#Although I should really steer away from the warmer tones

[callme-holly]

YES ANOTHER PLATONIC WRITER WOOHOO could we get smth with Dallas and sibling!reader after sibling gets jumped?

𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 [𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - i actually really like this one which is a first for me. to those who have sent in requests, i am working on them I swear!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 1.2k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - talk of getting jumped, slight injury detail (not graphic), mild swearing

Your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin, either with rainwater or blood; you’re not too sure which. You’re drenched to the bone and shivering, your hair hanging limply around your face in wet strands as you stand awkwardly outside of Buck's Thunderbird, the car parked carelessly against the curb. 

The window of the car rolls down slowly, revealing a very tired-looking Dallas. His brow furrows as he stares at you with what can only be described as a look of pure frustration and perhaps a hint of concern. You try not to wince at the sight as you shuffle nervously, listening to the long, drawn- out sigh that escapes him upon looking at you. 

“Just get in, damn it.” His voice is rough, leaving no room for argument as you limp around to the passenger’s side, your wet sneakers slipping on the slick surface of the pavement as you go. It's warmer inside the vehicle, although not by much, as you slip into the seat next to your brother, letting out a quiet breath of relief as the door shuts behind you. You feel his eyes boring holes through your back and grimace as he continues to stare intently at you.

“You alright?” He asks eventually, his eyebrows knitting together with concern.

“Yeah.” The word feels hollow to your own ears, and you pull up the collar of your shirt in an attempt to hide the cut across your throat. Your ribs ache, and your knuckles are split. They should have known you wouldn't go down without a fight.

Dallas lets out another sigh before reaching over and grabbing a spare jacket from behind the backseat, thrusting it towards your chest. “Here, take this.” His tone is sharp. “You’ll freeze to death before we even get back.” 

 You take the proffered object without comment, slipping it over your shoulders and quickly tugging it close. The rough material is dry and smells strongly of smoke, but then again almost everything that you and your brother own does. It's nothing new. 

You open your mouth to speak, but the words die unspoken. Your brother turns to gaze out at the empty road, his jaw set. 

“What the hell were you thinkin’? Walkin’ out here alone.” His voice shakes slightly. “It ain’t safe, you know that.” His grip on the steering wheel tightens, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him. 

“I didn’t think they’d follow me all the way out here.” You mumble defensively, knowing full well how ridiculous the statement sounded. Of course they'd followed you; why wouldn't they? You'd insulted them in front of everyone at the drive-in, made them the laughing stock of the evening, and then you had walked right back out onto the streets alone and unprotected. 

Dallas glares out the window, his eyes unfocused and dark. 

“They could’ve killed you.” He states his tone flat as he turns his head just enough so that his eyes meet yours. “Do you realise that? They would have finished you off right then and there.” You don’t respond, and he doesn’t look away. You can sense the raw emotion behind his words: fear, anger, and guilt, all mixed together into one unending wave. 

“They would've killed you,” he repeats, quieter than before. “Did you really think they weren't gonna come after you?”

“I thought I could deal with them myself,” you say softly. Your hands clutch tighter at the fabric of the jacket. You feel so small and helpless under his scrutiny. “There weren't that many of them to begin with.” You trail off lamely, feeling tears prick at your eyes despite your attempts to hold them back. “I’m sorry…”

“Don't fucking apologize!” Dallas yells, slamming his hand on the dashboard and startling you. He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair and rubbing his temple in agitation. “Sorry,” he mutters in a low voice, “It just—fuck. I’m sorry, okay?” He looks over, and when his gaze locks with yours, his expression softens fractionally. There's a relatively large cut across your cheek; blood is still staining your skin; and there's a nasty bruise blossoming across your left eye, courtesy of an elbow to the face.

“They really did a number on ya, huh.” Dallas sighs and reaches over to turn your head, inspecting  the damage.

You hum, a small smile playing at your lips as your gaze flicks towards the dashboard of the car, watching the wipers scrape steadily along the glass. “Shoulda seen what I did to them.” 

Dallas scoffs and pulls back, starting the car. 

“Oh, I bet you really put 'em to shame.” He pulls away from the curb, shooting a quick glance in your direction and frowning. “Hey, put your damn seatbelt on, man.” 

You roll your eyes. “Jeez, calm down, ma,” you mumble under your breath as you snap the belt in place, ignoring the way the motion jostles your sore shoulder. 

The radio crackles quietly, and you reach for the handle, twisting the dial until you find some decent music. The sound fills the silence, and you relax into the leather seat as Dallas starts down the street, albeit a little faster than the speed limit probably allows. 

“So…” Dallas drawls, drumming his fingers idly on the steering wheel. “Why'd they jump you?”

You shrug, staring listlessly out of the window. “Dunno. They pissed me off, and I said some shit.”

“Some shit,” he echoes mockingly, smirking. “What else did you do?”

“What?” You frown and glance over at him questioningly.

“What else did you do, kid. I know for a fact you didn't just mouth 'em off.”  The corners of his mouth quirk into a smirk.

You hesitate, biting your lip before answering, “I threw my drink at one of them.”

Dallas nods, seemingly unfazed by your behaviour, the smile not leaving his lips. “And?” 

“...and then I punched him.” You look down, kicking your feet absently as you continue to speak. “He deserved it though.”

“I don't doubt it.” Dallas says gruffly, his expression growing sombre. It seems he has something else he wants to say—something he hasn't quite managed to put into words yet.

After a moment's hesitation, he clears his throat. 

“I'm, uh, glad you're alright.” He pauses, clearing his throat again and glancing hesitantly over at you. “I don't know what I would've done if they'd...” He trails off, not bothering to finish his sentence. The implication is clear: if they had killed you, he would be lost. “You're all I've got left, man.” The words seem to choke him, and he coughs roughly to hide the bubbling emotions. He looks away suddenly, focusing solely on driving.

You swallow thickly, feeling the pain of your bruised ribs flare anew, and the cold seeps in through your clothes once more, causing you to shiver slightly. 

“I know…” The guilt in your tone is unmistakable, and you have no doubt that the second you're in the safety of the Curtis House and taken care of, your brother will go and pick a fight with the guys who'd jumped you. And even though the prospect isn't appealing, you can't change him; that's just how he is. But you wouldn't want him to change anyway, you suppose, because then he wouldn’t be Dallas Winston. You don't want to think about him fighting anyone or the trouble he might get into because of it; it's enough to know he's alive. And so are you. 

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

#the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders imagine #dallas winston imagine #dallas winston x reader #dally winston #dallas winston #johnny cade #darrel curtis #two bit mathews #darry curtis #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #steve randle

[wheresmybuckyhoes]

Gasping for air

Summary: You love getting Bucky all riled up, and he loves doing the same to you. But sometimes you both take it too far

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Swearing, sexual language (but no smut), violence, blood, angst

This is my first ask written for @summerdaughter . It is a one-shot and it is likely I will not be writing a part 2. I hope this is close to what you had in mind. Let me know your thoughts! Enjoy xx

You easily dodged the flimsy kick, catching her leg in your right hand with ease, pulling sharply at the ankle causing her to tumble to the padded ground. ‘Not bad. I felt more power in your kick this time, but if I can easily bring you to the ground you can only imagine what our enemies will do, Anna’ you explained calmly as you held out your hand to the agent you were training, pulling them swiftly back to their feet. 

‘You’re not supposed to call her by her name’ Bucky jutted in from the side of the training room from where he was watching, giving you his best look of innocence behind which lay malicious intent. ‘I’ll call my agents how I best see fit, Barnes’ you fired back, giving him your sweetest smile. He narrowed his eyes and got up from the bench press he was leaning on, neither of you daring to break eye contact first as he walked slowly towards the poor soul you were trying to train into becoming an agent of SHIELD. You loved getting a reaction from him, almost feeling the irritation radiating of off his toned, muscly body. The pleasure you received from making him angry could almost make you wet. But only because you hated him, obviously. No other reason.

Anna gave you an unsettled look as Bucky approached you, towering over the both of you. You had never felt scared in Bucky’s presence, but you could almost see the agent beside you physically trembling. ‘He wouldn’t dare hurt you Anna, he’s just acting like an immature teenager right now. Very unprofessional, if you ask me. Wonder what Steve would say’ you taunted as you stood between him and the agent, gently steering her to the glass doors leading outside with a hand on her back. ‘You’re making good progress. Get some rest and drink plenty of water. I’ll see you tomorrow morning’ you smiled at her as she thanked you and walked away as quickly as she could without running.

As soon as she was out of sight, you whipped round to face Bucky, any trace of a smile wiped clean off your face. ‘The fuck is wrong with you’ you demanded, arms crossed over your sweaty chest, glaring at him with a new level of rage. He shrugged and smirked, replying smugly ‘If your agent fought like that against Thanos she would be killed faster than a bee can flap its wing’. You laughed to yourself coldly, before replying ‘Aw, how long did it take for you to think of that bee thing. So poetic, Barnes’. You saw his grin falter slightly as you began to get in his head and make him regret saying such a stupid thing. ‘I know this may shock you, but there is a reason why she is being trained, and isn’t an actual agent yet. I’m well aware of her skill level, and I’m training her accordingly’.

Bucky’s smirk grew wider as you tilted your head slightly, not understanding his amusement. ‘I don’t think someone like you should be allowed to train anyone’ he remarked, chuckling slightly to himself. You watched the darkness clouding his slate blue eyes and felt yourself getting warmer by the second as your rage built up, fists clenching digging crescent moons into your palm. ‘Why, think I wouldn’t be able to beat you in a fight?’ you questioned, trying to hold yourself together hoping Bucky wouldn't notice your growing annoyance. ‘Oh, I know you wouldn’t’ he replied, dripping narcissism. ‘Prove it’

He lunged at you with his metal arm in a deadly fist, but your quick reflexes enabled you to dodge with ease, taking advantage of him being of balance for a moment. Shifting your weight onto one leg, you kicked him hard in the chest, causing him to groan from the impact. ‘That the best you can do, Barnes?’ you taunted, enjoying every moment of this and taking a mental picture of his flushed face to recall later. As you stood there, both breathing heavily, you noticed a change overcome him. His eyes clouded over with nothing but anger behind them, the metal plates of his arm whirring in frustration as his whole body tensed up. 

‘Bucky...’ you began, but as fast you could blink his metal hand was wrapped around your throat, his eyes staring deeply into yours. You were gasping desperately for air, clawing uselessly at the vibranium hand clamped around your neck. You heard faint footsteps and the swinging of a door as accompanied by the ringing in your ears. Although ordinarily this would turn you on, he was applying so much pressure that you couldn’t get a single breath of air into your lungs. He was going to kill you. ‘Bucky fucking Barnes put her down!’ you heard Steve shout, as you felt the grip loosen, falling to the floor. You coughed and spluttered, trying to regain your breath, feeling your head spin. ‘I was going to’ you heard Bucky say to Steve as you stood up, brushing yourself off and rubbing at the quickly forming ring of purple bruising decorating your neck.

‘Do I really need to babysit you?’ Steve asked dully, rolling his eyes at the pair of you. ‘No’ you answered firmly as Bucky replied ‘Yes’ at the same time. You both gave each other a  darkened look before turning your attention back to Steve as he spoke. ‘If you really want to blow of some steam like hormonal children, I’ll give you 5 minutes. If you try something like that again Bucky, I’m telling Tony’.

*5 minutes later*

‘SAY IT’ you shouted with Bucky’s neck between your legs as he struggled on the floor, pulling his newly-cut hair sharply to earn a groan from his chest as his metal claw-like fingers drew blood from your leg. The adrenaline coursing through you numbed any pain though, and you laughed maniacally as the crimson spilled out into the floor, staining it red. ‘Your...better...at fighting than me’ he spluttered through desperate breaths as he tapped your leg desperately. You unwrapped yourself from Bucky’s throat, allowing him to breath once more. Steve chuckled to himself as he watched you, feeling something vibrate in his pocket. A few moments later, he hung up the phone and slid through the doors, on his way to go help Tony with something or other.

You held out your hand as you did to the agent you were previously training, as Bucky stared at it from the floor. He took it aggressively. Now you were both standing opposite each other in an empty gym, both tired and riled up. You noticed Bucky’s eyes trail over your exposed chest (obviously you were wearing a sports bra. What lunatic wears a full suit to the gym, apart from Bucky of course). His eyes soon found your own eyes, glowering at him. ‘You know, I really was going to let you go. I wasn’t going to kill you’ he admitted, taking you by surprise. ‘Like you expect me to believe that. You’re  just scared now that you know I have the strength to best you’ you replied, although deep down you found that you actually believed him. Bucky took a timid step towards you, reaching out to brush your hair behind your ear. A look of confusion embroidered your face as Bucky moved his hand to hold your face roughly, tilting your chin up so you were staring into his eyes.

He moved his face mere centimetres away from yours, lips hovering dangerously close. You didn’t even notice your breath falter, the way in which you felt butterflies down below, the way in which he could affect you like this. This made no sense. How could he almost kill you one moment, and almost kiss you the next. ‘I know you want me’ he whispered. ‘I see the way you react to me anytime I’m near you. But I’m afraid you will never receive the pleasure of having me inside of you, y/n’. You held back a whimper as Bucky licked his lips. He had beautiful lips. Without warning, Bucky pulled you in roughly, kissing you right on the mouth, not needing a hand around your throat to stop you from breathing. He pulled away and began walking towards the door, but you couldn’t stop yourself from saying ‘What the fuck, Barnes’. He turned around, a lingering look of what had to be lust if you had ever seen one. ‘You can’t just do...whatever the fuck that was and leave like nothing happened’ you whined. ‘Watch me, doll’, and you did. You watched the winter soldier stride out of the gym, watched him turn down the corridor, and watched him all the way until he was gone.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky imagine #bucky fic #the winter soldier #winter solider imagine #Steve Rogers #steve x bucky #avengers fanfiction #tfatws

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

Helping Hands - Chapter 5

Series Masterlist here

Chapter Summary: Training with Nat doesn’t go as planned, and Fury’s plan is put to the test.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of previous abuse and neglect, minor panic attack

A/N: The gif will make sense. :)

“Okay, stand with your feet about shoulder-width apart, and turn a bit to the side. Yeah, that’s it. Keep your thumbs on the outside of your fists. Now, use the momentum of turning your torso to put some weight behind your fist, and punch through the bag.”

The bandages wrapped over Haley’s knuckles and wrists were uncomfortable with the sweat that slicked over her skin. She couldn’t remember ever exercising, ever having a cause to break a sweat or work so hard in her life. Sure, Steve and Sam were sparring on the other side of the gym, the sounds of their blows deafening, acting as if this was just another day at the office. And for them, it was. But, to someone unused to the strain, it proved a monumental effort to fight the fatigue trembling in her limbs as she delivered punch after punch to the heavy bag that Nat supported from behind.

Haley had healed completely from her adopted wound in the span of several days - not too terribly long considering Loki had stopped her from taking the entirety of Nat’s injury. Natasha, on the other hand, was still taking it easy. Which, for an Avenger, apparently meant settling for running several miles on a treadmill and lifting her body weight in dumbells instead of kicking ass with Clint.

“You can’t walk around in tape all day every day, so it’ll hurt more, when - if, it happens.”

And that little slip-up made Haley’s entire body seize, her throbbing hands spread out against the woven fabric of the bag to tether her to reality. When. When she was going to have to face Mr. Shaw again. That’s what she was preparing for, beating up a bag of sand with arms as thick and tough as overcooked spaghetti.

“Ah shit, Hales, I’m sorry.”

Small fingers clutched hers after she dropped to her knees on the cushioned, sticky mat beneath her. She stared at them, one set littered with callouses and scars, the other flushed, but baby soft and lined with blue-green veins beneath almost translucent skin. Panic constricted around her chest so that it felt like her rapidly drumming heart would burst through her ribcage and tear her struggling lungs into ribbons with the fragments left behind.

“He’s on a mission.”

“If we don’t call him he’s gonna be pissed. You wanna deal with that?”

Cool glass pressed against her ear.

“Are you alright?”

The rough timbre of Loki’s voice didn’t sound quite right through the small speaker of the phone. She drew in a shaky breath. “I’m okay.”

An obnoxious tone sounded through the phone, and she tilted her head away from it with a grimace, closing her eyes. Everything was fine. She was in Stark Tower. She was surrounded by friends who would protect her. Mr. Shaw couldn’t reach her here.

“Darling.”

The hands holding hers retreated, replaced in an instant by a warmer, larger pair not a moment later. Deft fingers worked at unraveling the bandages protecting her knuckles. Her eyes opened to see Loki kneeling in front of her, still dressed in his leather armor.

All she could think to mumble out was, “How’d you get here so fast.”

Loki tossed the wrappings away, lifting her chin up with two fingers to thoroughly examine the distraught expression on her face. “Magic.”

The fear slowly seeped out of her at his attentions but she still couldn’t catch her breath or calm her speeding heart. Strangely, she couldn’t help but long to rub away the lines that crinkled between his brows. “You were on a mission. You’ll get in trouble.”

“You needed me.” He stood up and helped her to her feet with his hold on her hands. He didn’t let them go after she was standing, maintaining his firm grip as he led her out of the room. “You need a sports beverage and a snack. It wouldn’t do for you to overwork yourself before this evening.”

~

Had she overworked herself, or was she destined to feel this terrible regardless of her disastrous session with Nat?

Even with the soothing feeling of makeup smoothing over her skin and a brush running through her hair (there wasn’t much else to do with what little length she had), she couldn’t ignore the anxiety that weighed heavy in the pit of her stomach. It rolled through her and threatened to force itself around the lump in her throat. But practice made perfect, and she’d had years of hiding many a negative emotion and sensation.

“If you don’t stop sucking your bottom lip into your mouth, I’m gonna make you look like a clown.” Nat bopped her cheek lightly with the fluffy end of a makeup brush.

“Sorry.”

A brush painted over her lips in long, soft strokes. “We’ll all keep an eye on you. Fury has backup waiting on the floors just above and below. Even Loki is going to be there. You won’t be alone.”

All those words were meant to reassure her. But when she opened her eyes after shimmying into the dress Wanda had loaned her, she felt anything but confident in how the evening was going to go.

“I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

The crimson dress molded to her skin, dipping down in the back to show a considerable amount of her spine. Lace encased her arms to her wrists and all she wanted to do was tug the sleeves down so she could grasp the material in her palms. She’d never shown so much skin. Did anyone really need to see the lower halves of her thighs? That was hardly her most pressing concern, however, when she factored in her inability to walk in the black heels Nat had helped her wobble into. She felt like a toddler, desperately attempting to balance with each step.

“That’s the point. Come on, the faster we get you out there the faster this is all done with.”

It took every ounce of courage that she had within her to step into the spacious ballroom several floors down from their living quarters. The lights, scattered around the room in glowing columns and hanging from the ceiling in interesting modern fixtures, were just warm enough to contrast the black marble floor and dark walls. The music from the DJ vibrated through her bones to ratchet up her heartbeat until it matched the thudding bass. More people than she had ever seen in her life milled about, either dancing or talking or some combination of the two.

Tony had told her to make sure to be seen by as many people as possible. What did that entail? How was she supposed to act natural, while still making sure she was noticed, when she didn’t even know what ‘natural’ was? She’d never been to a party before!

“Perhaps you should first procure a drink?”

She stopped staring at a stunning woman in a dress that looked to be made out starlight, glancing quickly over at the owner of the naggingly familiar voice. It had sounded just enough like Loki to pique her interest, although there was a softness to the baritone that didn’t quite fit. Nor did the owner of the lovely accented suggestion. The man peering at her through brown, thin-rimmed glasses shot her a mischievous grin. He had auburn hair that curled at the nape of his neck, and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache that covered the rosy skin of his jaw.

But the eyes. Even though they were a twinkling light blue, she’d recognize that playful and earnest expression anywhere.

“Loki?”

He closed the remaining distance between them, steering her toward one of the many bars set up around the edges of the room with a gentle hand on her exposed middle back. It was as if all she could focus on was his touch pouring heat through her skin to flow through her like molten sunlight. Even walking was a bit easier with him brushing against her side, as if he lent her a bit of his strength and surety while guiding her along.

“I desired to be close to you for the evening, and my standard appearance tends to draw more attention than would suit the delicacy of the mission,” he explained quietly, his head ducked down low so his words were delivered just above her ear.

Ignoring the flush that spread up her neck at his admission - he just wanted to protect her - she settled her trembling hands on the gleaming dark wood of the bar. She took the short, wide-mouthed glass that he’d ordered, crinkling her nose at the slightly bitter condensation that tickled against her lips. “What is this?”

“Sparkling water. It will appear as if you are imbibing, but you will maintain a level head.” He angled his head toward the dance floor. “I will be close behind.”

At his clear suggestion that she continue on with the plan, she started moving about the room, cracking a smile that didn’t reach her eyes whenever she made eye contact with someone. The bitter drink bubbled unhappily in her stomach, and she couldn’t stop herself from fiddling with the orange slice perched on the rim. It was expected for the Avengers to attend the party, so she was safe in acknowledging them whenever they’d cross paths. A friendly nod from Bucky, a squeeze of her hand from Natasha, a quick hug around her shoulders from Tony and a smile from Pepper, they all helped to tamp down the edge of her nerves.

She caught the barest hint of Loki’s voice, sweetened with his disguise, at random intervals. Pleasant laughter and an airy chuckle would meet her ears over the sounds of the party, reassuring her that he was keeping his promise of remaining closeby. How she longed to change her appearance as he could, melt into the skin of another, to avoid it all and enjoy the evening. Perhaps learn how to dance…

“Your drink seems to be empty, sweetheart. Care for another?”

She snapped out of her self-pitying reverie, sighing heavily at the waiter who offered her a flute of sparkling golden liquid. She suspected it to be alcohol, but maybe a sip wouldn’t hurt to calm her down?

“Thanks.”

The crystal was refreshingly cool grasped in her hands. She sank against the wall behind her, lifting it to her rouge-painted lips to take a drink, when it was ripped from her grip.

“Don’t drink that,” Loki urged her, shielding her from view of the room with his body placed squarely in front of her. He cut his eyes at the drink between them, turning it in his grasp and sniffing the contents.

Tony, with Pepper right behind him, quickly skirted through the unaware guests, coming up to Loki’s other side with alert, tight eyes and hands flexing in front of him. “What’d he look like?”

“White button-up shirt, but it wasn’t pressed like your staff. Fair skin, brown hair and eyes, with scuffed black trainers and a skinny black tie. Not a bow tie.” Loki handed the glass off to Stark, searching Haley’s face with jaw set.

“Fury’s on it. Good catch there, Reindeer Games. Hales, you okay?”

Why would Loki keep her from trying the drink? What could’ve been in there? Poison? Drugs? Mr. Shaw didn’t like to discuss business in front of her, but she knew that Hydra had created some awful weapons that could be easily hidden in a bit of liquid. 

Oh.

They’d found her. Was he here? Here to drag her back to another dank room, living out her days in endless agony and darkness, taking his injuries so he could commit more atrocities in the world? Her eyes skittered over the guests frantically even as the room seemed to fold in around her. Her quick breaths did nothing to take in any oxygen into her constricted lungs and she gasped, curling in over her arms wrapped around her stomach. She couldn’t go back there. She couldn’t.

The striped blue fabric of Loki’s suit was the last thing she saw before he straightened her up with steady hands on her shoulders, tugging her into him until her face was pressed into his neck, instructing her to close her eyes.

Coldness, sharper than anything she’d ever felt before, rushed over her for a split second before the sounds of the party instantly stopped. The resulting silence was so jarring that she backed away from Loki, expecting to hit the wall of the ballroom; instead, her knees touched the lip of her favorite couch in the recreation area. She sank down onto it, focusing on slowing her breathing and her heart rate as she stared up at the bespeckled version of her closest friend.

“How can I assist you?” he asked, kneeling down in front of her, his hands hovering in the space between him and her knees.

Only when the worried scrunch of his brows blurred did she realize that tears were pricking at the corners of her eyes. She clenched them tight, refusing to give in to her panic, waving her hands in his general direction. “Can you just, be you, again? It’s too weird. I need you.”

More silence beyond her ragged breaths. And then gloriously soft fabric slipped over one arm, around her back, and then over the other. Her hoodie. She opened her eyes to watch Loki adjusting the cuffs around her wrists, tugging them down until her fingers could close over the edges,  before sitting on the couch next to her. He looked like himself again, handsome and dark with piercing green eyes that searched her face with so much concern she thought her heard might split in two.

“I could fetch a bit of water, or chocolate. Would you prefer to get out of that dress and into something more comfortable? I promise that you are safe-”

His mouth hung open, all speech ceasing when she reached out to take his hand into her lap, lacing their fingers together. She needed the physical reminder of his presence. The warmth of his grasp and the gentle rub of his thumb over the thin skin on the back of her hand - initiated after a few moments further of him staring - did more to calm her than anything else.

“Can we just sit like this for a minute?” She hated how she sounded, weak and shaky to match the knocking of her knees, but it couldn’t be helped. 

Too close. They had gotten too close and he wasn’t close enough.

He shifted and let out a deep breath. Their sides pressed together from thigh to shoulder. His other hand rested over theirs and squeezed tenderly. “Anything you wish.”

~

Series taglist: @kneel-before-queen-loki @alexakeyloveloki @from-hel-i-with-love @cleocc @cateyes315 @coldbookworm @rjohnson1280 @bambi-butt @skiddleskaddle @lokis-high-priestess @myraiswack @ilovetardis @midgardian-mistress @lisaspageofstuff @kathrynwynterbourne @bluestaratsunrise

Little Bit o’ Loki taglist: @myownviperroom @grahoundart @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet @iamverity @rt8815 @lots-of-loki @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @ms-cellanies @rosierossette​ @thathedonistgirl​ @lokixme​

Whole Shebang taglist: @just-the-hiddles​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic​ @myoxisbroken​ @brokenthelovely​ @myworddump @polireader​ @wiczer​ @littleredstarfish​ @the-broken-angel-13​ @arch-venus25​ @xxloki81xx​ @jessiejunebug​ @tinchentitri​ @sllooney​ @devilbat​ @vikkleinpaul​ @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses​ @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian​ @toozmanykids​ @claritastantrum @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius​ @sabine-leo​ @lovesmesomehiddles​ @peterman-spideyparker​ @wegingerangelica​ @bluefrenchfries604​ @catsladen @snoopy3000​ @silverswordthekilljoy​ @villainousshakespeare​

#loki fanfic #loki #slow burn #loki x OFC #angst #fluff #protective!loki #protective loki #marvel fanfic #helping hands #hopelesswrites

[hutchhitched]

Too Familiar (Part 9)

Hey, all y’all! The penultimate chapter is finally here! Only one more and the epilogue to go until this story is complete. Thanks to all of you who are following this story on here or AO3. For those of you reading it on tumblr, the rest of the story can be found here. I love hearing from you, so feel free to send me your thoughts. Look for the next chapter in late May or early June. I’ll do my best to post it sooner rather than later. You’ve all been so patient and understanding about my absent muse, and I appreciate it more than you know.

Trigger warning: mature themes (including infidelity and infertility).

______________

 “I don’t think that went very well,” Katniss whispered in Peeta’s ear, which made him snort.

 “I think that’s an understatement,” he chuckled in a deep chested rumble that made her knees weak. “I don’t care, though. You’re here with me, and that’s really all that matters. It’s all I want.”

 They were at the Mellark house after an incredibly awkward ride home from the airport. In bed in the guest room of his parent’s house, Katniss relived the moment when Peeta broke the news that he and Katniss had married the week prior.

 “She’s your what?” Mrs. Mellark screeched. If Katniss could have recorded the reaction of every single person in the airport, she would have.

“My wife,” Peeta insisted. “Mom, Dad, this is Katniss. We got married last week. Oh, and we’re pregnant. Congratulations! You’re going to be grandparents again.”

“Your mom turned the most horrific shade of green. I thought we might lose her there for a minute.”

 “Oh, but she pulled through,” he quipped wryly. “And she managed to give us both frostbite on the ride home.”

 “I’m still freezing.”

 “Oh, really?”

 “Uh huh.”

 “It just so happens that I know a good way to generate body heat. Something that involves being really, really naked,” he said as he bit her neck and made her giggle.

 “We can’t. They’re just down the hall. They’ll hear us.”

 “Who cares? I really don’t think they can dislike us anymore than they do right now. Besides, I want to make love to my wife. It’s been a rough day.”

 “Poor baby. Poor, poor thing.”

 He shut her up then with his mouth and his hands and his body, and Katniss wished they could stay that way forever, shut away from everyone and in love and expecting their baby and not worrying about his family or hers or his ex-wife or son who might grow up to hate him. As he moved inside her, she let herself imagine how it would have been if she’d met him first; if there had been no Madge; if she’d been able to marry her soulmate without all the pain and hurt and devastation left in the wake of them finding their way to each other.

She was still melancholy the next morning when she woke, wrapped in Peeta’s arms and nervous about interacting with his family. She needn’t have worried. The Mellarks were unfailingly polite, although there was nothing warm about the way they interacted with their son or her. She lost track of the number of times Mrs. Mellark sighed like she’d been personally affronted by Peeta’s presence. His parents chatted with his brothers, who had also been lukewarm at best and frosty at worst when meeting her. His mother made it clear she disapproved of everything about their lives, and Madge came up more than once as the paragon of womanhood, motherhood, and sainthood. Katniss bit her lip and kept her mouth shut. If she were honest with herself, she still kind of felt like she deserved the treatment.

 “What is it about Madge that makes your mom have such a hard on for her?” Katniss asked in frustration once the holiday celebration had passed and they were back in the guest room. Unwilling to wait until the morning, she packed her suitcase and laid out the clothes she needed for the next day. She didn’t want anything to delay their departure in the morning. She’d never been quite so uncomfortable in her life—except maybe the day Peeta’s ex-wife showed up on her doorstep wanting to talk. She still hadn’t told Peeta about that, and she wasn’t sure if that was wise or not.

 “Madge’s family has considerable influence in this region. It’s Virginia. There’s power in old money and politics and name recognition,” Peeta explained. “My mom always imagined that one of her sons would go into politics, become something important, thereby giving her a little status. I was a huge disappointment when I became a social worker. She’s never really forgiven me, but at least being Madge’s husband was something.”

 “Madge comes from money,” Katniss mused. “I had no idea. Although, now some of what she said made sense.”

 “Some of what who said?” he asked, and Katniss clapped her hand over her mouth. He narrowed his eyes at her and demanded, “Spill it.”

 “It’s nothing,” she insisted, but it was clear he didn’t believe a word of it.

 “It’s clearly not. Tell me.”

 “Why are you so irritating?”

 “Pure talent, according to my mother. Stop deflecting, and tell me what happened.”

 Katniss screwed her eyes shut and closed her suitcase before turning to face him. When she opened them, Peeta looked like he could blow a gasket if provoked.

 “Madge showed up at my place a couple of weeks ago.”

 His face went purple, and he cursed vehemently and loudly enough that she winced. “That is not fucking okay,” he growled and yanked his phone out of his pocket. He dialed and had the phone to his ear before Katniss could stop him.

 “Peeta, don’t,” she begged, but it was too late.

 “What the fuck to you think you’re doing?” he asked, his tone scathing. She’d never seen him so furious, and it scared the hell out of her and also turned her on a little bit. Clearly, she had issues. “Leave Katniss alone. No, I don’t care if you think you should have a say in this. You don’t. My kids are my top priority. You will not interfere in the rest of my life. Yes, I said kids.”

 Katniss blanched as Madge’s voice rose enough that she could hear it from several feet away. Their pregnancy wasn’t exactly his ex-wife’s business, but Katniss guessed everyone would know soon enough. The birth of their child would end up impacting Elam, whether they meant for it to or not. Madge had every right to be concerned about her own son. Still, Peeta had every reason to be furious about what his ex-wife had done.

 “No happy endings,” she muttered as her husband screamed at his ex-wife.

 “Well, that probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do on a holiday, but seriously. Fuck!” Peeta said after ending his phone conversation.

 Katniss just shook her head. There wasn’t really anything else to say, so they went to bed, slept fitfully, and were on their way early the next morning.

 “I always forget how close West Virginia is when I’m at my parent’s,” Peeta laughed once they were finally in the rental car and headed to her hometown. His family had offered chilly farewells with no hint at future visits or well-wishes or questions about the baby. Both were relieved they’d fulfilled their duty and could leave the Mellarks and go see Katniss’ sister and mom.

 “So close, and yet so far away,” she mused, unable to reconcile the affluent area where Peeta grew up to the squalor of the mining town in which she was raised. “It’s amazing we didn’t meet when we were younger.”

 He didn’t seem to notice her sarcasm and smiled at her as he steered the car further west. The rolling hills of western Virginia gave way to the small mountains of West Virginia as they drove and talked and shared their hopes for the future.

 “You know I’ll love our baby no matter what, but I am hoping for a girl,” Peeta confessed. “I love Elam, love having a son, but I have wanted a daughter since I was old enough to think about being a father.”

 “As long as it’s healthy,” she said firmly.

 Before long, they were in her hometown, and she blanched at the poverty and rundown houses. Compared to the neighborhood where the Mellarks lived, her small community looked like a shantytown. She pointed out some familiar haunts, places where she and her sister and her best friend had raised hell and stoked the flames of teenage rebellion. Peeta seemed particularly interested in the mine entrance, but Katniss offered only monosyllabic answers. Remembering her father’s death still hurt, even after two and a half decades. In a few minutes, they were through the old part of town, affectionately referred to by locals as the Seam, and into the recently incorporated section where her mom and sister lived. For the millionth time, Katniss wondered why either of them stayed instead of moving somewhere with a better economy and more opportunities.

 Peeta received a much warmer reception from her family than she had from his. She wasn’t necessarily surprised by that; she was the “other woman,” and he was the man who saved her from being an old maid—not that her mom or sister would ever say that to her, but somehow it had always seemed implied. Katniss wondered if that was her own insecurity that made her feel that way, or if her family believed it too, whether consciously or subconsciously. Prim’s husband was cordial, but he tended to keep to himself. Her sister’s children, two nieces and nephew, were excited to see her again, but it had been so long since she’d visited, they barely remembered her. She knew her family loved her, but she felt a bit like she was estranged, even though they were in the same house.

 As the family sat down to dinner, her mother asked the question Katniss had been dreading. At least her sister already knew.

 “So, this was a quick wedding. You couldn’t have delayed it a bit so Prim and I could celebrate with you?”

 Katniss flushed, her face hot with embarrassment. Peeta reached over and threaded his fingers through hers, a gesture of solidarity she clung to with gratitude. She took a long drink before she was able to speak, and then it was with a shaky voice.

 “It seemed important to do it quickly and simply instead of making a big deal out of it,” she said quietly, hoping maybe that would be enough to stave off any more questions. She should have known better.

 “It’s your wedding, Katniss,” her mother admonished. “I know you don’t generally like a fuss over anything, but why not for this? How long were you engaged?”

 “A week,” Peeta offered, an attempt at his usual charming grin looking more like a grimace than anything else.

 Mrs. Everdeen put her fork down and stared at Katniss in disbelief. Prim leaned back in her chair, and Katniss didn’t miss the look her younger sister exchanged with her husband. Clearly, Prim had told him why Katniss and Peeta married quickly.

 “A week?!”

 “Mom—”

 “A week, Katniss?” her mother snapped. “Is this—? Are you—? Katniss Everdeen— Mellark— Whatever! What is going on?”

 Katniss twirled the gold band on her ring finger, her wedding band Peeta had placed there only a week prior, and shrugged. There was nothing she could say that would lessen the disappointment she knew would come with the announcement, so she shot her husband a rueful smile and kept her eyes locked with his while she spoke.

 “Peeta and I are, uh…”

 Her husband cleared his throat and came to her rescue. “Katniss and I are expecting. Congratulations! You’re going to be a grandmother again. We’re just now in the second trimester, and we are thrilled. I can’t wait to be a father again. Especially with her.”

 If the air hadn’t all been sucked out of the room, Katniss’ heart would have melted at his words. It was a perfect attempt to explain their situation and his devotion to her, but she knew exactly what everyone else had heard.

 “You’re… You’re expecting?” Mrs. Everdeen asked in a hoarse voice.

 “Yes,” Katniss whispered, her face bright red.

 “And you…” Her mother shifted her gaze to Peeta and struggled to get out the next words. “You’re going to be a father? Again? Again?”

 “Peeta’s been married before, Mom,” she tried to explain. “He has a son—a young son. His ex-wife and he share custody.”

 Katniss held her breath, but there was no stopping this train wreck.

 “How old is your son?”

 “He’s four.”

 “And you two have been together for…” Her voice trailed off, and she snapped her mouth shut.

 Prim shot a sympathetic look at her sister, and Katniss smiled gratefully. “We’ve been together four years, Mom.”

 Her mother’s face went blank, and she didn’t ask any more questions. Katniss wanted to sink under the table. As many issues as she had with her mother, the last thing she wanted to do was to be a disappointment.

 Several hours later, Katniss lay in Peeta’s arms. He held her tightly as her shoulders shook with silent sniffles. The rest of the meal had descended into awkward fits of conversation interspersed with silence. Prim and her family did their best to keep things running smoothly, but Katniss was simply too tired to try to make more of an effort.

 “Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay,” Peeta murmured against her temple, forehead, hair, and every other inch of her he could access. His hands rubbed up and down her arms, but she was too upset to register the gesture.

 “It won’t,” she sobbed.

 “Katniss Everdeen Mellark, look at me,” he demanded, and she raised haunted eyes to his. “I love you.”

 His hand slipped under her waistband.

 “I love you,” he said quietly.

 His fingers grazed the curly hair at the juncture of her thighs, and he licked his lips.

 “I love you.”

 His finger slid between her legs, and she opened for him.

 “I love you.”

 She sighed as his finger slipped inside her and his thumb worried her clit.

 “I love you.”

 This time he punctuated his devotion with a deep kiss, and she breathed in return, “I love you, too.”

 One turned into two and then three. Katniss gripped him inside her, her eyes rolling back in her head as he curled and rotated his fingers to find spots that made her want to scream. She bit her lip and moaned softly, careful to stay as quiet as possible. No need to broadcast their activity to the rest of the house.

 “You’re so sexy, honey,” he whispered in her ear. “I love the way you clench around me.”

 “Fuck,” she gasped. “I love it when you…”

 Her back arched off the bed when he hit a particularly sensitive spot, and he began to thrust in and out a little rougher.

 “Love it when I talk dirty to you?”

 She nodded. “Make it filthy.”

 His mouth grazed her earlobe, and he let forth a torrent of words that made her writhe against him.

 “I love your hot pussy, Kat. You’re my pussy. Petting you. Stroking you. Licking you clean.”

 “Peeta,” she groaned in response.

 “When we get back home, I’m gonna eat your pussy so hard, and then when you’ve given me a facial with your cum, I’m gonna fuck your ass with my tongue and make you go again. Make you sit on my face and bounce up and down on me. Make you beg and scream. Fucking jack off on you until you’re covered from your cunt to your face. Rivers of it running down your tits.”

 “More,” she begged, breathless. “Tell me more.”

 Peeta curled his fingers inside her, and she lost herself in her orgasm. He echoed in her head; his sweet voice speaking filthy obscenities that made her toes curl and her mind sink to new levels of depravity. It wasn’t like they were the most vanilla couple in the world. They’d already tried plenty, but the things he suggested made her want to go to confession—and she wasn’t even Catholic.

 He worked his magic on her for a long time, helping her forget the problems outside of them. No matter what, they were united, a force against the world, ex-wives, disappointed parents, disproving siblings, and snarky friends. When he’d finger fucked her until she thought she’d die, he slid between her legs and ate her out until she squeezed her thighs tight around his face and bucked into his tongue.

 “Did you bring lube?” she asked, her voice raspy and frantic.

 “Yeah, but Kat—you’re dripping wet. We don’t need it.”

 “Can you be quiet? Please?” She sounded desperate, and she was. She needed him inside her. Back there.

 “As a mouse,” he promised.

 She gave him a searing kiss and then rolled over onto her stomach and spread her legs wide. He wasted no time in crawling up her back. His chest pressed against her, and she buried her face in the pillow to muffle her enthusiastic agreement with everything he did. Peeta slicked his cock with the moisture between her legs. When he was thoroughly wet, he spread her cheeks and pushed. Katniss screamed into the pillow as he stretched her so tightly, she felt like she’d split in two. He tugged her hips upward so her ass was tight against his pelvis, and he could slide deeper into her.

 Peeta kept his word. He stayed almost entirely silent except for harsh, uneven rasps of breath. At least he did as far as she could tell while being fucked in the ass. He didn’t spare her anything. Just when she thought he was on the verge of quitting, he shifted their position just slightly enough to make it feel like they’d started all over again.

 Heat pooled in her gut, building again, and tears started to fall. She was so wrung out, so exhausted and scared, so unsure of herself in this moment while her husband reached down and rubbed her clit as he pounded her from behind. She started to squirm as he drove her closer to the edge.

 “Fuck,” she screamed into the pillow, terrified her family would hear her and simultaneously turned on by the thought of getting caught. Squirting and twisting under him, she lost it. She thrashed and wept, emotional from the day, hormones, and countless gut-wrenching orgasms. She barely had time to register the mess they’d created before tumbling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 She woke in the middle of the night. Disoriented, she tried to get her bearings and registered several things at once. Peeta was draped over her, his leg heavy and intertwined with hers. She was sticky between her legs, a combination of her arousal and his leaking from her and wetting the sheets. She was also incredibly sore.

 More than that, though, she was ready to go home. As much as she’d already beaten herself up about what she and Peeta had done, she didn’t want to hear it more from anyone else. They’d made mistakes, but it was time to build something good since they were finally married. She was ready to get back on her own turf and find someplace that was theirs. She wanted to prepare for their child and introduce Elam to the concept of them as a family, that she was his dad’s wife now and that he’d soon have a younger brother or sister. There was so much to do, and Katniss suddenly wanted to leave behind everything that wasn’t geared toward creating a new life for them.

 And fuck anyone who tried to tell her she needed to keep paying penance for the affair.

 Thankfully, Peeta agreed when they both woke the next morning. Prim was upset they wouldn’t have more time together, but Katniss made her promise to come visit as soon as she could take some time off from her job. Her sister needed a vacation, and she hadn’t taken one in much, much too long other than the week they’d spent together a few months prior. Katniss called the airline to change their tickets, and Peeta drove them as quickly as possible back to the airport, where they caught a flight and returned home. The change fee was ridiculous on the airfare, but it was worth every penny. With a relieved sigh, she unlocked her apartment door and stepped inside the familiar surroundings.

 The next several weeks passed rapidly. Her stomach stretched and grew as their baby developed. Constant tiredness gave way to bone-deep exhaustion and nightmare-laden sleep. Madge and Elam, Peeta’s parents, her mother, Prim, and her sister’s family all made appearances. Elam was there too, and Peeta even haunted her dreams while Katniss struggled to find an escape from the fear she had of bringing a child into a world that seemed so often unforgiving and full of pain and failure.

 In reality, Elam accepted the new arrangement with the ease of a young child who recognized the ever-changing nature of the world. During the rest of the pregnancy, Peeta doted on her even more than he already had, especially after they found out they were having a girl. Tears streaked down his cheeks as he sat in the doctor’s office and received the news. His eyes shone, and he swiped at the moisture on his face. When she asked him if he was okay, he gripped her hand and couldn’t speak.

 After they learned they were having a girl, Katniss noticed a distinct lack of interest in sex with her husband—something she hadn’t experienced for more than a few hours since they’d first admitted how they felt about the other. Hoping it was a passing phase of the second trimester, she faked it a few times and then begged off a few after that. She apologized, somewhat jokingly, to him more than once about not having any strange sexual cravings during each trimester. She wondered if what they’d done at her mother’s house had sated her for months. It wasn’t that they weren’t intimate at all, but the passion between them cooled considerably as her due date approached. She was simply too big to feel sexy, and Peeta had almost lost a hand when he’d tried to get her in the mood during her thirty-eighth week. She didn’t want to admit the relief she felt when he stopped initiating contact.

 “Sex is off the table,” she insisted when he tried to kiss her goodnight the last evening in her old place. She laughed when he seemed just as thankful as she was that they could fall asleep without even attempting to have sex first. Her body felt like a blimp. She was beyond miserable. They were both exhausted after packing and working and setting up the new place and preparing for a child. She did, however, offer to give him a hand job if he wanted a release. He declined, but she woke only a few minutes later when he slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he’d taken matters into his own hand.

 Four days before her due date, she woke in the middle of the night with an uncomfortable pinch in her lower back that gave way to excruciating cramps. Terrified, she concentrated on breathing and ran through every scenario she could imagine about what the discomfort meant. When the pain grew increasingly more uncomfortable, she realized she wasn’t in fake labor like many had warned her might happen. After only a few more minutes into her panicked vigil, Peeta rolled over and blinked open his eyes. Immediately, he shot up and grabbed her hand.

 “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

 She gritted her teeth and glared at him. “Do I look okay? Owwww…”

 He bolted upright. “Holy fuck! Holy fuck, Katniss. Are you… Are you in labor?”

 She screamed as another contraction racked her, and he shot into action. He hopped around the bedroom on one foot as he struggled to put on his jeans. Grabbing her to-go bag, he tossed a sweater and leggings her way. She wriggled into her clothes as best she could and waddled to the front door with his arm around her waist.

 “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” he repeated in a mindless chant. “You’re going to be okay. We’re gonna bring home our little girl in a bit, and you’re going to do so well, baby. I love you so much.”

 Katniss concentrated on her breathing and tried not to scream when her body squeezed so hard she thought she’d explode. The cab ride to the hospital felt like it took forever, in spite of her husband rubbing the small of her back and holding her hand the entire way.

 The hospital became a whirl of lights and pain and exhaustion. Hour after hour passed in labor with contractions that folded her in half until her blood pressure dropped so low they had to perform an emergency C-section. Peeta wept, terrified of losing her and their daughter, as they shoved him from the room until the baby was cut from her, screaming and wailing. She drifted into and out of consciousness, relieved to be done and unable to believe Peeta and she had a baby together.

 She woke to Peeta’s fingers threaded through hers as he slumped in the chair next to her bed. He was exhausted, his brow wrinkled and his mouth slack as he snored softly. A portable crib with their swaddled daughter sat to the left of her bed. It took several minutes, but she managed to sit upright and swing her legs off the side of the bed. Her stomach ached from the incision, but she needed to see her child.

 Her little girl’s features mirrored her own, but when she opened her eyes, they shone the same beautiful color as her husband’s. Katniss knew her baby couldn’t see further than a few inches, but it seemed their gazes locked for several seconds. Something passed between them, and Katniss fell helplessly in love. Her daughter squirmed and yawned when Katniss reached into the crib to lift her. When she yelped in pain, Peeta jolted awake and was at her side in an instant. He wrapped his arms around her, steadying her and taking the weight of their child. He coaxed her back into bed and brought their daughter to place in her arms.

 “Sweetheart, meet your daughter,” he said reverently. “Jasmine Everdeen Mellark.”

 She remembered that moment months later when she was so tired she could hardly move. She thought about the wonder in his voice and the overwhelming love she felt toward her child as she changed diaper after diaper and ran countless loads of laundry. She recalled the beauty of her baby’s innocence during midnight feedings when her breasts and nipples hurt so much tears streamed down her face as she fed her child. Moments turned into weeks and then months. Peeta and she made their house a home and clung to each other when they were both so exhausted they could barely breathe.

 Being a mother was hard, but being a stepmother became an unanticipated joy of her life. Once she and Peeta had a place of their own, Elam spent more time with his father as agreed upon in the divorce decree. The first time he met Jasmine, his eyes widened. Squirming with eagerness, he lifted a serious gaze and insisted he hold his baby sister.

 “Can you sit on the floor?” Peeta coaxed and piled a few pillows against the couch. He slid into a relaxed slouch and motioned for his son to join him. Elam nodded and crossed his legs before raising his arms in anticipation.

 “Tiny baby,” he lisped when Jasmine cuddled into his chest.

 Katniss pulled her phone from her pocket and snapped a dozen pictures of her small family huddled together. All the fear and concern she’d had that Peeta’s son would resent his half-sibling faded when Elam whispered in awe, “I love tiny baby.”

 Peeta could hardly speak, but he managed to choke out a single sentence.

 “Elam Mellark, I love you and your sister and your mommies so much.”

 It seemed fitting at that point to include Madge in the equation, and Katniss felt a desperate tinge to find a way to patch things between her husband and his ex-wife. What they’d done to her was terrible, but there was nothing to do at this point except attempt to heal and forgive as much as possible.

 Katniss tried, but work and Jasmine and Elam and Peeta took all her energy. In fact, everything took all her energy. The days passed quicker than she could fathom, and it seemed only moments before her baby was a year old. Katniss put on a brave face, but she choked back tears through most of the birthday party. She wept openly when she bathed cake-covered Jasmine and put her down for a nap.

 “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Peeta murmured as she came up behind her. She gripped the edge of the crib, unable and unwilling to take her eyes off her baby girl.

 “I want another one.”

 “Really?” he asked with a hint of disbelief echoing in the single word. “I distinctly remember you yelling something during labor. What was it? Oh, yes. Something that sounded a lot like ‘fucking never again’ and ‘keep your hands off me, you jackass’ about ten minutes before your c-section.”

 “I want another one,” she insisted with tears in her voice.

 “Okay, sweetheart,” he agreed with a comforting hug.

 But they both soon realized it wasn’t okay. Months passed, but nothing happened. For a while, she convinced herself it was stress and her body readjusting after giving birth, but that excuse only worked for a little while. A regular visit to her OBGYN revealed low iron and estrogen levels that likely contributed to their inability to conceive. They counted days and spent money on ovulation kits and scheduled sex and a million other things that should have helped them get pregnant, but nothing did. They discussed IVF and numerous other options, but the stark reality was that her first pregnancy had been considered geriatric, and she might not ever be able to have another baby.

 “Do you regret marrying me?” she sobbed into Peeta’s shoulder. “Is this punishment for the affair?”

 “I don’t know,” he answered miserably. “I really don’t know.”

 Suddenly furious, she shoved him from her and stomped across the room. She knew the hormone shots she was taking were making her overly emotional and angry, but she didn’t have the strength to try to curb them. Livid, she screamed at him, “You don’t even give a fuck, do you? You already have your son. You don’t care if I want one of my own or not, so long as you have Elam and Jasmine and got to dick me when you were still married to Madge. When it’s ever your turn to suffer, you fucking bastard?”

 Shocked at her own behavior, she blinked at him as her words hung in the air between them. She didn’t even mean what she’d said, but they were out there, shimmering and dancing around the edges of the living room. Peeta stalked over to her and held her gaze as he leaned close and spoke in a deadly calm voice.

 “I’ve suffered more than you’ll ever know, Katniss. I hated myself for years because of what I did to all of you. I feel like the biggest failure alive, but I chose you. I will always choose you. I love our children more than I’ll ever be able to explain, and I love you, too, but don’t you ever tell me again that Elam isn’t your son.” He pointed his finger in her face and hissed, “Elam loves you like his own mother. Don’t ever act like he’s not just as important as our daughter. It would break his heart.”

 Katniss shivered at his fury and nodded dumbly. Peeta turned on his heel and strode toward the front door. Without another word, he slammed the door behind him.

 She stood still for several minutes after he left as waves of humiliation and regret raged inside her. She hadn’t meant anything she said. She loved Elam as much as she loved Jasmine. Peeta had never given any hint of preferential treatment to one child over the other, regardless of continued tension between him and his ex-wife. In short, she’d just screamed at him for no reason other than her own feelings of loss and failure. And maybe a hormone imbalance, if she were totally honest with herself.

 Peeta hadn’t returned by the time she went to bed. She attempted to wait up for him, but she needed sleep if she was going to be even remotely productive at work the next day. When she woke the next morning, he was passed out beside her, snoring and reeking of booze. She tried to nudge him, but she quickly realized he’d have to sleep it off. She made excuses for him at the office and counted the minutes until she could return home and sort out their disagreement. Unsure where his head was, she didn’t contact him while she was at work.

 Peeta kissed her on the cheek and nodded at her apology, but Jasmine demanded her undivided attention for the next few hours. By the time she had her daughter down for the night, she was too exhausted to talk. Without a word, she walked into the bedroom, divested her husband of his pants, and dropped to her knees.

 “Shiiiiiiiiit,” he hissed as she licked along his balls and then took him fully in her mouth. “Oh, shit, baby. Fuck, it’s been so fucking long since you’ve done this.”

 She sucked in her cheeks and bobbed her head and fondled and stroked and tore him apart. He was right. They’d stopped enjoying sex in their quest to conceive, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d lavished attention on the man she’d lusted after so much, she’d compromised everything for him.

 Katniss relaxed her jaw and throat and crawled forward when he stumbled back against the bed and sank onto it. Intent on what she was doing, she poked his chest until he lay back, and then she spread his legs so she had better access to him. She went up and down on his cock until he was almost there, and then she pulled off to replace her mouth with her hand. Squeezing him tightly so he wouldn’t come, she turned her attention to his balls and then licked lower until he mewled and twisted under her tongue. His fingers knotted in her hair, and he ground against her face until his whole body quivered. His moans and grunts shot straight to her center as he grew louder and writhed beneath her. She grabbed his right hand and guided it to his cock so they could jack him off together and then flattened her tongue against his hole. Seconds later, he came, her name groaned as he shot across his torso. She dragged their fingers through it and then straddled him. She rode his fingers while she rubbed herself. She came seconds later.

 “You know we use sex to avoid talking, right?” she finally asked.

 “Yeah, but neither one of us were that good at conversation, anyway,” he joked.

 “I still want another baby,” she admitted and was relieved when he agreed.

 But it took another year, and by that time, she’d almost given up. Peeta’s devotion didn’t waver. He loved her through all of it—even her tantrums and icy silences and bouts of sadness so dark she felt like she’d never see the sun again. Then, a few months before Jasmine turned five and a two after Elam celebrated his ninth birthday, she realized she’d missed her period. Twice. Three months later, they found out they were having a boy.

 At almost forty, Katniss struggled through her second pregnancy. The baby screened healthy in every checkup, but she worried until she went into labor that something would happen and she’d lose the baby. Somehow, she couldn’t shake that punishment was coming for what she and Peeta had done. No matter how many times she tried to forgive herself for the affair, the worry lingered. Years before she’d thought she was done apologizing, but the guilt refused to abate.

 “Momma! Momma!” Jasmine screeched one night about a month before Katniss was due.

 “What’s up, baby girl?”

 “Your belly’s so big. Can I pop it?”

 “No, sweetie. Remember what Daddy and I told you? Your little brother’s inside.”

 “Nuh uh,” Jasmine insisted with a stomp of her socked foot. “Eel-ham’s not in there. Too big. Not fit in there.”

 “Not Elam, baby girl. Your other brother.”

 Jasmine’s face scrunched tight, and she shook her head fiercely. “No other brother! Eel-ham’s brother.”

 “Elam is your brother,” Katniss agreed, “but you’re both going to have a younger brother. Your new little brother. Hunter Cole Mellark.”

 “No Hun-ner! Eel-ham!”

 “Yes, Elam, and yes, Hunter. Two brothers. And one Tiny.” Elam never had accepted Jasmine’s name since he’d held her in the hospital. To him, she remained Tiny Baby, and eventually the entire family called her Tiny.

 “Hun-ner yuck.”

 “What’s this I hear about yuck?” Peeta growled as he entered the room. “What’s this about my princess saying yuck? Come here, Tiny!”

 Jasmine squealed when he threw her in the air and then tickled her until her giggles evolved into full-blown laughter. “O-tay, Daddy! Hun-ner and Eel-ham and Tiny. I Tiny.”

 Smiling, Katniss left Peeta to put Jasmine to bed and headed back to the living room to fold the laundry she’d piled on the couch after dinner. Elam was there, his shoulders hunched and biting his lip as he folded a pile of washcloths.

 “Thanks for your help, big man. You doing okay? You look a little down.”

 “Mama Kat, will you still love me when you have a son of your own?” he asked softly.

 “Oh, honey. Of course, I’ll still love you. I’ve loved you since before you were born.”

 “Really?” he asked, and his bottom lip trembled.

 “Cross my heart,” she said gently. “The only person I love more than you and your sister and this baby boy is your father. You four are everything I ever hoped for and more.”

 “I can’t wait to meet him.”

 “Me, too, baby. Me, too.”

#too familiar #everlark #everlark fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

[arthurmorganismaboah]

Outlaws Never Die- Chapter 3- leaving Colter.

_________________________________

You arrived back to camp and relieved your horse from the heavy load stowed on his back and delivered it to Pearson, you noticed Arthur’s horse hitched nearby and your heart jumped. Almost running through the snow, you looked in the window of john’s cabin. His family was surrounding him, he had an awful looking wound on his face, of what resembled a claw, but he was alive and that was all that mattered. Everyone has lived another day. Smiling to yourself and walking towards Arthurs cabin. You went to see if he was okay.

“Hey, Arthur.”

You stood with your eyes huge, you should have knocked on the door! Arthur was standing with his shirt open; blood pooled and dripping a little over his chest. Although he was hurt you couldn’t help but stand and stare at the toned male in front of you, little hair over his chest, bruises and previous scars from other difficulties he had faced. For someone that didn’t eat much, he was in great shape, his body in perfect proportion.

“I... I’m sorry, I should have knocked.”

“Come in, Y/N. Please close the door behind you though, you’re letting out all of the warm air.” Arthur finished patching himself up with what little supplies he had left before buttoning up his shirt and putting his coat back on.

“Are you okay? I noticed the blood.” You couldn’t quite bring yourself to look at him, you could feel your face flush, you knew it was red without even looking at yourself, the pit of your stomach in knots, butterflies swimming within you.

“I’m fine, Y/N. John ran into trouble up the hill, wolves killed his horse and attacked him. You seen his face? I’d say its an improvement but he’s going to live.” Arthur chuckled to himself, finding his own witty comments amusing. You smiled looking at him “Seems the wolves like me too, they came running once we found him. I had to steer them away. I got caught out a bit, but no damage done, not really.”

“I’m glad you’re okay.” you looked at him with sincerity. You both stood and looked at each other for a few seconds, taking in every detail you could see of each other. Dark bags under his eyes where he has hardly slept, his lips still chapped and his face a shade of pink. You didn’t know if he was blushing or if it was just from the weather.

“We will be moving soon, you should probably start packing up, Hosea reckons there’s a place we can hold up for a while, somewhere much warmer than here that’s for sure!” Arthur was packing cans and supplies into his satchel that had also been upgraded and patched up by Pearson. “were moving early morning, so only one more night in this cold.” He stopped and looked to the floor for a second seeing the two deer pelts still on the floor where you both slept last night. “I saw you got two deer earlier, well done Y/N. they look perfect. Clean shots. Where did you learn to do that?”

You sighed and Arthur looked concerned feeling like he had hit a nerve.

“My dad taught me years ago, he must have known I would need the skill in the future and he was right, though he didn’t teach me to track very well.” You smiled and looked to the floor thinking about your old family. They had all died when you were only 15. Your father had got in a lot of trouble and owed people a lot of money. When he needed to pay that money back and couldn’t, they murdered your whole family, except you, they would have if you were there in that house, but you weren’t. You were out robbing people for that money that your family needed so badly before the debt collectors came, but you were too late, you were always too late. Although it wasn’t your fault, you blamed yourself and couldn’t rid that guilt. A stray tear fell down your cheek and Arthur wrapped his arms around you. You were shocked and tensed up but soon relaxed in his arms, burying your face in his chest.

“I shouldn’t have asked, Y/N. I’m really sorry.” He rubbed his hands against your back. The feelings you were having were confusing. Of course, you had hugged people before, but this was so different. It was such a safe feeling, almost a fuzzy feeling in your chest, contentment and even though you were hurting thinking about your old family you felt comfort in his arms, like he could make even the darkest of times better.

“It’s the past, you just have to move on, right? Everything happens for a reason, I wouldn’t have found this group otherwise, I would have never met... you.” You looked up at Arthur, both of your chests touching “Good things always come out of bad and I just have to keep on believing that.” You wanted nothing more than to kiss him right there and then, tell him how you were feeling, how these emotions were taking control, but he pulled away and you felt a little hurt by it.

“We should get something to eat before packing the remaining stuff into the wagons” he held his arm, almost as though he was trying to hug himself.

“Yeah. We should.” You walked out first, not looking back at Arthur. You had embarrassed yourself. Of course, he could feel your heart racing in your chest, of course he could hear your breathing fast paced. If you could melt away and disappear, you would right in that moment. Watching everyone happy, sitting in a big circle in a cabin with a roaring fire and stew you could forget about it for a little while. You decided to sit near the girls and as far away from Arthur as possible.

***

“oh, stop complaining, John. You got yourself in this mess.” Dutch was lifting a cot with the help of Micah with an injured John wrapped up in bundles of blankets onto the last wagon. Everything was set and you were finally going to get out of Colter. Climbing onto the front of a wagon you were greeted by the one person you didn’t want to be with right this second.

“Arthur.” You smiled awkwardly and looked at the other wagons starting to move. Hosea was sitting in the back making sure to keep an eye on the supplies, make sure nothing fell off on your journey.

 "Y/N." Arthur smiles, nothing off about him, it was as though the night before didn't happen, or maybe it didn't happen as you thought it did. Maybe you were just thinking over things too much like you usually do. "Did you sleep okay?" he wasn't looking at you, instead he was focusing on the trail ahead of him making sure not to hit any rocks that could potentially make our couple hour journey multiply by much more.

“I slept quite well, all things considering.” You smiled as you started to get warm, being out of the snow was definitely a big difference. The colours of the trees, the grass, the flowers, there were so many colours, not just the same old white that you have been looking at for days. “its lovely here.” You took off your coat and leaned back with your eyes closed. Your plaid shirt hugging your feminine frame, the top button undone exposing the tiniest bit of your chest. Taking in the warmth of the sun, the breeze that was cool but not cold like the snow had been. Arthur smiled watching you, something stirring inside him, taking his eyes off the trail for a second before he caught on to what he was doing and quickly looked back towards the trail.

“It’s been ages since I last saw you without a coat.” Hosea looked at Arthur and then put his head in his hand and shook his head. Arthur cleared his throat realising how silly he had sounded. He never was the smoothest of talkers.

You were getting closer to the destination and you felt like this was the place, this was the place we could build up camp and stay for a while without worrying about moving so quickly.

 “Here we are, Horseshoe Outlook!” Dutch called out so everyone could hear. “Everyone unpack, get camp set up, Pearson, get some stew on. Y/N, Arthur, head into Valentine and see what’s here for us. Were home folks, lets settle in!”

You looked to Arthur and sighed, “Guess we don’t get time to settle in just yet!”

“Nope.”

You both got off the wagon and trailed to your horses, “let’s head out, you ready, Arthur?”

“sure, Y/N.”

#Arthur morgan #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption fanfiction #fanfiction #fanmade #slow burn #slow build #eventual romance #fluff and angst #eventual smut #loss of virginity #virginity #touch starved #cowboah

[soulstealer1987]

Interlude: Erandur

Ziist Grozein

Erandur was planning on just sharing a drink with Aranea in the inn. Nothing against the College, of course, but the drinks there are horrible. Of course, in all honesty, when do things go according to plan?

Crossposted from AO3. Masterpost is here.

Arc 2, Chapter 8 ~ Arc 3, Chapter 1

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Aranea asks softly. She pulls her hood down a little as some of the local Nords pass, but Erandur meets one of their glares with one of his own, daring them to mess with him, or Aranea for that matter. “You know how they are.” Erandur would gladly demolish them so that there was nothing left to bury if they tried anything with Aranea.

Erandur mentally dares the Nord in question to say something, because he would honestly love an excuse to pull the ‘Priest of Mara’ card (as in: how dare you, I am an ordained priest of Mara, have you no shame?) but that Nord doesn’t rise to the bait. Surprising. Instead, he mutters something to his friends, and they hurry off. Probably something particularly insulting involving magic but, unlike the Nords of Winterhold, Onmund and Tolfdir not included, Erandur has standards. He won’t stoop to their level.

“You’re absolutely right,” Erandur agrees, “but Arch-Mage J’zargo swears up and down that the inn likes getting business from the College, and I’m inclined to believe him. You might want to steer clear of Nelacar, though.”

Aranea frowns, “Nelacar? I don’t-”

“Your elven mage who studies stars,” Erandur says, and Aranea makes a face. “He’s got a permanent room here, mainly because the College didn’t want him back after his association with a certain necromancer. He also may not like me, because I may have said something he didn’t like when Gallus and I were talking to him to begin with.”

“You? Said something he didn’t like?” Aranea grins mischievously, and Erandur’s heart skips a beat. “Now I have to know the details. Spill.”

“Fine, but let’s get inside first.”

They reach the door to the Frozen Hearth, and Erandur holds it open for Aranea. She ducks her head in thanks, smiles, and heads in first. Erandur takes the opportunity to look around.

No Nelacar in sight - good, probably in his room - and the bartender seems to recognize him. He takes one look at Erandur and Aranea, then breaks into a grin.

“Need a room?” The bartender asks cheerfully. “I’ve got one free at the moment, although if a certain visitor keeps coming back I might just ask her to do what Nelacar’s doing.” He nods at a table in the corner, where a hooded figure is sipping at a bottle of mead. Erandur can’t quite make out the label, not that he wants to, although the figure seems vaguely familiar.

“No thank you, not at the moment,” Aranea says in an equally cheerful tone, and Erandur feels his face heat up. “We’re staying at the College in any case.”

“True,” the bartender agrees, now quite solemn, “but a little birdie told me that the rooms there don’t have any doors.”

“They don’t,” Erandur sighs. “It’s… not fun. The Arch-Mage is attempting to make everyone use curtains to cover up the doorways with, but it’s slow-going and most people just set runes in the doorways when they don’t want to be disturbed anyway.”

“Well, if you two need a room…” The innkeeper waggles his eyebrows suggestively and, while Aranea somehow still has a straight face - how does she do that? - Erandur’s face feels like it’s on fire at this point. “Name’s Dagur, by the way. Always a pleasure to get visitors from the College, to Oblivion what the rest of town thinks. You’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you,” Aranea says genuinely. The two Dunmer order their drinks, then retreat to a table near the door. Normally, Erandur would go for one near the back, but the hooded figure looks like she(?) wants to be left alone, and who is Erandur to deny her that? Although… she certainly does look familiar.

As Dagur brings their drinks, Erandur glances over again, and happens to catch the hooded figure’s gaze. Red eyes meet… purple, much to Erandur’s surprise. She’s a Dunmer, like them, except she has purple eyes. Erandur thinks he would have remembered a girl with purple eyes, but-

Mara’s mercy.

Erandur’s eyes go wide as he remembers exactly where he’s seen her before. Erandur didn’t see her eyes then, her hood was pulled down too low and it was a bad angle, but… yes, she’s still got a bow strapped to her back along with a full quiver of arrows, she looks just as on edge as she did in Dawnstar despite Dagur’s much warmer hospitality…

“Who’s that?” Aranea asks, and Erandur forces himself not to blurt out I don’t know and be done with it. It’s the truth, sure, but… he thinks he might have an idea of who she is, and if he’s right…

“I’m… not sure,” Erandur says, quietly, “but I might have some idea. Aranea, can you do me a favor?”

“We’re dating,” Aranea deadpans, “but sure.”

“I don’t think she’ll talk to me if I’m not alone,” Erandur says in a low voice. He’s pretty sure the purple-eyed girl can’t hear them over here, but better safe than sorry. After all, she heard them in back in the Windpeak Inn - or at least, Erandur refuses to believe that was a coincidence. “Aranea, I wish you could be here for this, but I need you to meet me back at the College.”

“Erandur-”

“I swear on Mara and Azura both that I’ll tell you everything when I return,” Erandur whispers. Aranea frowns, but nods. She gets up and leaves, taking her own drink with her, and Erandur waits a bit before risking another glance in the purple-eyed girl’s direction. If she wasn’t paying attention to him before, she definitely is now, although he’s fairly certain that’s because Aranea abruptly left and not because she heard what they were talking about. Hopefully.

To Oblivion with it, Erandur thinks. He drains his bottle, gets up, and forces himself to make the short walk to the purple-eyed girl’s table.

“Hello, my daughter,” Erandur greets. Her head snaps up, and she looks him up and down suspiciously. “Do you mind if-?”

“I’m not your daughter,” she says quietly. She’s right, obviously, but she certainly would be the right age. If, of course, Erandur had a normal life, and hadn’t been brought into a cult worshipping Vaermina, of all the Daedric Lords he could have been brainwashed into worshipping, when he was still but a mere child.

“Of course not,” Erandur says. “My apologies. Old habits. I’m a priest of Mara, you see.”

He slips into the seat across from the purple-eyed girl, and while she still looks incredibly on edge and very, very suspicious, she doesn’t look quite as suspicious.

“Are you?” She asks, still quietly. Erandur wonders if she’s naturally that quiet, or if it’s something he’s doing. She certainly seems like a sweet girl, if… a little on the shifty side, and definitely suspicious of everything about him. “Really. What would a priest of Mara be doing in Winterhold?”

“I was assisting a good friend of mine with some problems of his,” Erandur says. “Not love-related. However, he plans to continue alone, to Whiterun I believe.”

The purple-eyed girl does an exceptionally good job of appearing uninterested, and Erandur would almost have been fooled if he hadn’t guessed correctly at what to look for. She hasn’t taken a sip of her mead since he sat down, and she’s gripping the bottle a little too tightly.

“That’s… nice.”

“Indeed. I believe he’s attempting to get better with the sword. An admirable goal, although I’ve always preferred the mace myself, as well as my magic.”

The purple-eyed girl studies him for a time, silently, before taking a sip of her mead. Her eyes don’t leave his, and after a moment, she says, “I know you want something from me, and I’m not here for small talk. What is it?”

“I’m a priest of Mara,” Erandur repeats, “and I know someone who’s pining over another when I see them.” In all honesty, he was guessing, but it’s clear he hit the nail on the head when the purple-eyed girl visibly stiffens.

In an even smaller, quieter voice, so quietly that Erandur can barely hear her, she asks, “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Erandur says, offering her a smile. “But I remembered you from Dawnstar. How long have you been following him for?”

She doesn’t have any reason to tell the truth, but when she says, “Two weeks,” Erandur gets the feeling that she isn’t lying.

“You knew him. Before he lost his memory.”

“Yes,” the purple-eyed girl sighs, and looks past Erandur. It’s the first time she’s taken her eyes off him since he sat down, which is… progress, he thinks.

“You loved him.”

“No,” she says, and Erandur nearly falls out of his chair. She hastily clarifies, “I love him. Present-tense. I never stopped. Sorry, that... came out wrong.”

“Then why don’t you talk to him?”

The purple-eyed girl laughs humorlessly, “And what would I say?” Her eyes glimmer with unshed tears. “I thought he was dead. He should be dead.”

“He’d be thrilled to know there was someone who actually knew him,” he offers, and she shakes her head.

“No, you don’t get it,” she says. “I watched him die, and I don’t know how he’s alive, but… if he learns of his past, the first thing he’ll do is go back there and get himself killed. I’m protecting him by keeping him in the dark.”

Erandur frowns, but nods, “That’s fair. But how long do you plan to do this?”

“As long as I need to.”

“It’s already tearing you apart,” he guesses, and judging by the way she tenses up, he’s guessed correctly, again. “You can’t do this forever.”

“I know. It’s just,” she takes a deep breath. “It’s just… he’s been dead for twenty-five years.”

If Erandur had been drinking something, he would have done a spit-take. As it is, he chokes on his own spit.

“What,” is the only thing at all coherent he can manage.

“You heard me right. Look, I… get that you’re trying to help,” she says, “and I appreciate that. I really do. But… please, please don’t tell him about me. He’s not ready.” She smiles sadly, then, almost as an afterthought, adds, “And if you can, keep him well away from Riften.”

“What’s in Riften?” Erandur asks, a little unnecessarily. Everyone knows what’s in Riften: the Thieves Guild, for one thing. And the Temple of Mara, but Erandur’s never made the pilgrimage. Mainly because he doesn’t trust the city itself.

Erandur figures it’s possible Gallus was involved with the Thieves Guild. That would explain a lot of things, like his knack for stealth. That would also bring up a whole lot of other questions, none of which Gallus can answer at the moment.

“His past,” she hesitates for a long moment, “and his murderer.”

At that, Erandur mutters something particularly un-priestly under his breath. The purple-eyed girl cracks a smile at it, quite possibly because of how un-priestly it was… Mara’s mercy. Well, regardless. He’s an ordained priest of Mara, even if he’s never actually served in a temple. Being a priest, any priest, entails a certain amount of trust. Erandur isn’t going to be the one to break that trust.

“I swear on Lady Mara that I will not tell him anything you told me,” Erandur vows, “unless it becomes something he needs to know.”

“That’s… probably the best I’m getting,” she mutters, then shrugs. “I suppose it’s nice to be able to talk to someone who doesn’t want me dead… and whatever you do, don’t tell him what I’m about to say: Karliah.”

Erandur raises an eyebrow, but nods, “Got it. And… what’s-?”

“My name,” she says. “It’s Karliah, and I would advise you not to mention it to anyone you wouldn’t trust with your life. The only reason I’m trusting you with it is because Gallus trusts you, and if you betray that trust…” She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Her meaning’s perfectly clear.

“I will not,” he swears. “However, if you need to talk to someone, and you’re in the area… my name is Erandur, and I don’t intend on leaving the College anytime soon.”

“Thank you,” Karliah smiles gratefully. “You have no idea how much that means, but… thank you.”

Later that night, when Erandur finally finishes explaining everything to Aranea, he pulls her into a tight hug. He can’t imagine what it would be like to forget someone like her, nor what it would be like for her to be forgotten… but it wouldn’t have taken a priest of Mara to tell that Karliah was barely keeping things together on her end.

He prays, both to Lady Mara and Lady Azura, that things turn out well for them.

#skyrim #ziist grozein #zg update #interlude #elder scrolls #skyrim fanfic #elder scrolls fanfic #skyrim fanfiction #gallus desidenius #galliah #karliah #erandur #pov: erandur #aranea ienith #dragonborn #dovahkiin #winterhold #now on to the next arc!

[askthegreenguys]

// @alinkbetweenportraits and I did a private RP a while back between Light and Art, where Light’s dad-ing him to death. In honor of father’s day (and since she doesn’t mind) I’m posting it, because it was HELLA cute!

// The scene is, they’re sparring in front of Art’s house. Under a readmore because obviously it’s long. Enjoy!

Art was talented, that much was for certain. He held out much longer than most like him would against Light. But his moves were somewhat shaky and hesitant, maybe even reckless as he parried and countered each of the shade's moves. In the long run, talent didn't mean shit compared to years of hard work.

They had both opted for using wooden swords this time. Bruises healed easier than cuts after all, and the two didn't feel the need to hold back too much. Or well, Art didn't. Light couldn't exactly wail on him after all.

Determined to keep trying despite the terrible odds, Art blocked the strike from above, his knees buckling under the sudden weight. His arms shook as he slowly but surely managed to shove Light off. The living hero pivoted around with his sword, ready to deal a swing across Light's torso. But his ancestor was far quicker and struck Art in the ribs. The force combined with the speed caused the hero to yelp out in pain and lose his balance. Link fell to his side and skid further away from the shade. It didn't stop there though. He skid so far that he slipped off the edge of the steep slope in front of his house and struck the ground with a thud.

The boy was slumped over on the ground, clearly disoriented from the surprisingly powerful counter attack. However, Link eventually recollected himself and slowly got back on his feet with a hand on his head.

As soon as the younger hero went careening off the slope, Light panicked. He hadn’t meant to strike his descendant quite that hard, although admittedly he had caught him at a particularly bad moment in his movement. Good for a real duel, bad for a friendly spar with a very squishy partner. Light dropped his wooden sword and dashed over to the edge, peeking over for a split second before jumping down without even breaking his stride. He reached Art’s side just as the living hero was stumbling back to his feet, and Light caught him by the shoulders to hold him up.

“Art! Dear Goddesses, I am so sorry, are you alright?” he fussed, checking the boy over for injuries. The shade took the boy’s wrists, stretching and raising his arms, patted his torso to check for hard areas where there might be internal bleeding (he tended to forget how strong he was as a shade, it wasn’t an unfounded fear), and took his descendant’s chin to raise his head, turning it side to side. Light leaned down, glowing white eyes staring into Art’s bright blue ones, and narrowed them slightly in concentration as he checked the size of the boy’s pupils and whether they were focusing or not. “Does anything hurt? Are you dizzy or feel nauseous? It doesn’t hurt to breathe does it? You can hear me right? Wait, telepathy, dammit ah, can you hear this?” Light used one hand to grab the edge of his chainmail and shook it, eliciting a loud rattling noise.

One second Art was on his feet, the next he felt his body being tugged, patted, turned, lifted, all so quick he could hardly make out what was going on. Hardly anything his ancestor said registered at first. But eventually he reached up to hold Light by his cold arms.

“Light--LIGHT!” He shouted, hoping to stop the poor guy in his tracks before he gave himself a heart attack. Or well... whatever the ghost equivalent was. Art let out a deep sigh before patting him on the arms. “I'm fine. Really. It's nothing serious.”

If Light could have frowned, he would have. His expression remained as impassive as ever, but his voice took on a slightly scolding tone. “That’s not an answer, Art. I know you far too well, and how you dodge every question about your well being.” The shade looked over his descendant again, then his shoulders drooped in a sigh. “You probably have a concussion, you seemed quite a bit dazed when I got here.” Light started nudging the boy along back towards the house, keeping an arm on his back. “That’s enough for today, you should go inside and rest for now.”

“Wha...? Already?” Art blinked, looking up to Light as he guided him in the house. Though as he walked he did feel somewhat disoriented, like his sense of balance was slightly off. Well geez, that didn't take long at all, did it? He had a lot of work to do before he could even hope to face against Light in the future.

“Ugh this sucks...” Art muttered, putting a hand on his forehead. “Here I thought I was getting better training on my own. Somehow I think I got worse.”

Light chuckled. “You do have to remember that I have well over a century’s worth of experience on you. You undoubtedly have quite a bit of raw talent with a blade, so don’t sell yourself short. I’m impressed.” Light ruffled the younger hero’s hair gently, being mindful of the headache he probably had. The elder hero noticed, however, that his descendant’s emotions were somewhat… hazy, less focused than usual. He sighed inwardly. “He definitely has a concussion.” he thought.

Light opened the door and ushered the boy inside, not so subtly steering him towards  the nearest chair and sitting him down in it. The shade knelt before Art, once again studying his face. “How do you feel? Nauseous, or dizzy perhaps? Is there anything wrong with your vision? I am sorry for being so careless, I had forgotten that I am a good deal stronger as a shade…”

Yeah Art really wasn't used to being doted on like this. Not that there was anything wrong with it. It was just... different. His ears lowered a bit as his cheeks turned a shade of red. He was just grateful the others weren't around to tease him for this.

“Light really, I'm gonna be fine. I just got caught off guard is all. And I was pretty wide open mid swing so uh...” This wasn't helping. He was getting more flustered. Not only that but he could sense an incoming lecture if he kept it up. His gaze shifted to the side, avoiding eye contact with the other. “... My head just hurts a little from the fall, okay? It's no big deal, though. I mean that's normal when you spar.”

Light hummed a little in response, satisfied that Art’s speech was coherent and he didn’t seem too out of sorts. “Nevertheless, take it easy for a few days. Plenty of rest, keep things nice and quiet, no strenuous activity, things like that. If you want, we can try sparring again… next week perhaps.” The shade got up, going to the kitchen area to pour a glass of water from a pitcher they’d filled earlier. He brought the glass back to the living hero and handed it to him. “Here, drink. Dehydration makes everything worse. Trust me, I know. ”

Art leaned over with his head in his hands, trying to soothe the pain as Light explained what to do. He didn't really say too much, only nodding in response to his ancestor's words. He sat in silence for some time before noticing a boney hand offering him water.

“Oh. Thanks Dad,” he muttered, taking the glass and drinking its contents. It didn't seem like Art’s words had registered quite yet judging by how calm he was acting.

Light would have smiled at Art were he able, but instead he tilted his head slightly, his eyes seeming a bit gentler and warmer than usual. Then the kid’s words registered. And Light froze.

“I don’t think Eleanor likes me very much, Mista Link.” the small red-haired boy pouted from his perch on top of a barrel. “Every time I walk by her stall she goes nyeeeeeeaaaaarpfbbbbt and stomps her feet and scares me! An- an’ she won’t let me go say hi to Matilda! I dunno why, I never be meaned to her or pulled her hair or anything!” Jason’s voice wavered at the end, and his big brown eyes started watering.

Link looked up from the boy’s leg, which he had scraped when he’d fallen after being startled by the finicky mare, and gave his adopted son a sympathetic smile. “It’s not you, kiddo. Eleanor’s a bit of a meanie, she even tries to bite me sometimes.” He held up a hand, which had a faint scar on the back near the wrist where said horse had successfully nipped him once. “Just walk along the wall on the other side until you pass her. Catherine’s in between Eleanor and Matilda, and she’s much more agreeable than her sister.”

Jason contemplated this for a few minutes while Link went back to cleaning off the scrape. He hissed a little since the water made it sting, but tried to keep a brave face until he was finished. The boy held his leg out straight, tilting his head as he examined the fresh cloth bandage that had been tied around it, then looked up and started bouncing. “Matilda’s gonna go eat in the pasture now, right? Can I ride her out?” he asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.

Link chuckled, and stood and plucked the boy off the barrel, carrying him over to his beloved cow. He settled Jason on her back, smiling at how the boy leaned forward to hug her and she mooed sweetly in response. “I don’t see why not. Hold tight now!” he said, leading the cow towards the door.

Jason giggled from behind him. “Yay! Thanks Dad!” he said brightly.

Link stopped, Matilda coming to a gentle halt beside him. …Dad? He turned a little, paused, and finished turning to look at the boy riding the cow, who had just realized what he’d said and had a similarly surprised expression on his face. Their eyes met, and Link tilted his head slightly, the beginnings of a smile creeping onto his face. Jason blinked rapidly, then bit his lip and shyly dropped his gaze. Link could feel that the kid was embarrassed, but also happy. Not a trace of regret.

Link exhaled, almost a laugh but not quite, and leaned over to hug his adopted son… his son and give him a kiss on the top of his head. “You’re welcome, son.” he said softly, and once again started to lead Matilda out of the barn, his face beaming.

Abruptly, Light was brought back to the present. His memory must have played faster than he thought, because it appeared that Art still hadn’t realized what he’d just said. Light could feel a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. The boy hadn’t had a trace of sarcasm in his tone (or emotions), so he could rule out the boy teasing him for his tendency to fuss. His voice was warm and not at all teasing when he said “Dad, huh?”

Link's head perked up when Light spoke again.

“What now?”

The little hero stared at Light, blue eyes fixated on the shade. Why wasn't he saying anything? What about dads? Link stopped and mulled over what happened, trying to recall what brought up the subject. It wasn't until he realized his slip up that a shade of bright red crept up to the tip of his ears. Blue eyes went wide in realization.

“That didn't--I wasn't--L-Look I didn't mean that it just slipped okay!” He stammered, clenching onto the cup with both hands as he stared at the floor. He looked less like a teenager and more like a flustered child when like this. “I-I took a blow to the head I'm a little out of it!”

Light looked at his flustered descendant, and after a moment’s thought, hesitantly dropped his mental shields. Suddenly, the kid’s emotions were much stronger, as well as those of the other nearby ghosts. Light felt amusement and humor- probably the ghosts, they must have heard, and also so much embarrassment and awkwardness that he was almost positive his shade form would turn red. But under all of that was the faint, but unmistakable feeling that Art really did see Light that way, hence the slip up.

Light grabbed a nearby chair and pulled it up next to Art’s, then sat in it and pulled the blushing boy into a hug, laying his cheek on the top of his descendant’s head. At the moment, he didn’t care how awkward it was due to him being a shade. Since his mental walls were down, there was a good chance that Art would be able to feel the warmth Light felt inside. It was a very pleasant mix of joy, adoration, pride, and love. “It’s ok, Link.” he said, using Art’s real name for once. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Art tensed up as the silence continued. Oh goddesses none of the boys were going to let that one down, were they? The little hero hung his head in shame as he felt embarrassment and anxiety rip him apart.

His ears twitched when he heard the familiar rumble of a chair moving. Without much warning, he was pulled into a hug. It was ice cold now that Light was long dead, but there was another warmth that went through the boy's heart. He missed this feeling. He hadn't felt this sort of comfort in years.

Art's eyes were fixated on the ground, and his body trembled somewhat as his ears sunk. It was so small and stupid, and he hated losing control like this, but he couldn't help but feel his eyes begin to water a bit. Thoughts were running through his mind a mile a minute. Things such as shame, guilt, frustration... but it wasn't all negative. There was still an overwhelming amount of love and joy that seemed to overshadow it all.

Although Light felt the love and joy his descendant was feeling like a mental warm hug, he couldn’t ignore the boy’s other emotions. He mentally directed a thought at the snickering ghosts, although with the walls down Art might have gotten the gist of it, if not the words. “You all had better leave him alone about this one. I mean it, if I catch you teasing him I’ll punch you square in the jaw.” Almost instantaneously, the humor sobered up and was replaced with reluctant consent. If there was one thing about the bunny hero that even Sky was wary of, it was his left hook.

Light relaxed his grip on Art a little bit, reaching up to comb his fingers gently through the boy’s hair. “Did I ever tell you that Jason and Laura are adopted? There was a terrible earthquake one day, and Zelda sent most of the Knights to help with the relief efforts. The kids had been trapped in their house when it collapsed, and unfortunately their parents weren’t quite so lucky. I was the one who managed to coax them out before the house completely fell, and after that I just couldn’t bear the thought of sending them to an orphanage. Laura was just a baby, only a few months old, but Jason was five, old enough to remember his parents for the rest of his life.”

Light laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, waiting for Art to look up at him again before resuming his speech. Even though he was still physically in his shade’s form, the bond between the two heroes was strong enough with Light’s walls down that Art would see his ancestor as an adult instead. Light had a soft, affectionate smile on his face, and what he said was nearly word for word what he’d once told Jason, long ago, when he’d confessed he was feeling very conflicted about addressing Light as his father. ”I don’t want to replace your dad, Art. I’d like to help fill the hole he left behind, but I’m not going to take his place. He loved you, very much. It’s ok for you to feel this way. Loving someone new doesn’t mean you love the last person any less.”

Light reached up to Art’s face, brushing a thumb against his descendant’s cheek, still smiling tenderly. “I love you.”

Art sat in silence. Even though he didn't move or speak much, mostly due to crippling embarrassment, the warm emotions and comfort he felt in the pit of his stomach at least showed that he was listening and taking in the story. Right, it was something he'd learned on his own while the other villagers kept an eye on the boy. It wasn't always about blood. Of course he loved everyone in Kakariko. Well, maybe not everyone. Osfala could stick a sock in it. But that was beside the point. Still, he missed him, more than anything. His family was always a soft spot since none of them really ended with answers that satisfied him. It was all the same. Things just happen and there wasn't much that could be done. Family bonds were rare for the little hero. They couldn't begin to replace all the happy memories he had with the others.

Art didn't immediately look up. But he noticed the changes. The ice cold touch had gotten strangely warmer, as if it was flesh and blood touching him instead of bones. A few stray tears fell from Art's eyes and landed on Light's lap. When he did lift his head, there were tears streaming down his cheeks. His eyes were damp and it was obvious the boy was fighting off the emotion. The face Light had in that form struck him in a way nobody else could manage. He hadn't seen that face in a long time, and he'd nearly forgotten it. Art's head sunk back down at his ancestor's words. Instead of speaking, he simply rested his head against his chest, trembling as he held back sobs.

Light wrapped his arms around the little hero again in a warm embrace, nuzzling the top of his head slightly. He kissed the top of the boy’s head softly, but didn’t speak anymore. Instead he closed his eyes, letting his love and affection flow through the bond and wrap itself around Art, and hoped it was enough to convey what words couldn’t begin to describe. He held the boy in his arms until the tears stopped flowing, chuckling as his descendant became the dorky, impish, somewhat flustered boy he knew and loved once more.

#alinkbetweenportraits #rp #sorta #Story Post #sorta again #light #COME DROWN IN THE CUTE #DROWN IN IT I SAY #idk if it's ever been stated on tumblr #but adult light looks almost exactly like albie's dad hence why he gets emotional

[ohlookashinysquirrel]

Introducing Vasha

Today has not been a particularly good day, and I felt the need for some Souyo and cats. Just one of the many ways Vasha could have ended up with them.

“Nyyyyaaaaa!”

As Yosuke looked down at the small, shivering bundle tucked into his half-zipped jacket, he realised that he was in trouble. Not because his shirt was absolutely soaked and Souji had just done laundry the night before, and not because she (at least, he thought she was, well, a she) had snagged his uniform pants with a claw when he was pulling her out of the gutter, and he was going to have to hope that it didn’t turn into a hole. Nor was it because he’d forgotten to pick up the miso and paper towels his boyfriend had reminded him via text - twice - to bring home.

No, Yosuke was in trouble because, since day one - since they’d moved to Tokyo, since they’d gotten out of the dorms, since they’d gotten their own place and were slowly saving up to find a better one - he’d been adamant that they would not get any pets. Not yet. It wasn’t because he didn’t like cats (it would be a cat, there’s no way they’d ever get a pet that wasn’t a cat, not with his boyfriend being Souji Seta, cat-lover extraordinaire, the boy who could sense a cat from six blocks away in the dark). It wasn’t because he was always a little bit jealous at the fact that cats made Souji’s face light up in the way that they did. (He was, of course, oblivious to the smile that lit Souji’s face each time he looked at Yosuke - but then, it was mutual, so his ignorance could be forgiven.)

It was because pets were a legitimate responsibility, and two college kids - now one college kid (Souji was in law school) and one very junior Junes shift manager - could not guarantee that they’d be able to take care of an animal should an emergency arise. Food wasn’t the problem, nor was the litter box - Souji was tidy, had always been tidy (Yosuke had no idea how he managed to put up with the brunette’s clothes whirlwind every evening). The problem was potential vet bills. What if the fuzzball got sick? What if it ate something it shouldn’t? What if it fell out of a window? He didn’t care what they said about cats landing on their feet - anything falling from a tenth-story window would be in serious trouble.

Still. He looked down at the cat (kitten? She was really small, and he really didn’t know enough about cats to be able to tell); she was curled up against his side, and he could feel how warm she was - warmer than she was in the gutter, at least, which is good - and he could feel her purring, and… Well. I did just get a raise, and Souji did just get confirmation that his scholarship will last through the end of school. We’ve got some money tucked away. While thoughts of a nice beach vacation with Souji flitted through his head (he still wasn’t ready for the word honeymoon, but it was certainly in the back of his mind) he looked back down at his new, black-and-white friend. Her eyes were closed, and he could actually see her whole body shaking with the force of her purrs.

She should probably eat something. And she needs to see a vet… but what am I going to tell Souji? After all, they’d just had a conversation, not two weeks ago, where Yosuke had put his foot down yet again, and Souji had sighed and nodded and agreed that even if it sucked, Yosuke was right. And yet, here he was. With a kitten.

I guess I could take her to a shelter? The thought was not a comforting one - you couldn’t be dating Souji (or have been dating Souji for six years now) without knowing that shelters weren’t the best places for animals, not in Tokyo, especially not for half-starved kittens.

I don’t know if I can find a no-kill shelter around here, and even if I did, the chance that they’d have space is almost nonex-

“Yosuke!” The shout pulled him out of his reverie - the kitten was oblivious, between the sound of the rain and the cars rushing by - and he realised with a start that it was at least two hours after the end of his shift, and other than stopping at the store, Yosuke was never one to get home late. He was saved from wondering whether Souji had noticed his lateness by his boyfriend’s pounding footsteps as the silver-haired young man came running towards him, umbrella in hand, rain-drenched hair plastered to his forehead (the bowl cut had morphed into something sexier and messier, but was still short). He was wearing his study clothes, but the brunette barely had a chance for this to register before Souji was in front of him, arms thrown hastily around Yosuke’s shoulders to pull him into a tight, trembling hug.

“Partner! What happened, are you okay?”

The quiver in his boyfriend’s voice made Yosuke close his eyes, tightening his hands on the back of Souji’s shirt. While he wouldn’t say exactly that Souji was a worrier, everyone still remembered that fateful November back in high school, and nobody remembered it more than Souji. A pang of guilt struck the brunette’s heart.

I should have texted him. Who cares if he teases me about having said no two weeks ago? A beach vacation suddenly didn’t seem nearly as attractive as the thought of Souji sitting on their new (actually it was used, but it was like new, and had been a great deal) couch, smiling down at a purring, black-and-white fluffball as it lay in his lap. With Yosuke snuggled up against the silver-haired young man’s side, of course.

He looked up, shaking his head as he opened his mouth to explain, but before he could get the words out the kitten - who, to be fair, was currently squished between Souji’s bony hip and Yosuke’s not-particularly-robust stomach - squirmed and let out another loud “Nyyaaa!”

The look of confusion on Souji’s face almost made up for the last hour-and-a-half of uncertainty the brunette had gone through. As his boyfriend looked down - and then around - to see where the sound had come from, Yosuke gave a sheepish grin and unzipped his jacket. He had to admit, the look of sheer amazement that crossed Souji’s face at the moment that the kitten’s head popped up was pretty great; it only strengthened his resolve as he reached into his coat to lift her out, placing her into Souji’s (still confused, but also delighted) arms.

“I know I said we’d get one some day, so… I guess this is ‘some day’.”

“How- what- but where- but… I thought… last week-” Souji couldn’t tear his eyes away from the kitten (who immediately buried her face in the crook of his arm, and Yosuke was pretty sure the whole block could hear her purring) and with a wry smile, Yosuke tried to dust the cat hair out of the lining of his jacket with an absent minded realisation that this was his life now. Cat hair. Everywhere.

“Ehhhh, well… I was on my way home from work, and I heard her crying in the gutter… and it’s been raining pretty hard, and she really looks like she needs to eat, and I know that shelters around here aren’t really that great, and I just got that raise, and we’ve got some money saved up, and we were lucky enough to get into an apartment that allows pets, and-” Realising belatedly that Souji was probably the last person who needed convincing, Yosuke bit his lip, trailing off.

At this, Souji finally did look up, and the brunette was struck speechless by the relieved expression on his face. “As long as you’re okay, although we’ll need to get you home and into the bath, you’re so wet.” A pause, and then his voice softened into the gentle tone that always made Yosuke’s toes curl. “Trust my partner to come to the rescue like that. I’m sure she’s grateful - I know I am. But are you sure-?”

“I’m sure.” The feeling of pride that swept over him at Souji’s words - he’d always gone goofy every time his partner (especially back when he’d been the team’s Leader) had praised him - made him straighten up, squaring his shoulders. “I’m off work tomorrow, so let’s take her to the vet. Didn’t you say there was one nearby that had discounts for folks who adopted strays?”

“Mhm.” Souji carefully adjusted the purring bundle in his arms so that he could wrap his spare arm around Yosuke’s waist, having already handed the brunette the umbrella. “We’ll get Vasha checked out, get her shots, see when we can get her fixed.” It was a bit crowded under the umbrella, with two men and a kitten, but they were all three relatively slim and Yosuke really didn’t mind his boyfriend’s arm around his waist, or head on his shoulder - especially not with the happy tone in Souji’s voice, or the possessive way he slipped his hand into Yosuke’s hip pocket (ostensibly to hold on and keep them from being separated.)

No, a happy, grateful Souji was an affectionate Souji (even more so than usual) and while that hadn’t been a deciding factor in keeping the kitten, well…I’m certainly not going to complain.

It was as he thought this that his boyfriend’s words struck him, and he looked up. “Wait, what? Vasha? You already named her?”

Souji had the grace to blush at this, looking away for a moment. “Er, yeah. I kinda picked out the name a while back, when you first told me we could get one some day, and-”

Yosuke couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, man, you are such a cat nerd, partner.” The look he gave Souji, however, was one of unabashed fondness, and Souji - still blushing - wrinkled his nose at the brunette in the way that Yosuke adored (and would never have admitted out loud, keeping the fact back in his mind next to the word honeymoon, which was getting more and more impatient.)

“I love you, too, partner.” Souji’s words were warm, and they made Yosuke’s shoulders prickle in that happy, happy way, and the brunette chuckled as he steered them down a side street with a 24-hour store where they could pick up a few odds-and-ends to tide Vasha over for the night until they could get to a real pet store the next day.

It wasn’t until brunette and kitten were both bathed (and the kitten was curled up on Souji’s lap and the brunette was curled up against Souji’s side) that Yosuke remembered the miso and paper towels he’d never picked up. Souji just smiled, however - the fingers lightly stroking the brunette’s neck never stopped, nor did the hand that was petting the kitten in his lap - and said that Yosuke had an excuse, after all, and they could always pick them up tomorrow with the cat food.

It was, all-in-all, a good night.

#souyo #souji x yosuke #p4 #fluff #snip #short story #vasha #souji seta #yosuke hanamura #souji is a cat dork #but really so is yosuke

[5hfanfiction]

Blame It On Bad Luck - Chapter 24

There was an odd sense of familiarity and comfort sitting in Lauren’s car with her. Camila would have assumed it to be much more difficult than it was to fall back into a sort of routine with the raven haired girl but she quickly discovered coming back home was nothing short of unremarkable. It was like she had never left.

At least on her end, anyway. Camila was never accustomed to feeling she quite fit in anywhere she inhabited. And, okay, Dinah’s place while more often than not a touch overcrowded was something close to a second home but it would always remain just that; a second home without even having a first.

Lauren was unwelcoming when she first moved in and there was no other way to describe it. She had made it perfectly clear that Camila was not only unwanted but also an unfathomable burden raining down on her life at the most inconvenient of times as if she had planned it out specifically to spite her. She didn’t belong there and she was going to make sure she was painfully aware of it.

Perhaps it was more subtle than she realized. Because even looking back on the few months living together she couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment in the given time frame where things began to change or when Lauren softened around the edges—so to speak—and put an end to her seemingly never ending crusade to drive her out of there for good.

She didn’t know when Lauren started to be more aware of their living situation, aware of the fact that she wasn’t alone anymore, aware of the fact that she was starting to enjoy her company rather than resent it.

And she couldn’t figure it out either. She couldn’t figure out why certain things started to matter or when. But they both knew that it worked. It worked because somehow they did. It was easy, like they’d lived together for years and it was all of a sudden strange if they didn’t.

Camila pondered this, thought of their weird little home they’d inadvertently made by themselves in such a short span of time, as she watched Lauren drive them away from the record store and to the supermarket nearby to do something as menial and domestic as grocery shopping together.

And it was weirdly content despite everything that had transpired.

Lauren was quiet, uncharacteristically so. She had been ever since Camila walked in through the door with the sole purpose of making sure their overweight cat didn’t starve and nothing else. And if it weren’t for Camila’s countless attempts at conversation, she wouldn’t speak at all.

“I talked to Steve by the way,” was the first thing she had said to the green eyed girl that actually piqued her interest.

“Who?”

“My manager. He wants to meet you sometime this week, if you’re still interested.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. So just stop in whenever, chat him up, kiss some ass…you know, give him the ol’ razzle dazzle,” she said cheerfully, purposefully, eying her roommate through her peripheral for any hint that she was struggling to contain some snarky insult or even just a swift roll of her eyes.

“Um…okay.” Her voice was controlled, her tone calculated, and she kept her gaze on the road with both hands on the steering wheel giving no indication that she even actually heard what Camila had said. She nodded, going along with whatever nonsense she was spewing. “That sounds good.”

“Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“Nothing, you’re just…” she started, the questions and curiosity boiling and burning the tip of her tongue. But she held it, sighed, and shook her head. “Nothing, never mind.”

It was silent again and Camila figured she should probably just get used to it, as weird as it was to come to that realization even only after having spent one day back home with the other girl. She didn’t understand it but felt it was better to just leave it alone.

They wandered through the aisles of the market in an anticipated silence not quite as uncomfortable as the car ride there. Camila found that while she would look over most items, actually selecting things to toss into their cart, Lauren only followed, not really giving anything a second glance, and kept her hands in her pockets and her mouth shut.

“Do you prefer white or whole wheat bread?” she asked randomly, causing green eyes to finally meet brown since they set foot in the market.

“Whatever you want is fine,” she mumbled with as much nonchalance as she could muster. And it worked, for the last dozen items or so at least, as she blindly agreed to Camila’s preference for quite literally everything.

“Lauren, just pick one. You’ve said that for all the stuff we got so far.”

“It’s really not a big deal. I’ll eat whatever.”

“Really, if I bought nothing but, like, cow tongues and pig asshole would you eat that?”

“Do they sell pig asshole? How would that work?”

“Lauren…not the point.”

“I’m just saying.”

“We’re roommates, we don’t have to eat the same things you know.”

“It’s fine,” she insisted for what felt like the hundredth time since they set foot out of the car and into the store. Camila gripped the handle of their cart until her knuckles turned white. “Just get whatever you want.”

“I’m going to scream,” she mumbled under her breath, tossing a loaf of sliced white bread in with the rest of their items, pushing the cart down the aisle in search of sugar. She didn’t know how long she could be yessed to death before she would start to pull her hair out. She pursed her lips and stopped walking. “Can you grab that for me?”

“Of course.” And as expected, without a second thought, she bent down to get the bag of sugar that Camila was more than capable of getting herself while she watched curiously, her eyebrow raised though going completely amiss by the raven haired girl as she placed the sugar in the cart.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

And it was a split second—this moment that she would have missed if she had just blinked her eyes a moment sooner—where the corners of Lauren’s lips curved up in what appeared to be the most genuine form of emotion she had shown all day. And it was over as quickly as it had appeared.

“What do you feel like having for dinner tonight?”

“I don’t know. Anything, really; it doesn’t matter.”

“Right, you’ll eat anything, including pig asshole,” she said as they turned the corner and headed for the produce. She heard her huff not too far behind her.

“I never said I would, I was just saying that-”

“Relax, Lauren, I’m just joking with you.” She placed her hand gently on her arm, her touch warmer and far more comforting than she would bring herself to admit out loud to the brunette. “Lighten up, will you?”

“I am…light. I just-” she began but stopped rather abruptly. “Shit.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Camila asked, brows furrowed almost instantaneously in concern at the tense posture and slightly wide eyes of her disturbed roommate. Before she could ask any other questions she felt her hands grab her by the arm and yank her, quite forcefully, behind one of the many fruit stands.

“Fuck,” she muttered, still holding onto Camila entirely too tightly. She peeked her head out, looking behind the stand and quickly moved back, her eyes squeezed shut tightly and her breathing noticeably more erratic.

“Are you okay?”

“No. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she kept muttering to herself as Camila tried to turn to see what it was that Lauren was looking out for, what caused her to nearly hyperventilate crouched down on the supermarket floor behind a small mountain of tangerines. “We need to leave.”

“We…what? Why? Who’s here?”

“Brad.”

His name fell from her lips in one rushed syllable, like her body was physically rejecting his name, leaving a cold and bitter taste in its wake. Camila blinked, not making any sense of it until the name rang somewhat familiar and the panicked, semi-nauseous look on her roommate’s face suddenly seemed completely justified.

“Are you sure?”

“I haven’t seen him since high school but yes, Camila, I am sure.”

“Um…okay, just…hang on one sec,” she instructed the raven haired girl who gave no indication that she was anywhere near ready to move back into plain sight and instead remained crouched behind the fruit, trying to take deep breaths through her nose. Camila rose from where they were, feeling Lauren’s grip finally loosen and disappear altogether as she scanned the produce aisle for the vaguely familiar face. “I don’t see him,” she whispered.

“By the bags of salads,” she told her, her eyes glued to the floor. And sure enough, Camila spotted the boy wearing a worn out leather jacket, his brown locks slightly unkempt and lazily stuffed beneath a grey beanie, examining the quality of two bags of baby spinach oblivious to the two roommates on the other side of the produce section.

It was a weird sensation, seeing her roommate’s ex-boyfriend strolling casually through the supermarket knowing just how much damage he had done to the girl still crouched by her leg, unbeknownst to him—along with the pain and suffering he had caused. Camila felt angry and absurdly protective as she involuntarily moved to stand closer to Lauren, keeping her behind her and out of sight.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t see you.” Lauren didn’t respond and just kept staring down, feeling her heart race erratically within the confines of her chest as she tried to swallow past every bit of dryness in her throat. She only snapped out of it when she felt someone’s hand tapping her shoulder. “Okay, he’s gone.”

She didn’t bring her eyes to meet Camila’s although she could feel the weight of her gaze on her heavily—intense yet still so gentle and cautious, just waiting. And although she hated to admit that the mere sight of the father of her child still sent her into a state of absolute dread and anxiety she knew she didn’t possess the willpower to even remotely hold it together.

“Hey, are you okay, Lauren?” she asked her softly when she didn’t say a word. Just blinked rapidly as the corners of her eyes burned angrily until her vision was clouded and she was standing upright, making a beeline to the exit, not giving Camila a second glance or even a moment to get a good look at just how much she seemed to be losing it.

She sighed sadly at the sight of her roommate leaving the supermarket, hoping she would be able to somehow calm herself down and hoping even more that she wouldn’t run into him elsewhere. She stared at the exit for another moment or so before resuming her shopping, a little more quickly than before, ready to get out of there as fast as she could and find Lauren.

She was perched on the curb with a cigarette between her fingertips, almost burnt to the end, when Camila made it back to the car trying to carry all the bags. Without a word, Lauren tossed the butt of her cigarette and took most of the bags from her roommate to help put everything in the trunk of her car.

“Thanks,” she said gratefully to which the green eyed girl simply nodded wordlessly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” She slammed the trunk shut and they both sat in their respective seats in silence as neither of them really knew what to do or say.

“Look, Lauren. I can’t imagine what you went through with him and your daughter. It’s nothing you have to justify or feel bad about if you can’t handle seeing him. Nobody blames you,” she tried when Lauren made zero effort to talk. She heard the unsteady, sharp intake of breath and watched as she dragged her fingers through her dark tresses stubbornly. “You’re only human.”

“It’s been five years. And I still can’t even face him. God, you’d think after all this time especially, especially, after everything he did and said to me I wouldn’t even care. It’s not like he gives a shit. He gets to live his normal life.”

And it might have been what upset her more than she was letting on, at least that’s what Camila was getting a sense of. Because while Lauren was stuck with not only the backlash from all of their peers, but with all of the obligations and the consequences brought on from a decision they were both responsible for.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Lauren suffered multiple complications throughout her pregnancy, it wasn’t fair that she survived it all just to endure a painfully dragged out bout of postpartum depression, it wasn’t fair that her depression landed her at the hands of addiction just to feel normal, it wasn’t fair that her life spiraled out of control while walked around, day to day, and he was fine.

“Has he ever tried to contact you?” she asked carefully to her distressed roommate. “You know…after Kayla was born. Did he ever even try to see her?”

“No. He never asked about her. And that kills me. It’s not fair to her. My own daughter can’t have her father because he just doesn’t care. Not that I would ever let him fucking near her.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what to do, Camz,” she said, her voice cracking a bit at the end. And Camila could tell she was trying desperately to not fall apart again in front of her. “How am I ever going to explain this to her?”

“She’s going to understand one day,” she offered, placing her hand on Lauren’s back, running it up and down slowly as she leaned forward with her forehead on the steering wheel. “It’ll all be okay. Okay? You can’t beat yourself for this every time it comes up.”

“I know,” she mumbled with tired eyes and she turned her head to look at the brunette beside her, her cheek pressed against the wheel. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for your emotions. You’re always allowed to feel them.”

She nodded before letting out a breath, finally realizing the soothing gesture. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks and picked her head up, slightly flustered just as Camila retracted her hand, and buckled herself in.

“Come on,” she said, fastening her seatbelt as well while keeping her eyes on the raven haired girl. “It’s starting to get dark. Let’s go home. They were fresh out of pig asshole so I’ll make us tacos for dinner.”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, pulling out of the parking spot. Camila grinned at the weak laugh she offered as she shook her head before glancing over at her. Her gentle smile turned unmistakably appreciative as she added, “Sounds good, Camz.”

*

“It’s just weird, Ally. I mean, I know I haven’t known her that long but I’ve never seen her like this,” Camila spoke into the phone she was trying her best to balance between her ear and her shoulder. She used the heel of her boot to shut her car door, adjusting the strap of her bag on her other shoulder. “I thought maybe she’d…snap out of it or something but it’s been a week.”

“I never thought you’d be complaining about Lauren…being too calm.”

“Well when you say it like that you make it sound so dumb.” She heard the shorter Latina’s laughter over the line while she tried to single out her mail key on the chain. “I don’t want to be all in her business because I mean…okay, yeah, we’re okay and she even started working and things seem fine but…”

“But?”

“I just don’t want to assume things are fine just because they seem fine. You know? Like, she’s been through a lot. You know better than anyone. Was she like this when…you know…” she trailed off awkwardly, upsetting herself with the direction of her sentence. She sighed and grabbed the mail before heading towards the stairs.

“Mila, I know what you’re worried about. I don’t blame you. But honestly? It really just sounds like she’s trying to, I don’t know, behave herself…for your sake.”

“Behave herself?” she asked, scrunching her brows. “Did she say something to you?”

“Not really. But I know how she is. Camila, she probably just doesn’t want you to leave again,” she told her as if it was obvious and Camila remained silent until she reached the sixth floor, taking in her words.

“Really?”

“From what you’re telling me. She’s been quiet with me too when I talk to her but I kind of expected that after everything. But she’s different with you than she is with me. Just try talking to her. It’s not like she can say no to you.”

“I…” she opened her mouth and then closed it shortly after, not even knowing how to respond. On one hand she knew Lauren was doing pretty much anything she asked—not that she asked for much—and it did seem like she was doing everything in her power to please her. But on the other, she was dealing with a lot and more often than not it was nearly impossible to tell what the girl was feeling or thinking. “I mean, kind of, I guess.”

“She’s been worse. You have no idea, like, so much wor-”

“Am I crazy for being this invested, Ally?” she asked randomly, cutting off her friend’s words. She sighed and readjusted her bag strap. “I mean…after everything. Am I stupid for caring?” She took a moment, staring down her hallway, before speaking again. “Sorry, that sounds really messed up; I know she’s your best friend and all, I just-”

“Mila, seriously, I get it. Don’t worry,” she reassured her before taking a brief pause. “You still like her, don’t you?” And the way she said it, it wasn’t even like she was questioning it. Just waiting for confirmation.

“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

“She told me about the guitar. And while I want to kill her for being so thoughtless, and I know this might not mean much and it doesn’t make up for her doing what she did, but the last thing she wants is to hurt you.”

“How do you know?” she asked uncertainly. She knew Lauren’s intentions before and she knew them now—somewhat, anyway. She knew she wasn’t the same and she knew their relationship had completely changed over the few months they had known each other. But she also knew that Lauren was a riddle; this complicated mess of words the she could never figure out the rhyme or reason to.

“Because you make her happy,” she answered simply. “And she hasn’t been happy in a really long time.”

It was such a casual sentence, like it was the easiest thing to see. And Camila wondered how much truth there was to it, coming from someone like Ally—someone who knew Lauren better than anyone. She didn’t realize she was smiling until she made it to her door.

“Look, I know she’s a pain in the ass—which is probably why she’s being so weirdly quiet. Talk to her.”

“I’ll try,” she said, finding the right key to let herself in. The lights inside were on and the first thing she saw was Lauren sitting on the floor near her vinyl collection, sifting through them. Her smile involuntarily grew when her eyes landed on her furrowing her brows looking as confused as ever.

“Let me know how it goes. Like I said, she’s probably just nervous. Unless she’s like, crying into her wine listening to Fast Car then you probably don’t have anything to worry about,” she told her, causing the brunette to laugh. The sound caught Lauren’s attention, quickly looking back down at what she was doing when they locked eyes.

“Alright, I’ll talk you later.”

“Bye, Mila. Good luck with your wife,” she said and hung up the phone before Camila could react or even fully process what she said. She stared at the home screen of her phone with her mouth open.

“My…wha-” she stopped herself and shook her head, shoving her phone into her back pocket before tossing the few envelopes from the mailbox onto the table. When she looked up, Lauren was still busying herself with whatever it was she was doing before she walked in.

“Hey Camz,” she offered casually, not even looking up from the cabinet she was searching through.

“Hey.” She set the rest of her stuff down and walked over to the living room and Lauren didn’t even look up or lose that confused look on her face. “What’cha doin’?”

“Trying to find something,” she mumbled, thumbing through more of her vinyls before sighing and sitting back upright, pouting. “Have you seen my Tracy Chapman record?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she mumbled under her breath before crouching down next to the green eyed girl. “Hey, you want to go do something?” she asked randomly, finally grabbing the girl’s full attention.

“What?”

“I don’t know; you want to go out or something? Like, I mean, go somewhere…that’s…not here…and…yeah,” she stammered—rather ungracefully—shutting her eyes and suppressing a groan at herself and her stupidity.

“I don’t know, Camila…” she said quietly, focusing her attention back on her records before she felt the warmth of her roommate’s hands wrapping around her wrists, pulling her to stand with her.

“C’mon, it’s nice out. I had a long day. Let’s go to that frozen yogurt place by the boardwalk. I’ve been there with Dinah; it’s amazing,” she said while trying to sound as cheerful as possible, hoping some of it would somehow rub off on her roommate, who was looking at her skeptically. “My treat?”

“Oh, you…you don’t,” she faltered, looking down at her feet. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t be stupid, come on, let’s go,” she insisted, pulling her with her towards the door where both of their shoes were. When she let go she turned around and could have sworn she saw the other girl blushing but she wouldn’t look at her. “It’ll be fun. Let’s get the fuck out of this apartment.”

“Okay…yeah, okay,” she decided, sounding more like she was convincing herself than agreeing with Camila. “Sure. Let’s go. But you don’t have to pay. It’s fine, I can-”

“Lauren…”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

The drive there was spent how almost all of their days have been spent; an only somewhat awkward silence with most of the conversation being brought on by Camila while Lauren tripped over her words and looked anywhere but at the girl she was so completely enamored with no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

And despite Lauren’s numerous—albeit pathetic—attempts to refuse Camila’s generosity, the tiny brunette stuck true to her word and bought them both of their desserts before leading them to walk silently but comfortably along the boardwalk.

Camila couldn’t help but think that Ally might be right. Lauren couldn’t help but think about their date on the very same boardwalk. She thought about how much she wished it didn’t end as horribly as it did.

“Can I ask you something?” Camila started carefully. Almost as soon as the words left her lips she sensed the green eyed girl tensing up next to her.

“Um…sure.”

“What’s going on?”

“With what?”

“With you…” she said, nudging her side slightly, but both of them avoided looking at the other. “With us.”

“What?” she laughed nervously, shaking her head and keeping her eyes down on the cup she was holding. “Nothing…why? Nothing’s going on.” Her brows knitted together, heavy with worry—Camila could tell with only a glance. She sighed, deciding to bite the bullet, and touched her arm gently. They both stopped walking.

“You know I’m not still mad right?”

“You’re…you’re not?” She blinked and looked down again, seemingly debating something with herself—like she didn’t know if she should believe her, as if she hadn’t literally just said so. “But…”

“I was, don’t get me wrong, of course I was. But…I believe you weren’t trying to hurt me. I was upset but like, I’m not a hateful person, Lauren, you know that,” she explained. “I don’t have it in me to be angry like that, especially not forever.”

It was quiet again, minus the other people passing by them which were occasional and fairly infrequent. Lauren tried to come up with anything substantial to say—or literally anything at all, really—but with the way Camila was looking at her it was hard to think of any words.

When she figured Lauren wasn’t going to say anything she added, “Especially not with you.”

“Why?”

“Really, Lauren?” she asked, her expression morphing into amusement easily. “You’re really asking me that?”

It took her a moment, and then another to curse the streetlight they were standing under for giving away the slightly red tint in her cheeks as she averted her gaze to her hands, fidgeting with the plastic spoon.

They said nothing but continued walking, the air between them feeling a bit lighter, the silence comfortable, their smiles content.

“Tell me something,” Camila said randomly, breaking the quiet, as she moved her spoon around the frozen yogurt in her cup. “About you, I mean.”

“What?” Lauren replied, wiping her hand on her jeans. “You already know everything.”

“I do?”

“I-I really can’t think of anything else I could possibly be keeping from you. Like, I’m trying to-”

“No, Lauren, not like that,” she corrected, trying not to laugh at how easily flustered the other girl was getting again. “Just like…I don’t know, something I don’t know. Before everything.” She watched Lauren ponder the thought for a moment, plastic spoon in her mouth held tightly between her teeth before she released it and pursed her lips.

“Um…I don’t know, I wanted to be a vet when I was little,” she offered, staring down at her own cup.

“Did you really?”

“Yeah, like, I thought it would be cool…until I realized I had to deal with sick animals all day and was like, wow that’s so fucking sad, never mind.”

“I think it’s sweet.”

“I guess,” she shrugged, taking another bite of her frozen yogurt. “Not like I’ll ever do that now.”

“Well…what do you want to do now?” It was a simple question, in theory. Both Camila and Lauren were aware everyone gets asked it. But Lauren…when it came down to it…she really had no idea.

“I don’t know.”

“Well aren’t you in school for business?”

“Yeah but like…I don’t know…I figured it’ll be useful no matter where I ended up. I really didn’t plan that far into my future, Camila.”

It wasn’t intentional—on either part. But Camila stopped walking and Lauren froze with her spoon in her mouth before awkwardly coughing and trailing ahead of the brunette, hoping she would just catch up with her.

Camila, sensing her roommate’s discomfort, picked up her pace and resumed their conversation like it hadn’t happened, something Lauren was extremely grateful for.

“What about now?”

“What?”

“What do you want now?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, trying to scoop up as much Cap’n Crunch into her strawberry frozen yogurt as she could gather. “Nothing, really.”

“Nothing?”

“Well, not nothing, but like,” she paused and finally looked up ahead of her—at the blackness of the ocean lining the boardwalk and the night sky before looking over at Camila for the first time since they started walking. “Just…nothing extraordinary.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah like…okay, you know how you have this…set goal? You have a plan. You want to teach little kids…you want to make a difference in their lives growing up and that’s…amazing,” she said, looking back in front of her as they walked. Camila placed her spoon into her cup and stared up at the green eyed girl instead as she went on, admiring the candidness with which she spoke, recalling all the details of their conversations. “But I guess after everything all I want is…normal.”

“Normal?”

“Is that weird? That I would prefer the…ordinary nine to five boring ass job with my family and my kid? It would be so much better than anything I ever expected, that’s for sure. Extraordinary for you is normal. Normal for me is extraordinary.”

Camila let her words hang in the air between them as they walked, thought them over. And over and over. Watched as she averted her eyes once again. Watched as she tried to keep busy with her frozen yogurt, as if it wasn’t important to her. And she surprised Lauren, and even herself, by reaching for one of her hands and holding them in her own.

“I don’t think it’s weird at all.”

“Yeah?” she asked, and Camila felt no hesitation when she answered her.

“Yeah. I think you deserve normal after all this time.”

“I think my daughter deserves it after all this time.”

“I think you both do.”

And even in the dark of the night, Camila could make out Lauren’s smile, as subtle as it was. And Lauren could make out the sincerity in Camila’s words just as much as she could feel it in her gaze. She exhaled through her nose and kept her eyes cast down.

“Thanks, Camz,” she mumbled, ignoring the warmth rising in her cheeks once again, even more prominent in her chest. And the brunette beside her only smiled.

And when she offered a smile back, nudging her as they rounded an appropriate spot in the boardwalk, she felt like nothing had transpired between them before; no lies or hurt—just two people who genuinely cared about each other and it was hard for Lauren not to lean in and kiss her.

But the fact of the matter was just that. Everything that did happen between them happened. And she couldn’t just forget all that she did and all that she felt as a result of that, no matter how hard Camila tried to convince her it was behind them. Why would Camila ever still want anything with her after all of that?

Their conversation was light on the way back home. And it was fine. It was fine when they got back to their apartment. And it was fine the few days following after.

And it was fine until Camila was going to actually tear her hair out with how careful Lauren was still being around her and when she would talk to her—even if it was the most innocent of interactions.

She had to admit, it was endearing for a while—if she was in fact stifling, or behaving, herself for her sake thus far. But it just wasn’t Lauren. The whole quiet and distant, nervous bit wasn’t the green eyed girl she had grown such strong feelings for. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself she would get over her.

And maybe she would have actually convinced herself had she not spent all of her time with the raven haired flustered idiot for the remainder of the week until she couldn’t take it anymore.

Lauren was scrolling through different recommended shows Netflix was suggesting for her when Camila came home that day.

She had an exasperated sigh, matched by the force of her foot kicking the door shut when she carried all of her shit indoors before getting a chance to set everything down on the small dining room table. Lauren barely glanced over, mumbling a solemn hey before focusing her vision back to the television.

Camila rolled her eyes and, anticipating Lauren’s nonchalance, pulled a plastic water gun out of her bag and sprayed the green eyed girl until she stood up from the couch and groaned, “Okay, enough, get up.”

“Camz, what the fuck,” she yelled, standing immediately, trying to shield herself from the onslaught of water. “Stop!”

“Not until you stop being weird!”

“Ah!” she spit some water from her mouth. “What are you talking about?!”

“I'm talking about you being a damn weirdo with me.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. And if you were anyone else you’d be the perfect roommate—probably someone I would have wanted to live with when I first moved in.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“You’re not anyone else. You’re supposed to be my annoying roommate. It’s our thing, remember? You don’t get on my nerves anymore. You don’t insult me anymore. No one’s called me a loser in such a long time; honestly, I’m starting to think I might actually be cool.”

“You’re not,” Lauren mumbled without thinking and Camila’s lips curved into a slight smile.

“Then bug me,” she insisted playfully through gritted teeth, spraying her with more water.

“Where did you even get this?!”

“I confiscated it from a boy at school. Here,” she said, tossing a much smaller plastic water gun at the green eyed girl who just barely caught it. “This one’s been in the lost and found for ages. Consider yourself armed.”

“This is pathetic.”

“The weapon or the war I’m declaring right now?”

“Oh, the weapon, I’m gonna kill you if you don’t-” she yelled, shielding herself from the water as Camila aimed the gun at her again. “Camz! Stop!”

“Fight back!” she yelled dramatically. “You coward, fight back!” And as confused and annoyed as Lauren was she paused and laughed hysterically at her roommate.

She bit her lip and waited for any indication that this wasn’t actually happening and when Camila sprayed her with more water from her plastic gun she bolted off in the same direction as the laughing brunette into the hallway.

“Camz, I swear to God,” she yelled as she chased her roommate, not even caring how many of their neighbors they bothered along the way. Camila stopped at the end of the hall and tried to run around her—somewhat successfully—and dashed passed her arms just barely, only turning behind her to spray her with more water.

“Eat my dust.”

“You’re such a loser,” she called after her while running back to their apartment, making sure to close it behind her, the sound of Camila’s incessant giggling the only thing accompanying her yelling. “This isn’t even fair. You clearly have the better one.”

“Wow, it’s almost as if I did that on purpose.”

“Shut up.”

“Tough shit,” she shrugged carelessly. And instead of trying to spray her with the water again, Lauren just went ahead chucked the plastic gun at her. “Hey!”

“That’s what you get.”

“I buy pizza and beer for us and you throw things at me,” she said, feigning offense and Lauren finally noticed the pizza box and six-pack on the dining table Camila must have been carrying when she came home. “Unbelievable.”

“Truce?” she asked with her hands up, more than willing to cut the nonsense if it meant she could eat pizza.

“Hmm…” Camila bit her lip, the action catching the green eyed girl’s attention and she felt the urge to kiss her again even stronger than before. “No.” She was snapped out of her one way staring contest with her roommate’s mouth when she felt her spray her with water again.

“Camz!” She ducked her head and ran towards the couch, grabbing a throw pillow to use as a shield, and chased the laughing brunette around their small apartment. “Enough!” she yelled, grabbing her by the waist but slipping on the water on the hardwood, and sent them both to the floor. “Ow, fuck.”

“Well that was graceful.”

“That was entirely your own damn fault,” she countered from beside her, lying on her back. She shut her eyes and groaned at the pain. “I hope you’re pleased with yourself.” She opened her eyes and looked over at the girl grinning back at her, clearly amused. “Who am I kidding, of course you are.”

“You’re dying to tell me I’m annoying, aren’t you?”

“You’re testing my patience.”

“Tell me I’m annoying,” she continued, smiling wider to push her buttons and poking her in her side. Lauren rolled her eyes and grabbed her hand to stop her but couldn’t contain her own smile if she tried.

Because as she lied there on the floor beside Camila, hair and clothes slightly wet, she couldn’t believe how a person could be so beautiful. And she couldn’t believe how someone as beautiful as Camila would feel anything for someone like her. But she was right there. She was there and she was beautiful and Lauren couldn’t stop smiling.

“I hate you,” she said, her voice coming out as a soft breath as she laughed and shook her head.

“I know.”

The two of them stayed like that for a moment or so, not moving any closer but not moving away either. Neither of them got up and neither of them said anything, Lauren still holding Camila’s hand. And it was more than fine.

It was more than fine when Lauren felt her heart race and it didn’t send her into a panic. It was more than fine when Camila was looking at her like that again, when she thought for sure she would never even look at her at all anymore.

“Hey, Camila?” she asked, her voice quiet, as she stared up at the ceiling.

“Yeah?”

She licked her lips, feeling her next words in every nerve ending of her body, pulsing through her veins, taking all the air out of her lungs. “I really want to fucking kiss you.”

It was like she was watching herself, not quite sure how they ended up there but hanging on the edge of her seat waiting for something to happen. Her heart pounded, felt like it was going to stop at any second, as the sentence floated in the air between them.

“Hey, Lauren?”

“Yeah?”

Camila watched Lauren take in a breath, still looking up. But she turned her head when she felt the touch of her hand, soft and safe, fingers gently tracing the yellowing bruise on the otherwise smooth porcelain skin of her wrist. Lauren shut her eyes, felt like she could die right then, consumed by everything that was Camila.

“I really fucking want you to kiss me.”

*    *    *    *

a/n: does this still count as a fast update? who even am i

i really appreciate the people who have reached out to me either on here or on twitter, to tell me they enjoy the story or they’ve recommended it to people. i love seeing what people have to say so it’s been really nice

hope you enjoyed the update, feel free to let me know what you think (of the chapter or the story so far), and of course, thank you for reading

-lex (twitter/tumblr: manhatanproject)

#UPDATE #series #AU #slash #camren #angst drama #humour #romance fluff #submission #Blame It On Bad Luck

[afangirlsplaylist]

Counsel Me (1/?)

Author: afangirlsplaylist

Rating: Explicit. This chapter is G.

Warnings: Violent outbursts, talk of/participation in therapy, swearing.

Chapter: 1/?

Word Count: 2,461

Summary: When Rhett and Link’s friendship hits a breaking point they turn to a therapist, who proposes a difficult idea. Very loosely prompted by THIS.

Note: I’ve never been to therapy or talked extensively with anyone who has so apologies if my depiction of therapy and a therapist’s office is completely inaccurate. 

Read it on archiveofourown

It was only recently that both Rhett and Link had begun to feel the wall of their friendship crumbling. Link could see it teetering on the edge of collapse as their fights became almost daily events - the visible cracks deepening as they grew closer and closer to physically lashing out. The only question they and the crew had left to ask was who would snap first.

Stevie thought it would be Rhett, as he walked around the office like a storm waiting to blow after the worst fights. Jen, who’d grown accustomed to finding a coffee and a 6-foot brunette waiting at her desk when Link needed to vent, thought it would be Link. Chase, the smallest of the crew, was all for locking the two angry giants in their office until they sorted themselves out, but the idea was shot down by the others in favour of keeping their jobs. Lizzie probably hid it best, but having been fond of both of them since before she was hired she was arguably just as upset as Stevie by the whole thing.

Today it started out like it always did. Rhett had spent most of the episode playfully digging at Link with ill-placed remarks, on a day when his friend’s patience cup was already empty. They were so snappy throughout Good Mythical More that a cut was called barely eight minutes in, leaving the crew to scamper and Rhett to assure Stevie and Morgan that he would make sure the lights and equipment were turned off.

A stiff uncomfortable air hung over the set like a tangible weight as the last of the crew closed the door, taking the need for professionalism with it. They stood listening to the sound of the retreating footsteps for a moment, Rhett opening his mouth first when they finally fell silent. 

“What’s your problem man?”

“You’re my problem, okay? You’re my problem.” Link said angrily, shoving his chair under the desk a little roughly. “Why don’t you get herpes or something so I can rub it in your face in front of everybody.”

“What I can’t play around with you? It’s not my fault your so damn sensitive.” Rhett shot back.

“Wow.” Link said in disgust, grabbing his jacket and shoving it on without another word.

“You can’t leave yet, I’m your ride.” Rhett said in exasperation. “Why don’t you stop freaking out over the smallest things long enough to chill the heck out?”

This was enough to turn Link around, Rhett tensing up and moving away from him a little as he stormed back over to the desk.

“You know what? Fuck you, man!” Link yelled, his hands suddenly diving for his mug on the G/M/M desk and hurling it at his friend. 

Rhett barely had time to move his head as the mug flew past his shoulder and shattered against the wall in a blur of black and orange. As the pieces fell to the floor they stared at the point where the mug had split straight down the center of the Good Mythical Morning logo, breathing heavily.

"We’re getting help Link, and we’re getting it soon.” Rhett growled through gritted teeth.

Link barely inclined his head to nod before leaving the room, taking care to crush a shard of the mug under his foot on his way out. It was a brave attempt at bravado, but as Rhett took a seat on the set couch he was sure he could hear sobs drifting through the room behind him. It spurred him on enough to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone, along with a slightly ruffled piece of paper. Trusting that Linked needed time to cool off anyway, he started dialing numbers. 

He found himself walking into the other room ten minutes later to find Link, who was still sitting with his face in his hands. Despite having had a mug thrown at him the sight was not one he liked seeing.

“Hey.” Rhett said tentatively.

At these words Link scrambled to get into a more dignified position, shoving his glasses back on his face. “Hey.” He said quietly.

In another situation, Rhett might have laughed, but this time he had the tact not to. “You okay to get home?” 

“I called Christy.” Link answered shortly.

“Good.” Rhett said awkwardly, shuffling his feet a little. “I found a good therapist if you want to try it. They could fit us in at one tomorrow.”

“I guess so.” Link said evasively. 

Rhett thought about leaving it at that but found himself unable to. “I’m sorry about what I said.” 

His attention caught, Link finally looked him in the eyes. “I’m sorry for throwing a mug at you.” 

Rhett managed a smile at that, hoping it would serve as acceptance of the apology. “Remember 1pm. I’ll text you the details.” 

“I’ll be ready.” Link assured him, although the hurt edge to his tone was still there. Rhett couldn’t help but notice and took it as his cue to leave, thinking it best to leave Link to his thoughts. 

When he got home he was able to dodge most talk about his day but he still barely slept that night, stewing over the situation in his head. It was until an ungodly hour that he lay awake listening to the sound of Jessie’s soft snores, with no way of knowing that not too far away Link was lying awake too.

They were both greeted by Stevie’s groans when they called her from Rhett’s car the next morning, letting her know they wouldn’t be in till later in the afternoon. They left out the reason why for now, and it was a sign of their authority that she didn’t ask.

“So what do you know about this therapist?” Link asked, resting his arm out of the open window as they drove away.

“Not much.” Rhett said vaguely. “I know she’s good but not much else.” 

“You didn’t try to find out if she’s a fan?” Link asked in disbelief. “What if we’re about to spill our guts to someone who is going to leak it all out there?” 

“There’s doctor/patient confidentiality,” Rhett pointed out. Besides the beasts wouldn’t do that.” 

“You don’t know that.” Link said anxiously. 

Frowning at his friend’s tone Rhett allowed the silence to continue for a few minutes before he decided to pull over, parking alongside the curb of a bakery. “Look at me.” He said sternly.

Link didn’t obey immediately, his gaze still fixed out the car window. 

"You wanna skip the therapy and talk right here? ‘Cause I can tell you right now that is going to go really well.” Rhett said, a little annoyed. 

Link was listening after that, turning to give Rhett his full attention. 

“We’re gunna be okay.“ Rhett assured him. 

“I know. I’m just scared brother.” Link confessed.

Rhett sighed. “Look we are going to go in there and talk our hearts out.” He ordered, his hands already back on his steering wheel. “There’ll be me yelling at you and you yelling at me and then eventually it’ll all be back to normal. Okay?” 

Link looked visibly more comfortable at Rhett’s words, sitting a little straighter in his seat. “Then what are still sitting here for?” 

“Exactly.” Rhett agreed, driving off with renewed purpose. 

When they finally walked into the therapist’s waiting room it was as bland but somehow welcoming as they would have expected. Their eyes were peeled for anyone that might recognize them as they entered but they were lucky enough to find no one did. They did, however, feel a little strange as they looked around at the troubled couples and families filling the room. It was difficult to figure out exactly where they fit in this spectrum of lives, so they eventually gave up on thinking around and headed for the reception desk. The petite woman sitting there told them very little, simply pressing clipboards with forms into each of their hands and telling for them to take a seat. They ended up sitting next to an older woman, who looked them up and down and smiled. 

“You two make a lovely couple.” She said warmly. 

For a moment they thought she might’ve been talking to people beside them before they realized she wasn’t. “We aren’t a couple.” Rhett told her.

“We’re really not a couple.” Link followed quickly.

“Such a shame.” The woman said, a little sadly. “You’d be a cute pair.”

They blushed a little and didn’t offer a response, suddenly finding their clipboards more interesting than they should have. Link took both of their forms to hand in once they’d filled them both out, although Rhett suspected it was just so he had an excuse to move. His suspicions were confirmed when Link sat back down and his leg bounced a little as he waited, looking towards the door into the office every few moments. Rhett busied himself with his phone to avoid watching him, as he was feeling a little nervous himself even if he wouldn’t admit it. 

When the woman they’d be seeing, who introduced herself as Carole, finally called them in they took another glance for any recognition in her face, looking at each other and following her in with relief when they didn’t see any.

Her room was definitely a little warmer and comfortable than the waiting room, furnished with a couch, two cozy armchairs, a desk and a chair. They found themselves drawn to the couch, sitting not too close but no too far away from each other.

“So why don’t you start by telling me a little about yourselves and why you are here.” Carole began gently.

“Well, we’re entertainers.” Link began. “We run a company together. It’s mostly comedy videos and music. We have a morning talk show we do together which is sort of our thing.”

“Congratulations.” Carole said sincerely. “And how long have you known each other?”

“A little over 30 years now. Since first grade.” Rhett told her, blowing his own mind a little as he did everytime he thought about it.

“But we’ve only been business partners for about 11.” Link added.

Carole raised his eyebrows at that, seemingly impressed. “That’s a long time.”

Rhett and Link snuck a glance at each other, grins turning up the corners of their mouths for a brief moment. “You’re telling us.” Rhett said.

“So has becoming business partners changed your relationship at all?” Carole asked. “Are a lot of your fights about creative differences?”

“No, it’s not the work." Link said thoughtfully. "In fact, it’s only made things better until recently.”

“So what changed?” Carole pressed.

Link threw his hands up in frustration and leaned back against the couch. He sat with his arms folded, looking to Rhett for an answer.

“We’ve always spent a lot of time together but since we’ve been promoting our new show we’ve been in constant contact. We probably see more of each other than our families.” Rhett said, allowing a hint of exhaustion to line his words.

“So just about every day.” Carole concluded, watching as they both nodded.

“We do have wives.” Link pointed out, his ring finger unconsciously folding in front of his other fingers. “But it’s like having another marriage. We even thought about buying a single house for the nine of us.”

“Probably a good thing you didn’t in retrospect huh?” Carole joked, thankful when they laughed at her attempt at lightening the mood.

“At this point, we may as well have.” Rhett said, half joking half serious.

Carole tapped a pen to the side of her mouth, considering them carefully. “I want to offer an idea before we get any deeper into this. You might not like it but I think it would be good for you two.” She began warily. 

“I want you to try having as little contact as possible for the next week. Work from home or separate offices, release what you’ve already filmed and don’t hang out outside of work. Take the week off if possible. Whatever you have to do to get the breathing room you need from each other.” 

Rhett and Link turned to each other as they considered the suggestion, seeing their own trepidation reflected on each other’s faces.

“We haven’t gone that long without seeing each other since… probably high school.” Link said. 

“Think of it as an opportunity. Channel it into the show or use it to spend more time with your families.” Carole suggested.

Link bit his lip and caught a glimpse of his friend’s sad eyes looking back at him. They seemed to be communicating a million things he could practically hear. Please do this for me. We need this. He read in Rhett’s eyes, feeling the message in his heart. “We’ll try it.” He said.

For the rest of the hour, they talked about their differences and fights to the point of exhaustion, some venting and flaring tempers inevitable. By the end of it all they were both scheduled in for individual sessions later in the week and were feeling incredibly drained by the time they got back to the car.

Stevie was kind enough not to pry about the upcoming separation when they held a meeting about a plan for the solo episodes - which they were incredibly grateful for. They couldn’t help noticing the worry lining her face every time she dropped her professional side long enough to truly look at them, but she let it be. They volleyed back and forth over when each of them would be in the studio, called dibs on favourite tasks and allocated filming days, their skin crawling a little as they did it. Planning to work apart was such a foreign concept in their friendship, and so against the code of their work.

They approached their wives a little differently, presenting the idea of the two of them being apart for the week with as little detail as possible. They both knew their blended family meant the world to their wives as much as it did to them, and they didn’t want to think about the hurt it would cause if they knew it might be falling apart.

As they approached the final bit of filming for the week they could almost feel the collective sigh of relief around the room. Knowing it was the last they’d see each other before the end of the next week their bosses had a little bit of their groove back, looking pumped as the cameras began to roll.

“Can we go a week without each other?” Rhett spoke into the camera, as Link dramatically grasped him in a tight side hug.

"Let’s talk about that!” Link finished

Notes: *G/M/M theme music plays* hehe. I hope this wasn't too boring and drawn out for a first chapter. Comments give me life so please leave even the smallest comment if you read and enjoy this :)

#rhink #rhink fanfiction #counsel me

[divinecynicism]

“Jealousy is perhaps the most involuntary of all strong emotions. It steals consciousness, it lies deeper than thought. It is always there, like a blackness in the eye, it discolours the world.” - Iris Murdoch, The Sea, The Sea

#dark academia #dark academia aesthetic #I'm beginning to enjoy these 2x2 posts better than the classic 3x3 #Although I should really steer away from the warmer tones #They get boring after a while