the coveted birthday party invite. Coral’s parents were from District Four and they thought a slumber party would help Coral make new friends at her new school.

Katniss thought Coral was okay, it was Ginnee, she didn’t trust. Ginnee had older sisters and brothers. She was astute and as slippery as a snake. Katniss frankly did not trust the intrepid twelve year old girl who would soon turn thirteen. “If anything even remotely happens or you feel uncomfortable you will…” Prim gave her a look that caused Katniss to amend her choice of words. “…can call me.”

“I will.”

There was a horn outside.

“Stop grimacing. It’s just Ginnee.”

“Ginnee,” Katniss muttered under her breath. “Just be careful, and have a good time.”

Prim grinned before she slipped her backpack on her back and sprinted out toward the waiting car.

Katniss stood outside looking like the proverbial mother hen with one arm wrapped around her middle the other lifted in a half-hearted wave. She couldn’t stop her sister from growing up.

As she stood there, Pete’s car pulled up. He came out wearing a nice dark blazer, white crisp shirt, and khakis. He clutched in his hands a bouquet of wildflowers. Where and when he got them she didn’t know. All she could think about was the shy yet sizzling smile Pete sent her way. And the breath she held when Prim left wooshed out of her.

“Hi,” she croaked.

“You look great,” he gushed.

Katniss looked down at the orange wrap dress Prim demanded Katniss splurge on and buy for tonight. “Thanks. You look nice.”

He grinned at her and that was how her control snapped. She stepped up to him and kissed him wildly. She moaned when his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to him. She was correct; kissing Pete was better than the thirty-one ice cream flavors Baskin Robbins boasted. “Oh Pete…”

Pete pulled back and sighed. “If we don’t get out of here now, I am going to carry over my shoulder and bring you inside, Katniss.”

Katniss raised an eyebrow, feeling emboldened and brazenly she said, “That wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

Pete groaned.

“But,” Katniss said, liking how her words affected him. She wickedly said, “I suppose if you want to spoil me for a nice meal, before I plunder you later on…”

“Do you not understand I am trying to be a gentleman?” His eyes were wide and wild.

Katniss wanted to sound coquettish, but she ended up telling him the truth in a rushed tortured tone of voice. “You’re not the only one holding on to restraint.”

Katniss watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “I am trying to think of everything that is disgusting and unappealing to make me come down back to earth and continue with dinner.”

“You are?”

“Katniss my brain short circuits any time you’re near, and when you kiss me I can’t even function. I have to literally sing the twelve days of Christmas in my head to calm down.”

“The twelve days of Christmas?” She couldn’t help the way a smile formed on her face.

“I have to keep on telling myself that you’re not ready, that this is moving way to fast-“

She didn’t let him finish. “What if I am ready to be with you?” It was impulsive and she was not sorry she said the truth.

“Are you sure?” He looked scared, almost reverent.

“I am, but if you’re not ready, then I’ll wait,” she said into his lips because he kissed her fiercely and such intensity that she was left breathless.

“Food,” he muttered when he pulled away. “Need food to keep up.”

He took her hand and tugged her along. The dinner that followed was uncomfortable in that they both wanted to go home and tear each other’s clothing off. Katniss couldn’t recall what she chose or what he ordered. The only thing she wanted wasn’t on the menu.

When they got to her apartment the thin wall of restraint broke and they were kissing wildly.

“Slow, must go slow,” Pete said as he struggled with pulling off his shirt without unbuttoning it.

Katniss chuckled at his eagerness. A smooth operator Pete was not, but she didn’t mind. She slowed him down by putting her hand on his chest and tugging his shirt down. Quietly she undid the buttons. His breath was labored while hers was calm. She was more than turned on, her underwear were ruined, to be fair, and her nipples stood at attention in her bra. She was the inexperienced one, but at that moment, Pete was the one with jumbled nerves and that made her feel excited, yet calm.

His eyes darkened when she removed his shirt and her hands slid up his chest. Her heart was a riot inside of her chest. Her blood pressure, no doubt, through the roof. Her mouth watered at the sight of his abs. She understood why when women said six-pack they went haywire. On impulse she kissed his chest and licked his pec and Pete roughly called her name.

“Off,” she said, tugging his pants.

Pete's hands flew to his pants and her eyes were riveted to his hands as the zipper came down. Katniss shivered now she began to pant. Her mouth opened and her eyes widened at the sight of him. “OH,” she said. Her hands reached out to touch him, but she glanced up to see if this was alright.

Pete tersely nodded.

Her hand wrapped around him and she sighed along with his groan. He was long and thick, and his tip wept with pre-cum.

“Katniss, I want to see you,” Pete’s voice sounded low and dangerous and she shivered.

Katniss leveled a look at him as she placed her hand on the ties of her wrap dress. He placed his hand on top of hers.

“May I?”

“Okay,” she gasped, dropping her hands. She was by this point unable to talk. The anticipation was getting to her.

Pete’s eyes were hooded and dark as his hands tugged on the knot at the front of her dress. “I’ve been thinking about this all evening.”

Her dress slid open and it slid off her skin smoothly like chocolate melting in one’s mouth.

Pete made a strangled cry at the sight of her. Emboldened by his reaction she reached behind her back and unclipped her bra, letting the straps fall slowly revealing her breasts to him. His hands trembled when he reached out to touch her, but he sought her permission.

“May I,” his voice sounded hoarse.

She nodded, but he just stood there staring at her. Unwilling to wait anymore she took his hand and slid it to her waiting breast. His touch sent her over the edge and her head snapped back and she moaned his name.

His free hand brought her closer and the press of flesh to flesh was an explosion more powerful than any force of nature. Their mouths met greedily, wildly, taking, giving, needing, and raising the temperature between them. She was a blaze for him and he was ablaze for her. He picked her up and mouths still fused, her fingers in his soft wavy hair. She pulled and played with the strands as they somehow landed on her bed. His mouth disengaged from hers once they were laying on the bed him on top looking down at her wantonly.

His lips began a decent down, his tongue tasting, lapping, tracking a path downward leaving her to be a wriggling mess. She called his name fervently as a tight coil wound deep within her womb. He paused at the juncture of her thighs. She could feel his hot breath on her inner thigh. When his fingers brushed along her soaked panties, she jumped.

“I want to taste you,” he said. His eyes flickered from her face to the crotch of her panties.

Katniss fisted her hands into the sheets. She’d accidently read about this in one of Delly’s books. She’d picked it up one day curious as to why Delly found them so appealing. What she read shocked her men kissing a woman between their legs sounded unsanitary. But right now, in this moment, with the way Pete was looking at her as if she was the most delicious plate of food it was the one thing she wanted. “Please,” she gasped.

Pete inched her panties down as if he was unwrapping a present and Katniss was relieved when her underwear were off and lay bare with her legs spread before him. He looked predatorial and yet worshipful. His hands slid up her thighs and a thousand points of electric pleasure raced to her core. And when she kissed her there, and she felt his tongue taste her and she yelled and thrashed wildly, her body shaking as he tasted her.

“Perfect,” he muttered, “delicious,” were words he repeated when he gasped for air.

Katniss didn’t care as she felt herself burn brighter and brighter, the coiling sensation whirled within her until her skin burned and she combusted with a loud sound and moisture seeped out of her.

She was barely back to herself before Pete began his onslaught again. This time, adding a finger, then another and like a dam, she burst over and over until she was a raw nerve, quaking needing more, desiring him to fill her empty spaces. The ones in her heart, mind, soul and body.

She called out his name, pulling him up to her so she could kiss him. His hands touched her and explored her body as they rolled around in the bed. Her hands also drifted over him. Her short nails scraping over his body, soft but hard, brushing over the hair that traveled down his belly button, downward to his cock. She grasped him, but Pete pulled away.

“I want you,” she growled.

His grin was instant. Then he said, “condom…”

Katniss was frustrated when he pulled away to find the offensive item that took Pete away from her. She was bereft without his warmth, and his heavenly body.

When he returned back to her his eyes focused on her body. With fire she opened her legs, an open invitation.

“Fuck,” Pete said. His hand ran through his hair, and once more his lips descended upon her center until she was screaming his name. And when he crawled up pinning her to the bed she was a disarray of sensations primed and ready. With gentleness he lined them up before his body dipped into hers. Tears slipped from her eyes as she felt cherished, wanted, and loved.

His eyes conveyed that and more as she was split open and her mind flashed to the first moment she saw him come into the diner. The way he looked lost and bewildered when he first set eyes on her. The way his hands shook after their first kiss.

“Katniss are you alright?”

Katniss was sure, “Yes.”

“I’m not hurting you?” he gasped as she flexed muscles she didn’t know she had.

She shook her head. And with that he began moving within her and stole her breath away. Being with Pete was more than a treat, it was life altering, soul shaking. He was trying to make her feel good and there were a few times she felt the stirring, but her body was too raw and frayed to really be engaged.

“Katniss,” he panted, “you’re not with me.”

“It’s okay, let go,” she urged.

“But..” he groaned.

She gripped his butt and scraped her nails and he shouted.

She loved to watch him. It didn’t matter that she didn’t come again. She was well satisfied when she saw him lose his mind when he came. That was her new favorite memory. A memory to remove all of the bad ones.

Nothing else mattered because she had fallen in love with Pete.

-LA LIVING

Haymitch ran his hands through his hair. Whoever said there was no such thing as bad publicity should have been stuffed with the food from the first episode of that food network show America's worst cooks.

A month and a half had passed and still Peeta’s name was on the lips of every single exec, studio chief, or big time producer. They wanted Peeta to be in their next production. The Oscar talk in tinsel town was at a fevered pitch and with only one person leading the pack, his client, the kid.

He sat back in his chair. He had other clients, but the kid, he was special. Because unlike the other butter nutters that he dealt with, Peeta was a good kid. He was wholesome. Too darned good for this business.

His secretary buzzed in, “Mr. Abernathy.”

“Yeah,” Haymitch bit out.

“They are calling,” his secretary said with resigned annoyance.

Haymitch gritted his teeth. The studio was calling.

“Fudge,” Haymitch said. He’d given up his two favorite pastimes, drinking and swearing. The drinking because when he found himself lying on top of a train track in the middle of nowhere with a train horn blasting in the distance. It had been time to get help. Two the cursing, it reminded him of the bars. There was something about a good curse word that brought images of a smooth malt whisky. So as part of his sobriety, he gave up cursing.

“You want me to tell them you’re not here,” his secretary sounded giddy as if she wanted to tell them what bridge they can use to take a flying leap from.

“No. Put them through.” He could only imagine what they wanted.

“Abernathy!”

“Ravenstill,” Haymitch greeted.

“I just wanted to tell you that this Agatha Christine stunt is the best thing that has happened. We are two months away from the Oscar Nominations; his name is like gold. Not to mention the movie has been number one for six weeks and has done phenomenally well internationally.”

Haymitch could hear P. Ravenstille the Third calculating the money in his head. To men and women like Ravenstille it was all about the money, not about the kid who had had enough to leave.

“I just want him found before the Oscar nomination,” Ravenstill said.

“Is that all?”

“Yes, good job. I’m sending a few clients your way, Abernathy. See what you can do for their careers.”

With that Ravenstill was gone.

Sighing deeply, Haymitch thought to himself, it was time to begin some digging of his own. He needed to find the kid.

-THE BUBBLE

A few days later Pete made her scream so much that the tension rods gave way and fell. Maybe it was the force of the bed hitting the wall, but it didn’t matter because coming with him buried deep within her walls shook her world. She couldn’t form a simple sentence afterwards. She was glad that afternoon, Prim had been next door playing video games with Vick and Rory.

It all came about because of laundry. She was making plies gearing up for laundry day. By the time she mentioned dryer sheets her underwear was hanging from the corner of the refrigerator. Peeta had a serious kink about laundry.

When Prim came home, she stopped and looked at both of them, as they made dinner. Her eyes narrowed. She looked suspicious.

“Why is your hair wet, Pete?” Prim asked.

Pete looked so embarrassed that he couldn’t come up with a single word.

“Prim go wash up. Dinner will be done in a few minutes,” Katniss shooed her away needing to quickly redirect her sister.

“But his hair is all wet,” Prim said.

This was going to be harder than corralling baby chicks. “We were playing with water Prim,” Katniss said.

“Wait, you had a water fight and didn’t invite me!” Prim sounded outraged.

“I’m sorry, you were so busy playing victory of something or other with Vick,” Katniss teased. It wasn’t a lie; she and Pete did play with water. A steamy game of hide the soap.

Prim twisted her face, and sounded like Daffy Duck, “You’re despicable.”

“I know,” Katniss winked. “Now go wash your hands.”

Pete raised an eyebrow.

Katniss felt the way her cheeks stung as she blushed. “I didn’t lie, we were playing with water.”

Pete’s throaty laugh made her wish they were alone.

-TINSEL TOWN CALL

“Haymitch darling!” Caesar Flickerman's excited voice made Haymitch want to stand in the center of oncoming traffic. The man was so cheerful it gave him a toothache.

“Flick, I’ve got an exclusive.” Haymitch said, jumping in his car.

“Rrrreally,” Caesar rolled his r’s like a cat purring. Caesar's real name was Pertanio Rodriguez, he changed his name to sound more commercial. But he emulated Walter Mercado, a famous and beloved astrologer. Despite his Liberace-like appearance, Caesar was one of the smartest interviewers.

“Let’s just say I’m cashing in that favor, you owe me.” Haymitch slipped his glasses on. The black and white grainy pictures of a blond Peeta Mellark and a dark haired beauty were on his passenger side.

“You mean you know where Peeta Mellark is?”

“Yeah, I want you to get ready to move, and I mean move fast.” Haymitch knew everything, thanks to Finnick. He followed Pete Golightly to District Twelve and that’s where he found him playing house with a girl. Haymitch needed to spin this fast, because he guessed if he found Peeta this fast there were others who were on his trail. “The kid’s in love, and it’s why he left. To help his lady love.”

“OHHHHH,” Caesar said.

“Yeah, star crossed, flipping flip flop, lovers.”

-THE APPROACH

Claudius was tired, but he knew he was getting close. He could taste it as he drove off the ferry into District Twelve. The island was small, mostly filled with rocky hills. This was the type of place where cousins kissed and everyone was related.

His proof? As he drove into town all he could see was tan and olive-skinned people, with slick black hair and light eyes. Yep, he was in an inbred clusterfuck. It was evening, and the sun was dipping low, closing on another day. It was starting to get cold.

The rented car needed gas; he drove it through the Capitol and eleven of the thirteen districts. He wanted nothing more than to find a hotel, get a hot meal, and a shower.

Pulling into the gas station a taller version of the inbred came out.

“Forty dollars regular.” Claudius offered the kid the two bills. He was looking at his emails. There was still no sight of Peeta Mellark.

He scowled. “You’re tearing the engine with regular.”

The growl snapped Claudius from perusing his phone. The kid looked like he could bench press him. “Fine.”

“Ass,” the hot-tempered giant said.

“Look, I'm looking for someone. He’s medium height, blue eyes, broad shoulders…a chin that makes women swoon.”

The kid raised an eyebrow.

“Look, he kinda looks like Peeta Mellark the movie star,” Claudius doubted the giant had two brain cells that held a note of intelligence. “Do you know anyone who looks like that?”

The giant’s eyes widened and he growled, “I do.”

“You do, great!”

“Who the hell are you?”

Suddenly Claudius saw the kids eyes turn cold and calculating, and Claudius thought huh, he was wrong, the giant was smart.

“I’m a reporter, my name is Claudius.” Claudius took out his card and gave it to the giant. “I’m looking for him, you know where he is?”

“How much is it worth to you?”

“Sure, 50K,” Claudius said.

“100 Grand,” the giant countered.

“60..” the kids hand curled into a fist, and Claudius raised his price, his voice going up an octave. “70…5…75 Grand.”

“Good, name’s Gale.”

“Gale,” Claudius said, not sure if this kid was going to lead him to Peeta Mellark or into the mountains and skin him alive.

“Meet me tomorrow,” Gale said scribbling the address on the back of his receipt.

“If this is…”

“You want Mellark, right?” Gale asked.

“Yeah, well meet me there tomorrow morning. Early, or you won’t catch him.”

Claudius knew there was a story here, “Why?”

“Look, this district is so small about half a dozen people already know that you’re here. The news will get to him quickly and he’ll leave. Do you want that?”

“No.” Claudius felt like he was back in third grade being chastised by his thick legged hairy teacher Mrs. Gaul.

“Good, then drive four miles, make a left on Chicory lane and stop at number 451, and tell the goat man I sent you. He’ll take care of you tonight. Meet me tomorrow before five at this address.

-THE CALM

Katniss awoke slowly, she was surrounded, cocooned in a delicious warmth and manly scent. Their first date led to her sleeping with him. Heat spread throughout her body as she recalled the way it felt to have him deep inside her, the way her body split and widened to accommodate him. His look was a blend of worry and bliss. Seeing him come undone was one of her new favorite things to do.

Of course Pete confessed his favorite thing to do was making her orgasm over and over.

“How is it you’re not sleeping?”

His sleep roughened voice caused gooosebumps to appear up and down her body.

“Well, I have to go get Prim, she’s at Coral’s house.”

“Right,” Pete rubbed his eyes.

“Pete, you don’t have to go.”

Pete looked at his phone, “Katniss it’s not even five in the morning.”

“It isn’t?” Katniss looked at his phone. “I forgot the whole time-change thing.”

Pete laughed, “Well that gives us time...”

Katniss turned and saw him leering at her and she gasped and laughed as Pete attacked her lips.

-THE SNARE

Gale couldn’t believe his nemesis was none other than the ‘goody-toO-shoes’ Hollywood star; Peeta Mellark was Pete Golightly. It was the same blue eyes, chin, build, height, even his smile was the same. Only his hair was different. Peeta’s blond hair didn’t look like a bottle dye job though. He looked like a natural blond. Either way, Gale wanted to smack himself on the back of his head. His anger had blinded him and he hadn’t made the connection; the missing Hollywood star was hiding here in District Twelve, and now that Hollywood star had seduced the one clueless girl on the entire island that he, Gale, desired.

Gale looked at his phone. Claudius, the reporter was late. Gale had googled the guy last night. Claudius was legit. He worked as an independent photographer for Snow Incorporated; Coriolanus Snow owned several tabloid magazines, and a few reputable newspapers.

For once Gale was glad Katniss' sister wasn’t at home. He knew Prim wasn’t in the apartment. Vick, his little brother said she was having a slumber party this weekend. Prim shouldn’t have to pay for her sister's indiscretion.

A cold breeze slipped by. It was cold outside, and it looked like snow was on the way.

Pete or rather Peeta, was inside with Katniss.

Gale wondered if Katniss knew who Pete really was and if that was why she’d let him into her inner circle. Maybe she was attracted to his fame and fortune. If that was the case, and Katniss turned out to be one of those girls, then what chance did he, a mechanic, have. She would never go for him. And that is why he was waiting for the reporter.

He wanted her to hurt the way he hurt.

He wanted her to be embarrassed the way he was embarrassed at her denial of what he wanted.

He wasn't an idiot. He was smart.

And with the money he was about to make he certainly didn’t want a cheap hussy like Katniss by his side. He was going to get himself a good girl, a girl who wanted him for more than just his looks and money.

Gale spotted the reporter’s car as it pulled up silently.

“What kind of Blair Witch Project kind of road is this? I swear I was afraid I was going to fall into a ditch and die a few times.”

“You made it, didn’t you?”

Claudius sighed, “Yeah.”

“You got the money?”

“I need the goods,” Clausidius said.

“Look, I know you think I’m some backward hick living in a hole in the wall, but I know that if you don’t pay me, the best picture you’ll get of Mellark is a picture of him from behind, leaving this house. What I got planned is going to make you notorious.” Gale held up the extra set of keys to the rental.

The reporter grimaced, but looked at the keys. “Fine,” Claudius said. He got out of his car and pulled out a messenger bag full of money and handed it to Gale.

“That's half, that's all I have with me,” Claudius said.

“Once I get the picture, I’ll get you the other half.”

“Then let's go,” Gale said, striding forward.

-THE STORM

Peeta lazily let his hands drift over Katniss’ arm. They were cuddling, spooning. Her delicious backside was pressed up against his front. She was half-asleep, lulled by their last round of love making.

Prim told him last night that he needed to tell Katniss the truth. He was scared. But as Prim said, Katniss knew him. She knew the real him and not the poster board flashy grinning guy he had to portray in the media. Everything was pretend in Hollywood and over the top. He wanted something real and he found it in her.

His heart melted for her. He was in love for the first time in his life. He loved and was in love with Katniss and this morning he was going to tell Katniss the truth about who he was.

“Katniss,” he whispered into her cheek.

“Mmmm,” she moans sleepily.

“Come on, Everdeen,” he nipped at her neck, chin, and earlobe.

“Go away,” she snuggles into the bed.

“Katniss,” he tried again. “I’m going to make you cheese buns.”

“Mmmm, cheese buns.”

“And my real name is Peeta Mellark,” he said quietly.

Her eyes opened, just as the curtains to her room opened and the flash of a camera went off.

“PEETA MELLARK,” Cluadius shouts as he takes pictures. “Is she what made you leave Hollywood!”

Peeta took his shirt and covered Katniss before he leapt from the bed and pushed Caludius out of the bedroom and out of the apartment.

“Gale?” Katniss asked behind him.

Peeta saw the tall lanky neighbor with a pleased grin in the shadows as Claudius took pictures. His first instinct was to punch the idiot, because he knew it was Gale that sold them out. His second instinct was to call in the calvary, Haymitch.

-THE FRENZY

"My sister. They're going to take my sister away," Katniss whispered, pacing back and forth.

“Katniss, I am sorry about this,” Pete says, running his hand through his blond hair.

She can’t stop the worrying. Then she paused and stared at the man she’d fallen in love, the man who lied to her. “You were trying to tell me...before that...that.”

“I wanted to be honest with you.” He stood and came to stand near her.

Suddenly she was filled with questions, all of them starting with the word, why. "How did you come up with your name Pete Golightly?”

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Audrey Hepbrun’s name is Holly Golightly. It’s the name I use whenever I check into hotels. I changed my name slightly and used Golightly. Only one person knows my alias, a fail safe in case someone needs to reach me in an emergency.”

“Huh,” Katniss cocked her head. She didn’t like old movies and frankly had never seen it. But she was familiar with the posters of Audry Hepurn standing in front of the jewelry store. “Breakfast at Tiffany’s, the girl with the black dress.”

“That’s the one.”

“Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because." He waits a beat before he says, "I was in hiding. I didn’t want to burden you with knowing. Besides, no one needs me."

Katniss couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips. How could anyone not want him, need him.

“But you’re a movie star?” Katniss whispered, wondering how she missed out on the reality that he was Peeta Mellark, the movie star. She had a poster of him when she was younger. But she blinked to focus. Pete was really Peeta. She furrowed her eyebrows as she thought about what she knew about him. She'd seen him during these last few weeks, tested his metal. Carefully she made a list of the things she knew about Peeta, the man. He was smart, strong, generous, kind, sweet, good. At the last word she stopped. Peeta was beyond, just, plain ol' good. He had an inherent goodness that was at the center of his being, and people didn’t see it because they were taken in by the fame.

“Exactly.” He gave her a pointed look. “They need my money, notoriety, fame...but no one needs me. My family,” his voice sounds bitter laced with disappointment. "They only need me and use me for the money in my bank account. My mother sold the spare key to my house for a fee to the tabloids. They went through my home and splayed it in Snow’s publications for the world to see. When I asked why, my mother said it was because I was a selfish, weak chinned, dumbass who she was going to sue for lost wages. As we speak her lawyers are filing paperwork.”

He sighed and his eyes saddened. Katniss could see how broken and lost he was, and Katniss reached out to touch his hand. She wonders what kind of woman would do that to her own child. Katniss had no idea. she didn't read the tabloids or watched shows about movie stars and their sordid lives. She was too busy trying to put food on the table and keep a roof over her and her sister’s heads.

Sad blue eyes met her fiery silver ones. Katniss wanted to tuck him away and keep him safe.

“I left Hollywood because I was burnt out. I thought no one cared for me. I do not need attention, as Haymitch will attest to, I hate the attention, but I love the work. However, people want the movie star. They don’t want me Peeta, the guy who would rather hang out, paint or experiment with food. I only have two friends Haymitch, which you’re about to meet and I am apologizing for what Haymitch is, and Finnick Odair. Yes, that Finnick Odair who runs around in his movies, half naked, half the time."

Kathiss wrinkled her nose at the image of the guy with the Jason Mamoa body, and the devil may care grin. He was, in Delly's words, melt your panties hot. But Katniss didn't find him interesting. "I've been forced to watch a few of his movies."

His eyes lighted and his lips formed a smile at the word forced.

"Delly." Katniss shrugged. "She thinks he is sultry, but he's not my type." She watched his eyes process the information. "So if you don't have that many friends..." her voice drifted. Gleaning his information about his family, she formulated the question. Katniss didn't have a lot of friends. There was only Delly and Madge. But she also had Prim, her only family, and even her pacifist her sister would punch bees for her. "What do you do?"

"I sit home most of the time doing laundry. Perfecting my fitted sheet fold."

"You have a thing about laundry."

"Just yours," his heated look caused her pulse racing.

"Peeta," she chastised. He smiled mischievously and picked up the bra that she'd been looking for.

Intense heat flooded her cheeks. She imagined she had to be redder than the child of a tomato and a cherry. She snatched it from his hands. "You need to get back to Hollywood...and why you left."

Peeta cleared his throat. "I really don't do the whole Hollywood thing. I don't party. I don't drink and I don't do drugs. Most of my nights I hang out with Finn and his wife Annie. I do a lot of laundry for Annie. They have an adorable lil boy, a toddler, named Finian. Fin for short, who loves mud. I do their laundry for fun. But outside of them, like I said, I have no one and I know that no one wants me, so I walked away. I didn’t think anyone would hunt me down. I am sorry.”

Katniss didn’t have a voice momentarily, so she continued to listen.

“I came here, intending to hide out for a few days and then head to District Thirteen. Then I walked into Greasy Sae’s and I couldn’t breath when I saw you and weirdly parallel stalked you…and then I met Prim.”

“What about Prim?” Katniss needed to know everything. It would serve her right that, her super intelligence off the charts, baby sister would figure who Pete really was.

“Prim knows, she figured me out. Within seconds...she knew all of my media history. She's tough, made me sweat.”

Katniss chuckled. Her baby sister could be exasperating and could be terrifying when she turned on, what Katniss called her smart factor. Prim was a computer able to make calculations about all sorts of things. Katniss was the only one who could match her sister when engaged. But it also reminds Katniss of the pictures of her naked with Peeta. "Oh the pictures. This isn't good Pete...Peeta."

"Katniss trust me, we'll figure a way out. I swear. My manager Haymitch will know what to do.” Peeta's voice was reassuring.

“No, you don’t understand the state; they will see this as me being irresponsible. They will take my sister away and put her in foster care.” Katniss couldn’t help the way her voice rose. Everything was spinning out of control. She couldn’t help the tears that fell from her face.

“Listen to me. Haymitch is almost here. He said he has a plan.” He gathered her in his arms and she sighed and trembled.

All she ever wanted was to make her sister feel safe. She wanted to make her sister feel as if nothing else could go wrong. She closed her eyes. Now she couldn’t do that because a paparazzi had taken naked pictures of her and Pete...Peeta. Naked pictures that would be splashed and splayed all over tabloids and news media outlets.

Pictures that weren’t Peeta’s fault, but Gale’s.

Gale sold Peeta out.

“Pete, I mean Peeta,” Katniss couldn’t hide her misery. “Those pictures, they’re going to use them against me. They are going to use them against you too.”

His eyes warmed.

His cell phone beeped. He looks at his phone. “Delly’s here.” Delly was bringing Prim home. There was another ping. He frowned looking at the phone then said, “...and so is Haymitch.”

He gave her a look, as if pleading with her to trust him. He looked so vulnerable. Katniss expelled a breath. She’d question if she should trust him. A single word enters her mind. Together.

Taking his hand in hers. "There isn’t anyone I would rather do this with."

He chuckled. "You’re so fierce, like an Amazon."

Katniss grinned. "You haven't seen me with my bow."

"You’re so amazing."

Their hands threaded together. She was going to protect Peeta because the whirlwind of pain stopped here.

Let the storm commence.

"Together," Peeta said with hope.

"Together."

-THE BUCK STOPS AT LA

Peeta opened his mouth to speak as Haymitch entered the garage. The kid’s text message that Claudius broke into the girl's apartment and took pictures of them in-flagrante had him calling in the troops. He had less than an hour to spin and control the narrative. Naked pictures of the kid wouldn’t have meant anything to Haymitch if it were another client, but the kid had a stellar track record. It meant the world. He sent a text to his contact, another favor. The kid was going to owe him big.

"Save it, kid," he said gruffly. He needed a drink, hell, he needed an entire bottle of whisky. "Flipping burnt flapjacks, kid, if you needed a break." His eyes scanned the small interior. His car was bigger on the inside than this place. "I could have helped you."

"Haymitch," Peeta looked behind him at the girl and her sister.

"I'm sorry," Prim said quietly. "I wanted to tell you. But Peeta needed to feel safe."

"I know." Katniss nodded curtly.

Peeta's love interest had the personality of a dead slug. His phone pinged. Haymitch hid his eavesdropping. His eyes focused on Peeta. The kid was more than just a client; he was like family.

Haymitch lowered his voice. "I know this had to do with your family. So I let you go, my mistake. And I'm not letting anyone ruin you for a paycheck. Now introduce me."

"Haymitch, this is Katniss Everdeen and her sister Primrose.

It only took Haymitch seconds for him to assess the situation.

The little sister Primrose was sugary sweet, adorable. Her wide baby blue eyes held intelligence and goodness. The world was going to love her.

His grey eyes met the girl. "Listen Sweetheart, if you’re going to survive this, you've got to listen to me."

His grey eyes watched the kid with the girl. He hid his grin when she scowled at his nickname for her. He could see her bristle, before her eyes shuttered closed, almost like a camera lense quickly shifting to block out light. "Okay, lovebirds, Cinna is here. And Caesar is waiting outside to interview you both."

"Haymitch," Peeta said, taking a step forward to protect both of the women in his arms. This behavior he expected from the kid.

Sweetheart’s behavior though surprised him. When Katniss glanced at Peeta, she transformed into a fiery creature that is so pure and majestic. Haymitch realized Sweetheart was a lot like him. Tender hearted, fiercely loyal, with a tough exterior. Haymitch knew the girl was smitten with Peeta himself, and not the Hollywood facade. This he could work with.

"Haymitch, Katniss is Primrose's guardian. The pictures Claudius took are salacious and damning." Peeta glanced back at Katniss before moving forward. “She can't afford to have them come out. We need to make sure they are protected."

"Look, I can sell this star-crossed lover." As expected Sweetheart scowled. Good, Haymitch thought; he wanted her to go into combat mode. "You guys will tell Caesar the truth." As Haymitch spoke he was furiously typing on the keypad of his phone. "He's broadcasting it onto a live audience. People love a good love story. Any pictures Claudius has will be seen as intrusive."

Haymitch opened the door to Cinna who arrived with the prep team.

"How long do we have?"

"15 minutes tops," Haymitch said.

Cinna nodded. The team hauled in dresses, makeup, lights, and things Haymitch was sure the Everdeen women had never seen.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Haymitch turned to meet a woman who looked to be six feet tall. Her sharp eyes glance at Sweetheart. Haymitch guessed this was landlady by her agitated face.

"Hazelle," Sweetheart said, and he could see that she wanted to cry, but she built up a wall. This wasn't a friend, but the woman was an authority figure. Someone Sweetheart looked up to.

“Katniss what is going on? Why are all these people trespassing? Gale called me and said that you had all of these people here.”

Sweetheart was easy to read. She was pissed at the name Gale. He quietly glanced at the kid who’s eyes ticked also at the sound of Gale’s name.

“Who is Gale?” Haymitch abruptly asked, not caring about the woman before him. He knew Gale was related to Hazelle but he wanted to know what part this idiot had in this fiasco.

“Gale is my son, and this is my property.”

Sweetheart looked agitated, and he wondered if this Gale was the reason he was here. The reason the kid and sweetheart were in this mess. Peeta mouthed Claudius to him and confirmed his suspicions. “You rent to her?” Haymitch narrowed his eyes.

“Yes.” Hazelle bit back. “I want…”

Haymitch got in her way, stopping her torrent of words. His phone pinged, and he got what he was waiting for, the pictures, from an insider at the tabloid Claudius sold the pictures to. As he's suspected, the money shot wasn't of Peeta, it was of Peeta with Sweetheart. Haymitch then saw why Peeta was upset. Because the pictures showed how vulnerable the kid's other half was. It was Sweetheart’s whose life would be ruined. Her name raked through hot coals and muck. This was the intention of Hazelle’s son, and Haymitch scratched the words 'Hazelles son' and for the first time in years he cursed, that rat bastard. “Then you know your son allowed a paparazzi into your renter’s apartment and let him take pictures of my client and his girlfriend while they were asleep?”

Her eyes widened with shock. “My son would never…”

“Really,” Haymitch held his phone up and. “I believe that is your son in the background with a smug grin on his face. He violated the renter’s agreement to be notified before entering the residence. He also is a slimy, no good worm for doing that to her.” Haymitch said, “Hope you’re proud of your son.”

Hazelle’s eyes lost her indignation. "I..."

"I suggest you lawyer up. I've just sent the information to my client’s lawyer, Johanna Mason. I suggest you call your son and tell him he can kiss the money he made goodbye."

"Johanna?" Peeta questioned.

Haymitch grinned wickedly. Peeta hadn't wanted to do anything about his mother, but Haymitch went behind his back to procure Hollywood's number one ball busting lawyer Johanna Mason. She gleefully was preparing the paperwork against Snow; the woman loathed the man. She already had an injunction against the images. "Don't worry Kid, she's doing this pro-bono. Now go get pretty. You go live with Caesar in less than ten."

-THE INTERVIEW

Caesar Flickerman was like a circus ringleader. Literally dressed like a ringleader with a red jacket, black lapels, and gold trimming. His hair was jet black and his smile was a little too crazed for Katniss' liking. She squared her shoulders, looking at Haymitch who raised an eyebrow and his eyes slid to the camera letting her know she was not acting like the doting girlfriend. It caused her to gaze at Peeta who took her hand and squeezed it. The butterflies that were eerily silent until this very moment were having a championship hockey match inside of her stomach.

She was so uncomfortable. In ten minutes she’d been waxed, pealed, and poured into clothing with price tags that made her head spin. The jean’s she wore cost more than her rent. She and her sister were sitting on either side of Peeta. Primrose looked beautiful, her blonde hair combed and styled to perfection. Cinna and his assistants dressed her in a graphic t-shirt dress and distressed jacket. She wore lace up black ankle boots. Prim was excited for the fashion and Katniss' heart twisted because she could never afford to give her sister any of this.

Looking down at her hands, she thought this was all surreal.

There were cameras, glaring lights, this fuzzy long thing that hung right above her head. It was hot and uncomfortable. It was also live.

Caesar was speaking to the camera about them.

It was too much. Those butterflies that were playing hockey now drove dune buggies. Her eyes looked for an exit. She didn’t know how Peeta did it, being on center stage.

Sensing her discomfort, Peeta put his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer. Katniss sighed, looking up at him. The sooty lashes that Peeta's prep team glued to her lids stuck together and she blinked to separate them; this is why she didn't wear makeup.

Peeta might have read the wrong signal because he leaned in and brushed a kiss on her lips. Then his lips trailed from the cleft of her lips to her cheeks to her ear. "You okay?" he whispered.

Katniss could feel heat flush her face as she realized Peeta had found a way to communicate without breaking the charade. Katniss whispered, "My fake lashes keep on sticking together. And I loathe make up!"

The low rumble in his chest meant he was caught off guard.

She wanted to hide her grin, and he wiggled his eyebrows. There was the loveable goofball who had an unnatural love of all things laundry. Say the words fabric softener and he became a puppy with a favorite toy.

He roughly whispered, "You're amazing!"

He gently brushed her lashes and adjusted the troublesome lash before moving away.

"Look at you two, what a beautiful couple!" Caesar gushed.

For those few seconds Katniss was grateful for the man's exuberance; it's as if he was on their side.

“So what happened Peeta?” Caesar said with notes of sincerity. “Why did you walk away?”

Peeta leaned forward and Katniss slipped her hand in his.

“It was the whole thing with my parents.” Peeta’s voice hid nothing of the pain; he shared it with the world. “My mother sold me to the highest bidder, and,” Katniss squeezed his hand. “They went through my home. I felt violated, and unable to feel safe.”

Caesar said, “I recall that wasn’t that long ago.”

“The pressure, sadness, and betrayal were eating me up and I needed to step away. I am not a drinker or a guy who enjoys partying.” Peeta shrugged. “I’m a homebody. I’m more domestic.”

Katniss thought of his love of laundry and the butterflies in her stomach settled.

Caesar laughed. “Domestic.”

“He makes great pastries,” Prim said. Her eyes were wide and lovely.

“Pastries?” Caesar asked.

“Here you want some?” Prim held up a bag of cookies. “They are heavenly.”

“PRIM,” Katniss huffed. “I’m so sorry.”

Peeta grinned. “You see Caesar, this is what I needed.”

Caesar laughed. “Tell me who are these lovely ladies…”

“This is Primrose Everdeen,” Peeta introduced.

“Hi Caesar,” Prim said. “Seriously though you need to try these cookies.” Prim opened the brown bag and handed one to Caesar.

“Well, alright,” Caesar looked at the cookie as if tasting it was going to make him gain three hundred pounds.

“It’s gluten free, dairy free, and nut free,” Prim smiled.

The camera zoomed into Caesar’s face and Katniss witnesses the power of Peeta’s bakery take down another person. The celebrity interviewers face turners into one of pure rapture. “Peeta, you must give me the recipe.”

“Sorry his baked goods are all mine,” Prim said.

Caesar laughed. “Oh she is precious. But tell me who is this sitting next to you?”

“Caesar this is Katniss Everdeen.”

The butterflies were back and they had jackhammers.

“She’s the reason I stayed actually. They aren’t the reason I walked away, but they are the reason I didn’t go back” Peeta confessed. His voice softened, his eyes held notes of tenderness as he spoke, “These two women mean the world to me.”

Even the hardened Hollywood crew sighed at Peeta’s words.

“I met him first,” Prim said. “But I needed to make sure he had good intentions toward my sister.”

“Katniss,” Caesar asked, “You’ve been so quiet.”

Katniss glanced at her sister and then at Peeta, unaware of the way her face transformed and caused the world to fall in love with her. She transcended into something fierce and wildly beautiful.

The camera scanned down to the way her hands were intertwined with Peeta’s.

“When did you fall for him? Did you know who Peeta was?”

Katniss couldn’t stop staring into Peeta’s blue eyes. “I didn’t know who he was; I was clueless.” Her voice trembled, “All I know is that he was so kind and generous.” She stared, not at the camera but at Caesar. “And when I found out who he was and what happened I just couldn’t understand why any mother would want to hurt their child like that.”

Peeta smiled softly then he looked at Caesar, “Now you know why I stayed.” Peeta then placed a kiss on her lips and then said, “What I didn’t expect was another invasion of privacy.”

-AMERICAN SWEETHEARTS

“You alright?” Peeta tucked a strand of her hair behind Katniss' ear. She looked gorgeous. Cinna had outdone himself. She wore a red dress that looked like poured molten fire on her skin. Peeta couldn’t wait to get back home and strip her out of it.

“I am.”

He watched her hands shake. The Oscars was the superbowl of the movie industry. Peeta held her hand. Outside the limo, there were about a thousand reporters and wall to wall fans. This was overwhelming for her and he was the professional. He could just imagine what it was like for a girl who would rather sit in the chair of a sadistic dentist sans novacaine than to be thrust into the controlled mêle that existed outside the limo’s door.

“You don’t have to go in with me; you can stay in the car. You can go back to the hotel, rent a movie, jump on the bed, steal all of the toiletries in the room, and if you are feeling dangerous," Peeta lowered his voice an octave, "rip the tags off the mattress.”

Katniss narrowed her eyes at him. He watched her struggle to keep the laughter she wanted to expel over his ridiculous suggestion. He, of course, made reference to the small argument they were having over her purity.

It started with Finnick doing his whole Daniel Craig, James Bond thing where he came out of the water. Finnick was messing with her and Katniss disliked him. She proceeded to give Finnick, ‘if he were in her woods he'd be in big trouble’ looks throughout the barbeque.

Peeta told her, Finnick was only messing with her because she was pure. And Katniss bristled, and fought that she wasn't pure. But Peeta didn't mean it in a sexual way. He meant it in the way that she was pure of heart. Katniss had a pure heart. Like the hero's of old, she was valiant and although tough as nails, she was forgiving. Gale betrayed her and she was mulling over forgiving him.

After Caesar's interview, Peeta and Katniss’ relationship was cemented in the public eye. Haymitch was able to control the narrative since Katniss led a normal life and wasn't like Finnick, who had so many hidden skeletons in his closet. Haymitch was taking care of the Everdeen women, mentoring them. He had an affinity for Prim and Katniss. They understood one another because Haymitch had lost his family as well, and he had tried to raise his brother, but they were separated and sent into foster homes.

Haymitch hired Johanna to help Katniss retain her custody of Prim. They were seeking visas for all three of them. Peeta to travel in and out of Panem, and For Katniss and Prim.

Johanna, spurred by the public outcry over the second violation of his privacy, wanted Snow and his tabloids prosecuted for invasion of privacy of someone who wasn't in the limelight. Gale and Claudius were arrested for, breaking and entering and some other misdemeanor charges. Claudius was facing a harder climb because he was an outsider. Because of Katniss, there was clemency for Gale. And that brought him back to why Katniss was pure. She didn't even know the effect she had on people or how she inspired others.

Peeta reached out and put his hand on top of hers. “No, I can do this,” she said.

He knew this was not easy, but as she sat perched at the edge of her seat, he thought about how Katniss became his family. How she encouraged him to take on meaningful roles, and to pursue directing and production. They were both still young, but he knew from the moment his eyes met hers in Greasy Sae's diner he was a goner. His feelings for Katniss multiplied as time passed and they worked through each hurdle together.

Looking at her, Peeta knew without a doubt Katniss had strong feelings for him as well. She wasn't someone who used words; she spoke with her actions. Katniss fought by his side. Simple things she did. Like making his tea the way he liked it without sugar and milk. Opening the window before they went to sleep because she knew he liked to sleep with a window open. Googling how to make natural paints, then going out into nature and gathering supplies to make the paint for him. It spoke volumes.

"I love you," the words slipped out of his lips.

Her eyes widened.

"You don't have to say it back to me, because I know that you care about me. You do a hundred little things in the day to show me the depths of your emotions toward me."

He watched as a smile curved her lips. Her silvery eyes sparkled, greater than sunlight glittering on the surface of water. She stole his breath away. All he ever wanted was to be needed, loved, and here was the personification of that need.

"I need you Peeta," she rasped. He could hear and see the depth of emotion in her eyes. "I love you."

He leaned in and with shaking hands cupped her face. Suddenly he didn’t want to be at the Oscars. Peeta wanted to be in a private room to show her with his words, his mouths, his hands, and his body just how much he loved this woman. “Screw the Oscars, let's get out of here.”

Her eyes turned mischievous, “Oh hell no. I wasn’t plucked, creamed and stuffed into this dress like a holiday turkey by Cinna and his prep team just to turn around and leave. We’re going to walk that carpet, we’re gonna sit in our seats, and do this shindig, because as much as I like pissing off Haymitch, I don’t think we should give him a heart attack by not showing up.”

Peeta laughed. There she was pushing her own discomfort for him. “And afterwards?”

“Win or lose, Pete Golightly, you’re taking this dress off with your teeth.” She threw him a mischievous look, “And then we’re going to grab some fabric sheets and sniff them.”

The door opened and Peeta was stunned by her description. Heat and desire poured through his veins. He now had a boner. Then a slow smile spread on his face he was going to go home a winner no matter what. Laughter erupted from his lips, though from the fabric sheets comment and the sheer joy on his face was the picture that was captured by the press.

Peeta did win the Oscar, and he did go home, and he did tear off her dress with his teeth. And afterwards they did laundry all night long. He was after all, a man of his word.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by mega-aulover

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rcbirth · 3 years

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[ CHELLA MAN, TRANS & GENDERQUEER, HE/HIM ] shh ! FISCHEL “FISH” ABRAMS, the ( TWENTY-TWO ) year old THIRD year SOCIOLOGY & PUBLIC POLICY major from CHICAGO, IL is known as an EMERALD around here. HE was invited to join because HIS TED TALK ON THE COMMUNITY ORGANIZATION & RESTAURANT HE COFOUNDED HIT OVER 500MILL VIEWS, and now, they’re here to stay. HE reminds me of THE SMELL OF DINNER COOKING FROM THE NEXT ROOM OVER, SWIMMING ON A SUMMER NIGHT, RUNNER’S HIGH AT THE END OF A RACE. // @opalsmedia

howdy pals! my name is del ( she/they ), and i am jazzed to be here! i’ve been peaking at this rp since it showed up in the tags, so to say i’m excited about bringin my kiddo fish in is an understatement. a lil about me before i get into some basics and links for more info about fish... i’m twenty-three from the cst timezone. i work full-time, but my hours are funky, so you may see me at random hours of the day. big music fan, lover of public health things, over-using kermit the frog memes, & thriller shows and books ( anyone else almost lose it during the season finale of the undoing ??? )! warning: i rant a lot.... and am.... so long winded.... pls forgive me.

now for the fun part.... bby fish! i’m just going to give you basics to reference here, because the link ‘extended info’ has much more extensive head canons, wanted plots, stats, and his full bio.

born into a really well off & successful family ( dad = doctor & professor at UC’s med school, mom = big wig in dem establishment & advisor to ... oop! state senator obama ), fish had just about everything that he could ever need growing up. fish was super eager to please his parents and really ??? everyone.

his grandma was and still is his favorite person to have ever walked this earth. probably has a tattoo for that woman but like ... she’s a peach 1/2 so rightfully so.

two things about his grandma.... first! her maiden name was fischel, and when fish was growing up, she’d always call him her little fish. it just stuck, and that was that! he would forever be known fischel for business™ and fish for the pals. second! she was his biggest advocate and always believed in him. ( food tw ): she helped encourage his love and interest in cooking, food, food soc, etc. they were big julia child fans. a lot of grandma/fish time was literally just them goofing around in the kitchen and trying to recreate things they saw her make. also.... chicago just has a phenomenal food scene in general, and those two really soaked it in, trying out the various signature dishes of the various neighborhoods, and learning about the history behind them. ( tw end )

he loves anthony bourdain & samin nosrat. big fan.

( divorce tw ) parents got divorced and didn’t really say much other than that he would stay with his father in chicago and visit his mom on alternating holidays and summers. there wasn’t like The Discussion ( tw end )

while he was doing a lil medical internship and staying out with his mom ( cancer, death of a loved one tw ) he got the news that his grandmother’s cancer had gotten to the point where she had been put on life support. his father made the decision that it was in her best interest and fish’s to end her support. fish found out after she had already passed. he tried to claim that it was in his best interest since fish had always been too emotional and the family’s so there wouldn’t be this massive fight.... ( tw end ) cue beginning of resentment of the fam & realization that he’s got no one in his corner except himself

our table <3333 ( food tw ) okay so taking inspiration from his time touring chicago neighborhoods with his grandma & idolizing bourdain and nosrat, fish created what began as an after school club with some of his pals. the idea was to learn about food accessibility, urban farming, food sociology, & cooking from peers, but fish had Big Big plans & wanted it to turn into a bit of a safe haven for kids & young adults on the southside. ( tw end ) utilizing both support from partnerships with other chicago based non profits, school, and locals in the food scene, he helped start the building process for an actual brick and mortar place for our table.

this got some buzz, and when a journalist came to interview fish and the other co founders they even received national attention... leading to what would be a ted talk appearance in the future, but back to entering strathmore...

fish hopes to utilize both sociology and public policy degrees to help him become a policy advocate and researcher. he hates how slow moving and formal things always were with his mom’s work. his goal is to utilize research about community based efforts and organizations ( like our table ) and science, to create substantial and sustainable policy for politicians that aren’t scared of being seen as “””too radical””.

his invitation into the society came months later after his ted talk reached over 500 million views. although, he’ll tell you it's because word got around to the members who heard about how good of a chef he is .... he loves it. he literally longs ... yearns some might say .... for community and is very committed and protective over his circlet.

grief, guilt tw: poppy’s disappearance has him borderline unhinged a bit. she was one of the people he considered himself closer too, and it’s just an unearthing of some of the feelings he had right after his grandmother’s death of anger, confusion, guilt etc. he won’t openly express that or talk about it, but it definetely manifests itself physically. tw end

inspiration-wise, he is a mix of laurel castillo from how to get away with murder, pope heyward from outer banks, grizz from the society, dani clayton from bly manor, emily prentiss from criminal minds, and a bit of payton hobart from the politican.

music inspiration: willow tree by tash sultana & jerome farah, ain’t it fun by paramore, barefoot in the park by james blake, bad bad news by leon bridges

his personality is that he’s a sociable guy for the most part, but he’s definetely an introvert really enjoying his time for himself. he’s very methodical despite how emotional he is and can be. very creative, protective, blunt .... this can run him into issues even if he just means it as a joke.... many times its not though, he’s pretty critical of others and esp himself, but also v loyal and thoughtful when it comes down to the pals.... will be dropping off some homemade soup and crackers if he knows you’re fighting a lil cold.

BIG THINGS: a lot of his character is based around the subtle, warm intimacy of small dinners with loved ones??? this is what he longs for more than anything and always has??? it’s not super overstated or in your face, but you know its there because you can feel it. in the past you saw him being more passive, kinda allowing himself to float in the background, but now he really is his own advocate and creates community wherever he can. he’s v intentional in his relationships and conversations, not wanting to have just surface level connections or chats. he is v much a Scorpio™.

see more. pinterest. plots. template credit.

#opalsintro #//#i cannot look at this anymore or i will lose it #anyways happy to be here and excited to chat & start writing with yall <333

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tetsuroyaoyaoya · 4 years

Text

A Crow Without Wings

tsukishima kei x reader - part four

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It was too early for you to be roaming the halls of the school.

Despite not being due to officially start your manager duties until the practice match, you had decided to see if you could catch the end of the boys’ morning practice just to check in and ask if they needed anything from you, so that you could prepare for it later on. Since Kiyoko was still their main manager and she’d been doing this for years, you doubted that they would, but it gave you the excuse to tease your brother after the argument you had the day prior.

It wasn’t really that early, and you had only gotten to school twenty minutes earlier then you usually did, meaning there were already quite a few other students wandering around, waiting for the day to begin. At first, you didn’t pay them any mind, but then you began to notice the staring, and the whispers, and the looks.

It was as if you were back at Shiratorizawa again, walking the halls just as you had a few months ago, after the accident. You weren’t dreaming, right? This was definitely Karasuno, where nobody knew who you were?

Pinching yourself with quite a bit of force, you winced, confirming that you were, in fact, very much conscious, and very much confused. It could have always been something completely unrelated to you, or you were just paranoid. But no matter what you told yourself, you had an extremely bad feeling about whatever was going on.

Deciding to put the matter aside for now and ignore everyone else, you carried on through the building and out towards the gym, where it seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet to say there was meant to be a morning practice.

Quickening your pace slightly, just in case you had managed to miss them, you bumped into someone at the door of the gym.

“Rei?”

“Yams?” He looked panicked, eyes darting about as if he didn’t know where to look and not-so-subtly trying to steer you away from the building. If it was any other day, you would have just brushed it off as him being anxious like he usually was, but it felt like he was purposely trying to distract you, which concerned you.

“Let her in, Tadashi.” Looking up, your eyes met Tsukishima’s as he walked up to stand just behind the other first year that was blocking your way. Frowning, you noticed an unusually hard look on his face, and he, too, was avoiding looking at you. Letting out a huff of annoyance, you rolled your eyes at them both, thinking that it was just Tsukishima’s new plot to try and get on your nerves.

If it was, it was working.

“What? Is this some kind of joke? It’s really not funny.” Purposely brushing shoulders with Yamaguchi as you passed, you entered the gym to find that none of the team were actually playing, and they were instead huddled together at the bench.

“Rei-chan…” Sugawara looked at you with his signature warm smile, but his eyes were glossed over slightly, and he looked tense.

“Okay, what is happening today?” You were exasperated. The team had literally only just seen you last night, and yet this morning was so different.

“Is it true?” Your gaze shifted slightly to the right of Suga, seeing the normally excitable tangerine sat completely still, staring at you with wide eyes and furrowed brows. You never even thought that Hinata could make such a serious expression.

“Is what true?” The group of boys parted slightly as you approached to let you through and Suga handed you a tablet, presumably the coach’s.

“This was posted over every local news and sport site imaginable this morning.” Your heart dropped to your feet as you saw your name in bold, front and centre, in the article title.

This could not be happening.

People finding out who you were and what happened to you was frankly inevitable, and you knew that, but you didn’t expect ti to be posted across the news for the entire country to see.

“Holy shit,” Daichi never even opened his mouth to chastise you, in complete disbelief over what Suga had just read out to them.

Hurriedly, your eyes skimmed over the beginning of the article as you felt tears well up in your eyes. It only got worse the further you read on. Whoever their ‘exclusive source’ was, they had strung the most detailed web of lies you had ever come across, and if it wasn’t about you, you would have believed it.

‘Kageyama Rei used Ushijima Wakatoshi for his reputation, to pull herself to the top of the social chain at Shiratorizawa in order to gain a place on the volleyball team. She has absolutely no talent. The only reason she was even on the team was because she blackmailed the coach and forced Ushijima to threaten to quit the boys’ team if she didn’t get a place. Kageyama dragged the entire team down and completely ruined their chance to go to nationals, even going as far as causing another player to get injured due to her recklessness on the court.

‘When Ushijima found out what she was really like, they broke up, and since he wasn’t there to threaten the coach and the team for her anymore, she lost her place and was expelled. Nobody has seen her since, and I’m not surprised. It was embarrassing for everyone involved.’

This really did have to be a dream.

“No! None of this is true!” This wasn’t meant to happen. You were meant to have a new start. You were meant to be happy.

“Look, I’ll show you why we didn’t go to nationals.” Opening a new tab on the tablet, your hands trembled as you searched for the video you had ingrained into your brain by this point from having watched it so many times.

“Watch. Keep your eyes on number thirteen.” Turning the tablet around, you made sure that the whole team had a clear view of it as the video began to play. Even Tsukishima and Yamaguchi had moved over to watch, as they’d never seen it before.

They began to get excited as they watched the first few spikes, and you bit your lip as you heard a few of them gasp in awe as they followed the player.

But you knew what was coming.

You closed your eyes.

And flinched.

That scream haunted your nightmares, even now, and you could still hear in ringing in your ears as the video came to an end, a tear rolling down your cheek.

Opening your eyes, you looked over the many expressions of horror before you, each member still staring at the tablet in shock. You handed it back to Suga and felt his hand shake as he took it from you.

“Number thirteen was taken out of the game and Shiratorizawa withdrew from the competition altogether. Seijoh won by default. She wasn’t expelled, or even kicked from the team; she spent two weeks in the hospital, three months unable to walk, and another two in a leg brace on crutches. The doctor told her she could never play again.” A few gasps were heard, and you sighed.

“How do you know so much?” You gave Asahi a sad smile and fumbled with your fingers as you tried to think of a way to finally tell them your secret.

“Rei, you don’t have to do this.” Tsukishima was staring you down from the other side of the group, his glasses positioned further down the bridge of his nose than you had ever seen them before, him having not bothered adjusting them, and you resisted the urge to tease him about it.

“Yes, I do.” Reaching down, you pulled your sock down from over your knee, you revealed the compression sleeve that you were still required to wear. Taking a deep breath, you pushed that down as well, showing them all your injury.

The skin of your knee had healed considerably since the operation, but you still remember very vividly how it was mangled and out of place, and now all that remained were the deep pink indents, scars littered all over. The ones from the stitches were the most prominent; little raised bumps in neat lines down the sides of your knee.

I was the one that was injured.” Some of them had to look away from you, swallowing down the lumps in their throats that had formed, blinking their tears away.

“I’d been friends with Ushijima since we were kids, and we did date last year, but he was the reason we split up, not me. I got onto that team, and the All-Japan team, all by myself. We never threatened the coaches, and I left on my own accord. This entire thing is complete bullshit.” There was silence for a few moments, and you let yourself calm down slightly before pulling your sock back up. None of you really knew where to look or what to do next.

Someone, obviously who you knew, had created an entire fabrication of the past year of your life, and no one at your new school would be able to tell if it was a lie or not.

“Rei? Rei!” You spun around as someone stumbled into the gym, breathing heavily, clearly having run over.

“Pinch?” He looked up at you with a relieved smile, but quickly saw the tears on your face and rushed over.

“Kitten, oh fuck.” You barely had time to register it as he dragged you into a hug, but it definitely didn’t take you long for you to relax into it, enjoying the comfort of his arms. His hand ran over your hair and you turned your face inwards, resting in the crook of his neck.

“Are you okay?” He pulled away and gave you a quick once over, making sure that you were fine.

“What are you doing here?”

“I saw that disgusting article and couldn’t help it.” Shaking your head in amusement, you giggled, even through the tears.

“You could have just called, dummy.” Realisation dawned on his face and it made you laugh even more. You were interrupted by a cough, reminding you that the team was still huddled not far away.

“Oh, um, this is Semi Eita. Eita, this is my new team.” He bowed and the rest of the boys nodded their heads back at him in greeting.

“Sorry for barging in.”

“No, it’s totally fine. We just found out about it ourselves.” Daichi was trying is best at being nice but was obviously trying to profile the poor boy next to you, especially seen as he was wearing his Shiratorizawa uniform. Semi tensed beside you and your eyes landed on Tanaka and Nishinoya creeping closer, clearly trying to intimidate him.

“Boys,” you glared at them in warning and they paused, not taking their eyes off of their target. “Behave!” They backed off but made a point to stare from a distance.

“Where’s Tobio?” Due to all the chaos, you had only just noticed that your brother was the only one missing from the gathering, and you were surprised at yourself for not realising that he wasn’t there.

“He stormed out as soon as we saw the article.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you tried to come up with a way to deal with him.

“Nice.” Semi placed a hand gently between your shoulder blades in an attempt to calm you down a bit.

“Right, I’ll deal with him later. You boys better clean up and get ready for class before Kiyoko sees. Do not be late to the match after school, and I will see you all there, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am!” It brought a smile to your face and tension in the air began to disperse. They got to clearing up the equipment and Semi handed you a tissue to wipe your remaining tears as Sugawara approached.

“If you need anything today, no matter what, you can come and find one of us. Even Kiyoko.” He placed a hand on your arm to comfort you and you nodded back at him.

“Thank you.” It was barely a whisper, but he understood, giving you one of his toothy grins before going over to join the other boys.

Today was not going to be your day.

~~~

Handing Semi a drink from the vending machine, you placed yourself next to him on the bench behind the gym. Daichi had assured you that none of the teachers check there on their rounds and you could chat with your friend in peace for a while.

So here you both were, skipping the morning period, avoiding teachers, and drinking juice.

“If he’s seen it, he doesn’t care. I found out from Tendou.” He answered your unspoken question and confirmed your suspicions. You knew the article would have no effect on Ushijima, whether it was true or not. He was basically a household name at this point, and anyone would believe that he did nothing wrong, especially with how the article made him out to be a victim of the situation, despite the situation never existing at all. It also showed he was long over you; he didn’t care about you anymore.

Shuffling closer to Semi, you came to rest your head on his shoulder. You had missed having close friends around like this, and while the two of you hadn’t spoken since you left, it felt as if you had seen him just yesterday.

“Well, the peace was nice while it lasted.” You tried to joke, but he could sense the slight tremble in your voice. You were afraid of what was going to happen next, knowing that some people would never believe you if you told them what really happened.

“It was someone close to me, it had to have been.” Semi’s mouth was set into a firm line, having realised that himself. There were details in that article that not just anyone knew, and it was unsettling to know that the entire thing was possibly planned by someone you called a friend.

“You’ll be okay.” He brought his hand around you and lent his head on yours.

“I hope so.”

~~~

You were exhausted.

Luckily, Aihara and Sasuke had already known about your accident for a while now, so at least they weren’t suddenly against you like everyone else seemed to be. They had stayed by your side for the majority of the day, making sure that you were okay and warding off anyone that might try something on you.

Even so, you couldn’t get the article out of your thoughts. Apart from the excerpt you had read this morning, you hadn’t seen any more of it, so you couldn’t even begin to imagine what people thought of you since you hadn’t read the entire thing. All you knew, according to your two friends, and Semi, was that everything that this mysterious person had said about you was absolutely awful and completely untrue. You were curious, but you knew reading more would only upset you further.

The school day finally ended, and you met up with Kiyoko to start preparing for the practice match. She didn’t question you about anything, which you were grateful for, and you both had a pleasant chat as you gathered paperwork and set up equipment.

Soon enough, the boys also started to arrive at the gym, rushing to get into uniform, and you greeted them as Kiyoko returned from going to speak with the other team’s manager.

“Ouginishi will arrive at 4:30!” She announced, receiving a chorus of responses. Coach Ukai caught your attention and he waved you over to speak to him.

“Kageyama, I want you to sit out of this one.”

“What? Why?” It was meant to be the first match with you as their manager. You wanted to see them play a real match.

“You need to go and clear your head. I can see from the other side of the court that your mind is in the clouds. The boys told me what happened, and they agreed that it can wait one more day for you to start.” Clearly upset, you frowned at him, but you understood. You had been out of it all day, and volleyball was merely another distraction to add to the mix.

“You can’t tell them how to improve if you aren’t fully in the match, so go home, and rest.” Bowing your head, you gave him a weak nod. He didn’t seem too concerned about the article, but he had known who you were from the start, so obviously it wasn’t important to him.

Picking up your bag from where you had dropped it down next to the bench, you turned to leave but was stopped as you bumped into someone for the second time today.

“Giving up already?” That sneer. There was only one person that it could be, and you rolled your eyes, looking up at the blond who was staring you down, a sly smirk sitting happily on his face.

“Shut it, Tsukki.” You huffed, and he dropped the smirk.

“Oi,” Raising an eyebrow at him as he glared at you, you couldn’t help but realise you were really getting sick of his hot and cold attitude that he’d been showing you over the past few weeks. It was a wonder how Yamaguchi stayed friends with him.

“Get over it already.” You couldn’t help but let your jaw drop at his words, not even being able to form a response as he left you dumbfounded.

“Excuse me?”

“There’s nothing you can do about it, so there’s no use moping about, is there? So just get over it.” You hated it, but he had a really good point. It wasn’t like you could change what had already happened, and there wasn’t really a point in trying to change what people thought about you right now, so what was the point in being distracted by it?

“Get over yourself, beanpole.” Chuckling as his face scrunched up in annoyance, you readjusted the bag on your shoulder and walked out of the gym, not even bidding farewell to the other boys.

The fresh air was nice as you walked, but you found it difficult to clear your mind. Taking Tsukishima’s advice was easier said than done. It wasn’t like you could just be fine with the article straight away, especially after getting so worked up over it through the day.

Even if you didn’t care about the stupid thing anymore, that interview had still been given by someone very close to you, and the fact that you had been stabbed in the back like that by one of your friends was going to weigh on your mind for a while, whether you liked it or not.

You just hoped that you would never find out who did it, for your sake and theirs.

~~~

Cursing at no one in particular, you hurried your pace as you rushed for the train. If you made this next one, you could get to Tokyo earlier that you had thought you were able to, and you could hopefully get there before dinner.

The team must have already arrived by now and were probably in the middle of a game. It was a shame that you weren’t able to travel with them, but it lifted your spirits to know that your brother and his orange sidekick were going to be late as well.

You had known they were hopeless, so you weren’t surprised when they failed their exams; you had laughed at them, in fact, earning a slap over the head from Daichi. However, you hadn’t expected for them to actually try and still make it to the training camp, despite the make-up exam being on the first day. It really didn’t help that Tanaka had encouraged them and offered for his sister to pick them up from the school and drive them all the way over from Miyagi.

Your excuse for being late was that you doctor’s appointment had been rescheduled at the last minute, to just after midday, so you couldn’t be there for the start of the camp.

It was so worth it though.

The doctor had cleared you for minor practice, meaning you could play volleyball again. There were restrictions of course, a lot of them, and you knew your brother was going to be less than pleased about it, but you were just so excited to be able to spike a ball once again. That serve last week had left you buzzing, ready to feel the rush of adrenaline you got from seeing the view of the other side of the net being revealed to you finally, after so long.

You were also ready to kick the boys’ asses and knock them down a few pegs, that’s if the teams at the camp weren’t doing that already. Smiling at the thought, you took a seat on the train you had barely managed to catch and prepped yourself for the two-hour journey to the capital that you had ahead of you.

It was so easy to get lost in your thoughts as the train sped through the country, and your place next to the window was greatly appreciated as you looked over the mass of beautiful scenery. For once, there was nothing important on your mind, and you could finally relax and just space out. Even though your heart was pounding against your ribcage in anticipation of playing again, you kept your cool, even as the train pulled into the station, signalling you had arrived in Tokyo at last. You still had another train to catch, but you had already noticed the difference in atmosphere here.

You hadn’t been to Tokyo since you pulled out of the national team, and despite the memory, you were smiling. You felt free again; not worrying about your knee, or what people thought of you.

You had finally let go of it all.

Admitting that Tsukishima had helped you do it was out of the question though. You hadn’t spoken to him since the practice match, but he had begun to glance at you every so often when you crossed paths. He looked as if he was checking up on you, but his expression always remained stoic, so you could never tell what he was thinking. He was difficult to read, but you guessed that was what made him such a good player, even if he didn’t realise that himself.

It was almost dinner when you arrived at Nekoma, just as you had expected. Kiyoko met you at the gates and showed you to the managers’ room, informing you that there were still a couple of matches to be played yet, so you weren’t too late.

You had brought your old practice gear since it was the only thing you had on hand that was suitable for exercise. It was merely a pair of black shorts and the training shirt you wore while on the national team, but having that number and name displayed on your back again felt unreal. It was like you really belonged on the court again. Your heart ached as you looked at the flag on your chest and your sleeve as it reminded you how close you were to success, but you refused to let it ruin your excitement. You still had to wear your compression sleeve, but luckily, your kneepads covered it almost perfectly, so no one would even notice you wearing one.

You were ready.

Kiyoko brought you up to speed quickly on the team’s matches so far, and you were surprised to hear that they had lost every single one. Although, right now they were the small fry in the big pond of nationals-worthy teams, so it wasn’t exactly unexpected. While the team had improved by leaps and bounds since the start of the year, these teams had already been great for years, and Karasuno wasn’t just going to catch up overnight.

“Ah,” Kiyoko sighed.

“I left my clipboard back there. You go ahead without me.” Nodding, you watched her back for a few seconds as she hurried back to the dorms.

As you ended the gym, you noticed that Karasuno was just finishing up a game, but you couldn’t really tell who they were playing against. Though, judging by the scores, they looked like they were actually winning for once. The coach and Takeda were easy to find, and they seemed happy to see you.

“I’m cleared for practice!” Ukai grinned at you and patted you on the back.

“Good. They deserve to be taught a lesson after today.” You watched on as Hinata and your brother set up their freak quick, your eyes barely managing to keep up with the boy as he reached the opposite end of the court, suddenly in the air. The opponent managed to barely just get their fingertips on the ball, but it wasn’t enough. It slammed down on the floor, one of the other players missing it by mere centimetres.

“Hey, Hey, Hey! What do we have here?” Turning your head, you noticed a familiar two-toned head of hair with his eyes trained on the power duo stood not too far away from you.

“Tarō!” His head shot around until he found you, and you giggled as he began to run over.

“Rei-chan!” You barely had time to blink before you were in his arms as he spun you around.

“Bokuto-san, you’ll scare her off.” You were brought back to the floor and you stumbled a bit, a new pair of hands keeping you steady.

“Keiji, nice to see you again.” He made sure you were upright and stable on your feet before letting go of you and giving you a nod in greeting.

“And you, too.” They quickly took notice of your manager’s jacket and shared a look of confusion.

“You don’t go to Shiratorizawa anymore?” Shaking your head, you nodded over to your new team.

“Didn’t you hear what happened? I couldn’t stay.” Despite the shift in mood, Bokuto still had a grin on his face, and it cheered you up straight away.

“Actually, I need to go put those boys in their place.” Akaashi smiled as he caught onto what you were getting at and both of them followed you over to where your friends were resting by the side of the court. They noticed you approaching and greeted you, eyeing the two beside you.

“Do you just know all the top players, or what?” You shook your head, smiling at Suga’s comment.

“Do you think you guys would be up for one more set? No punishments this time?” As expected, Hinata was already bouncing about, a bright grin on his face.

“Ooooh! Against who?”

“Me.”

“Absolutely not!” Your brother appeared in front of you in an instant, glaring you down. The two of you had barely spoken since the article was released, and you had a feeling that your first conversation of the day was about to be an argument.

“I’ve been cleared for practice, so I’m good to play now. One set won’t kill me.” He huffed in your face and clenched his hands into fists at his sides. He was being stubborn, as usual.

“I promise to tap out the second it starts to hurt, okay?” Averting his eyes, he sighed, which was permission enough for you. You smiled and Hinata cheered, bounding up to you.

“Rei-chan! Can I be on your team?” Hearing Bokuto chuckle behind you, Hinata glanced at him in question.

“Sorry Hinata, but the other team is going to need all the help they can get.” Tanaka and Noya began to get riled up at your confidence.

“If that serve the other day was anything to go by, then she’s right. I want to be on the other team. I want to receive a spike from that hand.” Noya stood proudly with his hands on his hips, grinning at you devilishly.

“I’d expect nothing less from you, Noya.” With a smile, the team began sorting themselves into two teams as you quickly warmed up. Yourself, your brother, Tanaka, Daichi, and Ennoshita ended up on one team, and Noya, Asahi, Sugawara, Hinata, and Tsukishima were placed on the other.

It was definitely strange standing on a court like this again, especially on an all-boys court, but as soon as the coach tossed you a ball, you felt the adrenaline rush through you. Catching wind of the little independent practice match, and Bokuto’s cheers, some players from the other teams had idled towards your court to watch, intrigued by the fact that you were playing when you were clearly not on the boys’ team.

You began to hear whispers; your name, your reputation, the national logo on your shirt, the article, but you blocked them all out and got ready to serve, spinning the ball between your hands a few times.

It was just like last time; you felt alive.

Taking a few steps backwards, you adjusted your body to take your signature position, facing the left, the ball balancing on the palm of your right hand which was outstretched to face the other side of the court.

With a deep breath, you listened as Ukai blew the whistle, and you tossed the ball high up into the air. One second you were running forward, the next you were up in the air just like the ball, high above everyone else, beaming at the sight of the other side of the net. With every ounce of power you could muster, you hit the ball, feeling the sting of contact as you sent it flying towards the other end of the gym.

It hit the floor before Noya could even flinch, flying past him so fast that he could feel the air shift as it sped by.

“A service ace! On the first serve! Woah…”

“That… was… wow.”

“Nice one, Kageyama! Do it again!” You giggled at their surprise, your eyes skimming over the faces of the watching players. A lot more had noticed the game now, the crowd expanding.

“I’ll get it next time, Rei-chan!” Sending a thumbs up to Noya, you reset your position and Ukai tossed you another ball. You positioned yourself in the exact same way and sent another serve towards the other side of the court, not exactly as powerful, but shocking none the less. Although, this time, Noya just managed to dig it.

However, he sent it back to your side of the court.

“Sorry!”

“Chance ball!” Daichi shouted as he received the ball. He sent it over to Tobio and you and Tanaka both ran up to the net to spike.

You jumped and the other side’s blockers jumped with you, but as Tsukishima’s face levelled with yours, you smirked, causing him to look over just as Tanaka spiked the ball. Asahi dove to save it, but it was too late, letting the ball hit the floor, your team gaining another point.

The relay carried on for some time, both teams gaining a healthy amount of points. Most of the watchers had ditched the game, more interested in their food than anything else, but both sides refused to give up until they won.

Your side hit twenty points first, still a good five points in the lead over the others. Tsukishima had yet to block you, and despite his collected exterior, you could tell he was slowly getting more and more irritated by your tactics. No matter how much he studied you, observed your movements as you played, he could never get a read on you. He was usually fairly good at predicting movements this far into the game, but he couldn’t keep up with you. He absolutely hated it, but he was unbelievably impressed.

Was this what national players were like?

Even with you out of commission, you were wiping the floor with them. All he could tell was that you weren’t finished just yet. You still had a trick up your sleeve; you were too calm. The spikes you were hitting were amazing, but somehow not as good as your serves and he couldn’t figure out why they were so different. For the most part, you had been acting as a decoy because you had figured out that him and Hinata were paying more attention to you, but Tsukishima knew that wasn’t your position. You were a wing spiker; you had said so on that very first day he had met you. And for the wing spiker for a national team, it didn’t seem like you were putting in one hundred percent of your effort, and he couldn’t for the life of him think of a reason why you wouldn’t.

Were you that confident?

You clearly didn’t need to put in maximum effort, you were doing just fine at winning without doing so, but for someone who loved volleyball as much as you did, he had expected you to spike in the same way as Hinata, who cherished every toss he was given. There was definitely something off about it.

Tsukishima was so busy caught up in his thoughts, he missed the subtle nod that Tobio sent your way, as well as the smirk that it brought to your lips.

Asahi served the ball, which was neatly received by Ennoshita, who sent it straight to your brother. Once again, you ran up to the net, with Tsukishima and Hinata ready to block your spike. There was only one problem.

As you crouched down to jump, you smiled at them through the net. And then suddenly, you were gone, somehow already at the other side of the court, where Tanaka was meant to be right now. The other team merely blinked, and the ball was in their side of the court, rebounding off of the gym floor.

“Huh?” Pretty much every player left in the gym were stood with their jaws practically on the floor, gaping at you as you laughed.

“I was waiting for that!” You high-fived your brother, who actually looked a little shocked himself, but not as much as the rest of the team.

“Ooooh, I haven’t done that in so long! That was amazing!”

“That- that’s my spike!” Hinata rushed up to face you through the net.

“But it’s better?” Tsukishima joined in, with a little ‘hey’ from Hinata. You nodded, giggling as you looked over to see Ukai, Takeda, and Kiyoko all staring at you and Tobio in awe.

“Is this another move of ours that’s actually yours?” The blond smirked at you, actually joking with you for once.

“Technically, yes. But it’s not the spike that’s the move.”

“It’s the toss.” Ukai finished for you and you nodded.

“While the serve is actually my move, which I taught Oikawa, who taught it to Tobio here, the toss is all his.” You poked the boy in the side, and he squirmed away from you.

“I did actually teach him how to toss because that was my original position, but it’s his genius that makes it what it is. When I realised he was so good at it, I switched from setter to wing spiker so that we could both practice at the same time and benefit from it.”

“And you both got so used to each other and your abilities that there was no one that could hit his tosses like you could, until Hinata came along.” You gave the coach a thumbs up in affirmation and Hinata gaped at you.

“Two geniuses in one family, huh?” Suga still looked shocked, but he had his usual uplifting smile on his face.

“So basically, you can play any position?”

“Yup!” Giggling, you rested a hand on the back of your neck, suddenly conscious of the amount of attention that was being directed your way.

All of a sudden, a growl echoed through the gym and you sheepishly wrapped your arms around your stomach in embarrassment. The coach let out a chuckle and the team dispersed, returning to their positions.

“Okay, let’s get this wrapped up and get some food!” The whole team cheered, and you heard Bokuto join in. Shaking your head in amusement, you locked eyes with him and grinned as he and Akaashi sent you a thumbs up. You sent one back and got into position, ready to receive.

The match didn’t last much longer, you being the one to score the last four points consecutively, ending the match with your victory.

“A whole ten-point lead?” You were walking over as a new boy approached where Bokuto and Akaashi were stood. Recognising the Nekoma uniform and the severe bedhead-looking mop of black hair, you assumed this was their captain, going off what Hinata had gushed to you about their team in the run up to the camp.

“Was it the shrimp’s quick?” Akaashi nodded at you in greeting as you came to stand beside him.

“Actually, no.” Looking at him curiously, you resisted a smile as he did a double take after glancing your way.

“It was mine.” His face was a picture of pure panic, and it was hard not to find it funny.

“Kag-Kageyama Rei?” Oh, so he knew you.

“Nice to meet you.” You reached out your hand and he shook it eagerly, bowing slightly.

“Rei, this is Kuroo Tetsurou, Nekoma’s captain.” Good, you had guessed right.

“Shouyou and Tobio have told me a lot about your team.” He chuckled nervously and shuffled to stand slightly behind Bokuto, an action you raised your eyebrow at. This didn’t seem like the ‘big scary captain’ that Hinata had told you about.

“I’m actually a really big fan of yours. It’s a shame about what happened.” He was cautious about it, probably assuming that it would upset you, but you shook it off and smiled.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Rei-chan!” Turning your head, you saw Suga waving you over as the rest of the team were beginning to walk out of the gym. You nodded at him and he started to leave as well.

“Right, I’ll see you guys later?” They all nodded, and you waved at them as you jogged away to catch up with the team.

The cool breeze on your neck felt amazing as you stepped out of the gym and you closed your eyes, only for a cough to interrupt your peace. Opening one eye, you noticed the blond straight away, and you sighed as he approached you.

“What are you doing still stood here?” His hands were shoved in his pockets and he looked more worn out than he usually did.

“Waiting for you so you wouldn’t get lost.” You scoffed as the two of you started to walk towards where you assumed the cafeteria was.

“I’m not that stupid.” He rolled his eyes and smirked at you, his signature condescending expression slowly making its way back onto his face, where it belonged.

“You’re related to Kageyama, so I doubt it.” You laughed, and he was amused at how much more difficult it was to rile you up compared to your brother.

“Your blocks were really good today.” He merely hummed, and you glanced over to see him looking away from you, no quip or snide comment at the ready.

“Not good enough to stop you, apparently.” Nodding, there was a pause, the silence slightly heavy.

“Maybe so. But you have time to improve. I’m sure this camp will give you a lot to think about and work on.”

“What if I don’t want to?” You were a bit shocked, and slightly concerned.

“Don’t you want to go to nationals?” His gaze shifted to the floor, his hands finding themselves deeper inside of his pockets.

“I… don’t know.” He mumbled, and lifted his head to look at you, only you weren’t by his side anymore. You had stopped and you were looking at him with a hard expression on his face.

“Tsukki, why do you play?” He had no answer for you. He could only stare at you, eyes trained on yours as you stepped forward to stand in front of him.

“Are you scared?”

“Of what?” It was harsh, and he knew that. He didn’t mean it to be, but either way, you weren’t backing down.

“Hinata?” He laughed as if you had said the most ridiculous thing in the world, but you could see straight through it.

“You don’t think you can ever be as good as him, do you?” You knew you’d hit the nail straight on the head when he rolled his eyes, turning to continue walking off toward the cafeteria.

“You know what? Maybe you never will be as good as Hinata at attacking. But do you think he’ll ever be as good as you at defending.” He stopped once again, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“He attacks, you defend. That’s called teamwork, Tsukki. You’re good at defending, that’s why you’re a blocker. Everyone has their role. But Hinata can’t carry one attacking like he does it you can’t be bothered to improve. If you don’t get better, the other team will be able to score, and then you won’t be able to stay on the court and Hinata can’t attack at all. Karasuno will lose, and you’ll go back to being just the ‘flightless crows’ like you used to be. Do you want that Tsukki?”

“Of course not!” He turned to face you fully, stepping closer as if he was trying to intimidate you.

“Then get over it.” His eyes widened at your words; the same words that he had spoken to you only a few days earlier.

You were right. God, you were so right. And you even hit him with his own advice. You were really pushing his buttons today.

“Whatever.” Chucking to yourself, you knew that you’d managed to get your point across. It was satisfying, really, to shut him up like that.

“Do you think they’ll have any sushi?”

“Are you being serious right now?”

The two of you bickered the entire way to the cafeteria, and continued to do so as you both got your food and as you sat down at a table with him and Yamaguchi, completely unaware of the shocked glances that you were getting from the rest of the team.

For once this year, there was not a single thing you were worried about. You could play volleyball with a team of people that you were lucky enough to call your friends, and there was really nothing that could go wrong.

Finally, you were happy.

taglist: @tchalameme, @iamthepenguinwhosearseisonfire, @loreblackthorne, @lorentime, @influxencer

#tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #karasuno #nekoma #aobajohsai #shiratorizawa #fukurodani #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#tsukishima

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neverneverlouisland · 4 years

Text

summer love [l.t]

fandom one direction/louis tomlinson

pairing louis x reader

word count 2811

summary reader is a teacher in Australia is also a mentor and counselor at the school’s summer camp. her second summer there, a new teacher is hired and the two are drawn to each other. the seasonal months roll by and at the annual end-of-camp party, they realize their time is running out.

warning(s) none

a/n any extra characters mentioned by name will play a bigger role in future fics

If there was one thing they were sure of, it was that their lives changed after meeting.

For the past three years, she’d been a teacher at a school down in Australia. While it was thousands of miles from home, it was an opportunity that both allowed her to see more of the world and gave her hands on experience handling kids in a high activity location. She wanted to be a traveling teacher. It sounded a bit unusual, and she had instances of needing to prove that it was a legitimate career choice, but if she could bring knowledge and joy to such small kids while being able to see the international sights, that was all that mattered. After graduating college with a bachelor’s degree, she decided to take a couple of years off to get experience doing what she wanted to do for her long term job.

With the amount of money saved up, she managed to get temporary substitute and teaching assistant positions on other parts of the globe. After some hopping around that first year, she found that the city of Melbourne was where she needed to be. The sights from the plane’s view her first time flying over captured and ensnared her, so much so that all she wanted to do was explore instead of going to the meeting about the teaching job.

When that first summer in the Southern Hemisphere came to, she was offered a summer job as a counselor at the camp the school hosted every year. It was a program that cost families money when it came to transportation; all the kids and their chaperones would fly over to Cairns, Queensland in order for everyone to stage their tents and settle themselves in the camping grounds of Daintree National Park. She remembered being awestruck by the stretch of winding rivers, long, sandy beaches and forestry that went on for miles. Going along the trails that lead to the tops of the rainforest with her group was one of her favorite activities, and the admiration for it only grew when a man from England made his way over just a few months later.

Having just graduated from his own degree program, he fished for the perfect place where he could both enjoy his surroundings and be able to educate children in the best way he knew how. Being accepted into the program was a sight for sore eyes - all he could do the day he received the email was stare blankly at the worded screen in surprise. He was fresh out of university, so he was sure someone more qualified would have been given the job over him. Still, nothing was able to beat the excitement he felt about working abroad, and he was ecstatic to what the future there would hold.

What he didn’t expect was to meet an American who was so passionate about her work and ensuring the happiness of others that she ended up pulling him in.

When he first arrived, she was set as the tour guide. It was a whole week of showing him around the site, leading the hikes and co-planning the lessons and activities they would be doing with the children each day. There was zero judgement on her end when she learned that he didn’t have much experience in the field prior to the work that was done during his years of schooling. “If you love what you do and you’re good at it, that’s all that matters,” she said, and those words stuck with him for the rest of that night.

The time flew quickly, and he found himself falling for her more each day.

He lived for the hour-long sessions where both of their groups would be sharing a class or going down the trails towards the waterfalls buried within Daintree Rainforest. The heartfelt talks, encouraging compliments and bonding over their goals and love for the children they watched over would play in his mind like a movie each night following the one he realized his feelings.

Summer nights passed by in a blur of smiles and laughter, each moment spent with everyone was only leading up to the bittersweet moment of the end. For most of the kids and faculty, they attended or worked at the very elementary school that hosted the camp. This year, however, the addition of himself never came with a warning label. He was only hired for the summer position. It was a seasonal position that - while he thoroughly enjoyed to his heart’s content - was only meant to be a learning experience. He never expected to become so endeared by her. To become attached and obtain something so pure it would take months or years to be rid of.

Every second counted today, and each one flipped through his thoughts as he made his way to the program director’s cabin after being called down. The sky was getting darker by the minute, the crescent moon already a faded image in the changing atmosphere and the rolling clouds blending in with time.

He passed by the one she shared with the girls of her faction. The door was ajar and music could be heard from inside, along with small, extra voices belting out lyrics to a song by an American band he didn’t know the name of. The curtains of the two front windows were drawn back to have a light filter into the room, and with that he could see her almost perfectly. Seeing her dance around the confined space with the little ones was a sight for his bright eyes. It didn’t even occur that he hadn’t moved from his place until she spotted him a moment later, brows furrowed as she moved went to poke her head out of the open door. “Did you want to join us?”

“What?” He blinked, the realization hitting him once he took a look around and saw no one else in his vicinity. “Oh- no, thank you. I mean, I’d love to but I’ve been called to see the director.”

She smiled at him, suppressing a giggle at the dumbfounded expression on his face. “Alright, well-”

“Louis- there you are!” A raspy voice called out. The younger man turned his head to find said teacher walking out of the main cabin of the grounds, walking over to him as soon as their attention was on one another. Louis stayed as much in his spot as possible, wanting to continue the conversation with her even if it was only a distraction to what he actually had to do. The elder of the two counselors reached them in two minutes, a light smile on his face as he greeted the girl before addressing the one he was looking for. “Are you ready to talk about what we discussed?”

“Yeah, I am.” He responded, nodding his head to return the smile with his own.

“Great! Let’s be off, then. We don’t want to linger and miss the start of the closing campfire.”

“Right. That would just be tragic, wouldn’t it?” He questioned sarcastically, issuing a form of a laugh out of not only his superior but her, as well.

When he went to excuse himself, she was already shaking her head. “It’s fine. I was kind of keeping you from your meeting,” she laughed out, making his heart sing.

He gave her a sheepish smile and went on his way, calling behind his back to ensure that they would just see each other later in the evening. She waited until the men were out of earshot to show any hidden emotion, letting out a sigh as she sat on the tiny porch attached to the set of three steps. She folded her arms over her legs, letting the music from inside fill her with joyous warmth as the children continued to sing along as loudly as they could.

There was plenty to say when it came to the British addition to the mentors, and yet she could never say them when she was in his presence. It felt straight out of a romantic comedy - the way she found heart tumbling and stomach fluttering when he was mentioned or near. Even with all the time they spent together once she was assigned his tour guide, she never once thought the first person she would truly fall for would be someone she wouldn’t be seeing nine months out of the year. Though long distance was an option if it all worked the way she wished, those were always hard to maintain. She could only imagine how tough it would be to keep one between countries afloat. The head counselor calling him down for a talk made her even more nerve racked. He was originally hired for a seasonal position, meaning he would only be in Australia from the first day of camp to the last. What if that offer was being revoked? Or he changed his mind and decided this location wasn’t for him, so he went to look for one that suited him better? He was amazing with the kids here and they all loved him to pieces.

“Miss Y/N? Are you done dancing?”

The counselor turned her attention to the small girl exiting the cabin, a smile on her face. “For now, yeah. I’m just thinking. You can go back and play with the others if you want.”

Now, while she always insisted that she didn’t have any favorites in the sizable group that dragged her around, she most certainly had a soft spot for this one. Evelyn was part of a newer academic program at the school - one that gave foster parents the opportunity to send the less fortunate children towards the best education that was offered in Queensland. It was a random selection each year for the past three years but she was one of the kids that got accepted, and deserving of it.

The attention she paid to what went on around her and others always left the twenty-six year old astounded, even more so once the eleven year old took a seat beside her. “Are you sad that Mister Louis is leaving?”

“What? How did you know he was leaving?” She glanced over to find wide, green eyes looking up at her innocently. The way someone so young could ask such a question without knowing what meaning could lay behind it was beyond her.

She shrugged her small shoulders, “I heard you talking last night.” She began wiggling her feet around on the wooden step, looking down upon them with a tilted head. There was a pregnant pause between the two of them as they watched the rest of the campers and mentors walk around with plentiful arms to decorate the area for the night. The notes and competitive singing were still finding their way out the jarred doorway and into the open air of the camp. “I don’t want him to go. He’s really fun to play with, and he always finds extra snacks when we go to the beach.”

“I think those are actually meant for him,” Y/N chided, making the little girl giggle. A large smile graced both their features, although hers was more loose. They enjoyed all the time the groups had together throughout the twenty one weeks, yet she never fully took the kids into consideration. She wasn’t the only who would think about him or recall all the silly moments they’d had visiting the sandy shores, rainforest or waterfall sanctuaries. The more she thought about it, the more she reached the epiphany that life had a way of doing things. “I don’t want him to go, either.”

It was lively.

Since there were so many new recruits who joined the program this year, it was decided that the ending event would be done down on the beach. The volleyball nets were set up on opposite sides of where everything was set up, fairy lights decorating them both in erratic fashion. The sun was already set, showcasing a few dozen stars and the moon that finished its game of hide and seek to display itself for the night. There was one table farthest from the beach that held all the food, snacks and gift bags put together by the team for the young ones to enjoy on the way home.

They stood a distance away from each other while Louis talked to some of the higher ups and she hosted a game for anyone that was primary age by the edge of the moving sea. He watched from his peripheral as the large band of small members spun and danced circles around the other counselor with sparklers in their hands, the joy on her face making a mark in his memory.

“I’m sorry, will you excuse me?” He pardoned himself with a quick nod and wave, making a beeline for the only person he really wanted to speak with before his departure. His speed could only increase so much while crossing to the other side in the uneven sand, his arms nearly brushing the sparks from the thin sticks being waved in the air.

“Louis!!” She spotted him when he was a mere three feet away, the grin on her face growing even wider if it was possible. Right when he reached the edge of the wide circle of little dancers, a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him through an opening.

“I’m not that good of a dancer.”

“That’s okay - neither am I.” She gave him a close-eyed smile, her dark/light eyes meeting his baby blue ones. “I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you,” She went on, placing a hand on the back of her neck sheepishly, “but for the moment I’m kind of stuck here.”

His head tilted as he gazed upon the soft expression on her face and twinkle in her gaze every time she made eye contact with one of the many children surrounding them. He gave her a gesture that reassured her he was going to listen to what she had to say, however his thoughts on the fact were delayed. Should he ask her what she wanted to discuss or should he tell her his news first? He wasn’t sure what the priority should have been if he did the latter, a debate in his head making an appearance. There wasn’t much to lose no matter how he chose to approach everything; there were only a thin multitude of ways this night could end. He only hoped that he made a choice that impacted both their lives in a positive light.

Her lips parted before closing, the anxiety of the situation beginning to get to her. How much was there to lose on her end if this didn’t go the way she hoped? Would they stay friends or would it become too much or too awkward for either of them and they would gradually stop communicating? There was only one way to find out, yet it was also the only thing holding her back from actually telling him.

The pair examined the other’s features closely and as discreetly as possible while being so close. Neither knew how to act or bring it up - it started to look as if the only option was direct with a bit of faith and confidence on the side. With the children around and the other counselors lost in their own worlds of conversation, he almost hesitated to do what he decided upon. Still, being able to analyze and take a guess on the way she was acting made him believe there was a good chance. As she opened her mouth once more and took in an anxious breath, he took the open opportunity to lean in for a quick peck, wanting to express everything without displaying too much in front of the kids.

Her eyes widened. Silence ensnared the shared bubble.

He looked on in worry, the event processing in her mind. After what felt like an hour passed by, she looked up at him with a grateful smile. The confidence that was temporarily slipping away made a reappearance, relishing in what had just occurred. “It’s only been three months, but is it too early to say I love you?”

He was able to put on an act almost instantly, stroking his chin in pretend thought, “I’d say give it another year or two and come back to me.” She nudged his arm with her elbow, giving him a small grin that eased his fretfulness immediately. The gentle laugh that resonated from him made the butterflies in her stomach rampage; her heart feeling as if it was beating miles a minute.

“I love you, too.” He finally countered, giving her a more lingering kiss, earning them hues of youthful disgust that only caused more laughter to ensue.

#louis tomlinson #louis tomlinson x reader #reader insert #x reader #one direction #1D #fanfiction #fanfic #solo louis #louis william tomlinson #reader #1direction #directioners #fandom #louis tomlinson edit

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dancingkirby · 4 years

Text

Azula Week Day 5: Smiles

Summary: Zuko decides to invite all of his and Azula’s illegitimate half-siblings to the brunch on his and Mai’s wedding day. It goes less badly than Azula had feared.

Warnings/Notes: Multiple non-graphic references to past sexual abuse of multiple underage girls, leading to one death and one near-death in childbirth. (Don’t worry, it has a happy ending!). Classism, internalized misogyny, etc. on Azula’s part. OC-heavy. One GoT reference that sort of wormed its way in there under its own volition.

Word count: 2667 (longer than I had been anticipating!)

After many, many delays, the day of Zuko and Mai’s wedding was finally imminent. There, would, of course, be intense media coverage and a general holiday for the populace, as well as thousands of guests. However, Zuko had also come up with the idea to have a pre-wedding brunch for family and close friends only. This wouldn’t be so outlandish, except that to him, “family” included Ozai’s bastards…every single one that he could find.

“Even the commoners, Zuzu?” she had sighed when he broke the news. “It’s not a good image. People at court are already talking. We ought not to remind everyone of our baggage.”

“They’re not baggage, Azula,” he retorted. “They’re our siblings.”

“Half-siblings,” she corrected as she brushed a cherry blossom from her shoulder; they were sitting in the courtyard watching the decorations being put up.

Azula,” her brother admonished. He spent what seemed like an absurd length of time trying to figure out what to say next, looked to make sure the decorators weren’t eavesdropping, then added, “I’ve been to their houses, you know that. I’ve spoken with them personally, and I know all of their names and their stories. You don’t want to know what I found out.”

“Don’t I, brother?” Azula inquired in faux innocent tones. Zuko rubbed a knuckle against his forehead.

“Fine.” He conceded. “Here’s just one of the stories. There was a girl. Lian. Her father died suddenly, and her mother was sick a lot. So she and her older siblings had to find jobs in the palace so the family wouldn’t starve. She wasn’t even old enough to legally be hired, but they found work for her in the laundry under the table. Her job was to go from room to room, gathering the dirty clothes. I think you can see where this is going. And…she died giving birth. She was just a child.” Sparks flew out of his nose as he exhaled forcefully.

“You’re rambling, Zuzu. And watch the volume,” Azula stated almost without thinking. Internally, however, her mind was spinning. As much as she hated to admit it, Azula had not been prepared for that last part. Died? Five years ago, she would have dismissed Lian as not fit to live anyway. But now…she knew that she herself had been near death in that same situation, no matter how much the doctors had tried to sugarcoat it.

She was able to remain expressionless, however, and asked, “And the baby?”

“His name is Chun. The youngest of the bunch; just turned four. Cute kid.”

That would place his conception sometime in the weeks after the Day of Black Sun, during which Ozai had lost his last vestiges of self-control and everyone else in the palace suffered. For all she knew, Lian could have been one of the ones Azula herself had witnessed; she’d never bothered to find out any of their names.

“Any other dead?” she queried.

“No, thankfully. Many of the mothers have permanent medical problems, though. Some have turned to alcohol. A few of the kids were adopted out. Acknowledging and welcoming them and their children...well, it’s the least we can do. It’s the…”

Wait for it.

“honorable thing to do.”

And that was that. Once the h-word was added to the equation, there was no changing her brother’s mind.

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It was the morning of the big day. Zuko had decided to get the inevitable family photos done at the brunch, since Fire Nation weddings were lengthy and the smaller children would probably be tired after a long day of ceremonies. Currently, he and Mai were standing at the entrance to the courtyard, greeting the guests as they walked in.

There were twenty-one acknowledged bastards; everyone at court knew that. Zuko had managed to track down an additional twenty-three, and he wasn’t even certain that he’d found them all. This meant that their lord father had sired at least forty-six children…well, technically forty-seven, Azula thought as she fingered the footprint pendant on her necklace. Twenty-eight of those had been born during his not quite six-year reign as Fire Lord. Had she not known for herself how insatiable Ozai had been, she may have found the number mind-boggling.

What was more, their heretofore unacknowledged half-siblings tended to skew younger than the acknowledged ones. The noblemen of the court who were actually decent people (or at least concerned about marriage prospects) had started keeping their young daughters home a couple of years into Ozai’s reign. That meant a veritable flood of children ten and under, most of them having never come anywhere near the palace prior to this.

She nibbled on a green onion tartlet as she stood on a slight rise, surveying the goings-on in the courtyard. Some children were wandering around, looking at their surroundings with big eyes. A sizable group had been attracted by Ty Lee’s impromptu acrobatics performance. Ursa was sitting by the pond, commiserating with some of the young mothers. Kiyi had taken it upon herself to give people tours of the grounds whether they asked for it or not.

But…where was…?

Azula was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even fully register the timid tug on her sleeve until it was repeated a few seconds later. She looked down for the source, and saw a small boy, wearing what must have passed for finery in whatever tiny village he came from.

“Bathrooms are that way,” she said for about the tenth time today as she pointed with her finger. But apparently that wasn’t the reason this child had sought her out.

“Are you the Princess?” he asked. Except the “r” sounded more like a “w.”

“I am,” she confirmed. Then she watched, bemused, as the kid sank into a kowtow with surprisingly good form for a child of that age…not to mention a peasant.

Azula would not smile. She would not smile.

“You may rise,” she told him automatically, with all the solemnity she would give to an adult. He sprang back up.

“Aunty said we have to do that if we see the Fire Lord or Fire Lady or Princess,” he explained in a rush. “I saw the Fire Lord and he said don’t do it, but I wanted to do it because I practiced!”

Pwacticed.

She…was smiling, wasn’t she? Damn.

“What is your name?” she asked him.

“Chun,” he answered. Azula had already had her suspicions when he had mentioned an aunt instead of a mother, and this confirmed them. This was the one Zuko had mentioned, whose mother had died.

“Well, Chun,” she said, “Your aunt was correct, generally speaking. However, Zuzu does have his hangups about etiquette. If you really want to pay obeisance, I would suggest a bow instead. Would you like to learn the correct form for that?”

“Yeah!” he cheered. Azula was quite sure that in the entire history of the world, no four-year-old had ever been as enthused about learning courtly manners.

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Chun had the three different depths of bowing down in about five minutes. Azula had always considered herself good at sniffing out potential, and this child had heaps of it. Perhaps one day he could find work as a palace bureaucrat, and even ultimately be appointed to a seat on the Fire Lord’s council. She supposed that Zuko’s incorrigible stubbornness had had some merit for once; otherwise, Chun’s talents would have been wasted among the riffraff. He was also tremendously eager to please, and refused to leave her side. Azula got the feeling that nobody paid much attention to him at home.

It almost made her wish that she hadn’t been so harsh toward Mai’s younger brother a few weeks ago. For someone who continued to know nothing about children except that they liked gross stories, she sure seemed to attract a lot of children.

As the two of them wandered back to where the main crowd was, Azula provided a running commentary about their various half-siblings.

“That woman in the glasses is Anshi, the oldest,” she informed Chun. “Great with numbers, and even beat Iroh at Pai Sho once. Very boring conversationalist, though. The lady in that hideous gown next to her is Zhilan. She can lightning bend, yet refuses to actually learn how to use it effectively because she prefers to spend her days arranging flowers and playing the erhu like a proper lady.” She shook her head.

“She’s fat!” Chun exclaimed brightly. Azula chuckled.

“Sssh. Well, to be fair, she doesn’t have my flawless physique, but actually she’s expecting her third child. Perhaps she thought that people would be so blinded by that monstrosity of an outfit that they wouldn’t notice?” She pulled Chun along before her vision was permanently ruined by what even Ty Lee would likely reject as too over-the-top. Although it was unclear how much of her gossip the child actually understood, he didn’t appear bored.

“There’s Ichiro; he’s skilled at archery and so aloof that he makes Mai seem warm and inviting. And…ugh, that’s Eri, stuck-up as ever. Do not go near her,” Azula cautioned. The girl apparently ruled over the Royal Fire Academy for Girls just as Azula herself had done a decade earlier, but unfortunately lacked the intellect to be anything more than a common bully. Best to give her a wide berth like Kiyi did.

“Who’s that?” Chun piped up while pointing at a pair of children dressed in bright red from head to toe.

“Those are Akane and Akemi. Twins. They’re the youngest of the Acknowledged, and they’re…”

Azula never got to say exactly what it was that Akane and Akemi were, since just then, there was a commotion at the courtyard entrance.

“Sorry I’m late!” yelled the new arrival. As she turned to greet the soon-to-be newlyweds, her face was somewhat obscured. However, Azula had no difficulty recognizing her. She’d know that short haircut anywhere.

Ruanyu. Azula’s breath caught in her throat. They hadn’t seen each other in nearly five years. After so long without any contact, she’d been starting to think that her half-sister was dead.

“How about you run over to the Fire Lord and show him your bow?” she asked Chun. He scampered off happily enough.

Azula was not anticipating that this would be a happy reunion. Once, they had been close, and Azula had even allowed Ruanyu to call her by her given name. However, she really had treated the girl more like a pampered yet disposable pet than anything else, and had all but forgotten her in the events leading up to Sozin’s Comet. In fact, she hadn’t remembered that she had left the girl to her own devices until months later, when she was in the hospital.

Then Ruanyu looked her way, paused for a split second, and began running toward Azula at top speed. Azula steeled herself, her heart racing. She remembered that the feisty little girl had held her own in sparring matches, and she was prepared to repel any firebending that might come her way.

What she was not prepared for was being nearly knocked off her feet by the sheer enthusiasm of her half-sister’s embrace. When they pulled apart, Azula attempted to remain stoic, but the sheer magnetism of Ruanyu’s famous ear-to-ear grin was too much for her to resist.

“I see you managed to escape,” she commented dryly.

“Yeah. My mom smuggled us out after the whole Phoenix King thing,” Ruanyu answered while shrugging, as if it were of no great importance.

Azula became painfully aware that everyone in the courtyard was watching them. In fact, Zuko was leading the spectators in some applause, Ty Lee ran over to get her hug, and Mai made a cough that sounded a lot like the word “Finally.”

“You knew about this, didn’t you?” Azula accused Zuko.

“We wanted it to be a surprise,” was all he said in response.

“It seems that you succeeded in something for once,” Azula remarked in as deadpan a tone as she could manage. Then, to Ruanyu, “Let’s go talk somewhere more private.” Ruanyu agreed, and they retreated to Azula’s favorite shady little enclave. Once they were out of earshot, Azula decided to cut right to the chase, as she looked at the face that was almost like looking in a mirror.

“If you’re angry at me, then say so. Don’t hold back on my regard.”

Ruanyu bit her lip as she considered.

“I was angry at you. Really angry for a while,” she commented. “But I decided to forgive you. Zuko told me about what Ozai did to you.” Her eyes hardened.

“Did he do anything to you?” Azula had to know.

“Nah. Well, he kept saying all this creepy stuff, but I was always faster than him,” Ruanyu replied. She was obviously trying to be casual, but not quite succeeding. She was sixteen; old enough to know that she had only just dodged a lightning bolt, and that others had not been as fortunate.

“And just what have you been doing these past years?” she inquired.

“Mom took us back to the village where she grew up. She wanted me to settle down with some boring man and raise a family. But that’s…not me. So I’ve been doing a lot of traveling, seeing the world,” Ruanyu explained. Yes, Azula remembered her half-sister’s thirst for adventure well. In fact, she had briefly considered taking the girl to the Earth Kingdom, but had decided against it since she knew that Ruanyu would never have gone along with taking Zuko and Iroh prisoner.

She asked, “Any plans for after the wedding?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Ruanyu answered. “I think I might stay at the palace again for a bit, then set off again. I’m interested in seeing that new city that Zuko and his friends are building; he told me that they’re looking for settlers.”

Someone cleared their throat behind them. “Did someone say my name?” Azula turned to see that Zuko was indeed present, with one twin hanging off each arm.

“Yeah, I was just telling Azula that I wanted to see Republic City.”

“Well, we’d be glad to have you there. But, uh, anyway, I came up here to tell you two that the photographer’s setting up. He has a prototype model of a new kind of camera; one that can take the picture instantly. I thought the younger kids might find it harder to stand still.”

“Don’t get him started on that special camera,” Mai chimed in as she walked up with Chun trailing behind her. “He’ll probably spend our entire wedding night talking about it.”

“Not the entire night,” Zuko protested.

“Oh, really? I suppose I will just have to make sure that you keep your word.”

Azula said, “There are children here, you two!” in almost perfect synchrony with Ruanyu’s “I don’t think I wanna hear this…” They must have pulled identical faces, since Akane exclaimed, “More twins!”

“Oops. Forgot about the kids,” mumbled Zuko. “So…yeah. Picture time.”

And so the soon-to-be-wed couple kissed as they temporarily parted; Mai had to leave to undergo the ordeal of getting dressed in her many-layered wedding outfit. (“If I’m really lucky, maybe it’ll actually get done sometime this decade,” she said.) Zuko eventually got the whole group of Ozai’s progeny rounded up. As her brother enlisted Sokka’s help to explain how the camera worked to those children who had never been photographed before, and Azula snuck appraising glances at the latter, she felt oddly at peace. They made for an odd collection of individuals indeed, but Zuko had been right just this once. That awful trial was behind them, and they were all stuck in this same recovery boat together.

After some time, they were all arranged in a more or less organized manner, and Azula made sure that her necklace would be clearly visible in the picture.

“Smile!” the photographer ordered.

And, as they saw weeks later when the developed pictures were sent to them, nearly everyone had. Even Azula.

#azulaweek2020 #azula #atla #I think we all know that Azula and Sokka hooked up that night

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thylalock · 4 years

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Title: Blaac By: thylalock Characters: Tom Blake, Joseph Blake, William Schofield Pairing: William Schofield/Tom Blake Summary: There is an old story in the Blake family—that they are descended from tree nymphs. Tom doesn’t believe it, of course. That is, until he speaks to one. Tags: fantasy AU, nymph AU, dryad AU?, reincarnation AU, I’ve written Scho as an angel in Celestial now it’s time for Blake!, magical realism AU A/N: yes I’m still a weakling for AUs

“Tree. Later, he learns to distinguish this tree from all the others. He learns its particular name. He plays under the tree. He dances around it. Stands beneath its branches, for shade or shelter. He kisses under it, he sleeps under it. He weds under it. He marches past it on his way to war, and limps back past it on his journey home. A king is said to have hidden in this tree. A spirit may dwell within its bark. Its distinctive leaves are carved onto the tombs and monuments of his landlords. Its wood might have built the galleons that saved his ancestors from invasion! And all this, the general and the specific, the national and the personal, all this, he knows, and feels, and summons, somehow, however faintly, with the utterance of a single sound.”

— Professor Joseph Wright. Tolkien, 2019.

It was a quiet and peaceful evening in the countryside.

The summer sun, not setting in yet, was still a golden orb of ethereal light hanging nicely on the west end of the clear sky, casting a warm glow over the lush pasture and the orchard next to it, quite the scenery provided for the back porch of the Blake’s. A young boy was sitting on the steps, bouncing a younger boy still that was sitting on his knees.

“D’you know we came from tree nymphs, Tom?” the older boy asked, earning a smile and a hearty laugh from the younger one.

“Whatsa nyph, Joe?” the younger boy, Tom, asked. His teeth hadn’t quite settled yet, and he couldn’t say the word properly.

“It’s a tree spirit. Nice kids that play around in the trees,” Joe said.

At this, Tom’s eyes sparkled as he turned around to face Joe. “There’s kids playing in the trees?”

In less than a second, Tom leapt off of Joe’s lap and began running towards the orchard, giggling uncontrollably as he did so. Joe followed suit quickly after, not wanting Tom to hurt himself as he sprinted faster than what was safe for him.

A feminine call was heard from inside the house, sounding concerned. “Where are you going? You’ve just had your bath!”

Tom was already a long way ahead of Joe as he heard the latter calling back to their mother. “Won’t be a moment, Mum!”

Tom loved running around through the pasture and climbing the trees in their orchard, but this time was different. Joe just said there were other children hanging around the trees and he was excited to meet them. He never saw anyone there, had he missed something? He’d be thrilled to play with them.

A few paces next to the cherry orchard led directly to the woods and Tom already lost himself among the trees, calling for the nymphs that he wanted to play with. He could barely hear Joe calling after him from the other side of the orchard, “Tom! Where are you?”

And then—

His right foot caught on a protruded root and little Tom lost his footing. He let out a small ‘oof!’ as he landed on his knees, skin scraping the earth. Joe must’ve heard it, because he appeared from behind one of the trees in the woods before sprinting towards Tom, worry in his eyes.

His knees hurt and the breaking skin began to throb in rhythm with his racing heartbeat, Tom was on the verge of tears.

“Oh, no, are you hurt?” Joe asked, already on his knees as he hugged his little brother, brushing off dirt from his hair and his shirt. But then—

Tom was caught off-guard, an expression of confusion written all over his chubby face. Upon running a hand through his knees, he found no scratch. No cut, no throbbing, nothing, they were alright—

“But I fell,” Tom said in a small voice.

He looked up to see Joe smiling. “Maybe it’s the nymph!”

Tom gave no more thought of it as he followed his brother back home, eager for dinner. Both of the boys were unaware of a heavenly figure standing just a few stones’ throw away, her scraped knees slowly healing.

Tom grew up to be a very playful boy.

He was vibrant, energetic, and bright. He was boyish in every sense of the word. He came home dirty every evening with leaves on his ruffled hair and dirt on his pants. He got embarrassed and turned the deepest shade of red when his mother hugged him in public. When he smiled, a sweet smile with a hint of mischief underneath and with just the loveliest hint of rosy tint on his cheeks, he lit the whole house up. When he ran through the fields, he was almost as fast as their dog. He was quick to get angry, but he was also quick to forgive.

But despite his boyish personality, there was something about the quiet nature that seemed to call to him.

He might never admit it, but there was a reason why he loved rolling through the beds of grass down the hill, why he could climb trees quicker than his friends and reached the impossibly high branches, why he loved lying on a pile of dry leaves in autumn.

Why he and Joe were not an ounce tired as they took the whole day picking up the cherries from the orchard in the middle of May for the first time, even though they were only small boys, while Emmeline Blake, a grown woman of two sons, looked like she was ready to collapse to bed.

The woods, the trees, the grasses that danced softly to the evening summer breeze. There was something in it that seemed to be calling him, whispered through his fingertips as he ran his fingers through the rough bark of the highest branch of the oak tree in the woods, far from anywhere his friends dared to climb, vibrating through his bones, whispering through his veins, something—

Something that calmed him down when Joe accidentally broke his wooden sword and he ran to the woods to cry, sheltered and hid him when he ran as fast as he could from the seething pharmacist because he had to steal a vial of medicine for Joe who was sick at home, wiped his tears when they decided to put their old dog down because she was in too much pain—

When there was news that Mr. Blake would not be coming home from the African War, something cradled Tom’s head as he sat against a tree, hidden in the woods, his legs curled up to his chest to ward off the biting chilly November air.

His dreams began that very night.

It was something that always evaporated the moment he woke up, not even a figment of it clung to his memory like his regular dreams, but sometimes something would trigger a strange and unknown feeling in his gut, and Tom would know it was a piece of his dream. But no matter how hard he tried, he could never call it back.

Sometimes he would catch a young couple kissing under a tree, or his teacher would read to them the story of the great warlock Merlin who was trapped inside a tree by a sorceress, or he would play pirates with his friends, imagining they were sailing the seas with the mightiest galleons, and an echo of name was heard in the back of his mind, a sound was forming at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t remember it—

“Joe?”

A creak was heard in the dark room. Joe shifted from where he was lying on his bed next to Tom’s in their small and humble shared bedroom. “Hmm?”

“Do you ever—”

Several moments passed. Tom raked his brain for the right word, he didn’t quite know what to ask, but then upon the lulling sound of Joe’s slowing and steadying breath, he drifted off to sleep as well.

A man was standing on his back towards Tom.

He looked smart with his uniform. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties, and with his strong jawline and broad shoulders, he was quite dashing and handsome, if only not for the melancholy on his face. He looked as though he was trying to sport a brave face, but Tom could see the underlying hint of sadness on his mouth and fear in his eyes.

He was kissing a young woman before he kneeled down to kiss her swelling pregnant belly and a boy next to her. She looked disturbingly familiar to Tom that his breath was knocked clear out of his lungs. She was, she was—

When he blinked, the man was already walking through him.

Tom tried to scream, but not only did he fail, he was also faced with a different scene as he blinked again.

The same man was walking towards him now, but his steps were heavy and uneager. He looked as though some ten years had been cut from his lifespan. He still had his strong jawline and his broad shoulders, and he was still handsome, but his eyes were empty and he looked as though he could hear things that were not audible to other people.

And then—a boy, a boy came into his vision, running to hug the man, and then a woman, with a baby on her arms—

Tom woke up with a start, his nightshirt drenched in sweat, too panicked to notice that, in his dream, he was one of the cherry trees in their orchard.

The dreams slowly began to recede as he reached his early teenage years.

Following Joe, he got a job of helping around with Mr. Evans with his horses after he finished his minimal school. It took every scrap of his energy to deal with the equines and the moment he touched his bed, he drifted off to dreamless sleep almost instantly.

Joe told him not to be such a girl the first few weeks he kept complaining, which prompted the younger Blake to shoot back about his job in the bakery, earning him a playful punch.

He worked in barns and stables and fields now, and if the trees were still calling to him as he took the shortcut through the woods on his way home every evening, he was either too tired to pay attention or he had lost the ability altogether.

He slowly left that piece of childhood behind, until—

It was in the middle of the summer festivity in the village, one they always had every year. Leading a life in a small village in the countryside, one was bound to know every other soul in the neighbourhood, and Edith Falkner—Tom hadn’t exactly thought of her in that way, but that particular night, it might just be one too many glasses of cider that he had, or the way that her red hair looked as though it was burning with the roaring bonfire behind her, or the way she smelled like the apples, sweeter than anything he could resist—

It was quite embarrassing, and both of them were quite sloppy that night, but it was his first kiss.

They came to their senses quick enough, and it was an amiable conversation, but Tom and Edith decided it was something that they would never speak of again.

Life returned to its usual rhythm.

Tom grew up into a handsome young man, quite the talk of the neighbours. Sure he was still a talkative boy, but the girls seemed to pay more attention to his charming wit. He hadn’t quite grown out of his chubby and rosy cheeks, but he took after his father and Joe quick enough in terms of his broad shoulder and strong jawline.

Of course, being who he was, Tom was aware of this, but although he had kissed quite a few girls, he had never broken any hearts and he had never touched any of them. He had done nothing but respect them.

Besides, after his first kiss with Edith, something didn’t feel quite right—as though he was afraid that the next girl he would kiss, the next girl that he thought he was really connecting with, was just him being too intoxicated and not thinking straight.

Until he sat down against one of the cherry trees that particular evening.

It was a quiet and cloudy evening, aside from the slowly dimming sunlight, there was no telling that the sun was reaching the end of the horizon. It had been quite an uneventful day. Mr. Evans successfully sold one of his horses for quite a rewarding price and he had finished his work rather early. It was truly one of the rare days when he got to enjoy a few moments of stretching his legs in relaxation, surrounded by trees, just like how he remembered it when he was a boy, not drowning in too much strenuous work for a change.

Only, this time, he got some company.

A slightly older boy with a rather lean posture was sitting next to him, listening to him talking excitedly about Myrtle.

Henry Cooper was the son of the vet that he and Mr. Evans liked to go whenever one of the horses was not well. Sometimes he would visit him with his mother when Myrtle was ill as well, and Henry would go into his father’s office and told him that Tom was his friend and the kind old man would free them of any charge. Sometimes, when Tom was not feeling well, Henry knew all the right advice to give.

He was telling him about how Myrtle liked to do all silly things when Henry laughed, one of the most beautiful sounds that Tom had ever heard, and it registered to him.

It was like putting a missing piece of puzzle, the last piece falling easily into place without any second thought.

When Tom kissed him, it rained cherry blossoms.

Not that he would remember it in the morning, but that night, Tom had another one of his dreams, but this time, it was different. It was more powerful, more magical, more ancient.

Someone was standing under a cherry tree. Tom was inclined to say it was a young woman, but she was clearly more than that. She was not any ordinary maiden. Something about her, something about her told him she was not quite human—her beauty was both ethereal and frightening, her presence commanded respect and fear, her poised elegance was striking and intimidating.

But then, the way the air hummed melodiously around her, the way the trees bent as though to gather her in an embrace, and then, as a man slowly walked down the lined trees that Tom realized was decorated like an aisle for a wedding, and then, the way she took him in her hands ever so gently—

A warm feeling bloomed in his chest, in his stomach, on his toes and his fingertips—as though all the beautiful things under the sky bloomed into existence and he could smile until his face ripped. And all of a sudden, she was not terrifying anymore. She was still frightening in her heavenly beauty and respectable presence, but she was no more an other-worldly being of fearsome predilection, an ancient daughter of the Earth spewed out of myths of inspire awe and strike fear. Instead, she was a lovable bride.

He pieced it together—they were in love.

And then, something formed on the tip of his tongue. Her name—he knew her, he didn’t know how, but he knew he was supposed to know her—and her name, her name was—

Tom didn’t remember any of it in the morning, and he didn’t know that it would be the last time he would have the chance to glimpse into the lives of his far ancestors.

They announced it the next day. England was at war with Germany.

Everything that used to revolve around Tom’s life dwindled in a matter of days—Joe signed up, Henry was called for his expertise, and they took all of Mr. Evans’ horses.

So it was only natural that Tom, being who he is, went early to the city hall early the following day.

Besides, he wouldn’t be complaining after he heard how they were going to pay these soldiers—with more than what Mr. Evans could, with glory, with a more meaningful life than just mucking out stables and horse dung, and with a chance to go on parade and charm a few girls.

They said the boys had to be at least nineteen to be taken in, but no one had to know he was still sixteen years old, was there?

It was quite sneaky to avoid Mr. Evans on his way to the city hall, so he took his favorite shortcut—through the small path in the woods. He knew the woods and the grasses and all the individual trees like the back of his hand, before—

He took a turn to where he knew there was a gentle slope to descend, but he could’ve sworn he had passed that part of the woods—

He wasn’t—he mustn’t be thinking straight, which was to be expected, he thought, he was filled with excitement for the prospect of joining the forces—

Wincing, he landed on his backside as he slipped on the perfectly solid ground, which would’ve embarrassed him to no end if it wasn’t for the fact that he was barely thinking of anything other than reaching the city hall as soon as he could to sign up—he would be with Joe the entire time and they got to watch each other’s backs in the Front, it really was the best idea—

But then Tom decided something undoubtedly weird was taking place, because he could’ve sworn he had crossed that stream just a few minutes earlier—

And he had passed that crossroad, and he had passed that slope, and he had crossed that bridge—

It was a deeply unsettling feeling. He had never been lost in this particular woods in his entire life. He knew all trees and all the rocks and all the broken twigs, all the nooks to curl and all best trees to bear fruits, all the corners where the rabbits lived and all the bird nests sitting on the highest branches—but for the first time in his life, all of it felt foreign and unknown to his touch—

He hissed as his right foot caught on a protruded root that he knew wasn’t supposed to be there. When he tried to stand up, he swore at the pain shooting from his foot to the top of his head. He broke his right ankle.

He hadn’t felt it for years, the last time he had felt it was when he was no older than an eight years old boy, but nonetheless he knew the feeling—the trees were trying to tell him something. So he stood up and turned back to face the trees, and hissed under his breath, “What the fuck do you want?”

A gust of wind, that which seemed to flow in rhythm with his own heavy, angry breathing.

When he turned to the other side, the edge of the wood was there, with the houses in sight.

Tom tried to hide his limp.

But even as he pulled a brave face, large drops of sweat forming on his temples as he held the pain, lying through his teeth about the year of his birth, the officer managed to find out that he was too young.

When he exited the hall, not bothering to hide his limp anymore, a familiar voice called, prompting him to turn around.

Henry stood by the door.

They didn’t say a word. It was the last time either of them would see each other.

Life was quiet for the next two years.

The village was quiet, the town was quiet, Tom’s days with his new job went on quietly, the summer festival was quiet.

His mother was quiet, and though Tom still wanted to join the fight, he never brought it up again. Instead, he would let his mother hold his hand when they had a quiet time, and even would hug her in return longer than usual, even though he used to be embarrassed about it.

The window on their kitchen faced the cherry orchard at the back of the house, and Tom was helping his mother with the dishes when the question jumped out of his mouth.

“How did you meet Dad?”

This earned a hearty laugh from his mother. “Did you meet someone?”

Tom let out a small chuckle, although there was a nice hint of blush creeping up his cheeks. It was good Joe was not there to see it because he would never let him past it. “No, I’m—I’m—I’m just curious.”

Emmeline Blake smiled and stayed silent for a moment, as though she was gathering all the sweet memories in her heart, before she replied, “he gave me flowers.”

Something about the statement called out to him, as though he knew it to be true, deep in his bones, as though a lot of pieces in his life just aligned themselves to make sense.

But his mother didn’t seem to register what her words had done to him, because she continued casually, “violets. Reminds me of your grandmother every time I see it. I don’t know how he found out. Your Dad always said it’s the Blake charms, but I think he'd just been watching.”

Tom knew the train was coming before the chugging sound was even heard.

Something about the blow of the wind and the dancing of the grasses.

When the train came to a stop and Joe climbed down the platform, his mother practically jumped at the young man before gathering him in a hug, but Tom noticed something else.

Something about the way that nothing changed with his broad shoulders or his strong jawline, but that he looked like some ten years had been cut off from his lifespan, and like he could hear things that other people couldn’t hear.

If it happened with winds and dancing blades of grasses with Joe, it happened with flowers with Tom.

There was a bill passed about getting all the men that were fit to fight to join the Front, and May 1916 saw him finally saying his farewell to his mother on the train station even though he was still eighteen.

To untrained eyes, nothing would seem out of place with the gust of wind trailing behind the slowly accelerating train, carrying the fragrance and flowers of late spring. But to Emmeline Blake, as she slowly realized it, she knew.

It was her boy.

If he thought taking care of Mr. Evans' horses was tiring then, life was even more exhausting at training.

They put them through a lot of marching, crawling in the mud, running, climbing walls, handling rifles, and carrying bags full of rocks jogging for laps the entire length of a running track, but for a young country boy, even by military standards Tom rose to his specialty quickly enough.

In just a few months, he was already specialized in navigation.

But of course this record didn’t escape the attention of his superiors without raising suspicions.

The first time he completed his navigation mission in his training, locating four chests of grenades in a forest with nothing but a compass and a knife, and finishing half a day earlier than their fastest record, he was rewarded with ten laps of jogging with a sack full of rocks as a punishment.

“But, sir—”

“Is that you talking back to me I see?”

“No, sir, but I—”

His sergeant let out a deafening bellow to tell him to get running, and Tom nearly jumped out of his skin.

But no matter how hard the next tasks they threw at him, how treacherous the next forest would be, and how well-hidden his next salvage would be, he kept finishing his missions earlier than their fastest record, by days. This baffled his superiors because they figured he couldn’t have cheated and kept getting information about his missions every single time.

The night they were sending him with the rest of the new boys to the Front, his sergeant came to him, a genuinely curious expression written all over his face.

“How did you do it?”

Tom knew what he meant without the older man having to explain himself. “I don’t know sir, I just know my way around trees, I suppose.”

Tom was sent as reinforcement for the 8th battalion at the end of the year.

It was in the middle of winter, and no amount of training could prepare him for the actual sight of the Front, of the sounds, of the smell, of the feeling of death wafting from the earth that walled the very trench itself, of the biting cold and lifelessness of No Man’s Land that stretched on the far side of the horizon, far from his first station as a new recruit—

He thought about the glory that he would get once the Great War was over, and pulled on a brave face.

Like everything that life threw at him, he adjusted to his daily routines quickly enough—even made a few friends within the first day.

Sure he was aware that his talkative nature earned him a few frowns from some of the men, and a few warnings from his new superior, but it wasn’t like he could turn it off like a tap of water. But his personality was hard not to like amidst the ever-present gloom of the Front, and he was great company to be with when they were bored out of their minds in the back line. Within the first month in the trenches, he already knew the names of almost all the men in his company, some of their wives, and a lot of funny stories from the next regiment that some of the lads passed on to him.

And he liked his company too. Some of them were funny and had even more hilarious stories about their superiors in store, some of them looked grumpy and battle-worn but they had all the right advices about life in the trenches, some of the were quiet but they know all the right words to say to even the darkest jokes and they didn’t mind helping out a lot with the boring digging, some of them were even loud and not unlike himself.

One of them was Lance Corporal William Schofield.

At first, Schofield was no different than the majority of the men in the trench.

Quiet and reserved, with a sad and longing look stealing its way on his face when he thought no one was looking, or it might just be his resting face. He made minimal response to his chattering when they were huddled around the fire and complained when Tom kept talking in the afternoon, he did his work diligently and went about his business without saying a lot of words.

But he also liked to share his food with him, tucked in one of the inner pockets on his uniform neatly with a handkerchief. When it stormed, he was the first to scoot over to give some room in his hideout for Tom to take shelter. And no matter how frequently his stupid self forgot to duck a little lower when they were sent to fix the wires, Schofield never failed to remember to gently pull him to duck by the shouder.

They were huddled around the fire that evening, and he was just telling the men around him about Myrtle when Schofield laughed, a melodious and rich sound that Tom could spend forever listening to.

In that exact moment, a breeze of wind blew, carrying the unmistakable smell of cherries, which baffled Tom a lot because they were still in the middle of winter and no one else seemed to notice.

That night, he slept across Schofield, far from the Front line.

The next morning, no one paid any attention to it, but Tom could’ve sworn they didn’t fall asleep on a bed of moss the previous night.

He didn’t mean to do it on purpose, of course, but sometimes, when he knew Schofield thought he was asleep, he would catch a sad expression playing on the older man’s face.

In the afternoons, when all the men around them were trying to steal winks of naps. In the evenings, with the dimming sunlight casting a warm glow on his face. Early in the mornings, when no one was awake yet and the early spring sky was still a lovely shade of faint blue.

Sometimes, Tom thought of asking what the long face was about, an attempt to cheer him up, but every single time he was about to do it, his tongue failed him. For all his cheery personality and his bubbly disposition, he couldn’t find the words to do it, couldn’t gather the courage—it wasn’t right, it wasn’t life back at the countryside where the hardest thing to happen was failing crops or a sick herd of cattles—he couldn’t poke around people’s lives like that—

Tom didn’t do it often, but he reserved to just look at him from afar, hoping that he wouldn’t turn around and catch him staring and stumbling over his own words in a poor attempt to make an excuse.

And, every time, the wind would blow gently so that the grass next Schofield’s person would caress him. When he played with the tiny yellow flowers, there was a gentle tingling on Tom’s fingers—

As though they were holding hands.

And then Tom would allow a small smile on his lips.

One time, they were advancing a couple of miles east, their next station. They didn’t have any vehicles to bring them, so they walked on foot. They were crossing a few hundred yards of forest when it happened, just like every spring back at home.

It rained cherry blossoms like it was snowing.

A few men complained as a few petals found their way to their faces, swatting them off like flies, but Schofield, who was walking just a few paces behind Tom, looked at the raining flowers with a gentle expression, as though it reminded him of everything that was soft and beautiful and bright in the world.

He looked up, admiring them as though every single one of them were falling stars, and Tom let out a soft chuckle.

It was well into the spring when he heard of Joe again.

“You have a brother, a Lieutenant, in the 2nd Devons?”

His eyes widened.

When they exited the dugout, he was ready to climb the parapet to cross No Man’s Land himself. Not even Schofield could slow him down.

He couldn’t decide which one was more terrifying—being trapped underground with the earth roof collapsing above him, or the sound from underneath the rubble, buried in the white dirt, screams that slowly receded into faint shouts—

God, god—

It was different than being shelled outside. With no sunlight and no sky and no bloody anything but chalk and rocks and dead dirt all around him, Tom was suffocated—he couldn’t—he couldn’t think—he was good at surviving outdoors, bloody good if he could say so himself, as long as he could see the sun and smell the faraway scent of life and sense the dormant seeds of the grasses, but underground—

“SCHO!”

God—

He pushed himself, through the white dust swirling around him, scattering the light from his torch into blinding beams, his hands digging the fallen rocks like a feral canine, swimming through the earth, sweeping it away—he had to, he had to—

“Scho? Scho!”

He kept on calling his name, despair rooting in his voice as his calls became more and more guttural, his fingers working their way through the rocks, until—

There was no mistaking the tip of Schofield's helmet, and then his forehead, and then—god, oh god, his face was caked in white chalk dust, with his mouth open—

“Scho! Wake up! Wake up!”

When he pulled Schofield by his webbing, he finally coughed. Heaving, gasping, rasping, all the horrible and painful but the most relieving sounds Tom had yet to hear.

Were it not for Schofield’s hand, holding him tight by the shoulder, his own fear seeping into his own person, he wouldn’t have managed to navigate their way out.

He only slowed down at Schofield’s remark.

“No, you didn’t—you never know. That’s your problem!”

Tom looked at him for a long time, trying to come up with an explanation, only to fail miserably.

“Alright then, go back. Nothing’s stopping you,” Tom recoiled, hurt. “You can go all the way bloody home if you want—”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

Bloody dust stinging him on the eyes—

”I didn’t know what I was picking you for,” Tom said. He was trying to explain that he didn’t know picking Scho with him would result in them barely escaping being buried alive in the German trench, but there it went again—”I thought they were going to send us back up the line, or for food, or something.”—all his words and all his wit, slipping away from him, leaving him stumbling over words that betrayed how he was actually sorry that he didn’t know, because, if anything, he was lashing back at him—”I thought it was going to be something easy, alright? I never thought it would be this—”

And then he went silent. He didn’t want to sound sad, so he could only manage it in a small voice. “So, do you want to go back?”

They looked at each other for a moment.

“Just fire the fucking flare.”

Naturally, Tom didn’t know how else he could make it up to Schofield beside talking.

He had never been good at other approaches.

So he started talking.

“Jesus.”

Tom felt it before he saw it—death.

Not just the feel of ordinary death, of trees getting cut down to be made into furniture or fields catching fire after getting struck by lightning, of fruits rotting or fallen logs decaying or any other ordinary deaths that were part of the cycle of life.

“They chopped them all down.”

There was something evil in the fact that the cherry trees were in flowers when they were chopped down. It almost felt like murder.

He couldn’t help it. He came forward and touched it.

They weren’t supposed to go yet before they bore their fruits later in the season, so he prayed for them. They would still come back in more trees than before, he had learned since he was a boy that nature was unstoppable that way, but he still prayed for them. When he said their name, it was to pay respect for their family, a sign that he recognized their clan, a prayer to wish that they would come back next year to continue their bloodline—

“Lamberts.”

—but then he felt Schofield’s eyes on his neck, so he caught himself.

“They might be Dukes. Hard to tell when they aren’t in fruit.”

He asked Schofield to tell his mother that he wasn’t scared, but of course he was scared. It hurt when he took a breath in and everything was getting colder and colder and it scared the living daylight out of him to contemplate the possibility of Schofield not—

“Talk to me,” he begged. It hurt, his abdomen hurt like a thousand knives and the only thing keeping him from crying was the fact that his lungs hurt so much, but he had to—he had to make sure. He searched for Schofield’s eyes, he had to be sure. “Tell me you know the way.”

“I know the way.”

His breath was becoming more erratic.

“I’m going to head south-east until I hit Ecoust.”

He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes as he held the pain. He needed to hear it, he needed to hear it—

“I’ll pass through the town, and out to the east, all the way to Croisilles Wood.”

“It’ll be dark by then,” Tom’s reply was barely more than a rasping sound as he shivered, cold.

Everything was so unimaginably cold, but there was warmth when Schofield said, “that won’t bother me.”

Schofield was saying something, but he couldn’t make anything out of it, it was getting fainter, and fainter, and fainter—

And fainter.

“Come with me, Corporal. That’s an order.”

He wanted to touch Scho, tell him it was alright, probably joked to him that he got his bearings right this time, considering the man was clueless about navigation and couldn’t even tell in which part of France they actually were. But it was different when he was already dead.

The grass—he wanted to extend his fingers through the blades of grass, hold his hands through the tiny yellow flowers, but it was feeble—so feeble.

And then he realized it. It was true.

He was of tree nymph blood.

And that was when he saw her.

The maiden. Striking and majestic and courtly, her silver hair flowing to the ground and dancing in the wind as though in water, her beauty staggering and ethereal, her presence breath-taking and magnificent, but also—

Warm.

With her smile gentle and welcoming, and her steps followed by the flowers shooting out of the earth, and her eyes the most tender shade of hazelnut.

There was a queenly air around her, as though she was ancient and was older than the human race itself, but her touch—Tom was already on his knees when he laid his eyes on her regal appearance, all his breath knocked clear out of his lungs even after he died, but her touch—her touch was so impossibly human—

And then he remembered.

The maiden under the tree, and his groom, the young man walking down the lined trees, and her name—her name—

His head spun impossibly fast—all the memories, all the dreams he couldn’t recall, all the history of his ancestors, bleeding into his dreams in his sleep, all the kings and all the knights, all the poets and all the bards, all sorcerers inside the tree and all the ships that fought the Romans, all of it caught up to him—

“We are named after you,” Tom breathed.

She was the tree nymph, who married a mortal.

Her name was something that his human mind couldn’t wrap itself around and a sound his human tongue couldn’t pronounce. It was like the sound of the rustling leaves and the whisper of the forest in the middle of night. His own family name was probably the closest thing a man could get to her real name. But escaping his human body, Tom understood it now.

She smiled and gathered him an embrace.

“My name is Blaac.”

From behind Blaac, a man was walking towards him. Tom would’ve been too young to remember his face when he was alive, but somehow, escaping his mortal body, he knew. He recognized him.

They could almost be the same age.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he lost his voice as he collapsed into his embrace.

“Dad!”

Time flowed differently when one was dead.

One was separated from the mortal world, yet sometimes one could sneak a look beyond the fog. Most of the time it didn’t make sense.

But something kept on calling back at Tom. Something was filling in his lungs and he couldn’t breathe, as though he was drowning.

Someone—

He knew it before he saw it. Schofield.

It hurt to look beyond the fog. It wasn’t supposed to happen, the veil between the living and the dead was not supposed to be ruptured, but Schofield—

He was drowning.

His name jumped out of his mouth before he knew it.

“Schofield!”

Tom gasped as Schofield emerged from under the surface, gasping for air. He could feel Schofield’s strength waning—

“Schofield! Scho!”

—his mind numbing, his breath shallowing—the heat of his body slowly being replaced by the biting cold of the water—

Tom could feel his own breath slowing, so he could only manage a whisper of a name that never escaped his lips outside of his dreams. “William—”

And then he looked up.

A breeze.

And with it, a rain of cherry blossoms.

When he saw Schofield bring up his hand to scoop some of the fallen blossoms from the water, Tom could feel his hand on his fingertips.

“Is that you?”

Tom spun on his heel to turn around, the veil closing itself behind him. Blaac was looking at him with a gentle expression. He didn’t need her to explain what she was asking about.

Tom blinked, gathering his thoughts before he said, “yes—yes, I think so.”

Blaac was silent for a moment. “Not a lot of Blakes can do that beyond their death.”

Tom didn’t know what to make of it. Like all the strange occurrences in his life, he didn’t quite know how to do it, it just sort of happened.

No word was exchanged between them for a long time and Tom thought it was merely a warning not to rupture the veil again, but then Blaac’s next words shook him.

“You must’ve loved him very much.”

Tom froze.

He hadn’t—he hadn’t exactly—

He couldn’t move, the idea had rooted him on his feet. Loved him? He couldn’t have loved him—sure Schofield occupied his mind more often that could be considered friendly and there was a surge of ache in his gut when he thought about him, about his sad face and how Tom was too much of a coward to comfort him, about his melodious laugh or about the tiniest chuckles that he liked to let out that was the gentlest sound in nature and were one of the things Tom treasured most in the world, about the fact that he was ready to go through falling rocks just to get Schofield out of the collapsing trench alive—

“Thomas.”

Tom looked up, his lips sealed.

“Do you love him?”

And it was when the walls broke.

“Yes. God, yes, I love him.”

And so Blaac walked towards him.

When she put her fingers on his forehead, everything turned blindingly bright.

Tom Blake was munching on his breakfast as he sat on a bench.

London was a very busy city, but at least in the middle of the city park, he could get a bit of fresh air and a break from his stressful schedule for a change. His first class was not to start for another hour.

It was a nice morning in the middle of the spring.

A gentle breeze of wind caressed his cheeks and a single, solitary petal of cherry blossom sneaked its way to fall on his lap. Above his head, it looked like it was snowing—blossoms everywhere.

He chuckled, as though remembering something from an old life.

His eyes landed on another young man, sitting on the bench opposite him. Tom had never seen him before in his life, but for some reason, he felt like he knew him.

He smiled.

Fin

A/N: OH MY GOD I FINISHED THIS YAAAYY! If you’re here, thank you so much for bearing with me through that thousand words of angst, I mean, man do I love writing those!

So a little sidenote: I don’t have any background in Old English whatsoever, so really it’s not actually my place to say that Blake really came from Blaac (Old English) n. pale hair, or pale skin. My only backup is the internet, so I’m sorry if I get some of the things wrong.

And yes, of course, I can’t help with the reincarnation, I’m weak for that trope, especially in this fandom!

I’m sorry if I didn’t nail Blake’s personality right, I did my best but I think I must’ve missed some things. ALSO sorry if the idea is a bit strange, I don’t know why this idea came to me, I suppose it's because of the "and then in May, we have to pick them, me and Joe. Takes the whole day." time of the year, but I had to write it.

Constructive criticism is always welcomed! Now, be right back, I can’t run away from Celestial forever lol!

#1917edit #blakefield #blaac #1917 fanfic #my writings #tom blake #I FINISHED IT YAY #absolutely not gonna finish it were it not for the support of my friends you know who you are THANK YOU i love you to bits #*#thomas blake #1917 #dean-charles chapman

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juliussneezerfics · 4 years

Text

Solitude

Your wish is my command. I don’t really know exactly what you wanted here, but I hope I do it justice! I know this probably isn’t as funny as what you were asking for, but it was the only way I could think to write it in character!

Feel free to send in your fic requests! If you want to, specify if you want fluff, angst, anything!

Italy sat at his dining room table, idly sipping a cup of coffee. He hadn’t even gotten dressed for the day, gazing out the window as a cardinal flew past, relishing the wind. Italy drained the dregs of his coffee, standing and shuffling his feet across the cold tiled floor of his dining room, into the kitchen. He rinsed out his cup, idly singing a song under his breath and placing the cup in the dishwasher. He was just about to head upstairs to get dressed hen he heard his phone ring from the table. Italy paced over to the table, smiling as he read the caller I.D. onscreen.

“Good afternoon, Germany! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Ah, Italy…” Germany’s tone, despite being made tinny by the speakers, was obviously unsure. “I’ve made us some cake and coffee… would you like to eat them together?”

“At your house?” Italy asked, pounding up the stairs. “Of course I would! I still have to get dressed for the day, but I’d love to come over! I’ll be there in about twenty minutes!” Italy entered his room, pulling open his sock drawer.

“Oh, I see!” Germany grunted slightly as someone snickered in the background. “Wait just a moment!”

Italy, distracted by hopping around the room while he pulled on a sock, didn’t quite hear Germany. “Okay, see you in a bit!” He hung up, tossing his phone on the bed.

On the other end, Germany sighed and hung up the phone.

“Did he hang up on you, West?” Prussia asked, pacing into the kitchen.

“He sounded distracted.” Germany said, gathering the dishes on the counter and putting them int eh sink of hot water.

Prussia slunk over to the counter, grinning. “Don’t blame him! Who wouldn’t be after hearing you made your apple cake! Can I have a slice?”

“No.” Germany snapped, scrubbing the pan. “We have to wait for Italy.”

“Why would we? We never-” A look of dawning realization came upon Prussia’s features. “Oh, I see.”

“See what?” Germany grunted, focusing far too much on his wooden spoon.

“You want everything to be just perfect. Usually, you wouldn’t care if I just took a tiny slice. You like Italy, don’t you?”

Germany furrowed his brow at the dishes, not turning around. Prussia’s voice had taken on a very strange tone. “Of course I do. We are friends.”

“You know very well what I mean.”

Germany paused his scrubbing. He licked his lips, trying to think of something to say. He went back to his washing. “You make sure the living room is clean. We have a guest coming over.”

“The living room is always clean.” Prussia grumbled, walking away. He shut the door to the living room, standing in place as he processed the rather one-sided conversation he had just been a part of. He sat on the couch, resting his elbows on his thighs. Now, this made things complicated.

So. It appeared both him and his brother had fallen for North Italy.

What now?

The selfish part of Prussia wanted to have Italy for himself. After all, he had sacrificed so much for Ludwig, didn’t he? Raising him, teaching him to be a nation, and look how he turned out. A wonderful man, thanks to his teachings.

A wonderful man…

Prussia sighed. Who was he kidding? There was no way he could outright steal Italy from his brother in clear conscience. There was no way. But he also couldn’t fall victim to heartbreak. After living as long as he has, heartbreak got old very quickly. First losing Elizabeta to Roderich, and now…

He had been selfless then, right? He had seen that the two had loved each other and he had stayed out of their way.

But Italy did not love Germany… did he?

Prussia stood and paced the room. Did Italy love Germany? He was very touchy with him, sure, but he was that way to everybody. Discerning the romantic attachments of an Italian was almost as difficult as distinguishing a British man’s good friend from his acquaintance.

But if Italy did not love Germany. Then… did Prussia have a chance? Prussia stopped. Approached the window and looked out at their front lawn. Down the driveway. Therein lived the key to solving their little problem, right? There it was, right in Prussia’s gloved fingertips.

If Italy did not love one brother or the other, then surely, he was fair game. He knew that Ludwig was no idiot. He knew that if Prussia were to begin competing with him for Italy, then Germany would know and do the same. The two of them competing for Italy’s affection. Surely, this was fine. More than fair.

Prussia swallowed the slight feeling of discomfort that rose in his chest, allowing himself to enjoy, just for a moment, the peace of finding a solution.

About ten minutes later, Italy finally arrived.

Prussia bolted down the stairs, his clothes ironed, his hair combed… he had put on a little dab of cologne against his better judgement. As far as he was concerned, he was as ready as he could be. He rushed past his brother in an attempt to get to the door. “’Scuse me!”

He wrenched open the door, the doorbell not even fading out before he saw the face of Italy.

Italy was dressed casually but refined. A button-up shirt French-tucked into a pair of skinny jeans, his hair combed. His cologne, sweet but masculine, reached through Prussia’s nose and clenched its fingers around his heart and squeezed.

“Italy!” Prussia greeted, ignoring the pang in his chest.

“Prussia!” Italy lurched forward, wrapping Prussia in a hug. “How are you doing?”

“Better now that you’re here, Italy!” Prussia allowed himself the indulgence of scanning Italy up and down once again. “You’re looking good!”

“You’re looking good too, Gilbert! Did you do something different with your hair?”

Prussia reached up and brushed the thin strands sheepishly. “Eh, not really.”

Italy peered over Prussia’s shoulder, his face lighting up as he saw Germany. “Germany! Thank you for inviting me over! How are you doing?”

Italy passed Prussia and reached up, pulling Germany down for a hug.

“I’m doing fine, how are you?” Germany peered over Italy’s shoulder, frowning at Prussia. A silent question.

Prussia looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. If Prussia had happened to glance over at Germany again, he would have seen the glinting realization of what was going on. A harsh glint of what could have been jealousy, grief, or a toxic mix of the two.

Italy pulled away, beaming up at Germany. “It was so nice of you to invite me over for cake! I do so love your cake, Germany. Your coffee, too! Though I admit, it’s not quite up to par with Italian coffee.”

“Best coffee in the world, right?” Prussia asked, walking over to the two. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

“Have you never had it?” Italy asked, surprised.

“Can’t say I have!” Prussia answered. “Perhaps you could take me to a couple Italian coffee shops sometime and give me my overdue education!”

Italy clapped his hands together delighted. “Oh, that would be wonderful! We should set that up sometime!” He beamed. “Now. Where is this cake of yours?”

Germany waved Italy toward the dining room, furrowing his brow at Prussia. The gaze wasn’t antagonistic, or even heated. It was more… betrayed. Disappointed.

Prussia hardened himself against the gaze. No. He had raised Germany from the ground up. He had never felt the pleasure of love and being loved in return. The concept was well overdue. And if it just happened to be Italy who provided that experience then… well… there were plenty of fish in the sea. Ludwig was a handsome man, surely it would be no struggle. Prussia crossed into the kitchen, starting up a conversation with Italy.

The three sat at the table, the slices of cake long since eaten.

Germany pushed himself from the table. “I’ll just excuse myself for a moment.”

“Okay,” Italy said. “We’ll be waiting for you!”

Germany left the room, leaving the two of them behind.

Italy immediately turned to Prussia, his brow furrowed. “Is Germany acting strange to you?”

Prussia swallowed, raising his coffee cup to his lips. It was empty. It didn’t matter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh. I guess it’s just me, then.” Italy said, turning his head to look out the dining room window.

“You’re really kind.” Prussia said.

Italy turned his head to Prussia. “Hmm?”

“You’re very kind. Thoughtful. You put others before yourself.” Prussia leaned back in his chair. “That’s pretty awesome of you.”

Italy raised an eyebrow, resting his elbows against the table. “The awesome Prussia calling me awesome? I’m honored!”

“You should be.” Prussia said. His voice had… changed. Become softer. “You’re awesome.”

Italy’s gaze returned once again to the window. “You’re very sweet.”

Germany returned, three wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. “I thought we could have a glass of wine.”

“Oh, that would be perfect!” Italy grinned. “Thank you, Germany!”

“Of course.” Germany rested the glasses on the table, pouring out an amount for the each of them. His own serving was noticeably smaller.

Italy took a sip, his gaze brightening. He lowered the glass. “What wine is this?”

Germany too lowered his glass. “Oh. Antinori.”

“No kidding!” Italy cried. “That’s my favorite wine!”

“Oh, really?” Germany asked, evidently surprised. “I’m glad you like it!”

Prussia studied Germany over the rim of his glass. Germany didn’t like wine. Hated red wine. Never drank it of his own accord. Even now as he sipped it, his disgust was only thinly-veiled. This was too strange to have been a coincidence. Germany had planned to have the bottle in his house when Italy came over. Prussia took a rather large swig out of his glass, hoping it would get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth. Hopefully it would take affect soon.

The three then walked in the yard, about the enter the back woods. They made their way into the forest, silent as they observed the sun peeking through the leaves and listened to the birds singing their songs.

Prussia happened to glance down at the ground, grinning as he spotted a pretty pink flower growing out of the ground. He plucked it, rushing forward to Italy’s side. “Hey, look what I found!”

“Oh, Prussia, that’s lovely!” Italy crooned.

Prussia pushed it behind Italy’s ear, brushing his soft hair with his fingers as he did. “It brings out your eyes.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet! Thank you, Prussia.” Italy grinned at Prussia, his long fingers brushing the petals of the flower.

“Of course! It’s the least I could do for the awesome Italy!” Prussia happened to catch a glimpse of his brother. He was looking away, apparently seeing something very interesting in the distance.

“Did you know that the tale of Hansel and Gretel was written by a German?” Germany asked, speaking very swiftly.

Italy turned to Germany, surprised. “Oh, really?”

Prussia furrowed his brow. Italy had been around for a very long time. He could recite his entire history in extreme detail, as well as the history of Japan and Germany. There was no way Italy didn’t know.

“Yes.” Germany said.

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard it.” Italy looked at Germany pleadingly. “Could you please tell it to me?”

The corners of Germany’s mouth lifted. “Of course I can.”

Germany told the story, his words occasionally punctuated by the amazed murmurings of Italy. Prussia stared ahead into the forest. Ludwig may not have been an idiot, but neither was he.

That evening, he stood in the shower for longer than usual. He didn’t know how long it had been when he had finally turned off the water and stepped out. He wrapped a towel around his waist, rubbing his feet on the shower mat. He studied himself in the mirror, leaning against the sink. From the hot shower, his pale skin was unusually flushed.

Prussia scoffed at himself. Who was he kidding? Italy had made his choice ages ago. And what had come out of Prussia’s actions? All he had managed to do was betray his own brother. Ludwig had always felt for Italy. Always. He had been stupid not to see it. Prussia shook his head, disgusted with himself. How had he been so blind? Even earlier today, when he came to the decision to compete for Italy, he knew what he was doing. He had swallowed that disgust and it had settled like a stone in his heart.

He wanted it out.

“Some ‘awesome’ brother you are.” Prussia growled at his reflection. He tore his gaze away from the mirror, getting dressed. He furiously scrubbed the water out of his hair with a towel and left the steamy bathroom. As he crossed his bedroom, he was caught in a beam of light from the moon. He strode forward and ripped open the curtains. Gazed down at his front yard, and down the driveway.

Was this really it? Was Prussia destined to live a life of loneliness by himself? Locked in his own solitude? Was he really supposed to chase friendships to fill a void in his heart? He sighed, his breath fogging against the window. If he was truly destined to be alone as he feared, then he could take comfort in the fact that he was because he was doing it for his brother.

He pushed open Ludwig’s door. “Knock knock.”

Germany was sat at his desk. He looked over to Prussia, his gaze furrowing. He stood. “What the hell was that today?”

“I know.”

Germany stood in place, his expression unchanging. “You know?”

“Yes, I know. It was a real dick move, everything I did today. I look back on it and wonder what the hell I was even trying to do in the first place.”

Ludwig’s face was blank.

“I just…” Prussia sighed. “God, why is this so difficult?” He grunted frustratedly. “I’m tired of being alone. Being alone sucks ass. To never have someone love you back is awful, okay? And I let it get to me. I shouldn’t have, I’m just being so damn emotional and weird.”

“You’re… not.” Germany said awkwardly. “I understand.”

“You don’t understand one goddamn thing.” Prussia snapped. “You’ve only ever loved Italy, and you’ve got him.” All at once, Prussia lost the energy to be angry. All that was left was… sorrow. Apathy. The emotion was not foreign to him, but it never got less heartbreaking. “And I want you to have him. Really, I do.”

Germany sighed, glancing out the window.

Silently, Prussia mused that they really were more alike than what most people realized.

“I don’t want to be with him.” Germany finally answered, turning to Prussia. “Not if it makes you feel this way.”

“It won’t forever.” Prussia tried for a winning smile. “I’ll get over it.”

Germany looked levelly at Prussia. “I’m not good at this. Never have been, probably never will be. But if being with Italy makes you feel like this all the time, I couldn’t do it in good conscience. There’s someone out there for everybody, Gilbert, and there’s even someone for you.”

Prussia scoffed. “Even for me, huh?”

“Even for you.” Germany said. “Get some sleep.”

“I kind of don’t want to sleep.” Prussia protested. “I kind of want to… get drunk off my ass, y’know?”

Germany smiled slightly. “Me too.”

“Let’s go, then.” Prussia slapped the door frame lightly as he left the room. “Your awesome brother will get the first round.”

“Who will drive us home?” Germany asked, following his brother out.

“France, probably.” Prussia said. “He’s so nice, I could get him to do just about anything.”

The world meeting came around half a year later. Italy had taken his place on Germany’s right side, Japan at the other end of the table next to America.

Prussia watched his brother and Italy, his brow furrowed. True to Germany’s word, he made no romantic moves on Italy. Italy, in return, appeared to have been keeping his feelings in check. Anybody could see that the two loved each other. Everyone except themselves. Prussia looked down at his hands, idly drawing a chicken on the corner of the meeting’s agenda. It took him four months to realize where he stood with Italy. He had some time to analyze his feelings and the way he even thought about himself.

It wasn’t that he was in love with Italy. It wasn’t that he even felt for him in any way beyond friendship. It was that Italy, lovely, affectionate Italy, gave Prussia attention he wasn’t quite used to. Attention that could be interpreted romantically. And, like a school girl, Prussia thought himself in love with him. Really, it appeared he was in love with the idea of loving and being loved back.

So here Prussia was, doomed to be alone. That’s what it felt like, at least. He was disturbed from his dramatic internal monologue when he heard the sound of the chair next to him scooting outward. Prussia didn’t look up from his work.“Hey, Greece.”

“Hmm?”

Prussia blinked. That definitely wasn’t Greece. Prussia turned his head, looking up. In Greece’s usual place was Canada, looking confused and slightly embarrassed. “Oh! Canada.”

“Sorry, is it okay if I take this seat? Greece wasn’t able to make it today, and…” his already quiet voice lowered to a whisper.

Prussia leaned in so as to hear it.

“I’d rather not sit next to Russia, if you know what I mean.”

Prussia waved to the empty seat, smirking. “Well, well, so Canada does people he doesn’t get along with!”

Canada only shrugged slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting up. “Only if you can keep it a secret.”

Prussia smiled down at his hands again. He knew of Canada of course, they have both been involved in group conversation. The two had never conversed directly, though. Never got around to it, he supposed. Prussia didn’t expect to get a humorous streak from him.

“Nice chicken.” Canada muttered, pointing to the drawing on Prussia’s papers.

“Thanks!” Prussia responded.

“I didn’t know you were an artist.”

Prussia smirked over to Canada. “Only if you can keep it a secret.”

Canada bit back a shy smile before turning back down to his papers as a distraction.

Prussia found himself flabbergasted. Come to think of it, he’d never seen Canada smile so genuinely. He always had his polite grin, of course, but that uninhibited smile… those eyes so blue they were almost purple…. Oh no. In Prussia’s periphery, he could see Germany watching the two. Germany was no idiot. He knew what was going on.

Prussia ignored the gaze, however, turning back to Canada. “I’d really like to get to know you sometime, Canada.”

Canada, his face flushed, looked back and smiled.

Maybe Prussia wasn’t doomed to be alone after all.

#gerita #hetalia #aphgerita #hws gerita #gerita fic #hetalia fanfic #gerita fanfic #request #fic request #Prusscan #prusscan fic #prussia #aph prussia #hws prussia #aph canada #hws canada #JuliusSneezer Fics

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belladonnaandulriched · 3 years

Text

the artist | prologue

something that began life with my encounters with joey belladonna on instagram last fall and this past spring (before they turned into qvc 2.0 in late october, that is). i thought of him, as well as the time i wrote a letter to lars and the three years chris was in my periphery. thus, this is actually somewhat autobiographical as well as my watching the world unfurl right before my eyes in the year 2020. joey, lars, and i are alive in this terror-filled nightmare that chris never saw, and i cherish every second the two of them are continuing to walk the earth with me. consider it a testament of our survival that we have reached the final 30 days of this year unscathed.

i’m also looking ahead to after the pandemic, how the world might manifest in the virus’ wake after looking at history with the world-changing diseases like spanish flu, smallpox, and the black plague, as well as civil unrest and the existential threat that is climate change. i will admit that i have no idea where we all will be in 5 years time, but i can guarantee that no nation was the same following those events, especially since the united states was seemingly on the brink of destruction for a few years preceding the pandemic. it’s kind of like what sci-fi writers of the early 20th century did with the advent of the nuclear bomb as well as space travel.

at this point, with 20 chapters left to write, i hold the artist right up with now it’s dark, amped and wired, and black diamonds. it’s me living in a world that has collapsed and we’re all living in the unknown; it’s me wondering which step to take next with the three men i adore near me. it’s not on the same level of agony with my dead trilogy fics, the mirror never lies, or my original work black rain (which i wrote as a goodbye to chris), but it’s... it’s definitely there.

anyways, enjoy! xoxo

He was a tall lithe gentleman with those lush dark curls strewn over his shoulders as though they were the sides of a mane. The way he moved about on a stage with either that shiny mint green guitar cradled in his hands as though it were a naked woman, or the microphone as though it were about to get away from him was enough for me to pick up a pencil. I wanted to touch and caress his black curls, to put them down on paper. He was what I referred to as “draw-able” in that I always returned to him for inspiration.

I swore that it wasn't a phase—I tried to convince my dad that it wasn't a phase, even when I showed him my first drawing of Chris. I was proud of the drawing, too: it was rough and sketchy, and yet you could tell it was him with those long shoulder length curls behind his back and down over his collar bones. I had used a single pencil to draw him as well.

“Holly, you've gotta do something else with your art,” he said to me that first time. “You've got to do some more still life.”

I often heard that a few times thereafter, even as I did more studies of Chris singing and in different stances to understand his anatomy a little better. It always struck me as odd that my art wasn't more embraced at home growing up, even though my parents were more than happy to support me in my path to art school. My dad showed me the one school down in Portland. I wanted to stay there in Tacoma, even with Chris and his band based up in Seattle.

At some point, and by that, I mean a few months before I graduated, to work my way around that complaint, I began incorporating more plants into my drawings of him. More roses and more leaves jutting out from his shoulders and from the crown of his head. I kept those drawings to myself, granted I knew if I shared them with the household they wouldn't be seen as serious art.

One time when I strolled into an art shop for some colored pencils and I had my sketchbook tucked underneath my arm, I went in under the power of a secret. I had climbed off the bus before the one outside of my house. I protected my sketchbook from the soft spring misty rain of the Northwest. I had a few dollars in my pocket, money left over from the stimulus money I had scrounged up. Just enough for some new colored pencils for some more botanical type work for my drawings.

I'm the multiracial kid with the kinky coarse black hair inherited by a Native American mama and the pale skin from my half white daddy. It had been a long road to hoe the past few years in the wake of the pandemic, especially for my mom and me. She and I had been dealing with it with a bit more difficulty from my dad, since he was the one with the job, at least at first. Even though I was a few years younger by the time we got our check, I got one for myself and I made sure the money stretched enough to whenever we got another one.

Even with my drawing pad under my arm, and the introduction of my digital drawing tablet, I had days where it felt like I needed to do something a bit more useful.

It was from all of the times I heard my dad's criticisms about my art in the past. Add to this, the uncertainty from living through a global pandemic and social reset made me wonder where we all would go from the second the dust settled. I needed to rest my head so much following even the smallest projects. I had witnessed the older generation pushed to its brink and stragglers such as myself found themselves at square one for so long that it was difficult to know which way to go. I was always told that I needed something feasible, something to keep me safe. But the pandemic showed that nothing was safe.

Even in my spare time, or in the times I took a day off from drawing, I found myself seeking solace in reading about things like science and of course, listening to music. For years, I found myself leaning more towards the harder side of the rock n' roll world: Soundgarden was the first band I had found, but then there came along Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Alice in Chains. It helped that they hailed from the north of us, so it made sense to me to find them.

But then there was Metallica and Anthrax.

I would sit on the floor of the living room before my stereo with the radio tuned to the modern rock station nearby, and with my earphones in my ears; I would sit there with my drawing pad cradled in my lap and let the music be my master. I came for the scene to the north, but I found my way to the heavy stuff.

I had used a little bit of the stimulus money to buy myself a couple of albums, on part of the recommendation of the chick in the record store of course.

Those swirling powerful but simple drums riddled throughout the Black Album. So simple and yet so strong and with such prowess, perfect for the spine of the music. That strong and exotically beautiful voice from Spreading the Disease. I wanted to touch that voice, to put it and cement it down into something like paper. I was enthralled by the power and prowess of heavy metal.

I scoured the channels of Tumblr to see and study their faces, to see Lars and his long lush brown hair and fuzz about his face, to see Joey and his long beautiful black curls and handsome face, to see them all. And yet I still found my way back to Chris. I still found my way back to him and that unique voice. So deep and full in places and yet unafraid to howl.

And yet I felt so far behind them, a teenage girl from a lower end family and with mixed roots. A girl with parents working so hard that they almost ignore the very craft she was proud of.

I wanted to draw him with roses, complete with the lush red and orange petals. Thus I headed to the little store for some new colored pencils—those good ones that come in all manner of shades of color in a silvery tin. I brought my sketchbook along with me to try them out before I bought them for myself. I already had sketched a portrait of Chris himself but I left him as is so as to fill him out later on.

I stepped into the front of the shop and stripped off my hood. I ran my fingers through my coarse black hair and then unbuttoned my jacket: I looked down at the linoleum floor underneath me. My jeans were falling apart: the waist fitted me a little too well at that point and the hems were tattered. My mom vowed to fix them for me, but when the fabric stores were all closed during the pandemic, it was difficult to find anything that could help us.

I shuffled across the shiny linoleum to the aisle with the colored pencils and the nice paints. I stood before the display case and scanned the tins and boxes before me to find anything that would catch my eye.

I was still adjusting to the world following the pandemic: there was a part of me that wanted to stroke my chin in pensive thought but after hearing all of the talk on not touching your face, a part of me continued to resist that very tidbit. I spotted a box of Prismacolor pencils, seventeen of them to be exact.

Seventeen, and as smooth as butter and right within the budget of twenty dollars in my pocket.

I set my sketchbook down on the shelf so I could open the box and reveal those pencils, and I hoped to see them as sharp and new as I would ever see them. I'm usually easy going on all of my tools just out of the nature of the price range, but I wanted to make the roses on Chris as bold and fiery of red as possible. I took out the scarlet red one and opened the sketchbook for the inside cover and I paid no attention to the fact I held the box, open end sideways. Three pencils slid out from under me.

“For crying out loud,” I muttered to myself as I closed the cover and stooped down to fetch them.

“I hope those are nice ones,” a voice caught my ear behind me. I turned around to find him looming right there with me. The most stray tendrils of his inky black hair were tousled a bit even as he sprawled over his collar bones and the front of his black raincoat. I stood upright to meet up with his gaze: he towered over me, such that I could make out the sight of the first sprigs of hair sprouting upon the underside of his chin.

“Easy there,” he cautioned me, which he accompanied with a raising of his hands.

“It's alright,” I assured him, “social distancing hasn't been a thing in quite a while.”

“Nah, I don't mean that—I don't want you to drop any more pencils.”

“Oh!” I fetched up the pencils I had dropped on the floor and then closed up the box before I drop any more. He grinned at me, and I followed his gaze to the sketchbook perched atop the shelf.

“Is that yours, too?” he asked me.

“Why—yes.” I wasn't even flustered and yet I felt it even by his gestures and that gaze from those eyes. He stood so close to me, even with the pandemic behind us. I felt my face growing warm as I took the sketchbook off of the shelf. I forgot I still had it open to that sketched drawing of him; when I took it off of the shelf, I held the drawing of his face right before my chest.

He gasped right as I held it before me.

“Is—Is that me?” he inquiringly asked me in a soft voice.

“Huh?” I clutched at the sketchbook and held the drawing away from him.

“I don't wanna—be rude or intrusive or anything,” he swore to me. My face bloomed with warmth. It had been so long since I showed anyone one of my drawings from my sketchbook, much less anyone outside of my family. I whirled around to see the tender expression upon his face: his eyebrows raised a bit and his head bowed enough for me to wonder if he was flirting with me or not. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and sighed through his nose.

I swallowed and then, gingerly, I turned the sketchbook towards him.

He lowered his eyebrows and brought a hand to his mouth as if he was shocked.

“Oh,” he breathed, “oh, wow, that's wonderful. I love the roses.”

I shrugged.

“I just felt you could use roses,” I confessed to him.

“I love it,” he admitted as he lowered his hand from his mouth. “I'd love to see it when it's colored in.”

“I gotta get some pencils first, though.”

“Have at it, girlie.” He gestured his open palm towards me as if giving me his blessing. I decided on the Prismacolor pencils—I also didn't see anything else that caught my attention. Within time, I made my way up front to break those twenty dollars even. I kept my sketchbook out in the open and I assured the young peppy clerk that I had already opened it and long paid for it. He lingered near the cash register and eyed the ceramic supplies at the front there. I never thought I would've met him there in that art shop and at such a strange time. I wondered if I could make my rapport with him as I paid for the pencils and awaited the change from the clerk there before me.

He met up with me on the other side with a pensive look on his squarish face. I slipped the pencils and the sketchbook into the plastic bag in hand so as to protect both from the incoming rain. I felt myself blushing again at the sight of him: it didn't help matters that he continued to tower over me.

“What's your name?” he asked me, that pensive look still riddled upon his face.

“Holly. As in Hollywood.”

“Hollywood…” He grinned at me. He took out the little burner phone from his jacket pocket: such a sight to see, what with technology the way it had progressed to that point.

“Holly Sherman is my whole name...” My voice trailed off as I watched him open the address book up to a fresh page for a fresh number.

“You want my number, don't you,” I teased him.

“Well, yeah. When the drawing's colored in, I wanna see it.”

I could not resist that offer, and it was that very moment I knew I would have something on my hands. I would have something on my hands even in the wake of the pandemic.

#the artist #the artist fanfic #the artist chapters #prologue #at land's end #at land’s end series #fanfic #fanfiction #chris cornell #chris cornell fanfic #sci fi #sci fi writing #coronapocalypse #corona world order #fan writing #writing #text

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thelittlesttimelord · 4 years

Text

The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 29

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 29 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 29/? SUMMARY: A little girl escapes the Time War when the Timelord’s return in “End of Time Part 2″. The newly regenerated Doctor must now raise the little girl while trying to find out why cracks in time keep following them around.

[A/N - Prepare yourselves for fluff my friends, ‘cause these next few chapters are full of it.]

The Doctor and Elise exited the TARDIS.

“No, Amy, it's definitely not the fifth moon of Cindie Colesta. I think I can see a Ryman's,” the Doctor said.

An explosion came from inside the TARDIS and threw the two of them to the ground as the TARDIS started to take off by itself.

“Amy! Amy!” the Doctor yelled.

As the Doctor stared at the spot where the TARDIS once stood, Elise looked around them.

They were on earth obviously, but where?

The Doctor stood up and brushed himself off.

What were they supposed to do now? Where would they stay? How would they get the TARDIS back? What if they never got it back?

“Hey”, the Doctor said, kneeling in front of her, “Elise, look at me”.

Elise snapped out of her thoughts and looked at his calming green eyes.

“I will get Amy and the TARDIS back. I promise. It’ll be okay”, he told her, “This will just be a daddy/daughter trip, okay?”

Elise nodded.

“Now come here”, he said.

Elise wrapped her arms around his neck and the Doctor rubbed her back to try and keep her calm.

They just needed to find somewhere to stay while he figured out what they were going to do. The first thing the Doctor did was sonic an ATM to get some money.

He smiled remembering doing the same thing after he met Donna. The Doctor looked down at Elise as he remembered the other ginger that had magically appeared in his TARDIS.

He got them something to eat and checked them into a hotel for the night. If the TARDIS didn’t appear soon, he was going to have to go shopping for some new clothes for Elise.

Elise slept curled up into the Doctor’s side that night. She missed Amy and the little blue box she called home.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next day, they wandered around the town for a while until the Doctor spotted a card sitting in the window of a shop. He picked it up and smiled, recognizing his companion’s hand writing.

They followed the directions to the house and rang the doorbell.

A man threw open the door and said, “I love you.”

The Doctor smiled. “Well, that's good, because I'm your new lodger. Do you know, this is going to be easier than I expected.” He took the fluffy pink keys from the man.

“But I only put the advert up today. I didn't put my address,” the man said.

“Well, aren't you lucky I came along? More lucky than you know. Less of a young professional, more of an ancient amateur, but frankly I'm an absolute dream.”

“Hang on a minute, mate. I don't know if I want you staying.” The man looked down at Elise. “Umm, the ad didn’t say anything about having kids”.

“Oh, well Elise is very well behaved”.

“She doesn’t cry or anything? Throw temper tantrums?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that”.

Elise gave the man a small wave.

The man took the keys from the Doctor. “Give me back those keys. You can't have those.”

“Yes, quite right. Have some rent.” The Doctor handed the man a bag with money in it. He had of course keep some for himself and Elise, just in case they needed anything. “That's probably quite a lot, isn't it?” the Doctor asked, “Looks like a lot. Is it a lot? I can never tell.” The Doctor invited himself in and Elise followed behind him.

The lights upstairs flickered, giving Elise a bad feeling. There was something wrong about the upstairs.

“Don't spend it all on sweets, unless you like sweets,” the Doctor told him, “I like sweets. Oh!” The Doctor put his hands on the man’s shoulders and air kissed him on both cheeks. “That's how we greet each other nowadays, isn't it? I'm the Doctor. Well, they call me the Doctor. I don't know why. I call me the Doctor, too. Still don't know why. And this is Elise.”

“Craig Owens. The Doctor?”

“Yep. Who lives upstairs?”

“Just some bloke.”

“What's he look like?”

“Normal. He's very quiet.”

There was a loud crash.

“Usually.”

The Doctor entered Craig’s flat.

“Sorry, who are you again? Hello? Excuse me?”

The Doctor looked up and saw the stain on the ceiling. “Ah. I suppose that's dry rot?” he asked.

“Or damp. Or mildew.”

“Or none of the above.”

“I'll get someone to fix it.”

“No, I'll fix it. I'm good at fixing rot. Call me the Rotmeister. No, I'm the Doctor, don't call me the Rotmeister. This is the most beautiful parlor I have ever seen. You're obviously a man of impeccable taste.” The Doctor hopped up on the counter. “We can stay, Craig, can't we? Say we can.”

“You haven't even seen the room.”

“The room?”

“Your room.”

“My room? Oh, yes. My room.”

Elise tugged on his pant leg.

“Our room. Take us to our room.”

Craig led them to the room they would be staying in. “Yeah, this is Mark's old room. He owns the place. Moved out about a month ago. This uncle he'd never even heard of died and left a load of money in the will,” Craig said.

“How very convenient. This'll do just right. In fact…”

There was another loud crash from the flat above.

The Doctor touched his tongue with his index finger and tested the air. “No time to lose. I'll take it. Ah you'll want to see my credentials. There.” The Doctor pulled out his psychic paper and shower it to Craig. “National Insurance number. NHS number. References.”

“Is that a reference from the Archbishop of Canterbury?”

“I'm his special favorite. Are you hungry? I'm hungry.”

“I haven't got anything in.”

They went into the kitchen and the Doctor started raiding the fridge and cabinets. He and Craig talked as he cooked. “You've got everything I need for an omelette fines herbes, pour deux. So, who's the girl on the fridge?” the Doctor asked.

A photo of Craig and a woman sat next to a postcard with Vincent’s self-portrait.

Elise smiled sadly. She missed Vincent.

“My friend. Sophie,” Craig told him.

“Girlfriend?”

“A friend who is a girl. There's nothing going on.”

“Oh, that's completely normal. Works for me.”

“We met at work about a year ago, at the call center.”

“Oh really, a communications exchange? That could be handy.”

“Firm's going down though. The bosses are using a totally rubbish business model. I know what they should do. I got a plan all worked out. But I'm just a phone drone, I can't go running in saying I know best. Why am I telling you this? I don't even know you.”

“Well, I've got one of those faces. People never stop blurting out their plans while I'm around.”

“Right. Where's your stuff?”

“Oh, don't worry, it'll materialize. If all goes to plan.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Less than twenty minutes later, the omelets were gone and Elise was curled up in the Doctor’s lap.

“Oh, that was incredible. That was absolutely brilliant. Where did you learn to cook?” Craig asked.

“Paris, in the eighteenth century. No, hang on, that's not recent, is it? Seventeenth? No, no, no. Twentieth. Sorry, I'm not used to doing them in the right order.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you're a bit weird?”

“They never really stop. Ever been to Paris, Craig?”

“Nah. I can't see the point of Paris. I'm not much of a traveler.”

“I can tell from your sofa.”

“My sofa?”

“You're starting to look like it.”

“Thanks, mate, that's lovely. No, I like it here. I'd miss it, I'd miss…”

“Those keys.”

“What?”

“You're sort of fondling them.”

“I'm holding them.” Craig dropped them and got up.

“Right.”

“Anyway. These, these are your keys.” He picked up a key ring and held them out.

The Doctor got up with Elise in his arms. “We can stay?”

“Yeah, you're weird and you can cook and your daughter doesn’t scream her head off. It's good enough for me. Right.” Craig went through the keys. “Outdoor, front door, your door.”

“My door. My place. My gaff. Ha ha! Yes. Me with a key.”

“And listen, Mark and I, we had an arrangement where if you ever need me out of your hair, just give me a shout, okay?” Craig winked and the Doctor winked back, not understand the cue.

“Why would I want that?” the Doctor asked.

“In case you want to bring someone round. A girlfriend or, a boyfriend? Elise’s mother maybe?”

“Oh, Elise’s mother and I aren’t together, but I will. I'll shout if that happens. Yes. Something like, I was not expecting this! By the way, that. The rot. I've got the strangest feeling we shouldn't touch it.” He patted Craig on the shoulder and left the living room to put Elise to bed. He laid her down on the bed and covered her with the blanket.

Elise was out the moment her head hit the pillow. She slept more than the average Timelord, but maybe it was because she was so young.

He hoped she wouldn’t wake up while he was gone. He had some shopping to do.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, Elise woke up and sat up in the bed. She panicked for a moment before she remembered where she was.

At the foot of the bed was a small backpack (covered in a galaxy pattern of course) with a note on it.

“To: Ellie. From: Dad.”

She looked in it and found new clothes. There was also a sketchbook and some colored pencils. Elise got dressed, emptied the backpack except for the art supplies, and made her way into the living room to wait for the Doctor. She walked past the bathroom where Craig was waiting outside the door.

The Doctor was singing very loudly.

Craig knocked on the door. “Doctor.”

“Hello?”

“How long are you going to be in there?”

“Oh, sorry. I like a good soak.”

A loud banging noise came from upstairs.

“What the hell was that?” Craig asked.

“What did you say?” the Doctor asked him.

“I'm just going to go upstairs. See if he's okay.”

“Sorry?” Craig left the flat.

“What did you say?” the Doctor asked, “Craig?”

Elise heard a loud thumping sound come from the bathroom and she rolled her eyes.

The Doctor came running out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and Elise followed after him.

The two of them met Craig near the stairs.

Elise rolled her eyes again when she saw the Doctor holding an electric toothbrush instead of his sonic screwdriver.

“What happened, what's going on?” the Doctor asked.

“Is that my toothbrush?” Craig asked him.

“Correct. You spoke to the man upstairs?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he look like?”

“More normal than you do at the moment, mate. What are you doing?”

“I thought you might be in trouble.”

Craig laughed. “Thanks. Well, if I ever am, you can come and save me with my toothbrush.”

A phone started ringing inside the flat.

Craig pushed past the Doctor to go and answer it.

The Doctor started to go upstairs as a blonde woman came in the front door.

“Oh! Hello,” she said, looking at the half-naked man and small child before her.

The Doctor came back down the stairs. “Ah! Hello. The Doctor.”

“Right.”

“You must be Sophie.”

The Doctor air kissed her cheeks like he had done with Craig.

Sophie looked at Elise. “And who might you be?” she asked.

“This is Elise. My daughter”. The Doctor softly smiled at her as he lovingly ran a hand over her hair.

“Daughter? Oh”.

The three of them went into the flat where Craig was talking to someone on the phone.

“No, Dom's in Malta. There's nobody around. Hang on a sec.” Craig walked up to the Doctor. “We've got a match today, pub league. We're one down if you fancy it?”

“Pub league. A drinking competition?”

“No, football. Play football.”

“Football. Football. Yes, blokes play football. I'm good at football, I think.”

“You've saved my life. I've got somebody. Yeah, all right, I'll see you down there. Hey, Soph.”

“Hey, I thought I'd come early and meet your new flat mate.”

The Doctor walked over to the fridge and grabbed a carton of milk. He looked down at Elise. “Are you hungry?” he asked her.

Elise shook her head.

“Do you play, Sophie?” the Doctor asked.

“No, Soph just stands on the sidelines. She's my mascot,” Craig said as the Doctor took a drink of the milk straight from the container.

If Amy were here, or if Elise were older, she would have smacked him for being so rude.

“I'm your mascot? Mascot?” Sophie asked, offended.

“Well, yeah, not my mascot. It's a football match. I can't take a date.”

“I didn't say I was your date.”

“Neither did I.”

There was an awkward pause, before the Doctor broke the silence. “Better get dressed.” He handed Craig his toothbrush back.

“The spare kit's just in the bottom drawer,” Craig told him.

The Doctor nodded. “Bit of a mess,” he said before slamming the door in Craig’s face.

The two adults looked down at the small child.

Elise went over to a chair and sat down while Sophie and Craig talked quietly. Elise wasn’t listening to their conversation anyway.

Humans were so odd sometimes.

#eleventh doctor fanfiction #eleventh doctor imagine #eleventh doctor #doctor who #Doctor Who fanfiction #doctor who imagine #craig owens #the lodger

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rosemaidenvixen · 4 years

Text

A Secret’s Worth

Chapter 5: Barbara

Ao3

Barbara pulled her coat tighter around her and shivered. The air out here was brisk and sharp, but the roaring fire in front of her helped take the edge off. And a good mug of hot tea didn’t hurt either. Still, it wasn’t about to get any warmer. Jim had said he wouldn’t be out long tonight, just a quick walk and back in time to go to bed by eleven.

Not that the cold bothered him.

Wind rustled through the trees around her, autumnal reds and golds rustling against evergreen needles. It wasn’t really that late in the season, but it certainly wasn’t early either. Barbara and Jim usually prefered to do their trips during the more palatable times of year, then again, this wasn’t one of their usual trips.

She might be oblivious more often than she cared to admit, but Barbara wasn’t blind. She saw the posters printed on orange and black paper hanging on the community board at the hospital. Heard her coworkers talk about all the plans their kids were making together. Plans involving candy and costumes and spending the night out on the town. Plans no teenager would dare turn down without very good reason.

Like say a family vacation.

So when Jim called her during the middle of school three days ago, begging her to take the weekend off and go camping, she hadn’t been very surprised.

Saddened, but not surprised.

Pulling an impromptu camping trip off hadn’t been easy by any means. Between the lateness of the season and the incredibly short notice, Barbara had barely been able to get the reservations in place, not to mention gathering all the supplies they needed. But she had rolled up her sleeves, dug in her heels, and made magic happen.

And now here they were. Sitting in the middle of the woods, pretending that they would both rather be here than at home celebrating the holiday with friends and family.

A burning sensation built up behind her eyes. Barbara set her mug to the side, if she tried to drink anything now she’d only end up choking on her own tears.

It wasn’t fair, not to either of them, but especially to Jim. She knew being cooped because of his transformations was hard. Even more so when he had to say no to going out and having fun with his friends.

On some days the only way Barbara was able to get up in the morning was by telling herself that all of this was temporary. One day she would find a cure and Jim would be free of his transformations, then they both would be able to live their lives without this nightmare.

Things might be bad now, but only for a little while, sooner or later it would end. For years she had told herself this and for years it had worked.

At least until Jim’s last birthday. When Barbara stopped being so sure that there would even be an end.

She stuffed the dismal thoughts into the back of her mind and tried to force herself to relax in her seat. No point working herself into a downward spiral. It hadn’t worked the first dozen times she’d done it, no reason to think it would be any more productive now.

Looking around while pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders, Barbara checked the periphery of their campsite for signs of Jim’s return. She couldn’t see much, the fire was bright but not that bright. The only things she had a clear view of were her small tent, the clear area laid down with blankets on top of a tarp for Jim, the electric lantern behind her bolstering the dim firelight, the ATV they used to get out here, their cooler and chest full of supplies, and just a fraction of the miles of forest around her.

No sign of Jim.

Barbara glanced at her watch, sighed, threw another log on the fire, grabbed a couple of magazines from the stack, and settled in to wait. Jim always told her not to wait up for him, but it wasn’t like she could sleep without knowing where her son was. Better to pass the time with a magazine. Barbara never went camping without a fat stack of them. They could help her pass the time when Jim was out on his walks and could be repurposed as kindling so they didn’t have to haul them back. She always made a point to grab some from the waiting room at work when they cycled the new issues in.

Reaching over to the stack at her feet, she glanced between the copies of People and National Geographic before tossing the People into the fire. Gossip rags had never been her thing.

Yawning, Barbara thumbed through the National Geographic . Hopefully this would keep her more entertained. One of the cover stories looked promising, ‘The Salem Witch Trials: Over three centuries later’ . Sounded better than celebrity gossip at least.

Barbara flipped to the corresponding page and started the article using the speed reading techniques she learned in medical school. It was ok, but pretty ho-hum, no more or less entertaining than watching the History channel. Should be an adequate way to pass the next twenty minutes.

Which was exactly what Barbara planned on doing until she came to a line that caused the world around her to come crashing down around her.

Whipping her head to the side Barbara coughed and sputtered up the tea that had gotten rediverted into her lungs due to her shock.

She couldn’t have read what she just did, it was impossible, delusional even.

But when she turned back toward the page with a pounding heart there it was. A deceptively innocuous line of text buried in the middle of the article.

The true witch hunt began with the arrests of Tituba, Sarah Osbourne, and Sarah Good.

Sarah Good.

The same name tied to the mystery that haunted their family for the past ten years.

For a few seconds she forgot how to breathe, just sat there staring at the words printed in cheap ink on even cheaper paper. Mouth open, sitting frozen rigid in her seat, gears whiring as her brain processed all the implications of this.

Was it just a coincidence? Sarah Good couldn’t be that rare of a name, or could there be a connection?

It was a stretch, even by the Lake family’s standards.

Her fifteen year old son turned blue and sprouted horns when the sun went down and had been doing so for the past decade. Nothing was off the table.

She flipped back and began rereading the article with much more intensity, blood rushing in her ears.

Moral panic, mass hysteria, mob mentality. According to the stuffy old professors that wrote the article there wasn’t anything even remotely magical about the Salem witch trials.

But they hadn’t seen the things Barbara had, lived the things she’d lived.

Was it somehow possible that one of these long ago women was more than she seemed? Had a touch of something that could still be causing ripples centuries later?

The paper crinkled under her fingers. If there really was a connection, and Barbara wasn’t sure that there was, then this was their biggest break in years.

As soon as she got home Barbara was going to take this new lead and hit the library, hit Wikipedia, hit anything and everything that might offer her the slightest clue. There was a chance, however faint, that history might hold some of the answers that had eluded them for a decade.

Her lips parted as she leaned in and skewered the magazine with her gaze, feeling almost feverish.

A dream, an idea, too lofty and terrifying to imagine flickered to life in the back of her mind, despite her best efforts to snuff it out before her hopes could rise too high.

Barbara knew first hand how much it hurt when hope was dashed to pieces, but she had forgotten just how intoxicating it could be.

If history had the answers, then it just might have a cu--

“Mom?”

Barbara shrieked, tea sloshed out of her mug and the magazine went flying.

Jim took a hesitant step back “Sorry, did I scare you?”

“NO! no-- I just--” Barbara glanced back towards where the magazine had landed “I was just really engrossed in the article I was reading,”

Jim cocked his head “What was it about?”

“I-- it….”

He blinked back at her, wide eyed and curious.

“...something about the revolutionary war, how was your walk?”

Barbara forced a smile and very deliberately did not look toward where the magazine had fallen. She would tell Jim, but not yet. Only once she had discovered something solid, more tangible.

She couldn’t raise his hopes when she wasn’t even sure that her own were founded.

“Fine,” Jim took a seat at the fire across from her “Moon’s full, that was pretty cool,”

Barbara nodded and leaned back in her seat, picking up her half-full mug and willing the buzz of nervous energy in her limbs to fade. She reached for the long wooden branch to poke at the fire, only to notice the tote bag at her feet. That’s right, with all the excitement of her discovery she had almost forgotten.

“Jim, I have a surprise for you,”

He perked up instantly “Really? What?”

“Here,” she lifted the tote and tossed it across the fire towards him.

Jim caught it with ease and reached an arm in, pulling out a smaller plastic bag with a look of surprise “Candy corn?”

“Yep,” Barbara gave him a gentle smile “Happy Halloween kiddo,”

Jim smiled back at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes “Thanks mom,” he tore open the bag and started popping the orange triangles into his mouth while staring into the fire, expression unreadable.

They sat like that for a few minutes, the only sounds Jim’s chewing and the crackling of the fire, before Barbara couldn’t bite her tongue any more.

Normally she would leave well enough alone, but reading what she did in that magazine had set her thoughts a-buzzing like a nest of hornets.

She didn’t want to corner Jim like this, to put him on the spot, make an already stressful trip worse. But she couldn’t just stay quiet, her own conscience wouldn’t let her.

For years Barbara had tried , tried so hard to give Jim space. Let him deal with his problems without hounding him every ten seconds.

It wasn’t until Jim broke down crying in school that she realized just how poorly that approach had worked out.

Jim had shouldered so much by himself, struggling in silence, until one day came the staw that broke the camel’s back. Leaving him a shattered wreck.

Of course who’s fault was that? A nasty voice whispered in her ear. Who should have been modeling healthy coping mechanisms for him? Who showed up after work every day dead tired and still pasted a smile on her face for years and pretended like everything was fine even when they both knew it that it damn well wasn’t.

Who was it that taught Jim to bottle up his emotions until he exploded?

More importantly, what kind of mother didn’t notice that her child was in pain?

Barbara steeled herself even though her stomach still churned with doubt. Even if it meant pushing his boundaries she wasn’t going to let Jim fall into such a bad place, not again, not if she could help it.

“How are you Jim? I mean really,”

Jim didn’t respond at first, merely finished chewing his mouthful of candy and swallowed, but he didn’t pick up any more.

“Better,” he said after a long time.

Barbara’s gut twisted with equal parts anxiety and relief. Better wasn’t anything to dismiss, but it wasn’t the same thing as good either.

The days following Jim’s fifteenth birthday, and the realization that things might not get better than they were now, had been some of the worst of both of their lives, only comparable to the days after James’s departure and the night Jim first changed.

And as bad as things had been for her, she knew Jim’s condition was far far worse.

He had sunk into a deep slump and stayed there for days. Barely speaking, barely eating; not even glancing at anything, video games, vespa magazines, cooking equipment, that had brought him joy just a few days before. Jim had been in such a dark place, and Barbara was powerless to help him find his way out.

“Better how?”

Jim twisted the plastic of the bag around his finger “Me and Toby are hanging out with Mary, Darci, and Claire; you know about them, right?”

Barbara nodded.

One day in the middle of his depression, just when she’d been starting to worry that her son would never smile again, out of the blue Jim had come home and told her that he was invited to go to the county fair with Toby and some girls from his class. Unsure what to do with this development, Barbara had sent Jim off with a kiss on the forehead and $20 to pay his way, hoping for the best.

When Jim had come home that night he was smiling brighter than he had in a long time.

Those three names had come up frequently in Jim’s gushing the night following the county fair. And for many nights after.

“Has being friends with them...helped?”

“Oh yeah, they’re really fun,” Jim said with a grin “We hang out almost every day after school and during our off period, Mary always has the best ideas about what to do and Darci is a total daredevil, plus Steve never bothers us when we’re with them,”

That got her attention “I’m sorry, what?”

Jim’s eyes widened, clearly having revealed more than he intended.

Barbara’s mouth straightened into a hard line “Who is this Steve and how does he ‘bother’ you?”

“A guy in my class, and nothing really,” his eyes darted around the clearing, landing on anything but her “Honestly it’s not a big deal,”

“Jim.” her voice was iron, and offered no room for negotiation.

He squirmed but remained silent.

Barbara fixed him with a narrowed gaze and waited.

A minute and a half was all it took.

“It’s...sometimes he…” Jim stared down at the fire, still unable to look her in the eye “He’ll...push me and trip me in the hall, little stuff like that,”

Barbara could practically feel her blood pressure rising “That is unacceptable. When we get home we’re going to talk to the school about him,”

Jim visibly cringed “You don’t need to do that mom, I can handle Steve, please just don’t make a big deal about this”

Somehow her frown got even deeper. This was a big deal. No matter the circumstances, Barbara was not going to let Jim minimize someone else’s violent behavior.

“This isn’t up for debate. You shouldn’t have to handle another student being violent with you,”

“It’s not that bad, telling will just make things worse,”

“Has he threatened to retaliate if you tell on him!?”

“No! I-- it’s just…” Jim trailed off, his words hanging in the air.

The silence as taut as a wire.

Then he sighed, sounding utterly defeated “Things at school are finally normal again, Steve might give me a hard time...but everyone else has finally stopped looking at me weird,”

Jim looked up and met her eyes “Steve’s a jerk, a huge jerk, but I can handle him, I just want…” his voice dropped into a hoarse whisper “I just want other people to at least think I’m normal,”

Her throat was tight. It rankled, more than that, it went against every instinct Barbara had to ignore a bully, and a violent one at that. It felt wrong, hell, that was probably because it was wrong. But could she really make things for Jim more turbulent after he’d finally regained some stability in his life?

His life that was only going to get more difficult from here on out.

Or maybe it wouldn’t.

Barbara shut her eyes and let out a deep breath “Ok, if you don’t think the situation with Steve needs addressing we can leave it be,”

Jim perked up.

“ However , if things start to escalate with him, even a little bit, you let me know right away, got it?”

Jim nodded “Got it,”

“Good,” Barbara leaned back and forced herself to take another sip of tea.

The uncomfortable subject was officially dropped, but things were still strained between them, waiting to snap under the slightest trigger.

“Steve may be a jerk,” Jim said softly “But I really am doing better,”

“Are you Jim? Are you really ?” she knew her tone was sharper than it should be, but right now she didn’t have the mental space to worry about that. Right now Barbara was too worried and too scared and too frazzled and too tired. So goddamn tired “Because I feel like everytime you say that it’s only to make me feel better. You never tell me when things are bad or that you’re hurting,”

“I swear I’m not downplaying things this time!”

“How do I know that? You didn’t tell me what was going on on your birthday, you didn’t tell me about being kicked out of the Mole scouts-- Christ, another student’s been harassing you at school and this is the first I’m hearing about it!”

Neither one of them said anything for a long time

“This-- this isn’t like that!”

“Well I don’t want the next time that I find out you’re struggling to be when one of your teachers calls me because you broke down crying again!”

Her mouth shut with a click. She’d gone too far, way too far. Barbara should not have said that. But now the words were out there, and she couldn’t take them back if she tried.

The stunned look on Jim’s face told her that he hadn’t been expecting her to go this far either.

“There’s social media,” Jim finally spoke up in a quiet voice “Mary practically forced me to make seven new accounts so I can follow her on everything,” he gave a weak smile “So even if they move away we can still stay in touch,”

“Jim…”

“And Darci’s dad’s a cop and Claire’s mom is a politician, so maybe not all of them will move away...”

Jim straightened and raised his head towards her. The look on his face, uncertain but so so determined, tore at her heartstrings “I really am doing better,”

Barbara got up from her seat and walked over to him, reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder “And I’m happy for you, I’m glad that you’re doing better and I’m sorry I snapped at you like that. It was wrong of me to say what I did and I promise I won’t do that again,”

She gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze “I’m glad things are better for you now, but if they get bad again...please don’t hide it. Talk to me, share how you feel so it doesn’t build up,”

It was a testament to how tall he was getting that Barbara barely had to kneel to look Jim in the eye even while he was sitting “I know you think you’re protecting me when you hide your problems, but remember, we’re a team. And I can’t help you if I don’t know that something’s wrong,”

Even with the tusks she could see his lip start to quiver “We take care of each other,” Jim’s voice was thick with emotion “Right?”

Her own eyes brimming, Barbara pulled him into a hug “Right,”

Their embrace lasted a few more seconds, long enough for both of them to sniffle their unshed tears away, before Barbara gently pulled back, Jim releasing her willingly, and went back to her seat.

She took a few more sips of tea and he munched on his candy corn while the fire cracked and popped between them, the silence much more palatable now.

Her tea was almost gone when Jim spoke up again.

“Actually, there is something…”

“What is it?” Barbara forced herself to stay calm and not jump down his throat with a dozen questions. Jim was putting himself out there, now she had to do her part and let him speak.

Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat “You know Claire? One of the new girls I’ve been hanging out with?”

“Yes?”

“I...like her...as...more than a friend,” even as he said those words he slumped back in his seat, like a puppet with the strings cut “But I can’t...date her or even tell her as long…” he sank even lower “As long as I’m like...this,”

A dagger to the back couldn’t have hurt her any deeper. Jim’s transformations had taken so much from him already and now he couldn’t even...

Barbara was keenly aware of the magazine on the ground behind her, blazing like a hot coal from just beyond her vision.

In that moment she vowed that she would chase down whatever possible leads this new discovery offered her. Run to the ends of the earth, leave no stone unturned. Do whatever it takes to find a cure. Barbara would find a way for her son to live a normal life, with all that entailed.

No matter how many decades it took.

“Thank you for telling me,”

Jim managed to crack a smile before going back to his candy corn.

Finally able to relax, they settled in to just enjoy the rest of the night and each other’s company, accompanied by the soft glow and crackles from the dying fire. The hour slips away, Barbara finishes her tea and Jim polishes off his candy corn and eats the bag to.

Eventually Barbara stood up from her chair “I’m going to bed, be sure to take care of the fire before you go to sleep,”

Jim yawned and stretched “I think I’m gonna turn in to,”

Barbara raised an eyebrow “Aren’t you still hungry?”

“Nah,” Jim appeared to only be half listening while he spread the coals around with the stick.

She frowned, glancing at the crumbs of orange sugar on the ground. Even by his night-food standards that wasn’t a very nutritious meal “You should have more to eat than just candy,”

“It’s ok, I ate earlier,”

She looked over at their cooler full of food stores, all of it untouched “What did you eat?”

Jim fidgeted and looked away while pouring their used dishwater over the glowing ashes “I...uh...a fox,”

“A fox?”

“Yeah...I saw it on my walk...it was dead when I found it...so I figured why not,”

Her blood ran cold “Do you have any idea how it might have died?”

“Old age?”

Barbara slowly walked over and grabbed the electric lantern, now that the fire was out they needed the extra light to see each other “How long ago did you eat it?”

“About two hours ago?” Jim’s voice was small, some of her anxiety starting to leech into him.

Two hours. Which meant it was probably too late to make him vomit it out.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

Barbara took a deep breath and willed herself to stay calm. The were in the middle of the woods miles away from any kind of civilization; panicking wouldn’t do either of them a damn bit of good right now “That fox might have died from a disease, like tularemia or bru--”

“Or rabies…” Jim finished, blue face growing pale in the lantern light.

Barbara grimaced, her thoughts exactly, she’d wanted to avoid scaring him by saying so out loud but it looked like he’d put it together himself “It’s ok, it’s only two hours back to the rental place and one to the nearest town big enough to have what we need. We can just say a fox bit you, that should get you all the shots you need. If we get up at six we can get there before ten,,”

Barbara walked over to Jim and squeezed both of his shoulders “Don’t worry,I’ve seen rabies exposure cases before, people have received their initial rabies shots almost 24 hours after they’ve been bitten and made complete recoveries. Ten am tomorrow is plenty early enough,”

Even if she was battling her own fears Jim needed to hear those words from her right now.

She managed to smile and pat him on the cheek “You’re going to be fine,”

His expression wavered before solidifying into enforced composure, he nodded back at her.

With that they separated and set about preparing to retire for the night, despite the fresh undercurrent of panic.

Soon pajamas were on, teeth were brushed, and the lantern was out; the only light coming from the small flashlight she held. And once Jim was bundled up on his tarp and Barbara was cocooned in her tent that was extinguished too. She shut her eyes and settled into the sleeping bag, determined to get a full night’s rest.

Barbara was just starting to nod off when she heard Jim whisper from outside.

“Are you still awake mom?”

“Yeah,” she replied with a yawn “What is it hon?”

“We’re going to tell the clinic that an animal bit me and that’s why I need the shots, right?”

“Uh huh,”

“Then...won’t it look weird if I don’t have any bite wounds on me?”

Her eyes shot open.

#Tales of Arcadia #Trollhunters #fanfic #a secret's worth #Barbara Lake #Jim lake jr #rmvwrites

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