#i'd prefer to go to bed about five hours later than I do

[ms-demeanor]

Actually, another one:

How far off your preferred sleep schedule are you? In either direction; if you have to go to bed at 11 but you'd prefer to go to bed at 9 that's 2 hours and if you have to go to bed at 11 but you'd prefer to go to bed at 1 that's two hours.

Like, if you were able to sleep when you wanted and you wouldn't have to worry about work or school or bank hours and could get a full night's rest on your schedule, how much earlier or later would you fall asleep compared to your current schedule.

[skyahri]

Unplanned |Naruto Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Sasuke Uchiha, Naruto Uzumaki, Shikamaru Nara, and Kakashi Hatake

Summary: Pregnancy scenarios 'cause I can.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy. Bad words. All fluff.

- - - - -

Sasuke Uchiha

He isn't the kind of guy to outwardly dote on you.

He's never been good with words or physical touch, more so preferring quality time together. You sleep in the same bed, eat meals together when it's convenient, and lounge around together when time allows.

When you come home from a last minute doctor's appointment with some big news, none of that really changes.

He assures you that he's happy, that he loves you, and this is all wonderful, but that's about all you're going to get out the emotionally constipated man.

However, while words may not be his strong suit, actions certainly are.

It's become painfully obvious that you are never allowed to go anywhere alone ever again.

He's like a shadow, following you everywhere and anywhere you decide to go. It doesn't matter that you're just running to the market- he's coming with. Ino invited the girls over for a dinner party? Cool, he'll walk you there, hang around in the shadows outside, then walk you home.

When questioned, Sasuke only says that he doesn't trust other people. Already knowing how he is, you don't push him any further. (Not that he'd entertain you if you did.)

People notice pretty quickly. He's not subtle and it's not exactly common for the Uchiha to be so openly clingy.

You wanted to keep the pregnancy a secret for a little while longer. You knew that his status would make the whole thing bigger than you'd like and it was still so early, only about eight weeks in. But people were becoming more and more insistent with their questions.

"Seriously, did something happen? He's been watching you like a Hawk for the past month."

"It was cute at first, but now it's straight up creepy."

Sakura and Ino dramatically shiver at the notion. You laugh, imagining how unsettling this all must look from the outside.

"It's fine, I promise. He's just been a little overprotective since he found out I was pregnant."

They don't register it at first. They just nod in understanding and move to sip their tea. You can almost see it click in their heads before they slam down their cups and start freaking out.

"Wait, WHAT?"

Naruto Uzumaki

"Congratulations! Based on the ultrasound, I'd say you're about five weeks along. It's still early, but you can see a tiny sac right here-"

Your mind is going a thousand miles a minute, thinking of everything and nothing as the doctor points out the tiny, centimeter-long blob in the picture.

Naruto had been bugging you for the past three weeks about a smell. He swears it's nothing bad, just that Kurama is insisting that your scent has changed and- blah, blah, blah. You never could get any more information out of him, which just left you to eventually cave and visit the doctor. Animals have instincts for a reason and who were you to ignore them?

Turns out, that damn fox was right.

After a half-hour lecture on what you can and can't do anymore, you were handed a goodie bag of essentials and sent on your way.

You barely remember the walk home. Your mind was completely blank as it tried to process the news. It wasn't until Naruto was standing in front of you in the doorway to your home that you finally snapped out of the trance.

You stared up at him. His eyebrows were knit together and he was asking if everything was alright. He pulled everything out of your hands and not-so-gently set them on the floor.

"I'm pregnant."

His eyes blew wide and not even a second later he was smiling, pulling you into him and spinning you around. It's over just as quickly as it started. He's setting you back down on your feet and looking you over, mumbling a few hollow apologies for manhandling you. He takes a deep breath, that lopsided grin on his face never leaving.

"You're pregnant."

Just those two words have all the fog clearing from your head. Reality is forced onto you in an instant. In any other situation, it might have made you dizzy, but right now you couldn't be happier.

"I'm pregnant."

Shikamaru Nara

He really should've seen this coming.

Honestly, with how careless he is with protection, it's a wonder how you hadn't gotten pregnant sooner. A year and some change of not bothering with condoms and lazy, half-assed pullouts had finally come to bite him in the ass.

Although he knows this is all going to be horrifically bothersome, he can't find it in himself to be all that bothered. No, not when you're standing in front of him so nervously, little tears gathering on your waterline as you hold out a slip of paper for him to take.

He pulls you into a hug- a very tight, very intimate hug. One of his hands is on your lower back, pressing you into him, and the other is in your hair to cup the back of your head. He can feel the stress start to melt from your body as you relax into him, your arms moving to loosely hold him back.

"I'm sorry. I know this wasn't exactly planned..."

It definitely wasn't planned. He didn't like to think about things too hard. The only talk about the future he'd engaged in was a brief confirmation that you were both interested in pursuing each other exclusively and that neither were against marriage and kids.

But even though this was sudden and unprompted and definitely not what he was expecting when you asked to talk with him privately, he just couldn't find it in himself to be anything other than pleased. Sure, he would've liked to wait a few years and it preferably be after he'd properly proposed and married you, but none of that is deterring him.

He loved you. He didn't say it as often as he probably should, but that didn't make it any less true. You were easygoing and passive and fit into his life with no resistance. His friends liked you, possibly more than they did him. You liked to cook and he never had to worry about you causing trouble.

This was fine.

Not troublesome in the least.

"No, this is... good."

Kakashi Hatake

He was positive he was sterile. He'd have to be after all the injuries and trauma he's sustained, right? Four years and not a single scare, yet here you were, apparently three months pregnant, handing him a report from the OB's office.

He couldn't even form a sentence. He just sighed and sat back onto the couch with his eyes closed. It's only eight in the morning, it's too early for this, not that there'd ever be a great time.

"I knew you weren't going to be thrilled, but now I'm starting to get nervous. Can you please say something?"

He held his arm up and gestured for you to come towards him. When he could feel you brush against him, he grabbed your wrist and carefully yanked you onto his lap. You let out a relieved, albeit hesitant, chuckle as he slowly wrapped himself around you, his head finding solace in the crook of your neck.

The two of you stayed like that for a little while until he let out the loudest, most dramatic groan you'd ever heard leave his mouth, followed by a mumbled 'are you sure?', to which you rolled your eyes.

"Yes, I'm sure. Here, you can see for yourself."

You unfold the paper and pulled out a few pictures. He shifts you around so you're at a better angle before he takes them into his hands. It's obvious that he has no idea what he's looking at- just that the blob is already baby-shaped and very, very intimidating.

You point out some of the obvious things, the head and feet and such, before moving down to the very last photo at the bottom.

"And that little spot right there means that we're having a boy."

"I thought they couldn't tell the gender until later."

"It is later, Kashi. Fourteen weeks."

He lets you take the pictures from him so he can set his hand on your stomach. You'd mentioned gaining a little weight recently, which he honestly hadn't noticed, but now he's wondering how he could've missed it as he brushes his fingers over the slightest most obvious bump in your usually flat stomach.

He must've been zoned out for too long, because you're calling his name and setting your hand over his. He hums, a slight acknowledgment that he's heard you, but you know he's not actually listening.

He's too busy thinking about diapers and bottles and late nights and early mornings. How his son is going to be in the same class as his student's kids. How Gai is going to be a hundred times more annoying in the coming years.

But then a single thought completely derails his spiraling. He wonders what your baby will look like. If he'll be a morning person like you or like to take naps like him. If they'll accel in genjutsu or not, because while he certainly does, you most certainly don't.

He's spent time with Kurenai and Mirai. While raising a person definitely seemed difficult, he couldn't deny that Kurenai was happy. Actually, despite Asuma's untimely death, she's the happiest he'd ever seen her.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just... thinking about how annoying it'll be to tell everyone we're expecting."

"Seemed more like panicking to me."

"... shut up."

[every-lemon]

prompto and gladio running buddies short fic

I wrote this for ramel a while back and shared it in the ffxv book club discord server; figured I'd polish it up a bit and share it while AO3 is down. it issss 808 words, gen, prompto & gladio friendship times! post-high school, pre-canon

Prompto’s alarm clock goes off at 5:15 a.m.

The trick, he’s learned, is to just start moving before you really have a chance to think about it. It’s easy when you’re so tired, anyway. No questions asked. Just roll out of bed groggily and stumble towards the bathroom before you can talk yourself out of it.

(It’s all too easy to convince someone who’s already mostly-asleep to just stay that way.)

Like every morning, Prompto washes his face, brushes his teeth while scrolling on his phone, and changes into the running clothes he left folded on the stool the night before: shorts, a tank top, and socks. He keeps yesterday’s sweatband on. He’ll swap it out when he showers later.

The kitchen’s gray and empty when he pads downstairs; the microwave clock says 5:13. His earbuds are waiting by the front door, as are his running shoes, unlaced and waiting to be done up properly. He hums to himself while he pulls the laces taught, checking to make sure the fit’s right before tying them. The spare key goes into the little mesh pocket in the waistband of his shorts; the earbuds, of course, go in his ears.

There. All set. He hits play on his running mix, the bass on a pop song playing probably-too-loud straight into his eardrums, then opens the door to go.

Cool air hits him. Overnight, it’s gone from summer heat to fall chill. He shivers, but there’s no use grabbing a hoodie — it’s not that cold, he’s just not used to it yet. He’ll just end up wanting to ditch it halfway through.

No, the real way to warm up is to run.

So off he goes, pulling the door shut behind him and making sure it’s locked, then jogging down off the steps and setting out down the sidewalk. He falls into his usual pace, brisk and upbeat to match the tempo of the song.

It’s about a mile through neighborhood sidewalks until when he reaches the nice trail: wide, lined with gravel, cutting through the green space that winds throughout Insomnia like a little garden. It’s busy, popular with runners and bikers and hikers alike, but at this hour it’s not terrible. He smiles and nods to each person he passes, whether or not they look up — easier just to do it and not think about it.

Even with the bass beat of some in-the-club-dance-remix in his ears, he hears Gladio coming up behind him before he sees him and steels himself for a hearty thump on his shoulder,, which comes the next moment.

“Hey, big guy,” he greets back, taking an earbud out and slowing down just a tick to Gladio’s preferred pace. “You’re up early today.”

“It’s nice to catch you,” Gladio says. He’s in a plain black athletic shirt and gym shorts, rather than the official Crownsguard workout attire. No jacket, either, but Prompto’s never seen Gladio shiver. “I get slow if there’s no one to keep up with.”

“Glad to help!” Prompto says, grinning. And he really, really is.

Usually, it’s Gladio peeling him off the floor of the training room, barking at him to keep going, and asking him to please do something, anything about those noodle arms. (And Prompto’s guns are coming along nicely, thankyouverymuch!! . . . but it’s slow going.) So it’s nice to feel strong and confident about this one thing. Like he’s not a complete and utter lost cause.

“Think you could get Noct to come with?” Gladio asks after a while of silently jogging along, his breaths coming in puffs. Prompto doesn’t do him the disservice of slowing down, though. Gladio’s got good stamina, even if this pace is a stretch for his bulk.

“I couldn’t get Noct to wake up this early for anything, I don’t think. Not even like, video games and junk food. Not that those are super appealing at five in the morning.”

“Bet he’d get up . . . early to fish,” Gladio says, breaking in the middle to suck down a breath.

Prompto snorts at that. “Maybe? Yeah, you know what, you’re probably right about that. Noct is pretty weird about fishing.”

The wheeze Gladio makes might be a laugh.

To his credit, he keeps pace with Prompto all the way until they reach the point where the trail splits. Prompto will head left, back home to shower and get ready for work, and Gladio will head right, to the parking lot where a a chauffeur waits to bring him back to the Amicitia manor before his work at the Citadel begins.

“Thanks for the run, Blondie,” Gladio says, slowing to a walk as they reach the end. “Glad one of us has such good endurance.”

Prompto can feel himself flush at the praise, but he just lifts a hand in a cheerful wave and keeps on running home.

[kidelune]

Every time I relapse, I write a letter to someone who will never read it until after I'm dead.

If they ever find it at all, that is. Like a pathetic string of words swallowed into the guts of a ghost. Sometimes I hope a fire would somehow kindle near and I'd lose all those sluggish hours spent hunched under a lamplight to the flames, so one would ever have to read in ink about how much I've truly suffered in my life. But then, at other times I pray to any God that might still be willing to forgive me that the recipients, you, do find my words prematurely, while I'm still alive and intact and probably lounged in your living room, so I could finally get the help I've too much pride and arrogance to ask for myself. Don't know which scenario I'd prefer best just yet, but I do know that either way someone else will have to suffer as well, because of me. Because I'd been so selfish, all my life. Because I never wanted redemption as much as they wanted it for me. Are you someone who'll know me well enough to remember that I would hate it if you cried for me?

You are, because tonight I'm writing to you, pops. Y'know, it's been four months since I'd last been here, in this filthy, black fucking gutter. I somehow remember the sober tidbits in between, and that I'd dedicated my last letter to Yejin, my noona who's grin you adored so much. I'd written it over the long course of a week, and I recall writing many unfair accusations at first, about being destructive as I was then because she'd broken my fucking heart. But I'd ended up scrapping most of it after a few days of coming back to, as none of it was true and she would hate me more in my death than she ever has when I'd been alive. Later, I'd realized that I just wanted forgiveness and through that, I'd learned what to take with me into my next relapse. This time around, this grace I offer to you–as most of them have been, frankly. Hopefully, I don't cross any lines you wouldn't want me to take with me to my grave. Though I don't think it'll matter anyway.

Dear dad,

You're in the driver's seat next to me and you know that I'm high. There's a pooch in my lap–he's not yours, but hers although you feed him too, and he licks my palm while you murmur a curious concoction of Korean and Japanese onto deafened ears. How much longer do you think you will last like this? You ask me in the end, later that night on my balcony. I don't know anymore, I finally admit tell you nothing else. And you hold in an expression I think would've made the timid boy in me cry, were you to let it loose. It's evident you know that too, because you just stare ahead into the dark and speak no more of what may seem like an addiction in disguise. It's not, I promise. I swear. We go to bed sober, the two of us, and I sweat throughout the entire night in my futon. Without any clothes on, come morning. Did you know? Four months is the longest I'd been sober, since I started using again, three years ago. I'd tell you I could do five, then six, until I'm over it again, but I'm sick of unmet expectations. You get it.

The wrist I told you I'd broken again during an unfortunate accident, I'd actually broken it in an unfortunate fight that almost killed me passively. You're not stupid and know I'm lying through my teeth—I'm not the best liar when I'm high, but why haven't you been reacting to it as you used to anymore? The hardest thing for me to do has always been to lie to you, to tell you that I'm completely fine with two burning nostrils, so how could you nod and let me get away with it now? I don't get it. I really don't get it, but you seem happy to do it anyway, as if letting me off is the only thing that could save me. Maybe letting me go is the only way I could be saved. I'd just have to want it more than I do now. It's not easy to want anything good when all I can think of is retracting my steps. Of going back to when I truly felt purpose, to when I hadn't the need to save myself because it was easier to believe I couldn't be. Why is this so hard, dad? Tell me some day, how you did it. I would gladly sit by you and listen, as I've done from the beginning. And then, if you can still see, hear and touch me, I'll tell you after, how I did it, too.

We're out for dinner and you're across from me, and I wonder if you've ever regretted opening up to your kid son. If you've ever wished you'd never glamorized torture, and blood and despair, to the point where I'd grown into it myself. Maybe it was intentional all along, because you wanted us to go together the same way, like we'd started together. Just you and me in hell on earth. But I don't know, maybe I'm pointing fingers and may scrap this some days later. It's just that for some reason, although you tell me any and everything under the moon, you've never told me this. Forgive me for assuming. I smile when you tell me you genuinely like my hair–that it's never looked better. It hasn't, I agree, and then I get up for a bathroom break. You're the only one who'll always remember the queasy feeling of knowing precisely what I'd actually done in there after the flush. Help my son, you don't say, he's destroying his life.

[bippot]

Relaxed

Story Summary -> In the comfort of his relationship, Bob gets a bit excited when his girlfriend first admits she loves him and unknowingly convinces her to be hours late for work.

After an incident that causes her bed to break, Bob is mortified but still deals with the teasing he gets from his friends when they grab drinks at the Hard Deck later that day.

Tags -> Established Relationship, Fluff, Breaking the Bed, Love Confessions, IKEA, Drinking

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

Previous Chapter -> Tense

A normal day started with an early morning for Bob. He'd always been a morning person. Always. Yet, these days he found it harder to get out of bed because that meant leaving behind his sleeping girlfriend.

"You're so mean, Lieutenant," Y/N whined, her voice sleepy and hoarse as he tried to sneak out of bed as quietly as possible. She'd woken to the sudden change of temperature. The furnace she'd been sleeping on had decided that going for a run at five in the morning was more appealing than keeping her warm. "Do you like it when I freeze to death? Am I doomed to catch hypothermia?" She pouted from under the blankets, reaching out to press her cool hands against his bare chest.

"You're so dramatic," he chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Well, I am cold."

Fully opening her eyes, she looked up through her lashes at him, giving him puppy dog eyes and grasping onto his hands to pull him closer. "R2 please..."

He rolled his eyes and gave in. How could he not when she looked at him that way? He was just a man, after all, and it would take a god's will to resist such a request.

With a faux annoyed huff, Bob got back into bed and was instantly squished as Y/N flopped her entire body on top of him. At first, he pretended to be rather nonchalant about the whole thing but when Y/N tucked her head into the crook of his neck, he couldn't keep up the facade any longer. His one hand rested on the midpoint of her spine while the other drummed a rhythm on her ass cheek.

"What song today?" She asked, and like usual, he decided to quietly sing along to his pats.

🎵The night we met I knew I needed you so

And if I had the chance I'd never let you go

So won't you say you love me?

I'll make you so proud of me

We'll make 'em turn their heads every place we go🎵

"Oh baby," she cooed in reply, giggling and pressing soft kisses along his jawline.

🎵So won't you, please

Be my little baby?

Say you'll be my darlin'

Be my baby now🎵

His voice was low and gruff and he could feel her smile against his skin.

While he sang, Bob swayed them side to side as if he was rocking her back to sleep. Her droopy eyes were looking at him with such love and devotion he felt himself melt into a pile of gooey goo.

🎵I'll make you happy, baby, just wait and see

For every kiss you give me, I'll give you three🎵

To go along with the song, he gave her three pecks. One on the forehead, then her nose, then finally, her lips. Her head came up from his neck to look up at him, her chin on her folded hands on his chest.

🎵Oh, since the day I saw you

I have been waiting for you

You know I will adore you 'til eternity🎵

All she could do was dreamily beam at him. His voice may not have been the most professional sounding, but damn she loved to listen to it. It was sweet, calming and made her want to stay wrapped up forever in his embrace.

🎵So won't you, please

Be my little baby?

Say you'll be my darlin'

Be my baby now🎵

Y/N often reminisced on their meeting. These last few months would've been very different if she'd turned him away when he asked in that incredibly shy voice of his, "Sorry, ma'am, am I too late?"

If she'd had said that he was, she'd never know what a WSO was, or the diner on the corner of Magnolia was sort of overpriced, or that that shy guy that interrupted her lunch break fucks like a machine and is the sweetest man she'd ever met.

🎵So come on and, please

Be my little baby?

Say you'll be my darlin'

Be my baby now🎵

This was definitely better than going for a run.

As he finished his tune, she buried herself into his neck again, snuggling as close as physically possible before sighing and saying, "Love you." And Bob was sure that this moment would be etched inside of his memory for eternity. Because this, right here, was everything.

But before he could say it back, she'd fallen asleep. Her soft snores echoing around the room and he smiled, closing his eyes and leaning his head back onto the pillow with a smug smile.

Honestly, he thought he would've been the first one to say it. Everyone knew how badly he was in love with Y/N. It was written in every inch of his being: in his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed and the little flutter of excitement inside of him whenever she did something cute like this. When he looked at her, he felt like the luckiest guy alive.

And maybe he was, because she loved him back. That thought alone brought a small blush to his cheeks.

When her alarm clock went off a couple of hours later, she groaned at the loud noise. "Five more minutes," she mumbled, still half asleep and clinging onto him like a koala bear as she hit snooze, her face still pressed deeply into his neck.

Bob hadn't fallen back asleep. No, he stayed awake and had been running his hand through her hair as he watched her sleep, listening to the soothing sound of her breathing. He wasn't even thinking anymore; all his thoughts just floated aimlessly in his mind but he knew they all started with her name.

"Darlin, you gotta get up now," he whispered. With a loud groan, she pulled away from him, rested her head on her left arm and glared up at him with bleary eyes. He grinned. "Good morning, grumpy."

"I think we should quit our jobs and become hermits."

"We'd both go mad."

She yawned, stretching her arms above her head before rolling her shoulders and letting out a long deep breath. She blinked slowly, trying to wake up faster, and when that didn't seem to work, she sat up straight with a huff and pushed her tangled hair out of her face.

"Gimme a kiss," she demanded, and Bob obliged without hesitation, pressing a gentle kiss to her mouth. He broke the kiss and ran his hands through her hair, smoothing it down with a loving touch.

"Happier?"

"Much."

They shared another quick kiss before Y/N hopped off the bed and began putting on clothes. She was halfway through tying up the shirt of her uniform when Bob knelt on the mattress and slapped her hand away so he could do it for her.

As soon as the perfect bow had been completed, he smoothed any crinkles with gentle brushes of his palm and beamed up at her. "Beautiful as always," he complimented. Y/N grinned back and leaned down to kiss him once more, which gave him the perfect opportunity to mumble those three words against her lips. "I love you."

"I can't leave for work now. That would be a sin. Only an asshole would leave now."

Filled to the brim with happiness, she playfully pushed him until he hit the mattress. He landed on his back with a yelp of surprise, his eyes widening as she climbed on top of him and pinned him down. Admittedly, he was stronger than her and could break the grapple at any moment, but he was too entranced to even think of doing that.

A giggle escaped her throat as he stared up at her adoringly, a smirk tugging at his lips that she had to kiss away before he got too full of himself - which was unlikely, but she just wanted an excuse to kiss him (not that she needed one). Her fingers traced along his stubbled jaw, her nails lightly scratching against his warm skin.

"Baby, baby, baby... you're going to be late," Bob muttered breathlessly, pulling her hand away from his face and bringing her palm up to his lips. She hummed with slight annoyance, but soon got over it as she moved her lips to his neck and he became mush beneath her.

Against his skin, Y/N mumbled, "I'm the boss. I'll just tell Ramona to do my early morning sessions because I'm too busy showing my very hot boyfriend how much I love him," and realised that, yeah, she could do that. She would do that!

Rather abruptly, she sat up and leant to reach her phone on the bedside table as Bob stared dumbly in utter shock, his mind having yet processed that she was being serious. With a giddy expression on her face, Y/N quickly typed out a text and, as soon as it was done, threw her phone somewhere so she could get back to giving Bob her full attention.

"A bit shitty of me to do it over text but Ramona does have a tendency to yap on and on." She returned her focus to her boyfriend who was staring at her incredulously. "Now where were we, Lieutenant?"

Teasingly, Y/N ran her nails down his chest and stomach, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps and shivers in her wake, a goofy grin spreading across his handsome face. Then she lowered herself so she could kiss up his abs and declare her love after each peck she placed on his body, all the while her thumbs were drawing circles on his sides.

Although he usually liked taking the lead, he would be lying if he claimed that he didn't adore all the attention she gave him. In past relationships he'd always been the giver. Being the receiver used to make him feel selfish, but now, he enjoyed the feeling. This woman made him feel as though he was worth every ounce of affection and attention she bestowed upon him.

Between them, the worship was reciprocal. That never had happened before. For either of them.

He let out a small whimper as she continued to place feathery kisses up to his neck until she landed on his cheek and lingered there for a moment before pulling back to see how flushed he'd become. The simple answer was very flushed. His entire being practically glowed with the amount of love she lavished upon him.

"God help me," he whispered mostly to himself, grabbing at her waist and holding her tight. He never wanted this to end. He was completely lost in her, addicted and unable to stop, that his body moved on autopilot to rid them of their remaining clothes.

Completely emotional and physically bare, the pair got to it, got to banging. As their lovemaking became more vigourous, Bob's fingers began digging into the headboard until...

Crack!

The wooden panel of the headboard cracked in two under Bob's grip. "Oh shit!" He gasped, his eyes widening in alarm as he stopped to inspect the damage he'd done to her bed. And now the bed had stopped moving, a panel below them also gave in and broke away, causing the structure of the entire frame to collapse. Y/N let out an amused yelp as the mattress dropped to the ground with a loud thunk.

Sorry to her neighbours.

Bob stared at her in shock for a moment, not quite comprehending what had just occurred. "We broke the bed? We really broke the damn bed?!" He exclaimed in bewilderment. "That's not a thing that actually happens. That's a porn thing."

Y/N couldn't contain herself. After the initial shock passed, she laughed with delight. He looked absolutely mortified and she thought it was adorable.

"Robert Francis Floyd, the bedbreaker!"

"I'm mortified."

Soothingly, she brought her hand to his spine and pulled him down to rest on top of her, her palm sliding along his bare back as she kissed his cheek over and over again, reassuring, "I needed to get a new one anyway, don't worry about it, my love."

"I'll go to IKEA while you're at work and I'll have it built by the time you get home. I promise."

"You're so good to me, Lieutenant."

"You're not mad? At all?" He asked her, genuinely surprised as he lifted his gaze to stare into her eyes once again. "You sure?"

Why would she be mad? It was an accident. The bed was old. And he had been making her feel so good beforehand. And it was hot. So, no. She wasn't mad. Not in the slightest.

Cradling his head in her hands, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips, before saying in a soft tone, "I'm sure." With a slight pout, she added playfully, "But to make it up to me, we could carry on with our activities, huh?"

Who was he to refuse?

Once she went to open her mouth to speak once they were done, he playfully warned, "Don't say it," and rolled onto his side.

"Say what, R2?"

"Stop it."

"All I was -"

"No."

"Going to say -"

"Seriously."

" Is that R2D2 -"

"Y/N, you gotta stop saying this every time we have sex."

Smirking, she proudly announced, "R2D2 can fuck." Bob let out a groan, pressing his hands to his face, hiding the pink hue he was quickly turning. Y/N giggled at his antics and wrapped her arms tightly around his torso, bringing him closer so she could annoy him by placing loud "Mwah"'s all over his cheeks. He retaliated by pinching her thighs which only made her laughter grow louder.

Eventually, the teasing ended and the pair were left in comfortable silence, simply holding each other's hand and listening to the sound of their soft breathing. A peaceful moment between them that reminded both of them how blessed they both are. To have a life and share it with someone who loves and accepts them for who they truly are.

With a light sigh, Bob leaned over her and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You're seriously late for work," he chuckled.

"I am."

Fine. Maybe it was time to get ready for work. Y/N got up with a groan and began getting changed again. Would you believe it? Bob pulled the same stunt again and tugged her forward so he could do up her shirt for her. As he kissed her, she said, "Don't," the moment she knew he was going to repeat past events. That would've ensured she'd never clock in.

Just as she was about to finally leave, he called out, "Love you!" and she rushed back to repeat it back to him and give him another kiss before making her way out of the door.

The rest of the day was normal. Nothing special. No major incidents or anything out of ordinary happened. The only exciting thing that happened at work was that Rooster had booked an appointment so Y/N got to catch up with him for a while.

"Yeah, I don't know if Bob has mentioned this, but we're all going to the Hard Deck for a few drinks and wondered if you two want to go. Hangman did put it in the group chat but I don't think Bob answered," Bradley explained as the session finished up.

"I'll ask him once I get home. He's at IKEA at the moment so he'll be AWOL for the next couple of hours. It's his second home, I think."

"Ah, looking for something nice?"

"A bed."

Bradley raised an eyebrow at her.

"Mine broke."

Rooster snorted.

"Bobby-boy, what a stud!"

When she arrived home, Y/N found Bob on the floor of her bedroom surrounded by planks of wood, sheets of instruction paper and wayward screws. At one point, he must've got frustrated and taken his glasses off because they were delicately placed on the bedside table. She huffed out a laugh and lifted a plank off his chest to find that he'd taken a nap like that. "Bob. Bobby. Bobert. Robert...Robby? Hey baby, wake up," she said with a chuckle as she nudged him.

"Did you just call me Robby?"

"Sure did. Let's get you somewhere more comfortable." She held her hand out to pull him to his feet, leading him towards the sofa. "Can't read Swedish, huh?"

"Sure can't."

Gently tugging at the bottom of his shirt, she said, "Off. Then face down," and he was quick to oblige, revealing his naked upper body and slumped down onto the cushions in seconds flat with a smug smile. He knew what was about to happen. Y/N was gone for a minute then returned with a towel and some oil in her hand. Kneeling on the ground beside him, she kissed his nose before getting to work massaging the oil into his body, her tongue trapped between her teeth in concentration as she pampered him with attention, caressing his shoulders and sides, smoothing out the tension in his muscles. Her hands glided down his skin, feeling every curve, every dip, every muscle of his back as she worked her magic.

Free massages were the best, Bob knew that for a fact now. Her hands were always on him, and he only had to give her a look - one with wide eyes and a slight nodding of his head towards the point of tension - and she was soothing his aches without another word spoken. He was spoiled enough that sometimes, like now, he didn't even need to give her a look.

Sometimes her fingertips seemed to know what he wanted before the words actually fell from his lips. Which was nice. Really nice.

And definitely very useful whenever he was working. He'd come home after a tiring day on base and her presence would make him emotionally feel better, but they'd developed a habit of talking to each other as she was getting the knots out of his shoulders and neck.

Often, she'd stand behind the sofa and be working on his muscles as he found something to watch during dinner time. She'd be giving him little kisses on his neck, his shoulder blades and the small nape of his neck to distract him and prolong the interaction for as long as she could.

"Rooster mentioned during his session that you weren't responding to the group chat," she spoke, her hands continuing to massage his shoulders as she slowly worked out the knots underneath her fingers. "Was IKEA too distracting?"

"They have everything in there!" he exclaimed excitedly, allowing himself to relax on the sofa and sink further into the cushions until they practically moulded to his form. He let out a contented sigh and closed his eyes.

"Well, they're going to the Hard Deck and were wondering if we wanted to go too. I wanna see Nat so I'm making the executive decision."

"Okay, okay, okay."

Once the massage was done, she towelled all the oil off and straddled his butt, giving him a gentle slap on his bum before he turned to face her. She smirked at the fake shocked expression on his face, and leaned down, placing her lips against his in a soft kiss that lingered for a few moments before pulling away to admire his gorgeous, relaxed face.

Then, a certain expression crept onto his face, one she didn't see often but always felt a rush of bashfulness whenever she saw it. Cockily grinning, he looked up at her, teasing, "We're your coworkers okay with you staying home with your big, tough Navy man?" and was more than happy that her cheeks instantly reddened and buried her face in his chest.

She didn't say a word, merely mumbling incoherent words into his skin, trying to hide her embarrassed face. "I hate you," she said quietly, still not taking her head off him. He laughed at her cute action and ran his fingers through her locks softly.

"I love you too babe." He gave her a quick slap on her ass, as if she was a horse he was telling to giddy up. "Gonna take a shower before we go out. You joining me?"

"Be my big, tough Navy man and carry me there?"

He rolled his eyes good naturedly, but did it anyway, picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder. As he walked to the bathroom, he made sure to playfully spank her so the house was filled with hysterical giggling.

The pair made it to the Hard Deck only five or so minutes later than they originally said they would. Bob hated being late, he really did. Yet, it was his fault as he'd gotten a little carried away when Y/N was trying to put her earrings in but was getting distracted by Bob's lips on her neck instead. She had to hurriedly conceal the brand new hickey that he'd just created on her pulse point.

"Is it noticeable?" Y/N asked as they got out of the car to enter the building.

Honestly, she'd done a pretty good job at covering it. A bit of a pinkish shade poked through, but nothing too noticeable or suspicious as far as everyone else in the bar was concerned.

"No one will know a thing," Bob replied, taking hold of her hand and interlocking their fingers together. As if to reassure her of its noticeability, his thumb swiped across her knuckle in a calming manner.

Hangman was the first that Bob saw upon entering the bar. He nodded hello to Bob, then upon seeing Y/N, made sure to wiggle his fingers at her when he waved. While everyone knew Jake had once called Y/N the 'super hot woman with magic hands', they knew he only did this kind of shit to mess with Bob.

Bob knew that. Y/N did not.

Waving back, Y/N gave Hangman a polite smile and pulled Bob towards his friends. Phoenix immediately ushered Y/N to sit beside her so they could catch up while Bob went off to play pool with Rooster.

"Bradshaw told me he saw you earlier today," Phoenix began, turning to talk like it was a secret. "Said something about IKEA."

At her words, Y/N looked over at Bob to see that he was completely red, clearly going through the same conversation with Bradley. Her boyfriend made eye contact with her and mouthed, "You told him?"

Y/N shrugged. "Sorry baby."

Phoenix let out a bark of laughter and bumped her shoulder into Y/N's. "Didn't know Floyd had it in him."

"You'd be surprised."

"Oh?"

"He's not so shy at home."

Natasha grinned, took a swig of her beer, took one last look at how pink Bob's ears were and changed the subject. The private life of her backseater was something she'd always love teasing him about but, because he'd become a brother to her, she didn't want to hear all the scandalous details.

One game of pool turned into two, three...however many and the other guys wouldn't drop it. The moment Hangman found out, Jake crowned Bob as 'The Bedbreaker' and the other guys soon joined in on the nickname. Frankly, Bob was a little scared that the moniker would be replacing his callsign soon.

It wasn't as if he couldn't handle them calling him a Bedbreaker; hell, a part of him loved it. Sweet, innocent looking Floyd was getting recognition for not being those things. He was the guy who got laid, got laid so hard that he broke a bed. That's a manly thing to be known for.

Another - more prominent - part of him, hated it. He tried to deny it and laugh it off, but they kept saying. It made him feel a little guilty since it was a look into his and his girlfriend's sex life, and that wasn't a gentlemanly thing to speak about with your friends. No matter how hot it had been.

If his mother found out, he'd not only be mortified about the fact that his mother knew in the first place, but she'd definitely whoop his ass for the information being out in public.

Admittedly, it was Y/N's fault that it was known. Yet he still felt bad.

Drinks in hand, the girls joined the guys at the pool table and handed everyone their usual orders. Y/N slipped Bob's beer into his hand and was rewarded with a kiss on the temple as he wrapped a protective arm around her waist and held her close.

With Y/N by his side, it was easier to take the teasing. She could brush it off. She could take the joke and run with it. And if it was particularly raunchy, she'd answer with a smug, "No comment" and let the mystery continue to grow.

Some of the civilians had clearly been waiting for the pool table for most of the night, so the Dagger Squad finally gave them what they wanted and retreated to a booth.

"It's a bit of a squish," Fanboy pointed out, moving closer towards the centre seat and bumping his elbow into Coyote's gut.

Mostly everyone managed to squash themselves in. Rooster and Bob were on the outside of the U, so Y/N teasingly posed, "I'll sit on Bob. Hangman, I'm sure you'd love to sit on Rooster."

"Hey now-"

"Oh, don't start," Rooster said, cutting him off with a chuckle. Dramatically, Brad opened his arms wide for Jake - and with a snort and a small push from Y/N - he reluctantly accepted the offer.

After a brief, uncomfortable silence, Jake complimented (although the tone he used made it sound like a complaint), "You actually have very comfortable thighs. I mean it."

"Thanks bud."

As Y/N interacted with his friends, Bob couldn't help but beam up at her with pride. His heart swelled so much he thought it might pop out of his chest in a burst of happiness. He was so incredibly happy that she was here and fit so easily into the group dynamic. He couldn't remember feeling like this in any other relationship.

She'd come into his life so suddenly, but she seemed to fit perfectly. So natural, so easy going, so warm, and he couldn't help but appreciate everything about her.

He was drawn from his thoughts by Y/N twirling the hair at the nape of his neck between her fingers. The action caused his mind to flutter. He momentarily lost all sense of social awareness and let out a giggle before shaking himself out of it. He cleared his throat to regain himself.

Luckily, only Y/N heard it.

Leaning closer to his ear, she asked, "What are you smiling about?"

"Just enjoying the moment," he answered with an impish grin, running his hand up and down her bare arm.

Y/N smirked, "I think you were staring at me." She wiggled her fingers before poking his ribs, causing him to flinch at the sudden intrusion.

"Maybe I was. I like looking at your pretty face."

Smiling sweetly, Y/N shook her head and leaned in closer to him until he met her half way to kiss her on the nose. They shared a laugh at the childish display of affection before falling silent again.

"I'm gonna barf that was so cute," Coyote jeered sarcastically after a couple of seconds, making both Y/N and Bobby break out into laughter. Embarrassed laughter, but laughter all the same.

"Jake and Brad did the same thing two minutes ago -"

"We did not!"

"Bobby, they totally did. Didn't they?" Y/N urged with an evil smile, giving her boyfriend a wink to go along with it.

What was Bob going to do? Appease his girlfriend while teasing Hangman and Rooster at the same time? Or let the joke fall flat? His choice was easy.

"I saw it too. Where do you think I got the idea from? I learn all my moves from watching you guys."

Going with it too, Phoenix added, "I saw it too, I really did."

Soon, all of the other aviators joined in on the ribbing. Some of the jokes, most of which weren't even funny anymore, got big laughs and as a collective they'd managed to come up with a beat by beat version of how the pair finally overcame their struggles to become the Navy's most prestigious gay couple.

"Who would bottom?" Nat posed and everyone gave a suspicious glance at the two.

"Guys, do you even have to think about it?" Jake, who had given up trying to fight the joke at this point, playfully grimaced and gestured his thumb towards Brad.

"You would, asshole," Brad retorted, slapping Hangman's finger away.

"I would not."

"You would. And you'd be a bratty fucking bottom, I know that much."

Payback cheered, "All in favour of naming Hangman a bratty bottom, say aye," and raised his beer bottle. And everyone but Jake raised their drinks in agreement, so he gave in and raised his too.

"Fuck you guys."

To apologise for the teasing, Y/N promised to buy both guys a drink. Hangman came along to help her carry the bottles, not before winking at Bob to try and piss him off a bit, and leant on the bar as they waited.

"You're good for him, y'know. For Bedbreaker."

Jake had said it so softly that she'd almost didn't recognise his voice. But the fondness behind the words had been unmistakable. She smiled and nudged him with her shoulder.

"You think?"

"I know. When I first met Bobby-boy, he never joined in on the borderline offensive jokes we tell." His fingers tapped against the wood. "Don't tell him this, I'll kill you if you do, but he's kind of all I want to be in life. Funny, smart, kind, got a great girl, good job that he's great, probably the best, at - again, I'll murder you if you say one word of this."

She chuckled, but didn't say anything. She just waited for him to say what he needed to.

"It's nice. To see him happy like that. You get what I mean? Like when he looks at you, Y/N, you could see it in his eyes. It's not just love, you know? Pure unbridled affection, adoration, devotion. Whatever you want to fucking call it, it's real deep and real genuine... and reciprocated because you look at him in the exact same way."

A shy, small giggle graced her lips at the thought. She glanced over at Bob sitting at their table who was laughing at something Nat had said, before turning back to Jake.

Hangman gave her a smile, a real, genuine smile - a rare sight - before continuing, "I can see the white picket fence already. While you're buying a cat or pushing out a baby, I'll still be... leaving people hanging."

His eyes darkened with self loathing for a brief moment before he pulled himself and put that fake smirk of his back on as Penny returned with their drinks.

"You're a handsome guy, funny too, and if you were as open with any of your partners as you were just then, you'd get that white picket fence too," Y/N reassured him and began to walk away, only to look over her shoulder and add, "I do think you and Rooster would make a cute couple. I wasn't joking about that part."

Returning, Y/N took her place on Bob's lap and wrapped her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder. He looked at her questioningly. "You're tired aren't you?"

"Mmmhmmm. A little bit."

Bob gently squeezed Y/N's side before whispering into her ear, "Wanna go?" but she shook her head.

Rooster offered his lap again to Hangman to sit on, to which Hangman obliged with a smile and slipped onto Brad's thighs with surprising ease. This time he ensured he let himself relax into it without any awkwardness or hesitation. He even slid his arm around Bradley's shoulders because "It's more comfortable that way, bro."

The rest of the night went smoothly after that. Despite how tired she felt, Y/N felt herself nodding off. The alcohol and how warm Bob was just really made her eyes want to close. The gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath her was as intoxicating as the booze. It wasn't long before she'd fallen asleep in the crook of his neck.

So, Bob let her sleep there. In peace. He curled her even further into him and carried on with his conversations, albeit they'd become a little less rambunctious in an effort to not wake her, but they also started to dwindle out as the others slowly decided they should leave.

First to go was Fanboy as he said he'd some campaign planning for his DnD group to do and wanted an early morning to make sure it all got done. They all called him a nerd as he was awkwardly stepping over people to get out of the booth.

Payback's girlfriend wanted to facetime him before she went to bed so he left to go talk to her.

Harvard, Halo and Fritz all craved McDonald's after a couple of beers so they went to buy as many chicken nuggets as they could.

Phoenix had a lunch date with a girl she met at the gym so she wanted to ensure she had enough beauty sleep to woo that babe.

Coyote didn't want to be fifth wheeling.

"Hey darlin," Bob cooed as he ran his finger across Y/N's cheek to wake her up. Her eyes fluttered open and smiled at him sleepily. "Do you want me to carry you to the car or can you walk?"

"I can walk."

With a yawn, Y/N got to her feet, wobbling ever so slightly before righting herself and grabbing hold of his bicep tightly. Before leaving, she ruffled Jake's hair - who still hadn't got off Bradley despite the fact there was space for him to sit now - and called back, "See you later, lovebirds. Sorry I fell asleep."

Managing to stay awake on the journey home, Y/N kept kissing Bob's cheek, short and chaste pecks that were sloppy due to how tired she was, in an effort to keep her eyes open until they got back to her apartment.

"Up," Bob demanded as soon as they made it through the front door and lifted her into his arms. Her legs were around his waist in no time and her nose pressed against his cheek as he walked into the bedroom. "Shit."

All over the floor were the screws and planks of the unassembled bed.

"We'll have to sleep on the couch, is that okay?" he asked but didn't get a response. She'd already drifted back off.

Once he'd found the blanket that usually lay at the bottom of their bed, Bob lowered her to the sofa. He'd intended to get Y/N situated then go and get changed, yet she was still holding onto him so tightly, he wouldn't have been able to escape. It would've been evil, totally sinful to detach himself from her.

Instead, he gave in and let her drag him down to the cushions too and pulled her as far into him as possible as he lay beside her. At first, he tried kicking the blanket over both of their feet but it was no use. They were entangled enough that neither of them would get cold.

"Love you, my baby," he whispered and gave her a kiss on the forehead before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

*Click here for my Eddie Munson masterlist (including Billy Knight and Ralph Penbury), or here for the entire masterlist*

Wanna be added to a taglist? Either comment on this post or send me a message!

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ASOS: Daenerys IV (Chapter 42)

Dany reined in her mare and looked across the fields, to where the Yunkish host lay athwart her path. Whitebeard had been teaching her how best to count the numbers of a foe. "Five thousand," she said after a moment.

"I'd say so." Ser Jorah pointed. "Those are sellswords on the flanks. Lances and mounted bowmen, with swords and axes for the close work. The Second Sons on the left wing, the Stormcrows to the right. About five hundred men apiece. See the banners?"

I'm only now noticing the similarity between Daario's Stormcrows and Tyrion's Stone Crows.

Could be nothing, but I'll keep it in mind.

+.+.+

"If battle is joined, let Grey Worm show wisdom as well as valor," Dany told him. "Spare any slave who runs or throws down his weapon. The fewer slain, the more remain to join us after."

Great reason to spare a slave!

+.+.+

A second encampment lay close beyond her own; five times the size, sprawling and chaotic, this second camp had no ditches, no tents, no sentries, no horselines. Those who had horses or mules slept beside them, for fear they might be stolen. Goats, sheep, and half-starved dogs wandered freely amongst hordes of women, children, and old men. Dany had left Astapor in the hands of a council of former slaves led by a healer, a scholar, and a priest. Wise men all, she thought, and just. Yet even so, tens of thousands preferred to follow her to Yunkai, rather than remain behind in Astapor. I gave them the city, and most of them were too frightened to take it.

The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. Perhaps one in a hundred had a donkey, a camel, or an ox; most carried weapons looted from some slaver's armory, but only one in ten was strong enough to fight, and none was trained. They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me. She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh. She might have the best footsoldiers in the world, but she also had the worst.

God, don't you hate it when you ravage an entire city, and all the most vulnerable cling to you for self-preservation?

+.+.+

Ser Jorah Mormont returned an hour later, accompanied by three captains of the Stormcrows. They wore black feathers on their polished helms, and claimed to be all equal in honor and authority. Dany studied them as Irri and Jhiqui poured the wine. Prendahl na Ghezn was a thickset Ghiscari with a broad face and dark hair going grey; Sallor the Bald had a twisting scar across his pale Qartheen cheek; and Daario Naharis was flamboyant even for a Tyroshi. 

Have you ever noticed the name Daario Naharis is just a distorted way of saying Daenerys? Things that make you go hmmm.

+.+.+

"The Stormcrows do not stand alone," said Prendahl.

"Stormcrows do not stand at all. They fly, at the first sign of thunder. Perhaps you should be flying now. I have heard that sellswords are notoriously unfaithful. What will it avail you to be staunch, when the Second Sons change sides?"

NOT THUNDER.

Stormcrows are notoriously unfaithful. The Stormcrows now serve Daenerys, in case you're wondering.

+.+.+

"You fight beside bed-boys armed with spears." When she turned her head, the twin bells in her braid rang softly. 

Guys look, she's now an orange belt.

+.+.+

"Woman?" She chuckled. "Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man." Dany met his stare. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, khaleesi to Drogo's riders, and queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros."

+.+.+

Two hours later the commander of the Second Sons arrived alone. He proved to be a towering Braavosi with pale green eyes and a bushy red-gold beard that reached nearly to his belt. His name was Mero, but he called himself the Titan's Bastard.

Titan's Bastard could be code for Sansa, but I don't remember anything terribly noteworthy about Mero during his brief appearance in the story.

Well, other than him trying to assassinate Daenerys.

+.+.+

"The Second Sons have faced worse odds and won."

"The Second Sons have faced worse odds and run. At Qohor, when the Three Thousand made their stand. Or do you deny it?"

The Second Sons run. The Second Sons now serve Daenerys, in case you're wondering.

+.+.+

But when Mero was gone, Arstan Whitebeard said, "That one has an evil reputation, even in Westeros. Do not be misled by his manner, Your Grace. He will drink three toasts to your health tonight, and rape you on the morrow."

"The old man's right for once," Ser Jorah said.

She's warned to not trust Mero, and he'll later try to kill her.

In this same chapter, she will be warned to not trust Daario.

+.+.+

The envoys from Yunkai arrived as the sun was going down; fifty men on magnificent black horses and one on a great white camel.

[...]

Grazdan shrugged expansively. "If blood is what you wish, let it flow. I am told you have freed your eunuchs. Freedom means as much to an Unsullied as a hat to a haddock."

Oof.

+.+.+

When all the slaves have departed, you will open your gates and allow my Unsullied to enter and search your city, to make certain none remain in bondage. If you do this, Yunkai will not be burned or plundered, and none of your people shall be molested. The Wise Masters will have the peace they desire, and will have proved themselves wise indeed. What say you?"

"I say, you are mad."

"Am I?" Dany shrugged, and said, "Dracarys."

+.+.+

Grazdan mo Eraz pointed a finger. "You shall rue this arrogance, whore. These little lizards will not keep you safe, I promise you. We will fill the air with arrows if they come within a league of Yunkai. Do you think it is so hard to kill a dragon?"

"Harder than to kill a slaver. 

You guessed it, your favourite chapter transition is coming up!

+.+.+

"Yes, Khaleesi," said Rakharo. "Time for what?"

"To mount our attack."

Ser Jorah Mormont scowled. "You told the sellswords—"

"—that I wanted their answers on the morrow. I made no promises about tonight. The Stormcrows will be arguing about my offer. The Second Sons will be drunk on the wine I gave Mero. And the Yunkai'i believe they have three days. We will take them under cover of this darkness."

That's not how you parley!

You're not even creative, Stannis was pulling these dirty tricks a book ago.

+.+.+

"To be sure, I am only a young girl and know little of war. What do you think, my lords?"

"I think you are Rhaegar Targaryen's sister," Ser Jorah said with a rueful half smile.

Keep repeating that, like it could ever be a good thing.

+.+.+

When the exile knight delivered him, she asked herself whether two men had ever been so different. The Tyroshi was fair where Ser Jorah was swarthy; lithe where the knight was brawny; graced with flowing locks where the other was balding, yet smooth-skinned where Mormont was hairy. And her knight dressed plainly while this other made a peacock look drab, though he had thrown a heavy black cloak over his bright yellow finery for this visit. He carried a heavy canvas sack slung over one shoulder.

She's flush.

+.+.+

"Khaleesi," he cried, "I bring gifts and glad tidings. The Stormcrows are yours." A golden tooth gleamed in his mouth when he smiled. "And so is Daario Naharis!"

She's throbbing.

+.+.+

"What do Prendahl na Ghezn and Sallor say of this?"

"Little." Daario upended the sack, and the heads of Sallor the Bald and Prendahl na Ghezn spilled out upon her carpets. "My gifts to the dragon queen."

She's climaxing.

+.+.+

"Why?"

"Because you are so beautiful." His hands were large and strong, and there was something in his hard blue eyes and great curving nose that suggested the fierceness of some splendid bird of prey. 

That can't possibly be good.

+.+.+

He stood with his hands crossed at the wrists, his palms resting on the pommels of his blades; a curving Dothraki arakh on his left hip, a Myrish stiletto on his right. Their hilts were a matched pair of golden women, naked and wanton.

"Are you skilled in the use of those handsome blades?" Dany asked him.

A lot of people think there's a deeper meaning to these two blades with the naked women, so we'll keep an eye on it.

+.+.+

In a blink, Daario's arakh was free of its sheath. His submission was as outrageous as the rest of him, a great swoop that brought his face down to her toes. "My sword is yours. My life is yours. My love is yours. My blood, my body, my songs, you own them all. I live and die at your command, fair queen."

"Then live," Dany said, "and fight for me tonight."

"That would not be wise, my queen." Ser Jorah gave Daario a cold, hard stare. "Keep this one here under guard until the battle's fought and won."

Yeah stupid, you shouldn't blindly trust any man that kneels for you.

+.+.+

"And if he betrays you, surprise is lost."

Dany looked down at the sellsword again. He gave her such a smile that she flushed and turned away. "He won't."

"How can you know that?"

She pointed to the lumps of blackened flesh the dragons were consuming, bite by bloody bite. "I would call that proof of his sincerity. Daario Naharis, have your Stormcrows ready to strike the Yunkish rear when my attack begins. Can you get back safely?"

Do you want to know how dumb Daenerys is? She pointed to the charred heads of the two other captains that Daario betrayed to prove his loyalty.

Anyway, is there symbolism happening here? Three captains, the dragons are feasting on two of their heads?

+.+.+

"We know that he is a great fighter."

"A great talker, you mean."

"He brings us the Stormcrows." And he has blue lips eyes.

+.+.+

"You say it every day. Pyat Pree's a liar, Xaro's a schemer, Belwas a braggart, Arstan an assassin . . . do you think I'm still some virgin girl, that I cannot hear the words behind the words?"

That's a pretty high batting percentage.

+.+.+

When he was gone, Dany threw herself down on her pillows beside her dragons. She had not meant to be so sharp with Ser Jorah, but his endless suspicion had finally woken her dragon.

+.+.+

Dany found herself wondering whether he was right about Daario. She felt very lonely all of a sudden. 

Like Jon in the previous chapter! Oh my goodness, I'm convinced. They're soulmates, not foils.

+.+.+

Mirri Maz Duur had promised that she would never bear a living child. House Targaryen will end with me. That made her sad. "You must be my children," she told the dragons, "my three fierce children. Arstan says dragons live longer than men, so you will go on after I am dead."

Do you want to maybe take a second to think about that?

+.+.+

Drogon looped his neck around to nip at her hand. His teeth were very sharp, but he never broke her skin when they played like this. Dany laughed, and rolled him back and forth until he roared, his tail lashing like a whip. It is longer than it was, she saw, and tomorrow it will be longer still.  

There's only so many anime gifs!

+.+.+

Dany did not want to hear about Rhaegar being unhorsed. "But what tourneys did my brother win?"

"Your Grace." The old man hesitated. "He won the greatest tourney of them all."

"Which was that?" Dany demanded.

"The tourney Lord Whent staged at Harrenhal beside the Gods Eye, in the year of the false spring. A notable event. Besides the jousting, there was a mêlée in the old style fought between seven teams of knights, as well as archery and axe-throwing, a horse race, a tournament of singers, a mummer show, and many feasts and frolics. Lord Whent was as open handed as he was rich. 

This story starts with Barristan claiming Rhaegar seldom entered the lists, then goes on to detail the one time he did and won.

Normally I wouldn't find that noteworthy, but today I learned it's been speculated in-universe that Rhaegar Targaryen planned Harrenhal.

Most took this simply as an attempt by Whent to outdo the former Hand and demonstrate the wealth and splendor of his house. There were those, however, who believed this no more than a ruse, and Lord Whent no more than a catspaw. His lordship lacked the funds to pay such munificent prizes, they argued; someone else must surely have stood behind him, someone who did not lack for gold but preferred to remain in the shadows whilst allowing the Lord of Harrenhal to claim the glory for hosting this magnificent event. We have no shred of evidence that such a "shadowhost" ever existed, but the notion was widely believed at the time and remains so today.

But if indeed there was a shadow, who was he, and why did he choose to keep his role a secret? A dozen names have been put forward over the years, but only one seems truly compelling: Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone. - TWoIaF

Fucker.

+.+.+

"But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!" said Dany. "Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl, and later stole her away from her betrothed. How could he do that? Did the Dornish woman treat him so ill?"

Daenerys is all over the place with this issue. Sometimes Lyanna is the woman he loved, and sometimes he stole her away.

+.+.+

Dany pulled the lion pelt tighter about her shoulders. "Viserys said once that it was my fault, for being born too late." She had denied it hotly, she remembered, going so far as to tell Viserys that it was his fault for not being born a girl. He beat her cruelly for that insolence. "If I had been born more timely, he said, Rhaegar would have married me instead of Elia, and it would all have come out different. If Rhaegar had been happy in his wife, he would not have needed the Stark girl."

Delicious, coming off a Jon chapter.

There's layers to this one too, with Aegon choosing Arianne, and Jon choosing Sansa.

+.+.+

"Your Grace, I bring you victory. The Stormcrows turned their cloaks, the slaves broke, and the Second Sons were too drunk to fight, just as you said. Two hundred dead, Yunkai'i for the most part. Their slaves threw down their spears and ran, and their sellswords yielded. We have several thousand captives."

[...]

"Very well," Dany said. "Sellsword or slave, spare all those who will pledge me their faith. If enough of the Second Sons will join us, keep the company intact."

I'm curious, what are you doing with the sellswords and slaves that don't pledge their faith?

+.+.+

"Mhysa!" a brown-skinned man shouted out at her. He had a child on his shoulder, a little girl, and she screamed the same word in her thin voice. "Mhysa! Mhysa!"

Dany looked at Missandei. "What are they shouting?"

"It is Ghiscari, the old pure tongue. It means 'Mother.'"

Dany felt a lightness in her chest. I will never bear a living child, she remembered. Her hand trembled as she raised it. Perhaps she smiled. She must have, because the man grinned and shouted again, and others took up the cry. "Mhysa!" they called. "Mhysa! MHYSA!" They were all smiling at her, reaching for her, kneeling before her. "Maela," some called her, while others cried "Aelalla" or "Qathei" or "Tato," but whatever the tongue it all meant the same thing. Mother. They are calling me Mother.

MY HEART.

+.+.+

Ser Jorah urged her to go, but Dany remembered a dream she had dreamed in the House of the Undying. "They will not hurt me," she told him. "They are my children, Jorah." She laughed, put her heels into her horse, and rode to them, the bells in her hair ringing sweet victory. She trotted, then cantered, then broke into a gallop, her braid streaming behind. The freed slaves parted before her. "Mother," they called from a hundred throats, a thousand, ten thousand. "Mother," they sang, their fingers brushing her legs as she flew by. "Mother, Mother, Mother!"

Wait, I remember that vision!

They were reaching for her, touching her, tugging at her cloak, the hem of her skirt, her foot, her leg, her breast. They wanted her, needed her, the fire, the life, and Dany gasped and opened her arms to give herself to them . . .

But then black wings buffeted her round the head, and a scream of fury cut the indigo air, and suddenly the visions were gone, ripped away, and Dany's gasp turned to horror. - Daenerys IV, ACOK

Aw, shoot.

+.+.+

Final thoughts:

Daario Naharis is not Euron Greyjoy, but how much do you love that a huge portion of this fandom can't tell the difference?

And how much do you love that Daenerys is weak in the knees for one, and destined to come face-to-face with the other?

-> return to menu <-

[sincerelyasomebody]

Changes || Jose "Sad Eyes" Guzman

(GIF: @merakiaes)

A/N: This has been in my drafts for a long while🤦🏾‍♀️👀. Apologises on the delay and for grammatical errors. I hope it meets your expectations or what you were expecting. Please let me know if the Spanish translations are correct. 

Characters/Pairing(s): Sad Eyes x Reader (married) ☆ 19th Street (mentioned) ▪︎ Cuchillos (mentioned) ▪︎ Los Santos (mentioned) Spooky (mentioned)

Request/Summary: Hii, I was wondering if your still taking requests! If you are can I get one with Sad Eyes where the reader comes home late and a fight breaks out between the two and then she tells him that she found out she’s expecting 🥺🖤 (they could be together for 3yrs) pure angst and fluff if anything! Thank youuu! 💕 - @multiyfandomgirl40

Warning(s): angst, fluff, language, mentions of death and gang violence, pregnancy

Word Count: 1427

- ♤ - ♡ - ◇ - ♧ - 

The street lights were on by the time (Y/N) pulled into her driveway. As soon as she switched the engine off, she put her head on her hands and took a deep breath. For the last couple of days, her body started to feel the impact of the extra hours she was pulling. Which wasn't a good sign. Lifting her head up and staring out of the windshield, she spotted her fiance standing on the porch. She gave a half-hearted smile and began to gather her things before hopping out of the car. 

She locked her doors and walked up the path to the front steps. As she climbed, she could feel the tension between Jose and herself but chose to ignore it. Moving past him she entered the house and immediately kicked off her heels. She made her way through the living to enter the kitchen to grab something to eat. 

"What's going on with us?" she heard once she opened up the fridge, she closed it and looked over at Jose who continued, "it's like we don't even see each other anymore, because I'm out on Santo business and you're working." He moved forward and gently caressed her cheek, "this is the first time I've seen you awake… when I'm here you're usually asleep." 

(Y/N) turned her cheek and kissed the palm of his hand, "we're both awake now," and wrapped her arms around his waist. A genuine smile appeared on her face when she felt him a drop kiss on the top of her head.

Jose held her tightly against his chest, "querida… why are you working all these extra hours?" He gently pulled away from her to look at her face, "the last shipment the guys and I did pulled double our usual payment, we're good." 

She sighed and shook her head, "it's not about the money… it's more on how you're getting it," she bit her bottom lip, "I'd rather have you safe and here with me than some racks of cash and memories." 

"Querida." 

"With the death of Cuchillos and the newly formed truce with 19th Street I-I can't help but worry that the next time I'll see you is when I have to identify your body," tears trailed down her cheeks.

He reached out and wiped her tears away, "baby I know I can't promise that-" 

"Exactly, you can't! And that's what scares me the most," (Y/N) stepped back, "we're married now, Jose. Not boyfriend and girlfriend, we're not fiance's, we're husband and wife.

"I know what we are, mi amor." 

"Okay, then maybe you'll consider cutting back on the runs you take on."

Jose shook his head, "so you're saying I should turn my back on the Santos?" He gestured towards the house, "the reason we have all of this is because of them. And you want me to turn my back on them?" 

"I didn't say for you to turn your back on them." 

"It sounded like you did."

"All I'm asking is that you don't go on every fucking run!" (Y/N) shot back. 

"I'm Spooky's right-hand, wherever he goes I do too. If he's not available, then it's up to me to sort out any problems," he roughly rubbed his face, "you know this already." 

She nodded, "you're right I do, but it's time we start getting our shit together," sighing, she continued, "you do know there are other ways to get money without having to clean it all the time?" 

He scoffed, "do I look like a guy who works a nine to five?" he began to pace, "I'm not in the Santos because of the money-"

"You joined because of the brotherhood they offered and to make sure your sister and mum would be taken care of." 

"If you know all this, why are you questioning it?" 

(Y/N) walked out of the kitchen and into the living, she reached into the back of the t.v cabinet (knowing he never went in there) and pulled out the piece of paper that would change their lives. Jose watched as she walked back to him with a look of determination. He shook his head, "the block's been crazy lately and you're worried about me, I get that but-" 

"I'm worried because we can't just think about ourselves," (Y/N) slammed the sonogram onto the kitchen counter, "we've gotta think about them too." 

Without another word she walked off down the hallway and entered their bedroom. She slammed the door and ignored the rattling of the pictures on the wall. Sliding down on the door, she sobbed as her hands gently rubbed her stomach. 

Jose recognised what she had placed on the counter, but couldn't believe it was truly in front of him. He and (Y/N) discussed children early on in their relationship, during their engagement and right after they were married. The conversations switched from "what ifs" to "when we" followed by an example of their upbringing and what they would change for their children. It was always a thought or an idea that seemed so far away. 

And now it was going to be a reality. 

He gently picked up the picture and traced the outline of it with his forefinger. His focus switched to the typing of the bottom right corner: his wife's name, date and time of when it was taken and how far along the pregnancy was. Laughing when he realised the date of the conception was around Spooky's birthday bash. Shaking his head, he pulled out his wallet and folded the sonogram so it fit beside the photobooth strip of himself and (Y/N) on one of their early dates. He tucked his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and went through the cabinets to see what he could whip up.

After deciding on his chosen dish, he made sure everything was cooked thoroughly before putting it together on the plate. He picked up the plate, a fork (because he knew she preferred it than a spoon) and a bottle of water. Coming up to his bedroom door, he knocked gently, he heard some movement before (Y/N) opened it up. 

"I… uh, made you - well both of you something to eat?" He held up the plate and walked inside, "gotta make sure you're eating enough."

She took the plate and fork, sat on the bed and ate away. When she realised he was still by the door, she gestured for him to sit beside her. He did that and was met with a forkful of the food in front of his face, he smiled and took the bite causing her to smile too. She did this a couple more times, but he redirected it to her mouth. She drank all of the water and put the empty bottle beside the bed. Once she was done with the food, Jose picked up the plate and fork and put them on top of the dresser. 

He'd sort them out later. 

"Thanks for feeding us, we really appreciate it," (Y/N) snuggled into his side when he sat back on the bed, he had an arm over her shoulders and his other hand placed on her stomach. He kissed the side of her head. Sighing, she turned to him and wanted to speak more on what was spoken in the kitchen, but chose to relish in the feeling of them being parents.

She pecked his cheek, "we're gonna be parents." 

"Yeah," he moved his hand from her stomach to grab his wallet, opened it up and pulled out the sonogram, "I gotta question though." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Shit looks different, like did they upgrade the system or something 'cause the last time I saw these was when ma told me I was gonna be a big brother," he held the picture at different angles.

(Y/N) looked at him, "kinda, but not really, the printouts are still the same," she tapped the picture, "but you're right about it being different than mama g's, though," at his confused expression, she continued, "we're expecting double trouble." 

Without a second thought, Jose jumped off the bed and picked her up. (Y/N) squealed and wrapped her legs around his waist as her hands went to the back of his neck. They shared a passionate kiss, only separating to come up for air. 

Jose had a grin plastered across his face, "we had a really good time at Spooky's bash." Laughing, (Y/N) brought him in for another kiss.

- ♤ - ♡ - ◇ - ♧ - 

Spanish Translation(s): 

Querida - sweetheart

Mi amor - my love

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

On My Block Taglist

@multiyfandomgirl40 // @firebenderwolf // @b3mybunnybaby // @littleesilvia

If you'd like to be added, don't hesitate to message me! 

[colossal-fallout]

AOT ~ First date H/C's

NSFW included. 18+

Levi, Erwin, Jean.

Coming soon;

- Reiner, Porco, Pieck. Eren, Armin, Connie. Hange, Zeke, Miche.

- More Fallout content

Remember I am always open to requests 🗣️

Levi;

"You. Meet me tomorrow at five and we'll do something. Just the two of us. Which means I don't want any of your flunkies following us around."

Levi asking you on a date is something he's been pondering and sitting on for a while. He wanted to be sure. Also, it was definitely more of a demand.

Levi is not one to do these things casually. He asked you because he sees potential with the two of you. One that can be worked around your career's of Titan slaying.

Of course when he first laid those steely Grey's on you, he was intrigued but kept at a distance.

As time flickered by his desire to get to know you more in a private setting grew, so he knew it was time.

Obviously he isn't going to wear his uniform, and you're surprised to see him dressed like the fancy ass he is; with his jacket and cravat.

He smells devine. He bathed before he got dressed, in oils and petals (Old ways of using bubble bath I guess)

Levi takes you somewhere high class to eat. One you're not extremely comfortable in, being used to your humble and basic living as a soldier. But it doesn't take much for him to help you relax as he explains he used to feel the same; but working and living in such ways definitely merits a treat from time to time.

He asks a lot of questions. Not in a way it seems like he's prying. He just wants to know you better. Where were you born? What are/were your family like? What interests you? How good are your hygiene practices?

He doesn't talk much about himself. That is for a waaaay later time.

After you've eaten (Which he insisted he pays for) he takes you for a walk around the town as you continue talking.

He's a really good listener. He takes everything in and makes mental notes of certain things.

He walks you back to the barracks. He makes sure it's somewhere no one will wander by.

"I enjoyed having dinner with you. If you'll allow me, I'd like to take you out again one day soon."

This time it's less of a demand. The tiniest smile pulls at one corner of his mouth when you say yes.

Levi won't kiss you on the first date. Don't kill me. He just wouldn't. He bides his time with these things and likes to be totally sure of someone.

But when he does, it'll be fantastic.

He'll just simply take a step closer to you, his eyelids heavy as he stares at your lips, wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you against his chest.

He'll wait for your reaction. If you don't pull away then that's when he'll go in for the kill, his lips hungrily yet slowly devouring yours.

- NSFW -

When the time comes where you both feel ready to take things to a more physical level... Wow. That pretty much sums it up.

The passion though. Thinking about it is making me weak at the knees.

You're one hell of a special (and lucky) person to be in bed with Levi fucking Ackerman.

He will not hold back. All this wanting you from day one but restraining himself most certainly pays off, big time.

He'll be slow and sensual, mapping your body with his mouth and remembering all the areas that seem more sensitive. Oh, that nip of the teeth behind your shoulder made you gasp? He'll stick a mental flag in there.

Dexterous with his fingers and tongue, he'll eat you out with your legs over his shoulders. He likes to be able to slide his fingers in nice and deep.

You're his now. You sealed that contract the moment your clothes fell to the floor. And because you're his, he's going to show you that no one else will ever make you feel as good as he will.

He'll fuck you all night. He'll have you whimpering, quivering, begging... Your legs will be weak for hours after all the shaking while he makes you cum again and again and again.

Erwin;

"I would be honoured if you would accompany me to dinner tonight."

Erwin Smith would ask you on a date in the same fashion some knight would ask a fair maiden.

You have to be pretty f'ing special to catch the commanders eye and you have done for a while now.

You can tell he hangs out with Levi a lot because he takes you to the same fancy restaurant as Levi would take you to.

But when you meet up with the commander and he is waiting for you, a beautiful bouquet of flowers in hand... Your heart (and pants) just melt.

Erwin will lavish you with compliments. He'll make you feel like a total queen.

"You look... Amazing, Y/N"

"The colour of that dress contrasts your eyes beautifully..."

Erwin would be willing to kiss you on the first date. He would start by kissing the back of your hand as you're about to say goodbye, his eyes looking up and sharply piercing into yours.

He's intelligent. He' knows body language and from that kiss on the hand he will know if you'd be comfortable with a more intimate kiss.

If you are, he'll ever so gently cup your face with one of his large hands and softly press his lips against yours, closing his eyes and pulling you in close.

He handles you like some delicate flower at first. A gorgeous being that he doesn't want to soil with his dirtied hands from all hes done over the years.

- NSFW -

Erwin Smith in bed though... He will be mind blowing, no doubty 'bouty.

He will relax you with fine wines, not so you get drunk but so you're comfortable, warm and at ease.

He'll start by kissing you deeply, his hands running tantalisingly close to your crotch as he explores you.

He'll dead set pick you up, bridal style, and carry you to his bed.

Erwin is an extremely passionate lover, his kisses are hungry yet soft. Soft yet firm at the same time. The room would quickly become steamy as he discovers you with his mouth and hands.

As soon as that long, thick dick enters you, there's no turning back. Ever.

It hits every single spot perfectly without much effort, but by god's does he put the effort in, making it that much more insane.

Erwin takes you slow for the first time. Not only does he use this to gather intel on your preferences but he wants to slowly get you adjusted to his beast of a cock.

Jean;

"So I uh... Was wondering if you weren't doing anything later if you'd... Wanna grab some food? You know... Just the two of us?"

Jean would have a crimson hue etched over his face when he asks you. He's a little more shy than Erwin and Levi.

"Are you asking me on a date, Jean Kirstein?" You'd tease.

He'll pull himself together. "Yeah. As a matter of fact... I am."

A date with Jean would be so lovely. You two would go get food, go for a walk and stargaze; laughing, joking and having deep conversations the entire time. Never would you fall into an awkward silence.

Hand holding. Definitely. He would adore holding your hand and showing you off, not to mention being able to have your satin soft skin touching his.

You'll hold hands while watching the stars, the end of the night drawing near. This is when he'll make his move.

His heart will be thudding in his ears and his palms will begin to get a little damp.

But darn it, he's wanted this for so long he refuses to screw it up.

Since you're both lying down he'll roll over onto his side and just place his hand on your face, gazing down at you in awe.

He waits for your reaction.

After a few moments he lowers his head and inhales deeply through his nose as your lips connect and you slide your tongue into his mouth.

He's doing the most goofiest victory dance in his head right now.

- NSFW -

Jean is nervous as hell but also very excited, trembling slightly as he kisses you and lays you down onto his bed.

This lovely lad will take care of you so well, in more ways than one.

He adores wrapping his arms around you protectively when you're being intimate. He would die for you and this certainly comes out in how he fucks you.

Or most of the time, makes love to you.

He praises you a lot, totally unbelieving he has you and how lucky he is.

Firm caresses, a lot of gasping and pants holding your hand and deep kisses.

You'll give a whole new meaning to "Horse face" because you'll bloody ride it like one.

He's amazed by you the entire time as well as afterwards. Jean is a 10/10 good boy and his aftercare is second to none.

[modernmonkeymind]

I know it's a lot to ask but would you mind sharing your tips on how to defeat clinical depression other than by taking the required doctor-prescribed medication?

While I do encourage doctor supervised antidepressants if they help, and they've certainly helped me, there are some additional things I've found make a big difference:

Physical Activity: The less you sit around, the better. I walk five plus miles most days and am self teaching taichi using books and YouTube while I look for classes.

Light Therapy: While getting outside in sunlight is preferable, if you live in the Northwest like I do that's not always an option. The weather isn't as bad as we make it out to be, but fall and winter can be gloomy as hell. Invest in a good light box and sit in front of it for about a half hour on days when the sun doesn't shine.

Supplements: I take fish oil, 5k IU of vitamin D, and a B-complex most days. Supplements aren't regulated by the FDA like medications are, so be sure to do some research beyond asking the dude that happens to work there. My best advice would be to go to a natural pharmacy if there's one where you live and ask the naturopath on staff if there is one.

socialize: This has gotten harder since the pandemic, sure, but having people around that care about you makes a big difference. Don't live alone if you can help it. The worst time I've had in a while was when I was out with friends and opted to go home when I felt myself sliding into a depressive episode. The impulse is to shield other people from your crappy mood, but its a bad idea.

Meditation: Learn to detach from your thoughts, see that they flow and change and that moods come and go. Don't worry about length, just sit for two minutes in a comfortable position and feel your breath as you breath in and out. The goal of meditation isn't to blank the mind. Thats not a thing you can do, the goal is to learn to detach from thought so it doesn't drag you around.

Ikigai: This is a Japanese term meaning "reason to get up in the morning." Doesn't have to be any major thing, actually its better if its not. Maybe its taking your dog for a walk (pets are a godsend for depression. My cat can be kind of a jerk, but I'd be so much worse off without her), maybe its an artistic endeavor, could be anything.

Sleep: A character from one of my favorite fantasy series once quipped "Sleep is god. Go worship." While sleep can be difficult when we're in the depths of a depressive episode, getting enough is restorative and important. If your parents were on the ball when you were growing up, they probably had a bedtime routine for you. You don't have to go back to that exact routine, but having a way to relax and let your body know that its time for bed is important. If you find yourself laying in bed and sleep won't come, get up after a while and spend some time reading or doing some other calm activity until you feel sleepy. If your mind is especially active at night, try listening to nature sounds or a podcast you enjoy, just make sure its not something that will keep you awake. Have a regular bed time and wake up. It can be a bit later on the weekends, but not by much, think a half hour to an hour at most. Your body being able to anticipate how much sleep your going to get and when is important.

I hope this helps and you feel better soon. I know its a LOT. Don't try to do this all at once. When I started I wasn't doing it all and am still working on integrating everything.

[mimisempai]

Let the magic of my love take care of you

Summary :

Five times where Loki takes care of Mobius with the help of magic and once where he doesn't need it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32777188

2311 words - Rating G

1.

"Hey here!" Loki said softly as he entered Mobius' office.

"Loki!"

"I've come to give you my report on the mission with the new recruits." continued Loki as he came to sit across from Mobius.

"I'm listening."

If anyone entered the office at this moment, there would be no indication that the two men were a couple.

But if one stayed, he would see the way their fingers brushed against each other as Loki gave Mobius the file he held in his hands, the way Mobius moved his chair closer so their knees touched, or the closer than necessary distance between their heads when Loki pointed out a detail on the papers spread out before them.

All these small gestures were evidence of their relationship, but only visible to those who knew them.

Once he finished his report, Loki stood up. His gaze fell on Josta's open can on a corner of Mobius' desk.

"How long ago did you open it?"Loki asked him.

"This morning," Mobius answered before shrugging his shoulders.

Loki took the can in his hand, which gradually turned blue, the color of his Jotun skin.

He kept it for a few seconds and then put it back under Mobius' curious look. On the can you could see the droplets of steam caused by the drink, which was now cold.

He leaned towards Mobius and said softly, "I know you prefer to drink it cold..."

Then as he got up he winked at him before turning and heading for the door.

He turned around one last time, and said, "See you later." Before closing the door behind him under the amazed look of Mobius.

2.

"Papers, papers, always papers! I can't take paperwork anymore!" Mobius threw his pen towards the door, but he didn't hear the sound it should have made as it smashed against it. He looked up to see Loki had just entered his office and caught the pen in mid-air.

"Are you tired of me already that you want to eliminate me?" asked Loki with a teasing smile on his face.

"Aaah Loki... shit, lunch! The cafeteria! I forgot about it! I'm sor-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay Mobius, Casey told me you probably wouldn't show up, seeing as how the last time he saw you the files were piling up on your desk." replied Loki as he walked over to him.

"That doesn't stop me from being sorry."

Loki shook his head, "It's not like we'll never get another chance, and honestly what worries me the most is not that you didn't come, but the fact that you're missing out on a meal again."

Mobius protested, "It's okay I-"

Loki stopped him with a hand, "But as a devoted companion, I thought of you and... tada...!"

Loki twirled his hand and amidst the green swirls appeared... a bowl of salad, which he placed on Mobius' desk after making room.

Mobius couldn't help but laugh as he recognized the bowl of salad.

"What are you doing?"

"...your salad is Asgard in this scenario."

"No, it's not Asgard, that's my lunch."

"It's a metaphor. Just hang in there."

" I want that salad."

"I understood that this dish was your preference."

Mobius replied, raising an eyebrow, "Last time, that didn't stop you from adding salt, pepper and whatever else to it to prove your theory. With a metaphor that by the way was at least as bad as the dagger one..."

"Hey, I was right anyway, well about the salad not the dagger..."

Mobius gave him a knowing smile. He had seen the conversation between Loki and Sylvie.

"Love is a dagger." Loki made appear a dagger before continuing, "It's a weapon to be wielded far away or up close. You can see yourself in it. It's beautiful. Until it makes you bleed. But ultimately, when you reach for it…"

Loki offers the hilt to Sylvie. She reaches to take it, but the dagger disappears.

"It isn't real."

"It's real."

"It is, yes," Loki replied, then kissed him tenderly before walking away. As he closed the door, however, he threw out in a serious tone, "Don't forget to eat your salad."

Mobius smiled at his words, who would have thought his lover had a mother-hen side?

3.

"A planet where it rains all the time! Guys... remind me to put this on the checklists of things to verify before teleporting to a planet: 'Check the weather.'"

Mobius had just passed the time-door, soaked like a drowned rat. They had been on a mission to search for someone on an unknown planet where apparently there was only one sort of weather :  rain.

He hated it, his suit was sticking to his skin and he was starting to feel the wetness and cold penetrate his bones. He could not hold back a shiver.

Suddenly he saw a green light enveloping him from head to toe.

Little by little the feeling of cold and dampness disappeared and was replaced by a feeling of warmth and comfort. He was now dry.

He looked up to see Loki coming towards him, as a last green swirl faded from his hands.

Loki stopped in front of him, "I have a feeling that this mission was a pain in the ass, right?"

Mobius replied, "You know my love of rain."

Then he stopped, waved his hand to show himself, and added, "Thanks for that."

Mobius was always pleasantly surprised by Loki's little attention, but even more so by the fact that it showed how well he knew and cared about Mobius.

Unfortunately they were in one of the most crowded hallways of the TVA so Mobius couldn't show his appreciation as he would have if they were in the privacy of their apartment. However, he couldn't help but touch Loki and put his hand on his arm, squeezing lightly and said again in a gentle tone, "Thank you, really."

Loki replied with the same smile by simply nodding and placing his hand on Mobius’ hand, he said gently, "My pleasure, for you, always."

4.

Mobius was staring at the papers in his hands, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He was about to do something, to write something, but he couldn't remember.

"Mobius? Since when do you bring home work."

Loki's voice as he entered their living room pulled Mobius from his thoughts. He blinked his eyes. "I have to finish this, and I'd rather finish it here." He mumbled, his voice hoarser than usual.

Loki said to him in a slightly annoyed tone, "Did you hear your raspy voice? Did you see your face? You better get some rest."

"I absolutely must finish this."

"Really? When you seem to be having trouble even keeping your eyes open?", Loki insisted.

"I'm fine," Mobius replied.

Exasperation was now evident in Loki's voice, "Only you believe it. Even your colleagues have noticed!"

"I'm fine!"

"Mobius," Loki sighed.

"I'm fine," Mobius repeated. "Just let me fin-..."

A coughing fit interrupted him. He coughed so hard it felt like his lungs were being torn apart.

"That's enough," Loki said in a voice that had no return.

Loki took his file out of his hands, grabbed Mobius' hands, made him stand up and pulled him behind him.

"Hey! Loki!"

Loki ignored him and pulled him towards their room.

"Loki!" Mobius coughed violently again. He felt exhausted all of a sudden and feeling himself spinning, he clung to Loki's hand.

"Mobius, you're burning up!" exclaimed Loki in a panicked tone.

Mobius shivered, as if to confirm what Loki had just noticed. "Are you cold?"

"Yes, and warm."

Loki carefully sat him down on their bed. "The important thing is to get your love fever down, okay?"

He helped him put on his pajamas with gentle touches and carefully laid him down under the blanket.

Mobius' eyes were still open and he suddenly saw Loki in his Jotun form.

"Loki? Did you just transform or am I having a gorgeous hallucination."

Loki chuckled affectionately, "Oh love, only you would call me a gorgeous hallucination when I have this form. But no, it's real. Do you trust me?"

"Even with a raging fever, yes and even unconditionally."

Loki smiled again, and went to join him. He laid behind Mobius, and wrapped his arms around him, without putting too much strength into it, and put one of his cool hands on his forehead.

Mobius breathed a sigh of relief, "Ahhh that feels good. Thank you my love." then he felt himself being swept away by exhaustion, only aware of the cool sensation around him

He woke up a few hours later, much better than before. Loki was still wrapped around him. He turned around and noticed that Loki had returned to his normal appearance.

"You've joined the living world?" asked Loki with a smile.

"Thanks to you," Mobius replied in a still hoarse voice, running a finger over Loki's face before continuing, " No longer blue?"

Loki was surprised at Mobius' almost disappointed expression. He was still a little unsettled by the fact that Mobius loved his Jotun appearance as much as his current one.

"The fever has dropped enough."

Mobius moved a little closer and pressed a tender kiss to his lips.

"Thank you for having taken care of me, Sweetheart."

Loki put a kiss on his nose before replying, "I assure you that the pleasure was all mine love."

5.

Mobius dreamed of Ravonna, of her face at the moment she said, "Prune him" without hesitation and he disappeared.

That's when he woke up as he often does, sweating and gasping for breath. He ran his hands over his body, just to make sure he was there and alive. His chest ached under the rapid beating of his heart.

Mobius, still in his nightmare, struggled at first against Loki's comforting hands and warm voice, unable to calm his breathing that threatened to cause panic. He made a move to escape, but Loki's fingers caught his wrist before he could go anywhere.

Once Mobius let go, Loki brought their heads together, cradling him, their noses almost touching until Mobius' breathing slowly returned to normal

Mobius kept repeating, "I don't want to disappear, I want to live." and Loki would nod and whisper words of comfort and reassurance in return.

After a few minutes, Loki asked softly, "Mobius, do you want me to erase these images from your mind? I wouldn't erase the memory, only the residue of your nightmare."

Mobius tightened his arms around Loki and nodded, "Yes... please..."

He put his fingers on Mobius' temple and closed his eyes, concentrating on the images he was sending into Mobius' mind, images of beaches, jet skis, sun and warmth.

Then Loki squeezed him and Mobius buried his head further into Loki's chest and, in a hushed tone, he heard Loki suggest that he concentrate on the slow, loud sound of his heartbeat.

Mobius let himself be lulled by the soft beat as Loki's hands now caressed his hair. He vaguely heard Loki's voice whisper something, "It only beats for you."

Before he could respond, sleep claimed him, and this time filled with dreams of warmth and love

+1

"Oh Mobius, you're bleeding," Loki said, taking a deep breath as the wizard entered the living room. It was late at night, Mobius had been on a mission that had lasted much longer than expected.

Loki approached him, "Let me see."

Mobius turned away and protested, "No, I'm going to put on a little bandage in the bathroom and I'll be fine.."

Loki replied, "Don't be stupid, let me take care of you before you spill your blood all over the apartment."

"What a drama queen!"

"Hey!"

Mobius, obediently sat down on the couch. With calm and sure hands, Loki carefully turned Mobius' arms from side to side and was relieved to find only a superficial cut. A moment later, he returned with compresses, disinfectant and a bandage.

Sitting down next to Mobius, he took the arm in one hand and began to clean the cut with the disinfectant.

Mobius hummed at the relief the treatment brought him, after enduring the rubbing of his shirt all day. He closed his eyes under the pleasant sensation.

"My poor love," Loki said in a low voice, "does it hurt?"

"I've had worse," Mobius replied. He heard Loki soak another compress, then felt it on his arm again, Loki methodically cleaning the cut again.

"I know that, but that doesn't mean you don't have the right to talk about your pain."

A moment later, Mobius felt Loki's fingers on his face, his thumb gently caressing his cheek. His lover's face was so close that he could feel his breath on his lips.

As his fingers left his face, Mobius opened his eyes again.

He watched as Loki grabbed the bandage and began to wrap it around his arm. When he finished, Loki set everything aside on the coffee table and pulled Mobius with him to the couch.

They sat in silence for a while, one against the other with Mobius' injured arm around Loki's shoulders after Loki made sure it didn't hurt.

"Do you know what my mother used to do when I got hurt as a child?" he asked Mobius, and without waiting for an answer continued, "she would kiss on my wound and tell me it would help the healing."

Mobius could hear the tender, wistful tone as he did every time Loki spoke of his mother.

"My wound is well treated now, but I wouldn't mind a kiss." replied Mobius with a teasing tone.

"You know I would do anything to make you feel better, my love." With that Loki turned to him, "Let me kiss it better." Then he leaned over Mobius and kissed him gently.

And not surprisingly, Mobius felt much better.

_______

As always, bear with me as it is not beta'd I hope you enjoyed it 🥰

[mldrgrl]

Lately I've been all about reconciliation. For some reason, I want all the Mulder-and-Bill-Scully-finding-some-peace fic I can get. I'd love to see your take on this, maybe in the IWTB era? Or even revival era.

One Sorry Sonofabitch

By: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary: See above - but be advised Mulder and Scully aren’t in this story a whole lot.  Please send all complaints to @perplexistan and I’ll be filing a lawsuit shortly for pain and suffering for having to turn Bill Scully into a sympathetic character. (Set post-IWtB)

He holds his tongue to spare his mother what he really thinks when she tells him that Dana and Mr. Mulder will be joining them for Thanksgiving this year.  He can’t believe the audacity that man has to show up at a family event.  And his sister isn’t much better for what she’s put their mother through over the years.  He can’t even remember the last time he saw her.  He thinks it might be ten years ago, just before his second son, Michael, was born.  Tara squeezes his knee under the table and he musters up a smile and a brief nod.

Now that he’s stationed in North Carolina, it’s a lot easier for him to travel with his family instead of having his mother fly out for the holidays.  It’s their first Thanksgiving on the east coast and he’s annoyed at having the happy occasion intruded upon by his selfish sister and her ne’er do well friend.  He really can’t believe she still keeps that jackass around.

He loves his sister.  He truly does.  He just can’t understand the foolish choices she’s made.  Starting with joining the FBI, but giving away her child and going on the run with her fugitive partner instead of putting her patriotic duty to uphold the law as her priority is just beyond him.  He would never.  He had hoped that whatever spell Mr. Mulder had put on her would’ve worn off by now, but alas.  And now they’re coming to Thanksgiving.

Tara gives him a look when they hear the car pull up.  One that implores him to please behave.  His wife has no business being so compassionate, but that’s just the kind of person she is.  He hasn’t forgotten how his sister nearly ruined the Christmas that Matthew was born with that strange little girl and her impossible claim to her.  It should have been a time of great joy and instead Dana had made it sorrowful and awkward.

“Fox and Dana just drove up,” his mother says, coming out of the kitchen and wiping her hands on a dish rag.

His sons jump up from the game they’re playing in the family room, excited to meet their mythical aunt they’ve heard tales about.  

“Don’t run in the house,” he barks at the kids.

“Yes Sir,” they say, stopping short and taking slower steps to reach the door.

Tara is the one that greets them and his mother is just behind her.  Bill is the last one to the door and waits for the hugs and excited chatter to die down before he gives his sister a stiff embrace and Mr. Mulder a requisite handshake.

“Mr. Mulder,” Bill says.

“Just Mulder,” Mr. Mulder says.

“Matthew had a growth spurt this year,” Tara prattles, laying a hand on their son’s shoulder.  He’s taller than her by an inch, thin and reedy.  “As you can see.  Can you believe he’ll be thirteen next month!?  And we’ve got Michael turning ten in February.”

Matthew’s cheeks darken.  He embarrasses easily and his fair skin gets blotchy at the drop of a hat.  Both his boys are soft, like their mother.  He’d like to toughen them up, but Tara is fiercely protective of them.  A regular mother lion.  He doesn’t get it.  When he was a kid, he idolized his father.  Those few weeks or months a year when his dad came home were the best.  He was interested in everything his father did and how he did it.  His sons don’t express any interest in him and he barely hears more than a ‘yes, sir’ or a ‘no, sir’ out of them on a good day.

“Maureen is napping,” Tara says.  “You’ll meet her later.”

His daughter, Maureen, well she’s a different story.  She’s only a toddler, but she reminds him of his sister Melissa.  She’s headstrong and unafraid, particularly when it comes to her father.  She sasses.  She rolls her eyes already.  She ignores his orders and does what she wants when she wants.  She’s also cute as a button and has her brothers wrapped around their little fingers.  Tara calls her their little threenager.

“We’ve still got time before dinner,” his mother says.  “Why don’t we head to the family room.”

“We brought pies,” Dana says.

“I’ll get them,” Mr. Mulder says.  He has his hands on Dana’s shoulders and gives them a squeeze when she looks back up at him.  They seem to hold some silent conversation.  To Bill, it looks like his sister is begging her friend to please don’t leave him alone in this house.  He doesn’t know why she’s here.

They gather in the family room and make small talk.  Tara finds the scrapbooks she puts together for his mother every year and shows off all the photos of the kids from their school activities and family vacations.  Dana nods and smiles through most of it.  Mr. Mulder is more talkative and asks all the questions.

A half hour slips by and finally he hears a cry from upstairs indicating that his daughter is up from her nap.  Tara is on her feet in an instant.

“That’ll be the little princess,” Tara says.  “I’ll go grab her and get her ready to come down.”

“I’ll help you,” Bill says.  Tara looks at him strangely as he follows.

Maureen is jumping up and down in the playpen in their room when they walk in.  She smiles brightly and holds her arms up to Tara.

“How’s my girl,” Tara coos.  “Let’s get you into the dress Grandma bought you for dinner and then you can meet your Auntie Dana and Uncle Fox.”

“Don’t call him that,” Bill says.

“Oh, Bill.”  Tara sighs and stands Maureen on the bed to start undressing her.  “You’re going to have to accept him sometime.”

“I most certainly don’t.”

“You know, one of the things I loved the most about you when we were dating was that you always said that family was very important to you.”

“It still is.  You know that.”

“I’m just saying that sometimes your actions don’t say a lot about what I know is in your heart.  Will you grab me one of the Pull-Ups from her bag?”

“I’ve been cordial.  Hell, I shook his hand.”

“Hell is a bad word,” Maureen says.  She scrunches her face and shakes her head as Tara tries to pull her red curls into a ponytail.  “No hair up, Mama.”

“Listen to your mother, Maureen.”

“No.”

“Hair up or it’ll get washed tonight in the bath,” Tara bargains.

“Okay, hair up.”

“She’s the one that abandoned everything, you know.  Not giving a damn about how it would affect our mother.  Tara, she gave her own child away for that man.”

“Damn damn damn!” Maureen shouts, jumping up and down on the bed.

Tara gives Bill a weary look.  “William Scully Junior, you know better than to use that kind of language.”

Maureen laughs and bounces.  “Daddy in trouble.  Daddy in trouble.”

“Yes, Daddy was being very naughty.  And so are you.  Get down.”  Tara holds her hands out and helps Maureen off the bed.  “Billy, Dana had her reasons, I’m sure.  Have you ever even asked her what happened back then?”

“No.  Why do you always take the other side of the argument?”

“I don’t know, Billy, why do you like to argue so much?”  She smiles and pats him on the chest as she leads Maureen past him out the door.  “I’m just putting myself in her shoes and I know that if I were to have to do what she did, there would have to be a very good reason.  You saw how attached to she was to that little Emily and how devastated she was.  Think about that.”

“Hmph.”

Downstairs, his mother oohs and aahs over Maureen’s green velvet dress and Maureen twirls appropriately, delighted to be the center of attention.  His sister smiles warmly and kneels down to introduce herself to her niece and tell her how big she is and how pretty.

“Thank you, I know,” Maureen says.

The women laugh.

“Where are the boys?” Bill asks.  “And Mr. Mulder?”

“Outside playing basketball,” his mother answers.

Basketball.  They should be playing a real sport like football.  The last time he’d tried to teach them how to punt and tackle it had ended in tears.  Matthew complained that the roughness might hurt his chances of moving up in his piano lessons and Michael said he preferred to work on his model cars.

Bill lingers in the mudroom, watching surreptitiously and listening to boys play with Mr. Mulder through the open window.  There are a lot of high fives and hair tousling.  They don’t even seem to be competing, just taking turns with the ball, which seems a little ridiculous.

“Good job, Matt,” Mr. Mulder says, even when Matthew misses a shot that should have been easy.  “Loosen that wrist and hold that follow-through.”  He takes the boys’ hand and guides it with his own.  “That’s it.  Let’s try it again.”

Matthew shoots again and they all cheer when the ball makes it in the basket.

“Nice!” Mr. Mulder yells.  “Nothing but net.”

Both boys whoop and laugh and jump up and down like monkeys and grab onto Mr. Mulder.  He laughs with them and they have another round of high fives and hair tousling.

“How do you know so much about basketball, Uncle Mulder?” Michael asks.  Bill cringes.

“I played in high school and I used to be part of a team at my gym.”

“Did you like being part of a team?”  Matthew asks.

“Yeah, it was great.”

“I think I want to join the debate team at school next year.”  This is news to Bill and he’s surprised.  Matthew is notoriously soft-spoken.

“Your Aunt Dana used to be on a debate team when she was in school.  You should ask her for some tips.”

“Dad said that you guys used to be FBI agents,” Michael says.  “He said it’s like being a glory fried policeman”

“Glorified,” Matthew corrects.  “Not glory fried.”

“Glorified, whatever that means.  He told Mom before that Aunt Dana should’ve kept being a doctor so she’d be more normal.”

Bill grits his teeth.  He doesn’t recall ever saying something like that in front of the boys, but he’s sure he’s said it.  He wonders what else they’ve overheard through the years.

“Well, that’s probably true,” Mr. Mulder says.  “She’s a great doctor.  But, you know what?  Your Aunt Dana was the best agent the FBI ever had.”

“How come she quit?” Matthew asks.

“Have you ever done something that made you really happy for awhile and then it just stopped making you happy?”

“I used to like playing MarioKart,” Michael says.  “But, now I think it’s boring.”

“It’s kind of like that.”

“My favorite is SimCity.  Have you ever played that?”

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“Do you like Guitar Hero?” Matthew asks.  

“Yeah, do you like Guitar Hero?” Michael echoes.  “We brought our Playstation and we can play.”

“I’m not much of a musician,” Mr. Mulder says.  “But I’ll give it a shot.”

“Cool!” Both boys yell.

Bill chooses that moment to emerge from the mudroom and steps out onto the porch.  Both boys go instantly quiet and Michael starts dribbling the basketball he’s holding.

“You boys should run and get your jackets on,” Bill says.  “It’s getting cold.”

“I’m not cold,” Michael replies.

“Yes, Sir,” Matthew answers and takes Michael’s arm.  “Thanks for the lessons, Uncle Mulder.”

“You can keep playing,” Bill says.  “I just think you need to get your jackets on.”

“That’s alright, we’ll go help Mom and Grandma in the kitchen.  Come on, Mikey.”

Michael reluctantly hands the basketball over to Mr. Mulder.  “Thanks, Uncle Mulder,” he says.

Mr. Mulder nods and then it’s just him and Bill outside.  Mr. Mulder turns and dribbles the ball a few times before he sinks a basket.  He picks it up again and holds it one-handed in Bill’s direction.

“You play?” Mr. Mulder asks.

“I’m more of a football guy,” Bill answers.

“USNA is on a great streak in the Army v Navy games.  Think they can keep it up?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a Navy man if I thought otherwise.”

“Were you on the team?”

“No.  We won all four years I was there though.  Tied one year, actually.”

“I think Scully mentioned that you dad had played one year.”

Bill can’t believe Mr. Mulder is still calling his sister, Scully.  It makes no goddamn sense.  “1957,” he answers.  “14-0, Navy.”

Mr. Mulder nods.  The conversation stalls.  Mr. Mulder rubs the back of his head for a few moments and then he looks at the door and straightens.  Bill turns and sees his sister in the window.  She comes outside, pulling her sweater tighter across her waist and crossing her arms as she steps off the porch.

“Mom says there’s about an hour left until the turkey is ready,” she says.  “Everything alright?”

“Talking sports,” Mr. Mulder says.  Dana stands close to him.  He puts a hand on her back.

“It’s good to see you, Dana.”

“You too, Bill.”

The three of them stand in awkward silence.  A wind picks up and blows dead leaves across their feet.  Bill shoves his hands in his pockets.  Dana turns to Mr. Mulder and lays a hand very lightly on his chest.

“Can you give us a minute?” Dana asks.

“Of course,” Mr. Mulder answers.  He kisses the corner of Dana’s mouth and Bill’s cheek twitches irritably.  He spins the basketball on one finger as he walks away and then tucks it snugly into the corner of the porch before he goes inside.

“I can tell you don’t want us here,” Dana says.  Straight to the point.  His sister has never been subtle.

“I think it’s you that doesn’t want to be here.  You know, every holiday Mom would always bring up the fact that it would be so nice to have all her children at the table.  I have to say I agree with her.”

Dana stares at him with a cool gaze.  “Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

“No, I’m just telling you how it’s been.”

“All her children?”

“Alright, we don’t need to fight.”

“I’m not fighting.  I’m just wondering if she includes Charlie in that, when she yearns for all her children.”

Bill shifts uncomfortably.  “That’s between them.  Charles is…”

“Charlie is married.  His husband’s name is-”

“Patrick.  I know.  I do speak with him on occasion.”

Dana gives a brief nod.  “Were they invited to Thanksgiving?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry that we didn’t turn out how you wanted.”

“What does that mean?”

“You always wanted to follow in our parents footsteps.  Be just like Dad.  Have the doting wife, the Navy career, a house full of kids.  Everything in ship-shape order.  They made it look ideal when we were kids, but it was never ideal.”

“What kind of nonsense has that man been filling your head with?”

Dana snorts.  “The irony is, Mulder is a lot like you, Bill.  He values the sanctity of family even more than you.”

“Oh yeah, so much so he forced you to give up your only child.”

“Mulder wasn’t even there when I had to give William up.”

“Exactly.  Where was he?  Not with his family.  You can be sure I would-”

“You would, what?  Step away from the Navy?  Reject a deployment order?  What would you do, Bill?”

“It’s my job,” he says, curtly.  “It’s what I do to make sure not just my family, but every family in our country is protected.  Tara understood that when she married me.  The kids understand.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Do you know what losing her grandchild did to Mom?  Dad’s namesake, Dana.  My namesake.  How could you?”

“You sanctimonious sonofabitch,” she hisses.  “My son’s name is William Fox Mulder.  Named after Mulder’s father.  Not you, and not Dad.  And you have no idea how difficult it was for me to make that choice.  None at all.”

“Then why did you do it?  If it was so goddamn hard, why isn’t he here with us now playing with his cousins instead of with strangers?”

Dana looks away and licks the corner of her mouth.  She used to do that when she was a kid before letting loose with a temper tantrum.  He remembers her red-faced and stomping her feet, licking her lip before she exploded.

“Did you know that my life was in danger for all of my pregnancy?” she asks.  “Did you know William was kidnapped twice before he was eight months old?  Did you know that I had friends that were almost killed trying to protect him?  Did you know that I killed people in order to protect him?  Did you know that I made the biggest mistake in my life when I asked Mulder to leave us because I thought he was the one endangering our son?  Did you know that my heart felt like it was ripped out of my chest when I thought I had lost both of them forever?  Do you know that it took years for me to trust in the fact that Mulder forgave me for what I did?”

Bill feels uncomfortable and clammy.  He’s never seen his sister like this, as a child or as an adult.  She’s like fire.  Hot and terrifying.

“No,” he says.  “How could I?  Why didn’t you come to me?”

Dana raises her brow at him like he’s said something completely incredulous.  “We’re family, Bill, not friends.”

“Do you even have any friend, Dana?  Aside from Mr. Mulder?”

“I don’t need or want anyone else in my life except for Mulder.”

“Including your family?”

“Mulder is my family.  A fact I don’t ever think you’ll accept.”

“That man has poisoned you against your family.”

“That man is the reason I’m here today.  You’re right.  It is me that doesn’t want to be here.”  She turns and walks away.

“Dana.”

She doesn’t turn back though, just walks up the porch and into the house and Bill is left alone.  He doesn’t understand how he could have grown up in the same house as each of his siblings, but how they all turned out so different.  He seems to be the only one that appreciates the values his parents instilled in them and not blatantly reject the status quo.  

When Bill comes back into the house, he sees Dana and Mr. Mulder in the dining room, having a very low and animated conversation.  Her hands are in his and his head is bent towards her.  She’s shaking her head and pulling one of her arms free to gesticulate with, but he catches it and clasps their hands gently to his chest.

Bill turns away and heads back to the family room.  The boys are on the floor with Maureen, helping her arrange her dolls to her satisfaction.  Tara and his mother are on the couch in conversation.  He sits down, feeling glum and perturbed.  Dana comes into the room, Mr. Mulder behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

“I’m not feeling very well,” she says.  “Mulder is going to take me home.”

Tara glances at Bill and he shifts his gaze away from her.  

“What is it?” his mother asks.  “Do you need to lie down?  You can use the spare room.”

“No, I wouldn’t want to disrupt dinner.  I think I have a migraine coming on and I have medication at home.”

“But, Dana, it’s been so long since we’ve all been together.  Can’t you just…”

“Let Dana do what she wants to do, Mom,” Bill says.  “If she wants to go home, let her go home.”

His mother wrings her hands together.  He can’t stand the disappointment in her eyes and he doesn’t know how Dana can either.  The hugs goodbye are awkward.  The kids are confused.  

“Uncle Mulder was supposed to play Guitar Hero with us,” Michael says, after they leave.

“Some other time,” Tara tells him.  “Go wash up for dinner.”

Dinner is somber.  His mother looks like she’s on the verge of tears.  Tara tries to compensate by engaging the children in conversation, but the boys unhappily push food around on their plates and Maureen whines to be let loose.  Before they’re even done, his mother starts gathering up the dishes and bringing them into the kitchen.

“What happened?” Tara mouths at him from across the table.

Bill shrugs.  “Mom, stop.  Tara and I will take care of the dishes.  Boys, take your sister and...show your grandmother that guitar game.”

The boys looked relieved.  Matthew takes Maureen’s hand and they head to the family room.  After the leave, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall sounds immense in the silence.

“Bill…”

Bill raises his hands in surrender.  “Dana and I had a talk,” he admits.  “It didn’t go well.”

“Is that why she left?”

“She left because she didn’t want to show up at all.”

“This really meant a lot to Mom.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Maybe the only thing you can do is just accept the fact that this is all there is.”  Tara gets up, collecting dishes before she makes her way to the kitchen.  It takes Bill some time to follow, but he gathers up plates and silverware and goes in after her.  She’s got Tupperware spread out on the counter and is trying to match lids.

“I don’t want to accept it, Tara.  I can’t.  She’s my sister.”

“Then what do you want to do?”

He scratches the back of his head and thinks, watching Tara empty dishes into plastic bowls.  “Pack me up enough of those leftovers for two.  I’m...going to go out there.”

“You should take the boys with you.”

“Why?”

“It’s unlikely they’d turn the kids away.”

That hurts because it’s probably true.  He finishes clearing the dishes for Tara and she neatly packs up leftovers and stacks them on the counter.  He grabs a sweatshirt and then goes into the family room.  The boys aren’t playing the video game, they look like they’re playing Go Fish with their grandmother and sister.

“Boys, we’re going to take a drive.”

They look at each other and then look at their father.  “Are we in trouble?” Michael asks.

“No, son.  We’re just going to take a drive.”

He can tell they’re reluctant to get up, but they do.  Tara brings them their jackets and loads their arms with the Tupperware and walks them to the car.

“Where are we going?” Matthew asks, buckling his seatbelt.

“We’re going to go see your Aunt Dana and...Uncle Mulder.”

“Really?” Michael asks.

It’s an hour-long drive.  Bill can’t think of a time he’s been alone in a car with his sons for that long.  They don’t talk and the radio isn’t offering anything decent.

“You know, Matthew, your Aunt Dana was there when you were born?”

“She was?”

“She and your grandma had come out for Christmas that year.  They visited you in the hospital and you were only a few hours old.  And...your...Uncle Mulder was there too.”  Bill shifts a little in his seat and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel.  He was a little disgruntled at the time that Mr. Mulder had shown up with Dana at the hospital, but even more so when Tara insisted he have a chance to hold the baby.  He knows photos were taken that day, but he’s never seen them.

“Did Aunt Dana and Uncle Mulder visit me too, Dad?” Michael asks.

“No, they were...they weren’t in town at that time.”

“Oh.”

“Have I ever told you the story of when your Aunt Dana won a shooting contest when she was eight?”

“Um, I don’t think we know any stories about Aunt Dana,” Matthew answers.  “Except a couple Grandma has told us.”

“I see.”  

“I want to hear it,” Michael says.  “I want to know the story.”

“Me too,” Matthew adds.

“She learned to shoot pretty young.  My Dad had taught us.  She was the best out of all of us, even Dad.  She just never missed.  Some kids in the neighborhood caught wind of it and said there was no way a little girl could beat them.  They were older than us, maybe your age, Matthew.  Dana said she could beat the pants off of them, just come out to the woods and name the target.  She whipped those boys good.  Six older boys against one little girl.”

“Did she win a prize?” Michael asks.

Bill thinks back on that day.  He’d felt a mixture of pride and anger.  He wanted Dana to win, but he also looked up to those boys.  Their pride had been injured and therefore he’d tried to convince Dana to throw the competition at one point, pulling her aside and telling her she was hurting their feelings and should let them win.  She looked him straight in the eye and told him no way in hell would she lose to a stupid boy just ‘cause.  He’d been afraid the boys would retaliate in some way, maybe hurt Dana or even start a fight with him, but they hadn’t.

“Respect,” Bill says.  “She won a lot of respect.”

“Sounds like something Maureen would do,” Matthew says.  He and Michael chuckle together.

“Maureen is more like your Aunt Melissa.  Dana was a real tomboy.  She had to do everything me and your Uncle Charles did.”

“How come…?” Matthew starts, and then clams up.

“How come what?”

“I know Aunt Melissa died a long time ago.  But, how come we’ve never met Aunt Dana before now?  Or Uncle Charles?”

“Is it because Uncle Charles married another boy?” Michael asks.

“Who told you that?” Bill asks.

“Mom said that’s why Grandma doesn’t like to talk about him and we should try to understand that Grandma comes from another time where that wasn’t ok, but that doesn’t mean it’s not ok.”

“She said that?”

“Mmhm.  She said that if anyone at church or other kids say it’s not ok, we just don’t listen to them because God doesn’t make mistakes and love is love and God wants us to love each other.”

Bill is quiet.  He can’t believe his devout and traditional wife has said something so progressive and even went so far as to instruct his children to go against the church.  Good for her, he thinks.  Maybe if his mother had thought for herself once in awhile they wouldn’t have such a fractured family.  He can’t believe that thought just crosses his mind.

“You boys listen to your mother,” Bill says.  “She’s a good woman and I’m glad you’re both more like her than like me.”

“You’re good too, Dad,” Matthew says.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, you do a really hard job and it’s important and you’re in charge of it.”

“And Mom says that’s why we shouldn’t bother you with trivial things,” Michael says.  “So you can relax when you’re home.”

Bill is quiet for a few moments and he glances at both boys in the rear view mirror.  “I want you boys to know that you’re never a bother to me.  Not ever, alright?  You can come to me with anything.  You understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” they both say.

“And to answer your question, you haven’t met your Aunt Dana or Uncle Charles before because I think...I think it’s hard for them to feel welcome.  That’s why I’m taking you out to Dana and Mulder’s house right now so I can make sure they know they’re welcome.”

“Will we get to meet Uncle Charles one day, too?” Michael asks.

“I promise that when we get home I’ll call him and ask him if he wants to come for a visit.”

“Cool,” Matthew says.  “Three new uncles and an aunt.”

The roads start to become more rural and desolate.  It’s only twilight, but it feels even darker without any streetlamps or other passing cars.  Bill turns off onto a dirt road and slowly bumps along the unpaved path.

“I think this is it,” Bill says, pulling up to a gate.

“Do they live on a farm?” Michael asks.  “It looks like a farm.”

“I don’t think so.”

Bill is about to call Dana’s phone when he sees Mr. Mulder step out onto the porch, holding what looks like a long-barreled shotgun.  He turns on the cab light of the car and then lowers the window and leans out, raising a hand in greeting.  Mr. Mulder looks like he’s squinting and then he goes back inside and turns on the porch light.  When he comes back out, he’s no longer holding the gun and he jogs down from the porch and down the path behind the gate.  Bill sees his sister come out onto the porch a few moments later.

“Bill?” Mr. Mulder asks once he’s close enough to be heard.  “What’re you doing out here?  Everything alright?”

“The boys and I brought leftovers,” Bill says.

“Uh.  Okay.  Let me just unlock the gate, just a second.”  Mr. Mulder begins to unlock some chains around the gate.  “Scully’s been nagging me to put this on a remote, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.  Drive on up, I’ll be right behind you.”

Bill drives slowly down the lane and Mr. Mulder stays in the shadow of his taillight.  He parks behind the car in front of the porch and the boys are quick to unlock their belts and scramble out of the car.

“Is this a farm?” Michael asks, running up to Mr. Mulder and taking his hand.  “Do you have cows?”

“Sorry, buddy, no cows,” Mr. Mulder answers.  “I think there might have been horses here at one time.  There are some stalls out in the field behind the house.”

Bill gathers the Tupperware from the floorboards of the passenger seat and Matthew is right behind him to help him get everything out.  Dana stands on the porch in a defensive pose, guarding her territory.

“Come in,” Mr. Mulder says.  He guides Michael up the stairs ahead of him.  Dana gives Mr. Mulder a look, but then smiles at Michael.  Tara was a genius to tell him to take the boys.

The interior surprises Bill.  It’s cozy, almost cabin-like.  There are afghans on the couch and a well-used recliner.  They’ve got a wood burning stove and a fire going.  His sister is wearing slippers.  

Mr. Mulder leads them all to the kitchen and takes the Tupperware from Matthew and from Bill.  “Be sure to thank Maggie for us,” he says.

“I will.”  There’s a few beats of silence and Bill eyes his sister.  “Dana, would you mind if we talked for a few minutes?”

She hesitates and glances at the boys.

“You guys can go on the porch,” Mr. Mulder offers.  “Maybe...these guys might like some ice cream?”

“Can we?” Michael asks, turning to Bill.

Bill nods.  Never in his life did he expect to feel gratitude towards Mr. Mulder for anything, but he does in this moment.  The boys cheer.  Dana doesn’t look happy, but she takes her brother out to the porch.

“I’m not here to fight,” Bill says.  “I just want you to know that up front.”

“Why are you here?” she asks.

“Because I don’t like the way we left things.  I want to start by apologizing for...not giving you the benefit of the doubt.  Or supporting you when you needed it.”

Dana looks surprised and a little chagrined.  Her eyes water a bit.  She wraps her arms across her middle and looks at her feet.  “Thank you,” she says.  “That means a lot.”

“I was telling the boys on the way over about that time you won the shooting contest when you were a kid.”

She snorts softly.  “You were so mad at me.”

“No, I was proud of you.  I didn’t tell you that back then, but I probably should have.  Maybe it’s because of things like that that you felt you couldn’t talk to me when you were going through a hard time.”

“Maybe.”

“What I’m not going to apologize for, though, is my life or my family.”  He pauses while she looks up and opens her mouth, but then she closes it again and nods a little.  “I don’t think I’m wrong for wanting to live in the example our parents set for us.  They were happily married for almost forty years and, God willing, I’d like to make it to my fiftieth anniversary and still be just as happy.”

“You probably will.”

“I think you might too.”

Dana raises her brow.  Bill rubs the back of his neck and exhales, deeply.  

“The kids were telling me earlier that love is love,” he says.  “And, now that I’ve seen the two of you together, I think that he kind of seems like a decent guy.”

“I wouldn’t be with him if he wasn’t.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would.”

Dana looks at her feet again and rocks back and forth on her heels for a moment.  “I would also like to apologize for keeping you in the dark about so many things for so long.  I’ve been so accustomed to needing to keep things private, I forget that I can rely on other people.  Mulder has to remind me of it at times when I start to shut him out.”

“You were like that as a kid.  Tough as nails, wouldn’t show a weakness to save your life.”

“And a quick temper.”

“Yeah, that too.”  Bill chuckles.  Dana smiles slightly.

“I’m sorry I left like that.  I hope Mom wasn’t too upset.”

“I think it might be salvaged if you thought about maybe coming by tomorrow?  The boys really seemed to take to...their Uncle Mulder.”

“He’s really great with kids,” Dana whispers and two tears fall down her cheeks.  She dips her head once more and puts a hand over her eyes.

Bill steps closer and pulls her in against his chest.  She puts her arms around him and he rubs her shoulder a little.  “I can’t imagine, Dana.  What you must feel.”

“Some days are harder than others.”

“Does he help you through it?”

“Always.”

“Okay.”

After a few moments of silence, Dana sighs and then pulls away and wipes her eyes.  Bill stops her before they go back inside.

“One more thing,” he says.  “It’s important to me that you know that I don’t agree with Mom on everything.  Just because I believe that her issues with Charles are her business, doesn’t mean I think she’s right.”

“You don’t?”

“Hell no.  That’s her son.  I would never.  The thing is, Charles has told me he chooses to limit his contact with both of us so that it won’t cause problems between us and Mom, if she knows that we speak with him.”

“I know.”

“And, thinking about what you said and just...thinking about it in general, tonight, I’ve decided that if Mom can’t handle the fact that I have a relationship with my brother, that’s also her problem.  I’m going to invite Charles and Patrick out to North Carolina for Christmas.  I want to extend the same invitation to you and Mr. Mulder as well.”

“It’s just Mulder.”

“You guys are so weird about your names.”

“That’s how we like it.”

Bill puts his hands up in surrender.  Dana opens the door and he follows.  The boys are laughing at something.  Mulder gets up from the table when he sees them and Dana walks into his arms.  He rubs her back and nods at Bill.

“Can I get you a bowl of ice cream?” Mulder asks.

“Sure.”

“Dad, did you know that Aunt Dana and Uncle Mulder once arrested a man that was half-worm and lived in a sewer?!” Michael exclaims.

“Tried to arrest,” Mulder amends.  “We only caught half of him.  The tail end, unfortunately.”

“Gross!” the boys cry.

“Really, Mulder?” Bill asks.

Mulder shrugs.  Bill sighs.

The End

[katnissmellarkkk]

Gravity

Hi! Okay, so here’s chapter two of my growing back together story, inspired by the prompt “I won’t hurt you” @rosegardeninwinter sent me. I also posted this fic on AO3 under the title Gravity (like the Sara Bareilles song), if that’s where you prefer to read. And here’s a link to chapter one of this fic if you wanna read and haven’t yet.

Also I know I said in my first author’s note that there will be three chapters, but there might be a bit more.... we love an over-writer, right? 🤷🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

I don’t know if you’re “supposed” to post every part of a multi chapter fic on here? Or just post the link to it on AO3? But for now I posted it in its entirety on here 😊.

Anyways, hope you like it! And thanks to anyone who reads! 💖💖💖

/

A couple months later.

We slide back after that. I don't know if that night-the night he had a nightmare that I died and we slept locked in each other's embrace-moved too quickly for Peeta or if he thought he was protecting me from him, but when morning light came, he was gone from the bed.

I didn't see him again until the following evening, helping Haymitch feed his rambunctious geese in the yard. He didn't speak to me for four more days after that, and when he did, it was to ask what kind of bread I wanted him to bring for lunch the next day.

I pretended to his face that it didn't hurt. That waking up in a cold, empty bed, in a house he all but abandoned until I had evacuated, that sleeping in his arms and awaking so abruptly alone, didn't hurt. I did what I had taught myself to do as a child and I turned my features into an indifferent mask, shutting off all access to my emotions. Destroying any possibility of anyone witnessing my vulnerabilities.

But I knew deep down, it did hurt. It hurt badly.

I didn't speak to him directly the first week he showed up for lunch and to work on the memory book again. I got by fine without addressing him directly, as Haymitch somehow sensed the bubbling tension between us and stayed sober just enough to remain alert for all our shared meals. He helped with the memory book, helped by adding in a snarky comment here or there to reel our focuses onto him instead of each other.

I wanted to say thank you but I never knew how. I doubt Haymitch needs me to verbalize it anyway. One night, as he follows behind Peeta to leave, his hand grazes my shoulder and gives it a squeeze and I know he's much more aware of the dynamic between his old tributes than he leads on.

But weeks after the night in question, the night that set Peeta and my friendship back months, we receive a telegraph from Effie. A telegraph that shakes the small amount of stability we've managed to build in the time since the war.

Apparently President Paylor has decided to move forward with arena destruction, an idea mentioned a few times by Plutarch on Caesar's talk show. An idea I didn't take seriously until now.

Paylor has decided to build a memorial for each of the arenas, for each year the games ever took place, to immortalize our history, so Panem can never forget how cruel and inhumane things once were. But first, she wants to eliminate the actual Hunger Games arenas, once and for all, before putting the memorials in their place.

My initial thought, months ago when Delly showed me Plutarch and Caesar discussing the idea, was that this would takes years to happen.

I was, once again, so clearly wrong. The plans have been expedited and the order in which each arena will be decimated has been swiftly decided.

All that alone doesn't sound terrible. I'd like to see those death pits crushed, burned, torn down, eradicated, or all of the above, by any means necessary. Only downside, initially, is that this will extend me—and Peeta and potentially all the other victors—remaining in the forefront of the public's mind.

Since the war, all I've ever wanted was for everyone in the country to forget who I am. I don't want to be known anymore. I just want to be left alone, to a quiet and peaceful and relatively simple life, without anyone ever recognizing me again. Without anyone thinking of me as the girl on fire, as the Mockingjay, as the sixteen-year-old who volunteered for a sister who was doomed to death anyway.

But, of course, there's a catch. There's always a catch.

Plutarch thinks it would be great to have the living victors be there—televised—in the Capitol and see the arenas before they're bulldozed.

Even with this dreadful proposition, I thought I had time to think of a way out of it. When Effie first sent the telegraph, I thought that I would have years before having to worry about going back to the places where my nightmares started.

Well, some of my nightmares, that is.

After all, it takes time to destroy something as large and as vast as an arena-excluding the way I destroyed the one in the Quell, that is. I figured-I rationalized, really-that by the time they got to number Seventy-Four, I would have a solid excuse to get out of attending.

I guess though they wished to start with the big years and the first decade of the Hunger Games wasn't very eventful, apparently—lucky them—so the first arena they wish to bid farewell to is the one from the second Quarter Quell. The Fiftieth Hunger Games. The one that was so strikingly beautiful and almost entirely poisonous.

The year Haymitch Abernathy, from the lowly District Twelve, won.

And being also from Twelve, my presence, along with Peeta's, suddenly became of the utmost importance as well.

At first, I still try to opt out of the event. Even after Effie chastises me over the phone, like not a day has passed since she was my escort, and even after my mother claims in her letter that it could be cathartic for me, I do not relent.

Delly and Thom and a few of the others in the community, like Kanon who runs the candy shop two stores away from the bakery, and Greta, who helps with the dusting and mopping all over town, try to say that it could be good for me. Greasy Sae claims it can't be worse than actually living through the games, and I silently appreciate her much more blatant statement than the comforting platitudes others try to provide me.

But it all falls on deaf ears in the end.

Because the only person I truly listen to is Peeta. Even bitter and wounded, the only person I really hear is him.

Unfortunately, as irritating as it is sometimes, his voice will always reach me when others can't.

But we don't ever have an actual conversation about it. Five days after Effie calls to announce the news, to tell me unequivocally that my presence is requested, Peeta sways me to go with just a look.

He comes over later than usual and brings extra bread and pastries to go with the deer meat I hunted. We feast silently, the air between us still incredibly awkward, when, without warning, our old mentor comes crashing through the door unceremoniously.

I don't know how much alcohol he consumed, but it's enough to knock even someone with Haymitch's tolerance off his feet.

By the end of the hour, the older man is practically beating his head into the wall of my dining room, screaming the names of dead children and about force fields and axes. And from across the kitchen table, Peeta touches my arm—the first time he's voluntarily touched me in weeks—and my eyes meet his, blue pouring into gray, and silently he begs me to go for the goodbye ceremony to Haymitch's arena.

And I give in. Not just for him. But also, in large part, to repay the caustic, miserable drunk that kept us alive. To support the unpredictable, temperamental man that I do consider my family somehow.

The ceremony is set to take place weeks later and the time does little to alleviate my anxiety. Peeta and me still don't speak much, but come time for lunch or dinner, there he is, in my house like clockwork.

When I point out, a few days before we're due at the train station, that there's a very realistic possibility that the Capitol won't let me go to the ceremony, Peeta casually says, "I already cleared that with Effie and Plutarch."

I shoot him a look of surprise. "You did?"

Shrugging nonchalantly before turning back to the rabbit on his plate, he murmurs quietly, "Thought it'd give you one less thing to worry about."

The ceremony is nothing like I expect. Somehow I figured there would be an obnoxiously large television crew, loud speakers, prepared speeches on written cards, awkward directions and crowds upon crowds of people surrounding us, asking pointed questions, shooting invasive stares and pressing for reactions to their nosy accusations. I expected those accusations to be directed at me and Peeta especially.

Instead, there's none of those things. There's no crowd at all, it's just us victors. Just Enobaria, Johanna, Annie, the three of us from Twelve and Beetee—who I still can't make myself so much as look at, reminded of my sister's absence and his role in it every time we so much as stand in five feet vicinity of each other.

The camera crew consists of Mitchell, Pollux and Cressida, along with two unfamiliar, but seemingly non-threatening faces. There's no directions, no prompting, not close ups or reshoots.

All that happens is Paylor makes a statement that the crew films, stating that the arenas will be destroyed one by one, and in the place of each there will be an individual memorial made, as we victors stand in an unorganized, crooked line that will surely make Effie cringe when she sees the footage on television later.

It's almost peaceful, I think to myself in surprise, as I look around at the location. The sky is a stunning cobalt, even more brilliant in person than in the video Peeta and I watched on the train so long ago. The meadow looks like the grass is fresh, like it was just watered yesterday. The mountain is so breathtaking I have to physically tear my eyes away from it and even the woods look rather cozy. Or maybe that part is just me.

There's also arraignments of flowers, just like in the footage we watched, that spill every which way, filling our noses with soothing, floral scents. It feels unnatural to say about a place set up for murder, but with the deadly poisons lurking at every turn eviscerated, I almost can find this arena truly beautiful.

Of course though, it's not my arena.

It's Haymitch's and he looks like he's about to be sick. He's white-knuckled it for a few days without any sort of drink—to my, Peeta's and, even Effie's, visible shock—and I can see plainly now that he's absolutely regretting it. His eyes are hallow and wild at the same time and I can see his shaking palms beneath the sleeves of his jacket as he stares out at the source of his every nightmare for the last quarter century.

It shocks me that he didn't find a way out of this. Actually, it shocks me still that these ceremonies are even possible.

I never knew they kept arenas after the games were over each year. I never realized they kept all seventy-four death pits, haunted by child sacrifice, the way you keep old vases on a shelf.

At this point though, it's just another thing to add onto the growing list of horrific and unthinkable issues that the Capitol doesn't even grasp. Keeping the haunted graveyards of children as souvenirs shouldn't sit right with anyone, I don't care how you're raised.

I tell myself to not be so quick to judge, as I can't know who I'd be if I had been born in the Capitol instead of the districts. Still, the idea of condoning the things they have without remorse or shame seems unthinkable.

I'm torn out of my thoughts when Cressida speaks. "Is there anything you'd like to say, Haymitch, before we finish filming?"

Once again, catching me off-guard entirely—he's full of all sorts of surprises evidently—Haymitch clears his throat and looks down at his leather boots before speaking. "Ardor. Garnett. Dolan. Silver. Ryker. Artemis. Slayte. Pistol. Lex. Mac. Lumen. Gig. Brook. Aqua. Mary. Ripley. Lyme. Watt. Rocky. Gio. Belle. Raven. Kia. Mecko. Barker. Jack. Holly. Briar. Essie. Stitch. Coco. Paul. Mira. Miller. Coop. Harvey. Butch. Cutter. Bea. Skinna. Basil. Sunny. Rip. Spring. Oaker. Terra. Maysilee." He lists off the names in a way that is so matter-of-fact that it would almost be robotic if it weren't for the hoarseness in his tone that grows stronger with every name he utters. He hesitates for only a moment before adding, "Corentine. Alannah. Alastar."

There's a long stretch of silence, where no one speaks, no one blinks, no one even breathes. We all know instinctively who these people are—I know solely from Maysilee Donner's name being called—but we still wait until Haymitch speaks again, to confirm our assumption.

"Those are the names of all the people this arena killed." His eyes grow glassy and his brow furrows in anger as he fights desperately to repress his emotions, and suddenly I have the strangest urge to hug my mentor, to make him feel better like he tried to do for me once when Peeta was stuck in the Capitol and I was distraught. But I know it wouldn't be appreciated or wanted, and quite honestly I'm glad for that, because I don't even know what to say.

The last three names Haymitch said stick in my head for some reason I can't explain other than an odd gut feeling. But then he speaks again, an in a voice growing gruffer by the second, he says right into the camera, "that's every single person who was killed because of the second Quarter Quell."

And, like I should have known all along, it hits me the last three names are the names of his family who were murdered to punish him for the stunt with the forcefield.

The last three names are the murders of the last people he loved. Until me and Peeta came along.

As if his thoughts matched mine, Haymitch suddenly shakes his head and his eyes widen again as he stares past all the rest of us, as he continues to take in the exact place in which life as he knew it, twenty-six years ago, was altered forever.

His reaction is more understandable and genuine than I imagined he would ever allow it to be, especially on camera, and I want to say something but me and him both aren't good at saying anything, and I find myself looking to Peeta, hoping he'd know what to do.

Peeta doesn't meet my gaze though. He's solely focused on our mentor and just when he opens his mouth to speak, the older man to suddenly shake his head in our general direction and clears his throat.

"I'm done. Tell Plutarch I'm done with this crap. Just hurry up and bulldoze this place so I can go back to Twelve," is all he says to Cressida as he storms off, but his voice is rough and caustic once again, and I can only hope he recovers from this event soon enough.

Somehow, witnessing Haymitch relive his games, even through the shield he so obviously puts up to the outside world, triggers me though. For some reason, I feel my eyes begin to water as I look around at the meadow, at the mountain, at the golden cornucopia, and wonder how anyone could build a place where kids would eventually go to die? How could anyone have ever been so inhumane? How could a country just accept it? How did we live for so long with the Hunger Games overtaking our lives and still remained complicit? I don't understand. The more time passes, the more days I'm separated from the war and from the old world and the old way of life, I just can't comprehend anymore how we ever lived in a place so horrific.

I feel my eyes spill over and I'm grateful that Cressida has stopped filming already, because if Plutarch saw any tears on film, he would make certain it ended up on television.

I wipe my tears with the heel of my hand, trying to go about it as subtly as I can, hoping no one else notices. For the most part, I'm golden. Enobaria is already exiting, with Beetee following not far behind. Jo's back is to me while she speaks to Annie, though as per usual, she seems to be irritated.

Of course, it's too much to ask for everyone to remain oblivious to my waterworks. Even as I rid myself of them before they become widely noticeable, I feel Peeta's eyes train on me and know, despite the distance between us for the last few weeks, he isn't going to ignore my upset.

To my surprise though, he doesn't speak. He doesn't utter a single syllable.

Instead, I feel his large, warm palm slip into mine and squeeze tightly, lacing our fingers together, in a way we have done thousands of times before. Like two puzzle pieces coming together to complete a picture, like two indivisible teammates that will fight against anything that is thrown their way, like two halves of a whole finally finding each other, his hand grasps mine with a vengeance and I know I won't be the one who let's go.

He's still holding my hand when we board the train, hours later.

//

A couple weeks later.

"Yes, Mrs. Greenstead, I will get the chocolate nut loaf and a platter of the cranberry cookies wrapped up for you... Yes, it will be ready by the time you arrive... No, I promise they won't be cold," Peeta assures through the bakery telephone—a new addition that Thom and his wife thought was necessary to run a proper bakery. So necessary they bought it for Peeta as an opening gift.

It's not that the gesture wasn't nice or that Peeta didn't deeply appreciate it. I personally saw that he did, wholeheartedly.

But seeing it on the wall every day was just another reminder to me of my own personal vendetta against the integration between the Capitol's way of life and the districts'.

The only place telephones used to exist, outside of the Capitol limits, was the houses in Victor's Villiage, and if I'm being honest, I wish it would have stayed that way.

Maybe I'm being selfish, as I happen to still reside inside a house that once belonged to the said village, therefore I already had experienced this luxury prior to the new world. But I just can't make myself break the association between the items that had recently become readily available for all and the horror that was the Capitol.

Still though, the change was inescapable Telephones, cameras, heating pads, curling irons, quick bake ovens, cars and so many other items, were all growing in popularly across each district. Not that I was able to see a lot of these changes personally. But letters from Annie and my mom, and the occasional—unprompted and yet still begrudged—call from Jo, all kept me informed. Sometimes more informed than I wished to be.

Maybe I would feel entirely different if these inventions were brand new to me. But they aren't. I'd seen and used every one of them before. Their novelty had always been lost on me, perhaps because my only experience them was while inside the Capitol, surrounded by tacky colors and strong rose scents and itchy materials, headed for a death match, my life and the lives of those I cared always at great risk.

Of course, the new item in the bakery did make some things easier. Days like today are a perfect example.

Harvest Day is only one day away and everyone is coming in for their breads and their desserts. Peeta says it was always one of the most popular days, for as long as he can remember. Only difference is, before the war only Peacekeepers and town folks could afford to purchase anything. And generally, most citizens who even did come in, could only purchase a limited amount of items.

Not now. I don't know where everyone in Twelve was coming up with the money or if Peeta's prices are just a drastic drop from that of his mother's, but today, I swear I've seen every citizen in town inside the bakery.

Makes me glad that the portrait of me is hanging in the back, where no one else can see it. As pretty as it may be, as talented as Peeta is, I don't want a giant version of me displayed for all to see.

"Here you are," I politely say, handing two loaves of warm bread to a man who must be new to Twelve, as I've never seen him before. I'm debating on asking if he moved here recently when he passes a bill to me over the top of the pastry display.

"Thank you, hon." He smiles at me, looking at me a little too closely for my liking, as he swiftly walks out the door. His exit is met with the arrival of Val, a boy Peeta and I went to school with, who definitely was more Peeta's crowd than mine.

Val is a regular customer at the bakery, having always genuinely liked the Mellark family. His parents owned a small carpentry shop four spaces down from the bakery, and even with both them dead, he and his two sisters rebuilt the store, taking over their parents' legacy.

Peeta though is more focused on me now than Val's order. "Give me a second," he calls to his old friend, a little less polite than he had been all morning. "Katniss, what's wrong?" He asks urgently, seeing the look in my eyes.

I shake my head and push away the anxiety threatening to close in on me. "Nothing, just..." I hesitate, not even wanting to say it. Peeta's gaze refuses to lessen though and I sigh before finally mumbling, "That guy. He creeped me out. The way he was looking at me so closely..."

Peeta's hand touches my arm for a brief moment before pulling it away, making it obvious that he regrets the small act of even so much as touching me. But his words are still calming and they relax me a little. "He's gone now, Katniss. And if he scares you, I won't let him come back, okay? There's nothing anyone can do to you or me anymore. We're safe."

I nod, knowing the words like the back of my hand at this point, as it's the same mantra we always repeat to each other, every time one of us begins to panic or flail. But still, I open my mouth to refuse his offer. I don't want Peeta to turn away any sort of business. Not with the unpredictability and uncertainty this new world still rests on. We never know if the bakery will sell anything tomorrow or if all sort of income will soon dry up.

And we're the lucky ones, financially speaking, who were rich before the war and allowed—in a generous declaration by President Paylor—to keep the entirety of our money after. I don't have to imagine the anxiety others in the country must be in, knowing the curse of poverty all too well. I wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone.

"I don't want you to turn away people," I say quietly. "Not on my account. You need business to keep this place afloat."

"I have plenty of money, Katniss," he reminds me, a little darker than I expect. "And I'd rather you feel safe than own a popular shop."

His words unexpectedly touch me, unexpectedly cut right down to the depth of my bones, exposing my soft underbelly. I'm about to do something stupid, like touch his hand, when Val makes his presence known again. "Your shop is already the most popular in the district," he points out, not even a little ashamed for having listened to our conversation. "And besides, why don't you just look at the guy's name? Maybe you can look him up, see if he's alright or not."

Peeta gets a glint in his eye. "That's a good idea, Val, thank you." As he moves towards the register to, I can only suppose, look for the man's receipt with his name and signature, he gestures to his school friend. "Katniss can get your order."

I shoot him a glare, only half kidding. I did come to help out, here and there, today but I did not intend to be an actual expected employee. For free, no less.

Instead of saying anything though, I just grab Val his three cinnamon rolls, his two snack cakes, four bagels, white chocolate donut and a loaf with raisins and cranberries.

Val, like Delly Cartwright, was always one of the few people in Twelve who had a few pounds to spare.

Peeta has a type of friend.

"Found it," Peeta now calls, bringing over a slip of paper to where I'm handing Val his three bags of treats. "His name was Rod Catamaran."

Me and Val, for the first time perhaps, exchange a look between us. "That's an odd name for Twelve."

"I've never even heard that name before."

"He may not even be from Twelve, guys," Peeta says.

I roll my eyes. "Because a bombed out district is really a tourist attraction."

"Hey, none of that," Thom calls as he walks through the front door of the bakery, with Kanon Bagley on his heels. "We've rebuilt this place beautifully and negativity is not appreciated here."

"Yeah, Katniss," Peeta chimes in, teasing me. I'm about to kick him in his only real leg, as we're the only two behind the counter and no one else will see, when Kanon speaks up.

"Can I buy a couple of pastries?"

"Of course," Peeta says kindly, walking around me to personally grab the two items Kanon requests.

Kanon is new to Twelve. One of the few new additions this place gained after all that went down. He's a large man in his early twenties, with dark skin and dark hair and eyes to match. But the only times I've ever interacted with him, he's quiet as a mouse, his eyes a little forlorn at all times and he offers more discounts then he should at the candy shop he recently opened next to the bakery.

He's from District Eleven originally and it takes no real critical thinking to realize he had a hard life, even before the war.

I'm far too familiar with the look of scars etched across the eyes. So is Peeta.

That's why, when Kanon looks down at the money in his hand and realizes he doesn't have enough to afford both pastries, Peeta immediately brushes it off. "That's okay, they're on the house," he instantly promises, handing the small bag over to Kanon with a gentle smile.

"No, I don't want to take it without-"

"I made way too much," Peeta insists, lying outright to make it appear Kanon would be doing him a favor. I know he didn't make too much, because we've been flying through everything today and keeping the ovens hot in case more is needed.

Still though, I back up the fib. "He did. We've been wondering all day how we were gonna sell enough stuff so we don't have to feed the leftovers to Haymitch's geese."

Kanon glances between us shyly, before taking the bag from Peeta's hand and slipping the few dollars he does have into his pocket again. "Thank you," he says softly and turns to leave.

Thom pats Kanon on the back as he passes him, before turning to follow. When the other man isn't looking, he turns back to us subtly and mouths, "thank you."

I wanted to tell him not to thank me. I only watched Peeta make this food, I didn't assist by any stretch of the imagination. I didn't own the bakery or do anything with the money or finances. It was not my choice to give things away for free.

But I'm far too focused on the boy in front of me to say any of that. The boy with the bread, the boy who isn't really a boy anymore. The boy who just gave away food for no reward at all, even on the most demanding and strenuous day all year for his business. The boy who just showed Kanon Bagley the same kindness I begged someone-anyone-to show me at eleven-years-old and not one single person did.

Except for him. He did for me all those years ago what he did for Kanon just now, and I suddenly have the most inexplicable, irrepressible urge to kiss Peeta right then and there, in the middle of the bakery.

I don't, however, and it's for once not because I lost my courage. It's because the door swings open again, just as Val exits right behind Kanon and Thom.

It's the same man from earlier. "Hi," Peeta greets, this time not at all sweet. Clearly recognizing the man as the one who made me nervous before. "Can I help you?"

"Yes," the man affirms, his tone brighter than you'd expect given our chilly reception. And our blatant wariness for anyone new. "I forgot to get a pecan butter cake before?"

There is a beat where me and Peeta exchange a look, before I awkwardly move towards the display case and begin to pack up his item. Peeta waits for me to decide to help the man before starting to ring him up.

"That was a nice thing you both just did," the man says as he patiently watches me fold the white waxy paper over his pastry. "For that guy."

"You were watching?" Is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.

"Only for a moment," he explains, his tone still friendly. Either he doesn't know how to read people at all or he's the most even keeled person in Panem.

Because I know I'm being rude, to a man who maybe doesn't even deserve it, I force myself to say one thing conversational. "This is my mom's favorite dessert," I offer, gesturing to his cake.

The man raises his eyebrows in an act that looks almost feigned. "Really?"

I instantly regret trying to be even slightly pleasant. Even his mannerisms seem fake. I'm contemplating if I should say anything else or go hide in the back room with the warm ovens and my portrait, when Peeta presses a button and the register dings.

He's about to say the total when the strange man shakes his head and hands to me directly an unfamiliar bill over the display case. "Have a nice day, you two," he calls, grabbing his cake and swiftly walking out.

It's not until he's gone, not until I have a moment to process the second weird encounter with the odd person, that I even glance down at the crisp bill he handed me.

It's a bill with a larger number on the back than I've ever personally seen before. I knew these kinds of dollars existed—I'm sure I could have gotten plenty after my first games—but I'd never seen one in the flesh.

Peeta sees my reaction. "What is it?" His voice sounds alarmed and he's stepping closer to me, but all I can do is gasp out his name.

"Peeta, look." I hold up the bill and point to the number on the back.

His eyes widen too, taking in the amount with a dizzy smile. Of both relief that nothing's wrong and excitement at the digit.

"Do you think it was a mistake?" I ask suddenly, looking over my shoulder towards the window, wondering if we should track the man down and give him his money back, before he evaporates into thin air.

"No?" Peeta shakes his head, the wheels in his mind turning quicker than mine. His face turns to that of elation, as the large bill takes some pressure off the bakery's sales. "No, he said he saw us give Kanon a break. He was giving us something in return."

I'm about to say something else, I don't even know what, but it all flies out of my head when Peeta suddenly wraps his arms around my waist and swiftly pulls me into his embrace.

My entire body goes into lockdown and hypervigilance at the same time. I can't move an inch but it feels like every nerve in my body is abruptly tingling and on fire.

My sweater lifts up slightly and his bare arms graze my lower back, eliciting a shiver to run involuntarily down my spine as his face buries into my hair.

I wrap my arms around his neck after a beat when I can make myself move again, and I feel him smile against my skin. I'm so glad at that moment he's holding me up, because if he wasn't supporting my weight I'd probably crash to the floor, unable to even feel my legs beneath me.

And, as a rush of heat shoots out from the place where Peeta's lips brush my collarbone, I suddenly feel only gratitude, not irritation, at the strange Rod Catamaran.

//

Four days later.

The world surrounding me is green. Green and brown and fire-bitten and scorched. Every which way I spin, there's embers soaring from that direction too, waiting to lick me with their burning flames, ready to decimate me once and for all.

But through the smoke and haze, I still can see between the trees two blonde braids. I still can see a small figure standing on the other side of the fire. I still can see her shirt that's come untucked in the back, creating a duck tail that I desperately want to fix.

Just as I notice her, she whirls around to face me, her blue eyes big and bright and terrified. "Katniss!" She screams, the same way she did the last day she was alive. "Katniss, help! They're coming!"

I don't know who's coming or what's happening or where we even are, but all I feel is relief somehow. Relief that she's here, that I'm in her presence again, that she's almost within my reach. Instinctively I call out, "Prim!" Just so I can finally get a response to the name I've been shouting into oblivion for almost a year now.

"Katniss, help me!" She cries again and then looks over her shoulder. She's not talking about the fire between us, as it doesn't seem too intent on heading towards her.

I don't know what's coming or who she's afraid of, but my instincts now go into overdrive. My body suddenly snaps into alert and I whip my head around, to see if I can find an opening in the fire closing in on me, if I can find a way to get to the sister I lost what feels like only yesterday, if I can find a way to save her this time.

There's no gap in the fire though. It's crowded around me, front, back and side to side. The more seconds that pass by, the closer the fire folds into my proximity, and I have to brace myself before making a split-second decision.

But it's not really a decision at all. Prim needs me and I cannot fail her. I have to save her this time.

I take a bold step directly into the fire, with every intention of running through it somehow. Of running past the wild embers, scorching myself no doubt, but still making it over to my distressed, frightened little sister. But it doesn't work like I expect.

But really, does anything?

These flames are nothing like the fires I've encountered before. And I've been around more fire in my life than anyone ever should.

No, these flames don't burn me. They don't hurt me or put me through agony or singe me to pieces. They don't melt off my makeshift coat of skin and they don't further decimate it either.

Instead the fire feels like almost nothing. Like something almost itchy, something almost irritating, something almost painful. Something that make me want to squirm and scream and escape all at the same time.

Which is real ironic considering what else it seems these flames do.

They seem to hold me into place. The second I'm in their hold, instead of the horrific pain I thought I'd be in, I'm trapped in a series of almost nothing.

I'm not in excruciating pain physically, but seeing my sister standing ten feet from me, and not being able to move any closer, not being able to protect her from whatever she's terrified of, is worse than any amount of injury this fire could have inflicted.

"Katniss!" Prim screams now, her voice only growing in its frantic nature. "Help! Why won't you come help me?"

I try to scream, try to tell her I want to but I can't move. But it turns out that these flames also paralyze vocal muscles.

"Peeta's dying!" Prim yelps out, looking behind her again, her hands beginning to shake in a way she almost never let them in life. She always tried to keep it together, to remain calm and rational in a crisis.

Her words elicit something entirely new inside of me though. "Peeta?" I yell in confusion, my voice suddenly no longer paralyzed.

"They're killing him! Katniss, please, why won't you come here? We need you!" Prim is close to hysterical now and frankly, so am I.

"I'm trying! I just," I move my hands down my body, trying to push the flames away as they rises up to my chest, trying to just break free from these fiery chains once and for all. "The fire, Prim! I can't get out of the fire."

Prim's voice drops then, loses all source of fear, every ounce of panic. Loses any semblance of emotion. "Katniss, there is no fire," she states blankly, her eyes looking directly at the embers covering my stomach and legs. "There's nothing there."

I just look at her for a moment, completely speechless. Her words are inconceivable, her eyes are haunted now, her facial expression is unrecognizable. Even her voice doesn't sound like hers anymore.

Before I can comprehend what's happening, in the distance a gunshot goes off.

Prim delicately glances over her shoulder now, her blue eyes cold as ice. "He's dead," she informs clinically, before sighing deeply, her tone almost disappointed. "And so am I."

I don't know what happens next or how it occurs, but I fly upwards in my bed with such a start, I give myself whiplash.

I hear a loud screeching noise hanging in the air, a hoarse trepidation that almost makes me feel better. I don't know why but someone else screaming in the middle of the night gives me hope, as sick as that may be.

Only it's not someone else, I realize, as my throat burns raw. I realize with startling clarity that I'm the only making all the noise. I'm the one shaking so tremendously. I'm the one who is sobbing.

"Shhh," a voice whispers against the darkness, and I flail involuntarily at the shock. "Sorry, sorry," Peeta instantly apologizes, his hands gripping my arms with a little too much intensity, trying to still my shaking. "It's okay, Katniss, you were just having a nightmare."

His words do precious little to calm me down though. "She was there," I cry, the image, the feeling, of Prim standing only ten feet from me and not being able to reach her too painful for me to unsee.

"Who was there?" He asks tenderly, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "Katniss, breathe."

I don't even bother listening to his advise. I haven't exhaled since I was eleven. "Prim was there. She was begging me to save her and then I couldn't, I was trapped but-but," I cut myself off, unable to form coherent words and thoughts any longer.

Peeta gets the gist though. "Come here," he whispers and pulls me into his arms, like he used to on the train, when my nightmares woke us both three times a night. "I'm so sorry, Katniss," he says softly now, and rubs my back in a way that elicits goosebumps. His way of trying to soothe my shaking. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"You died too," I blurt out then. I don't even know why I feel inclined to tell him.

"What?"

"I was stuck and I couldn't speak and then Prim said you were going to die and I got scared enough that I could talk again and I thought-I thought," I stumble breathlessly, my tears pouring out against his shoulder now.

I feel his lips touch my cheek and I'm too upset to revel in the feeling of blood rushing there. "It was just a nightmare," he promises.

But my sentiment is unfinished. "I thought I could break free, that I could-"

"Katniss," he halts, still holding me in his embrace, rocking me slightly. "It wasn't real. I promise you, it wasn't real."

Those words, the words so often said to him by me, ring a bell that I didn't want to ring. It snaps me back into reality abruptly and without warning, I feel like my chest is going to collapse.

Because this means Prim wasn't really there, that she still is as dead as she was yesterday, that I still watched her explode into pieces all over the bombsite in the Capitol.

I still failed to protect her.

Peeta pulls back slightly then and rests his forehead against mine. "It's okay, Katniss," he says again, trying to calm my trembles by rubbing my arms up and down.

"How are you in my house?" I realize, with an intense sudden clarity. "How are you here? Are you real or am I still-"

He quickly puts me out of my misery. "You gave me a key, remember? A long time ago? We gave each other keys to our houses."

Oh. Right. I forgot all about that when he had his nightmare, didn't I?

Good thing he's an idiot who keeps his door unlocked at night.

He's explaining further before I can think to ask. "I heard you having a nightmare from my house. That's why I rushed over here."

I'm caught between embarrassment and gratitude. "Sorry, I really don't know what brought it on."

"Hey," he quietly reprimands, lifting my chin now to meet eye contact. "Don't apologize. No one understands nightmares like me."

I nod, accepting his words, though still a little uncomfortable with screaming for all the district to hear at two in the morning.

Then again, our entire neighborhood is Haymitch and the two of us, and our mentor was drinking like a fish last night so really, the only person who could have heard me is already sitting directly in my eye line.

To punctuate his words, when I don't respond verbally, he lifts my hand up and brings it to his lips tenderly.

And I don't know what comes over me or why. I don't know if it's because we've been growing closer again lately or if I just haven't felt his arms around me since days ago in the bakery and I miss the feel of it desperately, but I find myself abruptly throwing my body around his before I can talk myself out of it.

He catches me easily, like he anticipated my reaction and sways me for a long moment, until my breathing begins to even itself out.

"Will you stay?" I rasp into his neck, as I feel his hand tangles in my matted locks.

"Always."

[kpopfoyoseoul]

Little One; Prologue

Mafia au

Word Count: 1309

Stray Kids Chan x Reader

Story by Admin A

Why do I even bother showing up? You thought as you walked home from yet another boring day being the secretary for a man who rarely ever shows up and cancels everything when he does. For the last two weeks though, no one had seen him at all. Every morning you dropped off any paperwork he needed to do at his home, only to return the next morning and find it untouched. A few times you considered using the spare key that you had accidentally found last week, just to make sure he was alright, but the stories of what happened to his previous secretaries once they entered kept you from doing so.

All of his previous secretaries had been fired, only to be found dead; their bodies barely recognizable, a few days later.  Every time, all the evidence pointed to the members of SKZ, a mafia lead by the elusive CB97. The first time they thought it was a coincidence but after the third the police realized the pattern. They made the mistake of making the information completely public, so now everyone has been spreading rumors that your boss is a member of the group.

You never believed them of course but weren't willing to risk your life should they be true. You would've already quit if your landlord hadn't upped the rent suddenly. Five times already this week the police had shown up at the office asking to speak to him, only to be told once again that he hasn't left his house in two weeks. 

Tonight you were late leaving the office because someone had only faxed over the ginormous packet of paperwork you needed to get signed by the start of business tomorrow three minutes before you were supposed to clock out. Your boss, Jiyong, had long ago made a rule that all work, other than his own, had to be done at the office for some reason. This of course, led you to being at the office for two hours later than normal, reading over every single word of the packet to check if it was correct and signing on the many lines that required it. By the time you finally got to leave the sun had long set and the last bus had shut down for the night, leaving you to walk the half-mile to your apartment completely in the dark, save for your phone flashlight, in the five-inch heels that your uniform requires.

As if that wasn't bad enough your phone battery was getting quite low. With at least 8 minutes left and the flashlight burning through the last 15 percent of your battery, there was no doubt that you would have to finish the walk in total darkness unless you took the shortcut through the alley. Normally you would, but at this time of night no one dared to go through there except criminals.

Your neighborhood is controlled by SKZ and everyone knows it.  Your landlord, Felix,  is a member of the inner circle. Even the police know but the group is so powerful that no one other than rookies desperate to prove themselves will ever do anything about him.  Despite being among CB97's highest ranked, Felix has never been anything other than nice to you.  He is honestly the best landlord you've ever had.  The only reason he upped the rent is to discourage all the people who tried to sign a lease without intending to ever pay.

Thinking about it now, you probably should have called him the second you realized your battery wouldn't last the whole walk.  He likely would have come to get you since he treats you like family.  At this point though, your battery won't even last long enough to get the call through.  You eventually decide to screw it, you're going through the shortcut.  Though you don't want to see anything illegal, you're well within SKZ territory.

By complete chance, the alley is empty tonight and you walk through undisturbed to your street.  It's a good thing that you took the shortcut because the second you get your door unlocked, the phone dies, plunging you into darkness for the few seconds before you switch on the light.  Locking the door, you drop everything on the couch, plug in your phone, and finally go to bed.

The next morning, you get up early, change into your uniform and head over to Jiyong's to drop off his paperwork as usual. When you get there, however, the door is ajar.  From what you can see without opening it any more, the inside is trashed.  Furniture flipped on its side, vases shattered, paintings splattered in red.  Of everything, this is what alarms you most. Without another thought you push the door open more and step inside, intent on finding your boss.

Carefully, you make your way through the mess, scanning for anything living.  At one point a cat scampers from the stairs to the kitchen but you pay it no mind. Seeing that he isn't on the ground floor, you slowly walk towards the stairs.  As you begin your ascent, voices slowly become audible.  Although you can't hear what they're saying, you can tell where they are, so you go in the opposite direction in hopes of finding your boss, preferably alive, before having to risk running into the owners of the voices.

Once you confirm that, no, your boss isn't on that side of the house, you start toward the voices, freezing as you get close enough to hear what is being said and recognize the deep voice and accent of your landlord.

"Chan, we can't find it. Maybe it's not here. It might be at his office instead, or maybe our intel was bad and he never had it to begin with."

"Keep looking, Bobby's intel has never been wrong before," replied Chan, "He has it and has hidden it somewhere in the house."

Another voice chimes in, "It took a while, but he's finally out. He just kept refusing to die."

"You're getting slow, I think we need to start you on anatomy training again," Chan teased.

"Whatever.  We need to get out of here before his secretary gets here," the last voice reminds as all three of them start walking.  At that, you snap out of your scared stupor and scramble to hide under an overturned armchair.  Apparently, you don't breathe quietly enough, since the footsteps stop right next to your hiding place.  A moment later, the chair is flung away, leaving you exposed to the three men.  The first two have pistols aimed at your head, while the third, Felix, just stares at you, surprised.

"Wait.  Chan, Jisung, don't hurt her.  She's one of my tenants and completely harmless."

"Then what do you suppose we do? We can't just let her go…"

"Yes we can.  She won't go to the police, and if she does we know where she lives!" Felix points out.

"He's right Jisung, we do know where she lives, but how about we give her an option.  Either she goes on with life as normal, forgets everything she saw or heard and be constantly monitored for the rest of her life, or she can come with us and we will take care of her needs. Either way works, she doesn't say anything to the cops.  But we did just kill her boss, didn't we?" reasons Chan.

Felix confirms, "We did.  She would have to find a new job."

"Those are the choices. Come with us and never have to work again, find a new job and be constantly monitored, or we do the same to you as we did to your boss.  Of course, I'd rather not have to hurt someone who accidentally got involved," Chan said as he turned back to face you, "so what do you say little one?"

Part One Coming Soon...

[stanbillyhargrove]

Demons - an AU rewritten

Cat x Steve 💜

A/N: Billy is an asshole. Cat finds love in the arms of Steve

T/W: Eating disorder, self harm, suicide attempts, mention of sexual assault

Cat's POV

Another party. Another house full of nameless faces. Another night of barely managing panic with burning alcohol.

What the queen must do for her king.

Push down the memories. Smile. Accept every drink and more. Dance, laugh. Don't freak when a stray hand touches, it's harmless fun, right?

Right.

I lost Billy early on in the night, swept away in a sea of jocks to protect his crown. I was left behind, letting the music pound through my bones as I joined the crowd of dancers. I was well and truly wasted by the time I saw Billy across the room. He was standing in the kitchen, arms crossed against his chest as he stared at me. Saw a pack of guys I barely recognized around him, talking and laughing and then...gesturing at me. I watched Billy's shoulders tense, rolling back tightly as they kept talking to him. Watched his jaw tense and his eyes darken.

The guys around him stared and I glanced away when flashes of memory came back, making panic swell. Felt myself being bumped around by chaotic dancers when I stopped moving. Just a moment, a moment of blood pounding in my ears. Of trying to gulp down breaths. My hands came up to my chest, like I could hold myself together and stop my heart from thundering out of my ribs if I just held tight enough.

A moment of panic taking over until I felt a large hand on my arm, yanking me through the crowd. I stumbled along, just trying to stay upright until I was pulled outside, being shoved down the driveway by a very angry Billy.

"Wait, Billy, slow down! You're hurting me!"

He let go of my arm with the next push forward, my hands flying up to catch myself on the hood of his car before I ended up face first in the gravel.

"Billy! What the fuck?"

"Get in the fucking car," he growled, storming around to the driver's side and slamming the door shut behind him.

I crawled into the passenger seat, tucking myself against the door as he peeled out of the driveway. He was weirdly quiet, muscles clenching in his jaw and hands flexing on the steering wheel. Beyond angry.

"B, what's wrong?"

The engine revved louder, creeping up to dangerous speeds as we whipped around corners.

"B, please. Slow down," I pleaded, reaching out to graze his arm.

He flinched, "don't."

"Don't? Billy, what's wrong?"

"Don't play fucking dumb!" He yelled, "you cheated on me!"

I stared at him, dumbfounded and whispered, "what?"

He stomped on the brake, launching me forward until my seatbelt locked, digging into skin to stop me from flying into the dashboard. Let out a loud huff of breath as he threw the car into park and then...he exploded.

"The last summer party, I wasn't there so you threw yourself at them. What? You're so needy you couldn't handle being alone for a few fucking hours so you sleep with a fucking group of guys?"

I shook my head, "no...I, that's not..."

"Quit lying to me! They told me all about it, that you asked for it! They bragged about how good you were. You refuse to sleep with me but a group of strangers is fine? Seriously? Just to fuck with my head? To get back at me? Well, good fucking job! You got me!"

"B...no..I didn't..."

"Get out," he muttered.

I quickly glanced out the window behind him, at the blackness of the night, the houses I knew were closer to his house than mine.

"B..."

"Get out of my car, you fucking whore!"

I scrambled to get out of the car, barely holding back tears until he peeled away.

I collapsed just inside the door of my house when I finally got home. Fell against the door, hugging my knees and sobbing loudly into them. Crawled to the phone, pulling it down to the floor to dial. It took a while before he finally answered.

"Hello?" His voice was low and groggy, still mostly asleep.

"Stevie?" I sobbed, "I need you."

"Five minutes," he murmured before hanging up.

I curled up on the floor, feeling like my chest was cracking open. A jagged chasm starting at my heart and spreading out, threatening to break me to pieces and swallow me down.

I didn't hear Steve's car pull into the driveway, didn't notice the front door opening. I just suddenly felt myself being scooped up, pulled forward into a warm chest and tucked under his chin. Holding me together.

Steve sat there, running his hand up and down my back as I cried into his chest. The soft material of his shirt soaking up saltwater until it clung to his skin.

"It's okay," he murmured into my hair, "I'm here. I'm always here."

-- Steve's POV

Cat and I had been inseparable for the past couple weeks since her and Billy broke up. I'd spent more nights wrapped around her then I spent by myself. I found myself having nightmares more often that not and preferred to not spend the night alone, but we would compromise with calling each other if we had to be apart.

Nightmares where I was running through a sea of people, struggling to break free of them. Where I knew Cat was in danger but I could never find her until it started raining. Cold water poured from the sky, dissolving the people I'd been pushing through until I was face to face with Cat. "Why didn't you save me?" She'd cry. The rain turned to acidic blood, burning me and staining her skin as I watched her shrinking before my eyes. Skin stretched tight over jutting bones until it burst, leaving jagged rips in her skin. "Why didn't you save me?" She'd cry again. "I'm trying!" I'd scream. But she always dissolved into ash, floating away into nothing. Then I'd jolt awake, panting and panicked, sometimes waking Cat and Rocky when I did. Cat would roll over to sleepily nuzzle her face into my bare chest and stretch her hand across my stomach to intertwine her fingers with mine while murmuring, "it's okay, I'm here, Stevie." The nights I didn't wake her, I'd wrap my arms tight around her, holding my breath as I waited to feel her chest moving and then I'd sigh into her hair and wait for sleep to take me again.

She had eventually stopped crying every night, but I could tell she was hiding how she was really feeling. Even though she would laugh and smile around me, I could still see her slowly wasting away, could see hollows become darker and angles become sharper. I could see the hurt that she had buried deep inside. I wanted nothing more than to take that away, to bring the light back to her life and keep her protected. To stop my nightmares from becoming reality.

Tonight, Cat had gone home by herself with the promise to call me later. She had said she wanted to spend some time with her mom. But it was nearing eleven o'clock and I still hadn't heard from her, usually if she was alone she would have called by nine or ten. My worry got the best of me and I decided to just drive over and check on her.

I was met with a quiet house. Too quiet. I ducked into Cat's room first and found it empty except for Rocky. I padded over to the bathroom and knocked lightly on the door.

"Cat? You in here?"

I waited in silence for a moment before pushing the door open and freezing. I felt like my heart had dropped into my stomach and kicked up into my throat at the same time. My throat was so tight I didn't think I was actually breathing, except I could hear the quick, panicky breaths I was taking.

Cat was lying in a tub full of water, only wearing a bra and underwear. I'd seen her naked before, knew that she was sick but there was still no way to be prepared. No way to prepare yourself to see the hollows between her bones, the new and old scars across her body. It broke my heart to see her, to know that I wasn't able to protect her from this. From herself.

Her head lolled against the side of the tub, just barely out of the water. I lurched forward, dropping down hard on my knees next to the tub and yanked the plug out before grabbing the sides of her face.

"Cat, hey!" I gently slapped her cheek, trying to wake her up.

I saw her eyes twitch and felt a moment of relief. I looked around for a towel and saw an empty bottle of aspirin lying on the ground next to the tub.

"Fuck," I muttered, "fuck, fuck, fuck, okay."

I knew what I had to try, had heard what to do in this situation before. So I climbed into the tub behind her, holding her cold, wet body against my chest and reached forward to turn the shower on. Warm water sprayed over us, soaking my clothes.

"Come on, Cat," I pleaded, pressing my fingers past her lips, "please, don't leave me."

I pressed harder, my fingers dipping into her throat. I tensed when her body jerked and kept pushing my fingers down her throat until she puked. Tipped her forward to direct the puke into the drain and then leaned back to let her head rest on my shoulder.

"Hey, come on, Cat. Wake up, please."

I tried to shake her, which only resulted in a small groan. I had to force her to puke twice more before she started coughing and her eyes fluttered open.

"Oh my god," I sighed, wrapping my arms around her, "it's okay, I'm here, I've got you."

She tipped her head into my chest and started crying, clutching my shirt in her hands.

"Why...why would you...?"

"I didn't-"

"Don't...there's no way you can tell me this isn't exactly what it looks like. Why didn't you call me?"

She curled tighter against me and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to hold back tears.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered, "I'm so sorry, Stevie."

"Hey," I soothed, "we're okay, I've got you."

I leaned forward to turn the water off and pulled Cat up and out of the tub.

"Where are the towels?"

She gestured towards a closet and I got her to sit on the edge of the tub before I went to gather towels. When we were mostly dried off I picked her up and carried her to her room where I set her on the edge of her bed and kneeled down to look at her.

"Cat, where's your mom?"

"Gone, another work thing," she murmured, "said she'd be gone for a while."

"Come stay with me."

"Stevie, I'm okay...I swear, I didn't...it was an accident."

I reached forward to grab her hands in mine, "you don't have to lie to me, I want to help you. Pack a bag and come stay with me."

I was able to hold myself together until Cat was unpacking in my room and I left to empty medicine cabinets and hide the contents. It hit me then that I had just saved her life. That there had been a possibility of losing my best friend. I broke, sitting at the kitchen table. Buried my face in my hands and just let the sobs wrack my body until my throat felt hoarse.

Soon enough, small, cool hands wrapped around me and I felt Cat's face nuzzle into the crook of my neck. Felt the saltwater on her face as it dragged, soothing heated skin. I reached up with one arm, my fingers sliding through damp hair to hold her close.

I shivered when I felt her lips against my neck as she whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Stevie."

--

I had a new nightmare now. I was walking on a beach, surrounded by eery silence even though waves crashed angrily next to me. The moonlight cast a silver shine off the top of the water but there still wasn't enough light for me to see further than what was right in front of me. And then a flash of lightning and suddenly, I could hear everything. The roar of the water, the sand sliding under my feet, a mournful siren wailing in the distance, it was too much, too loud to think. I was running, feet sinking deep into the sand, running as fast as I could but going nowhere. Then another flash of lightning and everything settled. Crashing waves stilled, frozen in the air. The wailing didn't stop though, just became quieter and more haunting. My feet were stuck in the sand when I saw her, washed up on the beach. Cat's pale skin had started to turn blue. I struggled, trying to get to her, but the more I fought, the deeper I sunk in the sand. I tried to claw my way out, desperate to save her, but my arms were swallowed up. The sand consumed me until my head was barely above it and I couldn't move anymore. Another flash of lightning and the waves came down on her, sweeping her away. In an instant, she was gone, carried off into the dark. My screaming only stopped when sand filled my mouth.

--

The nightmares were catching up to me, keeping me up at night and exhausted all day. I'd been struggling to stay awake all day, my eyes getting heavier and heavier as the day wore on.

"What happened, Harrington? You look like shit. You know she's just another whore," Billy sneered, leaning against the lockers next to me, "not worth losing sleep over."

I rolled my eyes and huffed, "fuck off, Hargrove."

"Unless she's keeping you up a different way?" He smirked, a cruel glint in his eye, "that your thing? Get some friends together and pass her around? I hear she begs for it. You should invite me some time, I never got a chance."

I knew it was stupid, that he was bigger than me, stronger than me and could easily pummel me into the ground. But it didn't stop me from throwing the first punch. I got in a few punches before I was down on the ground, no longer fighting, just trying to protect my face.

All around us, people were yelling. Some cheering on the fight, some screaming for us to stop. Suddenly, Billy was yanked off me and held back by one of the guys on the football team. I was helped up to my feet, my head pounding as I glared at him.

"She was raped, you fucking asshole!" I spat, "those creeps drugged and raped your girlfriend and you just tossed her to the side! She needed help and you abandoned her!"

I didn't even realize that had come out of my mouth until I heard the reaction of the crowd around us. The gasps and murmuring. Billy's face dropped just before I heard.

"Steve?"

I turned to see Cat behind me, her face full of hurt and shock, eyes wide and full of tears. I knew I had fucked up, big time.

She turned and ran. Away from the school and away from me.

--

"Steve, I can't do this anymore. People won't stop talking, whispering behind my back. I don't know what's worse, the pitying looks some people give me or the accusing looks from people who still believe the lies. All I know is...I'm sorry...love you, Stevie."

Cat's voice on the answering machine sent chills down my spine. It was hollow, cold and lifeless. I knew what that voice meant, where her head was. I grabbed my keys and ran out to my car, cursing every second that ticked by.

I found her, barely conscious in a pool of blood. Choked on my sobs as I wrapped her wrists in bandages with shaking hands. Carried her to her room and helped her change into clean clothes before tucking her into bed. Saw the way her bones were even more prominent now than ever before. I stained my hands red cleaning up her blood and threw clothes and towels into the laundry machine. Scrubbed my hands raw trying to clean them before giving up and grabbing Cat something to drink and going back to her room.

I sat down on the edge of her bed with a heavy sigh, "Cat, you're out of control."

"Stevie.." she breathed.

"You lied...you lied to me and said you were fine," I choked, trying and failing to keep myself together, "I can't keep doing this, Cat. I can't let you keep destroying yourself...I can't lose you."

"I'm sorry..I don't mean to be a problem.."

I blinked tears out of my eyes and looked over at her, "please. Please, Cat. You need help. I can help you get treatment, or we can try to get through this ourselves but you need to want help. You need to let me help you," I pleaded, "please."

"I don't think I can.."

"You can, I believe in you. I'll be here to help, I'm always here for you. I won't give up on you. Please, try...for me? Let me take care of you."

She looked down, away from me, "you don't have to, Stevie. It'll be awful work."

I shifted so I could grab the side of her face in my hand, "not to me, not if it's you...I know it won't be easy but I want to," I took a moment before blurting out, "I love you. I love you so much, Cat. Let me help you, please?"

I felt her hand on my cheek, her thumb moving to brush tears away. I clasped my other hand around hers keeping it there and leaned into her touch. Leaned into the thought that everything will be okay, that she'll be okay and just let myself have that.

--

I could see Cat coming across the parking lot towards my car, moving slowly and giving me a tired smile when she caught me staring. I'd spent the weekend with her, changing bandages and doing my best to get her to eat small bits of food throughout the day. Something to try and bring her energy up, but she had slept most of the weekend and was still drained this morning. She wore one of my sweaters over her own, for extra warmth and for the longer sleeves to hide her bandages under.

She was almost at my car when Billy stepped out in front of her. Put himself between us and stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Cat, can we talk?"

She hesitated before jerking her head to nod, "okay."

"I just..I was a fucking asshole. I shouldn't have just taken their word, I should have asked you what happened."

"Thanks," she mumbled, trying to move around him.

Billy caught her wrist in his hand and I had to hold myself back when I saw her wince, her whole body tensing as she tried not to react.

"Wait, please," his grip loosened to slide up her arm as he drew closer.

My teeth were on edge, clenched together so tight I thought they'd crack. I kept Cat in my sight, ready to step in if she needed me.

"I love you," he murmured, "don't you get it? We could be together again."

She looked down for a moment, her eyes glassy when she looked past Billy's shoulder towards me. There was a moment where I thought she'd be back in his arms. I took a small step forward, waiting.

Cat stepped out of his grasp, "no, we can't."

She walked around him at the same time I continued forward to meet her halfway. I wrapped my arms around her when she buried her face in my chest and kissed the top of her head. I cast a glance toward Billy, who looked hurt and angry before storming off to his Camaro and tucked my face against Cat's hair. Breathed in her vanilla scent and felt love shining in my chest.

"I'm here, I've got you," I whispered, holding her tight.

--

"Stevie," Cat murmured, "is something going on?"

I took a deep breath and buried my face in the crook of her neck, shaking my head softly. I'm fine, I need to be fine.

She rolled in my arms so she could face me, "what is it? Talk to me."

My heart started to race as my eyes began to water. I tried to blink back the tears, I need to be fine.

"I'm fine," my voice wavered.

"Don't lie, not to me."

I blew out my breath, feeling my lip tremble when the words hit my tongue.

"What is it about me that's not good enough?"

"What?" She leaned up on her elbow, worry creasing her eyebrows.

Tears started to roll down my face, "am I doing something wrong?"

"Oh, Stevie," she soothed, her hand coming up to hold my face, "no, you're not doing anything wrong. Why would you think that?"

I held her hand tight, pressing it to my face and let my fears out, "you're not getting any better...and I just, I can't...those times I found you, I thought I'd lost you and it almost destroyed me. I don't, don't know what I'd do if you died...I couldn't bear it, not if I could have saved you. Please, tell me what you need...what can I do?"

--

"Stevie? What are you doing here?"

It was just starting to cool down as the sun began to set and I had planned a surprise date for us. The back of my car had everything I needed to take Cat on a picnic before driving out of town to the drive in theatre.

I reached out and took her hand in mine, "I planned a surprise date for us. If you want to come with me, that is."

She smiled, her eyes twinkling as she looked at me, "I'd love to. Do I need anything? Am I dressed okay?"

Cat was dressed in one of my sweaters, a dark blue one that hung loose over her frame and almost reached her knees, and a pair of dark leggings. Black hair piled messily on top of her head. She looked relaxed, beautiful.

"You're perfect," I murmured.

"A picnic?" Cat held her arms crossed over her waist, still nervous even though we'd been working together to help her get better, "I don't know..."

I flattened out a blanket overlooking the lake and turned back to her. Crossed to grab her hands in mine and loop them around my neck and smoothed my hands down her back.

"It's okay, I'm here," I whispered, touching my forehead to hers, "you can do this. You're so strong and so beautiful...inside and out. Trust me?"

Her fingers combed through my hair, sending chills down my spine, "yes."

I kissed her forehead softly before leading her to sit on the blanket and started pulling out the food I'd brought. I pulled out containers of fruit, cheese and crackers and a couple of drinks and set them down in front of us.

"This is only part one of our date, so I just brought a snack."

In truth, I knew bringing too much food would stress Cat out, but I made sure to pack things I knew she liked to hopefully get her to have more. She smiled, grabbed a bright, red strawberry from a container and scooted over so she could lean against me. 'Don't think, just eat,' was the motto we'd come up with so she started idly talking about her day, what she was going to do for the rest of the weekend and what she wanted my help with for class. We sat there and watched the sun set over Lover's Lake, just relaxing and enjoying our time together. Cat ended up eating more than I thought she would, distracted by talking until we realized the food was gone. She turned to me and beamed, practically glowing with happiness.

"Can I kiss you?" I murmured.

Her lips were sticky sweet, a smile stretching so far I could feel it. She twisted in my lap, wrapping her legs around my waist and tangling long fingers in my hair. I held her waist with one hand and her face with the other. With a sigh, her lips parted and her tongue cautiously swept across mine. She stole the air from my lungs like she needed it to keep her afloat and I happily let her. Would let her take my last breath if she needed. I forced myself to break the kiss, to tip my forehead against hers and try to catch my breath.

"I love you," I whispered, lips brushing against hers.

"I love you," she breathed.

--

"I don't want to die anymore."

I pulled my head back to look at her. She was curled against my chest as we laid in bed, a soft glow illuminating from a lamp. I slid my hand between the light sheet and Cat's bare skin, my fingers lightly running along her side. Cat twisted her hand in mine, tracing my palm absently. I stayed quiet, pressing a kiss the back of her head.

"I haven't for a while now...not even sure I wanted to before...I just, I felt like I was drowning, y'know?"

I nuzzled into her hair, "mhm.."

"I'm so sorry, Stevie...for everything. I wish that I could take it all back," she sniffed, "I wish I could have spared you...been a person, not a problem."

I shifted, rolling to look at Cat and holding her face in my hand. Wiped a tear away from her cheek with my thumb and shook my head lightly.

"I don't...if this was us meeting for the first time, I'd do it all again. The tears, anxiety and nightmares, everything...you understand? I'd go through hell if it meant I could hold your hand. You were never a problem, you needed help. I would go through that again and again because I love you."

She pressed her face into my hand, inhaling deeply and smiling, "I love you."

--

Through therapy, Cat found that she loved working out with me. She loved finding beauty in strength, loved pushing and challenging herself to do better every day. Muscle had been building under her skin, softening once harsh angles. She was a whole new person now, proud of the muscle that helped out lift me. Liked to make a show of opening jars for me just to make herself laugh. Sometimes, I'd purposely tighten lids just to see her smile when she pried them off.

Sure, we still had bad days. Days where I jolted awake in the middle of the night and held my breath as I waited to see Cat's chest slowly rise and fall. Days where Cat would stare out absently, fingers grabbing at curves or lightly tracing scarred skin. Scars that were hidden by tattoos now, invisible to anyone who didn't know. Days where we needed some extra love. But those times never lasted and became less frequent the more we grew.

Cat raced up the last of the hill, panting when she turned to smile at me.

"I beat you!"

I jogged up the last few steps and grabbed Cat tight, lifting and spinning her around.

"Steve!" She laughed, "put me down!"

I set her down, spinning her so we could both look out over the cliff at Lover's Lake. Set my chin on her shoulder and hugged her gently.

Looked over the water, shimmering silver in the golden light of the afternoon and decided this was perfect.

I turned my face into her neck, kissing gently and murmuring, "can I keep you?"

I was hyper aware of the weight in my pocket, of my fluttering heart and of her skin against mine.

She turned her face, looking over at me as much as she could, "what?"

I used one hand to spin her around, my other hand sliding into my pocket. With the cool metal between my fingers, I dropped to my knee.

"Cat, you are...everything to me. I want to wake up next to you every day, I want to take care of you and love you for the rest of my life..."

Her breath hitched and her fingers started to tremble in mine, her eyes tearing as she looked at me, "Stevie..."

I swallowed past the lump in my throat and looked up at her. At the love of my life, the one person I would lay down my own life for and asked.

@alias-b @charmed-asylum

[imacrowcawcaw]

These Dreams (Sanny) 1/3

*Just realized that this is super long and the formatting is a mess so I'm breaking it into three and cleaning it up*

Title: These Dreams

Author (As known on Various sites): Lady Lover- Rockfic, Luluthechoosingcrow - AO3, theladylovingcrow - Wattpad and Deviantart, Tumblr - imacrowcawcaw

Fandom: Greta Van Fleet

Pairing: Danny Wagner/Sam Kiszka, Josh Kiszka/Jake Kiszka at the end

Warnings/Tags: first time, first kiss, smut, frontage, grinding, fluff, attempted humor, discussions of underage attraction

Summary: *No actual underage sex graphically depicted, but it's talked about*

*twincest at the very end*

"'You're telling me that we've known each other, been near inseparable, since seventh grade, and you've never once thought about it? At all? You've had to have thought about giving guys a try at least once, everyone questions their sexuality." Sammy gave him a shit eating grin. He scooted even closer to Danny, so that their knees touched and their noses weren't more than half a foot apart. Danny stopped laughing.'

Author's Notes: Sammy seems to be the instigator in most things, and Danny always seems to be secretly in love (in my stories), but I like it like that lol.

God I finished this at midnight lol

For Helena and everyone else who needs gvf content down deep in their soul like I do

Sorry, it's kinda dialogue heavy

Singing along to Fleetwood Mac gave me the title

*I am marking this as underage because there is discussion of attractions and fantasies while they were underage, masturbation, losing virginity while under 18. But there is no graphic underage sex actually written, both boys are at like 20 or nearly 20 (today era) where I place this. (Also will not be posted on Rockfic because I've made that mistake once before and I respect their rules and the reasons behind them)

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

"What if we fucked?"

Danny let his head roll to the side on his pillow so he could eye Sam.

"What?"

"I dunno, it was just a random idea. Like, don't you think it would be kinda fun?"

Danny stared at him, confusion and amusement mingling on his face. This wasn't the weirdest thing Sam had said in, hell, the last half an hour? But, still, the hypothetic had Danny's attention simply because the idea was something he never really thought about - or, at least, never thought would ever happen. A boy had wet dreams and fantasies, they weren't always things he would actually act on.

"I've never thought about it."

Just not gonna mention those dreams. Or the one time he jacked off while sharing a bed with Sam, nose breathing in the scent of his hair and eyes roaming his best friend's sleeping backside. That never happened, okay?

"Really, like never?"

Sam actually looked surprised. He had?

"You're telling me that we've known each other, been near inseparable, since seventh grade, and you've never once thought about it? At all? You've had to have thought about giving guys a try at least once, everyone questions their sexuality."

"Well- I mean..."

To come clean or to not come clean, that was the question in Danny's mind. Sammy seemed totally cool with the idea, though, so it probably wouldn't do him any harm to admit it. Unless this was a prank? Nah, Sam loved jokes but this wasn't his style. He would never pick on someone for something like this, he much preferred messing with Danny in other ways.

"Fine, yeah, I've thought about it. Had a really intense dream in like, eighth, that freaked me out for a while. Didn't know how to deal with it then, ya know?"

"See, I knew it! Everyone thinks about it! What was your dream about?"

Sam bounced on the bed like an excited puppy - which, he was. A cute, fluffy, yapping ball of energy with too big feet who got super excited whenever he met new people, that was Sammy. How could Danny not love him?

"Do you really wanna hear about this?"

He had to know, just to make double sure, that Sam wasn't pulling his leg.

"Yes, I do! It's interesting to think about. And - if you tell me about your's, I'll tell you about mine?"

"Wait, your dream? What? When? How much have you thought about this? Like, being with a guy, or with me? How come you've never said anything?!"

Why was this the first time he'd heard about this? Sam was usually very vocal about everything he was thinking, at least when in private with his brothers and Danny.

Though, he guessed he knew why: it was the same reason he'd never really mentioned his own dreams and ponderings to Sam.

"Well, how come *you've* never said anything?" Sam countered. "And I'll tell you what I've thought about, but later; I wanna hear hear about this dream that freaked you out so bad. What could it have even been?"

"Mr. Oakenstein."

"WHAT?!"

Danny was cracking up at Sam's face, he looked like he'd just been told that Gibson was going out of business or something.

"Please tell me you're joking!" Sam begged. Poor boy, Danny should put him out of his misery.

"Of course I'm joking, doofus! God - Mr. Oakenstein? He was at least seventy five when we took bio! There's no way that - if I liked guys - I'd be into him. He's so wrinkly and hunched and- and *jowly*."

They both shuddered. Mr. Oakenstein's name brought back unpleasant memories of weekly chapter tests (how was it even possible to go through a book that fast?) and frog electrocution, not to mention the mental image of his sagging, jiggly face.

"Would he have even been able to get it up? Like, how long does Viagra take to kick in? You'd just have to lay there waiting and looking at him - which, ugh. That would be a nightmare, not a dream."

"Yeah," Danny agreed, still giggling a little bit, "I didn't dream about him, but it definitely would have freaked me out more if I had. Hey, you still think Miss Marcie is hot?"

Danny was procrastinating, they both knew it, but this was always a fun conversation to have.

"Always, dude. I still remember with, like, perfect clarity the time she had me come in during lunch to go over my test. I looked up and she was *right there* leaning over me reading what I was doing, and I could kind of see up her shirt... man, I was so distracted the rest of the day."

Sam sounded dreamy, lost in his memories of a hot tenth grade teacher.

"I remember that day! You were so distracted after school on the way home, you nearly drove us into a lake. And at band practice you kept messing up, Joshie nearly strangled you with his mic cord."

"Yeah! Man, I was so hard, I couldn't fucking concentrate on anything else except for trying not to cum right then and there. As soon as we called it quits for the day I was in the bathroom; and of course Jake knew what was up and wouldn't stop ribbing me about it the rest of the night."

"Damn, that bad? I mean, she was hot but she wasn't, like, *amazing*, was she?"

"You might not think so, but Miss Marcie is always gonna have a place in my heart. And the spank bank," Sam sighed. They both snickered.

"Well, what about you, hmm?" He asked. "If you didn't like Mr. Goldenstein, then who? Everyone gets hot for teacher."

Sam hummed the lyrics to the classic for a minute, Danny filling in the guitar parts. Neither of them listened to Van Halen that much, but how could you not know that song?

After a little drum solo on his thigh while Sam progressed into increasingly southern banjo sounding guitar noises, Danny stopped and answered.

"I agree, Ms. Marcelina was really hot, but she had NOTHING on Mrs. Bell. Do you remember that red dress she uses to wear?"

"Of course I do! The economy of the United States has never been so interesting!"

Danny snorted. "Dude, you never gave a shit about econ, you just liked to stare at her. Which, okay, I did too. She made that class bareable."

"I'd say she made it a bit more than bareable. And yeah, that red dress was something else,"

Sam rolled onto his side.

"Hey, what if Mr. Goldstein wore a red cocktail dress. Would you go for him then?"

Sam laughed when Danny shoved at his shoulder, shaking with amusement and disgust at the thought.

"You know, I've never entertained that thought, but I am SO glad you brought it to my attention. I'll never be able to *stop thinking about it* now, Samuel."

Sammy gave him a shit eating grin. He scooted even closer to Danny, so that their knees touched and their noses weren't more than half a foot apart. Danny stopped laughing.

Part 2

[hotchzier]

louis hadn't exactly planned on waking his boy up until it was exactly half an hour before he had to leave. but with how entangled they were it was deemed impossible to get out of harry's bond without waking him up.

"darling." louis called softly, turning his head a bit back so he could look at him.

"darling, i need you to wake up." louis continued softly, reaching out to move his boys hair back and out of his face. he left his hand to gently rub circles in harry's temples.

he really didn't want to leave.

louis leaned over and gently layed his lips against harry's forehead, attempting to wake him up with his kisses.

"hmph", is all he got out of him.

"baby, i gotta get up."

"mmm". harry dived his nose into louis' neck, inhaling deeply.

louis smiled fondly and moved his hand into harry's gorgeous curls. he always loved playing with them, especially during small moments like these where the both of them are intertwined deeply into their bed. voices never higher than a whisper.

louis gently pulled on his curls in order to lift harry's head up a bit so he could move his lips down to his ear. he nudged it a bit and then whispered at him to wake up once again.

"nnnh-not going to." harry mumbled, still nestled into louis' neck.

louis let out a breathy sound, somewhere remotely close to a chuckle.

"and why is that, my boy?"

"if i keep sleeping, you wont leave." harry eventually whispered with his smallest voice he had.

louis' fond smile slowly morphed into a small frown. he knew how hard these moments were on not only harry, but himself too. he quickly turned the mood to a happier setting by letting out a small chuckle after thinking about the "logic" behind harry's words.

"i wish it worked that way, love." he said quietly, and then leaving a peck on the top of his head to seal his words.

"wanna stay here forever". harry whispered as he moved his head to nose louis' cheek.

louis' chin tilted down a bit so his and harry's noses met to rub against eachothers.

butterfly kisses.

their lips eventually found each others as it seems it's impossible for them not to when their faces are this close.

the first kiss of the day, and most definitely not the last.

they layed there and kissed for a bit. as corny as it sounds, the time always feels endless and that their souls have suddenly turned to immortality when their lips have morphed into each others.

when louis reluctantly pulled pack, harry finally opened his eyes. his usually bright green eyes were a bit dull today but they never failed to catch louis' breath.

their eyes didn't pull away until the realization that the time for louis' departure would be here sooner than later.

louis pulled back to look at the analog clock that rested on their bedside table.

9:22 AM the digital, red letters read out.

he'd have to get going at the latest by 11 and considering how this had been going, it'd be a struggle to get him out of the door until he absolutely had to.

when he turned back to harry his eyes layed upon the frown that had came across his face in the past few seconds. he felt himself frowning shortly too.

god, he hated this. he hated leaving his boy.

louis leaned into leave a lingering peck against harry's lips.

"i love you." he whispered against their touching lips.

all harry did was let his lips curl up to a small smile. he knew he was choking on his emotions deep down inside and he was trying his hardest to conceal them.

"gotta take a shower, love." louis started to get up but harry caught onto his arm before he could even swing his feet off the bed.

"lay with me for a bit longer, please, louis."

his hearth ached. his boys voice was so small and sad. he longed to just quit his job as the aspiring journalist he was becoming and lay with harry in a bed forever.

"can't, darling."

water came across to filling the already glassy, emerald eyes of his.

fuck.

louis didn't realize how hard it would be this time. he'd only be gone for five weeks into the states in order to research on a piece he was doing for the different ways life is lived. but it would be the longest they had ever been away from eachother in the span of the 4 years they were together. he wanted nothing more than to take him with him but they just couldn't.

he leaned in to quickly wipe harry's tears, but he refused to lie down again, knowing he wouldn't get up if he did.

"we'll facetime every fucking day. you can call me whenever you need to, no matter what. and we'll text every minute we can. i promise you, my love." louis stated as his hands held onto harry's face.

harry's hand came up to wrap around louis' dainty, but firm wrists. he continued to look louis in the eye as he nodded slowly. "okay." he whispered softly.

"okay?" louis wanted to hear it again to confirm harry got it.

"everyday." is all harry whispered back.

-

as louis stepped out of the steamy bathroom, he found the still ruffled sheets of the bed to be empty. he followed his feet to the kitchen to see the coffee pot incessantly boiling and harry at the table with his journal.

he seemed to be stuck on his thoughts and aimlessly writing in it, more than likely to calm him.

louis came up behind him from where he was seated and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, inhaling harry's scent and then kissing him once more.

"let me make you some coffee before you leave. or tea? you always prefer tea in the mornings, i just thought maybe you needed some caffeine as you do have a long trip ahead of yo-"

"coffee's fine, sweetheart." louis cut his frazzled rambling off with yet another kiss to his lips.

harry turned around to pour louis a cup and handed it to him as he sat back down with louis.

"nothing for you, babe?" louis asked, genuinely curious as harry usually had a cup as well.

"dont think i'd keep it down to be quite honest". he said as his voice trailed off into some distant land of his mind.

louis sighed and turned his body towards harry's seat. he sat there, drinking his coffee, while reviewing all of harry's features. he never, ever could get over how unbelievably lucky he got with this godly gorgeous boy of his.

"stop staring at me". harry said, his voice fining entertainment.

"i cant". louis knew harry could hear the smile in his voice.

harry disregarded the comment, even though is knowing smile stayed on his face as he turned to asked louis if his toothbrush was packed.

"yes, darling, everything i need is ready to go." he said a but, exasperated. he knew harry was just stalling louis' time but they'd gone over his packed bags at least a million times in the past few days.

"okay, love, just checking." harry said, his voice seemed a big lighter now that he was fully awake, but it still had a sad tinge to it.

10:39 AM the clock hanging against their wall now read.

his ears picked up on harry's breath faintly hitching as he turned to see that harry looked at the same time as he did to.

"still got a good 20 minutes, baby. you'll be okay", he said trying his best to calm his boy down.

he got up to put his cup in the sink he turned back around to harry already standing. his eyes had trailed him the few steps to he sink and now to where louis was walking in his direction.

louis slowly wrapped his arms around harry's long and thin torso. harry felt a bit tense in his arms but he slowly relaxed as louis held him tighter once harrys arms wrapped around his neck and his head fell into his shoulder.

they stood their wrapped up into eachother tightly for a good while, both pulling back with glossy eyes.

it really would be a good time to get going then, but louis couldn't find himself to doing it. he wanted to stay here with his boy as much as his boy wanted him to stay too.

when he looked back up again his face contorted into a frown and his eyebrows pulling together at the sight of a tear rolling down harry's face.

louis took his hands and squeezed them. he leaned up to kiss all over his boys face even has the taste of his salty tears made his way into his mouth.

"i'm sorry." the end of harry's words were slightly cracked by his emotions.

"no, don't be, baby. i just hate seeing you so sad."

"i feel selfish for crying. this is your thing that you've been looking forward to for so long and i just- i don't know we've never been away for this long and im gonna miss you so fucking much." now harry's voice cracks were surreal and tears were unstoppable as he chocked on his sobs.

louis' heart was breaking and he felt his eyes fill up to at his darling boy who was a whole emotional wreck. he wasn't any better himself though.

"you're breaking my heart, baby", louis let go of their intertwined hands to wipe harry's tears out of his face. his hands stayed there to rub circles into his cheeks to calm him down. "i promise you i'll be back before no time and when i get back we can lay in bed and watch movies the whole day like we always do, okay?"

harry just nodded as he tried to suppress his sobs even more. it was pretty much time for louis to be leaving, as he should've been at the airport about ten minutes ago.

"i'm so sorry, darling, but i really gotta get going. ill text you the soonest second i can and you can text me every damn time you want to. these five weeks will fly, my boy."

harry was still keen on saying the bare minimum as he leaned into louis' touch and closed the gap between them to kiss louis' lips for the last time in awhile.

they wrapped eachother into their arms one more time, squeezing extra tightly before louis turned to grab his bags to put them in the car.

harry insisted on helping him but louis refused. he just wanted his boy to rest up for now.

as soon as the doors to his taxi closed his phone dinged with a message from harry, he smiled to himself at how extra his boy was.

"miss you so fucking much already xx"