#his wig is somewhere in limbo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hippohead · 4 years

Text

Happy New Year

Pairing: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel Rating: General Audiences Words: 2071 Summery: This is a Halloween fic. I promise.

Read it on AO3

- - - - -

The thing about being Rachel Berry’s best friend is, it’s a learned skill.

And Kurt had put in the work. He had looked past the diva-esque antics and the obnoxious Broadway tunnel-vision and the steamrolling, and underneath he had found the Rachel that he loved. The Rachel who would bring him a cup of tea when she knew he was feeling down; the Rachel who pushed Kurt more than he wanted her to but knew he needed it; the Rachel who was kindness and cared – a lot. And it was worth it, for the most part, to have learnt the skill and to have let her into so many parts of himself.

Except for when it wasn’t.

“You’re being pushy,” he warns, and he knows his tone is sharp enough that it would stop most people. Rachel isn’t most people.

“Kurt,” she says just as sternly, swinging around the doorframe of the bathroom so that she can look at him while she continues her delusional lecture, “I just think it’s time that you admitted it.”

He adjusts his cat ears because they’re already giving him a headache. He knows he should have thought of a more original costume idea but time means nothing when he’s juggling NYADA and exams and showcases and auditions and the diner and friends and- god, he’s exhausted just thinking about it all. If all he could pull together for tonight was a pair of black jeans, a tight black long-sleeve, and a pair of cat ears – well, he thinks that’s quite reasonable considering. “There’s nothing to admit.”

Rachel steps out of the bathroom fully now, her makeup finished and her bob wig firmly in place. “How do I look?”

Kurt breathes a small sigh of relief at the change in topic, finally. “You look like the perfect Fanny Brice.” And she does, but the snarky part of him wants to note that she also could have been a bit more original with her outfit. Rachel dressing as Fanny for a costume party? Groundbreaking.

She walks past him, almost dancing, and sings, “That’s because I am the perfect Fanny Brice.”

Kurt sips at the cider that some of Rachel’s older friends from NYADA had left at the loft after their last party and waits for her to come back from her bedroom. By the time she does – a small purse looking like it’s stuffed with emergency night-out supplies slung over her shoulder – he's already feeling a light buzz twirling through his bones. “What time are the others getting here?”

Rachel checks her phone, “Any minute now.” And then, because she’s the worst and unrelenting and incapable of letting anything go, she says, “I think you should tell Blaine that you have feelings for him tonight.”

“Oh my god, Rachel. I do not have feelings for Blaine.”

It’s the easiest lie when he’s saying it to Rachel, because it usually gets her off his back for a little while. There’s something complicated about the lie when he tries to convince himself. And it’s a lie he’d never say in front of Blaine, because saying it in front of Blaine means removing the maybe in their friendship. It would be Kurt clarifying boundaries he doesn’t want and making a possibility disappear that he always wants there.

And so he doesn’t know who he’s pissed off – karma or fate or the stars or whoever it is that controls the strings and the moments and time – because Blaine, Sam and Mercedes have pulled the door open to the loft just in time to catch his last sentence.

His back is to them but he heard the slide, and he glares at a very guilty, meek-looking Rachel. She bites her lips as if that’s an apology and then clears her throat, “Hey, guys!”

“Hey!”

Kurt turns around at Mercedes’ voice, and her eyes are big and wild and trying to communicate things with him that he doesn’t have the ability to decipher right now. She’s dressed as Christina from the Candyman music video, and she’s pulling it off effortlessly. He wants to tell her that but the air feels too weird to speak into. Sam is dressed as some Star Wars character he doesn’t know the name of and Blaine-

“Are you... a pumpkin?”

There’s an odd look on Blaine’s face and Kurt can’t figure it out. He lifts his eyes once he realises that Kurt’s question is obviously directed at him - the only one dressed as a pumpkin - and nods, “Yeah. I am.”

Well, it’s good to know that Blaine can be dressed as a pumpkin and still look adorable. It’s desperately unfair, really. Almost as unfair as the fact that Blaine just heard him rather decisively utter the words, I do not have feelings for Blaine.

Sam clears his throat, breaking the uncomfortable silence that’s settled over everyone. “Should we get going? We’re already going to be late getting to Elliott’s.”

It’s enough to remind everyone that they’re close friends and long past the point of standing in awkward silences, so they bundle up in coats and make their way towards the subway station.

Rachel finds a moment to whisper a quiet, “Sorry,” in his ear once they're on the train. He wants to question her about it – if he was telling her the truth, then there would be no need for an apology. Blaine hearing him say those words wouldn’t be an issue. He wishes she’d just believe him, for once, but then he glances over at Blaine laughing at an impression Sam is doing, a smile growing on his face despite himself, and he realises how transparent he is.

Why doesn’t Blaine?

- - - - -

Kurt is definitely avoiding him.

He’s actually a little impressed. Elliott’s place is on the smaller side, so there’s not a lot of places for Kurt to be where Blaine isn’t. Yet he’s somehow managing to pick the perfect moment to slip to the bathroom, or to claim he needs a little air, or to gesture wildly at his empty cup as he starts to weave his way to the drinks.

“What’s up with Hummel?”

It’s Santana. She’s dressed as Xena Warrior Princess and he’d questioned her about it when they’d arrived – it didn’t seem like her kind of thing, or too stereotypical for her to buy into. She’d set him with an unimpressed stare and said, “It’s Lucy Lawless wandering around with her wife and beating up mediocre men. What about that isn’t my thing?” And, well, fair enough.

“I don’t know,” but he does know. “I think I’ll go see if he’s okay.”

Santana just shrugs, as if her initial question was as far as her concern was going to go, and Blaine starts to move through all of the capes and bright colours and masks. There’s a part of him that doesn’t really want to find him. That means saying things like It’s okay that you don’t have feelings for me and Just your friendship is enough and Let’s just forget about it. The reality is that he wants more than a friendship, but he doesn't know how to risk the friendship to get to somewhere else. And this, this is why he thought they had an unspoken agreement to never clarify what was happening. Because at least if they were living in a limbo that felt sort of hopeful and perfect, the door was closed but not locked.

Tonight, Kurt had keys and he used them.

He finds him in the kitchen by himself, nursing a gin and tonic. “Kurt?”

“Oh.” He looks a little scattered and – weary? “Blaine. Hi.”

It sort of hurts, the way he says that, like he wishes Blaine wasn’t there or looking for him or near him. Kurt’s never sounded like that before. “Can we- can we talk about before?”

He sees the panic move through Kurt’s eyes and almost backtracks, but he can’t do this; can’t exist in the world with things being awkward between them. And he can’t even really understand why they’re awkward. There’s so much unpacking to do about that, but for now he just wants to reassure Kurt.

“Okay.”

It’s a small reply but it’s enough for Blaine. “I don’t really know why things have been a little weird, but I just want to- I don’t know, I guess. Figure out if we’re okay.”

“I lied.”

He’s suddenly very aware of his heart and that it’s in his chest, beating, faster than usual. “What do you mean?”

“I lied to Rachel.”

There’s some sort of plea in his rushed words, like he wants Blaine to hurry up and understand and put him out of his misery. So Blaine tries to hurry up and understand and - "Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Kurt deflates a little and looks down into his drink, “I’m sorry I’m being weird and all over the place. I’ve been trying so hard to be careful with our friendship, and now I’ve just ruined it.” And then, because Blaine still hasn’t said anything and the silence is stretching out in a suffocating way, Kurt says, “Gin makes me sad.”

“I’d be lying, too,” because he’s finally remembered how to speak.

Kurt squints at him, “What do you-”

“If I said I didn’t have feelings for you.”

It takes a moment, but the smile spreads onto Kurt’s face and it’s delicious and adorable and they’re both just standing in the kitchen, looking goofy and happy and risking it all.

“That’s a very stupid and roundabout way of saying- well, I really like you, Kurt.”

Kurt puts his glass down but doesn’t make a move towards Blaine just yet. “I really like you, too. Like, a lot.”

Blaine hums and lets that soak past his ridiculous pumpkin costume – he’s still not entirely convinced that orange is his colour despite Sam’s constant reassurances that it is – and into his skin, bones, being. He decides to be the one to close the gap a bit, moving towards Kurt and enjoying how heavy the air is, how he almost has to wade through it.

“Can I kiss you at midnight?” he asks.

Kurt giggles and it’s silly and Blaine wants to hear it again, and again, and again. “It’s Halloween, Blaine.”

“Mm,” he murmurs, not really sure why Kurt’s clarifying that. They’re both in costumes and there are fake cobwebs covering every surface – of course it’s Halloween. He starts to fiddle with Kurt’s cat ears, “It is.”

“Kissing at midnight is a New Year's Eve tradition.”

“Oh?” and he knows that somewhere in his brain, but he feels like he deserves to be forgiven for forgetting the specific details of which tradition belongs to which holiday because Kurt is very, very close to him and his eyes are sparkling and all he wants to do is kiss him. And so he does, or tries to-

“Wait!”

Blaine pauses, confusion riddling his eyes because were they not on the same page? But Kurt doesn’t move away. Instead, he keeps them in their tight spot together and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. Blaine can’t really see it and he tries to ask what Kurt is doing, but he just gets nicely shushed.

And then, triumphantly, Kurt holds his phone up to show Blaine what he was waiting for – the clock in the corner of the screen clicks over to 12:00 and Blaine gets it. Now he kisses him. It starts off sweet and he tastes like Halloween candy. He’s already addicted to the sugar and he starts to lick along his bottom lip. Kurt gasps a little, opening his mouth for Blaine, and that’s when their bodies shift, too. Kurt’s back is pushing into the bench and he’s trying to worry about whether or not he’s hurting him, but Kurt is somehow getting his hands under the pumpkin’s fabric and sliding at the skin on the small of his back. He’s struggling to find that compassion now when all that matters is kissing Kurt, Kurt's back be damned.

And then suddenly he’s not kissing Kurt.

Because Kurt has pulled away to drag in a breath and there’s an impossible grin on his face and a depth in his eyes that wasn’t there before and it means more, more, more. “Happy New Year, Blaine.”

“Happy New Year, Kurt,” he repeats. And then he laughs because he thinks they’ve just made their own holiday tradition, “Happy Halloween.”

#klainetober #klaine fanfiction #klaine #kurt x blaine #glee #i wrote this!#just something short and sweet because i felt like doing a little something-something

90 notes · View notes

bloopington-indiana · 4 years

Text

A man with some kind of strange wig on his head has been seen wandering in and out of the Oval Office and has been questioned by ‘security’ but has managed to avoid being detained at Leavenworth. He is still hiding somewhere within the confines of the White House. The Presidency remains in limbo, however.

1 note · View note

marvelousbirthdays · 5 years

Text

Happy Birthday, deedo2313

February 12- Darcy/Rumlow/Rollins (triple agents), I'd love something lighthearted with sassy and/or bamf Darcy, please. No Infinity War drama, please & while smut would be nice, I'l be fine with whatever you write, for @deedo2313

Written by @lj-todd

The steady sound of her sneakers against the belt of the treadmill was almost soothing in a strange sort of way. A reminder of the continuous. The permanent.

Ever since Jane had decided she and Thor were no longer a thing, Darcy had felt as though she’d been stuck in a sort of limbo, certain that, at any moment, the people running the fancy new Avengers facility would realize she wasn’t all that useful without her best friend and give her the boot as well as a firm warning about what would happen if she betrayed the confidence of the facility or the people who called it home.

But it had been months and, so far, there were no signs that she was about to be given the boot.

Part of her was starting to wonder if maybe it had something to do with the two agents who always seemed to be around whenever she did anything other than hide out in her room.

She hadn’t noticed at first, not being the most observant gal on the planet, especially not when she was busy trying to make Wanda feel more at home in the facility, and in America in general, while the younger woman was still finding her footing as a superhero. But, and mainly because Wanda had pointed it out, she had noticed after yet another training session with Wanda and Natasha, from which she still had bruises thanks very much to Russian bombshell, that the agents in question, Rumlow and Rollins, were always lingering about, watching her with what Wanda called not-so-subtle interest.

Darcy had actually started paying attention after that, certain that Wanda was wrong, but had been surprised to discover her young friend was very much correct. Not that Darcy would admit it. No sir. Not in this life. She did not wish to be on the receiving end of Wanda’s smug, Sokovian smile any time soon.

Everywhere she went in the facility, be it the media room, the pool, the gym, the kitchen, anywhere really besides her own room, within a few minutes Rumlow and Rollins would appear.

They had, in the beginning, kept to themselves. Their conversations mostly guy talk about this or that but, over time, they had started dragging Darcy into the thick of things. Usually by asking her opinion or trying to get her to agree with one over the other. But then it had had changed again and they had started carrying actual conversations with her. Asking questions and trying to get to know her. Like they didn’t know the big wigs had some file on her somewhere with all the information about her a person could want.

Not that she really minded them asking. It was decent of them, really, especially considering they were trained spies and former HYDRA agents.

Though, according to Rumlow, they’d been HYDRA agents for all of five minutes.

Rollins had explained it was more like a year but, after a mission nearly resulted in him dying and instead left him with the very impressive scar on his chin and a robotic eye, they’d realized that, to HYDRA, they were just cogs in a machine. Disposable and replaceable. So, as Rumlow put it, they’d booked ass to Fury, hoping for mercy in exchange for information. It had resulted in them becoming spies for Fury within HYDRA while still maintaining their cover as HYDRA agents. And they’d done damn convincing jobs.

Natasha was still bitter over the fact that she hadn’t realized the truth about them. And she showed it by taking out her frustration over it during sparing matches with them.

Which was what was happening right now in fact and, really, one of the biggest reasons Darcy had chosen this particular treadmill today. It gave her a perfect view of the sparring mats and a rather nice view of Rollins’ toosh in those black compression shorts as the big man attempted, for probably the millionth time, to get the advantage on Natasha who, smooth as a snake, managed to slip from his grappling hold and turn the tables on him.

Rumlow was barking from the sidelines, chastising Rollins’ sloppy technique, which earned him a rather rude hand gesture from the bigger man before Natasha, taking advantage of Rollins’ momentary distraction, managed to drop and pin Rollins with a leg across his throat and his arm locked between hers.

Darcy had to give it to him, he put up a struggle, trying to fight free but Natasha doubled down, well accustomed to training with Steve by this point, and, within minutes, and much to Rumlow’s upset, Rollins tapped out.

Natasha grinned, vicious as a viper, as she released him, rolling away and to her feet with ease and grace, snatching up her towel and, head held high, declared she’d kicked their asses enough for one day before sauntering off in the direction of the showers.

“Hey, kiwi,” Darcy called, still jogging away, grinning when Rollins shot her an amused and curious look. “You do realize you’re never going to beat her in like…a million years, right? She’s all sorts of crazy Russian ninja.”

“Russia doesn’t have ninjas, sweetheart,” Rumlow interjected with that drawl of his that did funny things to her insides and, to hide that fact, Darcy rolled her eyes.

“Nope,” she agreed, pressing the button to slow and then turn off the treadmill, grabbing up her towel. “They’ve got Natasha. And I am suddenly very glad she’s training me and not either of you.”

Rollins chuckled while Rumlow huffed.

“Oooh, all big and bad all of a sudden aren’t we, sweetheart,” Rumlow teased as Darcy moved away from the treadmill. “Last time I looked you still carry that cute little taser of yours.”

Darcy shot him a look, moving, not towards the showers as she had originally intended but towards the mats.

“I dropped a literal god with that cute little taser,” she reminded with an upward tilt of her chin. She was still quite proud of that actually. “What have you done that compares?”

“Took down Cap with a stun baton,” Rumlow fired back, which made Rollins roll his eyes as he chugged half the contents of his water bottle.

“Nearly took him down,” the bigger man corrected, grinning when Rumlow gave him a sour look. “He didn’t actually drop.”

“And you would know how, Mr I Was Unconscious On The Floor?”

Darcy couldn’t help but giggle when Rollins chucked his water bottle at Rumlow, who easily ducked it.

“And you guys were supposed to be some of the best HYDRA had,” she laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, boy, no wonder Cap took you down so easy. Heck, even given what little I know I probably could take you down at this point. Without my taser.”

She was still laughing until she realized both Rumlow and Rollins were looking at her, near matching shark grins on their face.

“Is that a challenge,” Rollins asked quietly, still smiling, moving to stand at his full height and damn it all that was not far. No one should be that good looking. Especially not after getting their butt kicked by someone as tiny and delicate looking as Natasha.

A part of Darcy’s brain screamed Danger! Abort! Abort! but, like so many other things, like tasering a giant blonde guy in the middle of a New Mexico desert, she did not heed the warning. Instead, she tossed her towel aside and stepped onto the mats.

“Bring it on, kiwi.”

Rollins kept smiling as he stepped back onto the mat, settling easily into a stance, Rumlow jeering about little girls who needed to be shown a thing or two, but Darcy, knowing he was trying to distract her, kept her focus on Rollins. It had been lesson number one. Never lose focus on your target.

She went to move, to try a strike, one of the simpler ones Natasha had shown her, only to let out a startled cry as her arms were suddenly grabbed from behind, her back pulled flush to Rumlow’s chest as the man immobilized her arms, keeping her in a firm but careful grip.

“The hell,” she grouched, twisting to glare at Rumlow over her shoulder. “That’s cheating!”

“That’s learning a valuable lesson, sweetheart,” the man purred, eyes like dark bourbon and honey, and Darcy twitched in his hold. “Never underestimate your enemy. You have to expect the unexpected.”

“Who are you, Yoda?”

She twisted a bit, trying to break free, but Rumlow easily held her.

Catching Rollins move out of the corner of her eye, Darcy tried to gain the upper hand at least a little and swung her leg, attempting to catch the big man with a kick, but he was quick, quicker than his size suggested, and he snared her ankle, yanking upwards and making her yelped as her other foot left the floor as she tried to stabilize herself. She felt a heat rush through her as Rollins’ hands curled beneath her thighs, holding her, stepping closer, using his grip to draw her knees up around his hips.

“Remember,” the big man said, voice pitched low, making her shiver as she realized how they were holding her, what it might look like later when some tech reviewed the day’s security footage. “Learn to anticipate, to predict, your opponent. Turn his actions into your weapons against him.”

Darcy shivered again when she felt Rumlow’s breath against her neck as Rollins’ thumbs swept against her knees in tiny circles. From her new position held between them she also felt something else.

“Guys,” she barely breathed the word, squirming slightly, realizing just as quickly that Rumlow wasn’t the only one showing interest. Rollins’ compression shorts weren’t really doing anything to hide his.

“We wanted to take this slower,” Rumlow breathed, voice still that smoky purr and she felt her cheeks heat as a blush stole across her face. “Do it properly. Woo you. Take you on a few dates. Show you that it isn’t just about sex or something stupid like that.”

“Wanted to show you we think you’re worth more,” Rollins added, stepping closer, causing Darcy’s legs to instinctively curl around his waist, suddenly able to feel him just like she could feel Rumlow.

“What if…” She bit her lip, glancing from Rollins and over her shoulder to Rumlow then back again. “What if I don’t want slow? What if…What if I want the pair of you to give me a private training session. A very private training session. In your room. Right. Now.”

She felt Rumlow grin against her neck as he pressed a kiss to the spot just below her jaw and her heart leapt, heat pooling low in her belly and spreading quickly, while Rollins smiled at her, his thumbs still rubbing those slow, teasing circles against her skin.

“I’d say that sounds like a good idea,” Rollins said, meeting Rumlow’s gaze over her shoulder. “What do you say, commander?”

“I say I like how our sweetheart here thinks.” Rumlow pressed another kiss to Darcy’s neck, making her gasp and squirm.

This was definitely not how she had expected things to go but, as Rumlow finally pressed a kiss to her lips, as Rollins rocked his hips against her, letting her really feel him, Darcy couldn’t have think of anything better.

#Darcy/Rumlow/Rollins #darcy lewis #brock rumlow #jack rollins #non-canon compliant

38 notes · View notes

babybluepeaches · 6 years

Photo

Permission {a killmonger fic} prompt: you plan on finishing off a drug deal that was left in limbo by one of your worst clients. what you don’t plan on is having a quickie with his friend in the process. story + smut. enjoy! ……

2:43pm. You clock a text. Sender: Gerrell. Message: “Hey Queen 👑 Omw, got the stacks.” This nigga Gerrell has been giving you the run around for months. You were sick of him and his flimsy promises. Nevertheless, money is money. You reply telling his dumbass to come through. You sat up and stretched, getting ready to put on your clothes. Heavy footsteps thudded on the other side of your door and you warily take off your bonnet and smoothed your edges. “Bitch, how did you get here?” you mumble to yourself, wrangling your locs into a wig cap and dawning your silky black wave wig. “Here” meaning living in a, albeit relatively cozy, trap house. How did your spot become THE trap house? How did you become the dangerous drug dealer on the block? Definitely not what you expected out of yourself as a kid, but desperate times call for boss lady measures. You had this hussle to thank for paying off your student loans. After you dawn your intimidating cat eye and signature leather jacket, you grabbed your strap off the night stand and left your private den. As per the norm, you pass by a whole lot of random niggas, and a whole lot of niggas who work for you. Your underlings nod their heads in respect as you enter, each mumbling variations of “wassup sis?” “yo big sis” as you pass. Before you go out you mumble “Gerrell” to them, and peek out your shaded window. Most of them respond with a groan, a few others eye each other wickedly, little to your knowledge. When the car pulls up you eye your niggas and pull out your gun. They hussle to either get lost, shoo their customers out the back, or go to the door to wait for ole Gerrell. You nod at the ones waiting, preparing to open the door and intimidate this nigga into giving you what he owes you. One more glance outside and you notice.. Oh hell nah you know this nigga didn’t bring back up. Peering in the car you spot a muscled arm and tight chest. You know this nigga Gerrell is not tryna pull up on you and pull one over on you. You been into this game too long to not take the third presence as a threat. You tell Gerrell to come up to the porch while you sneak out the back to do some interrogation of your own on this mystery dude. ….. “Damn Gerrell I swear if we late again.” “Nah nah brother chill! We gonna be right on time, the thotties are gonna be there man I promise.” Gerrell wipes his beard nervously in that way where Erik could tell he was all talk. Sighing and resting his arm on the car window, he looks out. Can’t believe I let this nigga drag me around all day again. Erik Stevens had just got back from Wakanda, or as he’s been telling everyone else, “Uganda”. And he just wanted to smoke. Chill. He didn’t want anyone to know what really went down, not yet. He still had a lot of pain to unpack and he didn’t need his homies knowing he had African royal blood, especially not Wakandan royal blood. Which is probably why he’s letting his childhood friend convince him hes gonna have a nice, normal time tonight. He needed to believe that lie at least for today. “So uh, I gotta stop by somewhere first.” Psych. Erik rolled his eyes. “Nigga where?” “I gotta pick up the gas.” Erik almost jumped out of his seatbelt. “Nigga! You said you already had that shit.” “I know, I know. But my plug is quick as hell E dont worry it’ll be 10 minutes tops.” Even though he was looking at the road Erik’s glare bore through him, causing nervous chuckling and more (empty) promises. Erik and Gerrell drive way into the city to get to the hood. Erik couldn’t help the nagging annoyance from not bringing any of his weapons, at the time it was his way of trying to convince himself he was relaxing tonight. “Dumb as shit,” he mumbled under his breath. “Whatchu say brother?” “Nun’ man, nun’” Erik said, sighing as he eye’d the neighborhood. Gerrell finally came to a stop and flashed Erik a smile. “Aight I’ll be right back,” noting Erik’s annoyed demeanor he added a “Promise!” to that fib, as he jumped out the whip. Erik rolled his eyes and shifted his attention out the window, and a few moments later it was stolen again by a hard tapping sound on his opposite side. ….. Hustling to the car, you can finally see Gerrell’s back up up close. Black tank top, low cut on the arms, exposing some of his ripped torso. Lots of little round scars beaded his arms and chest. What kinda prison yard did Gerrell find this dude? His locs where braided up tightly on his head and damn he looked pissed. Must hate Gerrell as much as I do. Glaring at him, you pull out your gun and tap it on the window while you hold it in a defensive position. Mystery dude’s head snaps up as do his hands, you couldn’t tell if it was a fight or fear response, but judging from his face he was surprised to see you there. “Open the window,” you tap on the glass again. He complies and puts his hands up again, this time in a more submissive gesture. He takes in your gun with his eyes, then shamelessly drinks in your appearance, licking his lips, then eyes back to the gun. “‘Sup ma.” He says calmly. “I ain’t ‘cha ma. Open the door”. He nods and pops the lock on his other side.

You never take your aim off him as you go around and get in the other seat of the car. “So what was the plan?” you say, slamming the car door behind you. “You sneak in after he gives us the money and rob us? Or, don’t tell me, he doesnt have the money does he?” You prop yourself up on your elbow and give the stranger and amused smile. The barrell of your gun hasn’t left his presence. The stranger, to your surprise, let’s out an exasperated laugh. “Yo, Gerrell owe you money lil jawn?” His lips pulled back to reveal his gold capped bottom fangs, the hypnotic sight of it had you lost for a mintute. “Yeah,” you push your gun softly into the skin of his neck. “Gerrell owes me money. Gerrell owes this ‘lil jawn’ 3k.” “3k?! Just for some tree?” You let out a hardy laugh. “Tree? That’s what this nigga told you he was on?” you laugh again, “Try cocaine.” “Damn shawty you slinging cocaine? For who?“ he seems intrigued, almost giddy at this idea, which pisses you off. “For me nigga, wassup? You got a problem?” you glare into his eyes. “Nah no problems! Look, my bad. I just… don’t usually meet up with plugs like you.” He offers one of the hands he held up at your defense to shake. “E,“ he said, referring to himself you assume. You eye his gesture and don’t move to meet it. “J” you reply, your fake go to. “Look E, I don’t give a fuck whether you this niggas body guard, his partner in crime, or his baby daddy. I don’t trust you any more than I trust Gerrell,” you get in his face a little bit more, trying not to notice how good he smelled, “and I’m gonna keep you right here until his dumb ass gets back. Got me?” “Yeah,” he said, seemingly more preoccupied with your lips than the threats you were dishing out, “I got ‘chu,” he breathes. “Good,” you say, lingering in the closeness. There was definitely tension blooming. You were almost pressed against him, hell, your gun was pressed against him. His lust filled gaze seemed to accept it, and even welcome the position you had him in. He breaks the heated silence with a low voice, “Since I don’t want to set you off, you let me know what I got permission to do, ight?” There was definitely a double entandre in that “do”. You actually weren’t mad at it, and the longer you stared at each other, you found it harder to deny yourself the experience of what this could turn into. You take a second to take in this “E”, really take him in. He was obviously attractive, but you’ve done plenty of deals with attractive guys. It was his demeanor and energy that really had you feeling wild. He seemed aware, yet unafraid of the situation. Like he was enthralled with the danger. This was someone who was seduced by a power struggle. And I don’t mind giving him one. “Ight,” you reply. Finally settling into your wreckless decision, you swing one leg over to straddle him in the passenger seat. His eyebrows nearly flew into his hairline and his mouth dropped open momentarily. You press the gun into his throat and say, “Kiss me.”

You swore you saw him smile before his lips met yours. The kiss was warm. It felt like he was sucking on your aura, tasting all your desire for him. You moan at him sucking on your tongue, and grab his palm with your free hand and place it on your hips, prompting him to feel you up. His hands were eager to lift the edge of your top up to slide inside. Just when you started to let go of your inhibitions, his hands pause right under your breasts. “Wait” “What?” you reply in an impatient tone. “What about Gerrell?” he asked warily. “He’ll either come back when he forks over my money,” you trace Erik’s collarbone and lean in, “or he’ll stay in there until I come get him.” “Mmm. So you got it like that huh?” he eyes you hungrily. “Yeah,” you rock your hips on his lap, keeping the gun pressed to his neck, “I got it like that.” “And you want me?” his thumbs grazing your nipples under your shirt. “Mhm,” you rock your hips steadily and slide your tongue into his mouth, which he gladly accepts. Fucking randoms wasn’t your thing, but fuck it, this nigga was fine. You both knew it, and you both knew what was about to go down. “Shit, I got permission?” He asks as you break the kiss. His large hand smoothly paws your thigh. You bite your lip. “Mmm. Yeah.” “That’s wassup.” He wastes no time slipping his hand into your panties, you suppress a yelp of surprise and throw your head back instead. “Almost lost your grip,” he quipped with an amused smile, eluding to your hands visibly weaker hold on your piece. With half lidded eyes you press the metal into his skin harder and he just laughs. Who the fuck does he think he is? I’m gonna- Your thoughts are interrupted by him rubbing circles into your clit. You moan and look him in the eyes, attempting to keep your hard demeanor. His returning look is full of lust and a hint of challenge. You knew this was about to be some wild shit. You roll your hips and begin fucking his fingers. His mouth hangs open watching you move, high off the sensation. “I want you, now,” you said. He nods furiously before removing his fingers from you and pulls out a condom.You let him put it on before your slide on to him. You gasp at his girth, especially in this position. He chuckles and fixes his mouth to make a cocky comment, but before he can get it out you drag your gun down to his chest and say “Shut up,” as you start slowly riding him. He moans out a “Yes ma'am,” as his golden canines bite down on his lip. You’re putting in work on this nigga, trying to hide how lost you were getting when he guided your hips with his hands and angeled himself farther into the already deep penetration. His phones vibration interrupts your panting and heavy breaths. And again. buzz, buzz, buzz “You better not check that shit,” you lift your hips all the way up and down, saying into his ear, “it’s my time now.” He groans and you feel his dick twitch inside of you at your demands, now you’re the one laughing. You pull back to look at him and his expression is caught between ecstasy and animalistic. “You ‘bout to make a nigga cum, talking all that shit,” his ember eyes find yours and burn intensely. His mouth is half open and you slide two of your fingers inside. “Suck,” you tell him. He obeys, his long tongue curling around your fingers. You moan in response, pussy tightening around him. He’s smiling wickedly, before you could wonder why, he started fucking up into you hard. You grip his studded chest as his hips drove into you relentlessly. You actually start to tear up. Fuck, fuck, fuck You’re seeing stars. “I’m bout to cum J, you wit me?” he asks as he grabs your hip to keep plowing away. You let out a high pitched moan that you can’t help and nod wordlessly. Every time he pulled your hips down and his dick curved up into your sweet spot. Eventually you start chanting “yes” to encourage him you were close. When he sensed you were on the edge of orgasm, he quickly started patting your clit with 3 fingers. This had you immediately gushing all over him as you both came. You clenching his shoulder with your gun to his chest, and him gripping your hips for dear life. He let you ride out your orgasm, coming down from the insane high while he watched. Eventually he said, “Erik”. “Huh?” “That’s my name, real one.” You raised your eyebrows, “Hmm,” you regard him, “Erik.” You put down the gun and offer your hand. “Y/N.” He nods and shakes it, repeating your name, following up with “Dope”. You shimmy off his lap into the drivers seat to let him resituate himself. You pull down the visor mirror to look at yourself, checking your appearance after that impromptu fuck session. Grabbing your jacket, you pop a prerolled blunt out of the pocket and into your mouth. You light it, letting it hang over your full lips. Fixing your hair in the mirror you take a few hits, having mastered this particular multitask a long time ago. Erik shamelessly stares at how the light hits your half naked frame, and how it highlighted your smoke clouds. Ripping his eyes away from you he checks his, once again, buzzing phone. 12 new messages. Sender: Gerrell. Erik groans and checks his unread texts. Message: “E I think Imma need some back up you mind??” “Erik!! Erik please” “It got a little sticky in here E imma need-” Erik stops reading right there and groans. “What?” you say, passing Erik the preroll. He snatches that shit fast as hell, you wonder why until he’s mumbling “Gerrell” around the blunt. He passes you his phone so you can skim. Your anger levels hit unbelievably new heights reading how he was in fact trying to use Erik for back up. You hiss and put on your jacket. “Gimme my piece,” you demand from Erik. He obliges. “Aye you forgot your shirt,” Erik says, blowing out a smoke cloud and holding up your tube top. “Fuck a shirt nigga, I need my money,” you say as you kick open the car door and jog up to your crib with your gun in hand. Erik took the open door as an invitation inside and follows behind you.

….

You and Erik hustle up the porch and you bust in the front door. “Gerrell!” your voice is on fire, you’re on fire. The sound returning your call was a pathetic yelp coming from the back room. You and Erik look at each other before running back there. You open the door to reveal 5 or 6 of your underlings absolutely fucking Gerrell up. The nigga is naked, tied to a chair. You look at your goons expectantly for explanation. “Aw wassup boss,” one of them turns around seeming at least half guilty. You note he has on a different jacket. Glancing around you can tell they took this nigga Gerrell’s whole look. Hell, they’d probably shave off his fade and wear that too if they could. “What the hell y'all doing? Where’s the money?” you glare wildly at them. “Sis this nigga ain’t got shit,” one replies shaking his head. “We made some extra deals with him on the side, he ain’t paid us back, so we took his shit. You get it right big sis?” another responds. You sigh, “Yeah I get it,” you also are smh-ing at Gerell’s pathetic ass. Welts all over, just in his underwear shaking like a leaf. “L-look I’m sorry J, I’m so sorry please dont hit me. Your boys took my gold Nike high tops!” he exclaims sobbing. “Nigga shut up,” you say while rubbing your temples, “I’m not tryna gun yo dumbass down Gerrell. Just get out of my house.” Gerrell looks up hopefully and smiles. “Girl you aint gonna regret this I swear I-” “Stop. We’ll be on a payment plan from now on. Stop paying and Imma have people driving by ya house, got me?” “Y-yeah I got you J.” “Good. By the way, we keeping your car.” “W-wh-but you can’t do tha-” You hold up your hand to stop him from speaking as your boys untie him from the chair. Erik puts down his phone after a minute or so of tapping and grabs Gerrell by the ear. “I got the uber, c'mon. Dumbass nigga,” he mumbles, pulling Gerrell along followed by ouch! ouch! Before Erik parts, he slips a scrap of paper into your jacket pocket. Later you discover it has his number on it, followed by “E”. You usually throw these offers away, but maybe not this time.

#erik killmonger #erik killmonger x reader #erik killmonger imagine #erik killmonger fic #black panther #permission

389 notes · View notes

ellanainthetardis · 7 years

Note

Hello - I just read the one-shot with all the Lyssa and Effie moments, and it was perfection. The last scene broke my heart! Can I prompt a story where postMJ Lyssa and Effie become close again, please :) I would love it if it was a longer one-shot about them reconnecting, but I will take anything. I also have my final exam for medical school next week, so would love it if you could make an exception and post it early. Completely understand if don't want to do that though, I will wait patiently.

This is clearly oneyear late so I hope you passed your exam! And if you did congrats! [X]

Lyssa Flavershym To The Rescue

The knock on the door came just as he wascrossing the hallway from the living-room to the kitchen with two emptybottles. He switched course without thinking twice about it, used by now to peoplebothering him in the middle of the day.

One year after the rebellion, rebuilding wasstill in full swing and the people were still few, it wasn’t uncommon forsomeone to fetch him because they needed muscles in town. He often went withPeeta. It was good for the boy to do somethingand Haymitch liked helping him put the bakery back together but it was moreof a District effort and they alwaysended up helping neighbors with their walls or roofs or whatever needed to befixed.

He glanced at the stairs behind him beforeopening the front door but the house was silent. He resolutely ignored thetinge of worry. Effie hadn’t been down in a couple of days and without herobsessive bouts of cleaning and her nightly tidying up, the house had become amess he was attempting to straighten before she came back to her senses andstarted ranting about how much of a sob he was. Not that she had any right tocall him a sob in his own house, of course, but that was Effie Trinket for you.

She was visiting, or so she insisted. It hadbeen five months now and five months of living in his guest room made it moreor less obvious to him that the arrangement would be permanent.

It had been odd five months too.

Effie was… not the same. For the children’ssake, she put up a mask of cheerfulness and over the top enthusiasm thatdropped flat as soon as they left the house. Haymitch wasn’t sure they werefooled but they were good enough not to say anything. Peeta was the mostattuned to her needs and he was always very dutiful in making her feel useful,in allowing her that small dignity of being who she chose to pretend she stillwas.

She never bothered pretending for Haymitch.

Oh, she tried sometimes… But there was only somuch pretending she could do when she woke up screaming at odd hours of thenight or when she crawled into his bed still shaking from her nightmare whenshe didn’t simply start moping the floors at two a.m. because she couldn’t bearthe thought of anything being filthy.She couldn’t hide the fact she had become claustrophobic nor the small matterof her needing all doors and windows to be locked at night. She couldn’t hidethe flinches at loud noises or the growing panic in complete silence. Shecouldn’t hide the fact she was terrified of the dark or her new aversion tobeing touched.

It was hard to navigate around her. She triedher best not to take too much room in his house – mainly because she hadinvaded it without his consent, he figured – but it was their limbo of arelationship that was the most complicated. He wasn’t sure what they were,wasn’t sure where they were going from there, if they were going anywhere at all… Former lovers. Roommates. So much more than that.

Nothing stirred at all upstairs and Haymitchpursed his lips as he pulled the door open. It had been a string of bad daysand he was worried about her. Last time he had checked on her, she had beencurled up under her blankets with a faraway look in her eyes. He hadn’t gottenmore than five words out of her.

He had been expecting one of the men who workedin town or maybe Sae but certainly not the woman who was standing in front ofhis front door.

“Mr Abernathy.” she greeted him quietly with anod.

One glance-over was enough for him to determineshe was Capitol. No wig – they had gone out of fashion or so Effie had informedthem all several times – and tasteful make-up but there was something about herthat didn’t lie. It was in her bearing, the way she kept her chin high and studiedhim as if he was… inferior. She hadglossy straight blond hair kept away from her face with a blue ribbon thatmatched the dress he could guess at under her open white coat. Her purse hadthe gleam of brand new leather, her heels didn’t have a single scratch and thejewelry was probably worth enough to buy his house two times over.

Not only was she Capitol, but she had money.

“What do you want?” he growled.

She was conducting her own inspection and hehad no doubt she was finding him lacking. And why wouldn’t she? His greylong-sleeve shirt had a hole under the armpit – something she could definitelysee given that he was holding the door to bar her entrance – the red and whitecheckered sweatpants were hanging low on his hips because the waistband wasold, he hadn’t bothered shaving since Effie had been locked in her room and thefacial hair was actually starting to itchgiven how out of control it was, his hair was too long, his eyes werebloodshot because he hadn’t been drinking enough, he wasn’t wearing any shoesand, of course, there were the two empty bottles in his hand. And he supposed he wasn’t smelling verynice because he couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a shower That toohad been before Effie had fallen prisoner to her depression.

The woman’s face was somehow familiar but hecouldn’t place it.

“I am looking for Effie Trinket.” she said. Hervoice was sweet and her tone calm but there was steel hidden underneath. “I wastold I could find her here.”

“Press is forbidden to come into the Village.”he growled, taking a threatening step closer. “Get lost before I call thePeacekeepers. And if I see you again…”

“I am not a journalist.” She pursed her lips asif the accusation was actually painful. The pout was familiar. Very familiar.

He studied her more attentively but he reallydidn’t know her. He was fairly confident she hadn’t worked for them during theGames. No stylist or prep team… Not that they were many of them left.

“Lawyer, then.” he sighed. Or court bailiff orwhatever. “Just tell me how much she owns you and I’ll write you a check.”

It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be thelast. The rebels had left her without a penny to her name. They had waiteduntil he had gone back to Twelve with Katniss, far away enough that he couldn’tinterfere again, and then they had seized her – admittedly large – bank accountas well as her apartment and everything worth money that hadn’t yet been stolenin it. There were bills from before the war, huge ones, and debts she hadcontracted afterwards when she had tried to make a life for herself in thecity. Living in the Capitol wasn’t affordable for people who used to be wealthynowadays: they lived in shelters, begged for jobs in the streets and weregenerally having a tough time managing their hard-earned money. Effie hadn’tmanaged to find a job. Nobody wanted to hire her. He wasn’t sure how she hadkept the matchbox she had been living in for so long and he really didn’t wantto ask what sort of arrangements she had had with her landlord. He had beenforced to deal with the man when he had sent him the bill of four unpaid monthsof rent and he hadn’t been impressed.

Most of the time, he tried to keep the moneyproblems away from her. It wasn’t fair, certainly, and Peeta had more than oncetold him she would be angry when she would figure it out, but the crux of thematter was that she had no money, no job and no prospect for now and thattelling her would only force her to ask him for help, which mortified her andleft her uneasy around him. Haymitch would rather deal with this stuff behindher back and face the music later on, once she would be better – or never if she never found out. In hisopinion, he owed her anyway.

The woman’s blue eyes gave him another once-over.“You misunderstand me. I am not a journalist and I am not a lawyer, I wouldsimply like to see Effie Trinket.”

“Why? So you can tell her she’s a traitor toyour precious Capitol?” he scowled. “Get lost, lady.”

He slammed the door in her face and turned aroundto discard the empty bottles, grumbling under his breath about stupid Capitolswho needed their head bashed in a wall to get some sense into them.

He was nowhere near the kitchen door when theknocking started again. Well, it was more of a pounding this time.

“I said get thefuck away!” he shouted, tossing the bottles at the front door, feeling adeep sense of satisfaction when he heard the sound of smashed glass. Theknocking stopped and all that filled the silence was his ragged breathing. Hewaited for Effie to call his name in worry, to ask what was going on, but itdidn’t come. He rubbed his face and let out a sigh. He hated those kinds ofdays. He hated them. It was like shewas trapped somewhere in her mind and there was next to no getting to her.

“I am Lyssandra Flavershym!” the woman snappedthrough the door.

“Congratulations for you ridiculous name!” hespat, prevented from striding there and tearing the door open to physicallyremove her by the sea of glass on the floor. He couldn’t go there barefootwithout hurting himself.

Flavershym. That ringed a bell.

And suddenly he remembered. She was…

“I demand to see my sister at once!” sheinsisted. There was a loud thud andhe figured she had hit the door again. “You cannot keep her prisoner! I will gofetch Peacekeepers! I will…”

Muttering a curse and trying to avoid theshards as much as he could, he carefully made his way to the door and opened itagain. She fell silent mid-threat.

“Thought you weren’t interested in whateverhappened to her?” he accused, glaring at the woman. “Thought you hated her?”

Effie’s mother had come once to the hospital tobeg her to do something about her Gamemaker of a brother-in-law, to use herimaginary influence with the rebels to save him, and, when Effie and Haymitch had told the woman in nouncertain terms that they couldn’t – and wouldn’t – do anything, the Capitolhad stormed out in such a fury Effie had cried for two hours afterwards,swearing her family wanted nothing to do with her anymore. He knew she hadtried to contact them again after her release from the hospital and he knewthey had kicked her out the door. He knew her sister had been particularlyvicious.

Lyssandra had the gracefulness to blush.

It was a pretty blush but, then again,everything about the woman was pretty. She was soft in a way Effie had neverreally been. She looked like one of those old painting. Frail and delicate. Asweet candy.

He understood where the deep-rooted jealousyEffie had always sported for her sister came from but he really couldn’t seethe appeal. He would take Effie and her scars and the dark bags under her eyesany day against this woman who had barely known any hardship in her life.

She had lost her husband, sure, but from whathe had gathered, the husband hadn’t been faithful or particularly nice.

“May I come in?” she asked after clearing herthroat. “I wish to speak to my sister.”

“Yeah, you said.” he sneered, folding his armsin front of his chest, an immovable wall. “What do you want to tell her?”

There was a flash of irritation on her face andthen she flicked her hair back, betraying how nervous she actually was. “I donot think it is any of your business.”

“It’s my business if you’re here to upset her.”he retorted.

She jutted her chin higher in the air in a movethat was so Effie it took his breathaway for a minute. She never did that anymore. She had no fire left in her.Being contradictory just for the sake of the argument wasn’t on the table now.

But it only lasted a second. Then Lyssadeflated, her eyes pleading, her expression helpless in an attitude that, hesuspected, was more her style. She’s thesweet one, he remembered Effie saying once. He didn’t think the openvulnerability was an act designed to move him, at least not a conscious one.

“I do not plan on upsetting her. I simply… Iwould like to see her, to talk to her… To understand why…” Lyssandra stoppedtalking and sighed. “May I come in? Please?”

Haymitch knew better than to trust a charmingface but the woman seemed harmless enough so he stepped aside.

“Mind the glass.” he mumbled, glaring at theshard that had nicked his foot. He was a bit alarmed to see she was carrying asuitcase with her but he didn’t comment on that just yet, a bit too afraid thatshe would settle in his other guest room. Trinket women liked to do that, itseemed. “I’m gonna see if she wants to see you.” he told her, gesturing at herto go in the living-room. “If she wants you to leave, you’re out the door,understood?”

Lyssandra nodded once and stood there,clutching the handle of her suitcase, looking terribly lost in the living-room,as if not quite certain she ought to sit or not. He didn’t tell her to makeherself at home and her manners didn’t allow her to simply take the liberty todo so.

He took the steps two at a time and strode toEffie’s room.

“Hey, sweetheart…” he called ahead, not tostartle her. She didn’t even blink when he walked in though. She was staring atthe wall, curled up in the middle of the bed. She was wearing one of hisflannel shirts, the same she had been wearing as a pajamas for a few days now,and she looked so small in it… The breakfast tray he had carried up earlier hadbeen left untouched on the nightstand and he swallowed back his irritation. Itwasn’t just the wasted food, it was the fact she wasn’t eating properly whenshe was far too thin. “Someone’s there to see you.” He crouched next to the bedbut there was no visible reaction. “Your sister’s here. Lyssandra? Says shewants to see you.”

He brushed her tangled hair back, letting hisfingers trail down her cheek.

“Come on, Effie.” he sighed. “I know it’sdifficult but you need to come back, yeah? Wake up. Princess…”

No amount of pleading worked, though. Her eyesbriefly flickered to him once and she leaned a little into his hand but it wasall she consented to give him. Maybe if he had curled up behind her and heldher for a while… But he had tried that the previous day and it hadn’t worked.And chances were it would only make it worse anyway. It was one thing when shesought him out for hugs or sneaked into his bed at night and asked him to holdher, it was another to do it without her consent. She tended to freak out.

“Alright.” He was frustrated beyond measure buthe stood up before he could lose his temper. It wasn’t her fault. “Maybelater.”

She would snap out of it eventually.

He took the tray back down with him and, out ofsheer annoyance, tossed the lot in the sink. Cups and glasses broke but it wasthe theme of the day apparently. He felt like punching something. He dropped ona chair and grabbed a nearby bottle, contemplating the idea of calling the kidsover while taking a sip. He had asked them to keep their distance when it hadbecome clear it would be a bad day, mindful of her wish to keep her problemsfrom the children, but it had been three days now and the kids would reach her.It was magical. She would put a front for them. She might crash even harderafterwards but he also might be able to get to her in the interval.

A soft cough made him jump to his feet. Heturned around to see the stranger lurking on the threshold.

“I apologize but you were not coming back and…”she started.

“It’s not a good time.” he cut her off angrily.“You should come back another time.”

The woman blinked and then her eyebrows shotup. “You do realize it was a lot of trouble for me to come here, yes? Twelve isnot exactly next door.”

“Do I look like I care?” he spat.

Lyssandra pursed her lips tight. “Enough isenough.”

She turned on her heels and before he hadrealized what she intended to do and given chase, she was halfway up thestairs.

“You get out of my house now.” he warned, grabbing her arm.

She shrugged his hand off, clearly frightenedout of her wits but unwilling to relent. “Do not touch me or I will scream, youoaf! Effie! Effie!”

He didn’t want to hurt a defenseless woman, asannoying as she was, and thus he was forced to follow her close, trying tointimidate her into leaving while actually nottouching her. She was determined, he would give her that.

Once she found Effie’s room, she rushed in,took in the state her sister was in and whirled around, tears in her eyes andan accusing finger jutting into his chest. “What have you done to her? What did you give her? She’s drugged!”

“Didn’t give her shit!” he denied, incensed by that allegation. “She’s just… She’s…She’s fucking traumatized, alright?You’ve got nerves coming here and accusing me of hurting her! You’ve got somenerve!”

“I am taking her back with me!” Lyssandrashouted. “Try to stop me, I dare you! I will come back with soldiers if I haveto! I am taking my sister back home!”

“You’re touching her over my dead body.” hesnarled, his voice dropping to a low dangerous tone. “She’s here ‘cause shewants to be. Your family couldn’t give a rat ass about her and now…”

“But weare her family!” the woman hissed. “And youare no one to her. You have beenkeeping her here against her will. I just knowyou have!”

“Listen, now…” He took a step closer, glaringat her, ready to toss his good intentions out the door and her along with themwhile he was at it.

Effie let out a whine and curled up tighter,making them both shut up. She was trembling.

“Oh, darling!” Lyssandra whispered, hurrying tothe bed.

“Don’t…” Haymitch tried to warn but too late.She touched Effie’s shoulder, probably intending to hug her, and Effie bolted,her eyes wide and unseeing, her breath coming out in pants. She hit the windowhard with her bad shoulder and slid down the wall, jaw clenched in pain. Thepain had the advantage of making her a little bit lucid though. He saw hischance and took it. “Effie.” he said softly. “You’re safe. You’re in Twelve.I’m right here. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. I’m right here.”

She blinked fast, her pants loud in the newlyfound silence. Slowly, ever so slowly, her gaze traveled up until it rested onhim. “Haymitch.”

It came out strangled.

He smirked. “Yeah. I’m here. You’re safe.You’ve been… You’ve been spacing out for a while, sweetheart. Was gettingworried.”

He didn’t make the mistake of trying to comecloser, not yet, not until she made it clear she wanted him to. Her body wasstill tense.

“How long?” she asked. She closed her eyes andtried to work on her breathing but she ended up gasping air like a fish out ofwater.

“A few days.” he told her.

Lyssandra moved as if to come closer but heglared at her and she must have gotten the message because she stayed put. Theharm was done though. Effie’s eyes had snapped open and she was staring at thewoman as if she was a threat. She didn’t seem to be able to get her breathback.

“Where?” she croaked.

“We’re in Twelve, Effie.” he told her again.“Everything else is over. You’re in Twelve with me.”

“I’m safe?” she insisted.

“Yeah.” he promised. “I’m right here. Won’t letanything happen to you.”

And with that she finally looked at him and herbody relaxed. He took that as his cue and came closer, careful not to make anysudden move. She tensed a little when he placed his hand on her arm but shesoon relaxed.

“I am tired.” she whispered.

“You’re dehydrated and hungry.” he countered.“’Cause you’re a stubborn pain in my ass who doesn’t appreciate my cooking.”

Lyssa gasped in outrage but a small smilefloated on Effie’s lips because she knew he was only teasing.

“I love your cooking.” she denied.

“Good. ‘Cause you’re overdue for somebreakfast.” he retorted. “You think you can stand or you want me to carry you?”

She mused that over for a moment and thenlooped her arms around his neck. He lifted her up swiftly.

“You reek.” she grumbled, wrinkling her nose.

“Yeah, well, you’re a bit ripe yourself.” hesnorted. “Breakfast first. Then I’m gonna run you a bath, alright?”

“Alright.” she agreed easily, resting her cheekon his shoulder.

Her sister was completely forgotten in hissudden hurry to carry her downstairs and get fluids and food into her beforeshe started being contradictory again. He was aware she was trailing behindthem but Effie had yet to acknowledge her presence and he had more pressingworries.

“Why is there glass everywhere?” she asked himwhen they reached the hallway.

“Dropped a bottle.” he mumbled. “Don’t worry,I’m gonna clean it up.”

“You’re barefoot. You shouldn’t be barefoot ifyou dropped a bottle.” she pointed out with concern.

“You’re barefoot too so don’t go walkingaround.” he reminded her because he was certain it wasn’t something she wouldhave thought of. She would have grabbed a broom and tried to clean the mess upout of worry he would hurt himself and never pause to think she might get injured. That sort of thingsslipped her mind nowadays. She couldn’t bear any mess anywhere. He placed herdown on one of the kitchen’s chair and immediately poured her a glass of herfancy orange juice – pulp free – that needed to be shipped straight from thecity. “Drink up.”

She obediently took a sip, which told him shewasn’t as lucid as she should have been yet.

He put bread in the toaster and whipped out thepan to make her eggs.

“Effie?” Lyssandra called uncertainly from thethreshold.

Having mostly forgotten about her, Haymitchglanced over his shoulder with some wariness. Effie really needed to eatsomething and he didn’t want her sister to upset her before he had managed toget her to swallow at least a few bites.

“Look, maybe you could…” he started, ready tooffer the use of the living-room if only it would keep her away for a fewminutes.

“Haymitch, where am I?” Effie asked, cuttinghim off. She was rubbing her face. “I… I think I am in Twelve but…”

“You arein Twelve, sweetheart.” he promised.

“Home?” she whispered.

It was the first time he heard her refer to thehouse as home and it made him feel…Strangely good. He liked that. Theidea that this was her home. Their home. It certainly feel less thana tomb than when he had been living in there alone.

“Yeah. We’re home.” he offered,

“What’s wrong with her?” Lyssandra asked,sounding horrified.

“Nothing’s wrongwith her.” he snapped defensively. “She’s just a bit confused. It’s gonna wearoff in a minute.”

Effie was frowning. “Is she… Is she real?”

Ah. He winced. He should have thoughtof that. She didn’t trust her mind sometimes. “Yeah. I told you your sistercame to see you, remember? She’s real, yeah.”

“Oh, darling…” Lyssandra exclaimed once more,with a little too much dramatic in his opinion. She sat down next to Effie andgrabbed her free hand in hers. Effie eyed her warily, still bringing her glassof orange juice to her lips from time to time, often glancing at Haymitch as ifto make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. If the woman noticed, she didn’t let on.“I came to… Well, I wanted to talk to you about what happened to Rufus but itdoesn’t matter anymore. I had no idea you were so ill. Mother didn’t say. If Ihad known…”

“I am not ill.” Effie refuted with a hint ofher usual haughtiness.

It made Haymitch smirk. He dropped the toastsin a plate along with the eggs and plucked the jar of strawberry jam from thecupboard before dropping everything on the table in front of her. Lyssandrabarely looked away.

“You cannot be held responsible for what youdid, of course. I had no idea…Mother, didn’t say.” the woman insisted. “I am very sorry, darling. If I hadknown…”

“You said that already.” he pointed out,pouring coffee into two mugs. He placed one in front of Effie and kept thesecond one for himself. Effie looked at him with a lifted eyebrow when he satdown and he rolled his eyes, stood up and fetched another cup for her sisterwho didn’t look very grateful about it.

“I will take you home.” Lyssandra declared.

Effie froze and snatched her hand away fromhers. “I am home.”

She glanced at him uncertainly and he noddedonce. It probably wasn’t the right time to tease her about her visiting but it was a shame because shehad been so adamant…

“Do not be silly.” Lyssandra huffed gently.“You need doctors.”

“No. No doctors.” Effie refused quickly,standing up so fast the chair clattered to the floor behind her. She huggedherself and took a few steps away from her sister.

“No doctors.” Haymitch promised firmly.“Sweetheart, nobody’s taking you anywhere you don’t want to go. Sit down andeat something.”

She hesitated for a few seconds before comingback to the table. It didn’t escape his notice that, while she picked up thechair, she chose to sat down next to him instead, on the other side of thetable from her sister. It didn’t escape his notice either that she was sittingcloser than strictly necessary. He simply reached out and dragged her platecloser, as well as her glass of juice and her mug of coffee. He also forced thefork in her hand and pointed at the plate.

She swallowed two mouthfuls, studying Lyssandrawith obvious wariness.

Lyssandra, who clearly wasn’t liking what shewas seeing.

“There were talks of putting her in aninstitution.” he explained because he could understand what it looked like. Effiewas dancing to his tune when she usually was a very independent woman. She hadaccused him of having drugged her earlier and he supposed that was how hisformer escort looked to outsiders right now: drugged, sluggish. It would pass.Hopefully in half an hour, once she was fed and had washed, she would be backto her senses. “Doctors aren’t her favorite people. Don’t upset her.”

“She is not well.” Lyssandra insistedpetulantly.

“Sheis sitting right here.” Effie snapped. “Whereare your manners, Lyssa?” She pursed her lips and spared him a glare. “It isuseless for me to ask that of you naturally.”He snorted and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arm behind her, makingsure not to crowd her too much. She relaxed and ate another few forkfuls ofeggs. “I am not going back to the Capitol. If that is why you came…”

“I came because… I told you. I wanted tounderstand why you did not help with Rufus.” Lyssa countered. “I…”

“There was nothing Haymitch or I could do.”Effie sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I told Mother… We told Mother… It was complicated enough to keep me from being tried and sentenced at thetime. We did even know for sure if…”

“Wouldn’t have risked my neck for your husbandanyway.” Haymitch cut her off. “I had myfamily to look out for.”

“You are not helping.” she chided him, taking asip of orange juice.

“Ain’t trying to.” he scoffed.

Lyssandra looked hurt, angry and puzzled all atonce. Her face was an open book. It was lucky for her she had been a goodlittle citizen. She would never have made it otherwise.

“I amsorry for your loss.” Effie offered.

A heavy silence fell on the kitchen after thatand, aware of Effie’s uncomfortable fidgeting, Haymitch briefly stood up toturn up the old radio. The volume was soft, it was barely a background noise,but she flashed him a grateful smile anyway.

“I do not think I can eat anymore.” shedeclared ten minutes after that. “It was delicious. Thank you, Haymitch.”

Her plate was still half full and he made aface. “Try to finish the eggs, Effie.”

She shook her head. “I will be sick.”

“No, you won’t.” he sighed. “Come on. Please.”

She let out a sigh of her own and forcedherself to eat what was left of the eggs. She did look a little nauseousafterwards but she also shrugged. “Are you happy now?”

“Ah, sweetheart, you know me…” he teased.“Always the happiest one of the lot.” She chuckled and he smiled because shesounded a lot more like herself now. “Still want that bath?”

She placed a hand on his forearm and squeezedgently. “I can manage. You should clean the broken glass. And put slippers on first.” He rolled his eyes but smirked,watching her stand up. It was only when Lyssandra moved that they both lookedat her, having managed yet again to forget about her. She was very forgettablewhen Effie was in the room, in Haymitch’s opinion. His former escort seemed tohesitate. “Where… I mean… Are you staying for a few days or…”

“I am staying.” Lyssandra confirmed, glancingat him as if daring him to refuse.

He decided to ignore her and finish the foodEffie had left. He didn’t want it to go to waste for a second time.

Effie seemed oblivious to the silent challenge.“Alright. Perhaps you should… You should take my room. It is the mostcomfortable guest room. The other one is very small and it does not have abathroom.”

“I do not want to put you out.” Lyssa protested.

“Oh, it is fine.” she dismissed. “I can sharewith Haymitch.”

He did a double take at that, freezingmid-chew.

“If you are sure.” her sister said, a bitmistrustful, as if she was suspecting him of having planned the whole thing.

Not that he cared.

He was too busy staring at Effie.

She crawled in his bed after nightmares, yes.She tolerated him climbing in with her if he went to comfort her after she hadwoken up screaming. But had no point had she hinted at the both of themstarting the night in the same bed.

And she had offered that so casually…

It almost made him not mind the invasion of his privacy. He had been about to suggestputting her sister in one of the empty houses in the Village instead but heheld his tongue, suddenly more interested in having her over for a few days.

Effie was barely down from her bath, dressed ina bright pink dress and her hair tied in a somewhat fancy bun, when thechildren showed up for lunch. They paused when they saw Lyssandra but soonhurried to greet Effie, fussing over and asking if she felt better. Migraines was the official code name forthat kind of slip and Effie assured them the headache was gone and thatHaymitch had taken admirable care of her while making the rest of the house anabsolute mess.

She was bubbly and very much pulling an act butHaymitch held his peace, mainly because he saw how tentative she was around hersister. She was the perfect poster child for a gracious hostess but she wasalso distant and mistrustful.

There were all very mindful of each others’triggers but Lyssa kept making blunders that had Effie briefly freezing or sentKatniss and Peeta into a sulk. Haymitch navigated it all with the ease ofhabits.

He didn’t think he imagined her sister slowlyrelaxing around him when she finally realized he wasn’t drugging her or keepingher there by duress but was instead taking care of her. Trying to, at least.

Still, it was a bit awkward when bedtime cameto have to dance around each other. It was even more awkward once they were inbed. They stayed on their respective side of the bed and Haymitch felt so… weird.

He rolled on his side to look at her in thesoft glow of the side lamp she needed to sleep. She was staring at the ceilingand only slowly turned her head in his direction after a few minutes.

“It was an odd day, wasn’t it?” she hummed. “Iam sorry about Lyssa imposing. I do not think she will stay more than a coupleof days. She wants to reconnect. I think I would like that.”

“It’s your home too.” he shrugged. “You canhave people over.”

“She is very Capitol.” she pointed outknowingly.

And by that Haymitch figured she meant to sayher sister was fussy and turned up her nose at a lot of things nobody in theDistrict would have taken for granted.

“You are too.” he smirked.

Her eyes studied his face. “She is very pretty.And full of life. And… Sane.”

“You’re not crazy, sweetheart.” he scoffed.

“But she is pretty and lively.” she insisted.

“You’ve got a point?” He rolled his eyes.

“She’s sweet-tempered.” she added. “Andeveryone loves her.”

He wondered briefly if this somehow pointed discourse had anything to dowith her sudden readiness to share his bed.

“Yeah, well… I like my women impossible andbossy so there you have it.” he countered. “What’s this even about?”

She didn’t answer at once. She rolled on herside to face him and reached out slowly, bunching his shirt in her fist. Hedidn’t try to touch her, she was in control there. She set the pace, shedictated what she wanted… He owed her that. For what she had been through, heowed her that.

“You are a good man, Haymitch.” she whispered.

He really wasn’t.

But for her…

For her he was willing to try.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #prompt #post mj #book!verse #lyssa #protective haymitch #haymitch with feelings #hurt comfort #post prison effie #not established

22 notes · View notes